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rikuisthesweetestboy · 1 month

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Not Her

Summary: Reader can't figure out why Spencer doesn't like her, Spencer doesn't know how to tell her it's not her fault.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: camping, being stuck, wilderness, swimming in underwear, teasing, talks of bullying, insecurities, mild aggression from a male (not spencer), small injury

Word count: 16.6k

a/n: i want to go camping with spencer sooo bad he would be so nerdy and useful

main masterlist

From the moment you joined the BAU, it was obvious that you were entering a tightly knit group. The closeness between the team members was clear, and while you didn’t expect to be everyone’s best friend right off the bat, you were determined to fit in. You took time to get to know everyone, learning their quirks, their likes, and dislikes, hoping to carve out your place within the team.

With Derek, you found an easy-going rapport. His playful nature and quick wit made it easy to banter back and forth. JJ was kind and welcoming, often making a point to include you in conversations or to check in on how you were adjusting. Penelope was a whirlwind of energy, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself swept up in her vibrant world of tech and color. Rossi felt like a wise uncle who loved everyone on the team as his own. Alex was someone who acted as an older sister to you and whom you looked up to very much, and Hotch, though stern, had a way of making you feel like you were a valuable part of the team.

But Spencer Reid… he was different.

From the start, there was a disconnect. It wasn’t as if he was openly hostile or dismissive—he was far too professional for that. But there was something in the way he avoided your gaze during meetings, or how he seemed to drift to the opposite side of the room whenever you entered. You had caught him, more than once, excusing himself from a conversation as you approached, as if the mere prospect of talking to you was something he couldn’t bear.

At first, you tried to brush it off, convincing yourself that he was just shy or perhaps overwhelmed by the demands of the job. After all, you knew that Spencer wasn’t the most socially adept person in the world. But as time went on, the distance between you and him became more apparent, and it started to gnaw at you.

You didn’t need everyone to like you. You had learned long ago that such a goal was impossible, especially in a high-stakes environment like the BAU. But the way Spencer acted around you—like he could barely stand to be in the same room—was something you couldn’t ignore. You were both professionals, and you could work together when necessary, but it was clear that there was a barrier between you, one that wasn’t present with the rest of the team.

You found yourself replaying your interactions with him over and over in your mind, trying to pinpoint where things had gone wrong. Was it something you had said? Something you had done? Had you offended him without realizing it? Every smile you offered that went unreturned, every attempt at conversation that fizzled out into uncomfortable silence, only deepened the mystery.

—

The whole team could see the ridge between you and Spencer, but no one was any more privy to its cause than you were. Naturally, they had asked, each of them trying to get to the bottom of the tension, but Spencer always brushed it off, insisting he had nothing against you. And technically, he wasn’t lying—it wasn’t you he had a problem with.

The team had noticed the rift between you and Spencer early on. It was impossible to ignore, especially in a group as close-knit as the BAU. And so, they took it upon themselves to try and bridge the gap, often resorting to what they jokingly referred to as “parent trapping” the two of you.

Whenever the team needed to double up on rooms during cases, you and Spencer were always the ones paired together. If there were assignments to be handled in pairs, it was somehow always the two of you that got teamed up. On the jet or at the round table, there would only be one spot left for each of you, forcing you to sit side by side. And then there were the bar nights—group outings where, mysteriously, everyone else would bail out at the last minute, leaving just you and Spencer nursing your drinks awkwardly.

But despite their best efforts, nothing seemed to work. Spencer wasn’t warming up to you, no matter how many times you ended up in forced proximity. The wall between you remained as solid as ever, and eventually, you stopped trying to break through it. You resigned yourself to the fact that whatever issue he had with you, it wasn’t something you could change.

However, Rossi—always the wise, seasoned veteran—was not ready to give up just yet. He had one last trick up his sleeve, one final attempt to get you and Spencer to break through the barrier between you.

A team bonding camping excursion.

It was the perfect setup. Out in the wilderness, away from the usual comforts and distractions of your everyday lives, you would all be forced to rely on each other. And maybe, just maybe, the isolation would do what all the previous attempts had failed to achieve.

But here’s the final kicker—when the day of the camping trip arrived, everyone else conveniently piled into cars together, leaving you and Spencer to drive alone in your car. You noticed the sly looks exchanged between your teammates as they handed out the keys, but before you could protest, Spencer was already sliding into the passenger seat of your vehicle.

Just as you were about to follow the convoy of cars out of the parking lot, Rossi strolled over to your window, an easygoing smile on his face. He handed you a printed sheet of directions, different from the ones the others had received.

"Just in case you get separated," he said with a wink, his tone far too innocent.

You couldn't shake the feeling that Rossi had planned this down to the last detail. Of course, you and Spencer wouldn’t just be separated from the group—you’d be on an entirely different route, one that would give you no choice but to spend even more time together, alone and without the safety net of your other teammates.

As you pulled out of the lot, Spencer sat quietly beside you, his eyes trained on the passing scenery. The silence in the car was heavy, almost suffocating, but there was nothing you could do now. You were in this together, whether either of you liked it or not.

And as the miles stretched out ahead of you, you couldn’t help but wonder what Rossi had in mind, and if this final trick up his sleeve would finally be the one to force Spencer to open up—or if it would just deepen the divide between you.

—

The campsite was a solid three hours away, and while the drive was scenic enough, it didn't change the fact that you had a small bladder and a penchant for drinking a lot of water and coffee. It was inevitable that you'd need to make a pit stop before reaching your destination.

As you glanced at the time on the dashboard and then at the half-empty travel mug in the cupholder, you sighed internally. You’d need to pull over soon. The thought of having to break the silence yet again didn’t exactly thrill you, but the discomfort was starting to outweigh your hesitation.

“Reid,” you said, breaking the quiet that had settled over the car. “I’m going to stop and use the restroom. Want me to grab you anything?”

Spencer, who had been quietly absorbed in the book he was reading, glanced up briefly, his expression neutral. “No, thank you,” he replied politely before returning his attention to the pages in front of him.

You nodded, even though he wasn’t looking at you, and pulled off at the next rest stop. As you parked and unbuckled your seatbelt, you tried not to dwell on the strained exchange. It wasn’t much different from the countless other interactions you’d had with Spencer—brief, polite, and devoid of any real connection.

—

You’d been driving for what felt like ages, the occasional road sign the only indication that you were getting closer to your destination. You were determined to reach the campsite without any further detours, but the unfamiliar roads and winding paths made it easy to second-guess yourself.

“Reid,” you said, breaking the silence again that had settled back over the car like a heavy blanket. “I think we’re getting close. Can you give me directions, please?”

Spencer looked up from his book, blinking a few times as he refocused on the world outside. “Yeah,” he replied simply, his voice still carrying that same detached tone.

He reached for the directions Rossi had given you earlier, unfolding the paper and scanning the instructions. His finger traced the lines of text as he read through the details, his brow furrowing slightly as he calculated the next turn.

“Take the next left,” he instructed, his eyes flicking up to the road ahead. “And then, after about two miles, there should be a right turn onto a dirt road. That should lead us directly to the campsite.”

“Got it,” you said, following his directions carefully, hoping that this final stretch would be as straightforward as he made it sound.

As you turned onto the narrow, winding road Spencer had pointed out, the trees began to close in around you, their dense foliage casting dappled shadows on the path. The silence returned, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird. You glanced over at Spencer, who was once again absorbed in his book, his focus seemingly unshakeable.

You couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind. Did he realize how obvious the team’s attempts at pushing you two together were? Or was he simply indifferent to it all, content to keep you at arm’s length?

—

“Okay…” you mumbled under your breath as you pulled into what looked like a campsite. The trees parted just enough to reveal a small clearing, but the emptiness of it made you hesitate. The gravel crunched under the tires as you rolled to a stop, and you squinted through the windshield, scanning the area. “This should be the place… Do you see anyone else?”

Spencer lifted his gaze from his book, his eyes narrowing as he looked around the deserted clearing. “Uh, no. No, I do not.”

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach. You leaned forward, double-checking the area, but it was clear—you and Spencer were the only ones there. “Did I take a wrong turn?”

“Not according to the directions,” Spencer replied, his voice calm but not particularly reassuring.

You let out a slow breath, trying to push down the rising anxiety. “Maybe we beat them here?”

“That’s unlikely,” Spencer said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Due to the number of times you pulled over for the restroom.”

You couldn’t help the slight flush that crept up your neck at his blunt observation. “Right,” you said, your voice tight as you tried to figure out what to do next. “So… what do we do now? Should we wait for them to show up?”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes flicking back to the directions. “It’s possible they took a different route. But considering how empty this place is, I’d say we’re either very early, or we’re not at the right site.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, feeling the weight of the situation settling on your shoulders. “Great. Just great. I’ll give Rossi a call,” you muttered, more to yourself than to Spencer, as you reached for your phone. The screen lit up, but when you glanced at the signal bar, your stomach dropped—no signal. “Uh, do you happen to have a signal on your cellphone?”

Spencer pulled his phone from his pocket and checked, his brow furrowing as he studied the screen. After a moment, he sighed, the sound tinged with resignation. “Nope.”

“Fantastic,” you said, the sarcasm barely masking your frustration. “Should we wait for a bit and see if anyone else shows up?”

Spencer considered the suggestion, his gaze drifting back to the empty clearing. “That seems like the best choice right now,” he agreed, his voice steady but lacking any real optimism.

With nothing else to do, you both settled into the uncomfortable silence, the quiet only broken by the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. The minutes stretched on, each one feeling longer than the last as you both kept your eyes on the road, hoping to see the rest of the team’s cars pull in. But the road remained empty, and the only company you had was the uneasy tension that had settled between you.

If this was Rossi’s idea of getting you and Spencer to bond, it was off to a rocky start.

—

The campsite in front of you looked serene and peaceful, bathed in the soft light filtering through the towering trees. The fire pit in the center was surrounded by a few scattered logs, perfect for sitting around and enjoying the warmth of a campfire. Despite its picturesque setting, the site was eerily empty, with no sign of the team anywhere.

Eventually, you heard the sound of Spencer unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car. The soft click of the door opening made you glance over. “What are you doing?” you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

“Getting out,” Spencer replied simply as he stepped onto the gravel. “I want to stretch my legs.”

You nodded, realizing that was a good idea. “Yeah, good idea,” you agreed, your tone a bit lighter now. The tension of being cooped up in the car with nothing but silence between you two was beginning to wear on you.

You both got out of the car, the fresh air a welcome change after the long drive. As you stood there, taking in the surroundings, you couldn’t help but feel a bit more relaxed. The forest around you was alive with the sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the distant chirping of birds, and the faint crackle of the fire pit from when it was last used.

Spencer moved toward the center of the campsite, his hands tucked into his pockets as he looked around. “It’s a nice spot,” he commented, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation.

You walked a little closer to him, scanning the area for any signs of the team. “Yeah,” you agreed, though the emptiness still gnawed at you. “But it’s weird that no one else is here yet.”

Spencer nodded, his brow furrowing slightly. “Maybe they’re just running late. Or they took a different route like I said before.”

You glanced back at the car, then around the site again. It was hard to shake the feeling that something was off, but there wasn’t much you could do about it now. “Well, at least it’s peaceful,” you said, trying to focus on the positive.

Spencer gave a small nod, seemingly content to stand there in the stillness of the forest. Despite the lingering uncertainty, there was something calming about the solitude, and for a moment, the silence between you felt less strained and more comfortable.

—

As the sun dipped lower behind the trees, casting long shadows across the campsite, you felt a growing sense of unease. The emptiness of the site was now coupled with the approaching darkness, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. You finally voiced your concern, unable to keep it to yourself any longer. “Spencer, they’re obviously not coming. Should we drive around? Look for a fire? Or just head home?”

Spencer, who had been pacing slightly near the car, stopped and looked at you, his expression conflicted. “I don’t—I don’t know what we should do,” he admitted, his voice wavering slightly, a rare display of uncertainty from him.

You bit your lip, weighing the options. None of them seemed particularly appealing, especially as the light continued to fade. “Okay… do you just want to set up here for the night and figure it out in the morning?”

“Umm… yeah,” he agreed after a moment, though his tone was far from confident. “Do you mind if I sleep in the car?”

That caught you off guard. “Sure…” you replied slowly, trying to mask your surprise. Spencer had always been an enigma, but this felt particularly strange. It wasn’t like him to be so unsettled.

Alas, you pushed the oddness aside and decided to focus on the practical. You set about pitching your tent, the familiar motions calming your nerves slightly. Once it was up, you ducked inside to change into your pajamas, eager to get a fire going and start making some food. The pangs of hunger were beginning to make themselves known, and you knew you needed to eat something soon.

When you emerged from the tent, you glanced over at Spencer, who was standing by the car, arms crossed, looking even more out of place than usual. “Spencer, you can use my tent to change if you want,” you offered, trying to bridge the gap between you.

“No thank you, I’m fine,” he replied quickly, almost too quickly. His refusal struck you as odd, adding to the growing list of things that didn’t seem right about this situation.

“Would you mind getting the cooler from the boot then?” you asked, hoping to keep things moving forward, even if everything else felt off.

Spencer nodded and moved to the back of the car, retrieving the cooler with a quiet efficiency. But as you started preparing the food, you couldn’t help but notice how closely he was watching you. His gaze was intense, almost as if he was studying you—or perhaps watching out for something.

It was unsettling, to say the least. You tried to brush it off, focusing on the task at hand, but it was difficult to ignore the prickling sensation of being observed so intently. “Everything okay?” you asked casually as you stirred the food, hoping to ease some of the tension.

Spencer blinked, seeming to snap out of whatever thoughts had been occupying his mind. “Yeah,” he said, though his tone wasn’t entirely convincing.

You paused for a moment, considering his words. While it wasn’t unusual for Spencer to be cautious, the way he was acting now felt different—like he was on edge, anticipating something. “Let’s eat and get some rest. We’ll figure everything out in the morning.”

He nodded, but the unease didn’t leave his eyes. As you finished cooking and began to serve up the food, you couldn’t help but wonder what had Spencer so spooked—and whether you should be more concerned than you already were.

—

That night, Spencer stuck to his word and slept in the car with the doors locked. You couldn’t help but feel a little puzzled by his behavior—he seemed so on edge, far more than you’d ever seen him, and it left you wondering why he had agreed to come camping in the first place. The idea of him spending the night in a locked car instead of enjoying the fresh air and the open sky was odd, to say the least.

But despite the lingering unease, you slept surprisingly well. Camping had always been something you loved—the scent of the pine trees, the sounds of the forest, the cool breeze that swept through the tent—all of it made you feel at peace. The night was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl, and you drifted off easily, wrapped in your sleeping bag.

When you woke the next morning, the sun was already casting a warm glow over the campsite. You stretched, feeling refreshed, and emerged from your tent to find Spencer already awake. He was crouched by a small fire, a pot of instant coffee brewing over the flames. The sight of him tending to the fire, his movements precise and deliberate, was a little surprising. It was clear that he hadn’t slept much—if at all.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you walked over to him.

“Morning,” Spencer replied, his voice calm but still carrying that edge of tension.

You sat down on one of the logs near the fire, enjoying the warmth it provided as you shook off the last remnants of sleep. “How’d you sleep?” you asked, trying to gauge his mood.

“Fine,” he answered shortly, though you weren’t convinced. “You?”

“Really good,” you said with a small smile. “I love the fresh air. There’s just something about being out here that makes everything feel better.”

Spencer nodded, his gaze fixed on the pot of coffee as he stirred it. “Yeah, fresh air is good,” he said absently, though his tone lacked the enthusiasm you had.

You watched him for a moment, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the way he seemed to be holding himself together with sheer willpower. Something was definitely off, but you weren’t sure how to address it without making him uncomfortable. “Spencer,” you began cautiously, “is everything okay? You seem… different.”

He paused, the spoon in his hand stilling as he considered your question. After a long moment, he sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I just… I don’t like the idea of being out here without the rest of the team. It doesn’t feel right.”

His admission caught you off guard. You knew Spencer was meticulous, always needing to have control over the details, but you hadn’t realized just how much this situation was affecting him. “I get that,” you said softly, trying to offer some reassurance. “But we’re safe here, and we’ll figure things out. Maybe we’ll hear from them once we’re back in range.”

Spencer gave a small nod, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. “Yeah, maybe,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You decided to let the conversation drop, not wanting to push him further. Instead, you focused on the comforting smell of coffee and the crackling of the fire. The warmth of the morning sun filtered through the trees, casting a golden light over the campsite. For a moment, you allowed yourself to relax, taking in the peaceful surroundings.

But as you glanced around the site, something caught your eye—a piece of paper tacked to a tree, fluttering slightly in the breeze. “Hey, did you see that?” you asked, pointing towards it.

Before Spencer could answer, you were already on your feet, walking towards the tree. The paper was pinned to the bark with a small tack, and as you pulled it down, you quickly scanned the handwritten note. Your eyes widened as you read the familiar handwriting, the message becoming clear.

Hey guys!

I know you’ll be mad about this, but please see it from our point of view. We sent you two to a separate site, please talk through your issues, we are a team and we need to be able to trust each other. Obviously, we can’t force you to stay, but if you do come home early, you will each have to take two paid days off. No work.

Please, work it out.

You stared at the note in disbelief for a moment, the words sinking in. This whole thing—Rossi’s directions, the empty campsite, the strange sense of being set up—it had all been orchestrated by the team. They had sent you and Spencer to a completely different site, forcing you into isolation together with the clear intention that you’d hash out whatever had been causing the rift between you.

You turned back to Spencer, holding the note up so he could see it. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, frustration and disbelief coloring your voice.

Spencer stood up and walked over, taking the paper from your hand. His eyes quickly scanned the note, and you could see the tension in his shoulders as he realized what had happened. “They… they set us up,” he said quietly, his voice laced with irritation and something else—maybe betrayal.

“Yeah, looks like it,” you replied, crossing your arms as you processed the situation. “They’re basically holding us hostage until we ‘work it out.’”

Spencer shook his head, clearly struggling with the realization. “They can’t just force us to talk. We’re not children.”

“Apparently, they think we need to be treated like we are,” you replied, the frustration in your voice mirroring his.

He remained silent, his eyes still fixed on the note as if it might offer some sort of solution. The fire crackled behind you, the only sound breaking the heavy tension that had settled between the two of you. The note in his hand felt like a ticking time bomb, and you both knew there was no avoiding the conversation any longer.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. This wasn’t how you had envisioned things going, but there was no turning back now. “Spencer… should we just talk about it?” you asked, your voice softer, almost pleading.

“About what?” he replied, still not meeting your eyes, his tone flat and defensive.

“Come on… please,” you urged, trying to keep your frustration at bay. You needed to get to the bottom of this, once and for all. “Did I do something to you?”

“No,” he answered quickly, his voice sharp with finality.

“But you don’t like me,” you pressed, feeling the frustration bubbling up. It wasn’t just his short answers that were getting to you; it was the wall he was so clearly putting up, the refusal to even entertain the possibility of a conversation. You were tired of dancing around the issue, of feeling like you were constantly walking on eggshells around him.

“It’s not—” Spencer started, but then he cut himself off, clenching his jaw. His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, you saw something flash in them—something like pain, or maybe guilt. But just as quickly, he looked away, shaking his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The firmness in his voice left little room for argument, but you weren’t ready to give up. Not after everything. “Spencer, please,” you said, trying to reach him on a level beyond the walls he’d built around himself. “I’m not trying to push you, but this… whatever this is between us… it’s affecting the team. It’s affecting us. We can’t just keep pretending it doesn’t exist.”

Spencer’s shoulders tensed, and you could see the internal struggle he was facing, the way his mind was working through a hundred different thoughts at once. He seemed to be weighing his options, considering whether or not to open up. But in the end, all he did was shake his head again, his expression closing off. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, but I just… I can’t.”

You felt a pang of disappointment, not just for yourself, but for him too. Whatever was going on inside his head, it was clearly something he wasn’t ready—or willing—to share. And that left you at an impasse, standing on opposite sides of a divide neither of you knew how to cross.

“Okay, well,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as you turned away from him, “I’m just going to go for a walk then.”

Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes widening slightly in alarm. “No, Y/N, that could be dangerous,” he said, his tone more urgent than you expected. There was a genuine concern in his voice, a sharp contrast to the distance he’d been maintaining.

“I don’t care,” you replied, your words coming out sharper than you intended. You needed to clear your head, to get some space, even if it meant wandering off into the woods. The tension between you and Spencer had reached a breaking point, and staying here, in this stifling atmosphere, felt unbearable.

You turned and started walking away, not really caring which direction you were heading. The forest loomed around you, the trees casting long shadows in the morning light, but you welcomed the solitude. You needed time to think, to process everything that had just happened.

Behind you, you heard Spencer call your name again, but you didn’t stop. The sound of his voice faded as you walked deeper into the trees, the cool air brushing against your skin as you moved further away from the campsite. You didn’t know where you were going or how far you would walk, but right now, that didn’t matter. All you wanted was some distance—from the campsite, from Spencer, from the emotions that had been building up inside you.

You heard the leaves crunch beneath your boots as you continued walking, the forest growing quieter with each step. The anger and frustration that had driven you out here began to ebb, replaced by a heavy feeling of sadness. You didn’t know why Spencer was so intent on keeping you at arm’s length, but whatever it was, it hurt. It hurt more than you wanted to admit.

But for now, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the rhythm of your footsteps and the cool, fresh air filling your lungs. The walk might not solve anything, but it was a start. At least out here, you could breathe.

—

When you finally returned to the campsite, the tension in your chest had eased, though the lingering frustration and sadness hadn’t entirely left. As you approached, you noticed Spencer sitting by the fire, a new book in his hands. His fingers flicked through the pages at lightning speed, a blur of motion as he absorbed the text with the kind of intensity that only Spencer Reid could muster.

He didn’t look up right away, but you noticed his ears perk up at the sound of your footsteps crunching over the forest floor. It was a subtle movement, but it was clear he was aware of your presence, even if he wasn’t immediately acknowledging it.

You stood there for a moment, watching him as he continued to read, his focus unwavering despite your return. The sight of him, so deeply engrossed in his book, made you wonder if he’d spent the entire time trying to escape into its pages, to block out the unresolved tension between you both.

“Okay, Spencer,” you began, your voice steady as you walked closer to where he sat. “Here it is. I’ll drive us back tonight. I’ll tell Hotch that I made us leave and I’ll take the two days of paid leave. It’s fine. You don’t have to talk to me, and I’ll take the blame.”

Spencer finally looked up from his book, his eyes widening slightly as he processed your words. There was surprise and confusion in his expression, as if he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying. For a moment, he just stared at you, the book forgotten in his hands.

“You… you’d do that?” he asked, his voice soft, almost uncertain. He had expected you to be angry, maybe even confrontational after the way things had gone earlier, but instead, here you were, offering to take the blame, to make it easier for him.

It was clear that Spencer couldn’t believe how nice you were being, especially after everything. He had spent so long keeping you at a distance, fearing that you might turn out to be like your sister, but your words and actions were proving just how wrong he might have been.

“Yeah,” you said with a small shrug, trying to downplay the gesture even though it meant a lot to you. “I mean, we’re obviously not getting anywhere with this. If leaving early is what’s best, then that’s what we’ll do. And I don’t mind taking the hit for it. I’m not going to force you to talk if you don’t want to.”

Spencer swallowed, still struggling to find the right words. He wasn’t used to this kind of kindness, especially not from someone he had kept at arm’s length for so long. It was disarming, to say the least.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he finally admitted, his voice tinged with genuine surprise. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a soft, understanding smile. “But I’m offering to because I know this whole situation isn’t easy for either of us. I don’t want you to feel pressured or uncomfortable.”

For a long moment, Spencer just looked at you, trying to reconcile the person standing in front of him with the fears and assumptions he had held onto for so long.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice sincere. “I… I really appreciate it. But maybe… maybe we don’t have to leave just yet. We could just�� see how things go.”

You nodded, sensing the tentative olive branch he was offering. “Okay,” you said gently, feeling a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something better between the two of you.

Spencer nodded, a small, almost hesitant smile forming on his lips. It was a start—a small one, but a start nonetheless.

“Could I maybe ask you a question?” you ventured, your voice tentative, hoping to bridge the gap between you both just a little more.

“Sure,” Spencer said, closing his book slightly but still keeping his thumb between the pages, as if not entirely ready to let go of his comfort zone.

“Did I… do something?” you asked, the question hanging in the air between you. You had to know, even if it was uncomfortable.

Spencer’s eyes softened as he shook his head. “No,” he replied, his tone gentle, yet firm. “You didn’t do anything.”

There was a brief pause, the silence between you more comfortable now than it had been earlier. You gave a small nod, accepting his answer even if it didn’t give you all the clarity you had hoped for. “Okay, I’ll leave you with your book,” you said, starting to step back, figuring he might want some space.

But to your surprise, Spencer didn’t pick up where he left off in his book. Instead, he looked up at you, his expression more open than it had been since you’d met. “You don’t have to… we can talk a bit,” he offered, and though his voice was cautious, there was a genuine willingness in it.

You smiled slightly, appreciating the gesture. “Alright,” you agreed, trying to think of something simple to start with. “Um, where did you grow up?”

“Las Vegas,” Spencer answered, the familiar name rolling off his tongue with a mix of nostalgia and a hint of something else—perhaps a memory he wasn’t sure he wanted to share yet.

“Seriously?” you asked, your eyes widening with surprise.

“Yeah… is that weird?” Spencer replied, his expression uncertain, as if he was bracing for your reaction.

“No, no, that’s where I grew up too,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief. The coincidence was almost too much to wrap your head around.

“Oh…” Spencer’s voice trailed off, and you could see the wheels turning in his mind. He seemed hesitant, like there was something more he wasn’t saying.

You narrowed your eyes playfully, sensing there was more to the story. “Okay, you know something. Did you see my file or something?”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting away for a moment before he answered. “Or something…”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, half-joking, but still curious. “Oh, come on, Spencer. What’s up? What school did you go to?”

“Las Vegas High,” he admitted, finally meeting your gaze again.

Your eyes lit up with recognition. “Me too! Wait… but you’re only two years younger than me. Would I have known you?”

Spencer’s expression shifted slightly, and you could see a mix of emotions flicker across his face—hesitation, discomfort, maybe even a touch of embarrassment. “No… uh, I was a freshman at 8 years old.”

“Woah! That’s insane!” you exclaimed, genuinely amazed. “That must have been so difficult for you.”

“It was,” Spencer admitted quietly, his voice carrying the weight of old memories.

You felt a pang of empathy for him, imagining how tough it must have been to navigate high school as a child. The challenges he faced were beyond anything you could have imagined at that age. “I’m sorry, Spencer. I wish we had been in school at the same time, we could have been friends,” you said, offering him a warm smile.

Spencer’s discomfort was palpable, and you could sense it immediately, like a shift in the air between you. He shifted in his seat, his gaze dropping back to the ground as if he was retreating into himself again. “What did we bring for dinner tonight?” he asked, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to steer the conversation away from where it had been heading.

The sudden change in topic stung, a pang of rejection hitting you square in the chest. You had thought, just for a moment, that you were making progress, that maybe you were getting through to him. But you knew Spencer well enough by now to realize that he wasn’t ready to go there, not yet. And pushing him wouldn’t help.

So, for his sake, you forced yourself to move on. “Uh, hotdogs, I think,” you said, trying to match his casual tone, even though the disappointment lingered in the back of your mind.

You busied yourself with preparing the food, focusing on the simple task of gathering the ingredients and setting them up by the fire. The familiar motions helped ground you, giving you something to concentrate on besides the unease that had crept back into your interactions.

Spencer remained quiet, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you worked. There was a tension in his posture, a subtle but unmistakable sign that he was still grappling with whatever had made him uncomfortable in the first place.

“Hotdogs it is, then,” you said, forcing a small smile as you handed him a stick to skewer the hotdogs. You hoped that by focusing on something as simple as cooking dinner, you could ease some of the tension between you, even if the conversation from earlier still hung heavy in the air.

Spencer took the stick from you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments. “Thanks,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before he looked away again.

As the two of you cooked over the fire, the crackling flames and the scent of roasting hotdogs filled the air, creating a more comfortable silence. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start, and for now, that was enough.

—

The conversation over dinner had been light and mostly focused on work—discussing cases, swapping stories about the more mundane aspects of life at the BAU. It was easy, familiar territory, a safe haven for both of you to retreat to after the earlier tension. But as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the campsite, a quiet settled between you.

After finishing your meal, you excused yourself to change into your pajamas, the cool night air making you eager to get comfortable. When you returned to the fire, Spencer was still sitting by the flames, the orange light flickering over his face as he stared into the fire, lost in thought.

You approached him, sitting back down across from him. The night was still, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the distant rustle of leaves. For a moment, you hesitated, not wanting to break the fragile peace, but curiosity got the better of you.

“Hey, Reid,” you called softly, trying to ease into the question that had been on your mind since the night before.

“Mhm,” he hummed in response, not looking up from the fire but clearly acknowledging you.

You bit your lip, then decided to just go for it. “Why did you sleep in the car?”

The question hung in the air between you, and you saw Spencer’s entire body stiffen. He froze, his eyes widening slightly, the tension in his shoulders returning in an instant. You could tell he didn’t want to answer, and for a second, you regretted asking. But you had to know.

“Just safer, I guess,” he finally mumbled, his voice tight and unconvincing. His eyes remained fixed on the fire, avoiding your gaze entirely.

You could sense there was more to it, something he wasn’t telling you, but you decided not to push. Spencer was clearly uncomfortable, and whatever the real reason was, he wasn’t ready to share it. So you nodded, accepting his explanation even if it didn’t feel entirely truthful.

“Okay,” you said softly, letting the matter drop. You didn’t want to make him feel any more uneasy than he already did.

—

Halfway through the night, you jolted awake, your heart pounding in your chest. There was an eerie, unsettling sound coming from outside your tent—a low, persistent noise that sent chills down your spine. You tried to ignore it, to convince yourself it was just the wind or some animal moving through the underbrush, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t calm down. The noise wasn’t stopping, and the longer it went on, the more your imagination ran wild.

Unable to shake the growing fear, you carefully and quietly unzipped your sleeping bag and slipped out of the tent. The cold night air hit you immediately, but the fear kept you moving. You crept toward the car, every step making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. When you reached the car, you knocked lightly on the window, hoping not to startle Spencer too much.

“Spencer!” you whisper-yelled, trying to keep your voice low but urgent. You could see him stir where he had flattened the back seats into a makeshift bed, his body shifting as he came to.

“Reid!” you whispered again, a little more urgently this time.

His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at you with wide, confused eyes. He sat up quickly, clearly surprised to see you standing there in the middle of the night. He leaned forward and unlocked the door, cracking it open just enough to speak to you. “What??” he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep and a touch of irritation.

“Can I come in, please?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly with fear.

Spencer blinked, clearly not expecting that. “No??” he replied, still half-asleep and unsure of what you were asking.

“Spencer, there’s a really scary noise out here,” you pleaded, your fear becoming more evident as you looked at him with wide, desperate eyes. “Please, please let me in.”

Spencer hesitated, his mind racing. He was still wary, worried that this might be some sort of prank or something worse. But as he looked at you, really looked at you, he saw the genuine fear in your expression. You weren’t trying to mess with him—you were genuinely scared. He’d never seen you like this before.

“Okay, fine,” he finally relented, scooting over to make room for you in the cramped space.

You didn’t waste any time, quickly crawling into the car and pulling the door closed behind you. As soon as you were inside, Spencer locked the doors again, the click of the locks echoing in the silence.

The two of you sat there for a moment, the car suddenly feeling much smaller with both of you inside. The strange noise outside continued, but now that you were with Spencer, the fear didn’t seem as overwhelming. You still couldn’t pinpoint what the noise was, but you felt safer with him there, even if he was still a bit unsure about the whole situation.

