#//Out of sight; but always close in case she needed it in a pinch | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrs-weasley-reid · 1 year ago

Text

SWEET ADDICTION

Spencer Reid x bau!reader

Synopsis: Spencer always felt afraid you'd be too sweet for him. Turns out, you were just the right spice he needed. Word Count: 1800+ WARNING: Fluff with a pinch of spice. A/N: an alternate narrative draft of my other published draft, Regrets Sting... enjoy✨

Spencer found you saccharine.

As a colleague, a friend, and... an enchanting woman.

He spent most of his days hypervigilant, careful not to fall for your tempting, bright smiles and witty jokes.

He watched you smile warmly to each and every family of the victims you'd ever encounter. Spencer would never stop bragging about his high intelligence, but somehow, he couldn't figure you out. You were a beguiling force to behold, an enigma of kindness and walking epitome of apricity.

Spencer loves everything about you. He loves you. He was obsessed with you. Craved your presence. Greedy for your attention.

He was afraid that whatever feelings brewed in his chest were going to ravage you. Afraid that he'd ruin a beautiful art due to his impulsivity.

So he chose friendship. He had to, or else...

He became your motivator. Your stimulus. Your best friend.

He was there for you. He was there when a case became too heavy. He lent you his day off. He became your personal therapist, listening to all your vents in the hopes that it would stop the nightmares just for one night. He kept you company, reading a book to you until you drifted off to sleep but left as soon as he tucked you in.

And without you, or him, knowing, he fell for your addicting sweetness all over again. Spencer Reid was in love with you.

He felt guilty. Falling for you right after being in love with someone else because he wanted to avoid falling for you. Even Spencer couldn't make sense of himself. It was a mind-boggling conflict.

And yet, Spencer held himself back for as long as he could. He made himself believe that all he wanted was your friendship. Shoving his feelings into a box as if it were a dirty sin, he tried to keep a secret.

The deeper he fell for you, the more obvious it became to the team.

JJ figured it out first when Spencer put in too much effort to make you smile after a case that hit too close to home. You have been bland with everyone but not with Spencer. He managed to get you to laugh just by saying a couple of nerdy jokes. She knew, then, that you'd be the perfect match.

Emily and Derek noticed Spencer's smittenness at the same time. You were all on a case, and the unsub's victims disturbingly fit you. Spencer was protective of you and knew exactly how it'd make you feel. So he always kept you in his line of sight and insisted on working with you before Hotch had the chance to object. Of course, along with that was Penelope squealing about her suspicions that Spencer had a huge crush on you.

Rossi had a hunch. He saw Spencer's eyes light up every time you walked into any room, staring at you for as long as he could. One time, he saw Spencer organize your case file in the way you preferred: written detailed descriptions instead of photos. And he suspected that Spencer had done so since your first day with the team.

Hotch? He always knew but kept his mouth shut. Spencer went to him for any type of indirect romantic advice. Spencer was experiencing childish love, so who was Hotch to ruin it for the boy genius?

And so it goes...

JJ would ritually give Spencer new, interesting facts about you. Emily would become suggestive whenever you made Spencer his daily cup of sugar with drops of coffee. Derek would flirt with you whenever he caught Spencer staring at you, then report to Penelope about the progress in their project: get Spencer to confess. Rossi, at times, pulled Spencer back from his trance whenever he started to malfunction because of something you did that made his stomach flip. And Hotch was Spencer's go-to companion. Vaguely describing his feelings for you in hopes that the unit chief had some sort of advise in return.

So he could only imagine the heartbreak when you arrived one morning with an unfamiliar scent of shampoo and a giddy smile as you walked in with the precinct's detective.

He immediately expressed his disapproval. Of course, you were confused about it. What was worse was you didn't know why. And worse than that was Spencer couldn't tell you why.

Or so he thought.

"I don't understand why you're making a big deal out of this," You walked into an interrogation room.

"Just because Det. Lohan is an old friend of yours does not mean he can be trusted. You haven't seen the guy in years. I think it's safe to say that sleeping with him was not a smart choice." Spencer wanted to smack himself for his poor choice of words, but he'd rather you lecture him than spend more time with the detective that still lingered on your hair.

You laughed, not taking his words personally. "Spence, I'm a woman with two guns dangling on each side of her hips. I can take care of myself." You took his worry into account and yet made your decision clear.

Out of nowhere, Spencer pushed you by your hips against the door. You gasped out of shock, a dangerous sound that rang in his ears.

"Still think you'd be safe?" Spencer could barely look at you. He didn't know what he would do if he did.

"You're making him sound more dangerous than he is. This is clearly not about keeping me safe. What's going on? You know you can always talk to me." Your voice was like honey. It was sweet and kind. You had no doubt, no suspicion. You trusted him too much. You were too sweet on him.

Spencer released a sharp sigh. He really had no other choice, did he? "I'm in love with you," He muttered under his breath but loud enough to tickle your ear.

Your expression changed. You took time to read whatever his eyes could say, but you came up with nothing, "Spence... you already rejected me. You said we're better off friends. You said you weren't attracted to me." You kept your tone unfairly soft, filling him with guilt.

"I lied, okay?!" Spencer was losing his cool. How much you affected his mood was beyond torture.

"Well, that's not fair... I was in love with you. Told you how I felt." Your face was sullen. "And what? I'm supposed to just take you in my arms because now you want me?" You gently pushed him, looking down on your feet. "I'd like to be alone, please." You were firm with your words, hurt lingering under your breath.

"Was?" Spencer queried.

You looked back up, "What?"

He stepped closer, "You said, 'I was in love with you.' You're not anymore?" Spencer's eyes bore into your very soul. It felt like he was interrogating you with a different charge of crime than a few seconds ago.

"That's not the point," You barely managed to sound in control. His entire demeanor changed, focusing on one phrase.

"You don't love me anymore?" Spencer moved closer, leaving nothing but his breath between the two of you. He quickly glanced at your lips, then stared at you once more, making sure you saw what he just did.

You subtly gulped, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat. "What are you��"

"Say you still love me, and I'll kiss you," It was as if every restraint Spencer had finally snapped the longer he was alone with you. He has been restricting himself from every inch of you, after all, despite you being unaware of it.

You shook your head, lifting your chin up, "I'm really not in the mood to play games with you, Spence. Why can't you just leave the entire thing alone?" You hoped he couldn't hear how loud your heart was beating right in your ear.

Spencer's eyes soften. He drooled at the sight of your lips, leaning his forehead on yours. Spencer closed his eyes in desperation, "Please say you love me so I can kiss you..." He begged in a small whisper.

A lot of possibilities and doubts flooded your senses, but only one thing rang in your head.

"I—" You didn't get the chance to say it. Spencer's lips were already attached to yours.

Your mind went blank, and your knees turned weak. If he hadn't wrapped an arm around your waist, you would've long fallen on the floor and ruined the euphoric moment you were in.

His kiss wasn't anything like you'd imagine. Nowhere near the gentleness you've known him to be. His kisses were desperate and eager.

Spencer pressed your back against the two-way mirror, harsher than when he'd pushed you against the door. The loud thud echoed in the entire room. His kisses became hotter and hungrier by the second.

And just as his lips were about to trail down to your jaw...

"Uhm—"

You froze at the sound of the speaker sending feedback, lightly tapping Spencer to abruptly stop.

"Sorry... But, uh, the interrogation room's actually not empty. At least not on our side." JJ spoke from the speaker.

You bit your lower lip as you tightly closed your eyes, "I know I'm going to regret this, but who's with you?" Your voice cracked from utter embarrassment.

The speaker spilled a chuckle all over the room, "You got room for another, sweetheart?" Derek could barely hold his laugh as he spoke.

"Count me in, too," Emily chimed in, creating another horrible feedback.

Spencer squinted at the mirror as if he'd be able to see them the more he stared at his reflection. You were glad your back was against, or else they would've seen how red your face became.

"Uh... Can you leave? Please?" You looked up at the ceiling. You couldn't even look at Spencer's face from the embarrassment you were feeling.

"Just don't make a mess. We still need to use the room for the unsub later." Derek teased.

"No promises," Spencer grinned at you, making your face heat up more than it already was.

Emily's amused laughter echoed, "Getting a little too pride of yourself there, Reid." Her voice went one-eighth octave lower. "I won't hesitate to beat you up if you do some dumb shit."

You waited for at least a minute to make sure that they did leave before you collapsed on the floor with your hands covering your face.

Spencer squatted in front of you and took your hands, intertwining your fingers. "Regret falling in love with me yet?" A playful smirk danced over his lips.

"Right now? I do. I really, really do." But you were too sweet for him. So you rolled your eyes, groaning in indecisiveness, "I really don't."

"Yeah," Spencer couldn't help but smile, "You really don't." He grabbed your face by the cheek and stole another kiss.

Spencer couldn't help it. You were his sweet addiction. And he'd keep it that way as long as you let him.

reid masterlist | masterlist

#spencer x reader #spencer reid imagine #ssa spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminalminds #fem!reader #spencerreid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fluff

1K notes · View notes

russellsppttemplates · 11 months ago

Text

Parenting Practice (Lando Norris)

A look into the Norris family summer vacation

Note: english is not my first language. It's been some time, hasn't it? A lot has been going on, and my mental health has taken the biggest toll, so the blog hasn't received much attention as I'm trying to keep the train going! For those who are here and have stayed, thank you for being so patient and for staying - I hope this is good enough ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests right now, so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to send them in but know that I don't know when I'll be able to get to them!

my masterlist

Cw: reader is pregnant

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3 @sltwins

"Are you all packed, my love?", Lando asked you as he zipped his suitcase effortlessly.

"Yes - are you sure it's fine if I take my pillow?", you wondered, holding the pregnancy pillow close to you, folding it into the carrier bag.

"It's regular carry-on, and as much as I hate that I have to share my cuddles with it, I know you sleep better with it so you definitely need to take it", Lando winked.

Blushing at your husband's antics, you made sure it was packed before looking around in case you missed something you needed to pack, "seems like I'm all good too - when do we need to leave?".

"In thirty minutes - how about I make us a snack to eat, then you can go pee before we go and then we head to the airport?", Lando suggested.

"Why did you need to specify that I have to take a pee break?", you poked you tongue out at him, pinching his butt as he walked past you.

"You were the one that told me I should always inform you of when you couldn't pee for a long time! The jet will touchdown to pick us both up and go straight up again - I don't think we will have time to use the base's bathroom, and you say you don't like the jet's bathroom, so I was just warning you, woman!", he bit back playfully.

Recalling the last time where you tried to use the bathroom and had to call Pietra to hold you in case you couldn't get out on your own, afraid that the bump would make moving around the tiny space impossible, you swore you'd always plan your pee breaks carefully from now on, "I'm craving something salty", you beamed as Lando walked down the stairs.

"A salty snack for mama and baby girl coming right up!", he yelled back and you could just imagine his head shaking from side to side with a charming smile on his face.

Your mother in-law was the first to greet you as soon as you stepped inside the aircraft, Lando holding your hand to make you didn't fall and helping with your shoes, "Y/N! Oh, you look so gorgeous!", she cooed.

"It's the compression socks, isn't it?", you giggled, lifting up your long skirt to show her, "doctor said it would be better for the swelling - Goodness knows I need all the help I can with that", you mumbled the last bit.

"Don't be silly, you look beautiful!", Pietra complimented.

"She does, doesn't she?", Lando complimented, kissing your cheek before letting you go and feeling slightly jealous that everyone was now looking at you when you had been a sight for his eyes only for the past few days.

"Is all of that jealousy, brother?", Cisca asked her brother, touching her toes on his thigh after she sat down on her beach chair. The sun had finally showed up and there was a light breeze going on, making it the perfect beach day and it was only lunchtime as they sat on the beach bar after making the food orders.

"Jealousy? Of what?", Lando quirked his eyebrow over his sunglasses, drifting his attention from you and looking back to his youngest sister.

"The girls haven't left Y/N since the plane, only to sleep and Sav was just saying she swears she heard Athena call your wife before she fell asleep", she snickered, "You've lost favourite uncle status, we all have I think".

"Like we stood a chance to begin with", Lando scoffed, "she was made to be a mother, and before that she had all the practice with being an auntie. And the girls genuinely think they can play with baby girl like they play with their dolls once she's here with us".

"Mila is gentle most days, Athena is... still a bit hard on her movements I think - oh, just on cue!", she yelped.

"Oh, darling, that was a bit strong, wasn't it?", you scolded softly, taking her hand away from your ear after she pushed on your hoop.

"Come here, you trouble maker!", Adam called, grabbing the little girl away from your lap as you rearranged your jewellery.

"She surely has a strong grip!", you chuckled before winking at Lando, mouthing a silent "I love you, Lan" across the table.

Cisca groaned playfully, "is all of that jealousy, little sister?", Lando teased her before blowing you a kiss and mouthing it back.

You were enjoying the pool the villa had, soaking up the sun as you laid on Lando's chest, tracing random shapes on his chest while his hand travelled around your waist and bump, often tapping it when your little girl kicked or moved.

It was fairly quiet until the girls woke up from their naps, immediately coming down to join you and invite everyone to swim with them.

Deciding to engage in their delight, you got up and walked to the edge of the pool, carefully sitting on the warm stone and letting your legs dip in the water to cool your body while Lando dove in and played with the girls, "careful, Mila, you can't unzip your vest!", he called.

Pulling her closer to you, you managed to zip it back up and help her swim back to her uncle, "is the bump getting in the way?", Sav asked you, mimicking your early movements and sitting next to you.

"When I'm sitting down, yes", you chuckled, "I don't have the same range of movements and my mind still has to catch up with that".

"It's a sign that she's growing well though", your sister in-law added, propping herself up on her arms so she could ease the rest of ther body into the water, getting immediate attention from her children as they called her to them, "soon enough you'll have someone calling you every waking second!".

"She already does, though! Look at him making a bee line to her now that she's free!", Oliver joked as Lando swam to you.

"I won't even bother answering that", Lando pointed to his brother before reaching you, ignoring everyone else as he gently wrapped his arms around your calves and rested his chin on your knees, "hi, beautiful", he smiled.

"Hey, handsome", you smiled, brushing a fallen curl away from his forehead, "did you enjoy your splashes?", you asked giggling.

"It was fun, yes. Athena poked my eye a couple of times though", he argued, "can you imagine our little princess playing with them this time next year?", he wondered.

"Three little girls", you mused, nodding at the idea, "you better get ready to be a princess too!".

"I have what it takes to be a girl dad, some people might even say I'm very girl dad coded", he tsked you, earning laughs from you.

"You definitely are, yes", you rubbed your bump, "you haven't been her long and she's already kicking like crazy - definitely a daddy's girl".

"Hey, sweet girl", Lando spoke, lightly wetting the skin as his hands touched your bump, "are you having a good time in there? Mummy always says she's too hot so we hope you're doing good away from this heat. And this helps, no?", he wondered as the baby kicked against the droplets, "yeah, it's good and cooling", he cooed.

"I'm craving something salty", you said as you grabbed the menu, flicking the pages to see what tickled your fancy.

You had decided to go to the beach bar and have lunch there, not wanting to have to pack everything to go back home only to come back for the afternoon. Everyone was gathered around the table as the waiter took the orders.

"Feeling good? Well rested?", you asked Lando once you caught him looking at you.

"Yes", he admitted, "I thought it would be harder to switch off, but it's been very good", he squeezed your thigh, kissing the side of your head and pulling you to his chest, "how are my girls today? You look ethereal in this dress, darling".

The white dress was flowy at times and tight in all the right spots, showcasing your babybump perfectly, "we've been good, no more harsh kicking on my bladder which I appreciate, isn't that right, Tilly?", you rubbed just above your bellybutton, "but we're both quite hungry".

"The waiter said yours should be quick to make", he offered since the waiter mentioned that the Caesar salad was a popular plate and they always had it running.

Once everyone was served, you began eating, delighted and exclaiming how good e everything was.

"Have a bite of this, baby, trust me!", Lando offered as he gathered a bit of everything on his fork to feed you.

"It's sweet, I'm not sure I'll like it", you scrunched up your face.

"Try a little bit", he encouraged as he made a shell shape with his hand to catch anything that fell or dropped.

The food was definitely the opposite of what you had, but it was delicious. That you couldn't deny.

"It's good, isn't it? I told you!", Lando smiled, "do you want some more?", he offered while already getting everything on the fork again.

"Baby girl seems happy too", you giggled, feeling her move.

"She has good taste in food, what can I say?!", Lando giggled back.

The vacation was well underway by the time you decided which days you wanted to spend on the boat, Oliver and Savannah staying inside with the girls along with Adam and Cisca who decided they would make lunch for everyone.

"Do you know what I have just realised?", you spoke to Flo as you both watched Lando and Cisca's boyfriend jump into the water, "your brother has a massive head - like, it's really big, specially when you compare to Max's", you pointed to your husband's best friend who had joined you for the last few days.

That morning, you cried about the fact that your bikini dug on your hips only for Lando to tell you that you hadn't tired the sides properly and that you had more than enough room to accommodate your growing body, so right now this was a way better way to deal with the rush of hormones you were having.

"I think we all do, to be fair - Cisca has the smalled one I guess", Flo squinted as she looked at her sister who walked closer to you.

"Why are you looking at me like that?", Cisca wondered.

"I've just realised how big your brother's head is and how I'm probably going to be split apart when this little girl - little body but surely a big head - joins us", you rubbed your bump as tears formed in your eyes.

"Oh, Y/N, my friends have had babies with big heads and they're fine", Pietra offered, "they were just fine", she said before waving at Max so him and Lando could come to the rescue.

"I don't know why I'm crying, which makes this even worse - Goodness", you wiped your eyes and chuckled, "I can feel her head, it's about here from what I remember from the scans - and it's big, like, really big! How is that going to work?", you blurted.

"What's the matter? Is everything alright? Y/N, are you good? Is it Tilly?", Lando asked worriedly as he saw you break into a fit of giggles and seeing the girls fight their laughter a bit before joining.

"The matter is that you have a big head and Tilly's will also be big", you explained, "I'm not the tiniest person ever, so there's definitely room but can you imagine? I have to ask your mother how big your head was when you were born because I feel like I need to do prep work for it", you mused, "it's all natural until you decide to have a kid with the guy who has a big head".

"Oh, Y/N has gone dark", Max muttered, earning himself a swat on his forehead from Pietra, "what? Did I lie?", he hissed, containing his laughter.