Spencer looked at you, his expression softening slightly. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the irritation gone.

You nodded, still trying to calm your racing heart. “Yeah… I just couldn’t stay in the tent with that noise. It was freaking me out.”

He nodded in understanding, though his eyes flicked toward the windows, clearly trying to listen for the noise himself. “It’s probably just an animal,” he said, trying to reassure both you and himself.

“Maybe,” you whispered, though you weren’t entirely convinced. But for now, you were just grateful to be out of the tent and with someone who made you feel a little less alone.

—

Eventually, despite the lingering fear and the cramped quarters, exhaustion took over, and you both drifted off to sleep in the back of the car. The strange noise outside had faded into the background, and the warmth of the enclosed space made it easier to relax.

Sometime in the middle of the night, however, Spencer stirred from his sleep, his body shifting slightly as he became aware of something unexpected. Blinking his eyes open, he realized with a start that your limbs were wrapped around him, your body pressed close as you clung to him in your sleep. Your arm was draped over his chest, your leg tangled with his, and your head was nestled against his shoulder. It was as if you had sought out the warmth and security he provided, even unconsciously.

Spencer froze, his mind racing as he tried to process the situation. He wasn’t used to this—intimacy, even in such an innocent form, was foreign territory for him. His heart started to race, not out of fear but out of sheer confusion. What was he supposed to do? Should he wake you? Should he try to untangle himself without disturbing you?

But as he lay there, feeling the rise and fall of your breathing against him, he couldn’t bring himself to move. There was something oddly comforting about the way you had sought him out, something that made him feel… needed. It was a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to, and it left him at a loss for what to do next.

He glanced down at you, seeing the peaceful expression on your face as you slept. The fear and tension from earlier had melted away, replaced by a calmness that was almost contagious. Spencer’s mind continued to whirl, but he didn’t want to disturb you—not when you seemed so at ease.

So, he stayed still, letting you cling to him, trying to reconcile the strange mix of emotions coursing through him. The awkwardness was still there, but it was tempered by a quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, things between you two were starting to change. And for the first time in a long while, that didn’t seem so terrifying after all.

—

When the morning sun filtered through the trees, casting warm golden rays across the campsite, Spencer was already outside, crouched by the fire as he prepared coffee. The familiar scent of brewing coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the fresh scent of the forest, creating a peaceful start to the day. You emerged from the car, feeling a little stiff from the cramped sleep, but more than that, you were feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

You approached Spencer, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Hey… thanks again for letting me bunk with you,” you said, your voice laced with genuine gratitude.

“No problem,” Spencer replied, his tone flat, distant, as he focused on the coffee. He didn’t look up, his gaze firmly fixed on the task at hand.

The coldness in his voice felt like a sharp contrast to the fleeting moment of connection you thought you’d shared the night before. You sighed, the disappointment settling heavily in your chest. Somehow, it seemed like you’d messed up again, and you couldn’t help but feel the sting of rejection all over again.

“Did that… make you uncomfortable? I’m sorry,” you ventured, hoping to clear the air, even if it meant confronting whatever it was that had made him withdraw.

“It’s fine,” Spencer replied, his voice clipped, as if he was trying to end the conversation before it could really start. He still didn’t meet your eyes, his attention entirely on the coffee pot.

You watched him for a moment, feeling the familiar ache of misunderstanding between you two. It was clear that whatever had happened during the night had unsettled him, but he wasn’t willing to talk about it. The walls were back up, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t seem to break through.

But instead of pressing further, you decided to let it go, at least for now. Pushing Spencer never worked, and you knew that trying to force a conversation would only make things worse. So you offered him a small, resigned smile, even if he wasn’t looking to see it.

“Okay,” you said softly, accepting his response even though it left you feeling hollow.

You sat down by the fire, quietly waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. The silence between you felt heavy, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had taken a step backward after all the progress you thought you’d made.

“Um, we can head out whenever you’re ready. We only had to stay until today,” you mumbled, your voice subdued as you stood up and started to take down your tent. You avoided looking directly at Spencer, the awkwardness of the morning still hanging in the air.

“Oh, okay,” Spencer replied, his tone neutral, though you could sense a hint of hesitation in his response.

As you began to disassemble the tent, Spencer watched you for a moment, the silence between you lingering. Despite everything, he found himself reluctant to leave. The tension and awkwardness aside, there had been moments—small, fleeting moments—where he had actually enjoyed your company. The quiet of the campsite, the simplicity of the night, even the unexpected comfort he’d found in your presence last night… it was all something he hadn’t anticipated.

He felt a strange pull, a desire to stay just a little longer, even if he couldn’t quite articulate why. But he was Spencer Reid, and expressing those kinds of feelings wasn’t something that came easily to him. Instead, he stood there, conflicted, as he watched you go about packing up.

“Actually… we don’t have to rush,” Spencer finally said, his voice softer now. “If you want, we could stay for a little while longer. There’s no hurry.”

You paused in your task, surprised by his words. You turned to look at him, searching his face for any sign of what had changed his mind. “Are you sure?” you asked cautiously, not wanting to impose if he really wanted to leave.

Spencer nodded, his expression more open than it had been all morning. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s… nice out here. Peaceful.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and for the first time that morning, you felt a bit of the tension ease. Maybe you hadn’t messed up as badly as you thought. “Okay,” you agreed, setting the tent pole back down. “We can stay a little longer.”

Spencer gave a small, almost imperceptible smile in return, and as the two of you stood there in the morning light, it felt like there was a chance to start over—to take the time neither of you had been willing to take before.

—

After a simple breakfast, you looked over at Spencer, feeling a bit more at ease with the morning stretching out before you. “When I went for a walk, I saw a body of water,” you suggested, trying to keep the conversation light and inviting. “Do you want to go check it out?”

Spencer looked up from his coffee, a little surprised by the suggestion. “Oh, sure,” he agreed, his tone more relaxed than it had been earlier.

The two of you set off through the trees, following the path you had taken before. It didn’t take long to find the body of water again, the sunlight reflecting off its surface in shimmering patterns. The sight was even more beautiful now, with the morning light casting a gentle glow over the water.

“It’s gorgeous,” Spencer said softly, his voice filled with genuine appreciation as he took in the scene.

“Yeah,” you agreed, your eyes sweeping over the peaceful setting. The water was so clear, so inviting, that you couldn’t resist the urge to get in. “I’m going to get in,” you announced, already starting to kick off your shoes.

“What?” Spencer’s voice cracked, his surprise evident as he watched you strip down to your undergarments without hesitation. His cheeks flushed a light shade of pink as you waded into the cold, refreshing water, a small shiver running through you as the temperature hit your skin.

The water was invigorating, waking you up in a way that the morning coffee never could. You splashed around a bit, reveling in the feeling of the water against your skin. Turning back to Spencer, who was still standing at the edge, looking unsure of what to do, you grinned. “Do you know how to swim, genius?”

“Yes,” he replied, blushing even deeper as he averted his eyes slightly, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of decorum despite the situation.

“Do you want to join me?” you asked, your voice light and teasing as you floated on your back, letting the water carry you.

Spencer hesitated, clearly torn between his natural inclination to stay dry and the surprising appeal of joining you in the water. After a moment, he looked back at you, the uncertainty in his eyes slowly giving way to something else—curiosity, maybe even a touch of daring.

“Alright,” he finally said, as if making a decision that surprised even himself. With a deep breath, he began to unbutton his shirt, methodically removing his clothes until he was down to a tshirt and briefs. His movements were careful, deliberate, as if he was still a bit unsure about this whole idea.

When he finally stepped into the water, a shiver ran through him as the cold enveloped his body. “It’s… colder than I expected,” he admitted, his voice a bit higher-pitched than usual.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, watching as he waded in deeper, adjusting to the temperature. “You’ll get used to it,” you assured him, still floating easily on the surface.

Spencer nodded, his movements tentative at first, but as he swam out to where you were, he began to relax. There was a certain lightness to the moment, a freedom that neither of you had felt in a long time. The water, the sun, the simple act of swimming—it was a welcome escape from the tension that had defined your interactions until now.

The two of you spent what felt like hours playing and splashing in the water, the cool waves washing away the tension that had been hanging between you. It was a rare, carefree moment where you both felt free and childlike, laughing without a care in the world. There were no pressures, no responsibilities—just the simple joy of being in the moment.

But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, signaling that it was time to come out, you noticed a shift in Spencer. He seemed hesitant, his earlier playfulness replaced with a familiar tension. He lingered in the water, avoiding your gaze, and you could sense his discomfort.

“Um, Y/N… can you turn around when I get out?” Spencer asked, his voice quiet, almost nervous.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, of course,” you replied, caught a little off guard by his request but willing to do whatever made him comfortable.

“And, um… maybe walk a bit away?” he added, his tone even more tentative.

“Uh huh, sure. Whatever you want,” you said gently, giving him a reassuring smile before turning away and moving up the bank. You grabbed your clothes and began walking a bit further from the water, giving him the privacy he clearly needed.

Spencer waited until you were a safe distance away and preoccupied with getting dressed before he quickly and quietly scrambled out of the water, pulling on his clothes as fast as he could. The vulnerability of being in nothing but water-tight briefs had brought back all his fears, the insecurities that had haunted him for years.

As you both started the walk back to the campsite, you couldn’t help but address the tension that still lingered. “Did you think I would make fun of you?” you asked, your voice soft, but tinged with concern.

Spencer shook his head slightly, though he didn’t look at you. “Oh, no, I don’t know,” he mumbled, clearly uncomfortable.

Your heart ached at his response. “I wouldn’t, for the record,” you said earnestly, hoping to reassure him.

There was a brief silence, heavy with unspoken emotions, before you felt compelled to share something of your own. “I grew up with a really mean sister,” you began, your voice carrying the weight of old wounds. “She would make fun of everyone for anything and everything, including me. It was a torturous way to grow up. I would never want to make anyone feel the way that she made me feel.”

Spencer suddenly stopped walking, his entire body tensing as if he’d hit an invisible wall. You turned to him, alarmed by the sudden change.

“Spencer? Are you okay?” you asked, worry lacing your voice.

He took a deep breath, his voice strained as he spoke. “It’s not you, it’s never been you,” he said, his words confusing you even more. “It was your sister.”

“What?” you whispered, the revelation hitting you like a cold gust of wind.

“Your sister was in my grade in high school,” Spencer explained, his voice trembling with the emotions he’d kept buried for so long.

“Oh…” was all you could manage, the pieces slowly clicking into place.

“She wasn’t nice,” Spencer continued, his voice thick with the memories. His eyes welled up with tears, and he blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back. “She bullied me pretty relentlessly. Tied me up naked to a flagpole and took pictures.”

“Spencer… oh my God,” you breathed, horror and guilt crashing over you. You thought your heart had broken earlier, but now it felt shattered, the pieces scattered by the weight of his confession. “I don’t even know what to say. I am so, so sorry. No one ever deserves that. I can’t believe you went through that.”

Spencer nodded, the tears finally spilling over as he stood there, vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. The pain he had carried for so long, the fear that had driven a wedge between you, was now out in the open.

“Can I—can I hug you?” you offered, your voice gentle, filled with the empathy and care that had been building in your heart since Spencer’s revelation.

Spencer hesitated for only a moment before nodding, allowing you to pull him into an embrace. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, feeling the tension in his body gradually melt away as he leaned into the comfort you were offering.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmured softly against his shoulder. “I’m going to assume that you were afraid of me being like my sister, and that’s why you didn’t talk to me.”

Spencer nodded again, his silent confirmation making your heart ache even more for him. You could only imagine the fear and pain he must have felt, avoiding you because of a past that had nothing to do with who you truly were.

“I just want you to know, Spencer,” you continued, your voice steady but filled with emotion, “I would never do anything to hurt you in any way. I am nothing like her. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be the opposite of her. My family disowned her a long time ago.”

Spencer pulled back slightly then, just enough to look at you, his eyes still wet with tears. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before, a deep, raw emotion that spoke volumes. “I believe you,” he whispered, his voice breaking but filled with sincerity.

Your own eyes stung with unshed tears, the weight of his belief in you meaning more than you could express. “I’m so sorry to have made you feel uncomfortable this whole time,” you said, your voice thick with regret. “I completely understand why you didn’t want to get too close to me.”

Spencer shook his head slightly, about to apologize, but you stopped him before he could. “No, never apologize for protecting yourself,” you insisted, your tone firm but kind. “We’ve solved it now, and that’s what matters. I hope we can be friends?”

There was a moment of silence as Spencer processed your words, and then, slowly, a small but genuine smile formed on his lips. “Of course,” he said softly, his voice filled with a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

You smiled back, feeling a sense of relief and hope wash over you. The wall between you and Spencer had finally come down, and in its place was the beginning of a real connection—one built on understanding, empathy, and the promise of a friendship that could grow from here.

“Thank you,” Spencer added quietly, his voice full of gratitude. And for the first time, you both felt like you were truly starting fresh, free from the shadows of the past.

—

You and Spencer made it back to Quantico with a sense of quiet relief, knowing that the rift between you had finally been addressed. When you reported back to the team, you both kept the details vague, simply letting them know that you had worked things out. Spencer was immensely grateful for your discretion, and you could see it in the small, appreciative smiles he sent your way. During the ride back, the two of you had chatted the entire time, the conversation flowing easily as if the weight of the past had finally been lifted.

The next day at work, you felt a new sense of ease around Spencer. The tension was gone, replaced by the beginnings of what felt like a genuine friendship. As you approached his desk, you felt a little flutter of nerves, but it was a good kind—like you were about to take a step forward into something new.

“Hey, Spencer…” you called softly as you reached his desk.

He looked up from his work, a smile spreading across his face when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted warmly.

“Would you maybe want to come over this weekend? We could watch a movie or something?” you asked, hoping to continue building on the connection you’d started.

“Sure,” he grinned, clearly pleased by the invitation. “That sounds great.”

You returned his smile, feeling a little spark of excitement as you walked away. It felt good to know that things between you and Spencer were on a new path, one that was built on mutual understanding and trust.

Unbeknownst to you, Derek Morgan had been casually eavesdropping from a distance. As soon as you were out of earshot, he sneaked up on Spencer, a mischievous grin on his face. “You got yourself a date, Reid?” Derek teased, leaning on the desk with a playful glint in his eye.

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly, his cheeks flushing slightly. “What? No, we’re just hanging out,” he insisted, his voice flustered but firm.

“Mhm,” Derek hummed, not buying it for a second, his teasing grin only widening. “Sure, man, just hanging out.”

Spencer shot him a look, trying to maintain his composure, but the slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips gave him away. Despite Derek’s teasing, there was a sense of warmth and excitement bubbling up inside Spencer—because for the first time, “just hanging out” with someone felt like it could lead to something more, even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit it yet.

Derek chuckled and gave Spencer a friendly pat on the shoulder before walking away, leaving Spencer to ponder the possibilities that lay ahead, a small smile still lingering on his face.

—

Friday evening arrived faster than you and Spencer had expected. Both of you were feeling excitement and nervousness, eager for the evening ahead but also unsure of how it would unfold. You had spent the day tidying up and preparing your living room, making sure everything was just right for your night of movie watching and hanging out. You wanted Spencer to feel comfortable, and you hoped the cozy atmosphere you’d created would help set the tone for a relaxing evening.

When Spencer arrived at your place, he was immediately taken aback by the scene before him. Your living room was bathed in the soft glow of string lights, their warm hue giving the room a welcoming, almost magical quality. The sunset outside the window painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, adding to the serene ambiance. The couch was piled with soft blankets, and a few pillows were scattered around, inviting him to sit and get comfortable. On the coffee table, you had set out some snacks, drinks, and everything you might need for a night of watching movies.

As he stepped inside, Spencer couldn’t help but smile, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He had been half-expecting some sort of trick or prank, but instead, you had gone out of your way to make the evening as enjoyable as possible. It was clear that you genuinely wanted to spend time with him, and the effort you’d put into setting everything up didn’t go unnoticed.

“Wow,” Spencer said softly, his eyes taking in the cozy, well-thought-out setup. “This looks amazing.”

You smiled, pleased that he seemed to like it. “Thanks, I wanted to make sure we could just relax and have a good time,” you replied, motioning for him to come in and make himself comfortable. “No tricks, I promise.”

Spencer chuckled, the tension he’d been feeling all day melting away as he settled onto the couch. “I believe you,” he said, feeling more at ease than he had expected.

As you both sat down, the air was filled with a comfortable anticipation, the kind that comes with knowing you’re about to spend time with someone you genuinely enjoy being around. It was the start of what promised to be a wonderful evening, free from the worries of the past and full of the potential for a growing friendship.

After the first movie ended, the credits rolling across the screen, you and Spencer found yourselves lingering on the couch, the atmosphere between you light and airy, buoyed by the humor of the comedy you’d just watched. The laughter had done its job, breaking down any lingering tension, and now conversation flowed easily between you.

“So, what did you think of the movie?” you asked, turning to Spencer with a smile. You’d both been chuckling throughout, but you were curious to hear his thoughts now that it was over.

“It was great,” Spencer replied, a genuine grin on his face. “I don’t usually watch a lot of comedies, but that one was really funny. The timing, the dialogue… it was all really well done.” He seemed more relaxed than you’d ever seen him, his guard down as he leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” you said, pleased that he had enjoyed it. “Sometimes you just need something light to unwind, you know?”

Spencer nodded in agreement. “Definitely. It’s nice to just… laugh, without thinking too much.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I guess I don’t do that enough.”

You smiled softly at his admission, feeling a warmth in your chest at the idea that tonight was giving him something he didn’t often allow himself. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. We can do this more often if you want. Just hang out and relax.”

Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes softening. “I’d like that,” he said sincerely. “It’s nice to have someone to do this with.”

There was a comfortable silence between you for a moment, the kind that felt natural and unforced. You reached for the remote, ready to start another movie, but found yourself pausing, wanting to keep the conversation going a little longer.

“So, what’s one movie you think I should watch?” you asked, curious to hear his recommendation. “Something you really love.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up with excitement, the prospect of sharing one of his favorite films with you clearly appealing to him. “Oh, there are so many,” he said, his enthusiasm contagious. “But if I had to pick one… Have you ever seen *The Great Dictator* by Charlie Chaplin?”

You shook your head, intrigued by his choice. “No, I haven’t. Is it good?”

“It’s incredible,” Spencer said, his voice full of admiration. “It’s one of Chaplin’s best works—a satire that’s both funny and deeply poignant. It’s also one of the first films where he speaks, and the final speech… it’s just powerful.”

“Wow, sounds like a must-watch,” you said, genuinely interested. “We should definitely put that on our list for next time.”

“Absolutely,” Spencer agreed, smiling. “I think you’d really appreciate it.”

As the night wound down, the conversation between you and Spencer became more intimate, the two of you curled up on the couch, facing each other. The atmosphere was warm and comfortable, the barriers that had once stood between you now gone. The flickering glow of the TV cast soft shadows around the room, but your focus was entirely on each other, the outside world forgotten for the moment.

“So, Reid… are you seeing anyone?” you asked, your tone light but curious.

Spencer chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Hah, no, I’m not,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Are you?”

“I was,” you admitted, feeling a small flush rise to your cheeks. “But they were kind of flaky, not ready to commit.”

“That makes sense,” Spencer said, nodding thoughtfully. “Do you date a lot?”

You blushed a little deeper, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “Not a lot,” you confessed. “I prefer to wait for a genuine connection.”

“Me too,” Spencer agreed, his voice soft, as if he were relieved to find that you shared the same sentiment.

“Have you dated recently?” you asked, your curiosity piqued. Spencer had always seemed so private, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone special in his life.

“Not really,” he said, a small, almost sad smile crossing his face. “I… am kind of wary of dating.”

“Can I ask why? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you said gently, not wanting to push him but also wanting to understand more about him.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing whether or not to share. “Um… well, in school, girls would ask me on dates, and when I showed up, they’d make fun of me and take pictures,” he finally admitted, his voice quiet, the pain from those memories still lingering.

“Like my sister?” you asked softly, already suspecting the answer.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his eyes flickering with the old hurt. “That’s how she… yeah.”

“Oh, Spencer…” you breathed, your heart breaking for him all over again. You reached out instinctively, wanting to offer comfort, but you held back, respecting his space.

“Let’s not talk about it,” he said, his voice firmer this time, as if he needed to move past the subject for his own peace of mind.

“Of course,” you agreed immediately, not wanting to cause him any more pain.

There was a brief silence, one that felt heavy with unspoken words, but before you could change the topic, Spencer spoke again, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “You’re prettier than her, you know.”

“What’s that?” you asked, not sure you had heard him correctly.

“Your sister,” Spencer clarified, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat. “You’re prettier. And nicer, but that’s a given.”

You felt your cheeks flush deeply, not just from his words, but from the way he said them—with such earnestness, as if he’d been holding onto that thought for a while. The compliment caught you off guard, and you weren’t quite sure how to respond.

“Thank you,” you finally managed, your voice soft, touched by his words more than you could express. “That really means a lot. She… did not think so.”

Spencer’s expression softened even further, a mix of empathy and determination in his eyes. “I hope you know that you are,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you replied, a warm smile spreading across your face. “You’re really pretty too.”

Spencer blinked in surprise, his cheeks tinging pink at the unexpected compliment. “Really?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief and curiosity.

“Mhm,” you nodded, your smile widening. “I’ve always thought so.”

The sincerity in your voice seemed to catch Spencer off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t often that he received compliments like this—especially not from someone he was beginning to care about as much as he cared about you. He felt a warmth spread through him, a sense of validation that he hadn’t realized he needed.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice almost a whisper, but the smile that touched his lips was genuine and full of a newfound confidence. There was something deeply reassuring about your words, something that made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t felt before.

As the evening continued, the bond between you only deepened, both of you more relaxed and open with each other than you had been before. The compliments exchanged were just the beginning—a sign that what was growing between you was more than just a simple friendship. It was a connection built on mutual respect, admiration, and a shared understanding of each other’s pasts and insecurities.

—

“How was your date, pretty boy?” Derek teased, his voice carrying across the bullpen as he leaned against Spencer's desk with a wide grin.

“It wasn’t a date,” Spencer mumbled, his eyes firmly fixed on the stack of papers in front of him. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, and he desperately wished Derek would drop the subject.

“Reid had a date?” Rossi’s voice chimed in as he walked by, a look of amused surprise on his face.

“Yep! Friday night,” Derek laughed, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort.

“Would you guys keep it down? I did not have a date,” Spencer hissed, his voice low and urgent as he glanced nervously toward the entrance. The last thing he wanted was for you to walk in and overhear them. The thought of you getting the wrong idea—or worse, feeling awkward about the night—made his stomach twist.

“Aw, come on, Reid,” Derek continued, not ready to let it go just yet. “You’re telling me you spent a whole evening at Y/N’s place, all cozy on the couch, and that wasn’t a date?”

Spencer sighed, his frustration mounting as he tried to formulate a response that would shut down the teasing. “We were just hanging out,” he insisted, though he couldn’t deny the warmth that crept into his voice at the memory of the evening. “We’re friends. That’s all.”

Derek exchanged a knowing look with Rossi, both of them clearly unconvinced but willing to let it slide—for now, at least. “Alright, alright,” Derek said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “If you say so, pretty boy.”

Rossi chuckled, giving Spencer a reassuring pat on the back. “Whatever it was, it’s good to see you two getting along,” he said, his tone more serious now.

Spencer nodded, grateful for the subtle shift in the conversation. “Thanks, Rossi,” he replied quietly, hoping the conversation was finally over.

Just as the tension began to ease, you walked through the door, a bright smile on your face as you entered the bullpen. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly looked down at his work, praying that the others wouldn’t say anything more.

“Morning, everyone,” you greeted cheerfully, oblivious to the earlier exchange.

“Morning, Y/N,” Derek and Rossi replied in unison, their voices notably more innocent than they had been moments before.

Spencer dared a quick glance up at you, relieved to see that you hadn’t picked up on the previous teasing. “Morning,” he mumbled, trying to focus on the files in front of him.

You gave him a warm smile, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment, and he felt a sense of relief wash over him. Whatever Derek and Rossi thought, you knew the truth—and that was all that mattered.

—

“Hey, Y/N,” Alex greeted you with a warm smile as she approached your desk.

“Hey, Alex,” you replied, returning the smile. “How was your weekend?”

“It was relaxing, thanks for asking,” Alex said, her tone light and casual. “How about you? What’s up?”

Before you could answer, Alex’s eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief as she continued, “I heard you had a date this weekend.”

You blinked in surprise, momentarily thrown off by the comment. “Uh, nope. Just hung out with Reid and went to the farmers market,” you clarified, wondering where she had gotten the idea that it was anything more.

Alex raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the teasing. “It wasn’t a date with Reid?”

“No? Did he say it was?” you asked, genuinely curious now. Had Spencer mentioned something to someone that made them think it was a date?

Realizing she might have stirred something up unintentionally, Alex quickly backtracked. “I think I might have misspoke, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any confusion,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I’ll see you later, honey.”

“Bye, Alex,” you replied, still a bit puzzled by the exchange. As she walked away, you couldn’t help but replay the conversation in your head, wondering how such a simple evening of hanging out with Spencer had turned into a rumor about a date.

Shaking your head, you decided not to dwell on it too much. You knew the truth of the situation, and that was enough. Still, the idea of others seeing you and Spencer as something more than friends lingered in your mind, leaving you with curiosity and uncertainty as you returned to your work.

—

“Reid! You had a date with Y/N and didn’t think to tell me?? I thought we were close!” Penelope’s voice whined from across the breakroom, her tone a mix of hurt and playful exaggeration.

Spencer nearly choked on his coffee, his eyes widening in surprise as he turned to face her. “I did not have a date with Y/N!” he insisted, exasperation clear in his voice. “Did Derek tell you that? I swear, the gossip in this office travels at the speed of light.”

Penelope shook her head, her brightly colored glasses slipping slightly down her nose. “Oh, no, I heard it from JJ.”

“JJ?” Spencer repeated, even more bewildered. “I never told JJ anything about a date because there wasn’t a date!”

Penelope tilted her head, a curious look on her face. “Maybe Y/N did…”

Spencer sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as he processed the situation. “No, Y/N wouldn’t have said it was a date because it wasn’t,” he reiterated, feeling like the whole thing was spiraling out of control.

Penelope’s expression softened as she realized how flustered Spencer was. “Okay, okay, calm down, boy genius,” she said gently, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s just a bit of harmless teasing. But, honestly, with how everyone’s talking, it does kind of sound like a date, you know?”

Spencer groaned inwardly, knowing that trying to convince everyone otherwise was starting to feel like a losing battle. “It was just a casual hangout,” he emphasized, though even he could hear how unconvincing it sounded at this point.

Penelope studied him for a moment, her gaze more thoughtful now. “Okay, I believe you,” she finally said with a small smile. “But just so you know, if it ever turns into more than just a hangout… you can always come to me for advice.”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he offered her a shy smile in return. “Thanks, Penelope. I’ll keep that in mind.”

With that, Penelope gave him a quick hug before heading out of the breakroom, leaving Spencer standing there, still a little dazed by how quickly the rumor mill had turned a simple evening into a full-blown office saga. But as he finished his coffee, he couldn’t help but wonder—if so many people were seeing it as more than just a hangout, was there something there he hadn’t fully acknowledged yet?

—

You were focused on making copies in the copier room when you heard the door creak open behind you. Turning around, you were pleasantly surprised to see Spencer standing there.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a warm smile, happy to see him.

“Hi…” he replied, but his tone was hesitant, his usual shyness creeping back in.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Oh no, I thought we were past the cold shoulder,” you teased lightly, hoping to ease whatever tension he might be feeling.

Spencer’s expression softened, and he quickly shook his head. “Sorry, we are,” he assured you, a hint of a smile forming on his lips.

Before you could say anything else, the door swung open again, and JJ walked in, a playful grin on her face. “Hey, love birds,” she teased, clearly unaware of the moment she was interrupting.

Startled, you jumped, your hand slipping and slamming down on the copier lid. “Ow!” you yelped, pain shooting through your fingers as you quickly pulled your hand back.

JJ’s face immediately filled with concern as she rushed over. “Oh shoot, Y/N, I didn’t mean to scare you!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with guilt.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, his worry evident in his eyes. “Y/N! Are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern as he reached for your injured hand.

You winced, flexing your fingers slightly to test them. “No, I crushed my hand really hard,” you admitted, the throbbing pain making it difficult to think about anything else.

“Let’s go get you some ice,” Spencer said quickly, his hand gently guiding you toward the door.

JJ nodded, clearly feeling bad about what had happened. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity as she followed you both out of the room.

“It’s okay,” you reassured her, though the pain in your hand made it hard to keep the smile on your face. “It was just an accident.”

Spencer didn’t waste any time as he led you down the hall, his worry for you clear in his every movement. Once you reached the breakroom, he quickly grabbed a small bag of ice from the freezer, wrapping it in a towel before gently pressing it against your injured hand.

“Here,” he said softly, his voice full of concern as he held the ice in place. “This should help.”

You nodded gratefully, touched by how attentive he was being. “Thanks, Spencer,” you murmured, the pain starting to dull under the cool pressure of the ice.

In that moment, as Spencer held the ice gently against your hand, you looked up at him and couldn’t help but smile. The concern in his eyes, the tenderness in his touch—it was all so sweet, so genuine. For a second, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of shared warmth. Anyone looking at you both in that moment would have seen it—the soft, unspoken affection that had been quietly growing between you.

Just then, the door to the breakroom swung open, and Aaron Hotchner walked in, his gaze immediately landing on the two of you. He stopped short, raising an eyebrow as he took in the scene. “Whoa, am I interrupting something?” he asked, a hint of teasing in his usually serious tone.

You and Spencer both snapped out of your little world, glancing at each other with wide eyes before quickly looking away, your faces flushing with embarrassment.

“No, uh, Y/N just hurt her hand,” Spencer stammered, his voice a little higher than usual as he struggled to explain. “I was just helping her with some ice.”

Aaron’s lips quirked into a small smile, clearly not entirely convinced by the rushed explanation. “I see,” he said, his tone even but with that subtle hint of amusement. “Well, it’s good to see you’re taking care of each other.”

You nodded, still blushing, but managed to muster a smile. “Thanks, Hotch. It’s nothing serious, just a little bump.”

“Glad to hear it,” Aaron replied, giving you both a knowing look before heading to the coffee machine. He didn’t say anything more, but the slight smirk on his face as he poured his coffee said plenty.

As he left the room, the silence between you and Spencer felt charged, the air thick with the unspoken feelings that neither of you were quite ready to fully acknowledge. But despite the awkwardness, there was also a warmth—an understanding that something was shifting between you, something neither of you could deny.

Finally, Spencer broke the silence, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “You should keep the ice on for a while,” he said, still holding the towel-wrapped bag against your hand.

“Yeah,” you agreed, your voice just as quiet, but your heart was still racing from the earlier moment. “Thanks, Spencer. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before flicking away again. “Anytime,” he murmured, and despite the awkwardness, there was a small, genuine smile on his lips that made your heart flutter just a little more.

—

By the end of the week, the teasing from the team had mostly died down. The playful comments and knowing looks had given way to the usual routines of work, and everyone seemed to move on from the idea that you and Spencer were more than just friends. But despite the outward calm, Spencer couldn’t shake the thoughts that lingered in his mind.

All week, he found himself replaying the moments you had shared—the movie night, the quiet conversations, the way you had looked at him when he held the ice against your hand. It wasn’t just the teasing that had gotten under his skin; it was the way it made him question things he hadn’t fully considered before.

Spencer wasn’t someone who easily delved into matters of the heart. His mind was so often occupied with facts, statistics, and the complexities of human behavior that his own emotions sometimes felt like an unsolvable puzzle. But now, those emotions were harder to ignore. He kept thinking about the way your smile made his heart beat a little faster, or how he found comfort in your presence in a way that was different from anyone else.

He was still trying to wrap his head around what it all meant. Was it just friendship, or was there something more? And if there was more, what did that mean for both of you? Spencer wasn’t sure he had the answers, but he knew he couldn’t just brush it off as easily as he once might have.

As the week came to a close, he found himself wanting to talk to you more, to spend time with you, to explore whatever this was between you both. The thought of asking you out—actually asking you out—crossed his mind more than once, but every time he considered it, a wave of nerves would hit him, and he’d retreat back into his thoughts.

By Friday afternoon, he was still thinking about it as he sat at his desk, his work in front of him but his mind far from focused on the task at hand. The uncertainty gnawed at him, but there was also a flicker of excitement there, a small hope that maybe, just maybe, this could turn into something real.

—

As the workday came to an end, people began to gather around the elevators, eager to start their weekends. Spencer had been keeping an eye out for you, hoping to catch you before you left. He wanted to ask if you’d like to hang out again this weekend, the thought of spending more time with you making him feel both nervous and excited.

But just as he was about to approach you, another agent, Brant Ledgers, beat him to it. Spencer slowed his pace, watching the exchange from a distance, his heart sinking as Brant tried to turn on the charm.

“Hey, Agent,” Brant said, his voice smooth, leaning in a little too close for comfort.

“Um, hello,” you replied, taken aback by his sudden approach.

“You look beautiful today, and I couldn’t help but notice you smell divine. Did you intentionally pick my favorite scent?” Brant continued, his tone dripping with arrogance.

“What?” you asked, clearly uncomfortable with the way he was speaking to you.

Before the situation could escalate, the elevator arrived, and Spencer, feeling a pang of anxiety at the possibility of hearing you agree to another man’s advances, quickly stepped inside, not wanting to witness it.

But just as the doors were closing, he overheard Brant’s next move. “What do you say, baby? You and me, this weekend?” Brant asked, his tone filled with unwelcome confidence.

“Oh, um, no thank you. I appreciate the offer,” you replied, trying to be polite despite your discomfort.

“Why not?” Brant pressed, his voice taking on a sharper edge.

“I don’t have to give you a reason,” you said firmly, attempting to walk away.

But as you turned to leave, Brant grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “Uh, yeah, you do,” he said, his grip tight and his tone menacing.

Just then, Derek Morgan, who had been nearby, stepped out of the bullpen and saw what was happening. “Whoa, what’s going on?” Derek’s voice boomed, his protective instincts kicking in immediately.

“We’re having a conversation, butt out,” Brant snapped, clearly irritated by Derek’s interference.

“Y/N, you good?” Derek asked, ignoring Brant entirely as he focused on you.

You shook your head, the fear and discomfort evident in your eyes.

“Let her go, Ledgers,” Derek commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Brant hesitated for a moment, clearly not wanting to back down, but the look in Derek’s eyes told him this wasn’t a fight he was going to win. With a huff, Brant released your arm, glaring at Derek as he stepped back.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Brant muttered under his breath as he turned and walked away, but Derek paid him no mind.

As soon as Brant was gone, Derek turned to you, concern etched on his face. “You okay?” he asked gently.

You nodded, though your hand instinctively rubbed the spot on your arm where Brant had grabbed you. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks, Derek.”

“Anytime,” Derek said, his tone softening as he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You need anything, you let me know, alright?”

“Will do,” you replied, giving him a grateful smile.

Derek walked with you toward the elevator, determined to make sure you got to your car safely. The incident with Ledgers had shaken you more than you wanted to admit, but having Derek by your side brought a sense of security.

When you reached the garage, you spotted Spencer standing near Derek’s car, clearly waiting for his ride home. His eyes lit up with concern the moment he saw you, and as Derek explained the situation, his expression shifted from concern to anger.

“Hey, Reid, I’m going to walk Y/N to her car, then I’ll be back, okay?” Derek said, his tone firm as he made sure Spencer understood the seriousness of the situation.

“Oh, sure, what’s going on?” Spencer asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Ledgers tried to grab at her. I want to make sure she gets out of here safe and sound,” Derek explained, his voice laced with protective determination.

“What?” Spencer’s voice boomed, the anger evident as he looked around, clearly ready to confront Ledgers himself. “Where is he?”

You quickly placed a hand on Spencer’s arm, trying to calm him down. “It’s okay, Spencer. Derek stepped in before he got too far.”

Spencer’s gaze softened as he looked at you, the concern in his eyes clear. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentler now, but still full of worry.

“Yeah,” you nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’m okay.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to determine if you were really alright. “Do you want me to come over tonight? Keep you company?” he offered, his voice sincere and filled with a desire to help.

Your heart warmed at his offer, and you nodded, grateful for his support. “Thank you, Spencer, that sounds really nice. Do you just want to ride with me?” you asked, knowing it would be easier for both of you to go together.

“Yeah, I do,” Spencer replied without hesitation, clearly wanting to be there for you in any way he could.

Derek, who had been watching the exchange with a knowing smirk, couldn’t resist a little teasing. “Have fun on your second date, lovebirds,” he quipped, the smirk growing wider as he saw the blush rise on both your cheeks.

Spencer gave Derek a half-hearted glare, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. “It’s not a date,” he mumbled, though there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

Derek just chuckled, patting Spencer on the back. “Whatever you say, pretty boy. Just take care of her.”

With that, Spencer stayed close by your side, the silent protector you hadn’t known you needed until now. As you both got into your car, the earlier tension faded away, replaced by the comforting knowledge that, no matter what, you had each other’s backs.

—

As you and Spencer sat across from each other at your dining table, enjoying the simple comfort of dinner together, Spencer’s thoughts kept circling back to what had happened earlier. The guilt gnawed at him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should have done something—anything—to protect you from Ledgers. He had been so close, yet he had let the situation unfold without intervening.

Finally, he couldn’t keep it in any longer. Setting his fork down, he looked at you with a seriousness that made you pause. “Y/N, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help,” he said, his voice laced with regret.

You looked up from your plate, surprised by the sudden apology. “What? Oh, Spencer, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

He shook his head, clearly not satisfied with that answer. “I should have waited for you,” he insisted, his guilt deepening. The thought of you being in a situation like that without him there to support you weighed heavily on his mind.

“You’re not required to wait for me,” you replied softly, trying to ease his worries. “It’s okay, really.”

Spencer hesitated, his eyes dropping to his plate as he wrestled with what he wanted to say next. He knew he had to be honest, even if it made him vulnerable. Taking a deep breath, he decided to take the plunge. “No, I know. I just…” He paused, gathering his courage before continuing. “I heard him asking you out, and I guess I didn’t want to stick around to hear you say yes.”

Your breath caught slightly at his admission, the pieces falling into place. It wasn’t just guilt driving Spencer’s apology—it was something deeper, something more personal. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way he was trying to gauge your reaction.

“Spencer,” you began gently, reaching across the table to take his hand, “I would never have said yes to him. I’m not interested in Brant, and I’m certainly not interested in anyone who would treat me like that.”

He looked up at you then, the worry in his eyes softening as your words sank in. “I know, I just… I didn’t want to hear it, you know?” he admitted, his voice quiet but honest.

You squeezed his hand, offering him a reassuring smile. “I understand,” you said softly. “But I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about that. I can take care of myself.”

Spencer felt a pang of frustration as he realized his initial explanation hadn’t fully conveyed what he meant. He took a deep breath, deciding it was time to be as clear as possible, even if it made him nervous. “I know that, Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but filled with a new kind of vulnerability. “You’re more than capable of handling yourself—that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” you replied, your curiosity piqued. “What did you mean?”

Spencer hesitated for a brief moment, but then the words came out in a rush, fueled by the need to be honest with you. “I don’t want you to go out with someone else.”

You blinked, the weight of his words sinking in. “Someone else?”

“I want you to go out with me,” Spencer said, the vulnerability in his eyes now unmistakable. He had put everything out on the table, his feelings laid bare for you to see.

The realization hit you, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “Oh,” you managed, your voice soft as you absorbed what he was saying.

There was a moment of silence, and you could see the anxiety flickering in Spencer’s eyes as he waited for your response. His whole posture was tense, as if he was bracing himself for whatever came next.

“Do you… want that too?” Spencer asked, his voice quieter now, but filled with hope.

You bit your lip, feeling a smile spread across your face as your heart swelled with warmth. “I do,” you replied, the sincerity in your voice clear. The smile on your face widened as you saw the relief and joy that washed over Spencer’s features.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the atmosphere between you thick with unspoken feelings and the excitement of what was to come. Then, Spencer’s lips curled into a shy, genuine smile that mirrored your own.

“So, when should we have our third date?” Spencer asked, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

You laughed, delighted by this lighter, more confident side of him. “Hmm. Tomorrow?” you suggested, your heart fluttering at the thought of spending more time with him.

“Sounds perfect,” Spencer agreed, his smile widening.

“Spencer?” you asked softly, your tone turning more serious as you looked into his eyes.

“Yeah?” he responded, his voice gentle but filled with anticipation.

“Can I kiss you before our third date?” you asked, your heart pounding as the words left your lips.

Spencer’s smile turned even softer, his eyes lighting up with warmth and affection. “I’d be offended if you didn’t,” he replied, his voice a tender mix of humor and sincerity.

With that, you leaned in, closing the small distance between you. Spencer met you halfway, his eyes fluttering shut as your lips touched in a soft, sweet kiss. It was gentle at first, both of you savoring the moment, the culmination of everything that had been building between you.

When you finally pulled back, your faces still close, you both wore matching smiles, the connection between you now unmistakable and full of promise.

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rikuisthesweetestboy · 2 months

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y’know, my headcanon is that Malleus would love rock/power ballads (and he would be very emotional about it too)

idk if Lilia introduced them to him or he somehow discovered them, but consider that Yuu introduces them to him.

bro listens to “I’ll Be Alright Without You” once and turns into a puddle of dragon tears.

you play Open Arms for a guy once and suddenly hes bawling in your arms

#just realized i only named Journey songs whoops #i had an obsession with Journey so when i think power ballad i think of them lmao #anyway #yuu introduces him to Journey and he overblots earlier #idk if Only The Young counts as a ballad but that song would fuck him up i think #i need to specify that i mean the Journey song Only The Young i just found out that Swift has a song named that #idk what that one is about i dont listen to her #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #twst yuu #twst #twst malleus

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rikuisthesweetestboy · 2 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 | Eleventh Doctor x F! Reader

❝𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯.❞

Summary: After a stressful day, you overhear Amy arguing with the Doctor. When he realized you heard everything, he tries to set things right.

Warnings: Angst, mentioned kidnapping, misunderstanding, pinning, comfort, the Doctor sucking at feelings

Words: 3.8K

A/N: I'm finally getting through the requests sitting in my inbox. This one was one of my favorites I've done in a while :) @shuichiakainx i hope you enjoy!!

You messed up. Badly.

The Doctor had explicitly stated for you to stay by his side. No wandering about, no talking to strangers, don't do anything foolish. The city you were visiting had a different culture, one steeped in brutal violence. Any slight can be perceived as an invitation for war.

You should've minded your own business. Maybe you wouldn't have gotten kidnapped. Even though your friends freed you hours ago, you can still feel the imprint of metal cuffs around your wrists. Your hands busy themselves with rubbing the area, bandages wrapped around your pulse where the metal snagged your skin.

You tried to defend an elderly man from getting hurt by a group of teenagers. You foolishly tried to shield the man from the onslaught of abuse, hoping to simply talk to the teenagers so that things wouldn’t escalate. Oh how wrong you were.

You knew you messed up. You had already regretted your choices the moment rough hands gripped your arms and hauled you into a foreign ship.

The Ashmadas were almost a whole head taller than you. Thick yellow hides that became scaly along their joints, blunt canines that were meant for crushing bones and skin, and the fluorescent eyes that glowed even in pitch black darkness. A species that evolved from war and brutality. Even the most intimidating human would look like field mice in comparison.

What you hadn't anticipated was the cold demeanor of your Doctor. You imagined him being cross, yes, but never downright angry. The moment he and the Ponds made it to the threshold where you were held, you noticed how calloused he had been. Snarling words, tension rippling beneath the skin. Furious didn't begin to explain his behavior. He threatened to set off a bomb that will incinerate everyone in the ship and release a plague to their already dwindling community. When you finally got out of your shackles, the Doctor barely even acknowledged you, hellbent on making the Ashmadas a new endangered species. It was only when you grabbed his face, forced him to see the tears as you begged him to leave, did he finally back off.

As the four of you retreated to the console room of the TARDIS, the Doctor makes a flimsy excuse about needing to check the ship’s engine. The day’s events have been heavy for all of you, so you knew it was more about him needing space. When you tried to talk to him, he brushed off your touch and gave you a cold reply.

You walked back to your room not long after. Rory patched you up as best he could, using a concoction of human and alien medicine. He didn't speak much and you were grateful for the silence. The only words he slipped out were sincere apologies for not getting there sooner. There was something else he wanted to say, moments where he opened his mouth but nothing came out. You were, frankly, too tired to press further.

Once Rory left, you tried your hardest to get some sort of sleep. Your body was spent, bruised, and tattered. No matter how many times you turned or how much your body ached, your mind couldn’t stop racing. You’ve probably spent a good hour or so trying to get comfortable, but to no avail.

You were still on edge, thinking about the cramped cell you were placed in. How alone you felt. You’ve been in precarious situations before, but this was different. Three whole days of captivity in total isolation. No light peeking through so you had nothing to distract you. Just your own memories passing through your mind. It made you realize just how much your friends mean to you. How much their presence comforted you, how relieved you were when Amy’s voice cut through your dark Hell. You remember sinking into the Doctor’s embrace, crying into his jacket and muttering how sorry you were.

There was so much you wanted to tell him. Those three days spent curled into a ball were filled with memories of him. His laugh echoing in your ear while carrying you throughout the universe. Petty arguments filled with teasing and embarrassed faces. The way he finds himself beside you, always lingering like a string was attached between the two of you.

The most treasured memory of all was one where it was just the two of you. Talking about nothing and everything. Favorite color, worst kitchen appliance, obscure historical figures. You talked for hours, laying your whole life for him to dissect. When it was his turn to speak, you took the opportunity to study him. Cataloging the slope of his nose, the lines around his mouth, and his mannerisms. The way he points going in tandem with the pitch of his voice, how his whole body moves when he talks.

You wanted to scream in his face the moment you saw him. Tell him the three words you repeat in your head when he’s around. Instead, all that came out was unintelligible sobs into scratchy fabric.

Tell him, tell him everything.

The bed creaked when you moved to sit up. Your heart ached at seeing the Doctor’s fury and how silent he was when you came back. You caused him worry, not just to him, but to the Ponds as well. The last thing you want is to end the day on a sour note. He’s your friend after all, even if you wanted something more.

It didn’t take long to reach the console room. You took your time with each step, wanting to get your thoughts in order. You pick up voices coming ahead of you, muffled words that you cannot make heads or tails of. As you approach the end of the hallway, you hear the muffled words turn into the familiar voice of Amy in a rather accusatory tone. You peek around the corner, observing the view of your two friends from above.

Amy stands a few feet away from the Doctor, who is hunched over the console. Amy’s face is a mix of concern and disappointment, as if she’s scolding a child. You notice the dirt smeared shirt she still wears, meaning she hasn’t gotten back to her room just yet. Was she here the whole time?

Crossing her arms, Amy shook her head at the tired man in front of her. “You’re never going to admit it are you?”

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing to admit.” The Doctor’s answer is just as cold and detached as it was hours before. “If you’re just going to go back and forth with me all day then I suggest you go spend your time with your husband. I told you before I’m not in the mood for your scolding.”

Amy’s laugh is devoid of any humor. She takes a step towards the Doctor. You see the pent up anger in her; a fuse ready to blow. “You think you’re so good at hiding it. You think we’re too stupid to notice—that I’m too stupid to not bring it up?”

“What exactly are you talking about?”

You shouldn’t eavesdrop like this. If the Doctor found out that you were listening in on a private conversation, he would no doubt be more angry than before.

Amy ignored the question, wanting to force the Doctor into a corner to say what she wanted to hear. “I’m honestly impressed how long you’ve lasted. Were you going to bury your emotions and hope they would simply disappear? You think pushing her away is going to make it hurt any less? I see the way you look at her.”

The Doctor snaps back, angry and seething. “Spit it out already Amelia!”

“(Y/N)!” came her equally furious reply, one that echoed sharply in the large room.

Your heart skidded to a stop in your chest. Why was she goading him like this? You didn’t recall telling Amy about your feelings for the Doctor. Was it that obvious? If she noticed, does that mean…?

The Doctor was quick to invade Amy’s space. He towered above her, his teeth bared with provoked anger. “And what exactly do you want me to admit? That she's careless and doesn’t listen to a word I say? How do I have to clean up her mess after she did the one thing I told her not to?”

Hearing the pained emotion in his voice made every word sting harder. He was not wrong to say it, but it hurt nonetheless. You wished that he would’ve said it to your face rather than having to overhear it in the shadows.

He didn’t stop there. It seemed Amy had opened a dam of pent up thoughts and emotions. Words kept spilling from his lips, each one hurting more than the last. “You know what I see when I look at her? A fragile human being. Someone who is only going to occupy a fraction of my existence.”

“You love her,” Amy spits back, wholly convicted. Tears prick her eyes as she barrels on. “Admit you stupid old man. You. Love. Her.”

Her words seemed to shock the Doctor out of his wrath. He immediately steps back, as if her presence burns.

The two of them look at one another, chests heaving. Amy doesn’t back down, keeping her chin held high, meeting his burning gaze. The Doctor’s face is unreadable, partially due to the fact that you don’t have a good vantage point. The anger doesn’t leave him, but you could tell that he’s considering her words.

You hold your breath, not wanting to miss his response.

It comes out soft, barely within normal talking level, but in the dead silence of the console room you hear it as clear as day: ��How can I love her? I won’t—I can’t let that happen.”

You felt your heart drop out of your chest. All of the hurt spirling inside your chest, clawing a cavernous hole to fill with despair.

He doesn’t love you.

You were paralyzed, replaying that awful sentence over and over again. You bring a hand to cover your mouth, feeling the droplets of tears already flowing.

He doesn’t love you and he’s making sure it doesn’t happen.

Are you that awful to be around? That the mere thought of being romantic with you makes him angry?

Your hand presses at the space where your heart lies. Your shirt twists, your body curling deeper into the shadows of the room. You’ve experienced heartbreak before, back on Earth throughout the years. Never like this. It was more than a simple rejection, but a swift blow to your entire worldview.

You thought, foolishly, that maybe there was something between you two. He wouldn’t have let you stay as long as you had if he didn’t like you. All those late night conversations…the small brushes of skin when no one is looking…all of the glances you caught more than once…

They were nothing.

Stumbling back into the hallway, you ran as fast as you could to your room. The TARDIS bestowed mercy on you, materializing your room just a few feet away. You didn’t think twice to fly open the door and slam it shut behind you. You knew the sound would travel to the console room and alert Amy and the Doctor, but you didn’t care.

The force of your cries shook your body, your sobs filling your room despite your hands trying to muffle them. Over and over you replay the entire conversation. You wished the TARDIS would swallow you whole and spit you far, far away from the Time Lord.

You hear the sound of thundering steps approach your room before the sound of frantic knocking against your door.

Before the person could utter a single word, you let out a strangled demand: “Go away!”

“(Y/N), I can—” the Doctor cut himself short. He let out a frustrated huff before starting again. “Please, it’s not what you think.”

Those words snapped you out of your whirlwind of sadness. Anger bubbled in its place.

“Not what I think?!” You didn’t think twice before forcefully opening the door. The Doctor jumps from his spot in front of your room, a show of surprise on his face. “I heard everything.”

The Doctor places his hand up in surrender. The cold, neutral face he had on before is completely wiped away, leaving a startlingly emotional one instead. “Please, if you give me a moment—”

“What more could you say to me?” It comes out shaky, with tears still dripping down your face in rivers. You no doubt look like a complete wreck, but you’re too upset to care. You’re tired of bottling your emotions up. You want him to know how much this meant to you, how much his words physically hurt you. “I know you’re already upset at me that I didn’t listen to you, I know that. You don’t get to stand there and act like this is a whole misunderstanding. I mean come on—fragile human?”

“I know and I’m—”

“I was so relieved to see you again. Three days, Doctor. Three whole days, spent in that cell waiting for you. I felt so guilty for not listening and I hoped that we could reconcile, but no. I was fine with giving you space, but then I had to overhear you talk about me like I’m some burden.” You force yourself to take a deep breath, choosing your next words carefully. “Is that how you really feel about me?”

The Doctor doesn’t respond, which makes you even more angry.

“Did you know?” you spit out. It took everything in you to not shut the door in his face and never come outside again. But you needed to know. “Did you know?”

The silence that came thereafter was deafening. The Doctor let his hands drop to his sides. You didn’t dare blink, watching his every move, waiting for a response. His head dips to the side, his lower lip caught in his teeth as he stares at a spot on the floor. You knew he knew what you were referring to.

When he lifts his head, you were surprised to see such bare remorse. Still, it does nothing to quell you; if anything you’re happy he’s feeling the guilt.

“Yes…I knew for a while,” he mumbled, forcing the words to come out. “Rory’s mum told me, said that you liked me. I told her that of course you liked me, I’m the Doctor. But she gave me a serious look and told me you fancied me.” His lips twisted up at the memory, but seeing your withering glare he quickly dropped it.

You gripped the doorframe, recalling the visit clearly. The Ponds had called you, wanting to go on another adventure after nearly three months of normalcy on Earth. In their absence, it was just you and the Doctor against the universe. Three months of staring longingly at the madman in a box, wanting to spill your guts but feeling too scared to. When the Ponds came back, you remembered Rory’s mum taking the Doctor to the side, whispering in his ear. You had asked what she said, but the Doctor gave a flustered reply. His ears were pink, and his words were hastily spat out.

“That was over a year ago. You knew all that time?” You wanted to scream every curse you knew, both English and alien. It took everything in you to not tear him a new one right then and there. “And I had to hear you say it to Amy of all people? Someone who also fancied you, and if I recalled kissed you?”

It was unfair to throw that back in his face knowing that they moved on from that incident. Amy had since made it explicitly clear that she loved him platonically and was wholly committed to Rory.

The Doctor took a tentative step towards you, unsure if you were going to disappear back into your room. He took another, and another. You couldn’t look him in the eyes, opting to stare at his scuffed shoes.

You could feel him get closer. It unnerved how much you still wanted to be near him, despite everything.

The Doctor’s hands found the curve of your cheek, gently tilting your face up to meet his gaze. Warm palms cupped the sides of your face and his thumbs wiping away the tears that still fell. The sheer intensity of his gaze pinned you in place, burning into you. You watch as his green irises start getting glassy; the planes of his cheeks become a flushed pink. He stood there for a few moments, simply holding your face, looking at you as if it’s the last time he ever will.

You let yourself bask in his touch. He took another step towards you, still holding your face. You closed your eyes as you felt the cool touch of his forehead against yours.

“Doctor—”

“You have every right to be upset.” He gave a chuckle, but you heard the pain in his voice. “You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you. I looked forward to the nights where you pester me with odd questions. Every morning I pray that you stay another day with me, hoping that you don’t wish to go back to Earth.”

The confession scares him, you feel it in the way he tries to keep his voice even. When he pulls his forehead from yours, he still hovers over your face, staring with the heat of all the feelings he tried so desperately to hide.

His eyes move over every inch of your face before settling back to your swollen eyes. You watch his eyes soften, as if he’s seeing the most beautiful star nestled in the depths of your pupils. So focused on the heat of his hands and the movement of his eyes, that you almost miss the twin stream of tears running down his own face.

The Doctor took one shuddering breath, letting his thoughts flow out. “I couldn’t let myself acknowledge my feelings—I couldn’t. Everyone I ever loved…everyone I got close to is gone because of me. I couldn’t let that happen, especially not to you. But then you had to get yourself kidnapped.” His voice trailed off, cracking at the memory.

You dared not to move, fearful that he would snap out of the spell he found himself in. You can’t recall a time where he was this open to you, about his feelings no less. All the pent up emotion you felt before settled to a dull throb in your heart.

“I would’ve brought the entire fleet down on its knees, have them beg for mercy.” You felt the rage in his voice, knowing full well that he meant every word. “When I couldn’t find you, I was terrified. You were gone before…”

His hands trembled, his breath became more ragged. You’ve never seen true terror on his face.

You whisper, just barely audible to his ears. “Before what Doctor?”

He shakes his head, almost wishing he didn’t open his mouth. When you silently pressed him to answer, he couldn't help but cave.

“I lied back there, with Amy,” the Doctor rushed, trying to get all his disorganized thoughts out. “I lied—I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

“What? Didn’t mean wha—”

“It already happened,” he cried, his body caving towards you. “I told myself I couldn’t let myself love you. I…I lied.”

You felt your heart stop for the second time today. Your mouth slightly agape, unsure of how to respond. The Doctor takes a half step, effectively caging your body against his. You own shaking hands rested atop of his, hoping to calm him.

“Every moment I spent with you, I spent yearning,” he says with such emphasis that leaves no room for doubt. You cry harder at the admission. “I took my frustration on you, made you think that I could never love you. I do—Stars, I do. You have no idea how much I do.”

You couldn’t hold back the loud sob that overtakes your whole body. A cry that leaves the Doctor’s two hearts aching knowing that he caused your pain. He continues to rub his thumbs over your cheeks, not to wipe away the tears, but to soothe you.

“Say it,” you plead, words scraping against your throat. “Say it and I’m yours. I’ll be yours forever.”

Your words trigger something in him, that same fear that made him distant towards you. He doesn’t move from his spot, paralyzed by the decision.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” came his equally desperate reply. “I can’t lose you too.”

“We’ll find a way. You always do.”

The Doctor sags against you, resting his forehead against yours once more. Cries of his own shake him, his tears joining yours on the TARDIS floor. You take it upon yourself to mirror his actions; your hands gently holding his face. His once bright, crystal green eyes were now blurred with tears, encased by swollen, flushed eyelids.

“I love you.”

A barely audible whisper, one meant for you. Said with such raw intensity that it echoes in your ear, seared in your mind forever.

The Doctor clears his throat, furrowing his brows in concentration. “I love you. Stars above, I love you.” He speaks louder, not wanting you to miss a word. “I’ve loved you for years and I was too much of a coward to tell you. I’ll make it up to you, show you how much I’ve wanted you, if you let me.”

A smile stretched across your face. Pure euphoria filled your body, buzzing with a high that made you lightheaded. You feeled the charged energy between you two. The Doctor stills, anxiously awaiting for your response.

“I’m yours,” you say in the shared space between you. A declaration, waiting for the final seal. “I love you, Doctor.”

The Doctor slants against you, finally removing the last inch of space between you. His kiss falls over you like the whispered confession he had given you. His lips mold against yours, slow and lingering. One kiss, then another. You grasp onto him, your hand threading into his hair, another along his jacket. His hands no longer tremble. You feel his palms leave your face and travel down to the curve of your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his body.

When you pull away to breath, he wastes no time burying his face against your neck, peppering the heated skin with kiss after kiss. He finds the spot where your pulse meets your jaw, sucking on the skin harshly, making you shudder. The Doctor overwhelms your senses; his touch, his scent, the taste of his mouth—

The Doctor gives one final kiss against your lips, before releasing you. He watches you catch your breath, seeing your relieved smile stretching across your face. He feels his face mirroring that same delirious smile.

I’m yours, his two hearts sing. I’m yours forever.

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rikuisthesweetestboy · 3 months

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rikuisthesweetestboy · 3 months

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I Could Love You With My Eyes Closed

I heard a song and one of the lines got stuck in my head, so here's a fic. (If you're curious, it was "Figure You Out" by VOILÀ.) No idea why, but Thranduil just felt perfect for this.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Thranduil x Reader

[A/N: This is mostly just fluff, but there's some innuendo, so... 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Fluff, angst, Elf x Human romance, mutual pining, idiots in love, Thranduil being dramatic, fake betrothal speedrun, Thranduil being soft for one (1) person only, protective Thranduil, Human!Reader has been adopted by elf who had no idea what he was getting into and Thranduil thinks he's an idiot, mild innuendo.

~*~

My mind wandered during my guard shift. Given that nothing ever penetrated this deep into the realm without the king's consent, the risk of allowing my focus to roam among my busy thoughts was minimal. The night air was brisk as I sat on one corner of the king's balcony with my bow laid across my lap.

Normally, the night air was soothing, but at that moment, all I could think about was how different everything would be soon. There would be no more extravagant views of the stars framed by elaborately gilded windows, no more training with my bow, no more front row seats to royal audiences, and - the worst of all - no more late night conversations when King Thranduil grew weary of his work.

I'd taken those things for granted. Oh, I hadn't squandered my time once I'd become one of his guards, by any means, but now that I might be forced to give up that position sooner than I'd anticipated, a list of regrets seemed to be cycling endlessly in my mind's eye. One that caused me the most pain was that I would very soon no longer be the recipient of his majesty's secret smirks when something we'd discussed privately occurred in his court.

The sound of a quill scratching away on parchment within the king's study ceased abruptly, but not even the anticipation of a quiet, intimate talk with him could lift my spirits. Not after the news I'd had that morning.

The swish of a cloak being removed was followed by unhurried footsteps toward the balcony, and then he was there beside me. The King of the Woodland Realm stood less than a few feet from me in all his finery, save the little circlet that usually rested upon his brow. He tended not to wear it when he retired to his chambers for the evening, choosing instead to lay it atop a book of poetry which resided permanently on his desk.

"On a lovely, cloudless night such as this, what cause would a newly-engaged lady have to look so forlorn?" The smooth, regal voice of my liege met my ears, and under any other circumstances, I might have scrambled to my feet to bow before him, as was his due. All I could muster, however, was a quiet, sincere apology over my shoulder as I remained seated on the balcony. I could feel his keen, pale blue eyes on me as I set my bow aside and let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, dear. Is he that repulsive?"

"Not physically, but...all he seems to see is himself. I am perfectly aware that the betrothal wasn't either of our choices, but he could at least pretend that he's interested when our parents are nowhere to be seen." I was aware that I sounded ungrateful, but just because I was a mortal woman in a realm of Elves didn't mean that I had to like it when I was constantly looked down upon by others.

One of the few people who never gave me the impression that he thought less of me took a seat beside me in robes much too elegant for anything less than a perfectly padded chair to touch.

"Have you spoken with your guardian - apologies, your father - about your fears?" Instead of sounding judgmental, Thranduil's voice held only softness - a rarity, to be sure, but such a tone was more common when he conversed with me than with anyone else. I nodded my head as I recalled the cold aloofness in my adoptive father's voice as he'd dismissed both me and my protests.

"He seemed more concerned with maintaining the status associated with his name than with some silly little mortal's concerns." I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice, I really did, but the sharp edge that crept in made me cringe a bit. "After all, who am I to complain when he took me in? My life could have been over before it had even truly begun. He could just as easily have left me to die in the ruins of our burning village and adopted an Elfling instead. I...owe him for all that he has done."

One of Thranduil's hands rested lightly on my shoulder, coaxing me to face him. My eyes met his, and his free hand laid over my wrist. The warm weight of his palm covering my pulse made my heart flutter in my chest.

"Is that what he told you?" When I stammered about it being nothing more than the truth, he shook his head while stormclouds gathered in his expression. "What foul words of comfort from one who claims to care for you."

To that, I had no response. Naturally, several statements sprung to the tip of my tongue - defenses for my father's actions - but I swallowed them all down when my king's gaze warned me that he would tolerate no such excuses.

"Remind me, mellon-nin, how long have you served in my guard?"

"Twelve years and a few months, sire."

"And in all of our many conversations, have I ever given you any reason to doubt that I value you as highly as any other in my kingdom? After that first fortnight, when you were terrified of making a mistake, have you ever felt out of place because of your mortality?"