"I'm not sure what you'd like me to do here, my love", Lando admitted, sitting next to you and attempting to squeeze your thigh lovingly, knowing the affectionate gesture could go both ways.

"Our baby is making me feel like I have the emotional and cognitive skills of a toddler", you mumbled as you cuddled your husband, supporting your bump with a pillow Flo got for you as you both layed down.

"It's okay, Y/N, I don't mind having to reason with you - we'll consider this practice for when we have our little one, okay beautiful?", Lando kissed your forehead.

#lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fluff #f1 x you

910 notes · View notes

hamsterclaw · 1 year ago

Text

Yoongi’s a murder detective fighting burnout when he’s assigned the case that you and your former partner fucked up.

Paring: Yoongi x f! Reader

Genre: Detectives!Yoongi and reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of murder, bloodshed and assault, sex, depression and burnout, mentions of guns

The flashing blue lights in Yoongi’s window are followed by the wail of sirens cutting through the early evening bustle.

Yoongi looks out the window. He’s three floors up from street level, there’s raindrops tracking along the dirty glass, the faint smell of mildew that accompanies any rainfall in this filthy city.

Under the table, his good leather shoes, the ones he saves for weddings and funerals, have rubbed a hole in the skin over his achilles. Yoongi had worn them for his disciplinary hearing today, the part of him that still wants to be a cop temporarily winning over the part of him that doesn’t.

He wonders if this is what burnout feels like.

His superior, Kim Namjoon, had called him into his office after the hearing to tell him he was on probation, to clean up his act because he wouldn’t be so lucky as to get off next time.

The truth is, Yoongi had known while he was pressing the suspect’s face into gravel with his booted foot that it would come back to bite him on the ass.

He’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s never been kind to scum who exploit children, but his partner, Jung Hoseok, had seen something in Yoongi’s face that day that had made him report Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Hoseok has been his partner on and off for five years and he’s as sterling as they come. His moral compass is as strong as it was the day they graduated from the academy, despite all the fucked up shit they’ve seen.

Unlike Yoongi.

Yoongi was never black and white to begin with and now he’s so far into the grey he scares himself sometimes. It’s never been his goal to be the kind of cop who metes out his own justice.

Only madness lies that way.

Anyway now Hoseok’s been reassigned temporarily to narcotics, supposedly a break from homicide, and Yoongi’s partnerless.

Probably not for long, there’s always some hungry rookie wanting the credibility of working homicide.

Yoongi sighs, closes the file he’d been skimming. It’s well past seven, there aren’t any open cases that need his immediate attention and he figures he might as well go home to his apartment and his cat, Kenzo.

The pavement’s slippery under the smooth soles of his good shoes, Yoongi pulls his coat tighter against the early autumn chill as he walks the five blocks to his apartment.

The smell of fried wontons fills his nostrils as he passes a conduit street in the back end of Little China, Yoongi’s tempted to stop and pick up dinner.

He’s tempted every time and succumbed yesterday so he soldiers on, not without a pang of regret. He regrets food choices because he’d rather that, than think about his actual regrets.

The bang of a gunshot when he’d been two minutes too late to what then became a crime scene.

Fucking some girl with a cute face because he hadn’t been man enough to treat Mara the way she deserved.

Choosing to stay in homicide even after it had become clear to him that he had plumbed the depths of human depravity. Scarring his psyche repeatedly because it’s easier than making the active choice to request a transfer.

Yoongi unlocks his door, toes his shoes off, hangs up his coat.

There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of grey fur as Kenzo skitters across the entryway, close but not touching him.

It’s the kind of greeting Yoongi can get behind.

He pours out a serving of dry food into Kenzo’s dish, heads to the fridge to reheat yesterday’s wontons.

Eats standing at the tiny kitchen island, cracks open a beer to wash it all down.

He catches sight of his face, pinched in the scowl it seems to fall into more often than not these days.

Jesus, is he getting old?

Yoongi avoids looking at his reflection again as he showers. Changes into the same t-shirt he’s been wearing for weeks, contemplates watching porn just to take the edge off, but decides he can’t be bothered.

He falls into sleep, deep and dreamless, wakes up with an almighty crick in his neck just before dawn from the way he’d been huddled in a tight ball under the covers.

He knows he’s not right, but he’s been not right for so long Yoongi wouldn’t even know where to start putting himself together again.

***

Redemption comes in odd packages, Yoongi thinks, as he looks up a case he worked on six months ago, a shady businessman on the fringe of organised crime who’d got high as a kite and beat a sex worker to death.

He’d been killed on the way to serving out his sentence in the cushy prison in Busan his fancy lawyer had managed to negotiate, crushed in the back of the transport vehicle when it had been t-boned by a lorry.

Apparently a freak accident, Yoongi doubts it but he’s also not going to look too closely, it’s out of his jurisdiction and he’s too jaded to mourn the loss of another brutal asshole. They’d had to identify the sex worker by her dental records and DNA, her face had been unrecognisable.

There’s a knock on the frosted glass panel on his office door, Yoongi looks up as Kim Namjoon walks in, followed by the latest hungry rookie angling for a stint in homicide.

‘Min Yoongi, this is Y/N L/N,’ Namjoon says. ‘She’s a new transfer in from the Seoul branch.’

Yoongi doesn’t have to fake his disinterest as he nods politely at you.

‘What’s the case?’ he asks.

Namjoon looks pointedly at the crime scene photo blown up on Yoongi’s screen.

Yoongi waits.

He can feel your gaze on him, but he’ll get to that later.

The anticipation of a new case never gets old, he’s been in homicide since he graduated off the beat ten years ago and he no longer thinks it’s sick of him to get excited about another murder.

It’s the thrill of the hunt that he lives for, the translation of nebulous facts and witness statements into a puzzle that he can solve.

Yoongi’s damn good at his job. It almost makes the sacrifices in the rest of his so-called life worth it.

Namjoon hands Yoongi a case file, crisp, sharp edges waiting to razor his fingertips open. Flat.

Inside, the standard cover page, then a note that makes Yoongi sit up straight out of his slouch.

He looks at Namjoon to find Namjoon’s already looking at him.

‘The reaper of Seoul?’

Yoongi realises as he says the words out loud how it sounds.

The capture and subsequent conviction of the serial killer who’d terrorised the citizens of Seoul for three years had made headlines nationwide.

Last year.

‘Yeah,’ Namjoon says, the tension in his jaw evident now that Yoongi’s looking at him properly.

Namjoon glances at you. ‘It would seem he never left.’

You shift your weight and your eyes meet Yoongi’s.

‘My partner and I broke the case,’ you say. There’s a brittle smoothness to your voice that Yoongi recognises as a paper thin facade over the hauntedness underneath. ‘Turns out we didn’t.’

***

The note in the case file is a single sheet of letter paper, lined in blue.

The handwriting is precise, neat between the lines.

Oh dear.

Better luck this time?

Best regards from your neighbourhood Reaper.

Yoongi looks at you, sitting across the room at the desk Hoseok’s temporarily vacated.

You’re staring at your screen, face backlit in blue, expression unreadable. You’re in black, nondescript knitwear, your hair pushed back from your face, eyes narrowed.

He clears his throat. ‘You worked the case with your partner.’

It’s a statement you answer to like a question.

‘It was the first case I picked up when I joined homicide,’ you say, turning to Yoongi. ‘It started with -‘

‘Kim Seulgi,’ Yoongi says.

You nod, almost grimacing at the name of the Seoul Reaper’s first high profile victim.

‘Her family wanted answers.’

Kim Seulgi had been born of Seoul’s elite, an architect with her grandfather’s firm who had picked up a number of accolades for her work on the National Opera House.

She’d been engaged to an equally accomplished classical pianist, Jeong Minho, and had been the only offspring of her wealthy parents.

She’d disappeared three days before her wedding, only to turn up on her wedding day, floating in the Hangang, dressed in the clothes she’d disappeared in.

You say, ‘She was an ambitious first target.’

‘Was she the first?’ Yoongi asks.

The flicker in your eyes tells him this isn’t the first time you’ve considered this.

‘My partner Kiho.’ There’s strain in your voice. You start again. ‘My partner, Kiho, and I thought he’d killed before.’

You shrug. ‘The captain felt we were wasting time looking back into his early years.’

Yoongi says, neutral, ‘Budgets are limited, your case must have passed the thresholds for plausible deniability.’

‘It seemed to fit,’ you agree.

Your eyes meet again. ‘Not all of it, though.’

Yoongi knows, intimately, what it’s like to not be certain. Sometimes all you have is your instinct. It’s one thing to build a case no reasonable person would doubt, but you’re also betting on your gut. You’re betting on being a good enough detective to know that the pieces fit, without forcing them to fit.

You’re betting on being honest with yourself, and Yoongi knows more than anyone how tempting the lies can be.

Now you’re the one watching him, taking the measure of him.

His email pings.

‘That’s the link to the full case file,’ you say.

You get up, carry a stack of notebooks to his desk.

‘Our notebooks,’ you say.

Yoongi looks at the stack.

Every cop’s got their own collection of notebooks, raw data and impressions that don’t always make it into official reports.

The equivalent of dirty underwear when you’re not expecting company versus lingerie when you’re down to fuck.

This close, he can smell your shampoo, bright and faintly floral.

You blink at him.

‘I need to sort something with human resources,’ you say. ‘I’ll see you later.’

In actual fact it’s 36 hours later when he next sees you, at 4am, at a crime scene.

***

The rain falling is more than a drizzle, enough that the tent around the victim is the first priority.

There’s an imprint of violence in the air, Yoongi knows you feel it too by the way your lips tighten as you duck under the yellow tape to join him.

You nod at him in greeting, then there’s silence as you enter the tent.

The victim’s on her front, face turned to the right, hand tucked under her cheek.

She hasn’t been dead long enough for livedo to set in, she would almost look asleep if it weren’t for the purple of her lips, the greyness to her complexion.

The bath of blood she’s lying in.

Yoongi can just see the edge of the gaping wound on her neck.

You wait until forensics turns her body over.

The top three buttons of her silk blouse are undone, her chest slick with blood.

Yoongi’s reading the crime scene like he’s reading you, and he knows what you’re going to say before you say it.

‘It’s him,’ you breathe. The devastation in your eyes makes it difficult for him to look at you. ‘Fuck, it’s him.’

***

You’re shivering visibly despite the hot coffee Yoongi’s poured you, despite the fact that he’s turned the heating in his ancient Hyundai up as far as it’ll go.

There are droplets of water in your hair, sparkling incongruously in the gloom.

You’re waiting till first light to knock on neighbourhood doors, the victim was found in a quiet cul-de-sac.

Two minutes from her own front door.

Not much chills Yoongi these days but that fact does make him pause.

The audacity of it.

He says, ‘I have a blanket in the trunk.’

You’re protesting but Yoongi gets back out in the rain anyway, grabs the blanket and gets back in.

Hands it to you, takes your cup as you drape the blanket around yourself.

‘It gets colder here than Seoul,’ Yoongi offers, handing you your coffee back.

‘We fucked it up,’ you say, and Yoongi knows that’s what you’ve been thinking since you saw the body.

He’s just been waiting for you to be ready to say it.

‘So make it right,’ he says, simple.

‘An innocent man’s in prison because Kiho and I fucked up,’ you say.

Yoongi doesn’t want to minimise it but he doubts the man you put away was completely innocent.

‘I read your notebooks,’ he says. ‘Who’s Jeon Bogyeol?’

There had been twelve murders before the arrest. All women in their late twenties to mid thirties, all living alone.

They’d all lived in the same part of Seoul, but apart from that there was nothing to link them that he could find.

You look at him warily. ‘He was a night watchman at the apartments of seven of the women.’

Yoongi waits.

‘We cross-referenced staff at all the addresses, and his name kept coming up. Like Jang Daeseong.’

You flinch at the name of the man convicted of the murders, as though it didn’t fall from your own lips.

You keep talking, though, your voice never faltering. ‘We never found any links between Jeon Bogyeol and the other five women.’

‘Did he have a history?’ Yoongi asks. He’s looking out the window at the first rays of sunrise, muted orange through the rain. His shoulder aches, an old injury he doesn’t think about except when he’s tired, and cold.

‘There was a neighbour,’ you say. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, a tell Yoongi’s noticed for the first time tonight.

‘She called the police once saying she’d seen Bogyeol taking a woman into his apartment against her will.’

You’re frowning. ‘The beat cops who responded to the call out said there was no sign of anyone else in his apartment. The neighbour moved away.’

‘Moved away?’ Yoongi asks, and you glance at him, understanding the sharpness in his tone.

‘I was going to look into it when the Chief shut us down,’ you say. It’s stated simply, like a fact, no sign of defensiveness.

Yoongi offers you more coffee from his flask.

‘Where’s Bogyeol now?’

‘When the new letter came in I looked him up,’ you say. The steam rising from your cup obscures part of your expression for a moment, but Yoongi can hear the tremor in your voice.

‘He’s less than fifty miles east of here.’

Dawn’s breaking, the rain’s finally starting to peter out, but Yoongi’s chilled anyway.

***

The morning sun is high in the sky by the time Yoongi and you finish interviewing the neighbours and the new victim’s friends and family.

Yoongi’s phone rings. It’s Namjoon.

‘Can you talk?’ Namjoon asks.

Yoongi mouths ‘Namjoon’ in response to your inquiring expression, puts some distance between you and him.

‘Yeah,’ he answers.

‘The post-mortem results are back, and the preliminary tox screen is negative. The ME’s put the cause of death as exsanguination.’

Yoongi processes this. ‘It’s the same MO as the previous Seoul reaper victims,’ he says.

Namjoon sighs. ‘Has anything new come out of your interviews?’

‘No,’ Yoongi says. The victim had been well-liked, none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything, and on the surface of it there were no conflicts he could see. Her boyfriend of two years had been away on a work trip, his location confirmed around the window of the crime.

Yoongi’s looking at you as you wait against the car, and when your name comes out of Namjoon’s mouth he’s already got an inkling of what Namjoon wants to know.

‘I reviewed the case,’ Namjoon says. ‘There are no obvious flaws or errors in their investigation.’

Yoongi grunts. ‘There was a lead that they didn’t follow up on.’

He fills Namjoon in.

‘I’ll follow it up.’

Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder where her partner’s working now.’

Yoongi’s surprised Namjoon doesn’t already know, to be honest, he’s always two steps ahead of Yoongi.

He flicks his gaze to you again. You’re still waiting against the car, and there’s a loneliness to your posture, a fatigued downturn to your mouth that makes him say, ‘Hey Joon, I’ll call you back, ok?’

He ends the call, unlocks the car.

‘We should get back and compare notes,’ Yoongi says. His voice has dropped the way it does when he’s tired, and shit, he is tired. He hasn’t slept well for a while.

‘Let me drive,’ you offer. You take his keys, and your fingers brush his for an instant.

The contact, brief though it is, makes Yoongi’s skin tingle.

He wonders if you notice his reaction, but you’re already sliding in, adjusting the seat, starting up the car.

***

Yoongi wakes when you’re parking the car, sits up, a little embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking to gauge your reaction.

‘Don’t be,’ you reply. ‘I would have done the same if you’d driven.’

There’s a hint of mischief in the curve of your half-smile.

‘You mumble in your sleep.’

Yoongi rubs a hand over his face. ‘What’d I say?’

‘I couldn’t make out any words,’ you tell him, but there’s a twinkle in your eye that makes him wonder if that’s really true.

Mara is the only person who’s shared his bed in recent years, and she’d never mentioned anything.

You swipe your ID to get into the station, hit the lifts.

In the dire grey lighting you look almost as tired as he does.

‘Coffee?’ Yoongi offers, when you pass the vending machine on the way to the office.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re on your phone, frowning over a text.

Yoongi passes you a cup.

‘Problem?’ he asks.

‘Kiho,’ you say. You look at him. ‘My old partner. He wants to meet up.’

‘It’d be useful to talk through the case with him,’ Yoongi agrees.

Your expression is difficult to read. ‘He’s in a retreat a couple hours drive from here. He took time off after we closed the case.’

Yoongi gulps his coffee. ‘There isn’t anything else we can do here anyway, we’re waiting on leads.’

He reaches out his hand for the car keys. ‘I can drive.’

***

The retreat Kiho is staying in is set amongst the foothills of a mountain, rolling grounds all around, a view of the cliffs overlooking the sea.

It seems to Yoongi like a place only the very rich or the very damaged would live.

Unless you get better pay packets in Seoul he’s apprehensive about meeting Kiho.

You sign in at the front desk, the receptionist greets you warmly, like she’s met you a few times before.

You lead Yoongi through a huge lounge, through open patio doors and into a green. Yoongi’s looking around at the residents, scanning the area the way he does automatically whenever he’s in an unfamiliar place.

You’re waving a hand, and then you’re embracing a tall man tightly. Neither of you say anything but Yoongi can see the way your shoulders slump, like the tension’s draining out of you.

It’s only when the tall man looks up at Yoongi inquiringly that Yoongi notices the long scar running along his neck. Tracing the path of his jugular, vertical rather than horizontal.

Kiho extends a hand.

‘So you’re going to get our guy,’ he says.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that.

‘We’re going to get him,’ he says, finally.

Kiho turns to you. ‘You haven’t told him,’ he says to you.

You’re looking at Yoongi.

‘We can tell him now.’

***

‘I started getting notes after Jang Daeseong was convicted,’ you say. You’re sitting in a gazebo with Yoongi and Kiho, mugs of coffee in front of you.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

You flick your eyes to his, then look away, unlock your phone.

Yoongi takes your phone, scrolls through a gallery of pictures.

Lined paper, handwriting he’s seen before.

Yoongi reads through the content, then returns your phone to you.

‘The originals are with forensics,’ you tell him. ‘The paper and ink are generic, impossible to trace. There’s no trace of DNA, not so much as a partial print.’

‘The notes stopped coming last month,’ you say. ‘Right around the time I moved.’

Kiho’s scratching his neck absently, Yoongi catches how your gaze drops to his scar.

The length of it’s longer than a stab wound, he thinks the surgeons might have had to extend the scar to repair the vessels beneath.

You turn to Yoongi.

‘We have to stop him,’ you say. ‘Use me to lure him out.’

‘He nearly killed me,’ Kiho says. His expression is sober, his tone flat.

He stops there, but Yoongi can hear his next words, loud and clear.

What’s he going to do to you?

‘We can’t let him keep going like this,’ you say, very gently.

Kiho meets Yoongi’s gaze.

Yoongi doesn’t falter.

‘He has to be stopped,’ he agrees.

***

The drive back to the police station goes quicker - there’s something about seeing your old partner that’s given you a bump of energy.

Yoongi can practically feel the adrenaline fizzing in your blood, coming off you in waves.

He’s worried about the crash when the adrenaline ebbs.

He sure as fuck hopes you can cope with the lows better than he can.

He’d put in a call before you left the retreat, Namjoon’s fast tracking a last known address on the neighbour of Jeon Bogyeol who’d moved away.

You’re typing an address into the satnav yourself, face drawn, eyes serious.

Yoongi doesn’t have to ask whose address it is.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he asks.

His voice is as neutral as he can make it but he already knows that you’ve made your decision.

It’s written all over you, in the way your shoulders are squared, in the tilt of your chin, in the way your hands are tensed into fists in your lap.

‘I need to see this through, Yoongi,’ you say.

Yoongi takes a moment.

‘What happened to Kiho?’ he asks.

‘He didn’t see who it was,’ you answer. Your eyes are fixed in front of you, jaw tensed.

‘He was heading home in between shifts and he got jumped in the car park under his apartment. If he hadn’t been found by the car park attendant —‘ you voice trails off, and you shiver.

‘He was lucky the car park attendant called for help right away. That his next door neighbour, fresh off a shift in the trauma department, arrived home when she did and was there to take over. That he lives five minutes on blue lights away from the best trauma centre in Seoul.’

You look at Yoongi. ‘Kiho’s damned lucky to be alive.’

‘It’s a different injury from the reaper’s usual MO,’ Yoongi says slowly.

You nod. ‘He was toying with us.’

‘You said you received notes from the Reaper,’ Yoongi says. He’s watching you carefully in the rearview. ‘What did they say?’

Your lips press together in a line, but your voice is steady when you answer.

‘He said he’d been watching me, and that he was coming for me. That I’d be his final kill.’

***

The address you’ve put in for Jeon Bogyeol is a house in a run down suburban neighbourhood, the type of place Yoongi grew up.

The houses are haphazardly arranged, like a careless scatter on a Monopoly board, connected by a warren of roads too narrow for more than one car to pass.

Yoongi can see you tensing up the closer you get to your destination, and after he parks and switches off the engine, he places his hand on your arm.

Your eyes are expressive, more so than your voice.

‘We haven’t got grounds yet for an arrest warrant,’ you say, flat.

‘We’re working the case,’ Yoongi replies. ‘And if it’s right, we’ll work it until it’s airtight.’

Your response is to stare at him a moment, then to push open the car door.

Yoongi notices that you’ve unzipped your jacket, making your holstered gun more visible.

His own gun presses against his hip, the weight of it reminding him that although he’s only drawn it a handful of times, each time has been with intent.

He sure as fuck hopes neither of you will have reason to draw your gun today.

***

The address is little more than a shack, a rickety door that looks like it’ll give under a strong kick, a boarded up window that’s visibly cracked.

Yoongi knocks, identifies you both.

Follows procedure because he’s determined to get it all right this time.

Get the monster locked up where he belongs.

You don’t have grounds to break down the door, at least not until you go round to the back and see the pink tricycle upended in the dirt, streamers splayed tendrils of pink and white.

There isn’t much that sends Yoongi into the grey as much as the suggestion that a child might be involved.

He doesn’t really recall looking at you to confirm, just knows that one minute he’s outside in the chill and the next he’s inside the shack, gun drawn, the metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat.

There’s nowhere to hide in the empty shack, Jeon Bogyeol is gone.

You do a cursory search but both of you know you aren’t going to find your answers here.

Then Yoongi must blank out, because the next thing he hears is your voice, firm, saying his name.

He’s panting, covered in sweat, back against a wall, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket to keep him upright.

He blinks, and you snap into focus. There’s ringing in his ears.

Your mouth opens, and the ringing stops. He hears your voice.

‘Let’s go, Yoongi.’

He lets you lead him out, folds himself into the passenger seat of your car, notes distantly how you put your hand on the top of the doorframe like you’re worried he’s going to bang his head.

You start the engine and then you drive, and Yoongi’s grateful that you don’t say anything at all, don’t ask for an explanation of why a fucking tricycle sent him into a tailspin.

Yoongi looks down in his lap because he’s not ready to see if you’re looking at him differently now that you’ve seen him wig out.

You put the radio on after a few minutes, stop at a drive thru after an hour.

It’s only when you hand him a coffee, silently, that he’s moved to speak.

He clears his throat, and you’re the one who speaks, still looking straight ahead, out the windscreen.

‘You don’t have to tell me. I mean, I’ll listen if you do, but you don’t have to.’

Yoongi chews on that a moment.

‘Three years ago I worked what we thought was a murder in Busan. It turned out to be an abduction.’

Yoongi laughs. There’s no humour in it.

‘We found her. She was still warm. If we’d been ten minutes quicker at figuring it out, if her fucking dad had told us about the business deal he had that had gone sour sooner, if I’d even just tried harder…’

His voice trails off.

He risks a glance at you.

You’re still not looking at him.

‘I can’t speak to whether you could have prevented it, Yoongi. All I know is that none of us come to work to do a bad job.’

Your hand lands on his forearm briefly.

‘Some days are just bad days at the office.’

It’s not the first time Yoongi’s heard it, but it’s the first time it’s been said to him with no judgement that he can hear.

***

When you get back to the precinct, Namjoon’s waiting.

He hands Yoongi another case file.

‘I got Jimin to follow up on those leads we talked about,’ Namjoon says, no preamble.

‘We visited Jeon Bogyeol’s last known address,’ you say. ‘There’s no one there now, but it hasn’t been long since he moved out.’

Namjoon says, ‘Keep me informed.’

He nods to the case file. ‘There’s some interesting information in there.’

As Namjoon walks off, you turn to Yoongi.

‘I’m going down to visit someone I know in forensics, see if they can check the house.’

Yoongi heads for your joint office.

There’s a cleaning cart parked just outside the door, which opens just as Yoongi reaches for the doorknob.

The cleaner apologises and bows politely.

Yoongi steps aside to let her pass.

‘You forgot this,’ he says, spotting the dusting cloth left on your desk.

He hands it to her and places the file on his desk.

Outside, it’s raining again.

***

Yoongi wakes with a jolt.

You’re perched on the edge of his desk.

‘You should go home, get some sleep.’

‘In the middle of an active murder investigation?’ Yoongi mumbles.

‘I’m one of the potential targets, remember?’ you say, grimacing. ‘He might come to us.’

At Yoongi’s expression, you say, ‘We’ve been doing nothing but following up leads since the last murder. The last investigation took months, almost a year. What are you going to do, not sleep until he’s caught?’

‘I don’t sleep much anyway,’ Yoongi says, but he knows you’re right.

‘I know you don’t,’ you reply. There’s an empathy in your tone that reminds him you’re a homicide detective too.

You exchange a look, and then you both speak at the same time.

‘I should go —‘

‘Do you like wontons?’ Yoongi blurts out.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Is this like inviting me in for ramen?’

‘What?’ Yoongi splutters. ‘No, not like that. There’s this place I go. They have—-‘

‘Wontons, I get it,’ you say. You get up. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

***

It’s been a while since Yoongi shared a meal with someone else, the last person was Hoseok, who could go straight from a crime scene to a steakhouse without turning a hair.

You’re chasing a wonton around your plate, fatigue lining the corners of your mouth.

Yoongi asks, ‘Where do you live?’

‘The other side of town,’ you tell him. ‘Near the financial district.’

‘Fancy,’ Yoongi muses.

‘More than I can afford,’ you say darkly. ‘If this case goes on for a while I’m going to need to move.’

You look up at him. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Close to here,’ Yoongi says.

‘Yeah?’

You put your chopsticks down. ‘I should —-‘

This time, Yoongi interrupts.

‘Do you want to come round for ramen?’

Your eyes meet, and there’s a beat of silence. Then a pulse of connection that sends heat through Yoongi’s veins.

Your knee brushes his under the table.

‘Yeah,’ you answer, deliberate. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

***

Yoongi’s always hated the preamble to a hookup, in his line of work uncertainty is a thing to be avoided.

You work the case until you get an explanation no reasonable person would doubt.

He finds himself waiting, though, now that you’re standing in his apartment.

You’re looking around, and he wonders if his existence seems as lonely on the outside as it feels on the inside.

He’s wondering if you’ve changed your mind, if you really did think he meant ramen, when you reach out and grasp the front of his shirt.

Slip the tips of your fingers just under, hold the placket as you use your other hand to unbutton. Start at his throat, work your way down, slowly.

His skin prickles under the warmth of your fingers.

You lean forward and press a kiss to the base of his neck.

Yoongi reaches up, slides a hand around the nape of your neck, and you tilt your face to his.

Close up, you’re soft.

Yoongi traces your bottom lip with his thumb, and your lips part.

You don’t say anything, though, and that’s ok, because Yoongi thinks you’re as talked out as he is.

It’s been a hell of a fucking day.

You’re kissing his neck again, instead of his mouth, and that’s ok, because this isn’t love, it’s comfort.

A human connection in a day filled with monsters.

Yoongi sighs as your hands slip over his bare chest, round to his back.

He helps you lift your top over your head, admires your breasts, nipples pressing against the fabric of your bra.

He cups the weight of them in his hands, and you moan.

Yoongi’s cock is filling out, and you’re undoing his belt like you want to see for yourself.

You drop to your knees in front of him, press your mouth onto the length of him over his boxer briefs, sigh with pleasure.

‘Not too much,’ Yoongi warns, ‘not if you want me to fuck you.’

You look up at him, hair mussed, a smile curving your lips.

You tug his boxer briefs down, and Yoongi curls a hand around himself so as not to hit you in the face.

‘Just let me —‘

You open your mouth to take him in, and Yoongi groans at the feel of your warmth.

When did he last —

His crown nudges the back of your throat, and you swallow, and he loses his train of thought.

He grabs your shoulder, tugs you up, kisses the smear of his own stickiness at the corner of your mouth.

The light slanting in through the window is hues of gold and orange, filling in the hollows of your face, outlining the curves of your body.

Yoongi has to stop looking at you because he doesn’t want to cry at how much he’s missed being close to someone like this.

‘Where do you want me?’ he asks, voice taut.

‘Anywhere,’ you say. ‘Just turn these fucking lights out.’

***

In the dark, Yoongi’s most enraptured by the warmth of you.

Your skin is smooth, so soft under his hands as he wraps his fingers around the curve of your hips.

His cock glides in and out of the heat between your legs, and your moans are beautiful but what really gets him are the hitches in your breathing as he moves.

He turns you over, onto your back, and you pull him to you. Your mouth opens on his shoulder in what would be a kiss if you weren’t biting down. Your tongue flicks over his bruised skin, an apology.

You haven’t spoken to each other in words in a while but Yoongi doesn’t think either of you need words right now.

At least he doesn’t.

You’re tightening around his cock now, your cries quickening until you gasp his name in a tone that makes him grunt and his hips jerk, taking him deep as he can go.

Even in his pleasure he makes sure not to crush you as he collapses next to you.

Then you’re up, walking over to the window, pulling up the sash, lighting a cigarette without asking if he’s ok with it.

Yoongi admires the outline of your profile against the glass.

‘I needed that,’ you say, taking a drag, hunching a little to blow smoke out of his window.

‘Me too,’ Yoongi says, honestly.

He ties off the condom, gets up to toss it in the trash on top of yesterday’s takeout.

Pours you a glass of water on his way back to bed.

He half expects you to be dressed, and you are, but in his clothes, not your own, an old t-shirt he’d tossed on the chair by the bed yesterday morning before he left for work.

He can’t see your face clearly in the dark. It makes it easy to find his voice.

‘You should stay,’ he says. ‘We can get coffee in the morning.’

You’re quiet. ‘I want to.’

Yoongi climbs into bed, and after a moment you slide in next to him.

Your bodies aren’t touching at all, but somehow having you there with him is enough.

Yoongi means to check on you, but he’s asleep so quickly he doesn’t get a chance to.

***

There’s a basketball hoop set into the wall in the back end of the station, a concrete square with a chain-link fence.

The building opposite is a block of offices, as is the building next to it.

Yoongi makes the shot, and you grab the ball on its first bounce.

You say, ‘Forensics got nothing from Jeon Bogyeol’s shack. He bleached the shit out of the place before he left.’

Yoongi grunts, watches you point and shoot.

He’d read through the file Namjoon gave him on the neighbour - it’s incomplete but she was last seen alive twelve weeks ago in a coastal town.

There’s something niggling at the back of his brain, he’d suggested shooting hoops in the hopes that the activity might shake the thought loose so his conscious mind can make the connection.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Namjoon.

‘I’m going up to see Namjoon,’ he says. ‘You coming?’

‘I’ll stay here for a bit,’ you say. ‘I’ll be up in a sec.’

Yoongi shrugs, lets himself back in.

Takes the stairs up to Namjoon’s office on the third floor.

There’s a cleaning cart parked next to the staff kitchen as he rounds the corner.

Yoongi’s about to knock on Namjoon’s door when his scattered thoughts crystallise.

The case file Namjoon had given him had a grainy photo of Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour, the one who’d reported him and then disappeared.

He’s seen her face before, and recently.

Coming out of your office.

‘Fuck,’ he swears.

He grabs his phone out of his pocket, dials your number.

Your phone rings, and rings.

Yoongi takes off, down the stairs, back the way he came.

By the time he bursts out of the back door of the station, gun drawn, his heart’s thumping triple speed, but his hand is steady as he aims it at the man with a knife standing over you.

His finger goes from trigger guard to trigger.

‘Fucking drop it,’ Yoongi warns.

He doesn’t, so Yoongi shoots.

***

Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour who had reported him was called Seo Hyerin.

She was in her early forties, an ex-teacher who he’d coerced into helping him by turning up at her new place even after she’d moved to get away from him.

She’d been too scared to disobey him, but in forcing her to help him, Jeon Bogyeol had given her access to enough information to clinch the case against him.

Once she’d found out he’d been shot and was likely to go straight from hospital to prison, she’d shared all that information with Yoongi and you.

The pieces fell into place so easily there was no need to make any of it fit.

And now Yoongi’s sitting in the kitchen of your apartment, watching as you pack things up.

He’d been right. Your place was fancy.

You were being transferred back to Seoul to finish up, see things through with the case.

He realises you’re looking at him.

‘My new place is a couple hours drive from here,’ you say.

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi says, like he hadn’t already looked it up.

He’d also looked up timed automated cat food dispensers, just because it was one thing to have a neighbour drop in and feed Kenzo if he’s stuck with a case occasionally, but it’s another thing if he’s regularly going to be driving down to see you.

If he’s regularly going to be spending the night away.

It’s uncharacteristic, for him, but he’s hopeful.

‘I slept pretty well that time,’ you say, looking down into your box.

You look up at him, and the curve of your lips makes Yoongi think to himself that he’d like to kiss you, sometime.

‘In your apartment,’ you clarify, like he wouldn’t already know.

‘I make good ramen,’ Yoongi says. ‘I can make it again for you, you know.’

You laugh, and the sound makes Yoongi feel warm.

He realises that he’s smiling.

Fuck, it’s been a while.

#bts fanfiction #bts smut #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi smut

651 notes · View notes

spicyschemmenti · 4 months ago

Text

NEEDING A BREAK ➫ alex cabot

pairing: alex cabot x sassy bimbo!fem!reader

synopsis: a high-profile case has alex more stressed than usual and you take it upon yourself to do what you do best: drive her insane until she finally admits she needs a break

warnings: unprofessional behaviour/banter, heavy flirting, teasing, suggestive comments, and physical closeness, reader is alex’s assistant, creating a dynamic where professional boundaries are blurred

word count: 2.7k

author's note: lmk if you wanna be added to future posts of this pairing!

The click of your six-inch Louboutin heels against the cold tile floors of Alex’s office is a sharp contrast to the scratch of her pen against paper, the only other sound filling the otherwise silent room. You don’t even need to announce your presence as she always knows when you’re there, but she keeps her head down anyway, pretending to be engrossed in whatever ridiculously complicated legal document is spread across her desk.

From what you can see over her shoulder, it’s a deposition transcript, something dense and wordy, full of legal jargon that would bore most people to tears. But not you. You understand every word. Not that Alex ever gives you credit for it.

Her glasses have slid down the bridge of her nose, blonde hair slightly mussed from the countless times she’s raked her fingers through it in frustration. The lines of exhaustion are starting to set in around her eyes, and if you had to guess, she’s been sitting at that desk for at least six hours straight without so much as a sip of water or a single second to breathe.

You prop yourself against the doorway, tilting your head as you take in the sight of Manhattan’s most intimidating ADA looking way too overworked for her own good. With a dramatic sigh, you push off the frame and strut forward, the pink latex mini-dress hugging your curves in all the right places.

The color practically screams Barbie, especially with the way it glistens under the office lights, paired with your glossy nude lips and the French tips that have just the right amount of sparkle. It’s not exactly office attire, but when have you ever cared about that?

You plant a manicured hand on your hip, tapping one perfectly filed nail against your thigh. “Alright, boss. Enough.”

Alex, still pretending she hasn’t noticed you, merely hums, flipping another page of the deposition. “Not now.”

Oh, she’s adorable. Like that’s ever stopped you.

You roll your eyes, stepping closer until you’re practically looming over her desk, catching a proper glimpse of the papers in front of her. Oh, it’s that case, the one with the Wall Street CEO who thinks his money can buy his way out of a human trafficking charge.

The guy’s lawyer, some smug Columbia-educated asshole with a penchant for twisting witness testimonies, had just filed a motion to suppress key evidence, and judging by the way Alex is ruthlessly highlighting passages in the affidavit, she’s gearing up for a legal battle of epic proportions.

Still, she’s exhausted. And you? Well, you’re annoying when you want to be.

Alex finally sighs, removing her glasses with that exasperated little motion you love so much, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s already regretting entertaining you. “I have deadlines, and unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of ignoring them.”

You gasp, offended. Hand to your chest, lips parted dramatically. “Are you implying that I don’t work hard?”

Alex doesn’t answer, which is probably for the best because you’re not about to let her win this one.