The memory of that fateful night drew a smile to my lips.

"No, mellon-nin. That rather thorough tongue-lashing you meted out made your stance quite clear to all in the palace," I murmured allowing myself the small liberty of turning my hand beneath his and threading our fingers together.

The guards he'd berated for their rudeness and bigotry had practically fled the throne room when he was finished with them. After that night, he'd ordered that whenever I was on duty, I would be assigned to his personal detail.

"Then, what cause have you to believe that I would tolerate anyone treating you so poorly anywhere else in my domain?"

"This is different–"

"How? Enlighten me," the king ordered giving my fingers a gentle squeeze.

"Father has the right to demand that I repay him for the time he has spent on me," I hedged, but Thranduil shook his head.

"Just because he raised you, that does not mean that he was unaware of what he was choosing. He may not have known the full extent of the demands made of a parent, but that was not the fault of the innocent babe he rescued." He sounded so calm, so casual about his assertions that I could do no more than blink as he spoke. "I do not expect Legolas to sacrifice his happiness to satisfy some imagined debt incurred at his birth, nor should your guardian make such ludicrous demands of you."

We sat quietly for a moment, side-by-side and hand-in-hand beneath the moonlight before words began flowing from my mouth almost without my consent.

"He's an ass, you know, the man to whom I have been promised. Nothing brings him greater pleasure than a mirror, and nothing strains him more than remembering a preference held by someone other than himself," I murmured feeling as though this confession of my unkind thoughts about the Ellon would give me some measure of comfort beyond another's commiseration. "Six different times he has insisted that he knows my favorite flower, and six times have I received something completely different. He claims that I keep changing my answer, but, truly, I have given the same response every time."

"He chooses not to listen," Thranduil muttered almost to himself.

"Quite correct, aran-nin. He is dismissive...practically ignores me when we are in the same room..."

"Had he been listening, he undoubtedly would have heard your scathingly pointed sighs, not unlike those which you direct toward any who insult your king in the throne room," he teased, and a huff of laughter bubbled out of me. "I shall have you know that I enjoy those little sighs. They convey a great deal about the receiver's lack of intelligence and manners, whilst simultaneously broadcasting that you would like nothing more than to drag them from the gates by the scruff of their neck. Quite effective, do you not agree?"

"Oh, yes, mellon. As I recall, you've allowed me to do just that on several occasions," I said glancing over at him. The answering sparkle in his eyes coupled with the wicked little smirk adorning his lips made my heart thud faster in my chest.

"And I reveled in every second of their humiliation at your beautiful hands," Thranduil practically purred in satisfaction at the memories, but I sobered rather quickly as I recalled the reason I was so down in the first place. He must've seen my smile slip. "Forgive me, I was certain that you enjoyed dragging witless rats from my sight...?"

"I do...rather, I did." The correction was small, but he pounced upon it immediately. The hand that had been on my shoulder grasped my chin and forced me to look back up at him. He didn't need to say a word. The question floated between us unasked, yet requiring an answer. "My betrothed made it clear that he believed a guard was no proper wife. He has demanded that I resign my position here."

More seriously than he had all night, Thranduil gazed into my eyes.

"Is that what you want? Do you wish to give up the station you fought so hard to attain for a man who cannot remember even the simplest of things about you?" I shook my head as hot, desperate tears filled my eyes. "Then tell me, what do you want? What desires fill your mind when you allow yourself to dream under cover of darkness?"

I most certainly could not give him the whole truth. I couldn't tell him that over the course of our acquaintance and friendship I had fallen in love with him. Nothing could ever come of my pathetic heartache. I was only a guard. A peasant. Peasants might fall in love with royalty, but they did not end up with them. That was not the way of the world.

"Love," I breathed instead. "I want to be loved for myself, not my father's position. I wish to be cared for and to care for another. I wish to remain a guard, a warrior for the Woodland Realm, and to be accepted as I am, not swept aside. Obviously, I am not without fault, but while I attempt to grow wiser and gain experience, I do not wish to be impeded or judged by someone who could never remember even the most basic facts about me. I...What I want is impossible."

A small, gentle smile crossed the king's lips, and an intense, burning desire to kiss him fought a war within me against my common sense. Thranduil could forgive much, but a lapse in judgment as severe as throwing myself at him? Never.

"Your presence here is proof that nothing is impossible. You are much easier to love than you have allowed yourself to believe." His deep, rumbling voice sounded at once comforting and sensual, which proved quite effective at helping me blink back my tears before they could even begin to fall. "When are you next due to meet with this unworthy cad?"

"Tomorrow. My father has invited both he and his parents to our home for the evening meal as it is my day without a shift." I was surprised at how steady my voice sounded after how vulnerable I'd just been. Strangely, though, I felt no shame in having allowed my friend to see my pain.

King Thranduil nodded his head pensively, brushing his thumb over my chin as he did so - why had he not yet released his grip? Not that I was going to complain, of course. Being this close to him, touching him, speaking with him in confidence...that was as close as I was ever going to get to him, and even that might soon be pulled from my grasp, so I savored every moment that I was afforded.

Neither of us had much more to say. Instead, the Elvenking slipped an arm around my waist and tugged me close enough to his side for me to lay my head on his shoulder. We sat in companionable silence until the time came for the guard change. Bidding me sweet dreams and a safe trip home, Thranduil dropped a soft kiss onto my hand and retreated back inside his rooms.

As usual, the guard who was to replace me gave me a raised eyebrow at my familiarity with someone so far above my station, and, as usual, I ignored him.

Sneaking to the stables on my way out, I plucked an apple from my coat pocket and headed to the gilded gates of the stall holding the king's mount. Slicing the fruit quickly in half with my dagger to delay my return home by a few extra seconds, I cooed gently to the large elk, stroking the soft fur on his muzzle as I offered him the treat.

"Who's a good boy? Hm? You are! Yes, you are," I praised as he gingerly bit into the first half of the bright red fruit, then the second. He was a gentle giant, in truth. Much of the kingdom supposed that he would be as prickly as his rider, but nothing could be further from reality. Firstly, the king was only short with those who deserved his ire. Secondly, the admittedly imposing elk upon which he rode hadn't a mean bone in his very large body. "Aww, you're never grumpy with me, are you, mellon-nin?"

He chuffed and snuffled, nuzzling gratefully into my caressing fingers as a 'thank you' for his treat. Even he would be a far superior companion for life than the idiot with whom I'd be forced to spend yet another pointless evening the next day...and perhaps the rest of my life.

"Don't worry, mellon, even if he makes me resign, I'll still find a way to sneak in and bring you extra apples." The pleased little snort he gave me drew a giggle from my lips, but I knew that soon the guard patrolling this section of the grounds would be here. I bid goodnight to my tall, fur-covered friend and set off on the path toward home with our secret intact.

Had I so much as bothered to glance back, I would've seen a familiar head of bright blond hair watching as I tugged the hood of my cloak over my head.

When I awoke the next day, it was still early morning. The lateness of my shift usually tired me out well enough that I slept for at least another hour or two, but after a few bleary blinks, I realized that I'd been awakened by voices.

Odd. My adoptive father did not usually entertain guests at this hour. Either something had happened, or today was destined to turn out rather strangely. As he hadn't bothered to come wake me, I gathered that there was no urgency in whatever had transpired. What was not in question, however, was the way my stomach growled as I tried to roll over and go back to sleep.

With a sigh of defeat, I climbed out of bed and dressed, even going so far as to tie my hair back in a quick braid since it looked as though it might rain. Thus, clothed and presentable, I cleaned my teeth and ventured from my bedroom in search of food.

The voices seemed to be coming from my destination, so it seemed as though I would get both sustenance and an answer to my curiosity all at the same time. A fortuitous turn for such a gray morning.

"...ere she is now." I was able to make out my father's voice as I intentionally stepped on the creaky board in the hallway. I wasn't as quiet as an Elf when I walked, but I still didn't like to appear as though I was eavesdropping or sneaking where I shouldn't be. When I stepped into the kitchen, I froze.

There in all his regal, perfectly-groomed glory was King Thranduil, sitting at our tiny wooden table.

What in the name of the Valar was the king doing in our kitchen?

"Aran-nin," I greeted him, bowing slightly less steadily than I might have if I'd been awake for more than a few minutes. A low, velvety chuckle floated around the space.

"Come now, meleth, you know there is no need for such formality," Thranduil crooned giving me a charming, mischievous smile as I straightened again, but that statement alone nearly shattered my poor tired mind.

He'd said 'meleth,' but...that meant 'love.' He'd never called me that before. And I still didn't know why he was in our kitchen.

Glancing between my king and my father, I tried silently to piece together what the hell was going on here. Thranduil must have seen my lack of progress in my eyes, because he continued as if this was all completely normal.

"Come, break your fast. Your guardian has been kind enough to make tea and lay out some provisions for us," he said standing and pulling out the chair directly beside him.

Almost without thinking, I did as he asked, and my heart thudded rapidly in my chest when he seated me as if we were at some lavish feast instead of around our small, wooden table. He acknowledged my hastily-murmured gratitude, then resumed his own seat with his usual flourish. The three of us ate quietly for a few moments, staunchly ignoring the fact that the king was in our tiny kitchen eating with us as casually as if he had always done so.

It was...pleasant. Strange, obviously, but much more enjoyable than my usual solitary morning meal.

"So, meleth-nin, would you like to tell him the good news, or should I?" Thranduil asked, and I looked up at him. Slightly more cognizant than before, I recognized the glint in his eyes that usually accompanied a desire for me to play along with whatever he said next. I could do that.

"I'm quite certain that it would be much more eloquent coming from you," I demurred, and I very pointedly avoided looking across the table at my father's reaction to whatever bit of theater my king had orchestrated. Less than a heartbeat later, I found my free hand firmly in Thranduil's grasp as he looked at my father.

"The betrothal you arranged for your ward is hereby declared invalid by order of the king," he said, and the stunned expression on my father's face was worth every moment of confusion I'd experienced that morning. He took a moment to gather himself before clearing his throat and looking between us in askance.

"If it is not too presumptuous, sire, may I ask why you have done this? Her betrothal to–"

"That engagement was no more than a farce. We meant to announce it earlier, but with how busy I've been attending to my royal duties, I fear I have been remiss." The king cut him off, and the indignation in my father's eyes gave me a sick sort of pleasure. "You see, your ward is not available for the suitor you preferred, because she has already accepted my own marriage proposal."

Oh. So, that was what he had in mind. A faux betrothal. Somehow, that was both intensely flattering and a knife to my chest.

The announcement worked to perfection, though. My father looked as though he'd been punched soundly in the face.

"You...?" He blinked and made a second attempt at speech. "Why would a king want her?"

Thranduil's head tilted in a manner I recognized as indicative of the imminent rise of his temper.

"Why does a king desire anything? Tell me, why should a king not desire a worthy queen for his realm?" He asked, and my father caught up rather rapidly with the realization that he'd said the wrong thing. Thranduil looked back over at me as he lifted my hand to his lips. "Why should an Ellon not marry the one whom he loves?"

Ow. Those were the exact words I'd longed to hear from him for so many years, but to hear them now knowing that they were all an act...

"And why should I not wish to marry the Elf with whom I have grown so close over my many years of guard duty?" How far he intended to carry this fiction, I didn't know, but I could play along for now. I could hide the pain.

"I...Congratulations," my father stammered hesitantly, but he was no longer relevant. Not now.

"Thank you," the king said without taking his eyes off of me. "Meleth, I believe it is time for you to live in the palace. It will be your home once we are married, and if you are prepared, I can take you back with me. My mount is outside."

"Of course, but I shall need a few moments to pack–"

"Nonsense. You needn't do such menial work. You are to be my queen. I have already arranged for your belongings to be brought to you this evening. For now, you need only bring yourself and a riding cloak," he insisted with a warm smile.

"Might it not be simpler, my king, if I were to save you the trouble of taking her with you? I could escort her to the palace myself this evening so that you needn't be burdened by sharing your mount," my father said, and the blush that sent my cheeks burning at the thought of the pair of us riding together atop his elk was automatic. No acting required.

I prayed that Thranduil was unaware of how drastically he affected me, even within my own imagination.

"Bringing my queen to the palace is my responsibility and privilege. And, if you shall forgive me for saying so aloud outside of the solitude of our marital chambers, meleth-nin, I view the opportunity to feel you in my arms with great anticipation," the king said turning my hand over gently and placing a slow, sensual kiss right over my racing pulse. My breath caught in my throat at the hunger in his eyes. His lips lingered a few beats longer than I expected, only pulling away when my father cleared his throat pointedly. "My apologies. In the presence of such beauty, I find that I am transported into the realm of fantasy."

Thranduil's words did not match his expression. He was an Ellon who found vast satisfaction in playing those around him like an orchestra. He wasn't sorry at all.

"As much as I adore seeing you like this, my darling king, I do hope you will be more discreet while holding court," I teased, but his smirk only grew.

"When my queen is so breathtaking? Never." If it wasn't for the disgustingly sexy wink he tossed me, I'd have thought he was laying his act on a bit thick. As it was, though, he seemed to be staying in character quite effortlessly. For my part, I was one shaky breath away from giggling like brainless idiot, or bursting out in tears because of the simple fact that this was all an act.

Ducking my head in what I hoped was a passable semblance of bashfulness, I tried to steady my breathing.

"I...trust that you still plan to give up your position in the guard?" My eyes flicked up and met my father's. There was something in his expression - disbelief, confusion, suspicion - that I couldn't quite place.

His obvious lack of trust after all these years angered me.

With the sweetest smile that I could muster, I tilted my head curiously.

"Not at all. A queen must be willing to fight for - and alongside - her people if she expects them to fight for her in return. Loyalty must be earned; it is not a gift to which one is entitled." Thranduil gave my fingers a gentle, supportive squeeze. "Surely, after your many years as a warrior, you of all people understand how crucial it is to inspire loyalty in those whom you command?"

He couldn't protest. When Thranduil said nothing, giving him neither a change of subject or an opportunity to dodge the question, my father stammered about his question being a foolish one and about the change in suitors being so sudden.

Almost as soon as we stepped outside, the king's elk snuffled happily. He walked over to us, but to my surprise, instead of vying for Thranduil's attention, he made a beeline for me. Without thought, I patted his muzzle and ran my fingers down his neck. Snuffling lower, as if he knew I usually kept his apples in my pockets, he looked at me expectantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, mellon, I don't hav–" I was silenced by a large, gentle hand landing on my shoulder.

In my king's grasp was a bright, ripe, red apple. The same kind I usually smuggled out of the larder as a treat for my furry friend. He'd already sliced it in half - when had he even found the time?

"Thank you, but how did you...?"

"Nothing happens in my realm but I know of it," he whispered, the warmth of his breath ghosting over my scalp.

Choosing to temporarily ignore the implications of his statement, I accepted the apple and fed it to his elk. After a moment, Thranduil moved nearly soundlessly back toward my father.

"Ah, before I forget, this is for your ward's former suitor," he said pulling an envelope with the royal seal from his pocket. "Please convey to him that if the contents raise more questions than answers, he is most welcome to see the palace healers about his obviously failing memory."

With his cloak swishing behind him, Thranduil swept back over to me and helped me onto his mount's back. Once he was seated behind me with an arm wrapped firmly around my middle, it all sank in.

This might be an act for my father, but this was happening. I was really riding toward the palace with my king's chest pressing against my back. The guards who manned the gate would see us. Any who encountered us would bear witness to the king's act. How far did he mean to take this?

Surely, he wouldn't actually marry me just to get me away from one unsuitable Ellon? And when he did eventually end this ruse, what then? Would I be forced to go home with my tail tucked between my legs?

When we were around the halfway point in our journey - far enough from both my home and the palace that I was certain we wouldn't be observed - I asked if we could stop for a moment. Despite his confusion, Thranduil gave the command, and his elk trotted to a graceful stop. Without waiting for assistance, I slid off the saddle and landed rather hard on my feet.

Ignoring the new ache in my ankles and the ache that the loss of Thranduil's steadying grip left in my chest, I took a few steps and tried to slow my breathing. The sound of my traveling companion landing infinitely more gently than I had met my ears along with a concerned call of my name, but I just shook my head.

"Are you hurt, meleth?" He asked, and I swallowed heavily.

"No, but...my king–"

"You are perfectly allowed to call me by my name. After all, we are betrothed. It would not do for our subjects to see us behaving as if no love exists between us," he said as he patted his elk's neck, and a pang of hurt wound through my heart. Thranduil was saying all the right words, but it was an act. There were no longer any witnesses. There was no longer anyone to watch as my heart broke.

"Why are you doing this?" At the pain in my voice, confusion and concern washed over his features.

"Whatever do you mean?" The Elvenking asked stepping away from his elk's side. His cloak billowed around him, and it was all I could do not to drop to my knees at the sheer majesty of the figure he presented. All it did, though, was reinforce what I already knew: Thranduil was not for me.

"Please, do not misunderstand, I am grateful that you have saved me from such an unfortunate match. However, you needn't spare my feelings by pretending to love me. There is no need to waste your precious time playacting, mellon-nin."

"'Pretending'?" The word escaped him as a harsh, dangerous whisper. Oh dear. I'd seen the king's rage before, but never had his icy fury been turned upon me. Despite the outrage in his tone, his next words were at the same hushed volume as before. "'Playacting'? What do you take me for?"

I could see why Prince Legolas had insisted that raised voices were preferable to the fear that his father's cool, piercing anger inspired. I wasn't afraid, but I was acutely aware of the severity of his emotions. I wasn't intentionally trying to anger him, but I needed him to know how close he'd come to breaking me beyond repair. Before I could answer, he advanced another step and continued.

"And, pray tell, what am I, in your estimation? Cruel? Unforgiving? Demanding? Judgmental?" His eyes flashed with something akin to pain. "Perhaps your censure is not based upon personality, but upon appearance."

The glamour he kept constantly in place over his scar melted away.

"Is this the source of your misgivings? Am I too ugly for you to accept, even as a king?"

"You know that's not true," I snapped, with an edge of warning in my voice, recalling the first time I'd seen him without the glamour.

A few months after my appointment to the king's guard, I was given a jar of pain-dulling ointment by one of the healers to pass on to the king. I'd delivered it, of course, but when I'd been hesitant to leave him, going so far as to ask if he was injured, he'd locked the door and showed me what the fire drakes of the north had done to him. Thranduil admitted later that he'd intended to frighten me that night, but all I'd done was ask if he needed help applying the medicine. Once he realized I thought no less of him for his injury, he'd let me.

Yet he had the gall to stand before me and accuse me of being shallow? Had he learned nothing about me over the years?

"Then answer the question," Thranduil bit out quietly. "What exactly do you take me for?"

"A king," I breathed looking up into his eyes. Confusion mingled with his anger. "Peasants may fall in love with royalty, but they are not offered the luxury of marrying them. Kings do not give lowly guards a second thought, even if they afford them the title of 'friend,' so I will ask you again, sire: Why are you doing this? Why are you acting as though hope abounds for my doomed heart where none has ever existed?"

His brow smoothed, his lips parted a fraction, and his glamour slipped silently back into place as he processed what I'd said. Oh, Valar, what I'd said! I'd confessed to loving the king!

Comprehension melted his anger away into nothingness. Instead, he moved within a single step of me, lifting one of his large, graceful hands to caress my cheek.

"You truly do not know?" I couldn't even bring myself to answer as I leaned into Thranduil's touch. This might be the last chance to do so after what I'd just admitted. He'd dismissed guards in the past for much less severe transgressions. "When we spoke last night, you told me that you desired to be loved - not by the whole of the Woodland Realm as I believe you deserve, but by one person. The Ellon your father chose for you certainly could not do that when remembering something as small as your favorite flower caused him such strain."

Low and gentle, his voice trickled over my ears as smoothly as honey. He...He didn't sound angry, anymore. Why wasn't he enraged that someone like me had dared to cross the more-than-generous boundary of friendship that he'd allowed me?

"My king–"

"Thandruil," he corrected, but there was no real bite to his words despite having to repeat himself again. He never repeated himself, yet this morning alone he'd done so twice. "You adore the blue wildflowers that grow along our western borders, but if you smell them for too long, they make you sneeze. During the summer, you set them on the sill in your room and keep the window open so that you might enjoy them without discomfort."

I blinked in surprise. I could vaguely remember a conversation years ago where I'd mentioned the flowers, but it was such a trivial thing that I was quite certain it would've been forgotten by morning. After all, what I did with flowers had no bearing on the fate of the kingdom.

"You prefer your tea sweet but not overly so. When you believe it might rain, you take the precaution of braiding your hair so that the humidity will not render it impossible to untangle when you return home."

The Elvenking began slowly, allowing each small fact that he'd observed about me to sink in along with the realization that he'd favored me with his attention frequently enough to accrue them.

"Your confidence with daggers is low, but with a bow, you are as bold and graceful as any skilled Elleth warrior. When I express my anger at some wretched fool in my court, you often struggle to suppress your laughter at how close they come to wetting themselves in the throne room - do not deny it. Your body gives you away each and every time."

Had he truly seen so much of me during my service to him?

"When your temper is tested, there is a small line that appears just here," he touched a spot between my brows, "that brings me great consternation. On the one hand, I wish to give you my sword so that you may more easily remove the head of whomever has dared incur your wrath, but on the other, I wish to soothe your frustrations with my words, my lips, my body, whatever you will allow–"

"Thranduil–" His name fell from me as no more than a whisper. The leaves on the trees surrounding the path rustled in the breeze, but the Elvenking could not be stopped.

"Your free time is often spent reading. Once a week before you return home, you sneak out to the stables and feed my elk an extra apple, because you find him sweet-tempered. When you laugh, your eyes sparkle brighter than any star ever could, and you steal the breath from my chest each time you look at me."

My vision blurred, and only when my king's thumbs brushed tears from my cheeks did I realize that I was crying. I'd loved him for so long that this felt as surreal as a dream.

"You said that you wish to be loved, meleth-nin. To answer your question, I am doing this because I can give you exactly what you desire. I could love you with my eyes closed, because I have done so with them open since the day you were assigned to my guard."

Thranduil leaned closer, freezing but a hair's breadth from my lips.

"If you do not feel the same, we can remain friends, but if there is the slightest chance that you could find happiness by my side, then marry me. Be my queen. I am yours." His whispered promise was filled with so much tenderness and hope that my restraint snapped, and I closed the distance between our mouths.

My fingers gripped his robes in an attempt to ground myself, but this heady feeling of being wanted - being loved - robbed me of all coherent thought. There was only the feeling of gentle hands drawing me close by my waist and the nape of my neck. Only soft lips kissing me with the skill of thousands of years' worth of experience. Only a king claiming his queen's heart.

There was only love.

~*~

mellon-nin = my friend

aran-nin = my king

meleth-nin = my love

661 notes · View notes

rikuisthesweetestboy · 5 months

Text

"I Didn't Know That I Was Starving Till I Tasted You" | hobbit

➛ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

➛ When you get stood up by your date all you want to do is morph with the couch, eat ice cream and watch Pride & Prejudice. It's a shame your roommate/best friend Thranduil doesn't agree with those plans.

➛ warnings/tags: modern!au, roommate!au, friends-to-lovers, chef!thranduil, swf, kissing

➛ words: 9,3k

➛ an: sooo let's ignore that i said i wasn't writing anymore <3 i'm still not taking request but i have a few fics that i'll post over the next few weeks!

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The sound of keys turning in the lock sounds through your apartment before the door opens and closes, making you wince.

The piano music playing through the expensive stereo system is loud enough that you could blame your reaction for not reacting to it. After a brief moment, a deep voice echoes from the hallway, marked by an incredulous "Huh?" and followed by an urgent "What?" accompanied by hurried footsteps.

"Hello?! What– what are you still doing here? You should be dressed up and in a cab by now!"

Your roommate and best friend Thranduil rushes into the living room, you can see his tall figure out of your peripheral vision.

Not that it would change where he stands.

You don't bother to turn around and continue to hide between the mountain of pillows and blankets you had accumulated on the couch, watching the movie playing on the big screen in front of you.

"Uhh– Mister Bingley arrived from the North," you comment on the happenings of the Bennets' house, a spoonful of ice cream held to your mouth.

Thranduil steps closer, dropping his coat and a bag on the wing chair next to the couch. "What–"

Instead of answering his question, you let the ice cream melt on your tongue, mumbling a "5000 a year?" with a mouth full of chocolate.

"Talk to me, woman!"

"He's single!" you sigh happily and throw a dramatic hand in the air.

Before you can lower it again, Thranduil snaps and snatches your hand, cold fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you towards him. Finally, you look up to him and are confronted with your very baffled-looking best friend.

"If you don't tell me why you aren't on the way to the fabulous third date with Marcus-"

"Jake."

Thranduil rolls his eyes at the interruption: "Fine, why aren't you on the third date with Jake right now and instead sulk on the couch watching Pride & Prejudice again? I thought we promised to take a break from watching it anyway."

You push out your lower lip, pouting. "I'm not sulking," you say in a tone so drawn out it completely defiles your statement. Thranduil doesn't say anything, he just lets his gaze slowly wander over the blankets you are buried under, to the half-eaten ice cream bucket to the TV where the Bennet sisters are currently caught eavesdropping on their parents' conversation. He doesn't need words to express himself, the judgment is silent in words but loud in the raise of his dark eyebrow.

"Fine," you groan, admitting defeat. "He canceled."

Thranduil's gaze softens as he sits down next to you on the edge of the sofa and he slowly drops your hand from his grip. "He canceled," he repeats, eyes falling back to the ice cream.

"He canceled," you confirm with a sigh "Just like I predicted- so I don't know why I even bothered to dress up. I even bought that stupid dress just because he wanted to go out to this new fancy Italian place. He canceled and because I waited 15 minutes for him to not show up, standing outside - in the cold might I add- I think I am allowed to sulk a little!"

In the end, you had talked yourself into quite a rage and fall back into the pillows, your arms crossed in front of your chest. "And no, you said I should take a break from watching that movie but since you are not my mother I am allowed to watch whatever!"

You pierce him with a glare but only for a moment before you deflate.

"Sorry for getting all bitchy there," you shuffle around, hands searching for the remote to stop the movie.

"It's alright," Thranduil says and cocks his head. "Now that you are done, am I allowed to go after him and nail his balls to the ground for standing you up?"

A smile tugs on your lips as you shake your head. "No, you are not. I'm sure he has his reasons." The reason wasn't spelled out in the message but after hopping around in the dating scene for a while now, you know what ´I'm sorry but I don't think we really fit. You are a great person though!´ means.

It was nothing new, though it hurt the same as it did the first time.

"Well, unless there was a sudden death in his family I don't see a reason why he couldn't have canceled before the date," he huffs "-you know like a normal person would do"

You shrug your shoulders. "It's done now. Maybe it just wasn't supposed to happen."

"No, it wasn't. Not with a guy like him," Thranduil shakes his head, the long braid of silver blonde hair getting even more disheveled by the movement. "You deserve a man that doesn't cancel, doesn't let you stand outside in the cold!"

"Yes," you sigh again, staring wistfully at the TV "my Mister Darcy."

"He was literally the reason why Elizabeth ran out into the rain and cold," Thranduil responds deadpanned and you throw a pillow in his direction which he elegantly catches.

"I will not stand for this Darcy-hate! Ugh, you are such a bad friend," you whine, "I got stood up and you are making fun of one of the two people who have never let me down.. one person now that you decided to be a meanie!" You once again pout.

This time it works, a little too well because suddenly Thranduil looks at you with that one look of him, the one that breaks through every defense you could build up. He looks at you like you just told him you were dying, all the compassion he can find in his otherwise cold heart spilling out of his cerulean eyes that wander over your face.

"You know you have every right to feel sad about the date not happening," he says carefully, tilting his head slightly in a way that oozes pity, "You were looking forward to it, you even bought a dress for it. Let me cheer you up, I can cook something for you and we can watch a movie later or we can go out and drink until I have to hold your hair in the bathrooms." He smiles softly, sincere and it makes you want to jump up from the couch and hide in your room.

You two didn't do sincere; you bantered, you made jokes on behalf of the other and you most certainly did not comfort each other after a failed date. Your friendship needed lightheartedness, it thrived on sarcasm and arguments about everything and anything that came to your minds.

But the offer is tempting, especially the cooking part. Thranduil is a chef, working in his own restaurant; 'The Green Leaf' and he did a damn good job at it. Most nights, like this one, he comes home and cooks for you because apparently, Goldfish crackers were not as good for your diet as one part of the name misled you to believe and even though you made fun of Thranduils diet as well, fully vegan and with a distaste for anything that made life worth living like chocolate ice cream, he knew exactly how to whip up a meal that had you salivating.

You stare him down, weighing your options. Option one was to remain on the couch where you would shovel the ice cream down until you would inevitably get sick, watching Pride & Prejudice and mourning the never-happening and probably very boring date you would’ve had.

Option two would entail a doubtlessly very delicious meal as well as the possibility of getting drunk as fuck in a bar.

The choice comes easy.

"Okay," you agree and raise a pointed finger at him as a victorious grin spreads on his lips "But-" you wiggle the finger "you will not do this out of pity because I do not need pity from a man!"

Thranduil's grin only seems to grow, lightening up his eyes "No of course not. No pity here. I promise!" He stands up from the couch in a hurry, grabbing the bag he had left on the chair. When you don't move except to reach for the remote again, he shakes his head. "Leave Mr. Darcy for another day, you have to change!"

"Change?" you ask bewildered, looking around the apartment. "I thought you were going to cook here and not at the restaurant. Why would I need to change now?"

Thranduil scoffs, turning his back to you to walk towards the kitchen, his voice growing louder as it's accompanied by the sound of the fridge opening.

"Because I know you spent the entire day planning your outfit. You said you bought a new dress and I will not cook you an entire meal for you to sit there in your sweatpants!" he calls out and you throw your head against the couch with a groan that has Thranduil leaning out of the kitchen door

"You want the food, you follow the chef's orders," he copies the raised finger in your direction "Don't be a brat, get your butt off the couch and into your room before I have to spank you! I'll call you when you can come out."

The threat is met with you sticking your tongue out and one second thinking you could defy the order but that is until he fakes a quick step back into the room and you peel the blankets away squeaking "I'm moving! I'm moving!" while stumbling through the living room. "Jeez"

Despite knowing he would never hurt you the thought of Thranduil spanking you has you blushing a ridiculous amount and you don't turn around so he doesn't see it.

"But just so you know, I will wear the dress but only so I don't have to squeeze myself into it after dinner when we go out!" you yell over your shoulder instead and you swear you hear him chuckle before you slip into your room and close the door behind you.

The sweatpants land on your bed, followed by the sweater you had put on after getting the text message from Jack. You remain in your underwear, which you hadn't been bothered to change and stare at yourself in the mirror of your wardrobe. You are confronted with the blush the spanking comment had left on your cheeks and down your neck, and you scowl at the image.

He is your best friend and roommate.

Get a grip!

The dress you had bought for the date still hangs on the wardrobe door, a short, and black number that wasn't something you would normally wear but when you had stalked the Instagram Account for the place you would’ve eaten at today, nothing already existent in your closet had seemed fitting.

Staring at it now you question the length as well as the relatively deep front and back. After all, this was a normal dinner with your best friend, right? Yes, you would maybe leave for a club or bar after this and you had worn all kinds of clothes for a night out with Thranduil in your company but this dress had been bought for the sole reasons of looking sexy and with the hopes of getting lucky.

You shake the thoughts away and grab the hanger with the dress on.

This was a normal dinner with your best friend and this was just a dress. He had seen you in other skimpy clothes and literally any other form of dressed as well as undressed on several accidental occasions. There is no need to think this over and fall into an endless spiral of doubts.

With a nod to yourself for this mature thinking, wow, aren't you a well-functioning grown-up? – you slip the garment over your head, pinching and twisting the fabric until it sits to your satisfaction.