Without hesitation, you snatch the file right out of her hands, watching in delight as her mouth parts in pure disbelief.

“Excuse me?” Her voice is low, controlled, and just a little dangerous.

You flash her a smug smile. “Boss, you need a break.”

Alex reaches for the papers, but you hold them above your head, your six-inch stilettos giving you just enough height to keep them out of her reach. Her jaw clenches, that sharp blue gaze narrowing like she’s considering whether or not she could legally kill you right now and get away with it.

“Give. Those. Back.”

You shake your head, blonde curls bouncing slightly. “Mmm… no, I don’t think I will.”

And because you never know when to quit, you take it one step further. With all the grace and confidence in the world, you drop down into her lap, swinging your legs over the arm of her chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Alex freezes.

Like, fully stops breathing for a solid five seconds. You feel it—feel the sharp inhale, the tension that coils in her muscles, the way her hands tighten into fists against the arms of the chair because she refuses to put them anywhere near you. Which is a shame, really.

Her voice, when she finally finds it, is strained. “You have five seconds to move.”

You hum, tapping your nails against her silk blouse, letting them trace lazy circles just over the first button. “Or what? You’ll arrest me?”

Alex swallows hard, her tongue darting out to wet her lips just for a second, but you notice.

You always notice.

She exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose for the second time in the last five minutes. “I hate you.”

You grin, leaning in until your lips are just inches from her ear. “No, you don’t.”

There’s a long pause, filled only by the distant hum of the city outside. For a moment, you swear she might actually snap, might finally give in to whatever tension has been simmering between the two of you for the past several months, might grab your waist and yank you closer like she wants to. But instead, she sighs, leaning back just slightly, eyes flicking to yours with something unreadable — something that makes your stomach flip.

“Fine.” Her voice is quieter now. “Ten minutes.”

You beam, victorious.

Still, you don’t move.

And neither does she.

After a long moment, she raises a brow, her hands still firmly gripping the arms of her chair. “Are you going to get off of me now?”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. I dunno. I think I’m quite comfy.”

Alex exhales slowly, like she’s actively resisting the urge to throttle you. But beneath the frustration, there’s something else—something dangerous and slow-burning that makes your grin widen.

She tilts her head slightly, her voice dropping just a fraction. “You’re playing a very risky game.”

And oh, do you love it when she talks like that.

So you just smirk, settling in just a little closer, letting your fingers trail up the lapel of her blazer with an infuriating slowness.

“Oh, boss,” you murmur, voice saccharine sweet. “I always win.”

Alex’s jaw is tight, her perfectly-manicured nails digging into the armrests of her chair like she’s trying to physically restrain herself from reacting. You can see the conflict in her eyes, the push and pull of annoyance, attraction, and exasperation swirling together in a way that has her this close to snapping. But because she’s Alex Cabot, because she’s made of pure ice and self-control, she doesn’t do anything.

She just stares at you.

You stare right back, lips curled into a smirk as you lean in just a little more, fingers still tracing along the edge of her blazer, pink acrylics standing out against the dark fabric. She could push you off. She could order you to move, threaten you with termination, or even physically remove you herself. But she doesn’t.

Because she likes this.

Because she likes you.

But Alex isn’t going to admit that. Not now. Not ever.

So, after a long pause, she simply exhales sharply, her head tilting slightly as she studies you with that sharp, assessing gaze that makes defense attorneys crumble in the courtroom.

"If you're going to waste my time, at least be useful."

You gasp, hand flying to your chest in mock offense. "Boss, I am always useful."

Alex doesn’t dignify that with a response, but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth betrays her amusement.

Still perched in her lap like you own the place, you lazily reach over and grab the file you’d stolen from her earlier, flipping through the deposition notes as if they were a tabloid magazine. “Ugh. Men are so predictable.” You scan the text with ease, your painted nails skimming over key sections, cherry-picking the ones that actually matter.

Alex arches a brow, arms folding across her chest. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

You flick your eyes up to hers, a cocky grin playing at your lips. “First of all, Mr. Rich-As-Fuck-And-Twice-As-Stupid over here is lying his ass off. He contradicts himself three times between page two and page six. The defense is hoping you won’t catch it.” You flash Alex a knowing look. “Spoiler alert: you already have. But they don’t know that yet.”

Alex’s lips press together, but you see the satisfaction in her expression.

You continue, kicking one leg playfully in the air, your heels catching the light. “Second, they’re trying to suppress the security footage because the CEO’s mistress is in the background. They’re gonna argue it’s ‘prejudicial’ to show the jury because it could make him look immoral.” You roll your eyes. “As if being a cheating, greasy old man is somehow worse than human trafficking.”

Alex lets out a quiet scoff, but she still doesn’t interrupt you.

You smirk, tapping the page. “But here’s where they fucked up. They claim their client wasn’t even at the hotel that night, right?”

Alex nods slowly, eyes narrowing. “Yes…”

You beam. “Then why did his lawyers just submit a motion to suppress footage of him being there?”

Silence.

Alex’s gaze snaps down to the document in your hands, then back to you.

Then, she smiles.

Not her usual, tight-lipped, polite courtroom smile. No, this is something different. This is something genuine, something fond.

And fuck, if that doesn’t do something to your heart.

She exhales, shaking her head slightly. “You are… infuriating.”

You grin, flipping your hair dramatically over one shoulder. “And yet, you love me.”

Alex doesn’t answer. She just watches you for a moment, studying you like you’re some kind of enigma she hasn’t quite figured out yet.

And then—very slowly, very deliberately—she rests a hand on your thigh.

Not in a sexual way, not in a way that immediately suggests anything inappropriate, but in a way that tells you she’s not pushing you away.

She’s letting you stay.

Her fingers are warm against the sleek material of your dress, and for the first time all night, you’re the one who freezes.

Alex tilts her head slightly, voice lower now. “You done yet?”

You swallow, blinking once before regaining your composure. “I mean, I could keep going, but I don’t wanna show off too much. You might start feeling insecure.”

Alex lets out a soft, amused scoff, shaking her head.

She still doesn’t move her hand.

And neither do you.

Instead, you just smirk, flipping the file closed with one hand while the other casually traces up Alex’s arm, your nails lightly skimming against her skin.

“Admit it, boss,” you murmur, tilting your head. “You’d be lost without me.”

Alex’s fingers are warm against your thigh, resting there like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like she didn’t just spend the last five minutes pretending she wasn’t one wrong move away from snapping.

And the worst part? She knows what she’s doing. She knows exactly how much space is between the two of you (barely any), she knows exactly how her palm feels against the sleek, latex material of your dress (smooth and dangerous), and she knows exactly what kind of effect she has on you.

But two can play this game.

Your smirk doesn’t waver, but it does shift—just slightly, turning into something more smug, more challenging, more I dare you to keep this up, boss.

You lean in, slow and deliberate, just enough to close that tiny bit of distance between you, your lips hovering close to her ear, close enough that if she just turned her head half an inch, you could...

But she doesn’t.

Of course she doesn’t.

Because Alex Cabot is nothing if not disciplined, and she would rather die than let you see her crack first.

So instead, she does what she always does. She exhales through her nose, slow and controlled, like she’s beyond exhausted by you, like she can’t believe she lets you do this to her every single damn day.

Her fingers twitch against your thigh for half a second before she finally moves her hand, dragging it away from you like she hadn’t just been resting it there like she belonged.

You watch as she leans back in her chair, rolling her shoulders before running a hand through her perfectly styled blonde hair, messing it up just enough that it makes her look a little less put together, a little more like someone who’s been dealing with your bullshit for way too long.

"You finished?" she asks, tilting her head slightly, voice dry as ever.

You let out a little hum, tilting your own head right back. "Depends. You admitting that I just did your job better than you, or are we still pretending like you didn't just get your ass saved by your favorite assistant?"

Alex scoffs. Full on, outright scoffs, like she cannot believe the words that just left your mouth, like she's so done with you, but she’s not, not really. Because if she was? She wouldn’t let you get away with it. She wouldn't let you stay like this, sprawled across her lap, your hands casually playing with the lapel of her blazer like you own her, like you can do whatever you want and she’ll just sit there and take it.

And the thing is? She does.

She always does.

"You are a menace," she mutters, shaking her head as she reaches for the file you so rudely snatched from her earlier, flipping through the pages like she’s actually going to go over the notes, like she’s not just double-checking them because she doesn’t want to admit that you were right.

You flash her a sickeningly sweet smile, one that’s all lip gloss and trouble, and tap your nails against her desk. "And yet, you haven't fired me. Wonder why that is."

Alex doesn’t look at you, doesn’t react, but you see the way her lips press together, the way her jaw tightens just a little, the way she turns one page too fast like she’s trying so hard to ignore you.

And god, it’s so cute.

"If you were any other employee," she finally says, tone calm, measured, the way it always is when she's trying not to let you get under her skin, "you would’ve been escorted out of this office a long time ago."

You just smile, propping your chin on your hand. "But I'm not any other employee, am I?"

Alex pauses.

It's only for half a second, barely long enough to register, but you notice it.

Because you always notice.

She lets out a slow, quiet breath, then finally glances at you. And there’s something in her expression, something heavy, something unspoken, something that makes your stomach flip way too fast for your own good.

But then, just as quickly as it came, it’s gone.

And she’s back to rolling her eyes, shaking her head like you’re nothing but a headache in six-inch heels.

"Go file those case notes," she says, waving a dismissive hand toward the stack of paperwork sitting at the corner of her desk. "And for god’s sake, get off of me before someone walks in."

You pout, dragging your nails lightly against her blazer as you finally—reluctantly—move off of her lap, making a show of stretching like you were so comfortable there, like it was so inconvenient for you to leave.

Alex doesn’t react.

Not really.

But you see the way she exhales, the way she rolls her shoulders again, the way she doesn’t immediately meet your gaze when you stand up.

Interesting.

You make your way over to the desk, your hips swaying just a little more than usual as you pick up the stack of case files, flipping through them lazily.

"You know," you say, tapping a manicured nail against one of the pages, "if you'd just let me handle these from the start, you wouldn't be so stressed all the time. Maybe then you wouldn't have to pretend you don't enjoy me sitting in your lap."

Alex doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even glance up from her work, but you see the way she stiffens, the way her hand briefly tightens around her pen.

And god, if that isn’t the best part of your day.

141 notes · View notes

cheynovak · 8 months ago

Text

Furry Hero

Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character

Summary: A beautiful request from @deanwinchestersgirl8734

That was passed on by @jackles010378 ( Thank you for thinking of me ❤️ )

"Hey I was wondering if you ever thought of writing a dean or Jensen or Sam or Jared story about them meeting someone they like who has a service dog I follow someone online who has a seizure dog and I've never seen anyone write about that"

I hope you like it, it was new for me to write a story like this. So I might made a mistake or two about service dogs but I wanted to shine a light on these everyday heroes as well.

Warnings: None

English is not my first language

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

The musty smell of old books and the faint hum of fluorescent lights created an almost reverent silence in the small-town library. Sam Winchester pushed open the heavy door with a grin, his brother Daan trailing close behind, looking less than enthusiastic.

"Why do you always pick libraries?" Dean grumbled as they walked in. "What’s wrong with a good ol’ diner? Coffee, pie, real conversations?"

"Because libraries have records," Sam shot back, his long stride quickly overtaking Dean. "And the last thing this case needs is for you to flirt your way into trouble again."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'm just saying, a little charm goes a long—" He stopped mid-sentence, his attention snapping to a figure seated at a nearby table.

A woman sat with a dog at her feet, flipping through a thick tome with practiced ease. Dean barely registered the woman's features because the dog—a fluffy, caramel-colored Golden Retriever—caught his attention first. Without thinking, Dean dropped into a crouch, extending his hand.

"Who's a good boy?" Dean cooed, the smile on his face rivaling the brightness of the overhead lights.

The dog's ears perked, its intelligent eyes locking onto Dean's hand before the woman—Y/N—cleared her throat. "Um, excuse me." Her tone was polite but firm, tinged with amusement. "He's a service dog. Please don’t pet him while he’s working."

Sam stifled a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Dean, seriously?"

Dean froze, his hand midway to the dog's head, looking sheepish. "Right. Sorry. Service dog. Got it." He straightened up, brushing off invisible dirt from his jeans. "Guess I got a little excited. It's just… he's so fluffy."

Y/N chuckled softly, her eyes flicking between the brothers. "It happens more than you'd think. Most people can’t resist Buddy here."

Sam stepped in, his expression a mix of apology and curiosity. "Sorry about my brother. He's got no impulse control. I'm Sam, and this is Dean."

"Y/N," she replied with a small smile. "So, what brings you guys to this dusty corner of the world?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a quick glance, the unspoken language of years of hunting passing between them. Dean took the lead, his charm dialed back to a respectable level. "We’re looking into some… stuff going on in town. About the missing people, you wouldn’t happen to know anything, would you?"

Y/N frowned, her hand pausing on the page she’d been reading. "I haven’t seen anything myself, but…" She glanced down at Buddy, her expression thoughtful. "A couple of nights ago, Buddy started acting weird while we were walking past that old blue house on Sycamore Street. You know, the one where the girl went missing last week?"

Sam nodded, pulling a small notebook from his jacket. "What do you mean by weird? "

"Growling," Y/N confirmed. "And he wouldn’t go near the property. Buddy’s trained to stay calm, so it really freaked me out. I crossed the street, and even then, he kept his eyes locked on that house until we were out of sight."

Dean leaned against the table, his interest piqued. "Did you notice anything else? Lights on? Strange smells? Anything at all?"

Y/N shook her head. "No, but the air felt… off. Like, ice cold." She hesitated. Dean looked at Sam who just nodded but turned back to Y/N.

"If you’re okay with would you mind letting us know if Buddy picks up on anything else? Dogs are a lot more sensitive to things than people are."

Y/N glanced down at Buddy, who let out a soft huff as if in agreement. "Sure. I was planning to walk by there later today anyway. I can let you know if anything seems off."

"Perfect," Dean said, his grin returning. "In the meantime, you got any more tips for not offending a service dog?"

Y/N laughed, a genuine sound that made Dean's grin widen. "Just don’t call him fluffy again."

Sam started to walk back, Dean gave her his 'FBI' card. "Maybe you eh, could learn me a thing or two in a private talk?" Y/N smiled why don't you walk with us tonight?"

Later That day

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, painting the quiet park in shades of amber and gold. Y/N stood near the entrance, Buddy’s leash wrapped loosely around her hand as she scanned the area. Her heart fluttered slightly when she spotted Dean strolling toward her, his leather jacket slung casually over his shoulder and his trademark grin firmly in place.

"Hey," Dean greeted, his voice warm as he stopped a few feet away. His gaze dropped to Buddy, who stood alert at Y/N’s side. "Still working, huh? Guess I’ll keep my hands to myself this time."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "Probably for the best. But he’s off-duty once we start walking in the park. That’s his rule, not mine."

Dean crouched, giving Buddy a respectful nod. "You hear that, pal? I’m in your territory now."

Buddy wagged his tail slightly, his usual stern demeanor relaxing just a bit, and Y/N chuckled again. "I think he’s starting to like you. That’s impressive—he doesn’t warm up to most people."

Dean straightened, his grin turning just a touch smug. "Well, I do have a way with animals... And women."

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. "So, what’s the plan? You asked me out to make up for the dog thing, and here we are. A romantic walk in the park?"

Dean tilted his head, pretending to think. "That’s part of it. The other part’s getting to know you better." Touched by the sincerity in his voice, Y/N nodded, feeling her nerves ease.

The two of them fell into an easy rhythm as they walked along the park’s winding paths, Buddy trotting happily ahead. They talked about everything and nothing: Y/N’s job, Buddy’s quirks, Dean’s favorite pie recipes, and even a few funny stories.

Dean never opened up so easily, but Y/N felt safe. He even felt guilty not telling her his real job.

Eventually, they reached a secluded clearing by a small lake. Buddy, now fully off-duty, sniffed around the grass nearby, keeping a watchful eye on Y/N as always.

Dean stuffed his hands into his pockets, his expression softening as he looked at her. "You know, I gotta admit... I wasn’t just making up for petting your dog when I asked you out."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. "Oh? What was it, then?"

Dean hesitated for half a second, his usual bravado faltering. "I don’t know. There’s something about you. You’re tough, smart, funny..."

Y/N laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Well, you’re not so bad yourself. Even if you don’t always follow the no-petting rule."

Without knowing Y/N and Dean walked up to the old blue house on the corner. The house loomed in the dark, its broken shutters creaking in the cold wind.

"Buddy’s already on edge," Y/N whispered, gripping the dog’s harness. The Retriever growled low in his throat, his fur standing on end.

"Looks like we’re in the right place," he murmured, his hand instinctively hovering over the pistol tucked in the back of his jeans. He gently pulled Y/N behind him, his expression serious. "Let me call Sam. Might as well take a look."

Y/N tilted her head, her brows furrowing. "Take a look? At this time? What are you looking for exactly?"

Dean didn’t answer right away, pulling out his phone and texting Sam with quick precision. A low growl from Buddy at her side sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine, his ears flat against his head as he stared intently at the house.

Minutes later, headlights illuminated the driveway as the Impala’s familiar sleek silhouette rolled up. Sam hopped out, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure against the twilight.

"Dean, you sure about this?" Sam asked, walking around to the trunk of the Impala.

Dean opened it with a practiced motion, and Y/N’s jaw dropped. Inside was an arsenal of weapons: guns, knives, vials of strange liquids, and boxes of ammo. Dean grabbed his shotgun, quickly loading it with salt rounds. "Oh yeah, Sammy. This place is humming."

"What the hell is this?" Y/N blurted, gesturing to the weapons.

Dean glanced at her, his face unreadable. "Insurance."

"Insurance?" she echoed, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Sam stepped closer, his voice calm but firm. "Y/N, this is what we do. What you saw or better what Buddy felt was a ghost, somehow every year children disappear, this is how we deal with things like that. But it’s dangerous. You need to stay back."

Dean nodded in agreement, his green eyes serious as he looked at her. "Let us handle this. Buddy too. Keep him close."

The brothers headed toward the house, their weapons drawn. But as they approached the door, Buddy let out a sharp bark and yanked his leash free from Y/N’s hand.

"Buddy!" Y/N shouted, sprinting after him as the dog bounded up the steps and slipped through the open door.

"Dammit!" Dean cursed, rushing after her. "Y/N, no!"

She didn’t hesitate, running after Buddy into the house. The second she crossed the threshold, the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind her with an echoing bang.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, trying to open the locked door.

Dean spun around, his grip tightening on his shotgun. "Y/N, you were supposed to stay outside!"

Y/N ignored him, her eyes scanning the dark, decaying interior. "I wasn’t about to leave Buddy in here! Where is he?"

A deep growl echoed through the house, sending a chill down everyone’s spines. The air grew colder, and the faint smell of rotting wood and sulfur filled Y/N’s nostrils. Buddy barked from somewhere deeper in the house, his sharp warning cutting through the oppressive silence.

"Stay close," Dean ordered, positioning himself between Y/N and the direction of the sound. "Sam, get her ass out of here!"

"I’m trying!" Sam called back, his voice muffled. "The door’s not budging."

Dean fired the first shot, the salt round scattering the shadow momentarily. "Well, this isn’t gonna be easy," he muttered. "You think?" Sam retorted.

Dean muttered a curse under his breath. He handed Y/N a flashlight from his jacket pocket. "Hold this. If you see anything—anything weird—don’t scream. Just tell me where it is."

Y/N nodded, clutching the flashlight with trembling hands as they moved further into the house. Dean led the way, his shotgun raised, while Buddy’s distant barks drew them closer to the heart of the building.

"Dean," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. "What is that smell?"

Dean’s jaw clenched. "Something bad. Stay close."

As they rounded a corner, they found Buddy standing in front of a doorway, his teeth bared and his growls low and menacing. Dean raised his shotgun as a shadowy figure flickered into view inside the room.

Dean kicked the door open seeing the bodies piled up. Y/N gasped. "Oh my!"

"Bingo Dean whispered under his breath, he started to salt and burn the corpses."Sam! Get her out of here," Dean said sharply, his voice low. "Now."

Y/N grabbed Buddy’s collar, her fear mounting. "What about you?"

"I’ll handle it," Dean said, his gaze locked on the figure as he loaded another shell. "Just go!"

Sam did everything to get Y/N out of the house while Dean started to burn the old remains he found in

Hours later: very very early morning

The warm glow of the diner’s neon sign spilled across the parking lot as Y/N slid into the booth opposite Dean and Sam. Buddy lay obediently at her feet, his golden coat reflecting the light from the hanging lamp above them.

The Winchester brothers had earned more than a few curious looks from the other patrons with their slightly singed jackets and dark circles under their eyes, but they didn't seem to notice—or care.

"Best fries in town," Dean said, sliding a menu across the table to Y/N. "Although, if you’re like me, you’re here for the pie."

Y/N chuckled, scanning the menu. "You were right; I am starving after all that. So… is this what you guys do? Travel around, fight ghosts, and eat questionable diner food?"

"Pretty much," Sam replied with a small smile, leaning back in the booth. "Although Dean’s dietary choices aren’t exactly… standard."

Dean mock-gasped. "Excuse me, my food choices are a finely tuned science. Protein and sugar keep me going during hunts." He paused, his grin softening. "But yeah, hunting—it’s what we do. Saved your life tonight, didn’t it?"

Y/N glanced down at Buddy, her hand instinctively reaching to scratch behind his ears. "It did. And Buddy here… He’s smarter than I gave him credit for." She looked up at them, her expression warm. "Honestly, I can’t thank you guys enough. If it weren’t for you, I don’t even want to think about what might’ve happened."

Dean waved a hand, brushing off the gratitude. "Hey, it’s all in a day’s work. Besides, Buddy deserves most of the credit. Guy’s got instincts."

"He really does," Y/N agreed, her voice tinged with awe. "I thought he was just being stubborn that night, refusing to cross the street, but now I’m realizing… he probably saved me." Her smile faltered slightly as she looked between the two brothers. "I can’t imagine how you do this all the time. Doesn’t it get… exhausting? Scary?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them. Sam was the one who answered. "It’s not easy. But someone has to do it. Most people wouldn’t even believe half the things we’ve seen. So, yeah, it’s scary sometimes, but… it’s worth it."

Dean leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "And hey, it’s not all bad. We’ve got stories for days. Like that time a possessed mannequin tried to stab me. Or when Sam got body-snatched by a teenage girl." He grinned mischievously as Sam groaned in protest.

Y/N laughed, the sound light and genuine, cutting through the heaviness of the earlier hunt. "You guys really are something else."

As the evening wore on, the conversation shifted from ghost stories to lighter topics. Y/N told them about Buddy’s training and how she’d adopted him after he flunked out of guide dog school for being "too easily distracted." Dean snorted at that, muttering, "Sounds like we’ve got something in common, pal," earning a bark of approval from Buddy.

When the check finally arrived, Y/N reached for it, but Dean slid it away with a wink. "Hunter’s treat."

"Thanks," Y/N said softly, her eyes lingering on the brothers. "This has been… really nice. Weird, but nice."

As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Y/N dug a small notepad from her bag, scribbling her number and handing it to Dean. "If you guys are ever back in town, give me a call. It was really nice meeting you both."

"Likewise," Sam said, his smile sincere.

Dean, however, seemed unusually quiet. He watched as Y/N clipped Buddy’s leash back on and headed toward her car. His gaze lingered as she opened the door, Buddy hopping inside.

Sam smirked, his arms crossed. "So… I’m starting to guess it wasn’t the dog that had your attention this time."

Dean snapped out of his daze, turning to his brother with an indignant look. "Huh? What’re you talking about?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. "Oh, come on. You were practically drooling."

Dean scoffed, but the faintest hint of a blush crept up his neck. "I was not. I was just… impressed, that’s all. She’s smart. And brave. And… whatever, shut up."

"Uh-huh," Sam said, his grin widening. "Impressed. Sure."

Dean jumped up, rushing out the door "Y/N! Wait up!". She stopped reversing her car. "What's wrong?" Dean leaned on her now open window. Dean seemingly nervous. "I figured maybe we could start over. No ghosts. No hunts. Just… us."

"I’d like that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dean’s smile widened, but it faded slightly as he glanced down at her lips, his expression turning serious. "Can I kiss you? Or is that off-limits too?"

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. "You’re in the clear this time."

Dean didn’t need any more encouragement. He leaned in, his hand brushing lightly against her cheek as their lips met. The kiss was warm and gentle, filled with a tenderness Y/N hadn’t expected but welcomed all the same.

"Call me?" he asked like a shy little schoolboy. Y/N Smirked only if you promise our date walks won't end in horror movies anymore?"

“Deal!” and with that he leaned back for another breathtaking kiss. Much to Buddy's disapproval

WOOF

Taglist -> Click here to add

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78

@suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma

@ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog

@jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed

@hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss

@muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24

@spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown

@panickedbitch @deansimpalababy

@livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @roseblue373

@imsiriuslyreal

#jensen ackles #fanfic #x reader #jensen fucking ackles #fluff #dean winchester #spn #service dog #supernatural sam #supernatural fandom #supernatural dean #supernatural

87 notes · View notes

d1xonss · 7 months ago

Text

During the apocalypse

❧ As cheesy as it sounds, Rose and Daryl definitely fell in love at first sight. Though neither of them really knew it in the beginning, the yearning was always there. (Everyone could see it but them.)

❧ One of Daryl's love languages are acts of service; hence why he's always jumped at the opportunity to teach Rose whatever her heart desired. How to shoot a bow, how to drive a motorcycle, always giving tips on tracking, etc.

❧ Interlocking pinkies instead of holding hands.

❧ The two of them always manage to have a conversation with just their eyes alone. If something's wrong, they'll immediately lock gazes from across the room to read the others' expression. If someone says something funny, their first instinct is to look at each other as they try to hold in their laughs.

❧ Both very sarcastic, especially with each other.

❧ Daryl always waits for her. Whether she's coming back home after a long run with Rick or staying up later than usual gossiping with Maggie. He waits for her.

❧ There are times where Rose senses when Daryl is in a grumpier mood than usual. They can always read each other within seconds of being in the same atmosphere. She notices his unusual quietness. But usually after some sweet talk and a fair number of kisses, she always gets him to crack a small smile.

❧ Late night talks. Especially on Hershel's farm and the long winter that followed. The two would spend hours just talking and sharing stories from the past.

❧ Rose has definitely put little braids in Daryl's hair before.

❧ She's also doodled on his arms. Coloring his tattoos.

❧ PET NAMES! Daryl absolutely melts every time Rose calls him "love”. Knowing that name is reserved specifically for him. And he adores calling her sweet things just as much if not more. (“Angel” is her personal favorite.)

❧ He's known to be a little jealous at times, but surprisingly, Rose is exactly the same way. They're very protective of each other.

❧ Subtle touches of reassurance when a serious problem occurs.

❧ Daryl is always watching her. Picking up on each expression or movement that only he would be able to read. Hovering close by in case she ever needs help. Lowering his voice to talk to her in a room full of people, making sure she’s okay while his hand always subconsciously lingers on her waist. He doesn’t play about his girl.

❧ If it’s not already obvious enough, Rose definitely wears the pants in the relationship. One certain glance from her would immediately put him in his place if he had done something wrong.

❧ When it comes to cooking, Daryl surprisingly excels, while Rose on the other hand could burn water. But that's just another thing he enjoys teaching her.

❧ When Daryl gets in his own head about things, Rose is always there to reassure him. Sometimes it takes time to get him out of that negative mindset considering how stubborn he can be. But in the end, she always holds him close to her heart while he reluctantly nods in agreement as he listens to her soothing and comforting words.

❧ Endless inside jokes.

❧ Daryl always leaves little random notes for Rose, always signing his initial at the bottom with his sloppy handwriting as if she wouldn't know who it was from. And he always makes sure to finish it off with a little heart as well.

❧ They always have been, and always will be each other’s peace.

NSFW

❧ Realistically, their sex life was definitely not perfect in the beginning. With Daryl's lack of experience and Rose's insecurities, it took a while to find a rhythm they were both comfortable with. But it's safe to say the awkwardness didn't last very long;)

❧ Rose loves his hands. How big and rough they are. How they touch, squeeze, and pinch every single part of her like he could never possibly get enough. It makes her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

❧ Their favorite position is cowgirl. Rose loves to take control, and Daryl loves watching her take control.

❧ The age gap between them definitely turns her on.

❧ Daryl is a legs man. He loves gripping onto her thighs as he pounds into her, as if the act was almost grounding to him. They’re just so plush and perfect, he can’t help himself.

❧ The act itself is either soft or rough depending on how long it’s been since the last time they'd been intimate. There’s no in between.

❧ A guilty pleasure of theirs is getting messy when it comes to sex. Their bodies covered in a thin line of sweat while he's smearing his cum all over her breasts, always finishing with lots of sloppy kisses.

❧ Another one would be spitting in each other's mouths.

❧ Rose loves leaving kisses along his tattoos, feeling him shiver at the ghost of her lips on his worn and tattered skin.

❧ Daryl hadn't ever really thought about or considered any kind of kinks before. He never really saw the appeal. But when Rose tugged at his hair for the first time…he then understood what all the fuss was about.

❧ And Rose on the other hand is big on praise. She likes to be reassured and treasured during something so passionate, and obviously Daryl has no problem delivering. (Calling her things like, "pretty girl" "sweetheart" etc.)

❧ It almost goes without saying that Daryl absolutely loves going down on Rose. Any day, any time. It doesn't even matter if he's in the middle of something important. All she has to do is ask.

❧ Sometimes cigarettes are involved. The secondhand smoke only makes their minds hazier and blissful, blowing the nicotine in each other's faces.

❧ They can't ever take a shower together without it leading to something more.

❧ Depending on how safe it is wherever the group is staying, (the prison, Alexandria, etc.) Rose and Daryl are very active. Every day or every other day. Maybe even twice a day if there's time.

❧ Daryl whimpers. Specifically when he's eating her out.

❧ Rose loves to tease him. Whether it's through words or brief touches or just a plain innocent look, it gets him every time. Which often leads to him hoisting her up over his shoulder to carry her toward the bedroom.

❧ When it comes to Daryl receiving oral, it's not a very common occurrence. Simply because he doesn't feel like he needs it. Though Rose is always insistent on treating him every once and a while, he always prefers giving than receiving. Wanting to put her needs before his own always.

❧ It doesn't happen very often with how scarce supplies are, but every once and a while if Rose finds anything lacy and pretty, she puts it in her bag to take home. And it's always quite a surprise when Daryl receives this particular fashion show. Something that's for his eyes only.

❧ While loving her thighs, Daryl also loves her ass. He always gives her teasing pinches and even some playful bites all while thrusting into her. He loves seeing the little marks he makes on her skin.

❧ They're practically obsessed with each other. Which is exactly how it should be.

AN ~ Okay, I love writing these. I truly just couldn't stop once I started, and I feel like they turned out pretty perfect. I hope this was worth the wait since I've been meaning to get to these for a while now<3

And as always, thank you for all the love! xoxox

See part one here

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon headcanon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x original character #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead headcanons #twd daryl dixon #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #desert rose

51 notes · View notes

eternalstarrlight · 2 months ago

Text

Guilty as Sin

(If Elain discovered she's not only a Seer, but also has the power to make things... grow.👀🌷🪻🌻 I'm a day late with this prompt, but better a day than four and a half years... lol😅)

~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~

Author's Note: Please keep comments respectful regarding ships. Constructive conversation and discussion, as well creative input, are always welcome. Thanks! 💜

Reminder, I do not own ACOTAR, nor any of it's affiliated characters. This is merely fanfiction to read and gush over! Happy reading! 🌸

~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~

The faint glow of dawn teetered on the horizon, painting the sky golden. A gentle mist hung suspended in the air, capturing the light and shadows in an ethereal dance. Birds began to wake, chirping and singing melodies through towering lush green canopies.

Elain couldn't help but think how serene it appeared as she took in the view through the alcove of trees she laid under. It was almost surreal, the beauty of the morning reflecting the blissful lull she felt permeating her entire being.

A smile graced her lips as she snuggled in closer to the male beside her, a contented hum escaping as she nuzzled into his warm chest, his arm draped over her. Her eyelids drooped as she breathed in deep, his scent filling her senses along with the overwhelming smell of flowers—

Flowers?

She blinked, brown eyes opening wide as she glanced over her surroundings with the barest lift of her head. She immediately noted the clusters of various colored blooms, so close it was as if they'd been planted around their entangled limbs.

"Um, Azriel?" Elain's quiet voice floated up to the dozing male's ears, knowing he'd hear her.

"Yes?" Came his rumbled reply, sleep lingering in his tone as he hugged her tighter to his chest, one dark wing partially curling up and around her.

Her mouth quirked at the display, before asking, "Were we always laying in a meadow of flowers?"

"Huh?" Confusion gave way to alertness as his eyes snapped open to look around.

Elain leaned partially up from his embrace to pick one forementioned bloom, a lovely shade of violet, that was peeking up from behind his shoulder, and showed it to him with twirl of her fingers.

He sat up with her, scanning the scenery. There were flowers upon flowers stretching in every direction as far as the eye could see. It was a stunning sight, but it didn't wash away the concern of where exactly they'd all come from.

After a few minutes of pondering, Azriel suddenly grinned, his face alight as if some great realization had taken place. Hazel eyes met hers, sparkling with amusement, "I think I've figured it out."

"You have?" Her eyebrow rose, uncertain of what he'd pieced together.

"Mhmm," he responded, not taking his gaze from her.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense. What is it?"

His grin stretched wider, "I think you mean who."

Her brows pinched together, perplexed. Who?

His hazel eyes roved her face as he appeared to be holding back laugher. In which case, he wasn't very successful, as a chuckle slipped out just before he gently bumped his forehead to hers, their noses brushing.

"You," he breathed softly, their lips near touching at how close they were.

Heat stole over Elain's cheeks as her eyes widened at his meaning, "You— You think..." She trailed off, feeling a mixture between appalled and scandalized as her head whipped back to the vibrant meadow encircling them, "Oh my... I-I didn't know my powers could..." She swallowed hard, "That they would..."

His grin intensified at her flustered rambling, flashing her the hidden dimple in his left cheek before a look of pure male satisfaction settled on his face, "You must've made them when you—"

"Az!" She squealed in embarrassment, not needing him to say it aloud.

"I'm sorry," he choked out amidst a new bout of laughter.

Her face burned to the tips of her ears, "How will we explain this?" No one was supposed to know about them, what if they were found out because of this? Granted, no one else knew of her newly discovered powers just yet, but eventually...

She bit her lower lip, hand clutching his forearm.

"No one comes to this part of the isle," he assured her soothingly, "and even if they did, I don't think anyone would think much of it."

Her shoulders loosened with a sigh of relief, right before another thought crashed into her, "You don't think this will happen every time we—" She halted, catching a glimpse of her white lace shift dangling high above them, being tugged at by the breeze.

How did that get all the way up there?

Azriel followed her line of sight, a smirk twisting his lips.

She didn't miss the look, even as he ducked his head. Well, she supposed she had her answer concerning that. Now she was afraid to know where all their other articles of clothing had been scattered, especially with the thicket of blossoms covering the entirety of the forest floor. They may never be found.

Elain gave a delicate cough, clearing her throat to continue, "Surely, this won't happen every time." She meant to sound confident with that statement, but her uncertainty won over, making it sound more like a question.

Az's hazel eyes gleamed with merriment, "I don't know." The words nothing less than teasing, "It might very well happen again, perhaps every time." She gasped, shooting him a half-horrified look, and he couldn't contain the laughter that tore from him.

Giving one last chuckle, he reached up to tuck a stray whisp of golden-brown hair behind her ear. "If you're so concerned," a mischievous glimmer entering his gaze, "I'm more than willing to put your theory to the test, we simply have to find a new location��"

"Azriel!" Elain squealed, her face bright red as she gave him a playful shove.

His boisterous laughter made her heart squeeze as he leaned in with a low half-whisper, "That wasn't a 'no.'" Her breath caught just before he tumbled her beneath him. "You did say you wanted to make more gardens," his voice matter-of-fact, grin clinging to his lips, "if your theory proves correct, I'm merely helping make your wish come true."

A soft snort escaped her as giggles rose to her lips, their laughter mingling together in beautiful a song before she pulled his face down to meet hers.

~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~⋆☆⋆~

Bonus:

Sometime later at the River House...