The hem barely covers your thighs, just doing enough so it wouldn't flash your bottom at the slightest movement but showing enough leg for you to feel powerful. The same was with the deep neckline. Bending forward was not an option, though it would draw eyes on you, hopefully.

You put the discarded jewelry back on again, a subtle choker necklace and a pair of more flashy earrings with - sadly fake- diamonds dangling and catching the light in them. The makeup is done quickly as well, some touches of a brush on your jawline, some lovely shade of lipstick on your lips, the movement of routine flows through your body with no need to really think about it.

After spraying some of your favorite perfume on your neck and behind your ears you wait.

Sitting on the edge of your bed you wait and you definitely don't think back to Thranduil's statement. No. Never.

Maybe a little bit.

Because when he calls out for you a fifteen-minute heads-up, you feel the blush coming back and the suspicion confirms itself at the last look in the mirror. You raise your head, challenging the woman in the mirror with an arch of the eyebrow before walking out the door and into what could only be described as a fever dream.

The living room is dark, the moss green curtains pulled closed except for a small gap where the afternoon sun filters through into the flat. The dining room table is clear from all the jackets, mail and stuff that accumulates throughout the day and week that are usually thrown on it and instead, there are candles.

Candles!

Candles in silver candleholders, like actual burning candles. Next to the expensive-looking candleholders is a vase filled with lavender, full and flourished purple flowers that fill the room with a soft and dizzying smell.

Suddenly you are very glad you are not in your sweats anymore, there is a heat rising in your body and setting your cheeks aflame.

Fidgeting with your hands you quietly step forward into the room to the kitchen, your eyes flittering from the table to the cleaned-up sofas and then you can see Thranduil rushing from the counter to the stove.

His back is turned to you, offering you a view of broad shoulders and arms flexing beneath the white shirt he had changed into, and even worse, the tight black pants he now wears, showing off his long legs and- you look a little higher, checking him out and blushing like it's a guilty pleasure.

Of course, the pants would show off his perfect arse as well.

You shouldn't stare.

No matter how magnificent the sight is.

And oh, it surely is magnificent.

You snap back into reality, take a lavender-filled breath, and walk into the kitchen.

It's a beautiful kitchen, not one of the reasons you had first checked out the apartment but one that had tipped the arguments for it in the end. And you are glad it did, because when you had taken roommate applications Thranduil simply waltzed into it, nodded and offered you the first year of rent with 25% on top of it if you would remove the pop-into-the-microwave-Lasagna from the freezer and never dared to buy something like that again.

His brisk and bold and sometimes very harsh attitude would've maybe frightened any other person off but you had seen the money, the prospect of a cook as a roommate and a handsome one at that, and had held out the contract with one hand while the other threw out the lasagna.

And look where that had brought you.

The kitchen is now filled with more vegetables than you have ever seen in one place that isn't a market, there is nearly always a pot with something ready for you on the stove and the fondest memories you have with Thranduil are baking Christmas cookies, throwing flour into each others faces so that your hair had been colored white like Thranduils, or you learning how to cut vegetables under his stern gaze because "No, you can not cut a carrot the same way you cut the bell pepper!"

Now here he is again, creating a memory that will never let you go.

You let your eyes wander over the stove, where one pot is cooking rice, the other has some onions caramelizing with garlic from the smell of it and Thranduil has one pan in his hand, throwing some cut tofu into the air while he brushes some oil onto white dough stretched into hand-sized bits.

He is fully in his element, maneuvering what seems like a three-course meal without any help or breaking a sweat. Setting down the pan with the tofu (hadn't that been a fun journey of convincing until you had let him cook that without any protest?) he wipes his hand on the towel thrown over his shoulder and turns to the cutting board on the kitchen island. He has even more flowers on the island, pink gerberas and white orchids stand next to his array of mint, basil and rosemary.

You have no idea what has gotten into him, there have never been this many flowers in your apartment except for the few ones some of your dates had bought you and even then they landed in the trash a couple of days later.

Sometimes Thranduil had even said he had confused them for some swept-in leaves after you asked him where the last bouquet went.

The man was truly an enigma.

"Smells good in here," you say and lean over the stove.

Thranduil clicks his tongue against his teeth. With a soft growl, he presses out a "Move," not sounding really annoyed but disturbed by you being in his way and with a giggle you move away to grant him free access to the pots.

"What is on the menu today, Chef?" you ask as you hop onto the island. No matter how much space Thranduil needs for cooking, he always leaves that one spot on the corner free for you to sit on.

"Tofu Tikka Masala you noisy girl," Thranduil doesn't turn around and for a minute you want him to see you, see the dress you have put on but then your gaze falls onto his back again and you blush.

Thank god, he didn't turn to find you checking him out, again.

"Couldn't you have waited until I told you the food is ready? Now I have you sitting around here, distracting me, even though I don't have a lot of time to begin with."

You know he is lying. He had told you more than once that you were a pleasure in the kitchen. Not at the stove but looking pretty sitting on your spot on the island and not touching a thing.

"Well, we could have ordered some pizza," you tease him, and he grunts. When he still doesn't turn around, you lean forward, a smirk on your lips. "Or we could have gone out to 'Oakenshields' and-" The rest of the sentence dies on your lips as Thranduil's whole body snaps around and you nearly squeak when he leans into your space.

Nose against nose, he stares you down, cerulean eyes holding yours without any playfulness in them. "You are on very thin ice," he says quietly and while you know he still doesn't mean it like that, you squirm under the gaze and sudden rush of adrenalin that his proximity is causing your head to swim.

"Yeah?" you ask breathlessly, sounding way too excited for your own good, and you try kicking him against his chin but he catches your leg before it hits him, and as soon as his hands grab the bare skin he lets go again, falling back like it had shocked him physically.

Cerulean eyes drop, leaving your face that suddenly goes up in flames and for a second you can see his breath hitch, his chest moving at the sharp inhale of air as he takes you in. The moment builds up, the atmosphere between you changes and charges with something and for this short, stopped moment in time you allow yourself to think:

'What if?'

Then a timer goes off, distant at first but growing louder when Thranduil's face shifts back to the usual calm facade that reflects not a thing of what is going on in his head. He sniffs, hiding behind his dark eyebrows when he lowers his head and pats you gently on your thighs.

"I'll rather perish than go to 'Oakenshields'," he rasps, the raw edge in his voice the only remnant showing that he was affected by whatever that had been between you.

Then he turns around and pushes the tray with dough into the oven.

He covers it up professionally with the joke, of course, because Thranduil Oropherion could never have been seen with feelings that go deeper than what any human would consider barely amiable.

Yes, he is your best friend and he makes an effort around you to not be the coldhearted asshole he is too, for example, Thorin Oakenshield, owner of the restaurant slash bar that the last critic had called a "serious opponent in the gourmet chef world".

Thranduil took the news so well that he had a furious meltdown of cooking for nearly 20 hours to create a menu that he would serve the critic to show him Thorin was not to put anywhere near him on a culinary level before he threatened to buy the paper the man was working for and fire him.

He only calmed down when he found out the critic had persisted to order his own wine choices and not the ones Thranduil had carefully paired with each course so he had decided that the man had no taste whatsoever and he couldn't give a shit about what he had said.

You had seen the irony in his statement and the state of him, tired, overworked, still behaving like a diva and you had just stifled a laugh and helped him clean the mess in the kitchen.

It was one of those moments that shows you he cares more than he leads on, about life, about people, about what the world thought of him but when it comes to love the man is as warm as deep diving naked in the antarctic would be.

He can be nice, living with him was pleasant and it got a whole lot more comfortable when you got to know each other better.

He makes jokes, he shows you how much he appreciates you through his food, you two watch movies together, go out, get drunk, get home and giggle when one of you trips on the doormat and after a few months he even lets you fall asleep on him when you came home crying because a date didn't go well.

You had seen him drive home in a frenzy when his mother had called him about his younger brother breaking his leg climbing trees, and he had another friend, Bard, with whom he had a friendly get-together every now and again; it was only the romance part he never talks about, never shows, never ever makes room for.

While you go out for dates- he works.

When you meet someone at the club you dance, you make out, you go home with someone else- Thranduil just ignores any woman or man who talks to him.

Thranduil's love life (if existent) is a mystery to you and that makes it even more confusing why he had looked at you the way he did just now. Why would he suddenly decide to buy flowers, to cook you an entire meal because you had been stood up and play-dress up?

Your brain is steaming with these thoughts by the time you catch up with reality again, a snap of fingers in front of your face pulls you back and you blink, slightly dazed. Thranduil stands next to you, body facing the cutting board in front of him but you can see him sneaking a peek towards you out of the corner of his eyes.

"Do you know what you want to do after dinner yet?" he asks, slicing some cilantro and parsley.

His long fingers wrap around the shiny knife elegantly, drawing your gaze in and keeping it locked onto the movement of him cutting a lemon in half and drizzling a few drops of juice into the bowl with the herbs.

You try not to stare at the few drops wetting his palm.

"We should go out," you say, voice wavering in between a question and a hoarse croak. You swallow and move your head before your eyes follow a few seconds later, blinking up at Thranduil. "There is this new rooftop bar- they opened a few days ago and are still baiting people in with the two-for-one drink offer."

Thranduil smirks, leaning his hip against the counter and wiping his hand on the towel. "Ah, yes, because that went so well the last time?" he inquires, eyebrow raised teasingly.

"I couldn't possibly know what you are talking about, Thranduil," you purse your lips, suppressing the smile just barely that threatens to spill out at the memory of the last time you went to a new bar, trying out the "new and never been done before"-drinks the small hipster bar had promised you and that'd ended up being the worst cocktails you ever had.

"You still owe me for the trousers I had to get dry-cleaned because you missy-" he half-threateningly holds out his pointy finger again, "you missed the toilet"

"You could have shoved me in the right direction!"

"Ah yes, blame the man that saved you from throwing up all over your date," Thranduil turns away again, adding coconut milk and chopped tomatoes into the pot with the garlic and onions.

"Occupational hazard of being my friend," you say, giving him the brightest and most dearest smile when he holds out a spoon he'd dipped into the curry, before leaning in and wrapping your lips around it, letting the flavors swirl over your tongue.

Then a low hum leaves your throat, a sound not only shocking you but also Thranduil by the looks of it.

By the look of him.

There is a sudden pink covering his face, right around his nose, showing off his prominent cheekbones in a way that lifts the gorgeous feature even more. It is such an unusual sight, Thranduil, blushing, that you are taken aback by it and the spoon slips out of your lips, nearly falling when Thranduil pulls it out of your mouth, clearing his throat suspiciously loud and rough that it sounds physically hurtful.

He steps back, hiding behind a "Good then?" that you can only agree to with a low "Yes" because– firstly you could never correct him on the taste of something he prepares, he knows your taste well enough to always get the spices perfectly adjusted to your preferences, and secondly your head is blissfully empty for any other answer.

The moment passes, gets drowned out by another timer going off, followed by Thranduil shifting into chef-mode as you endearingly call the shift in his demeanor into a controlled acrobat when he starts handling all those pants and pots, stirring here, tasting there, focusing on everything all at once with a concentration that nothing could penetrate.

You sit back and watch him with a soft smile, observing him as he pulls the bread out of the oven, and exchanges the tray with two dark green bowls out of the cabinets to warm them up in the leftover heat.

He moves with a grace that you surely could not copy, all of his long limbs knowing exactly when to push the rice away from the burner, ducking away when the steam of pouring the hot water into the sink would have given your face a free steaming and all that while looking extremely put together with his tight pant- braid! and white shirt he didn't even bother protecting with an apron like he always forces you to wear.

It's frustrating and attractive how much confidence he oozes in the kitchen. You wonder how the cooks managed to do their job without dropping to the floor and praising him like the godly being he seems to be.

He looks perfectly put together when he finishes plating up and ushers you back into the living room, where you are forced to sit down while he disappears into the kitchen and brings the plates and bowls, shaking off your offer to help every time you can barely start the question.

So you do what is expected of you and you wait, brushing off some hair of your dress- long silver blond strands that you twirl around your finger.

The kitchen light gets dimmed and Thranduil comes into the living room one last time, holding a bottle of wine in his hands that by the looks of it, and by that you mean expensive as fuck, must have been nicked from the restaurant.

He fills your glass, then his own and finally sits down on the other side of the table.

Before you can say something, he raises his glass, "To this evening."

You smile and raise your glass to his, "To Marcus-" Thranduil's eyebrow twitches but you only smile wider "Thank god he canceled, I much rather spend this night with good food and good company"

A deep chuckle accompanies the soft 'clink' of your glasses. You take a first sip, holding Thranduil's gaze over the rim and over the flicking fire of the candles that illuminate his face just right. The wine is smooth, and refreshing as it wets your suddenly dry throat.

You use the plate in front of you as an opportunity to look away without it feeling like you are fleeing from his gaze, even if the thought is heavy in your stomach.

"Everything looks delicious, Thranduil," you say, gesturing to the bowls with the rice and tofu tikka masala, the dough that turned out to be naan that he placed on a wooden board between the flowers and the candle.

Thranduil gives you an appreciative nod, grabbing a naan and ripping it apart. "I tried to make something that comes close to your planned meal of chocolate ice cream," there is a mocking tone in his voice, a drawl on the words chocolate ice cream that is the perfect mix between friendly teasing and his true disgust towards it.

You let out a giggle, following his example of dipping the naan into the curry. "Oh, you are so gracious for trying but we both know that ice cream is high above this. It doesn't even fall in the same food category to be able to compare. If you truly look at it, it's its own category"

"Never mind everything I have said, I've forgotten that I'm talking to the person who thinks a cup of coffee counts as an entire meal. How very stupid of me"

"Not everyone can start their morning looking like you do and have the energy to go out for a run and then cook breakfast," you shoot back, the realization of the compliment slipping out pours onto you when you see Thranduil's lips curve into a very self-satisfactory grin.

"So you are awake to notice," he leans back in his chair, popping another piece of the bread into his mouth and looking so smug that the urge to kick him is rising in you again. "You simply choose to act like you are non-responsive until you've had your coffee."

Instead of kicking him, you roll your eyes and fill your spoon with rice.

Yes, that was one way to put it.

The other would be that you are simply too scared you would say something very stupid and inappropriate when you watched him do his yoga in nothing but very tight pants while you sat on the couch and pretended to stare into empty space that just coincidently was very close to his arching form in front of the window.

"Yes, I live by the rule that coffee comes before any man."

"How rude, to consider me 'any' man," you want to say something but Thranduil is quicker to continue, shutting you up with that gorgeous smile, "Am I not the only man in your life right now who you don't leave on read after a while?"

"That is a very low bar to measure yourself with"

"Darling, those men you date offer nothing but low standards."

You nearly choke on the wine you'd reached for when Thranduil says these words, this term of endearment he casually throws into the sentence, far too confident to be a slip of tongue, far too soft to be meant as mocking.

He said it as if it had never not been there, as if it wasn't completely out of character. For a moment you consider reaching over the table to poke him, to make sure he is really here and not some (very accurate, word class if it truly was one) robotic imitation.

There is a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that only seems to twinkle brighter the longer you stare at him and you wonder if he feels like he has won the discussion or if he can hear your brain mulling over the 'darling'.

Either way, he doesn't comment on it further, not on this nor the matter of your dating.

Why he thought to do so in the first place was a mystery to you, another piece of the puzzle that was this evening. He had made comments about the men you were seeing before, subtle phrases made after glancing over to your screen and the conversations you were having, never really cruel but you wouldn't say that they were particularly nice either.

Sometimes when you came home from a night out, you never brought them back to your flat, Thranduil would simply raise an eyebrow, not saying anything and so much at the same time.

You dig back into your food and like always conversation flows naturally between you. Pushing the teasing and the sizzling of something warm in your stomach that you had felt in the kitchen away into the back of your mind you let yourself enjoy the moment, the comfort of sitting at the table, a nice dinner in front of you and the home-y feeling that was in the air.

Curry and naan fill your stomach as the wine settles in your head and laughter slips your tongue.

Empty plates get pushed aside, forgotten on the side of the table until later, making room for you to prop up one elbow and let your cheek rest in the palm of your hand as Thranduil talks about his newest ideas for his restaurant.

The candles flicker, coloring both your faces golden as the last bit of sunlight sneaks away from the tiny crack in the curtains.

After another glass of wine and some well-coordinated cleaning up, a hand-in-hand process of taking the plates into the kitchen where you load the dishwasher and Thranduil wipes down the pots and pans in the sink, Thranduil throws you out of the kitchen again.

You hop into the bathroom, spend a few minutes staring at yourself in the mirror and try to think about the outcome of this evening.

A few hours ago you had been ready to go out with someone else but right now, in the dim light that is too bright to conceal how flushed your cheeks are and too dark to be the glimmering sparkle in your eyes, there is not one thought wasted on any other guy.

It's a complicated feeling, being confronted with the crush you'd harbored on Thranduil for a while now and while it wasn't always easy to keep it at bay, it had been nowhere near as hard to keep your focus on the big fat label of 'friendship' that was the only thing ever to be between you.

Yes, you know that that label should hamper the want.. the need to kiss the ever-living daylight out of Thranduil when he stared at you across those flickering candles but who wouldn't want to do that to an attractive man showering you with attention he had given you today?

Any normal-thinking person would.

At least that is what you tell yourself, that these feelings are normal because he is attractive and not just because you are attracted to him.

Back in the living room, you fall onto the sofa, legs stretched and feet propped onto the small table in front of the couch, and fight the urge to cuddle into the pillows more than necessary. Any deeper and you would for sure fall asleep and with how your evening is going, that that would be a shame was an understatement.

"Thranduil?" you call out when another minute passes and the noises of washing up had quietened down and Thranduil still wasn't out of the kitchen again.

"One moment," his deep voice responds with a subtle grunt, "You can begin your search for a bar and please don't let it be the rooftop bar you mentioned earlier."

On another day you would have chosen a bar or even a club to go to, especially after your stomach did that traitorous summersault at the sound of his voice again.

Tonight, with your cozy little apartment smelling like fresh flowers and curry and your mind clinging onto a possessive and dangerous thought of 'What if..'´ you suddenly can't think of anything worse than going out with Thranduil.

Going out would mean that Thranduil's attention wouldn't be on you alone anymore.

"Thranduil?" you call out again, "Let's stay in and watch a movie."

"What?" He pops his head out of the kitchen and you giggle at the sight of soap bubbles on his nose as he wipes his hand over his surprised face. He rolls his eyes, lifting one arm, - oh god his sleeves are rolled up, exposing far too much skin and veiny arms for you to think clear- and wipes the soap away. "I thought you wanted to go out."

"No," you draw the word out, still hung up on the smooth-looking skin, "We talked about going out or watching a movie," shuffling your shoulders into the pillows you smile at him "and I think we should watch a movie. It has been a while since we did that."

Thranduils face softens and he cocks his head, "It has," he agrees, the tenderness in his eyes reaching his voice.

With Thranduil running his restaurant and your work demanding more of you there hadn't been a lot of time you had sat down and watched something together recently.

You still had your mornings full of nursing coffee and yoga and the evenings where you weren't on a date or Thranduil away on business you had gone out together.

The summer with all its warm and sunny days and bars filled with cool drinks and long evenings fading into soft blue nights had been fun- that didn't mean you didn't miss cuddling into a blanket on the couch and watching a movie with Thranduil where you spend the entire time making small comments only to annoy him.

"How about you sort out what movie you want to see and I'll fetch us a snack?" he proposes and you let out a hum. Thranduil starts to turn away, then halters, "And if you could find anything other than 'Pride and Prejudice' I would be very grateful."

You did, in fact, not search further for the movie that you had started earlier.

Something that Thranduil comments with a loud "God, please do not do this to me," when he reenters the living room.

Stubbornly, you shake your head, your finger dancing over the buttons on the remote control. "You won't know if you like it or not if you never stay to watch it through! What if this is your movie? You say you don't have a favorite movie, Thranduil- this could be it!" Your arms flare in the air, pointing the remote to the screen while you try your best to sound as motivational as you can under the skeptical raise of his eyebrow - though the corner of his lips twitch, betraying his amusement however hard he wants to look self-assured in his completely (unreasonable) hate for the movie you consider one of the best of all time.

It's only when he saunters closer that you see what he holds in his hands and it momentarily lets you forget the never-ending argument.

"Ice cream!"

He laughs deep and rough, always a bit darker and richer when he has drunk wine, his voice and tone taking on the velvety edge that clouds your mind just as much as the alcohol.

"That was much more enthusiastic than the reaction to the soufflé I made you a while back. Should I take offense? Is this your revenge for my dislike of this Darcy that you so obsess about?"

Sticking out your tongue you grab one of the two buckets he holds out to you, as Thranduil takes his place on the couch; always on the longer side where he could stretch out his long legs. "Do not disrespect the man of my dreams or I will buy the mac-just-add-milk-cheese," you open the lid of the carton box, reaching over to the table to place it there.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Mhm, I wonder if they still have the ones that only need water?"

"Please just press play you vicious woman," Thranduil pokes his finger into your side, admitting defeat with a desperate sigh and opens his own box of ice cream. When he sees you staring at it, he rolls his eyes. "What now? Can't a man enjoy something sweet once in a while?"

"A man yes," you snort "But you-" you poke him as well, "you're always on me when I buy ice cream and now you eat.. what is that..?"

Leaning into his space you ignore how Thranduil swats at you gently like he wants to get rid of a fly "It's chocolate, no way! My, my, should I call your health insurance and warn them that we will need a checkup? Maybe a brain-"

"Goodness gracious!" Thranduil groans, a sound that reverberates through you as you are still leaning into him, one hand propped next to his thigh, "Will you shut up or do I have to do that for you?"

That does shut you up instantly.

Not a sound leaves your mouth - left wide open as if he had simply pressed paused on your whole body - and you slowly turn your head away from him and back to the screen.

Now, while he did shock you enough with his words to let the teasing about the ice cream slide back down your very much dry throat, you can't help it to at least attempt to have the last word.

To calm your racing heart if not to for the sudden lack of thoughts, "Only if you swear to watch the whole movie without talking shit about Mister Darcy"

"Half of it and a little bit of shit-talking?"

"All of it and none of that!"

"Just let me make my comments and I will buy you your ice cream next time."

You squint your eyes, challenging him to stay with the offer and consider if it's worth it.

You could easily buy your own snacks, you did it every day you went grocery shopping anyway but there was a satisfying pleasure in knowing that the great Thranduil, hater of all sweets, would not only pick out ice cream for you, but pay for it as well.

Maybe he would even throw in something else as well, if you agreed to him and let him make his jokes.

In the end, you were simply grateful that he was here, sitting on the couch to watch a movie he knows means a lot to you, despite his dislike for it, and maybe that was enough..

"Deal!"

Finally, you eagerly press play, allowing the soft piano music to fill the room a second time this day.

While you can't help but smile, muttering the words into the spoons full of ice cream, Thranduil is less mean than you thought he would be. In the beginning, you could see him rolling his eyes whenever Mr. Darcy came on screen - something you commented with a sigh and a giggle - but like you always predicted, he soon relaxed into the cushions.

His face softens, just like his comments, mouth corners turning up as he watches the discussion between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth in the reading room.

In one particularly dramatic scene, you turn to Thranduil with wide eyes. "See? See? Mister Darcy is just misunderstood. He's so in love with Elizabeth, but he doesn't know how to express it properly."

Thranduil rolls his eyes playfully. "Oh, please. He just needs to learn how to be less insufferable."

You lean closer to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, you could learn a thing or two from Darcy, Thranduil."

He scoffs. "Me? Like what?"

Despite the tone he lifts one arm so that you can really lean into his side and you follow the invitation. Drawing your legs up, ignoring that the hem of your dress rides up your thigh, you scoot into Thranduil's space and rest your back against the length of his chest. His arm remains on the headrest of the couch.

You grin. "How to sweep a girl off her feet. Be a little less aloof and a little more... passionate–" your voice wanders into a wistful sigh, words getting lost as you watch with bated breath as Mister Darcy helps Elizabeth into the carriage.

There is a deep rumble behind you, a hot exhale of breath hitting the back of your head and while it seems like Thranduil wants to say something, he remains silent.

When you slightly turn your head, you see him watching the screen with a look in his eyes that you can't pin point.

"Why exactly does he flex his hand like that?" Thranduil quizzes with what sounds like genuine interest and you nearly bounce off the couch in excitement.

"Okay so there are multiple ways that this could be interpreted, some think it represents his armor cracking because he has been so buttoned-up, closed-off all the time and now his muscles betray the character he is putting on," you start, the words tumbling out of your mouth fast and rushed now that Thranduil shows his interest "It's like he is unraveling slowly but surely."

"It's also the first time they touch," you add.

Thranduil cocks his head, "It is?"

The grin on your face grows wider and you nod enthusiastically. "Yes! It's the first time they touch and it's pure skin to skin contact which was totally scandalous in their time, hence the gloves and long sleeves. Imagine going on through your life with these walls built around you as a way to protect your heart and then there is this infuriating woman."

"I can't imagine," Thranduil throws in yet it's so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Nearly.

Your tongue trips over a few words as you continue speaking, caught on what Thranduil had said under his breath as if it had been meant for only him, "-well and she.. she is rebellious. She does not follow the etiquette of wearing gloves, she speaks her mind freely and she contradicts everything that you have been taught," you count on your fingers "And she must have been the first woman in a long time that has touched him like that, even if it's as simple as using his help getting into the carriage"

"Mhm," Thranduil raises the arm that isn't behind you and taps his lips. "And you find that moment important for their building romance?"

"Without a doubt in my mind."

"Alright."

And with that, the topic is dropped and you both return to watch the movie.

That is until Thranduil's arm drops lower.

At first, you think it could have been unintentional, physics and gravity and all that stuff being the reason that his arm fell or slipped from the headrest on your shoulders.

It happens, maybe it had been tiresome to leave it up there, stretched away at such an angle. That is what you tell yourself in the few seconds where his arm simply.. stays still.. but then his arm bends at the elbow and the movement is so slow, so careful that your brain has enough time to forget the movie and focus on how delicately wary his hand comes into contact with the naked skin of your arm.

At first, it's just his fingertips.

Trembling ever so slightly they ghost over your biceps, giving the impression that he is still unsure on how to proceed and you wait, trying your hardest not to flex your arm and maybe scare him away and it's the hardest thing - this kind of touch was rare.

The waiting and effort are worth every second of agonizing stillness because following the tips is the hot palm of his hand, curving around your upper arm and holding you.

Your senses are aflame like the candles, lavender clouding your mind, cold ice cream melting on your tongue as the rough skin of his fingertips trails over your arm in the smallest circles.

Reflecting on the previous conversation there is one sentiment burning its way through your body, bringing with it all the moments of today, his hands on your leg in the kitchen, the storm of emotions crackling through his eyes like thunder, splitting his facade like lightening, the way he had reacted on spoonfeeding you the curry, the tension.

This has to mean something.

This has to be something.

You make up your mind to confront him about it even before he opens his mouth for the next commentary again.

"Darcy sure has a fantastic way to show his love," his tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"Nothing screams more 'I love you' than separating the sister of the woman you love from your best friend because you think the family is far too poor and lacks social etiquette," he scoffs, seemingly being his normal self and you would have believed him if his eyes didn't dart towards you, hinting at a touch of nervousness in those cerulean seas which lack the usual confidence.

"Maybe he is unsure how to tell her that he loves her," you say, holding his gaze.

"Well, there are other ways than this," Thranduil says, pointing toward the screen where Darcy is now standing painfully awkward in Charlotte's home that Elizabeth visits.

While you know that he is trying to follow Elizabeths advice of simple conversation, Thranduil doesnt seem to make that connection.

"Why aren't you out and about flirting with women?" It is a slip of the tongue, led on by the teasing you are so used to yet it comes out far too soft, far too wobbly. Quickly you add to the question with what is half cough, half laugh: "Huh, I mean if you are so sure that Darcy is doing something wrong, you should be picking up women, right?"

Thranduil raises an eyebrow in confusion. He opens his mouth, slightly tilting his head. "What? Why should I do that?"

Now you wonder if he was more stupid than you thought or if you heavily missed him having a girlfriend. Or not a girlfriend, or a partner. Were you that ignorant? Did you miss anything he told you about his sexuality?

"I–" you stutter "I didn't want to pry. I´m sorry. I.. I'm just wondering why you never go out on dates"

"Oh," there is a solemn look on his face "Ah, I had hoped this wouldn't come up for a while longer," He pauses, glancing at the TV and a feeble smile has the corner of his mouth twitching.

You don't have to follow his gaze to know that Mister Darcy has just followed Elizabeth into the rain; the only scene Thranduil has ever watched with you.

Maybe you had been ignorant before but the resigned tone in his voice is loud and clear. "We don't have to talk about it!" you rush in, "Really. No need to converse. Let's just watch the movie alright?" Without thinking about it, your hand moves to his chest, a reflex to gently pat him that dies when you feel the hard thumping of his heart through his shirt.

"I could never date someone, let alone think about a woman the way I think about you."

There it was again, the casualness that had tainted the 'Darling' from earlier. You would have laughed, hell, it is already bubbling up your throat when the heaviness of his confession crashes down on you and all that leaves you is a choked sound and a sudden lack of air has you gasping.

The combination of both hurts but not enough to cover the flutter in your stomach.

"What?" you ask not because you didn't understand him, you had heard every word, every syllable clear and distinct, but because you can't believe that you had heard it.

Your hand still rests atop his chest, feeling the heartbeat- hard and fast.

The same way he suddenly pressed his mouth on yours.

It happens quickly, leaving no time for you to react how you want to react and the only thing you can do is gasp.

The kiss ends as swiftly as it has started at the sound yet Thranduil doesnt withdraw completely. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath ghosting over your dry lips. There was a question in it, the same that is in his eyes when you gather the courage to look up.

Thranduil wasn't this hesitant, he was efficient, confident and so fucking sure of himself that his lack of those qualities right now spoke just as much as the kiss itself.

In the background, you hear rain but all you feel is your mind clearing up like the sky after the downpour.

Without further hesitation, you nod and Thranduil lunges forward again, this time with enough force that you lose your balance - or maybe it was the feel of his lips on yours that prevented you from catching yourself as you fall backward and crash into the pillows.

As far as first kisses go, most of the ones you had with guys were significantly worse. They were usually awkward, sometimes even uncomfortable because you weren't yet attuned to each other, but you weren't kissing a strange guy in a bar here.

You were kissing Thranduil.

You had been friends for years, you had seen each other in the most embarrassing situations, he had probably been confronted with your unclothed body more often than others, and if there was one thing he had noticed, it was what disappointed you about your dates.

And while he kissed you silly and stupid you were happy about exactly this perceptiveness.

His hair falls around you like a curtain, his chest presses against yours and you get so used to the weight of his body on yours like it has never been different.

And you hope it will never be any different.

"Shit," Thranduil groans against your lips, and you open your eyes, smiling up at him in a daze.

"What?"

"Now-" he kisses you again "Now that we got this out of the way.." Another kiss, a soft bite on your lips and you are so fucking glad to know that no woman has experienced this from him in a while. You are getting addicted to his kisses fast "..can you please stop dating these assholes and let me take you out for a real dinner?"

You nod hastily and lift your head to catch his mouth again. You only let him go for another second, when the perfect place pops into your mind - the last thought for the rest of the evening probably.

"Let's go to 'Oakenshields'"

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rikuisthesweetestboy · 6 months

Text

Don't Blink

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader

Summary: Going home was meant to be a vacation from all the aliens and monsters.

Part 2: Don't Turn Your Back Part 3: Don't Look Away Part 4: Dreams See Us Through

Requests: Open!

Tag List: @nyxiethesimp

Warnings: Weeping Angels, babes.

You hadn't slept in days.