"We've received over a dozen reports that flower glades have randomly appeared all across the region, and we have no idea why." The High Lord spoke, skimming through several papers as he lounged in a chair by the fireplace.

Elain's eyes widened from her place by the window of the family room, struggling to keep her face neutral as her cheeks pinkened. She snuck a peek at Azriel from the corner of her eye. He was by the doorway, his face stoic and blank as ever.

Except she didn't miss the small twitch at the corner of his mouth, the twinkle of mirth in his eyes as his gaze subtlety shifted to the floorboards. To anyone else, he seemed decidedly bored and indifferent, but she knew better. He was on the verge of laughter, and desperately trying to contain himself.

"How strange," Feyre commented, folding her arms as she leaned against a small side table. "Is it around a central location or sporadic?"

"There seems to be no indication, but I was hoping to send someone out to survey the affected areas."

Azriel's eyes flickered to Elain's. Her breath hitched, she hadn't realized she'd been staring at him. She quickly glanced away, gripping the book she'd been reading tightly in her hands, trying hard not to fidget.

"It doesn't seem that serious... but it is rather odd. How many areas are there?" Feyre asked curiously.

"At least seven," Rhysand told her. "One being on the Continent."

Elain's face burned, fighting the urge to fan herself as she subconsciously bit her lip. She hadn't kept track, but she knew there were far more than seven places overrun with new vegetation.

They'd gotten carried away, she admitted... but she couldn't bring herself to regret a moment of it.

"Azriel," Rhys's voice had Elain's gaze darting to the shadowsinger. "I'd like you to fly out and inspect the source of each site, there must be a central location of origin. Some sort of indication of what occurred in the creation of these areas."

The spymaster didn't say a word, just dipped his head at the command, shadows drifting lazily around him.

The conversation soon concluded, Rhys listing a few more locations and what limited details he knew. Once he was done, Azriel took his leave, immediately exiting the room to fulfill his mission.

After his departure, Elain shortly followed suit, excusing herself to make her way up to her room.

She made her way up the stairs, entering her bedroom and quietly closing the door. The room was dark save the pale moonlight streaming in through the two windows. By which she saw a shadow move.

For a moment, she froze, briefly startled before loosing a sigh of realization, "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be flying around the Courts all night."

A familiar shadow emerged from the sheer draperies, once again solid and visible to the eye. "My orders were to inspect the source," Azriel countered, advancing across the room to close the distance between them.

Her heart quickened at his approach, his eyes a caress as they glided over her, a silent acknowledgment that they both already knew what... or more accurately, who, that source was.

"Azriel!" His name a gasp, as he brought her flush against him.

"Don't worry," he murmured, the low timbre of his voice making her stomach tighten. "I plan to be very thorough."

#elriel #elain x azriel #elriel month 2025 #elriel fanfic #guilty as sin #elain archeron #azriel #acotar #sjm #elrielmonth #azriel shadowsinger #sarah j maas #pro elriel

24 notes · View notes

deepdisireslonging · 2 years ago

Text

No Cum November Part 11: One Last Ride

It’s finally the end of the challenge. The Winchesters make up for all of November’s edges and stolen orgasms.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Warnings/Promises: oral (male receiving), double penetration/split roast, dirty talk with a side of praise!kink, overstimulation

Word Count: 875

Note: Happy end of the series! For those of you who participated, I hope you had fun. For everyone just reading along, I hope you enjoyed every word. Here is the last chapter. Feel free to reblog it to share with your mutuals, and comment and/or gif me your reactions. Happy reading!

Part 10: Good Vibrations

With the end of the case finally come and gone, Dean drove the Impala at break-neck speeds towards the bunker. Or at least that’s what you assumed. There was an awful amount of back roads being taken. Not that you could see the road from your position on the floor of the back seat. And you couldn’t move your head much with Sam’s cock down your throat.

He kept a strong, steady grip around your head. So you could keep a strong, steady suck around his. You hollowed and twirled your tongue as best you could. Sam was desperate, still holding out with the end of the challenge, but riding the edge with you as Dean raced. The agreement was you all could cum once you reached the bunker. With each speed bump and pothole, Sam’s length suddenly filled you. Your messy gagging noises made both of them groan.

“How’s she taking you, Sammy?” Dean gripped the steering wheel tight with both hands to keep from palming himself. If he started to, he’d have to pull over. And then you’d never make it to the bunker.

Sam panted for enough breath to answer. “Perfect. Like she always is. Taking me so deep, aren’t you, baby?” His voice cracked while the car jostled over another rough stretch of road. He dug his fingers int your hair, pulling you back and forth. “Bet she’s dripping. Bet she hasn’t stopped dripping all month. How bad do you need us, baby? Hmm?”

All you could do was whine.

The Impala revved harder. The bunker must’ve been in sight.

The wheels squealed over the smooth concrete of the garage. It was barely in park before Sam had freed his cock from your mouth so he could lay down across the backseat. Dean yanked open the door, half-dragging you out so he could flip up your skirt, shoving your head back towards his brother’s length. They filled you at the same time. You didn’t care. You were all desperate for each other, desperate to cum. Through their grunts and sighs, the guys kept your skin buzzing with praise.

“You’ve done such a good job, sweetheart. Taking us like you do.”

“Oh, Baby- wanted to make you cum all month. Can’t wait to watch you cum. Watch those eyes glass over. Catch you when your limbs go weak.”

“Won’t be five minutes. Can’t wait to fill you up. Can’t wait to watch me drip out of you…”

“So close- come on, keep moving. Take my cock, all of it. Close-“

“Me too. Need you- Cum for us, sweetheart.”

“Come on Baby, cum for-“ Sam broke off with a high moan as his release filled your mouth.

Spaced out as you were, you weren’t able to swallow much. It added to the mess already dripping from your mouth onto his stomach. Dean continued to thrust tortuously. You tried to relax. To let go. But your arousal only seemed to fly higher and higher, never risking coming down.

Had you forgotten how to cum?

Then Dean reached around for your clit. And Sam dug his hands under your shirt to knead your breasts. The circling around your clit, and the pinching of your nipples added just enough. Stars sparked behind your eyes. Your vision brightened, darkening around the edges. Your release kept coming. And coming. Even though Dean’s thrusts stilled to almost nothing. Even though Sam had frozen with rapturous attention. Your walls clamped down and flexed, wringing out as much pleasure as you could handle. It didn’t register when Dean’s release spilled into you. Or when the boys shifted, Sam scooting back deeper into the car so Dean could fit inside. All you knew was that you were cumming. And soaring. And suddenly very tired.

Dean pulled you into his lap. Gingerly, he settled your thighs on either side of his hips. His gentle kisses all around your face brought to back to the present. You melted onto his shoulder. He smiled as you sighed into the crook of his neck.

“How you feelin’?” He ran his nose over your forehead.

“Wonderful,” you breathed.

From the side, Sam hummed in agreement. “Worth the wait?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good.” Sam’s hand began to smooth up and down your thigh. “Because we’re not done with you.”

“What?”

You jolted as Sam’s hand dipped between your thighs, toying with your slick and clit. Dean’s hands ran up your sides before moving over to your breasts. In the flipside of what they did to your earlier, Sam circled and flicked over your clit while Dean massaged your breasts, rolling their peaks between his fingers. You arched and squirmed in his lap. It wasn’t long before you were crying out. You dug your hands into both of their hair, searching for a way to ground yourself.

Sam nuzzled his nose around your sweet-spot behind your ear. “I wonder how many orgasms we can give you. Not just tonight, but for the whole month. What could we call that, Dean?”

“Double-Penetration-December? Thirty-one un-holy nights? Um-“

“How about you two make love to me as often as you like and forget the fancy name?”

“Okay.” “We can do that, yeah.”

You smiled against his lips. “Then take me to bed, boys.”

#dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #dean winchester smut #winchester smut #winchester x reader #series finale #reader insert #supernatural

335 notes · View notes

sunny374940 · 7 months ago

Text

Your happiness is all I need

Another little story about Emmrich and Rook’s daughter Elanora. She is not a morning person.

Here on ao3

“Elanora, wake up,” Emmrich whispered, stroking a hand against his daughter's cheek. She was so precious as she slept, cheeks round and face peaceful, eyelids fluttering with the remnants of a dream.

“Mmph.” His hand was swatted away and Ellie buried her head under the blankets. So much for waxing poetic. Maker, there were two of them now. As if it wasn't enough that waking Rook up was always an ordeal, their daughter had to join the ranks. And she used to wake up so early when she was a baby. A touch too early, perhaps, even earlier than Emmrich, and now he regretted ever wishing she would sleep in a bit. Why was he the only person to get up at a reasonable time around here?

“Ellie, you will be late for your lesson.” He gave her blanketed form a gentle shake.

A hand snaked out from under the covers and for a moment he hoped that they could be done with this charade. But no. The hand patted around, searching, and then it arrived at its target, the dragon plushie Taash gave Ellie for her birthday. It was dragged into the depths and Emmrich sighed. This called for harsh measures.

“Very well, young lady, you are forcing my hand.”

He drew back the covers and gathered the girl into his arms. She made half-hearted attempts to escape him, still clutching her dragon close, but he wouldn't be swayed. He carried her down the stairs and into the dining room. Rook was sitting at the table, hair still mussed from sleep, squinting at them groggily. Emmrich deposited Ellie onto her chair.

“Hey, bug,” Rook said, drowsiness thick in his voice.

“Hi, dad,” she mumbled and lay her head down on the table. Emmrich found himself chuckling at the sight. Though not related by blood, those two couldn't be more alike. He took up a hairbrush and set about taming Ellie's dark curls into a braid, as it had been her favourite way of wearing her hair lately (possibly related to finding a certain dragon hunter extremely cool).

Manfred came in bearing tea and breakfast. Toast with butter and raspberry jam for Ellie, the remains of yesterday's chocolate cookies for Rook and bread with cheese and tomatoes for Emmrich. They ate in companionable (and in some cases sleepy) silence.

“Now go get yourself dressed, please, we will be leaving shortly,” Emmrich said as he was getting up from the table.

“I don't wanna,” she whined, flopping onto the table again.

Rook was watching her speculatively and there was mischief in his eyes when he addressed her.

“El?”

“Yeah?”

“I bet I can get dressed faster than you.” He grinned and jumped up from the table, running up the stairs.

“No you can't!” she screeched after him, taking off so quickly that her chair almost toppled over.

Emmrich sighed fondly as he listened to them bicker through the task of changing clothes. They were running back down the stairs a short time later, Ellie jumping over the last few stairs to land in the hallway with a flourish and Rook (of course) foregoing half the stairs entirely and vaulting the railing.

“Daddy, I won,” she sing-songed at Emmrich proudly.

“I expected nothing less from you, my dear.” Emmrich bent down to kiss his daughter on the forehead. She chose a dark blue sweater for today, the one he knitted for her with little dragons done in a warm yellow along the hemline. It was painstaking work, but well worth the look in her eyes when he'd given it to her.

Rook was scowling behind her, pretending at being angry. “I will get you next time,” he grumbled.

She stuck out her tongue at him. “No you won't. “

“Elanora, we do not stick our tongues out at people.”

Rook stuck his tongue out at her and Emmrich pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

“Are you done, darlings?” he asked, feeling a bit exasperated. A double “yeah” was produced, the perpetrators gratifyingly sounding at least a little ashamed of themselves.

“Where are we going?” Ellie asked, curious.

“You will see. Today, you will be learning something a little different.”

The answer did nothing to satisfy her and she spent the walk pestering them both, but they held fast, unwilling to spoil the surprise. They arrived at the library and there was a familiar figure waiting for them at the door. Ellie gasped.

“Neve!”

“Hey, Sparkle,” Neve greeted with a smile. “Emmrich said you wanted to learn ice magic?”

Ellie was looking between Emmrich and Neve with round eyes, as if she could hardly believe her luck. He nodded at her in encouragement.

“With you grasping the basics of casting so well, I thought you deserved a little surprise.”

Ellie flung herself at Emmrich, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thanks, daddy!” she said, smiling joyfully.

“You are welcome, my dear,” he said, stroking her hair.

She let go of him and bounced over to Neve, eager to begin, and it was exactly the same bounce in her step that Rook had when he was happy. She started chattering at Neve, excited to start her lesson. Emmrich put an arm around his husband's waist, pulling him closer, and placed a kiss against his temple.

“And you're sure this isn't gonna bite you in the ass later?” Rook asked with a laugh.

“Language, darling,” Emmrich chided, hoping Ellie hadn't heard. “And possibly, but there is nothing quite like making the two of you happy, so you must forgive my indulgence.”

“Is that right? I know what would make me happy right now,” he said, angling his face up for another kiss, but they were interrupted by Neve's voice.

“You can go make heart eyes at each other somewhere else, we've got this,” she called to them as she took Ellie's hand to lead her inside.

“Yeah, go away, we're gonna be busy,” Ellie added, all seriousness and determination, ready to get on with learning to make ice knives.

“But pick me up for lunch, okay?”

“Of course, my dear, lunch would be terribly dull without you,” Emmrich said and left with Rook to spend some more time kissing. The lengths he would go to to make his husband happy (he was of course being entirely selfless).

They did pick her up for lunch and that evening there was a lump of ice on the ceiling, where Ellie was aiming for an unlucky fly. The fly got away.

#dragon age emmrich #dragon age veilguard #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #emmrook #dragon age the veilguard #veilguard

25 notes · View notes

leapingbadger · 2 months ago

Text

Maybe Just One More (Crosshair x MOC)

Summary: Crosshair is not one for 'feelings', so when he falls for an enigmatic and charming baker on Pabu, he isn't sure what to do with himself. Is it the cakes he's coming back for, or Cal?

Read on AO3

Excerpt:

Omega came rushing in all flush and tan as they bustled around with dinner.

Since Wrecker had moved out, Hutner had taken on the job of cooking. He wasn’t as skilled with flavors as Wrecker but could fillet a fish efficiently and was capable of making something edible, which was more than could be said for Crosshair.

“This looks great.” She said and she scraped the chair on the tile floor while sinking into it. Hunter gave a noncommittal shrug and started eating. “I have desert planned. Lyana left me some cakes. Figured we could have some after and maybe take the leftovers to Wrecker and Ilana.”

Crosshair froze, his eyes going wide before settling his face back into its standard scowl.

“What?” Omega asked.

He shrugged and looked down at his food, deliberately shoving a huge piece of fish in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to answer her question.

Hunter looked between them, his eyes flicking to the small box on the counter, open and empty. He snorted into his food. “Oh Cross, you’re in for it this time.” He said with a chuckle.

“What? What did he…” Omega’s eyes flicked over to the counter and scowled back at Crosshair. “LITTLE BROTHER!” she shouted at him, her smile hiding her underlying frustration. “Those were mine.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe it was Batcher.” He said, throwing an apologetic look at the Lurca hound as her head rose from the floor at the sound of her name.

“Cross...” Hunter said in his warning voice, once used to break up punch ups on the Marauder, now used, apparently for cake theft.

“Fine, I was hungry, they were there. If you bought food at the market that didn’t need to be cooked, maybe I wouldn’t have to steal the good stuff.” He said.

“The good stuff?” Hunter asked, his eyebrow raised in amusement. “You said they looked repulsive.”

Omega huffed. “Then why did you eat them?” she grumbled.

Crosshair shoved another piece of fish in his mouth. “Told you, I was hungry.” He said with a shrug. “I’m sure Lyana will make you some more.”

Omega crossed her arms over her chest. “She didn’t make them. She got them from the bakery. And you’re buying me some more.”

“Pff the kriff’ I am.” He said with a smirk.

Hunter rolled his eyes and pinched his nose. “Just buy her some more, Cross. We don’t need another paint incident, do we?”

Omega huffed again. “He still owes me for those.” She grumbled.

Much to his chagrin, Omega dragged him to upper Pabu after dinner. The small bakery was settled amongst some houses. It looked unremarkable except for a small patio out front, decorated with a yellow and blue striped awning and large pots overflowing with flowers.

“What do you think?” she asked with a grin.

“I’m getting a toothache from looking at it.” He said dryly.

She gave him a nudge and carried on regardless.

The air was cool inside. The main room was narrow with just enough room for one row of patrons to stand in front of the arched bakery case that stretched along almost the whole room. It smelt like sugar and sweetness as well as the faint blossom from the weeping mya tree further up the path.

“How can I help you?” A man asked as he came through swinging doors from the kitchen.

Crosshair froze at the sight of him. He was short and stocky, but certainly not fat. He sleeves of his white button shirt was rolled up above his elbows, highlighting the strong biceps he hadn’t seen on anyone but a soldier before.

He had a kind face. His skin was pale but flushed. Crosshair wasn’t sure if that was because he had just come out of the kitchen or he always looked like that. A scatter of freckles cascaded over his face and forearms and his ginger hair and beard were buzzed close to the skin. His eyes were green and shining brightly at the newcomers.

Somehow Crosshair had forgotten to scowl, his jaw hanging slack instead. The man’s eyes crinkled as they smiled at him, but it was Omega who spoke.

“Hello. We’re looking for those little pink cakes you make. SOMEONE...” She said with a glower at Crosshair, “…ate them all.

“Liked them, eh?” the man asked with a wink.

“They were okay.” Crosshair said, trying to keep his voice even. Omega rolled her eyes at her brother.

“I’m sorry, I’m actually all out today. Those ones go pretty quickly.” Omega slumped back and slapped Crosshair’s arm playfully. “But I make them fresh every day. If you want, I can put some aside for you.” He said, looking directly at Crosshair again.

“That would be great.” Omega piped up.

The men’s eyes still lingered on Crosshair. “Yeah. Yeah, great.” He said.

“Perfect. What name should I put on the order, just so we don’t sell them by mistake.”

“Omega.” He eyes flicked between the baker and a grin lit up her face, “and Crosshair.”

“Crosshair.” the man repeated with a smile. He leaned over the counter and offered his hand, which Crosshair took without thinking, “I’m Cal.”

The man’s hands were ridiculously soft. His fingers looked stubby compared to Crosshair’s slender digits and he belatedly realized that the freckles covered the backs of Cal’s hands as well.

Crosshair dropped Cal’s hand like it was suddenly on fire and wiped his hand on his pants before heading for the door.

“Nice to meet you, Omega. Crosshair.” He said. Crosshair nodded and bolted for the door. “Oh wait.” Cal said, “you have the hound, right?” Omega turned around and nodded. “I make pet treats from leftovers sometimes. Here.” He handed her a small packet of round biscuits.