It started innocuous enough -- some nerves as you crawled into your bed, for once. You'd assumed it was because you were so used to the TARDIS that home didn't feel as much like home anymore. You thought that maybe, after a day or two, it'd get better.

It got worse.

Waking up the next morning, you were confronted with the feeling of being watched. No matter where you went -- your mum's, the shops, the cellar, even the restroom. Everywhere. All day. By the time you dropped into your bed that night, you were exhausted from being on high alert the whole day.

You didn't sleep well that night.

Nightmares plagued you -- they were nebulous, slipping just out of focus every time you thought you could make out even just a single detail. But despite that -- or maybe because of it -- you were terrified.

You awoke drenched in a cold sweat, covered in goosebumps and with a stomach churning with unease. You felt feverish, but when you took your temperature the thermometer flashed with a perfectly normal number.

Going about your day felt like a monumental task. While your limbs felt weighed down with lead, the rest of you felt light, jittery... panicky. Any attempts to focus for more than thirty seconds at a time failed miserably.

Maybe it was just your heightened state, but you could've sworn that everyone could see that you were starting to lose it.

That was the first night you didn't sleep.

The second night, you finally caught sight of the predator in the underbrush -- the thing that had been stalking you since you arrived back home. Only for a brief, blink-and-you-miss-it moment, but it was still long enough for you to know that it was the cause of your sleepless nights and worsening mental state.

You weren't sure how a perfectly ordinary angel statue could cause so much distress.

The third night, you noticed the statue had moved -- just a couple inches -- but it was enough for you to see the difference. Finally, you called the Doctor. Not five minutes later, you heard the TARDIS materialize outside.

You turned away for all of one second, but when you looked back, the angel had gone.

Well, "gone" was relative. It was out of line of sight, you could say that much for sure. But you knew it was still lurking nearby -- you could still feel it watching you.

The Doctor didn't bother announcing himself as he barged into your flat -- the TARDIS brakes were announcement enough. The sonic screwdriver was held aloft, its light moving in erratic circles in the darkened flat as the Doctor gradually made his way to you.

"Where is it?" he asked once he finally reached you. "Did you blink -- did it move!?"

You weren't sure how to answer. He had told you not to take your eyes off it, you recalled that now that he was here, yelling at you about it -- but you didn't even remember looking away just moments ago you were so exhausted.

In the back of your mind some little part of the normal you knew that the Doctor was just worried, but that little piece was dwindling with every moment you continued to lose sleep.

You'd moved right past delirium at this point -- and, hell, you weren't even sure how much of this was real. What if you were hallucinating? Angel statues that could only move if they weren't being looked at? That was a little crazy, even for the Doctor.

He turned to look at you when you remained silent, and when his eyes met yours they melted into pure, unadulterated concern and some dam inside you broke.

Sobs wracked your body and you collapsed. The only reason you didn't hit the ground was the Doctor surging forward, arms wrapping around you and holding you steady.

"Oh, dear," he cooed, holding you close. You buried your head into his chest, your cries still rocking through you, though the Doctor's arms kept you pretty snugly in place, and his clothes did an excellent job of muffling your blubbering.

You could feel one of his hands running comfortingly through your hair, while the other rubbed soothing circles into your back.

Miraculously, you calmed. For the first time in days, you felt like you could relax. Breathe. Hell, maybe even sleep.

It was with that thought that you felt yourself being effortlessly lifted. The Doctor carried you, bridal style, back to the TARDIS, through the doors and the console room and the halls, until he reached your bedroom and settled you carefully onto the bed.

"What about the angel?"

"You're completely safe in the TARDIS. I promise."

You knew that he knew that you had meant something different, but you were too tired to argue. Now that you were safe, sleep was coming to claim you rather quickly.

Once you fell asleep, you were haunted by nightmares again, but you were just so glad to be getting any sleep at all that you didn't care.

You found the Doctor in the console room the next morning, looking over something on one of the monitors. Without even so much as sparing you a glance, he dived right into it.

"That's no ordinary Weeping Angel."

"What do you mean?" you asked with a yawn and a bleary blink in his direction.

"See, normally a Weeping Angel wouldn't waste any time -- you blink, you're dead. Well. Teleported to another time so that they can feed off the energy that the displacement causes. But this... this is..."

"It's torturing me."

It wasn't a question -- how could it have been? You and the Doctor both could see what it was doing to you.

"Yes," he confirmed sadly.

"Reminds me of something," you said with a shrug.

"Oh?"

"Oh, do I get to be the brainiac for once?" you teased with a smirk, leaning back against the console beside him.

"I guess we'll find out," he teased back, mirroring your expression and bumping your shoulder lightly with his own.

You blushed, suddenly self-conscious, but you forged ahead anyway. "So, usually when a predator becomes a maneater it's because it's sick or injured and almost always starving, and humans are really easy prey compared to deer and antelope and stuff."

He was watching you with such rapt, adoring attention. You could barely stand it.

"But," you continued, "sometimes there are outliers. Predators that kill humans for unknown reasons, reasons that don't align with what we know about typical maneaters. The maneaters of Tsavo -- they were these two perfectly healthy, normal lions by all appearances, that killed anywhere from -- realistically speaking -- twenty-eight to thirty-two people, but reportedly they killed over a hundred. And no one really knows why they did it. There are theories, of course, but because they were healthy, and it happened over a century ago, there's no way to really confirm one way or another why they killed all those people."

You paused, thinking.

"Well, no way for the average person."

The Doctor beamed at you. "Oh, you are clever, aren't you?"

"I try."

"So you think maybe this Angel is an outlier?"

"Yeah, it's possible."

"No indicators of illness or injury, no signs of weakness or starvation. Just..."

"Sadistic tendencies?"

"But why?" he asked no one in particular, leaning back to stare at the monitor again.

"And..." you started thoughtfully. The Doctor turned to look at you again. "Why me?"

"Why you?" he repeated cluelessly.

"I wasn't here when it arrived, and it couldn't have known I was gonna be coming back anytime soon. It's possible it's been waiting for days, weeks for me to come back -- and it could've been waiting even longer if I hadn't decided I needed a break. That's a lot of waiting for a random person you don't know is coming back."

Realization dawned on the Doctor's face. "It's targeted."

"But why?"

"Why indeed?" he asked in that tone that was meant to sound casual but only served to let you know that he was deeply worried. "Let's find out, shall we?"

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rikuisthesweetestboy · 6 months

Note

I dare you to do one with your favorite trope to write (unless you've already done it)

Oh my goodness, this might be longer that usual. XD

And I really had to think about what I wanted to write. I think I'll make this a one-shot. (unless you guys want more anyway) Prepare for this to be as self indulgent as hell. :D

And I'll make it Time while I'm at it.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

This was the third time this week that you found something like this. You didn't know who was doing this.

A basket, filled to the brim with goodies and trinkets alike, sat properly outside of your window sill. It would be charming if you weren't on the third floor. Someone was climbing up to your balcony and leaving the baskets for you to find.

It was creepy- to a degree. There was never anything malicious about it though. The baskets typically held a flower, a warm meal (or groceries) and some little thing for you to put around your apartment.

You see, you moved to the Kingdom of Kokiri with nothing but a backpack and small child's wagon. Your apartment wasn't even on a nicer side of town. But it hard to be worried about robbers when you're home is bare and empty.

Slowly, that's been changing though. The baskets always had a poem attached, but no name. You secret admirer would give little things from time to time. The baskets are getting more frequent too.

What used to be a small monthly thing, turned weekly then bi weekly- and you're beginning to suspect that they're turning into a daily thing.

Part of you worries that whoever this is, is spending too much on you.

But seeing that the last basket had a new set of dining wear with plates and cups and a some nice utensils to match- you're not inclined to have them stop anytime soon when they're improve your very living conditions as it is. Even if you feel a little guilty.

That being said, this basket had a warm meal already prepared, still steaming in the glass tupperware. There was a small bouquet of roses near the top and a small little box that you opened to see a single slice of chocolate cake.

The card was attached on the inside but it lacked the typical poem. It simple read: "Rest well, Love. You've worked hard today. Dinner's on me. I just want to see you smile in the morning."

You smiles and tucked the card back into its place, bringing the basket back into your apartment.

You have to figure out who this secret admirer of yours is. It has to be someone with access to your floor but it can't be a neighbor. Right? You're on the corner so it can't be anyone to your left. But maybe your neighbor to the right? That's a creepy thought. You hardy ever see him and you don't think he showers throughout the week.

It can't be him. Or at least you're going to deny it.

Maybe it's someone from above? That's more likely. There is this cute guy that you know lives on the floor above you, but you don't know which apartment. It wouldn't be hard to drop the basket secretively onto your balcony from above if that was the case.

The thought rotates in your head as you eat the food. It's delicious. Decadent, even.

Gratitude fills your heart and soul. you have to return the favor somehow after everything this person has provided for you. But how?

You head to bed with a smile on your face and a full stomach. You'll have to start small but you can think of something.

The next morning you head to the castle and walk straight to the throne room.

It was a deal that the king had proposed personally to you. You get to work concern free in his kingdom but you have to report to him every other Tuesday. Seeing as you had nowhere else to go, you didn't think it wise to refuse.

You've grown somewhat close, but with his power and status by his side, you couldn't help but slightly intimidated by him even now.

The king- like most Royals of Kingdoms of Hyrule- was a dragon. Sure, he could take the form of a typical man, but he stayed in his half form more often than not. His age and strength add to his credentials. As the current senior amongst dragons, all you've gathered is that he's lived longer than he appears. The older the dragon, the stronger they are.

King Link is a force to be reckoned with.

However, he's kind and patient with you. He's not all that bad.

You nod and grin at the Captain, who's affectionately called Warrior. Another dragon hidden among the people. You don't know his story, but he's a hard working fellow. He also came to the king in a time of need, looking for asylum and has been working under his employ ever since. He is the king's right hand man.

Warrior smiles back and salutes you softly as you enter. You'll never understand why you've more or less been given free reign of the castle, but with his approval, you feel better to head on in.

You meet the king and curtsy clumsily, still feeling rushed. He's asked you call him Time and he stands from the throne. His face is kind, amused even. A chuckle tumbles out of him as he walks toward you, his marble like tail swinging behind him. "I thought we were passed the formalities, my dear."

You clear your throat. "Were we? I don't recall."

He laughs again. "Come. We have much to discuss."

You nod and follow. He leads you to the back room with a gentle touch the small of your back. It's a familiar routine that you've grown comfortable with.

There's a small rounded table with a pale blue laced table cloth. There's a delicate tea set and it's covered to the brim with snacks and treats alike. You think you see a few of your favorites and your eyes light up at the sight.

King Time notices and he smiles, pleased. "Sit."

You nod and take your usual spot. Time sits across from you and serves you the pieces that you eyes earlier. You almost feel bad. You're still full from the night before.

Time notices. "Something wrong, dear?"

"No." You shake your head, afraid of insulting him. "Someone gave me dinner last night and I'm still a bit full from it."

Time seemed to be shocked by the tidbit. "Really?... Was it good?"

"It was delicious!" You can't help but gush. "I would normally cook for myself but they send food from time to time and it was still warm so I couldn't resist."

His smile turns a little tight. "Is that so? I'm glad that you were fed adequately then.... May I ask who?"

You falter, the smile on your face turning more soft and shy. "Um... I think it was my neighbor..."

"...You don't know who it is?"

You blush and look down onto the table, playing with the treats on your plate. "I know that I should be more cautious. But they've only ever left it on my balcony... It's a secret admirer so to speak. They've given me trinkets and flowers and food. It seems as if they've slowly been furnishing my house for me. I don't know... I've been trying to think about who it may be, but I'm coming up short. Regardless, enough about my lack of love life-"

Time abruptly puts his hand under the table but you catch the reason why before he can hide it.

He's bent the fork in half with his hand, seemingly without realizing it. He smiles brightly, as if nothing happened and the thought gets put on the back burner for now. "Right... Well, you can always ask for my assistance, Darling."

You shake your head with a small smile. "Thank you, but I'm here to report my work. Let's get to business then."

Time clenches his jaw slightly but nods in agreement. "Right. I believe last time you mentioned that you were following a trail of some suspicious individuals on the property of the farm lands for relief efforts. Did that bloom into anything substantial?"

You pull out a manila folder with a smirk and hand it to the king. "Did it ever."

The time passes before you know it. Little by little, as you give your report, if drifts away and you're talking about your lives as much as you can before you leave.

Warrior comes in, informing Time of another meeting has to attend. He looks apologetic.

The king winces but you're quick to stand up, mid panic. "I'm sorry. I've overstayed my welcome."

"Impossible." Time blurts, standing abruptly as well. He reach out as if to stop you and moves around the table as if to block your path. His tail curls around your ankle, stopping your in your tracks. It's gentle but firm. Even if his grip is painless, you can already tell that you wouldn't be able to escape on your own.

You freeze and after a beat he lets you go. Time gulps and stands, seemingly more aware of what he was doing. His grip falls away and he takes a step back. "R-right... I won't keep you from your work much longer then."

You can't help but blush. He's always been fine with putting a hand on your shoulder or your back... but the tail is one of the most sensitive parts of a dragon. And he just grabbed you with it. For some reason, you find yourself blushing.

You nod dumbly, as if your schedule is jammed packed like his. Your heart is pounding. You follow Warrior out of the room as he leads you back to the main gate of the castle.

"Sorry." Warrior says quietly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Nonono-" You're still shaken by the phantom feelings of the scales around you. Even if it was just a brush, there was a power there. You don't know why you're so out of whack suddenly. The act was more intimate than you were able to admit. "If you didn't say anything, I would have kept going. Honestly, I swear he's just humoring most of the time."

"This is the only time we get him to actually take a break." Warrior tells you. "He'd work himself t the bone if it weren't for you. It's not like he can't afford it. He's two years ahead of his work. By all means, keep him there longer."

You flush and look away, walking out of the gate. "Oh please, he'll get sick of me before we'd know it."

Warrior is quick to bite his tongue, biting back the instant retort that no doubt sat on his tongue. He takes a breath and shakes his head.

"...He likes you." Warrior looks pained. Like there's something there that he wants to say but can't. You don't see it. "Would you like me to walk you home? If I recall you live far enough away-"

"Not enough to cause concern, Captain." You smile and pat his shoulder. "But thank you."

"His Majesty wouldn't like it if anything happened to you." Warrior tries to push it a little bit.

You shake you head. "And take more of your time away? You work just as hard, if not harder, than the entirety of the castle staff. I think only the King works harder than you."

He presses his lips into a thin line. His own scales poke from under his skin. Something is riling him up but you don't know what. You've never seen his dragon form or even his half. He seems to hide it more often than not. You would never know he was a dragon if the King hadn't said anything earlier.

Warrior sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "Very well... Just... be safe, yeah? I don't think the goddesses themselves would be able to calm the king should things go wrong."

"Like what?" You snort. "I end up in the hospital? I'll be fine. No worries."

You wink for good measure and head home, happy, fulfilled and ready to take on the rest of the week.

You miss the next three visits.

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rikuisthesweetestboy · 1 year

Text

Linked Love 𓆩♡𓆪 | Chapter 7: When You Look At Me, The Only Memory...

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (ꨄ︎ coming soon ꨄ︎)

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ Read on Ao3 ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ Love Interest Guide ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Synopsis:

The 9 heroes were just beginning to get their bearings as a group, when a new face (and a new name! Finally!) was thrown into the mix. How will they fare with a new companion that’s got some stark differences from the rest of them?

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Or, in which, you wake up in the Linked Universe and somehow manage to capture the heart of every single Link in the chain. You may come to learn, however, that their affections are a bit more…smothering than one may expect

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

…Wow. He really did look just like Legend. You’d think they were brothers, if you weren’t privy to the events of the game.

“Uh…” Ravio mumbled, looking over everyone in the room. It seems he didn’t know what to say.

“Ravio? What are you doing here?” Legend crossed his arms, giving the other an exasperated look; though you could tell there was no real animosity in it.

Ravio smiled, lifting his hood as it started to fall over his face. “I just wanted to visit my buddy. Is that so wrong? But uh…” He glanced around the room again, seeming a little nervous with all the eyes on him. “I didn’t realize you were busy with, um…family.”

You laughed a little to yourself.

Family? I guess most of them do look kind of alike…

Legend scoffed, not bothering to correct them. “Yeah, these are my travel companions for the time being. I already know what you’re gonna ask, and the answer is no. There’s not enough space for you to stay here right now.”

Ravio frowned. “Oh, come on, Mr. Hero! I can share…” He smiled, putting his hands out. “It’s just been so long since we’ve caught up. I missed you!”

Legend turned away from him, back to what he was initially doing. “Miss your best customer, more like. But I’m not buying anything from you. Since my adventure is over, I don’t…” He trailed off, a look of realization coming over his face.

I mean, we are technically on an adventure now. So maybe Ravio could still help us out? Legend probably bought all his in-game items though…does that mean he has new ones now?

Ravio clapped his hands together, taking Legend’s silence as resignation. “I knew you would see things my way.” He strolled further into the house. “Now, won’t you introduce me to your relatives?”

He was quite animated, talking as much with his hands as he did with words. His motions reminded you of a street salesman.

“They can do that themselves.” Legend huffed, not looking up from the chest he was digging in.

“I’m surprised Mr. Hero is with so many people. Usually he’s one more for solitude…” Ravio murmured, before turning to Legend with a smirk. “Or does he just not like me?”

“Both.” Legend didn’t even spare him a glance.

Ravio laughed, unbothered. You figured they bantered like this often.

“You may refer to me as Time.” The old man nodded, catching Ravio’s attention. He and Warriors had returned during Ravio’s spiel.

“And I’m Twilight.” The rancher introduced.

“Oh…” Ravio blinked up at the two as they stood to introduce themselves. “Quite tall, aren’t you gentlemen?” He chuckled somewhat nervously. “I see the height skipped Mr. Hero’s generation.”

“You-!” Legend finally turned around, an angry look on his face.

“Ha!” Warriors laughed, patting Ravio firmly on the back. “Someone that can dish out what they take from the vet. I like it. I’m Warriors, or Wars.” He grinned, putting out a hand.

“Strange-named fellows, aren’t you?” He looked up at Wars with an odd smile.

“We all share the name Link, well, for the most part.” Legend’s glanced towards you. “So we usually just stick with nicknames.”

Following Legend’s gaze, Ravio turned to look at you with interest. “Oh, my. You don’t look like the rest of these brutes.” He smiled, clasping his hands. “Would I be correct in assuming you aren’t a relative of Mr. Hero’s?” The look he gave you made your insides tingle. You couldn’t tell if you loved or hated the sensation.

“Um, yeah, no. I’m just…traveling with them.” You smiled, trying to shake off your social ineptitude as you put a hand out. “My name is Y/N. It’s lovely to meet you…Ravio, right?”

Ravio looked at you with vague surprise for a moment, lips curling around the syllables of your name as he repeated it under his breath. Though, before you could comment on it, his expression returned to normal.

“Y/N, hm? What a lovely name. Fitting, for a lovely maiden such as yourself.” He took your hand, but rather than shaking it, he kissed it.

You blushed under his lidded gaze, his warm lips setting your nerves alight.

First kiss in the Zelda world let’s go-?

“U-Uhm…” You stumbled over your words for a moment, unsure of how to respond; especially with 9 other pairs of eyes on you.

“Cut it out, Ravio.” Legend scoffed. “You’re being creepy.” He had an irritated look on his face as he leaned back from the chest he’d been rummaging in.

“Ah, you’re no fun at all, Mr. Hero.” He smiled towards Legend, before his eyes landed on a glowering Twilight. “Though, um, I wouldn’t dream of making any of our guests uncomfortable.” He chuckled nervously, letting go of your hand. “Forgive me, my lady.”

My lady…?

“Oh, it’s…” You blushed. “It’s fine. Thank you, you’re very sweet.” You smiled, face red.

Ravio preened, before Legend started pushing him out of the room.

“If you’re going to be loitering around my house, the least you can do is make yourself useful.” He griped, “I know you can cook just fine.”

“Oh, jealous, Mr. Hero? I didn’t even get to finish meeting your family!” Ravio laughed, their voices growing fainter as they headed for the kitchen. However, Legend’s next words were very clear.

“No!”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You continued to think over the interaction you’d just had, embarrassed.

“You sure you’re alright? You look pretty shy.” Wars laughed, and Twilight held an expression conveying the same question, albeit less amused.

“Uh, yeah.” You nodded. “I’m just, uh, not used to that…”

“Not used to what?” Sky tilted his head. “Chivalry?”

Is that what that was…? I was thinking he was into me…

You shrugged. “Nah. It’s not really a thing back home.”

Now that garnered a reaction.

“Wh-” Four’s eyes widened. “Not a thing?”

“I mean, it’s a concept…” You looked at him. “But it’s considered to be dead by most people.”

“So- so what?” Wars had an incredulous expression. “Do men just go around acting like barbarians? Treating women like pigs?”

I mean yeah pretty much-

“Well…” You hummed. “Women don’t get special treatment, that’s for sure. Actually, women tend to get harassed a lot…”

I fucking hate the men back home…that’s why I’m single.

“Harassed?” Time rose a brow. “In what manner of speaking?”

You shrugged. “All kinds, dude. Some men just don’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer, and will bother women that they’re attracted to incessantly.”

Time’s brows furrowed at being called ‘dude,’ but he otherwise remained silent as he took in the information.

“Others…” You shivered. “Will just take what they want, or lash out violently when they can’t have it.”

“How disgusting.” Hyrule had an uncharacteristically hateful expression on his face. “I’m so sorry you have to live in such conditions, Y/N.”

“It’s…really not that bad.” You waved them off. “I mean, you get used to it…”

I mean I’m scared to take walks at night and I don’t go anywhere unarmed, but that’s pretty run-of-the-mill, yeah?

“It’s completely unjust that you should have to ‘get used to’ such treatment. That’s awful.” Wild crossed his arms.

“Yeah, what the hell!” Wind exclaimed. “I mean, I wouldn’t coddle a lady, but that’s just gross! You’re people too! Not objects or trophies to wrestle for!” He threw his hands up in the air.

“Uh…” Wow, they’re really passionate about this…

“Yeah, I mean, I agree.” You nodded. “But, there’s just not much that can be done about it…it’s on such a large scale back home…”

You looked down. “It’s so normalized where I’m from, that no one really bats an eye.”

It made you sick to your stomach to think of all the disgusting things men had said online about women, about children. There were so many admitting to the urge or willingness to commit heinous crimes under the pretense of some sexual desire…

“If we ever end up around your neck of the woods, you can count on that stoppin’.” Twilight said seriously, arms crossed. “Ain’t no one gonna be treatin’ you like that, ya’ hear?”

“Oof-!” Before you could respond, Wind hugged you tightly.

“Yeah! I’ll send some lily-livered suckers into the deep end!” He exclaimed, a determined expression on his face.

“Sailor.” Time warned. “Though, he’s on the right track.” He nodded to you. “You don’t need to worry about facing harassment while you travel with us.”

You smiled a little, touched by their willingness to defend you, despite not knowing you incredibly well.

“Thanks, guys…”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

There was something so inconceivably off about you. From your name, to your voice, to your…everything.

Everything about you made Ravio’s head foggy.

The second he laid eyes on you he felt that strange pull, but the longer he’d interacted with you, looked at you, listened to you, the more he felt it.

But what was it? You reminded him of something that he just couldn’t think of. Something he couldn’t quite grasp, no matter how far he extended his fingers, or flicked his tongue to roll the answer off of it.

But whatever odd chord your being striked in his brain, he liked it. There was a cloudy feeling in his chest when he spoke to you, and he almost felt like it would carry him away if he didn’t root himself down.

…What was up with him?

Sure, he could be a kiss-up, but he was never one to just…get so smitten like this. He was a man of business. He had no time for such trivial pursuits of romance.

…And he was far too afraid of things going awry, should his pursuits of love fail.

So, why? How did you manage to slide right past his walls like they were never there in the first place? You didn’t even seem to be aware of what you were doing.

Ravio sighed, putting down the knife he was chopping fruit with and bringing a hand up to stroke at his scarf.

His fingers brushed over a brooch pinned to it.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“Huh…? Really, Miss fairy? For me?” Ravio clutched at his scarf, looking at you with surprise.

You nodded, smiling eagerly. “For you, for you! And I told you, call me Y/N!”

“...Now take it.” You groaned, your wings beating quickly as you struggled with the item’s weight. “Urgh…it’s heavy.”

Wordlessly, he reached out his palm, allowing you to drop the small brooch into it. He looked down at the item for a moment, simply admiring it.

It was a rabbit brooch, dotted with ornate, colorful gemstones. The metal itself was a soft silver tone. A rabbit, quite fitting for Ravio indeed…

“Ah, thank you very much, Miss- er- Miss Y/N.” He smiled, looking up at your preening form. “I thought that Mr. Hero was the only one you guided.”

You pouted at the honorific, but it was an improvement. “Well, it’s not necessarily a ‘guiding’ item. More like…just a gift.” You smiled, flying in a little circle.

“But, if you ever find yourself missing ‘Miss Y/N,’ you can hold it close and think of me.” You giggled teasingly, but Ravio responded with a sincere smile.

“Thank you, Y/N… I can’t remember the last time I received a present…”

He clipped the brooch to his scarf, on the side opposite of his triforce pin.

He had no idea how much he’d come to cherish the item in the near future.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

That’s right…

How could he have ever forgotten?

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You hummed, listening along as the others talked about lodging plans.

While staying in the Link of the era’s home was always the ideal plan, as it was free, there just wasn’t enough space for everyone to stay in Legend’s house.

His home consisted of a kitchen, living room, and bathroom. While they could theoretically squeeze all their bedrolls into the space of the living room floor, it wouldn’t be very comfortable; and it would be a struggle to get through the space without tripping over someone.

So, they were discussing splitting up and going to the village to stay in an inn.

You didn’t necessarily mind the idea, but you’d already laid out your bedroll… Not to mention you didn’t have any rupees.

“We don’t all need to sleep at the inn.” Time spoke, as if on cue. “There is space for at least a few of us to stay here. We would do well to cut back on spending.”

You jumped at the opportunity, raising a hand. “I can stay here. I don’t have any rupees, anyway.”

Time nodded once, arms crossed.

“Ravio’s probably gonna want to stay over. He likes to crash here when he’s in Hyrule.” Legend rolled his eyes, leaning back on his hands. “I’ve only got room for about one more person other than that.”

“I’ll stay.” Twilight perked up, eyes flitting to you.

Smooth. You avoided his gaze, blushing.

Warriors noted the interaction, silently raising a brow.

“Aw.” Wind huffed. “I wanted to keep looking around the vet’s house.”

“You mean snoop around his house.” Wild smirked. “Can’t blame ya though. You really are a hoarder, Leg.”

“I am not.” Legend growled. “Everything I have is a useful item from one of my adventures.”

“No one needs that many shovels.” Hyrule laughed.

“Shut up!” Legend threw his arms up. “What am I supposed to do with them? Not a lot of people in the shovel market!”

“Very well.” Time interrupted, recalling everyone’s attention. “It’s settled then. We will head to the inn in the village after dinner.”

There were some nods and general affirmations throughout the room, and Time turned to you and Twilight.

“If you need to come see us for any reason, please do not go alone. I don’t think I need to explain why.”

You nodded, Twilight agreeing as well. You didn’t need to be told twice; you were not chancing a monster encounter while you were all on your lonesome. You weren’t even confident you could take out a bokoblin, let alone any kind of black-blooded creature that crawled your way.

And Dark Link…bro is on the loose…

You shivered.

Twilight put a hand on your lower back, noticing your discomfort. A sweet gesture, but it only made you nervous for different reasons.

“That goes for you two, as well.” Time nodded to Legend, presumably referring to Ravio as the other. “I know this is your domain, but it is a simple precautionary measure. If all this has taught us one thing, it’s that we can never know what to expect.”

Legend snorted, but didn’t disagree.

Suddenly, a clatter rang out from the kitchen, catching everyone’s attention.

“Is that-?”

“What was that?”

Legend rolled his eyes, standing up and heading for the kitchen. “Should’ve known cooking was too big a job for that airhead- woah!” He jumped out of the way as Ravio hurried out of the kitchen, beelining straight for…

…you?

“Huh-? Oof!” You were glomped by the merchant, and momentarily stupefied as he hugged you tightly, muttering frantically.

“Y/N, Y/N! You came back! Oh, dear, you came back to us…! Oh, how I missed you…”

What the fuck-?

Twilight puffed up like an angry cat, and looked about ready to rip the merchant off you, but you shook your head. No need for all that. Yet.

“Um- R- Ravio, what-?” You stuttered, majorly confused and sort of uncomfortable with everyone’s eyes on the two of you. You grasped the fabric of his robes, ready to pull him off.

“Yeah, what the hell-?” Legend started, but Ravio pulled back suddenly to look you in the eyes.

“Y/N, you returned! Heh, you’re bigger than I remember-” He laughed incredulously, “You’re bigger! Oh, it’s so good to see you again. You have no idea how much I missed you!” He hugged you so tightly, and you wheezed out a breath.

Oh.

Suddenly, realization washed over you.

He remembered.

I didn’t know people other than the Links could… I mean, there was the Great Fairy, but she’s…

You put your hands on his arms, trying to gently pry him off you so you could breathe properly.

And I thought Twilight’s reaction was visceral…

“Ravio, what are you talking about?” Legend hissed, grabbing the back of his robes to pull him off you. “You’re acting fucking crazy.”

Ravio looked angry for a second, but his expression quickly morphed to shock. “You- You don’t-? You’re telling me you don’t remember?”

“Remember what?” Legend groaned, letting go of Ravio after he’d pulled him off you.

Ravio’s hands twitched, and he moved back closer to you, but seemed to resist latching onto you again.

“...We will begin heading to the inn for the night.” Time stood up, sensing the tension building in the air.

“Already? Ugh.” Wind moaned, but picked up his things without any more of a fuss. A few of the other guys did the same, despite seeming interested in the merchant’s abrupt change of behavior.

Time was giving Legend a look that said, “We’ll talk later.” but said nothing more as he and the others began to make their leave.

“Goodnight Y/N.” Hyrule smiled, Wild and Wind wishing you the same.

You smiled and waved them off, but you still felt slightly uneasy with the current turn of events.

If Ravio remembered and Legend didn’t, then…what would that mean?

Eventually, everyone had filtered out, leaving you with Legend, Ravio, and Twilight.

Ravio ignored the others’ exit, but Legend seemed to take it as a sign to get more pushy.

“Now what are you on about?” He crossed his arms.

“Even after being with her for so long, speaking with her, gazing upon her…” Ravio made an uncharacteristically nasty face at Legend. “You haven’t recalled? Nothing at all?”

“What are you talking about?” Legend snapped. “You’re not making any sense, idiot.” Legend didn’t seem to be responding well to Ravio’s sudden aggression.

Ravio scoffed. “How can you call yourself a hero…how can you call yourself anything without her? How can you look upon her after everything and just…feel nothing?”

Legend grit his teeth. “After everything? What the hell are you talking about!? And what do you know about being a hero?”

Your eyes widened. This was starting to escalate.

Twilight remained silent, though seemed ready to step in at any moment as he watched the exchange.

“H-Hey, guys, it’s okay. I-It’s not a big deal, Ravio-” You tried to get between them before things got any more heated, but Ravio only seemed even more appalled by your words.

“Not a big deal?” He turned his entire body towards you suddenly, taking your hands in his own. “My goddess, you are the biggest ‘deal’ there is. This- this is-...” He groaned, putting a hand to his face. “It’s unforgivable. And yet, even I am guilty of it…” He slid his hand down his face, seeming more melancholy than angry now.

You put a hand on his shoulder, shaking your head. “It’s not your fault, I-”

“Will one of you tell me what the hell is going on!?” Legend growled, impatient with the lack of answers he was receiving.

“I-” You blinked, swallowing heavily. “Well, er, it’s…-” You struggled finding a place to begin. You hardly even understood things yourself.