“Thank you.” Omega said cheerfully before waving and following Crosshair out the door.

She grinned at him on the way back to the house.

“What?” he asked acidly as she looked at him for the twentieth time in two minutes.

“Nothing. It’s just…I’ve never seen you speechless before.”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I’m always speechless.”

“Not like this.” She said with a knowing smile as she bounded over the wall in front of their house, calling for Batcher.

“How’d It go?” Hunter asked as they walked in empty handed.

“They were out.” Crosshair said, having the decency to seem a little guilty.

“But Cal’s saving some for us tomorrow.” Omega said, balancing a treat on Batcher’s nose and backing up. The hound twisted excitedly before finally given the directive to eat. She chomped happy, but the bite was gone in seconds.

“Who’s Cal?” Hunter asked and he tidied away the last of the dishes.

“Crosshair’s new friend.” Omega said with a grin.

Crosshair rolled his eyes and went to his bedroom. He lay down, burying his face in his pillow with thoughts of the scent of sweets, freckles, ginger hair, and green eyes.

#crosshair x male oc #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #tbb omega #OC Cal #fluff fluff fluff #the bad batch #tbb #tbb wrecker #sw tbb

12 notes · View notes

sailorshadzter · 1 year ago

Note

Fic prompt: Jon teaches Sansa archery after feeling jealous when he saw Theon and Sansa practicing together

hi anon! ty!!

send me prompts

On the battlements he stands, watching over the courtyard that is a flurry of activity, as it always seems to be these days. There is never a dull moment there in Winterfell as they make what surely will be their final preparations for the battle that was to come. The threat of death looms overhead and there isn’t a single person among them that does not fear what could be in the coming days.

His attention, however, does not last long on the dutiful men as they work to ensure preparations are complete. Instead, his gaze sweeps across the way, to the most northern corner of the courtyard, to where he catches sight of the red hair he would know anywhere. He is surprised to see her there, a bow in hand, her ivory features pinched with a frown. Before he can blink, there appears another and at once there is a beast called jealousy roaring in his chest.

He watches as Theon steps around her, carefully positioning her hands as they should be, helping her to draw back the bow string and holding the arrow straight. He watches as she bites her lip in concentration, as she furrows her brow, as Theon must say something encouraging for she’s smiling ever so slightly- then she’s releasing the arrow and it misses the mark by a mile. She looks discouraged but Theon is touching her shoulder and she’s smiling once more, turning to watch him go to retrieve another. They’re back at it then, his hands over hers, so close he surely must feel the warmth of her skin between the layers of the wool they both wear- again, the beast in his chest roars.

“My lord?”

He turns at the sound of the voice, drawing him out of his head and back into reality- if just for now.

[ x x x ]

He catches her as she’s descending the stairs and her smile is dazzling, even so early in the morning. “Off to practice archery, are you?” He questions and her cheeks stain crimson, her footsteps slowing to a stop.

“You saw?” She asks softly, staring at the floor like a child caught misbehaving.

Jon cannot help but to laugh at her expense, which draws her eyes back up to his face. “Aye, I saw,” he says, reaching out to gently tug on a lock of her red hair. “I thought I might help you today,” he continues, his hand falling away from her, but his fingers long to feel her hair, her skin, her, once more. Her blue eyes widen with surprise but she’s grinning, nodding, a new pep to her demeanor that wasn’t there even just a moment ago. “You needn’t learn this you know,” he says as they walk out the double doors and into the crisp, morning air.

“I know,” she says softly, the look on her face telling him everything he needed to know. She wasn’t doing this for herself, she was doing it for her people, for her home. Just in case… Just in case she needed to protect someone, she might just be able to do so. Jon wonders if there’s any other lady or lord in the world that would do such a thing.

“Like this,” he’s saying now, helping her to hold the bow as she needs to, carefully placing the arrow to the string. “Square your feet now.” She adjusts her pose and suddenly, it feels far more natural than it had the day before. Jon’s hands are warm over her own as he adjusts her ever so slightly, pulling back the string just an inch more. “Perfect,” his breath is warm against the back of her neck, so close they are now. “Let go…!” She does and the arrow flies, not striking the center, but striking the board all the same. “There you go!” He shouts happily and she’s laughing, dancing around him as he reaches for another arrow. “Again,” he says and she falls back into position, smiling to herself when he presses himself against her once more.

The next arrow strikes even closer and she’s the one to let out a cheer, red hair swinging as she turns to face him. “You are quite the teacher,” she compliments as they take up their pose yet again.

Jon laughs, soft and slow against the shell of her ear. “You are a natural,” he insists as she narrows her eyes, focusing on her target. She’s caught up in her own mind now, not listening to him at all, so he steps away, watching as she is the one who holds the bow, holds the arrow. And then she is the one to let it fly, shooting across the way to strike the dead center of the target.

She lets out a cheer and turns back to him, throwing her arms around him, laughing, sinking into the warmth of his arms. “You are a good teacher,” she reminds when he holds her at arm's length, gray eyes meeting blue. He opens his mouth, thinking he might argue, but the beast in his chest is purring and he knows it isn’t worth it. Seeing her smile was more than enough, in truth.

These moments were enough.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #my writing #i wrote this #anon asks #writing prompts

46 notes · View notes

kitkat27 · 2 years ago

Text

Two Lines

Ilsa discovers life changing information but dealing with Lane again will have to come first …

Posted on ao3 - kit_kat_27

Thank you sooooo much to @justabigassnerd for putting up with me for the last couple of months while I’ve been writing. Couldn’t have done it without your support!

It will becoming a series hopefully (comment if you want on the taglist)

Please let me know what you guys think. I’ve not done a lot of romance and haven’t written for about 2 yrs so I’m a bit rusty. This is my first fic in this fandom, it’s one of the longest I’ve written and one of my first fight scenes. Ignore grammar and spelling mistakes. This will be posted on ao3 too !

Two lines. Two definite pink lines. Two lines blink back at her confirming her suspicions. Two lines that will now change her life from this exact moment.

Two lines that couldn't be erased. Lines that confirm her body was right. All the signs that she had been dodging confirmed her fears.

Fingers grazed against her abdomen, as if her fingers were scared if they lingered too long it would confirm her fears.

This had been at the bottom of her list, hell after being with the syndicate for two years it had been erased from it. And for finding out, a derelict safe house in rural Denmark was not the scenario she had thought of many years ago.

She had snagged the test the other week and let it burn a hole in her bag until she was going to pop under the pressure.

She'd finally given in to the pressure at the safehouse with the safety of knowing the boys wouldn't be back for another couple of hours.

But now she wasn’t sure what to do, sitting in the bathroom staring at the two pink lines. For once in her life she didn't have the next step already planned. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there as the sounds of the boys inthe driveway indicated their return.

Not wanting Ethan to find out yet, she needed to wrap her brain around it first, she shoved the test down into the depths of her bag where she hoped it would stay hidden until she was ready to tell.

‐—--------------‐—-----------------

Solomon Lane was a name that kept appearing, though all four wished it didn't. Every time they thought they were done he would reappear.

And so they were, here again, staring at the computer each wishing that if the computer was closed and reopened it would be gone, and they could go back to chilling in their safe house.

But alas, they did. Brandt, who now made secretary, had sent them an email after word had gotten out that Lane had escaped Alana's grip and had not been handed over to MI6.

Nobody knew if either Alanna or the Mi6 had played a part in his escape. You can only trust a broker so much, Alanna would always think of herself no matter what she had promised.

But the wind was that he had escaped to Europe where some of his still, somehow, loyal followers remained. The organization was heading to a remote village in Kashmir threatening to release a nuclear bomb that would starve a third of the world's population.

Brandt was warning them to take these hints about Lane with a pinch of salt as it wasn't said who had given them this information and to approach the entire case with caution.

She was going to have to put telling Ethan, he would end the mission before it even started if she told him now the news on the back burner for now. If Lane found out they were carrying new information he wouldn't stop till he found.

————————————-

They split up once they reached the camp, Lane would stand out like a sore thumb in the remote village.

Ethan and Luther took to the nearby medical camp, leaving Benji and Ilsa to tackle the village. Ethan and Ilsa didn’t want to split, they worked better together but Lane would be wanting them to be together.

Once they reached the village, they split again to cover more ground while keeping each other in sight. Well, it was more Ilsa keeping an eye on Benji as she was concerned about Benji running into Lane alone again.

She knew he’d passed field tests and could hold his own, but he didn’t have the same skills or experience. She and Ethan had an unspoken agreement that they’d always put themselves in the firing line before Luther and Benji.

Making her way around the village, she did her best to stay under the radar. Lane had predicated all their movements but she had wanted to at least try to be in front. Out of the main village, on the outskirts, a lone house stood. Void of any women or children hanging outside, drawing her to it.

‘Benji, I may have a lead, stay close by and on comms. We'll draw attention if we both go ‘

Her fellow brit already began to panic at her evading the laid out plan, ‘‘Ilsa, you know what etha-’

‘Stay close by, I need to do this’ and with that, she blocked out the following Benji ramble.

Nothing on the outside balcony gave any clues to Lane. Pausing at the bottom of the steps, she could hear Benji arguing in her ear and threatening to switch on Ethan’s earpiece knowing he would stop this.

But she wanted to, no she needed to take on Lane herself.

She needed to find some form of closure from the years she worked in the syndicate, and the pain and torture he put her friends through.

Some closure for the nights she woke up screaming. All the years by herself, all the years alone, he needed to repay.

She made her way into the house. with each step she took her mind was on overdrive, her eyes darting back and forth making sure her six was covered.

Training would tell her that walking through an open door is a trap. Sweeping the first room, there was nothing in the house that wasn't covered in dust or had seen better days.

A blur of movement occurred in her peripheral vision of a figure moving to another room. Mentally apologizing to Ethan and the boys she followed.

The room was the same as the last a movement attracting her to a darkened section of the room causing her to turn aro-

A blinding pain across the back of her skull turned her vision white.

With the back of her head throbbing leaving her frozen, another blow to her lower back dropped her to the ground, the world turning black.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Ilsa, Ilsa. I know you can hear me. I'm a second away from calling Ethan’. This wasn't a good idea.

‘Ilsa you better respond’

Why couldn't Luther have gone with Ilsa, she listened to him the most. Luther was the only one who sometimes could reign her in these situations.

Ilsa’s tracker showed her around the edge of the village, where Lane would want her. He would know she would split from the group and that she would tackle him alone. Pulling out his phone he sent a message to Luther, warning of his worries without alerting Ethan.

He readied his gun as he spotted the lonely house in front of him. Why could the bad guys never be sitting in a coffee shop ready to hand themselves over after grabbing a latte?

Silence. The house was empty. 2 spies would be quiet but shouldn’t be completely silent.

Sweeping all the rooms in the house, the worry grew with every increasing minute he spent with no sign of Ilsa or Lane.

‘ Ilsa, Ilsa are you i-’, blood.

Blood. Ilsa’s gun.

Blood, a lot of blood for a spy who was the best of the best.

‘ Benji, where are you?’, shit Ethan.

‘ The house at the end of the village, Ilsa spotted Lane here and went after him. She’s-’, doing this over comms would be easier than face to face, ‘she’s not here Ethan. Lane has her, she's injured’

Ethan never panicked but he’d never had someone like Ilsa in his life before.

The one warning he had given to the team was to not take Lane on alone, especially Ilsa. She had failed tests towards the end of her undercover stint. She wouldn't be lucky the next time she ran into Lane alone.

Lane and Ilsa were stubborn and hot-headed, with an intense hatred for each other, what would happen when the two were reunited Ethan didn't want to know.

In the safe house in Denmark she had acted a little off, an unknown fear had flickered across her face when their time off in Denmark was being cut short.

Benji was waiting for them on the porch of the house, panic written over his face. He didn't waste time looking in the house, no point subjecting his heart to what she had gone through.

Circling the house there was almost nothing to go on until he came across faint footsteps leading away from the home to some soft tire tracks in the distance.

There were only 2 sets of prints, both too big for Ilsa. Lane had a plan in mind for another location. She would be no match for him unconscious and drugged. Luther and Benji hung back letting him decide on what to do next.

The tracks led deep into the mountains. Wasting no time in telling the other two what or where he was going, he began sprinting back to where they had left the car at the medical camp,

‘I’ll get you two as I come past’

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

A pounding pain pulsed at the back of her head. The first effort in opening her eyes sent a shockwave of pain around her skull. The second she managed to open them she noticed a figure sitting in front of her.

‘Nice of you to finally join me’. The figure chuckled, ‘It took a large amount of drugs to keep you knocked out. I trained you well.’

Lane.

A haggard version of the man she spent 2 years doing every bidding.

‘We’re owed a reunion and a rematch don't we, my dear Ilsa’. He took her face in his hands his callused hands tightening around her jaw, smirking she was putty in his hands.

‘You're not speaking my dear? I thought you'd have plenty to say to me’.

Heading towards the open door he turned at the doorway, ‘I'm gonna give you time to think until that pretty boyfriend of yours figures out where we are. Then I’ll be a man and kill you myself.’

Taking notice of her current predicament, she noted her ankles and wrists were bound tight, sores already forming.

As she was deciding on whether to dislocate her thumb, her wrist snagged on a sharp edge on the back of the chair. All the spy movies loved this cliché and for once she was glad it was happening.

She had to work fast, not knowing when Lane would come back into the hut. Her wrists released themselves from their binding, she immediately worked on releasing her legs fingernails beginning to bleed at the frantic speed at which she was working.

Click.

A loaded gun. The cold metal was placed against her forehead ‘My sweet Ilsa, I always am shown why Atlee chose you. You never disappoint’

Glancing upwards, she met Lane's eyes his gaze cold but joyful. He loved getting a rise out of those who crossed him.

‘I'm glad’

Neither of them moved both poised, when all of a sudden it was like a bullet had been fired and the fight began.

Drawing a knife from her boot, she lunged for Lane whilst grabbing his gun with the other hand. Knocking him backwards from the force of her attack, the gun falling from his grasp.

Swiping her blade aiming for his throat but taking any damage that would occur. The surprise of her attack quickly wore off, Lane began to block her attempts with his own.

A fist collided with her cheek and knocked her back a step. Another landing on her ribs sent an alarming crunch throughout the room.

She folded in on herself, exaggerating her pain from the broken ribs, waiting until he was close enough till she could grab a hold of his arm and use his momentum to flip him over her back.

Before Lane had a chance to react she threw herself on top of him wrapping her hands around his throat and applying all the pressure she could.

He scrambled underneath, fear in his eyes at the strength of her attack, attempting to rip her hands off him. She was squeezing with all her might but her power was in using her thighs to choke. Lane knew her inside and out she didn't want to be too predictable.

She was about to change tactics when a hand in her hair dragged her backwards with such force throwing her against the wall of the hut.

Not taking any time to find out who had joined, she kicked out at her attacker's legs. Swiping their feet, toppling them onto a winded Lane giving her the chance to run for it out the open door.

She had no plan but to run as far away as she could, Ethan was bound to be looking for her now. How far she would get she didn’t know, the pounding in her head was beginning to grow and the broken ribs were stealing her ability to breathe.

The sound of a twig snapping alerted her to someone coming up behind her, the drugs were making it harder and harder for her to react. Her body was now just running on pure fear to keep herself alive long enough for Ethan to find her.

Her new companion spun her around, her arms subconsciously wrapped themselves around her stomach, revealing their identity.

‘Trevligt att se dig igen. Du kommer inte bli lika lätt den här gången’.

Viktor. The bone doctor.

He had a talent for evading death. She wanted to either run or fight back but her limbs had suddenly become heavy. All she could do was watch Viktor as he got a firm grip on her arm and he plunged her own knife deep into her shoulder.

‘Karma är en jävel, eller hur? det gör väl ont ?’

All she could do was keep her body upright as he smirked at the blood pooling on her shoulder and grabbed the handle twisting the blade deeper. Blinding pain took over her body as she felt the blade twist deeper, she was not sure how much longer she could hold on.

‘ILSA !!!’, when did Ethan get here? She could barely see his figure moving towards her as her vision began to swim and her body felt like a lead weight as she fell to the ground protecting her stomach.

—-----------------------------------------------------

Pulling up over the top of the mountain, chaos and horror awaited him. Ilsa writhed in the grip of Viktor, his vicelike grip being the only thing that was keeping her upright. She wasnt fighting back, her arms hung loosely at her sides, there was no recognition of her knowing he was there her eyes glassy and unfocused.

The powerful, badass spy he normally knew was not the one he was currently running towards. A breath hair away from reaching Ilsa, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she dropped to the ground her body curling in on itself. Viktor let go as if she was a discarded ragdoll he no longer wanted to torture.

Resisting running to her side immediately, he focused on Viktor. He wasnt going to let him off lightly this time. He was going to make sure he was dead this time, and let one shot from his gun hit the centre of Viktor's heart dropping the swede instantly.

He didn't want to fight the man, it wasnt worth the risk of getting injured fighting a man double his height. Somehow Lane had slipped away again. Hopefully, for good, Ilsa was on the brink of death and he’d mentally manipulated Ethan, all everything he set out to achieve

The helicopter blades could be heard coming over the mountain top, Benji had mentioned as they drove that Julia was working at the medical camp, he must have sent a call for help as they reached the scene.

He wasn't gonna let go of Ilsa until they pried her out of his hands. Her body felt like glass in his hands, the blood flowing out of the knife wound wasn’t slowing her face getting paler as the seconds went on.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Looking at Ilsa’s results, something was wrong. Ilsa was above peak physical condition, nothing should show up abnormal. All standard tests, which included a pregnancy test for any female regardless, had been run and she should pass all.

Shit.

Her hCG levels were elevated.

Ilsa was pregnant. Ilsa was expecting Ethan's baby.

She was 3 months pregnant. This would explain why Ilsa's body fought them when she was brought in, her body was protecting the baby.

Grabbing the abdominal ultrasound she wondered if Ethan knew. Ilsa had broken down her walls around him but was this a wall that either had discussed? Ethan hadn’t mentioned anything when they rescued Ilsa and neither of the boys had shown signs of knowing.

Running the ultrasound over Ilsa’s stomach the relieving sound of the baby's heartbeat filled the small tent. Well, she hoped it was relieving, hell did Ilsa know herself?