Twilight sighed heavily, seeming prepared to get into a long conversation. “Look, Vet…-” Though, before he could finish, Ravio stepped forward, pushing Legend.

“Don’t you remember? Forever and always, Legend.” He snatched the brooch off his scarf and shoved it into Legend’s hands. “Forever and always…”

Legend scoffed, looking down at the rabbit pin in his hands. “What are you…” He trailed off, looking over it carefully as a perplexed expression came over his face.

“Wh…” His brows furrowed, something cloudy coming into his mind.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“It’s okay… It’s okay, honey…”

“I was there, it was real. Everything was real.”

“Shh…I know, I know…”

“I’ll be by your side forever, okay? You don’t need to worry.”

“As long as there’s challenges for you to face, I’ll be here…”

“Forever and always… Don’t you ever forget that, bunny.”

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Legend stared down at the brooch in his hand, looking completely mystified.

His eyes traced over it again and again, as if confirming something.

Finally, he slowly looked up to meet your gaze.

“...Bunny?”

Your eyes widened.

That’s… Does he remember?

You were caught off guard as tears pricked at his eyes, and he stepped forward, looking at you like you were an apparition.

“By the goddess…is it really you?” His voice sounded more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it, and you found yourself feeling emotional from his tone alone.

You nodded, opening your arms as he stepped closer to you still.

At the unspoken invitation, he crashed into your arms, gasping. “Bunny… Y/N. You- you were right… You…the shadow, and… and you’re here…you came back…”

Twilight had a sympathetic look on his face, yet Ravio still seemed a little discomposed.

“So you’ve finally remembered our angel? Took an awful lot of prompting.” He crossed his arms.

Legend ignored him, hugging you tightly, as if you’d melt right out of his arms. “Y/N…”

You hugged him back, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. “That’s right, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

I hope…

Your thoughts wandered back to your dream about Dark Link.

No matter how many times you turned it over in your head, the word “dream” still didn’t sound right.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Ravio refused to separate from you long enough to get anything meaningful done, so it fell to Legend to finish making dinner, as much as he’d also have liked to stay by your side.

Ravio could feel Twilight’s sneering and jealous staring, but it wasn’t nearly enough to dissuade him from clinging to you. Sure, the little farm boy had the “decency” to hold himself back from latching onto you the way the merchant did, but that wasn’t getting him any closer to you.

Ravio was just so, so, so grateful to have you back.

He had no idea how much he’d missed you until now, and that period of despair after you’d left was like no other. It didn’t even compare to Lorule losing its triforce. He didn’t think he’d be able to take it, should you disappear from his grasp again.

And you didn’t seem to mind. Oh, gorgeous, kind, ethereal you. You let him cling to you like a leech all he wanted, even encouraged it. Reciprocated it!

That’s why you were perfect…

He always thought you couldn’t possibly get any better, but you surprised him, every time.

So yeah, the hard-headed rancher could huff and puff and kick rocks all he wanted. That’s why he wasn’t the one curled up in your arms, face pressed into your neck as he got to enjoy your intoxicating scent, and simply bask in your presence.

“I missed you so much…” He sighed into your neck, words barely a murmur as his lips brushed against your skin with each syllable.

You shivered, but tried to maintain your composure. He really wasn’t shy, was he?

“I’m sorry, I never meant to leave in the first place…” You brushed a hand through his hair. “But I’m here now, kay? No need to worry, bunny.”

A fervent blush was apparent on Ravio’s face, the nickname practically sending him to cloud nine. He remembered you calling him that all that time ago…and he really couldn’t get enough of it.

“Mm…” He hummed, arms slithering under your own to hold you tight. He seemed content to just lay there with you, with no end in sight to his cuddling.

Though, you called Link “Bunny” too. Personally, he didn’t see how such a name was fitting for the sarcastic hoarder of a hero, but it was your will, so he wouldn’t argue. Even if he wished you’d only call him the pet-name. He was more bunny-like, after all, wasn’t he? Why couldn’t you call Link something more suited to him?

…Like ugly? Or amnesiac? Or attention-hog?

He snorted, nosing your neck. It was easy to forget his petty jealousy when he was so close to you, breathing in your sweet scent. You were like opium…so easy to get addicted to, it should be illegal. Though, the key difference was that you could never ruin his life like such an addictive drug would.

If only he knew how far he’d fallen already.

His thoughts were interrupted as Legend emerged from the kitchen, plates in hand.

“Get off her, Ravio.” Legend scoffed, setting the dishes down on his modest coffee table. “The food’s ready.”

“Oh, thank you, Legend. I’m starving.” You smiled, sitting down at the table after Ravio (very reluctantly) let go of you.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The food looked delicious.

It was buttered wheat bread and honeyed fruit, which despite being a simple meal, seemed mouth-watering to you at the moment.

It looked as good as something Wild would have made, though he usually went for more complicated recipes. Though, the complexity of the dish was not something your hungry stomach was factoring in as you stared at the food.

“Yeah, whatever. It’s a lot easier to cook when there’s just a few of us, anyway.” Legend turned away as you thanked him. You missed his little smile.

Ravio took a seat next to you, beaming as he scooted just a little closer than what should be considered normal for friends.

Twilight seemed a little miffed as Ravio immediately took the seat by yours, and resigned to sitting next to Legend, who rolled his eyes.

Not paying much mind to the guys around you or the subtle tension in the air, you dug into your food, chewing happily on the sweet fruit and warm bread.

“Mn, this is really good, Legend.” You smiled.

He seemed surprised at the genuineness of your tone, and looked away, a miniscule blush on his face. “It’s nothing…this is a simple dish.”

Ravio crossed his arms. “He’s right. It’s a very simple, easy meal to make. It’s really nothing to get too worked up over.”

You turned to Ravio, but found him and Legend already staring at each other.

…Is it just me or is Ravio beefing?

You took another bite out of your (fucking delicious) bread, and Twilight spoke up, seeming uncomfortable with the tension.

“Yer pretty easy to please, huh, darlin’?” Twilight laughed a little. “You should try my pumpkin soup. Nothin’ beats an Ordonian classic like that.”

You blushed a little at ‘darling,’ but tried to keep it together. “Yeah? I hope I can try it some time.”

“Anyway,” Legend coughed, gaining your attention once more. “I have some questions.”

“Hm?” You smiled easily, prompting him to continue, though you were screaming a little on the inside.

Uh oh…please don’t ask me about the guide stuff…please don’t ask me about the guide stuff…please don’t-

“So, you were…with me all that time. All those adventures, you guided me. Ravio remembers you, too.” He started, looking down. He seemed somewhat uncomfortable speaking openly about it. “But you were also…that, for Twilight?”

NOOO…Legend, don’t make me talk out of my ass!

Legend met your eyes in a way that demanded answers. Though not unkind, the look made you nervous.

Twilight also perked up, seeming interested in your response.

Fuck.

“U-Uh…” You fidgeted, not meeting their eyes. “Well, yes…-”

“But how is that possible?” Legend cut you off. “We’re all from different eras. Even if his and mine were close together…that time difference is way too big for…I mean, you’d have to basically be in two places at once…” His brows furrowed. “Unless you’re some kind of…immortal…”

“I-I’m definitely not immortal.” You shook your head, waving your hands. “ It’s, well…er- you see, it’s…um, kind of…complicated…” You wracked your brain with rising panic. How the hell could you explain this to them without sounding like a lunatic!?

Maybe you could just tell them the truth…you’d told Four about your home, after all…but that was…it was different! Four didn’t know you like this! He hadn’t been so- so painfully aware of your presence within his life!

And more than that, Four was trustworthy. Not to say these guys weren’t…they were Links after all, but…

“U-Uh…” You fumbled with your words, searching desperately for something to say.

“Hey!” Ravio puffed up. “Does it really matter? Can’t you see how uncomfortable she is?” He shifted somewhat protectively in front of you.

Huh? Your eyes followed Ravio’s movement. …He’s defending me?

I would’ve thought he’d be just as interested in this…

Your attention was redirected as Sheerow landed on your shoulder, and you smiled a little as the small bird nuzzled into you.

“Hey buddy…” You murmured quietly, brushing his feathers with your finger.

Chirp! Sheerow swayed happily.

“Get real, Ravio.” Legend scoffed. “What’s up with you? I know you missed her…” He looked away, arms crossed. “We all did, but…” He sighed, steeling himself. “This is important. Quit kissing up, already!”

“Kissing-?” Ravio bristled, not unlike an angry cat. “This is Y/N we’re talking about! I’m not kissing up! How could you stand to pry anything from her?” Ravio gave you a soft look as he spoke.

Your face felt hot.

“You-!” Legend groaned, hands running through his hair. He seemed unsure of how to reason with Ravio.

“Let’s calm down, now.” Twilight raised his hands, giving a hesitant smile. “Just give ‘er a moment. It’s alright.” He attempted to diffuse the situation.

Ravio looked ready to retort, but you grabbed his hand before he could, stopping him in his tracks. He looked down at your hand in his, a blush spreading across his face.

He kept his mouth shut.

We’re this far in…might as well tell them the truth… You sighed.

“O…kay…” You took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to word this. “It’s, well…it’s certainly complicated…”

Legend and Twilight were quiet, staring at you in interest as they waited for your explanation.

Ravio looked at you, too. Seems like he was curious after all.

You sighed. “I’m from a different world, you two know that already.” You nodded to Legend and Twilight, before turning to Ravio. “And, um…”

Ravio smiled, thumb caressing your hand. “I suspected as much…” He brought your hand up to his cheek. “You and I are alike, really…”

You blushed, not noticing Twilight’s eye twitch or Legend’s eye-roll.

“Okay, keep going…” Legend prompted you to continue, arms crossed.

You nodded. “Right. So, uh, before, when I was…with you all…” You bit your lip thoughtfully. “I was…still in my world. I was only really…dipping a foot into this world, if that makes sense…”

“Is that why you could only take the form of a fairy?” Twilight asked, brows raised.

“Uhm…” Your head swayed from side to side. “...Yeah.”

Really, your guess is as good as mine, dude…

Legend nodded, leaning forward in interest. “Tell us more.”

You swallowed. “Well, in my world, we have something that doesn’t exist here… They’re called video games. They’re games, and…well, they’re visual.”

Your hand not occupied by Ravio’s fidgeted with your clothes. “Video games allow you to sort of…see into different worlds.” That’s not the way you would’ve described it ordinarily, but if your situation was any indicator, video games were more than just make-believe.

“It’s like…the best way I can think to describe it, is a fortune-teller looking into a crystal ball… Like, you can actually see into this place, with clarity.” You looked up to meet their eyes.

Legend’s brows were furrowed, and Twilight seemed thoughtful.

“So…the fairy…” Legend had a pensive look on his face. “It wasn’t your real body? It wasn’t the real you?”

The way he looked into your eyes at the moment made you feel like you’d be somehow betraying him by telling the truth, but you tried to shake the thought off.

“No…it wasn’t.” You hummed, trying to put together your response in a way that made sense. “It was…more like a...vessel, for me to interact with this world.”

“Wait, so…” Twilight straightened. “For you…our adventure…our time together…” His brows furrowed. “They were a…game?”

Oh shit…I’m walking on eggshells here…

“I…no…” You shook your head. “It was…it was much more than a game to me. So much more…”

And that much was true. The Legend of Zelda was a franchise that aided your childhood. You had so many memories deeply entangled with it. The series taught you so many things, about yourself and about the world…it was way more than just a stupid game to you…

Still, it would never compare to the hardship the Links had actually faced. You felt bad…they revered you for everything you’d “done” during their adventure, when in reality…you’d done it all in the comfort of your own home. In your bed, on your couch…how could any of that be called hardship?

Seeing the conflict on your face, Twilight’s eyes softened. “Oh darlin’, I didn’t mean anything towards ya…” He stood up, walking around the table to bring you in a hug.

“Whether you were really there ‘er not, technically speakin’, don’t matter…” He wrapped his arms around you, sighing. “You being there…it meant so much to me…”

You smiled a little, comforted by his words, and wrapped your arms around him.

The pelt and tiddies help too…

The Twiddies…omg…!

You refrained from giggling like a teenage girl, and failed to notice Ravio’s nasty expression towards Twilight as you hugged him.

“Okay, so…” Legend shook his head. “I’m still confused. Did this…vid-yo game allow you to…travel between time periods within our world, as you saw fit?”

Okay why was that pronunciation kind of cute- BE SERIOUS Y/N.

“U-Um…” You forced yourself to focus on his words. “Yeah, well, no…” You separated from Twilight. “I could only peek in during…adventures. Does that make sense?”

At their blank looks, you sighed. “Usually whenever Ganondorf was running amok…that’s also why…” You frowned. “I always had to…leave, afterwards…”

They all seemed to have a reaction to that. Legend’s brows furrowed, Twilight looked down, and Ravio clutched the pin on his scarf. Appears they knew all too well about that part…

“So…” You put your hands up animatedly, “These video games, allowed me a sort of…temporary passage into this world.” You bit your lip thoughtfully. “I would be sent to the era of the Link who’s facing these challenges, and I would assist during his adventure. I couldn’t go anywhere that a Link wasn’t, and…”

You sighed. “Whenever the danger was resolved, and the adventure was over, the video game would end. I’d be forced back into my own world. That’s why…I couldn’t stay…” You looked at their faces, a little worried for their responses to the outlandish information you were dumping on them.

“That…explains things…” Legend nodded slowly, staring at the table with a thoughtful expression.

Ravio nodded quickly. “That’s what you meant when you said you didn’t mean to... I see!”

Before you could turn to see Twilight’s reaction, you were hugged tightly by Ravio.

“Oh, my dear…I knew it…you missed me as much as I missed you… I’m so sorry that accursed videe-oh game separated us…” He held you firmly, squeezing your middle.

You blushed. Just as much? I don’t know about that…

Slightly embarrassed, you reciprocated his embrace.

“Give her some space, Ravio.” Legend glowered, arms crossed. Was that a hint of jealousy in his eyes?

“Well, that certainly does make sense.” Twilight smiled. “I’m just glad yer back with us, darlin’.” He put a hand on your back. “Fer good, this time, I hope.”

You smiled a little.

“Yeah, I hope so.”

For good…

…Will I ever make it home?

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Sleeping was…interesting.

Legend offered his bed to you, and seemed insistent on having you take it, so you eventually gave in.

Since you were in the bed, Legend slept on the couch, banishing Ravio to the floor with Twilight who’d planned to use a sleeping mat from the start.

What you hadn’t expected, however, was waking up feeling like you were being smothered alive.

Opening your eyes was little help, it was too dark to see much of anything, even with a window letting cool moonlight flow into the house.

So, you resorted to your sense of touch, hands tracing slowly up the thing that was wrapped around you. You quickly came to the conclusion that it was another person.

What the…?

You were too tired to immediately understand what was going on, but as you heard a quiet groan and felt your face get pressed further into something, you started to realize.

“…Ravio?” You mumbled sleepily.

“Nnh…” He hummed quietly, pulling you closer. You weren’t entirely sure if he was awake or not.

“Ravio…” You repeated, pulling your face out of his chest and shaking him lightly.

“Mn…yes, angel?” He responded quietly, voice raspy from disuse.

Your face burned. I’m too tired to get rizzed up like this.

“What are you doing?” You asked slowly, eyes closing. They weren’t helping you out much, currently. “Why are you in the bed?”

Ravio hummed, nuzzling into you. It was then that you realized his legs were tangled in with yours. “Floor’s cold…” He murmured into your hair.

You sighed as he held you close to him.

What the hell…I let Wind cuddle me.

This was a little different, but at the moment, just going back to sleep seemed more appealing than arguing with him.

So that’s what you did.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

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𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐒𝐤𝐲

❥ 𝟐𝟏%

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝

❥ 𝟐𝟖%

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝

❥ 𝟔𝟎%

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐇𝐲𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞

❥ 𝟐𝟔%

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝

❥ 𝟐𝟔%

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

❥ 𝟐𝟒%

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤

❥ 𝟗𝟎% 𓆩☻𓆪

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨

❥ 𝟕𝟓% 𓆩☻𓆪

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭

❥ ---

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐅𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐲

❥ 𝟔𝟒%

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐲

❥ ---

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐒𝐚𝐠𝐞

❥ ---

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐊𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐢

❥ ---

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞

❥ ---

𓆩⟡𓆪 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨'𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞

❥ ---

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rikuisthesweetestboy · 1 year

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i don't know what to say. i'll apologize for the previous cilffhanger and this one but i promise, swear that you will not need to wait a year for the next update. i'm... uniquely motivated to keep going. should probably be able to wrap everything up in the next 2-3 chapters.

cheers to finally having some smut! 🥂

pairing: patrick jane x named reader word count: 3,278 rating: E for explicit content warnings: SMUT, good girl used probably too much, soft dom!jane, reader is mentioned having hair long enough to grab, female reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), so much foul language, insecurities addressed, age gap solidly confirmed (approx. 10 years but you can interpret that however you want)

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: 𝔒𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔰

Your legs feel like jello when Jane pulls the door behind him. It’s still left ajar, which you appreciate, but it’s enough for you to feel isolated. Alone. An entirely jarring feeling when you felt entirely too seen not even a minute ago.

You can’t see your clothes when you look around the guest bedroom. Spartan is what you’d call it if you had to describe it, though it’s clear someone’s been using it recently. It’s not hard to imagine why; you don’t think you’d want to sleep in the room your family got murdered in, either. When you sit down on the chair by the bed, pulling at the hem of your loaned shirt, you can’t see your clothes anywhere. Not that you wanted to get dressed; that would give the impression you’d want to go home, right?

You definitely don’t want to go home yet. Not right now.

Though whatever half-awake, fragile moment you’d had with Jane before is pretty much gone with your sleepiness, there’s still something nestled in your stomach. A feeling you wouldn’t call uncomfortable, but definitely isn’t familiar. The sound of the door creaking open nearly makes you fall off the chair.

“I did knock,” Jane says, a little sheepishly. He stays in the doorway, though, hand on the knob like he’s ready to go back out.

“I’m thinking too much again,” you say quietly, with a huff of laughter. You glance up at him quickly before turning your eyes back down to your hands and the way your nails dig under the shirt hem.

You don’t hear the floorboards groan when Jane walks up to you, don’t hear anything when he couches in front of you. You don’t flinch, to your own surprise, when his hands cover your in your lap and still your movement. He waits for you, because he knows just as well as you do, somehow. You’re not even sure what’s known, just that there’s a vague sense of understanding. You take a deep breath, clear your head while you nod to yourself, and look up.

“There she is.” His smile is small but god it feels radiant to you. Warm. Safe, against all odds.

“Yeah,” you whisper, taking another deep breath and letting your shoulders sag, trying to let the tension out of them. You fight the urge to look away and fidget with your hands. “Yeah, I think I’m done with my thinking.”

Jane hums and nods. “And what were you thinking about?”

“Wha—what I want,” you stutter out. You can feel the heat burning in your cheeks, which in turn just makes you even more flustered. You pinch your lips shut though.

One of Jane’s hands leaves your and moves to the outside of your thigh, just above your knee. If you thought the ‘fragile’ moment from earlier had imploded and vanished, you’re quickly realizing that it very much did not and that someone—whoever the fuck had the gall to call Jane this morning—had simply hit pause.

“And what is it that you want?”

“I don’t know if I have the words for it,” you reply, a little too quickly. Jane cracks a smile and the hand at your thigh begins a slow motion upward. “I—no, I just. It’s…”

“Uncomfortable?” He offers, and you offer a small nod. “What makes it uncomfortable?”

“Besides the overwhelming risk of rejection and humiliation?” You ask, voice pitched and quiet. When you start biting at your lower lip, the remaining hand covering yours quickly comes up to pull it from between your teeth.

“I won’t humiliate you,” Jane says slowly, and you can’t help but notice that his eyes are very obviously not looking into yours, and his thumb is still just below your lips. The hand on your thigh is as close to your hip as his arm will allow, thumb rubbing circles into the skin. When his gaze does meet yours again, all traces of a grin are gone and—god, his pupils. “What are you worried is going to be rejected?”

You exhale shakily and breathe in just as unevenly. “Me.”

“Why?” Jane looks back down and, after slowly putting a knee to the floor and effectively kneeling in front of you—the image of which is doing things to you that you wouldn’t dare mention in polite company—he carefully pulls his hands away from your face and thigh and taps at your right leg for you to lift it. He rests your foot on his knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze before moving his fingers to dig into your calf.

“I’m…” you start, unsteady, eyes fixed on the fingers working through the muscles of your calf. “I’m younger, I’m—I don’t know, I’m clueless? I got shot, I got kidnapped, I let you drag me into really, actually, really questionable situations. That’s dumb. That’s entirely dumb.”

“So you’re worried of being rejected because you don’t think you’re smart enough,” Jane summarizes, and coming out of his mouth you realize it does sound a little silly. You can’t help the shiver that makes it down to your legs when his hands make it to your knee and you can feel his fingers working out a knot you didn’t even know could exist behind it.

“...well it sounds childish when you say it like that,” you huff, and you resist the urge to cross your arms. “But yeah. Yes. I don’t feel smart enough.”

Jane gently guides you to put your leg down and taps the other one to bring it up. The same process starts again, from the soft touches at your ankle to the massaging of your calf.

“I can assure you,” he starts, voice low and cadence slow. “That you are infinitely more clever than you let yourself believe you are.” Close your eyes against the slowly increasing burn behind them and breathe through your nose. You feel warm fingers dig into the tendons behind your knee, sliding underneath your thigh to get at the muscles there.

There’s a lot to unpack here. The attraction to someone older than you, the unwillingness to believe anything good about yourself, the fact that speaking your mind feels shameful enough that your brain shuts down, but...

Jane smooths both hands over your hips, under your borrowed shirt. You can’t help the sharp intake of breath you take and the shiver that spreads out to your limbs from your spine. His hands stop their ascent at your hips, but just above the waistband of your underwear. Thumbs rubbing slow circles in the skin just above your hip bone.

You open your eyes again when you feel a soft kiss on your right knee. When you look down, the sight makes your breath catch in your throat.

You don’t think you’ve ever really understood the meaning of the word ‘reverent’ until just now.

You take a stuttering breath and lift one of your hands to rest atop the disheveled blond head in front of you. Jane exhales almost like he’s chuckling. His hands slide back down the length of your legs before he places them on the seat of the chair, on either side of your thigh. You don’t know if the lump your swallow past is anticipation or disappointment. He leans forward what feels dangerously close as he slowly stands. Pauses when his face is even with yours, and it’s a struggle to keep your eyes trained on his.

“You’re sure this is okay,” Jane asks, but it sounds more like an uncertain statement. You wonder for a second why he seems so hesitant and careful—treating you like glass even though you’ve been shot and been perfectly fine.

And then you remember the cave, the clammy demanding fingers. Close your eyes against the memory and take in a deep breath that sounds like a gasp.

But it’s fine. It is. Jane’s hands don’t feel like hers, this room doesn’t look like that, everything smells... safe. Alive and warm and safe.

“Yea-yes. Yes,” you repeat, clearing your throat and opening your eyes. “This is different,” you add, under your breath, and can’t help but let your eyes travel down to Jane’s mouth before jumping back up.

You can feel Jane’s amused exhale on your lips before he stands straight. With a gentle hand on your neck, guides you up to stand, too. It’s with a gentle tug to pull you in that he kisses you. And unlike last night, you’re about as lucid as you could be, and this is not chaste. You splay your hands over his bare stomach when he coaxes your lips apart with his. Where Patrick shudders at the touch, you can barely recognize the relieved and almost needy whine that slips from your mouth into his. The feeling of his tongue against yours has your knees almost buckling. You’re quickly steadied by a firm hand at your waist and the one at your neck sliding down to grab your shoulder.

“You need to breathe,” Patrick whispers, almost laughing, against your lips.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and the giggle that bubbles up feels foreign and almost manic. “I just—you’re so...”

“No need to be nervous,” Patrick mumbles, into your cheek this time, as he slowly moves to turn you. “I won’t bite unless you ask nicely.”

You pull back a bit too quickly to take a look at his face, but lose your footing in the process. You find that you comfortably land back on the bed, springs bouncing you back up one of twice before you settle. You barely have the time to lean up on your elbows to look up at Patrick before he places his hands behind your knees and tugs to pull you to the edge of the bed.

Your heart leaps in your throat. You really hate to assume anything and especially in moments like these but. But you’ve seen this movie—pretty much literally—and you have a feeling you know what’s supposed to come next. Jane must see the look of both shock and apprehension on your face, because where his expression has been pretty tame and affectionate, there’s something dark and hungry there when he sees your eyes go wide.

“Never had someone go down on you before?” he asks, and the crassness of it makes you remember how warm your face is. You don’t miss the way his hands are slowly creeping back up the outside of your thighs. Don’t miss the way that you have no choice but to keep your legs spread on either side of his.

“Uh, on-one, bitched the whole time, wasn’t uh,” you clear your throat again, bring your cold fingers up to your cheeks to try and dim the heat. “Wasn’t pleasant.”

Patrick clicks his tongue and shakes his head in obvious disapproval. He goes down on a knee when you feel his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. Your heart feels like a hummingbird in your throat when he slides it over your hips, down your legs and off your feet.

“Hands off your face,” Patrick says, though the hard tone in his voice makes it sound like an order. Your hands slip down over your chest before you can even think about it. His hands slide back over the top of your thighs, glide over and around your hips, and stop to rest just over the curves of your ass. Pulls you just a bit closer with a short tug.

“Oh god, fuck,” you whisper, swallowing thickly when you feel his warm breath against your cunt.

“Double tap for me to stop,” Patrick says, but doesn’t move immediately. Lifts his head and pinches with a hand to get your attention. “Understood?”

“Yessir,” you choke out, all at once, and immediately bite down on your tongue. His eyes narrow and he—you think it’s a hum, but it sounds so guttural you’re tempted to call it a growl.

“Good girl.”

You can’t see his head very well past the shirt you’re still wearing, so your spine arches nearly clean off the bed when you feel something wet slide all the way up your slit and catch on your clit. Your throat clamps around the whine that wants to leave it, only a choked exhale exiting your lips.

You open your mouth to say something, but your mind blanks when Patrick puts his lips around your clit and sucks. You swear your see stars for a second before he eases off, letting his tongue flick over it instead. When your body loses some of its tension, the whine that was choked before comes out as a whining moan on your exhale.

Patrick goes back down to tongue your entrance, only cursorily, before returning his attention to your clit. It feels like every other time you exhale is a breathy moan. You bring an arm up to your mouth to quiet yourself—you feel embarrassed is what it is—but a nip on the inside of your thigh makes you yelp. Patrick pulls a hand forward and slides the shirt you’re wearing up to your sternum, fingers splayed wide.

“I want to hear you,” he grunts, returning his tongue to your clit. You pull your arm from your face. When you feel two fingers slide up and down your entrance, though, you let yourself reach down and thread your fingers through his hair. “Just like that,” he mutters against your cunt, sliding both fingers in with ease.

But slowly.

“Fuck, please,” you whisper-whine, angling your hips up to try and get the fingers deeper. The hand on your chest slides down, until Patrick’s whole forearm is across your hips and holding you down against the mattress.

His fingers do, blessedly, slide in deeper, but unexpectedly hook up in a come hither motion, and you nearly choke at the sensation. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out, tips just brushing your entrance, before thrusting them back in. Again, bends his fingers and pulls them out. Bit your lips and arch your back against the feeling. You’re realizing, on the third thrust, that maybe you don’t know your body as well as you think you do.

The fifth time Patrick pulls his fingers out, you can almost feel your orgasm in the back of your throat. He lets you angle your hips up this time. When you do, he once again seals his lips over your clit and sucks, but he also violently increases the speed of his fingers. You hope his knuckles leave bruises.

“Fuck, please,” you whine again, back arched and hips thrusting upward. You want to scream when Patrick takes his mouth off you, fingers still thrusting wildly.

“Ask nicely,” he breathes. You sob, hips still twitching trying to chase your high.

“I did, I did—I am! Please, fuck, please sir?”

“There you go.”

You don’t have time to think about the meaning of that before his lips are back on your clit, sucking, but this time he flicks his tongue over the nub.

Patrick’s fingers massage your inner wall while you come with a screamed sob that you don’t contain. At some point you register the fingers leaving and the sound of liquid hitting the floor, but you’re spent. Dazed and all but convulsing with your heart pounding in your ears and your head feeling like cotton.

And then Jane’s leaning over you, a forearm on the mattress by your head, brushing a hand across your forehead and down your cheek.

“Exceptional,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours.

“Hmm,” you whine, low, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “That’s—that’s my line.”

Eyes closed, you feel his lips on your and open up without any prying. You don’t mind tasting yourself on his tongue. You can just barely muster the energy and coherence to lift an arm up to put around his neck to pull him closer.

You can feel the bed dip at your hip where he takes a knee. The hand by your face moves to your waist and under. Too quick to register in your blissed-out state, Jane lifts you off the bed just enough to move you up a bit. Enough so that your hips are on there proper, and your legs are only dangling off the edge at the knee.

When you sigh, Jane chuckles and pulls away to take a look at you.

“All good there?”

“Better than I’ve been in a while,” you whisper, slowly blinking your eyes open. “Sorry for uh,” you stutter, letting your hand fall from around his shoulder to his chest. “For the mess.”

Patrick takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before leaning up and back. Your hands slide down his bare chest as he does, and your heart once again leaps into your throat when you realize how hard he is. Your fingers catch and linger at the waist of the slacks he’d worn to bed last night.

“Making a mess,” Jane starts, hands slipping under yours to pop the button of his slacks. You realize that his right hand is still damp with you. “Kind of the whole point.”

You don’t realize you’re biting down on your lip until Jane grazes your jaw with his fingertips, and pulls your lip from between your teeth with his thumb. Zipper all the way down, you look up for—permission? You only pinch the fabric of his slacks to pull them down when you get a quiet ‘go on’. Once they’re mid thigh, though, you squirm a bit to be able to scooch back enough to sit up in a way that doesn’t kill your back or neck.

A gentle hand comes to rest at the back of your head while you’re focused on the cock in front of you, bulging a pair of soft-looking black briefs. Your mouth closes with a click when you realize you’ve left it hanging open.

“You never answered me earlier,” Jane says quietly. The hand at the back of your head swirls a bit before you feel fingers closing and tugging on your hair. “What is it that you want?”

You feel breathless. When you look up, you can’t tell what colour Patrick’s eyes are with how blown his pupils are. Swallow thickly and loudly. There’s a moment when you glance back down at the straining fabric over his cock that you consider asking, very nicely, if you can blow him. When you look back up, he’s leaned down and used the hand at the back of your head to tilt it up.

The first time you open your mouth, you can’t quiet get the words out. You close it and clear your throat, again, and try to ignore how your face is heating up again.

“I wan—I want you to,” you start, taking a deep breath.

“You’re doing great,” Patrick croons, the hand at your head flattening out, fingers digging in like a semblance of a massage. You close your eyes to appreciate the sensation, but only for a second.

“Fuck me,” you say, eventually, blinking up at him before adding,“Please, sir.”

The hand in your hair tightens and pulls again, pulling you down to lie back on the bed while Jane leans down to join you.

“You asked so nicely,” he whispers into your throat, and you shudder when you feel his tongue run up your jugular. “So eager to please when you’re given half a chance.”

“Always,” you breathe back, putting your hands to good use and shoving both slacks and underwear over Jane’s hips to free his cock. Can’t help but cant your hips up when you feel the warm tip of it against your thigh. “Fuck, anything you want.”

Taglist

@fucklife-or-me @mamacakeishereforfun @newavenger @yearningforsappho @natsukee @piper570 @rikuisthesweetestboy @berry-blink

i tagged everyone i could find in my replies but if you want to be tagged please send an ask!

#honey and the hatchet #patrick jane #hello i am back i started rewatching the mentalist #and oooh boy my thoughts are empty patrick jane only #10/10 writing i am too flustered to function oooh boy #mr jane ur hand in marriage SIR i am begging #ahhhh he just so pwjfjwifhsjfjjf yknow #screaming n crying rn thank you stranger on the internet for this story #thanks for the tag too #even if im really late lmao

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rikuisthesweetestboy · 1 year

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Love That Bites Pt. 7

This fic has me by the throat a lil bit. Though it was never my intention to write the chapter to be this big 😅 it kinda did what it wanted.

Summary: Things seemingly were beginning to go well for you. Of course, you should have known it was only a matter of time before things went horribly, horribly wrong.

CW: Multiple injures, blood loss, panic attacks, abuse, irresponsible injury treatment, cursing

Word Count: 7111 words!

Wanna help support me? Come follow me here!

Reblogs and comments appreciated!

Taglist: @onewiththebeanbag

@starrlo0ver

First: Here

Last: Here

Next: ?

It was only a matter of time until things spiraled out of control.

You supposed you shouldn’t be surprised.

Given that you were a Belmont, you knew your luck could only go so far, especially with how you had been cruising what little good luck you had left until now.

In hindsight, you really should have put forth an effort to further anticipate this.

After all, it was only a matter of time before you were heavily injured by your ‘family.’

Things had briefly gotten admittedly better, before things took a turn for the worst.

It had been too good to be true. You relaxed too much. Let yourself get too comfortable.

A little over a week before this had happened, your family had seemingly backed off. Something that you had admittedly been relieved about at the time.

They gave you space, well, about the same amount of space before you started sneaking away even more to see Dracula’s statue.

Jason had no longer been up your ass complaining and trying to instigate a fight.

That itself had been a huge weight off your shoulders. Your step brothers you could handle, but your step father? He had quickly grown into a short fuse over the years, and had especially been reactive as of late.

With Jason backing down, your brothers seemed to follow his lead.

Seth had taken to lingering in the background when you were around. Ever present, watching you, but never saying anything.

His gaze unnerved you, but hey, it was better than talking to him most of the time.

Mark meanwhile had barely been around the house. When you did see him, he seemed pissed off. Angry, just like his father.

He especially seemed mad at you, but would storm off before he would yell.

That had you concerned at first, and you worried you would have to watch your back for him instead.

Nothing ever came from any of them. Just the usual shit from about a year ago. Avoiding you, still making you clean, and having you take dirty jobs.

You could live with that.

Even if it was still poor treatment, it was better than whatever had originally pissed your step father off bad enough to hit you outside of training.

With them not all constantly down your throat, you were beginning to feel a lot better too.

Sure, you still weren’t getting as much rest as you’d like, but now you were at least able to rest.

With the lack of immediate stress, and some actual sleep, you actually were beginning to feel a little better.

By the end of the week, you’d dare even say you had felt somewhat good. It was a wonder what a lack of migraines and puking your guts out could do for your health and overall well being!

You had even taken a trip back to your cabin to check up on Dracula at the end of the week. With each bout of sickness, it had been harder to head over there without issue.

But when you were feeling better, you left with no hassle. Not even a peep from your step family when you left in the evening!

That should have been another warning.

They always have something to say if they catch you ‘sneaking’ out. If not a snide comment, it’s usually yelling and screaming as they followed you to your car.

The visit itself had been uneventful, but you had brought some snacks, and happily talked on about how you were feeling better for once.

You knew better than to tempt fate like that, yet you still did it, too happy and in bliss.

It had even felt like you were welcome. The Castle hadn’t felt intimidating in a long time. It felt, dare you say, somewhat welcoming.

Or that was just your hope and delusions talking.

Dracula hadn’t moved at all, though you did notice his eyes still changed positions on occasion, still solidifying he was somewhat aware of you.

You had left that visit happy, and feeling a bit lighter.

Of course, all good things must come to an end.

The few days afterward were similar to the last, and you didn’t suspect a thing. You only became wary whenever Mark would get upset, but like before, he would turn and leave you alone.

It wasn’t until an average Monday afternoon that things turned sour.

You had been writing in your journal, noting your visits with Dracula inside it in code. It had become a pastime for you when you arrived home, and figured detailing your visits wouldn’t hurt if you needed them in the future.

As you had been writing, you heard the familiar sound of footsteps walking up stairs and towards your room.

Quickly, you hid your journal, and pulled out another to pretend to write in.

Moments later, your door opened, with not even a knock.

Jason stood there, an odd look on his face. It almost seemed… gleeful.

That unsettled you, but you kept your face blank.

“Get your things. We need you for a training session.” He said, though you knew it was an order.

One of the few things you couldn’t talk your way out of in this house.

“Alright. I’ll be there in a minute.” You said with a sigh, closing your mock journal.

Jason didn’t waste another moment, and turned and left, not even closing your door behind him.

Jerk.

You made sure you had your whip with you, and changed into some comfortable gear to dodge in. It’s not like they’d let you actually attack them, anyway.

Quickly, you then headed to your family’s training area, drrad an annoyance in your stomach.

That wasn’t unusual. You never enjoyed training with them, with how aggressive and temperamental they could occasionally be.

Not to mention, this was just an excuse to use you as a punching bag to take their anger out on.

With how temperamental Mark had been lately, you had a feeling you would be leaving this ‘training session’ with a few more bruises than normal.

It started as normal. Your step brothers were allowed to choose whatever weapon they wanted, same with your step father.

Any weapon, except for your whip.

Anytime they asked (read: demanded) to use your whip, that was the one line you never let them cross.

Even in the past, when they physically threatened you, tried to take it forcefully, and tried to intimidate you by threatening to evict you, you held firm.

The Belmont family whip would stay in the family. It’s not like they could awaken and use its power properly anyways.

…Not without killing themselves in the process, at least. The whip was very picky, apparently.

Since you had your whip, they often argued you didn’t need any other weapon. That was the downside of keeping it on you around them.

“If you were so great at fighting, you wouldn’t need them anyway, right?” They’d always say.

It wasn’t too different this time, though you just decided not to bother asking for a chance to use something else.

Best to skip the ‘formalities’, after all.

As usual, Jason instructed you where he wanted you to stand, and that your step brothers and himself would be practicing weapons they weren’t the best with.

“Better to practice with a live target, right?” Seth had spoken, grabbing an old battle ax.

The look on his face made you shudder.

Those words, and the weird look made your gut churn.

You didn’t like that, not one bit.

Glancing to the side, Mark stared at you with a steely gaze. That iron hot anger simmered behind his eyes, and you felt yourself beginning to sweat.

He was silent, and alarm bells were ringing in your head.

Mark was always the loud one of the two brothers. His silence spoke volumes.

Him also holding a spear with murderous intent didn’t help.

Jason was in front of you across the room, as if to act as a referee. You knew damn well it was only for show. He only stopped the fights if you fought back, just to yell at you for daring to ‘attack his precious sons.’

He also would join in if he really felt like it. If he ever was in a foul mood, or felt you weren’t taking enough aggression, he’d try and sneak into the fight. Something he only started doing after your mother had passed away.

If he had tried that shit when she was alive, even if she was ill, she would have torn him to pieces.

Stars, you missed her.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to settle your nerves.

Jason was staring at you, a focused look on his face. You gripped your whip tightly, your stomach beginning to churn.

Something was wrong.

Every instinct that had been drilled inside you was screaming at you to run.

You weren’t the hunter here. This didn’t feel like it was going to be a regular training session.

You were now the prey.

In an instant, Mark sprang into action, and threw his spear at you with alarming accuracy. You let out a yell of surprise as you jumped back, the weapon narrowly missing you by a few inches.

Jason hadn’t even given the okay. That had been an attempt on your life, you were sure of it.

You didn’t have much time to think on that, with Seth running up to you with a yell, swinging the ax at your neck.

The weapon came down at a vertical angle, and you hissed as you dodged to the side.

“What the fuck is your problem!? If that had hit me, I-“ you yelled, though let out a curse mid sentence when you spotted Mark out of the corner of your eye, trying to stab at your mid section.

Your free hand came up just in time, and you managed to parry the spear, sending it to the left.

Seth was in front of you again, and you panicked. With Mark behind you to your left, you had very little room to dodge the ax once again headed your way.

Before Seth could bring down the ax, you pushed forward, taking him by surprise as you got in his personal space.

With no room for him to swing, you ducked under his arm, trying to get away and put some distance between you and them.

Before you could run, you felt a hand at your back, grabbing your shirt, and tugging. With a yell, Mark threw you backwards behind them both, and the force knocked you to the floor.

You didn’t have time to even acknowledge the air being knocked from your lungs as you quickly rolled to the side. Where you were just a second prior, Seth’s ax was lodged into the ground with a worrying thunk.

As Seth tried to tug the ax from the ground, you saw Mark running at you, fully intending to gut you with his spear.

Swiftly, you kicked his legs out from under him, rolled backwards, and landed onto your feet.

Mark fell to the ground, landing on his lower back with a groan. A curse followed as his spear tumbled out of his hand, and part of the handle landed on his face as he struggled to grab it.

Shaking from the adrenaline and slight panic, you looked between the two siblings, bewildered.

Sure, they loved beating the shit out of you, or trying to during the ‘mandatory’ training sessions Jason would throw at you. But this?

They were trying to kill you.

Every attack had been an attempt to end your life, not just break a bone or two and cover you in bruises.

“Just what the fuck your problem!? It’s not training if you’re genuinely teaming up to kill me you asshats! Jason, this is going too far, even for-“

You paused as you panted. Jason was not where he was moments prior.

“…-you?”

In a split second, it was as if time slowed down. Your instincts once again screamed at you to move.

Without thinking, you dived to the right. Your body felt like lead, but your mind moved at a thousand miles an hour.

You felt it before you saw it.

A sharp, striking pain erupted in your left side. You could feel it practically burn your nerves alive as the pain slowly spread.

Landing with a roll, you let out a pained yell as time seemed to finally catch up with your senses.

You gripped your side, and looked where the pain was, and your shirt was quickly growing soaked with red.

Blood.

There was a tear in your shirt, though you couldn’t properly see the wound from how you sat.

However, you certainly felt the pain, and could see the blood both dripping down onto your pants. Your shirt was quickly becoming soaked with red, and you were instantly concerned with how bad the wound must be to be bleeding that quickly.

With a hiss, you cupped the wound, wincing as you tried to stop the blood flow.

You turned to look behind you, and you grimaced when you saw Jason holding a bloody hunting knife.

“Motherfucker, did you just-“ you cursed, and Jason simply clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“You’re getting rusty. That should have been easy for you to dodge.” Is all he said, and your eyes narrowed.

He lazily swung the knife in his hands, as if admiring it.

“You fought back against Mark, so I figured you needed a challenge. It seems I was right, if I was able to hit you.”

A grin grew on his face, and you felt dread build up in your chest as Seth and Mark began to close in on you, both having recovered from earlier.

“After all, without a challenge, how can you ever hope to improve?”

Shakily, you stood up.

Gripping your whip with one hand, and holding your side with the other, you glared at the three.

“This is nuts! You really think critically injuring me is going to help me improve?” You spat, your mind swimming as pain filled your senses.

Your step father gave you a disgusted look, as if you were nothing but the scum on the bottom of his boots.

To him, you most definitely were.

You let out a yelp when Seth’s ax swung down at you, and you stumbled back.

Twisting to the side with a grunt of pain, you narrowly dodged another wound in your side from Mark. However, you cursed when you felt the edge of the spear cut your right arm.

“Who said it was just you needing to improve.” Mark spoke, and pulled his spear back to stab you again. Seth dashed at you at the same time, trying to take you off guard.

Bobbing and weaving, you barely managed to avoid both weapons. Though your eyes widened when you felt a bit of air next to your ear from behind you as you ducked.

Jason, the fucker, had aimed for your damn head.

You licked your lips as you struggled to figure out what to do.

They weren’t the best fighters on their own. Deep down, you think they all knew this as well.

It’s one reason you always got the icky jobs. They were never tough enough to handle them alone.

But together? They were annoying, and an actual threat since they were actually trying to kill you.

Sure, they were disguising this as training, but you knew they were aiming for that ‘lucky’ hit to put you out of commission at best.

If you were to die? Well, you were from a family of hunters. Accidents happen, after all. It unfortunately wouldn’t be the first time a hunter died from an accident in training.

You had to do something, figure out a plan. This wasn’t good.

Your mind was growing a bit foggy. Moving was beginning to get harder too, not just from the pain. The blood loss was beginning to slow you down.

Jason was right, much to your dismay and disgust.

In a way, you had let this happen. You weren’t paying enough attention, and you might end up gravely paying for it.

Letting your guard down and thinking this would be regular training was your biggest mistake.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be your last.

You moved to back away, and gasped in pain when one of them kicked you in the back, sending you toppling forward.

“Still not fighting back, just as I had taught ya.” You heard your step father practically gloat from above you as you struggled to push up.

“At least you’re able to listen to some rules. Not a complete idiot who doesn’t know how to listen to an order.”

The wind was then knocked from your lungs as a shoe slammed onto your back, and you crumpled to the floor.

Your hands clenched into fists, and you felt hot tears welling up in your eyes.

Pathetic.

How could you let this happen?

You could level armies with just a whip. Destroy packs of demons with a knife. You trained to defeat Dracula, of all people. Your family had even praised your prowess, confident you’d be able to do so should the need arise.

Yet you let these three clowns get a lucky hit, and had you falling like a flimsy house of cards.

Granted, they had never gone this far before. You should have seen it coming.

You got lazy. Compliant. Relaxed.

How could you let it get to his? Were you really still that afraid of fighting back?

Did the fear of losing everything really hold you this far back?

“Oh look at that. They’re crying! When was the last time they’d done that?” One of them laughed above you. You were so out of sorts, you weren’t sure you could tell who it was.

One of them scoffed.

A moment later, you felt a sharp pain to your ribs, and you let out a cry of pain and surprise.

The kick had enough force to flip you over, and you cursed. They had hit you right in the wound.

You cracked your eye open, and immediately regretted it as the handle of Seth’s ax came down at your head.

It missed your eye, but the brunt force was enough to turn your vision white regardless with hot, blinding pain.

“Holy fuck-“ you cursed, curling in on yourself and trying to grab your temple.

“Shut up.”

A scream was then ripped from your throat when you felt searing pain in your leg.

This wasn’t training anymore. This was torture.

“Hmph. Look at them. How pitiful.” Seth, you think, spoke up.

One of them chuckled.

“What a disappointment. Such a disgrace doesn’t deserve the Belmont name.” Jason scoffed, and he bent down to your level.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him reaching for your whip.

Your ears rang, and for a brief moment, you suddenly had a moment of clarity.

A growl ripped from your throat, and Jason let out a squawk of surprise when you suddenly reached out, and tossed him over your body.

Faintly, you heard his body harshly hit the floor at your side.

Mark and Seth were briefly taken off guard, and you took the opportunity to shakily stand to your feet.

“Don’t ever say that to me again. You may have taken our family name, but you three will never be Belmonts.” You snarled, holding your whip close as you struggled to stay standing.

Mark’s face twisted into fury while Seth had rushed to his father’s side. Jason had seemingly landed on his face, and was now cupping his nose as blood dripped down his chin.

You hoped he broke his nose or fucked up his jaw.

Mark raised his spear, and was about to rush you again.

Before he could, you felt the dam break.

Gripping your whip, you lashed out, and a loud crack echoes across the room, followed by a hollow clutter against the floor.

The spear had been masterfully ripped from his grasp by your whip, and was now innocently rolling across the ground.

All three of them froze.

It had been years since you raised your whip against any of them. The last time being when your mother was alive, and you were allowed to fight back during training.

The silent fury was evident in your eyes and posture. Despite your injuries, you were still standing, and ready to fight once more.

And you were pissed.

No one talked. No one moved. Their eyes flickered between yourself, and the whip in your hand.

Unknowst to you, the weapon was glowing a soft purple. All three of them could feel a rage from the whip, one that was completely different from the rage coming from you.

The temperature seemed to drop, and the three of them suddenly struggled to breathe properly. It was as if they were suffocating from how heavy the air had become.

So this was the power of a Belmont.

You hadn’t even done anything, but all three felt the immense pressure, the immense power you wielded. The immense potential you had, even after the injuries they had inflicted onto you was untold.

They were no match for you, they knew this.

Growling, you cracked your whip again, making all three flinch.

“That is enough.” You spoke, your voice echoing in the chamber.

“I’m going to leave this place to recover, regardless of your consequences. You will not stop me. If you try to attack me when my back is turned, I won’t hold back.”

Your words were cold and icy, and they could sense the frustration and fury you were holding back.

Slowly, you turned towards the exit, and began to limp to the door.

However, you momentarily paused before opening it.

“I’ll be back eventually. I recommend we pretend this didn’t happen, for both our sakes, understand?” You said, your voice even, but your rage still ever present.

The three looked at eachother, though you missed the frustrated, annoyed looks on their faces. Despite this, they did not speak.

Nor did you give them the chance to.

You opened the door, and slammed it behind you, limping up the stairs and through the house to your room.

It wasn’t until you reached your bed that you finally collapsed.

Gasping for air, you groaned as you felt the pain rip through your body.

You lost so much blood. The wounds they gave you weren’t life threatening on their own, but left unattended, and being forced to move with them had cost you.

Gripping the side of the bed, you lifted yourself up slightly, and opened your bedside drawer. Feeling around inside, you let out a sigh of relief.

…Only to groan is frustration when the potion bottle you pulled out was almost empty.

Right. Up until this last week, you had been sipping on these to help with bruises and your bouts of illness.

All that was left was about an inch of liquid in the bottle.

Not enough to fix any severe damage, but enough to hopefully slow down the bleeding.

Without hesitation, you downed the little bit left in the bottle, and proceeded to crawl towards your bathroom.

You could at least feel the wounds trying to stitch itself together, and your head didn’t hurt as much.

This is what you get for not stocking up. Instead, you had decided to go visit Dracula again, when you really should have contacted one of the alchemists you did business with.

Lesson learned, you supposed.

With a grunt, you clambered over to your desk, and pulled out a first aid kit. With practiced precision, you began to dress your wounds.

It was sloppy and rough, but it was better than leaving them open. Anything to slow or stop the bleeding, and avoid instant infection.

You could clean them up later when you got away from here. Anywhere from here.

Though you already knew where you would be going. You didn’t even have to ask yourself such a question.

When your wounds were eventually wrapped, you put a small bag together of anything you needed, and began limping back down the stairs.

You grimaced at the blood stains on the wood. You'd let them deal with it, knowing they’d care too much about the house to just leave it be.

Wouldn’t have even been an issue if they had not decided to torture you. It was their problem now.

You ended up passing them briefly on your way to the car. Your hand was still on your whip, and they gave you a wide berth as you passed them.

It pleased you to see your step father with a bandage around his nose. Fucker.

Still, that didn’t stop the glares he sent your way, or how Mark seemed to twitch in his seat in the kitchen as you passed by.

Was it bad you almost wanted him to attack you again so you could hurt him?

You decided no, it wasn’t. You’d process those feelings later when you weren’t still in possible danger and injured.

When you reached your car, you tossed your things into the back, and hit the gas as soon as the engine was on.

There was no time to waste. You wanted out. You had to get out. Had to leave.

It wasn’t until you were out of town did you notice how badly you were shaking, and how much blood was on your hands.

Your own blood.

A heavy sigh passed through your lips, and you continued driving.

The silence in your car was heavy. Your mind felt like it was racing, yet felt eerily calm at the same time.

It wasn’t until an hour into the drive that you finally pulled over, and got sick on the grass at the side of the road.

This wasn’t the same as when you were ill. This was some sort of physical response to the stress.

The last time this happened had been after your mother’s funeral, though that had been years ago.

Still, as you sat in the grass with a bottle of water, redressing your wounds as you nursed a migraine, you couldn’t help but feel your world was crumbling.

Your step family… they had finally done it. They hurt you. Intentionally. You know for a fact some of those attacks had the intent to kill.

Hot tears fell down your cheeks as you sat there, dwelling on it.

If you hadn’t fought back, finally giving in, who knows how far they would have gone when you had been a broken mess on the floor.

The fact your step father had even reached for your whip proved what it had all been about. He wanted everything. Having the house, the money, and the artifacts wasn’t enough.

He wanted to be a Belmont. He wanted your family’s legacy. The power, the notoriety, everything.

You refused to break.

Of course, you knew you couldn’t stay away forever. You’d have to go back eventually. There was no way in hell you were leaving the house to them without pitching a fit at least.

Wiping tears from your eyes, you heaved a sigh.

Everything sucked so much right now.

All you really wanted was to be in the cabin, or the castle. Run away and hide from this mess.

You would for a time, at least.

Lick your wounds before returning to what had become your own personal hell. You at least counted yourself lucky you had somewhere to go in the first place.

It took longer than you’d like to get back on your feet, but you had to keep moving. It was dangerous to camp out on the side of the road as injured as you were.

So you finished up, trying to avoid looking at your wounds as much as possible while still messily patching them up.

The less you acknowledged this at the moment, the better.

So you got back in your car, and continued to drive.

You could at least admit you felt a little better after crying a bit, but you had a sinking feeling this shit was gonna do some hardcore psychic damage to your mental health once you started processing it.

That could wait until later. Right now, your body was still tense.

It was strange. Your body couldn’t relax. Your body was still in fight or flight mode, and you could only wonder if it was the shock.

It took a while longer to reach the cabin. Longer than you would have liked, but it still somehow felt like a blur. You briefly wondered if you were losing your sense of time from the trauma.

“At least its working in my favor…” you couldn’t help but mumble as you dragged your bags into the house, uncaringly dropping them on your couch.

It wasn’t like you had anything too delicate anyway.

You ended up sitting on your bed, staring at your lap as you attempted to relax.

Even after hours of mindless driving, your heart still hammered in your chest, and your body shook.

The searing aches and pain from your wounds didn’t help either.

In fact, they kinda made you just wanna crawl into bed and die.

Heaving another sigh, you put your face in your hands, wincing when you felt the wound on your head.

“Man… I probably have a concussion too. Probably should not have driven, but…”

The words went unspoken, but even in this state, you weren’t going to take any chances of being followed. Physically or otherwise.

“What should I even…” you began to mumble, but stopped.

You didn’t know what you should do, but you knew what you wanted to do.

Realistically, you should just stay here. Redress your wounds (again), and eat, and take a long nap.

But you couldn’t. No way would you be able to rest in the semi manic state you were in.

No matter how many deep breaths you took, you still shook. Your heart still pounded in your ears. It was too hard to think. To focus.

“How pathetic…” you mumbled as you stood up, stumbling at the firey pain erupting from your calf.

“I’ve fought scarier monsters, obtained worse wounds, and walked it all off fine. Get beat up a little bit though by those… scum, and suddenly I can’t do anything right?”

You could probably go hours beating yourself up over this.

But you wouldn’t. Not right now.

Despite being at your cabin, your sanctuary, you did not feel at peace.

But you knew where you could calm down.

Was it a bad idea? Oh absolutely it was.

That wasn’t going to stop you, though. At this point, you could care less about what might happen.

“If anything, I’d rather Dracula kill me than my own step monsters.” You grumbled as you stumbled through the living area, searching for a specific bag. Grabbing it, you were out the door in moments.

Besides, it’s not like Dracula hadn’t seen you at a few lows already. What was one more?

If he still thought lowly about you, he’d at least get a kick out of it.

You pushed out the door of the cabin, your mind still feeling as if a thousand wasps were buzzing inside your skull.

So many thoughts, but it was hard to truly think about any of them. They were like water flowing through your fingers, and you didn’t care enough to cup your hands to try and catch them.

It was a bit of a walk, and it was arguably incredibly stupid to push yourself even more just to get to Dracula’s castle, but you were determined.

Also incredibly stubborn.

The walk wasn’t as easy as you had hoped it would be. Time didn’t pass as quickly as it did in the car, though the fact you were actually moving your body around instead of driving may have a bit to do with it.

You were in a painful daze every step of the way. Tremors or pain shot through your body with each miniscule movement.

But you didn’t relent.

It took a bit longer to arrive, but you couldn’t deny the wave of relief you felt when you passed the clearing to the lake.

The familiar, dark, looming castle was still there, surrounded by a vortex of storm clouds.

It was a sight that brought you an intense feeling of comfort and familiarity.

When had this cursed castle begin to feel closer to home than your own family house?

The thought was fleeting in your mind, the only thing you really cared to think of was getting inside, and getting past the obscene amount of stairs.

“How the hell did my ancestors get around this shit… Dracula, the lucky bastard, can teleport. How did anyone else get around?”

You were really regretting deciding to come here injured. Your legs were screaming at you, and you were drenched in sweat.

It was only a matter of time before your body forcefully shut down so you’d rest.

You at least wanted to be in the main tower when you inevitably passed out for a few days.

Despite everything you should have thought, it was the only place that felt safe. The only place you could pass out in peace.

Something a year ago you would have scoffed at, yet here you are.

You were sure you must have looked like a hot mess when you pulled the throne room’s doors open with your good arm.

No doubt you still had blood on you, and your wounds were still badly wrapped. Your face probably looked just as rough if the tender spot above your temple was any indication.

It was strange.

You could have sworn the energy in the castle shifted the moment you walked through the throne room door.

From the usual, comforting feeling you had grown accustomed to, the energy suddenly felt… off.

Vile? Angry? Suffocating? Hot?

But… you didn’t feel unwelcome, despite how the feeling around you made your stomach churn.

Slowly, you stepped forward, your limp becoming much more apparent now that you were here. You could relax a little.

“Hey, I’m back.” You spoke, albeit a bit weakly.

The air seemed to tighten, and you felt a bit hot.

“I know, I know. I look like shit. I feel like it too…” you spoke, your voice softening to a murmur the closer you got.

When you were a few feet away from the statue, you sighed, and dropped your bag.

Nothing had changed since last time, it seemed. Dracula’s hand was still outstretched towards where you had fallen asleep that one time.

“Ugh…” you mumbled, and finally sat down. Gripping your head gently, you opened your bag, and grabbed a water bottle.

Taking a swig, you grimaced.

“Bleh… tastes awful. Is water supposed to taste that bad…?” You mumbled, looking over the bottle, unaware of the growing distress from the other person in the room.

Your face scrunched up as you took another sip.

“Ugh. Tastes sorta like metal. Did this get left out?” You hummed as you forced yourself to drink more. You’d need the water after everything that happened, after all.

You sat there in silence for a while, contemplating what to do. What to say.

“Today was rough.” You spoke, your voice cracking.

Now that you were somewhat safe, you could feel the familiar heavy feeling sinking in your chest.

Pain. Anguish. An unexplainable sickly feeling…

That's not to mention the absurd physical pain you felt. Your injuries were screaming at you at this point.

It was probably some of the worst pain you had felt in years.

You finished your water bottle, and tossed it back into your bag with a wince.

Just turning your body hurt.

“Aw, fuck-“ you then hissed, feeling your wound on your side pull open again.

It had only been a matter of time. You had poorly treated it before leaving your family home. That, and all the walking to get here?

Yeah, your wounds reopening wasn’t a surprise.

“Son of a bitch…” you mumbled through grit teeth, and pulled the bag closer.

You may not have any potions stocked, but you at least remembered to stuff some medical supplies in this bag for when you got here.

It took a moment, but you finally found the gauze and some medicine. You hissed as you got to work.

“What a mess…” you groaned out as you started on your injury on your side.

Maybe bringing an extra shirt would have been smart. Fuck.

Still, you pushed the messy garment away, and cursed when you began to undo the bindings for the wound.

Just as you thought, the wound had reopened.

It could be worse, but it certainly didn’t look pretty. You had to clean this up, and fast.

You reached over for a bottle of antibacterial cream, only to start cursing when it slipped from your hands after picking it up.

The small plastic jar rolled on its side across the floor, until it bumped against the statue, innocently slowing to a stop at its feet.

Head hanging low for a moment, you contemplated how bad the damage would be if you just left it.

“Damn it…” you mumbled, and slowly stood to your feet.

Gripping the wound on your side, you took a few steps forward, before gripping your head.

You were so exhausted. No doubt you were dehydrated, and your body was trying to shut down to try and rest.

Standing up and trying to walk, even if it wasn’t fast, was enough to give you a headrush. It also made you suddenly feel incredibly dizzy and nauseous.

Your vision blurred, and your feet stumbled, causing you to trip over yourself.

A string of colorful curses left your mouth as you fell forward, desperately trying to catch yourself.

One of your hands flew forward, and you let out a small ‘ack!’ when your hands landed on Dracula’s statue.

You fumbled as you tried to catch yourself, your bloody hands landing on his outstretched arm as you attempted to avoid hitting the floor.

“Fuck me…” you gasped as you attempted to avoid heaving up the water you had previously drank, leaning loosely against the stone arm.

“What a-“ you began to mumble, but froze when you heard the distinct sound of stone grinding against stone.

“-…pain?” You weakly spoke, eyes widening as your head snapped back to the statue you were leaning against.

Your heartbeat thud in your ears, and you felt like you were about to choke for entirely different reasons than before.

Dracula was moving.

His head shook, and stone dust fell around him…

…And his head snapped to look at you.

“Oh sh-“

Before the words were even out of your mouth, it was as if the castle itself took a deep breath, and then there was an explosion of power that followed.

A scream was immediately ripped from your throat as you were thrown backwards, sliding on your back against the floor past your bag.

You were dazed from being thrown, but you could faintly feel the air grow thick with energy, and the very castle beneath you shook.

It was almost too much. You felt like you were going to be sick.

Almost as fast as it began, the castle’s tremors slowed to a stop, and you finally could catch your breath.

Only to choke when you attempted to sit up.

Torches on the wall began to light up with flames, one by one, and the air began to clear from all the dust in the air.

And in the center of the room, an all too familiar figure slowly stood to their feet.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe.

Dracula.

Panic began to well in your heart, and you were shaking all over again.

You were frozen. You could not move.

Dracula turned, and you felt like you were punched in the gut.

That same beautiful face you had grown accustomed to, was now full of color, and striking red eyes met your own.

Dracula was back.

You were going to die.

It wasn’t so much a thought, but rather a feeling. You knew in your current state, you were unmatched.

The silence was deafening. His gaze never left your form.

Pure, stone cold rage was on his face.

His ruby colored eyes, however, were scathing hot. Hot in a way that made you think of the fiery pits of hell itself.

The air was suffocating.

Dracula took a step towards you. Then another. And another.

Each step echoed loudly in the chamber, like a thunderclap in the eye of a storm.

Every step he took, you felt your heart attempt to jump out of your throat.

It felt slow, and so fast. Time was frozen, yet moving faster than you could understand.

Dracula grew closer and closer, and you felt yourself beginning to hyperventilate.

You weren’t ready. Of all times for this to happen, you weren’t ready.

Eventually he was right in front of you, and you found yourself frozen. All your muscles refused to move. Fear gripped your heart tight with a vengeance.

Dracula was tall. He easily loomed over you as you sat on the floor, and you had to crane your neck just to see his face properly.

This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to kill you.

You waited in bated breath for him to mock you, or at least to strike you down where you laid.

He did neither.

In fact, you nearly jumped when he began to lower himself, crouching down to your level.

He was so close… less than a foot away.

Then, he reached forward.

At first, you flinched as his hand reached for your face, and he hesitated. That nearly brought you out of your stupor. Why would he hesitate?

But then, instead of lashing out, his giant hand ever so gently reached forward, and carefully cupped your face.

Your breathing hitched, and you froze.

The action was so out of place from what you were expecting, it caused you to stop panicking from disbelief.

Dracula’s hand was tender and cool against your fevered flesh. He seemed to be looking over your wounds, which were now beginning to sting all over again.

He was quiet for a moment, and you couldn’t help but grow confused, though your heart still hammered painfully in your chest.

Finally, after a brief, tense moment, he spoke.

“Who did this to you?”

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