She suspected she did from the Brit cradling her stomach as she drifted in and out of consciousness during the flight. The heartbeat was steady, the baby was safe and healthy which was lucky considering what Ilsa had been through in the last 24 hours.

The radio attached to her hip crackled to life announcing the helicopter making its way back with the rest of the team. They had to leave them behind to make room for them to work on Ilsa. Luther had to hold onto a struggling Ethan, who had fought with all his might to come with them.

She had about 5 minutes before they would get back to the tent, giving her enough time to pack any baby-related items away. She figured Ilsa needed to be the one to tell Ethan herself.

As she was busying herself with tidying, the heart rate of the British agent signalled she was beginning to ruse. Eyes flickered open to meet hers, pain whimpers followed as she came to.

With a hand on her none injured shoulder, she spoke softly ‘Ilsa, hey it's ok. It's Julia, you're in the med camp. You're injured from the kidnapping and fight, Ethan and the team are safe and are on their way.’

Once the meaning of her words sunk in, Ilsa began to calm. ‘ I, I…’

‘Don't push yourself, save your voice for Ethan’, striking blue eyes travelled along the spy’s own body taking note of the injuries and finally landing on her stomach.

Knowing the question she was thinking, she answered for her,

‘The baby is fine. You're about 12 weeks, I’ve not put it in your notes and told the team to not tell the others-’ Ilsa then met her eyes ‘- I figured you'd want to tell them’.

Hearing the helicopter land in the distance, she put the last piece of equipment away before turning back to Ilsa.

‘Whatever you decide to do, I'm here. Whatever is running through your head, ignore it, Ethan will be happy whatever you decide. He loves you and will support you through every step.’

Ilsa spoke for the first time since waking ‘Than- thank you, Julia. I want Ethan’

Returning the smile, she placed a gentle kiss on her friend's hairline ‘He’s arriving at the camp now, he’ll be here any minute’ before making her way out of the tent.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The helicopter hadn’t even turned its blades off before he was barreling out of it tearing along the path to the med tent.

Finding the main tent he bumped into Eric who was making his way out, grasping his arm as he passed ‘ It was touch and go, we did lose her once but she's ok. She’s asking for you.

She seemed at peace lying on the small hospital bed, monitors surrounding her, a rhythmic beeping sound. The sound reaffirms Eric's words, but he needed to see for himself.

A black eye and a bandage going from her eyebrow to the hairline adorned the left side of her face. A blanket was drawn up to mid chest leaving her shoulders bare showing the thick bandaging adorning where the knife had been mere hours ago.

Her eyes were closed but he knew she wasn't sleeping, she wouldn't until they were back in a safehouse. Reaching her side, he resisted reaching out; he didn't know what had happened between her and Lane.

As if she could read his mind, ‘It's ok, Ethan. I need you please’.

Avoiding the painful side of her face, he cupped her cheek in his hand and placed a gentle kiss on her lips which she faintly reciprocated.

His lips rested on hers as he placed his forehead tenderly against hers. Neither spoke for a while both basking in each other's touch.

The warmth of her skin under his, reminded him she was here. She was back with him. The warmth reminded him how close he had been to losing her up on the mountains.

Blue eyes met his, saying all the words she needed to say to put his mind at rest. That she was back with him and not to beat himself up.

Though the comfort in her eyes turned to concern, ‘Ethan, I. There’s something. I have something I need to tell you ’. There was an intense look on her face as if her thoughts were fighting with each other

He wasn’t sure what was happening. Since getting together both of them had worked together on communication with each other, good or bad.

Ilsa gazed off into the distance seemingly afraid to meet his eye contact. ‘ I was going to tell you back in Denmark but I didn’t want you knowing and risking Lane knowing too. I just need to know that whatever happens, you’ll stay here. Please don’t run as I’m just as scared as you.’

He kept quiet, instead reaching out to hold her hands stilling them from the anxiously fidgeting.

‘I. Ive been noticing symptoms for the last few weeks that i was putting down to the back to back missions, hoping that avoidingg them would make them go away. Ethan. Ive been late for the last few weeks. Ive been tired, hungry and nauseated all the time’, she finally looked back at him letting the words sink in.

He couldnt believe what she was telling him. His mind was numb, he had never thought about this step in his life. Neither of them had so it was inevitable the way they messed around.

The fear of his reaction was scaring her,‘Ethan please say something’.

He seemed lost in his head before that classic Ethan smile adorned his face ‘You’re… pregnant ? We’re having a baby ?’. He seemed to start vibrating with excitement as she guided his hand to rest on her stomach.

"We're having a baby Ethan. We’re becoming parents’

His other hand came to rest under her chin tilting her face towards him, keeping his other resting on her nonexistent bump ‘ I love you. I love you. Whatever you decide to do next I will support you every step of the way. I never thought I’d become a father, but I am so excited to take this path with you’

The emotions were too much to answer him so she pulled him to bring his lips to hers communcting her feelings to him. She was scared of what was to come in the coming months as she stepped into the world of motherhood but she knew that Ethan would be by her side every step of the way.

Swedish translation- nice to see you again. You won't be getting off as easy this time

“Karma is a bitch, isn't it. That hurts, doesn't it?

@radical-sky @izzypuppybutt @justabigassnerd

34 notes · View notes

sequinsmile-x · 2 years ago

Text

I'll Go Anywhere With You

Whilst Emily and Aaron are choosing where to go on vacation, one of the suggestions leads her to reveal a part of her past she's never shared with him before.

-x-

Hi friends

Not really sure where this came from! It's been a while since I wrote something Demonology related, so here is some Sunday evening hurt/comfort for you <3

Please let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 3k

Warnings: Discussion of abortion

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

"'I am very fond of Charles Dickens,' Matilda said. ''He makes me laugh a lot. Especially Mr Pickwick.'

At that moment the bell in the corridor sounded for the end of class."

Emily turns to look at Jack as she finishes reading, smiling at the sight of the mostly asleep boy, his head against her shoulder as his eyes drooped. She closes the book and places it on his nightstand before extracting herself from next to him, guiding him to lie down as she tucks his covers around him.

“One more chapter,” he protests, his words slurring together, and she smiles as she sits on the edge of the bed, pushing his unruly hair from his face.

“Tomorrow I promise, sweet boy,” she says, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, “You get some sleep.”

He hums, any further complaints lost as the pull of sleep wins out, “Love you, Em’ly.”

She feels her smile shake slightly, the force of her love for this little boy still overwhelming even now, almost a year on from her getting together with Aaron. Sometimes it felt like she had to pinch herself to ensure she wasn’t dreaming when she thought about it too much. The simplicity, and the pure joy she found in the day-to-day, something she was sure she’d never get to experience.

“Love you too, Jack,” she says, leaning down to kiss his forehead again, “Daddy and I are just down the hall if you need us, okay?”

He nods, his arms wrapping tighter around his favourite stuffed animal, a dinosaur she’d bought him back when she thought she’d have to win his affection, which Aaron had always told her was unnecessary. Jack loved her just as much as he did, the family she’d always yearned for right in front of her in plain sight.

She waits until he falls asleep and she sneaks out of his room, leaving the door slightly ajar in case he needs them. Nightmares were a common thing in their household, and they weren’t just limited to Jack. All three of them were prone to their monsters sneaking out of the shadows at night.

She walks down the hallway to the kitchen and she leans against the doorway, her lips pressed together as she suppresses a smile at the sight of Aaron leaning down to put the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, allowing her to enjoy the sight of his forearms as the muscles rippled underneath. He turns to look at her, and he raises his eyebrow at her as he closes the door to the dishwasher, the last of the dishes loaded into it.

“As always, your timing is impeccable,” he says wryly, and she rolls her eyes at him as she crosses the kitchen.

“Your son wanted me to read to him,” she explains, wrapping her arms around his neck, her eyes sparkling as they meet his. He bands his arms around her back, pulling her closer as he stamps a kiss against her lips, “You and I both know I can’t say no to him.”

He chuckles, kissing her again, “So does he, thats why he always asks for you to do bedtime.”

It still made him smile when he thought of how nervous Emily was when they first told Jack they were together, nerves that had reignited just a few months ago when they discussed her moving in. He would tell her as many times as she needed to hear, he’d spend the rest of their lives reassuring her, that she was their favourite person. That, if he was honest, that had been the case long before their first kiss.

Emily smiles and rests her head against his shoulder, settling into his embrace for a moment. She looks around the kitchen and spots Aaron’s laptop on the counter, the screen bright with the internet browser open, and she smirks into the material of his shirt.

“Honey,” she starts, pulling back to look at him, desperate to see the reaction she knew she’d elicit, “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t mind you watching porn, but please don’t do it in the kitchen.”

He sighs and shakes his head, his lips pressed together as he fights a smile whilst she laughs at her own joke, “Very funny.”

“I thought so,” she replies, playing with his hair, her nails blunt against his scalp.

“It’s not porn,” he replies, rolling his eyes at her, “I was looking at places we could go on our vacation.”

It had been her idea. They both had so many vacation days to use they’d been told by Strauss that they had to take them, which, Emily thought, was probably the nicest thing the woman had ever done. Whilst she’d initially been irritated at the thought of forced time off, she was now looking forward to it. In the almost year she’d been with Aaron they’d never gone anywhere just the two of them, never had a week of uninterrupted time together, and now it was a possibility it was all she wanted. Some time with him away from their day-to-day lives, time to just exist with the man she loves.

They decided to go away for their anniversary, and as soon as she realised Aaron had only ever been abroad for work-related things, she suggested they find somewhere in Europe. She’d left it up to him since she’d been, and lived, everywhere, and was excited to be his tour guide, to see somewhere she’d been before through his eyes.

“Oh, let me have a look” she says, removing herself from his embrace but linking their fingers together, tugging him towards the laptop. She smiles to herself as he crowds her against the counter, his chest against her back and his chin on her shoulder as she unlocks the, now on standby, laptop. Her breath catches in her chest, trapped in a way that is painful as she fails to exhale, when she sees where he’s been looking at, visuals of tourist attractions she’d always done her best to avoid as a teenager bringing back memories that never seemed to get less painful. She’d never told him about what had happened there, had never found the right time to, and she clears her throat, hoping her voice wouldn’t shake, “You want to go to Rome?”

“Well, not necessarily I was just looking…” He drifts off as he feels her go tense in his arms, the levity that had existed in her frame just moments ago long gone, her shoulders tight against his chest, “Sweetheart, is something wrong?”

She swallows thickly and shakes her head, “No, nothing is wrong. Rome is beautiful,” she replies.

She’s furious at herself for the effect this all still seemingly had on her, how what had happened one summer a whole lifetime ago could still create a reaction. She’s also furious at him, even though she knows it's unwarranted. She’s not mad because of where he’s been researching, well aware that the city was a popular place to go, but because he has snuck under her walls. Burrowing his way through barricades she’d built long before she’d ever met him. She knows if it was anyone else, if any other person other than him, suggested going there she’d brush them off. Come up with a lie about the time of year and crowds as she effortlessly suggested somewhere else. But with him, it was impossible, his love for her a blessing and a curse all at once. She sighs as he turns her in his embrace, one palm on her back and the other on the laptop as he closes it.

“Em, what’s wrong?” He asks, tucking hair behind her ear, his touch delicate against her cheek. He feels concern bubble in his gut, her reluctance to talk about whatever was going on a flash of the past that he hadn’t expected to see again. It had been months since they’d hid anything they felt from each other. An argument about him harbouring guilt over her getting injured on a case that had led to a mutual agreement that they’d always let each other know how they were feeling, even if it was as simple as asking for space whilst they worked through something alone. He points over his shoulder towards the home office, “Do you want me to give you some-”

“No,” she says, holding him tighter, the thought of being alone worse than anything else, “No, I…” she drifts off, the words alluding her as she shakes her head at herself. She blows out a shaky breath and squeezes his hand. She knows she doesn’t have to tell him, that she doesn’t owe him this part of her past that was hers and hers alone, but she wants to. Wants to share this part of herself that so few people knew about, “Can we go sit down?”

“Of course,” he says, his hand tight around hers as he leads her to the living room, the journey longer than it had ever felt, the silence around them thick and cloying as they settle next to each other on the couch. She tucks her legs up under herself and leans against the back of the couch, her focus on their linked hands as she avoids his eye contact, “Em-”

“I…” she cuts him off and shakes her head at herself, “I don’t even know where to start.”

He squeezes her hand and uses the one not linked with hers to hook a finger under her chin to make their eyes meet. The look in her eyes makes him want to pull her into a hug, to go find whatever, or whoever, had made her feel like this and tear it apart until she feels better. But he doesn’t. He knows her well enough to understand she wouldn’t want that, that she didn’t need it. She was capable of fighting her own battles, something she’d proven time and time again. What she needed was his support. For him to sit here and listen, and to stand by her side afterwards.

“Wherever feels right,” he says, running his thumb back and forth over her jawline, “And take all the time you need.”

She smiles sadly and nods, biting the inside of her cheek for a moment, “You know, I really wish you had been watching porn,” she jokes, and he chuckles lightly, squeezing her hand as he does so and she does it back as her smile fades, “I lived in Rome when I was 15 for about 6 months. You remember that case a few years ago, with my friend Matthew?”

He sighs, berating himself internally for not thinking about it. He’d been so desperate to avoid Paris, to make sure he didn’t suggest the place she’d gone when she was dead to almost everyone except him, that he hadn’t even thought of the case that had led to him calling The Vatican. She watches his eyes go wide, how the few pieces of the puzzle he already had slip into place. She squeezes his hand to stop him from interrupting, an apology she doesn’t need on the tip of his tongue as he opens his mouth.

“Honey, it’s fine. So much has happened since that case and you weren’t to know,” she smiles tightly at him, “Besides, if that was it, if it was just because it’s where I met him, I wouldn’t…” she drifts off again and clears her throat, blowing out a breath before she carries on, ready to just say it, to rip off the bandaid, “I got pregnant that summer in Rome.”

Whatever Aaron had been expecting her to say, it hadn’t been that. He makes sure he doesn’t react, the need to defend her, to protect her from her past, rising in his chest again as all he does is squeeze her hand.

“I had no friends, and god I just wanted someone to like me, to fit in for once, and…I ended up pregnant,” She looks down at their joint hands again, at how their fingers seemed to fit perfectly together, as if they were made for each other, “It was terrifying and awful and I didn’t know what to do. Matthew helped me. He found a doctor and held my hand as I confirmed I wanted an abortion,” she smiles sadly as she thinks of it. At the time she’d known how young they were, but looking back on it had always made it so much clearer, her heart aching for her younger self who had always looked for love in the wrong places. Something she knows continued right up until she fell in love with Aaron, “He waited out in the hall when the doctor gave me the medication, so I was alone then.”

“Oh sweetheart,” he says, finally pulling her into a hug, no longer able to stop himself. She presses her face into his chest and curls into his lap. He runs his hand up and down her back as he kisses her forehead, “Was Matthew…”

“No,” she replies, pulling back to look at him, “He wasn’t the father, but he helped me. It’s why I was so desperate to know what happened to him because I couldn’t save him like he saved me.”

He cups her face, running his thumb up over her cheekbone, “You got him justice, Em. That’s what’s important.”

She nods, wishing she could believe it, the way she was sure she had let Matthew down, that she could have done more, one of the many things that kept her up at night sometimes. A parade of her past failures marching past her as sleep evaded her, her only solace the warmth of Aaron’s arm over her waist.

“John was the father,” she says, pressing her lips together tightly, “He yelled at me when I told him I was pregnant. As if it was any less his fault than it was mine.”

“John?” He asks, furrowing his brow, his grip on her tightening, “The guy we rescued?” He asks and she nods. He clenches his teeth and shakes his head, “If I’d have known that I would have let that priest have 5 more minutes with him.”

It makes her laugh, something she wouldn’t have thought was ever possible when she was talking or thinking about this, and she shakes her head at him, her hand on his cheek as she kisses him quickly.

“No you wouldn’t have, you’re too good a man for that,” she says, smiling softly, “It’s one of the many reasons I love you,” she pulls back to put a bit more space between them. “I don’t regret it, it was the right decision for me, but I wish it never happened. And it’s kind of made being there difficult,” she says, thinking of when she’d returned in her mid-20s, how she’d been surprised by how she’d been hit by emotions she’d spent a decade pretending didn’t exist. “I don’t look at the Spanish Steps and think of how beautiful they are, I think of where I sat when I had a positive pregnancy test at the bottom of my backpack, in a trance as I wondered about what the hell I was going to do. I don’t think of the Colosseum and its history, but of the tour I went on with my school whilst I had cramps so bad from the medication I’d taken that I thought I was going to pass out. It’s just…not a place with memories for me that I want to revisit.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart-”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” she assures him, pushing some of his hair from his forehead, “You didn’t know. I never really knew how to tell you,” she shrugs, “I guess I was worried you’d judge me for it, which is ridiculous when I think about the other stuff you know about me.”

He pulls her back into a hug, letting her settle against him, the weight of her in his embrace one of the most comforting things he’d ever experienced, “I’d never judge you for anything. I hope you know that.”

She nods and turns her head to kiss his shoulder, “I know, I promise. It’s just never been easy to talk about.”

He kisses the top of her head and holds her a little tighter, “You’re the bravest person I know, Em,” he says, smiling at her when she tilts her head to look at him, a wry smile spreading over her face.

“Even braver than Derek?”

He nods, “It’s one thing to burst through doors, sweetheart,” he says, purposely minimising Derek’s actions at work to make her smile get wider, “But it’s another thing entirely to do what you know is right, even when it’s hard.”

She feels love for him burst in her chest and she pulls him in for a kiss, holding him in place with her hand on his cheek. She rests her forehead against his, “I have a suggestion on where we could go instead,” she says, purposely changing the subject, desperate for some relief from the sadness that had swept over her, and he smiles encouragingly at her as she carries on, “Barcelona.”

He can’t control the shiver that the way she says Barcelona causes, the slight accent enough to make him hold her even tighter. He allows himself to picture it. Her skin a golden colour under the Spanish sun, a glass of sangria in her hand. The engagement ring he’d bought weeks ago that was burning a hole in his briefcase on her finger from when he’d propose to her on the beach.

“Interesting,” he says, stamping another kiss against her lips, “I think I would enjoy Spain. I’d enjoy anywhere as long as I’m with you.”

She hums, “It’s beautiful,” she says, running her fingers through his hair again, “And…the beaches are gorgeous. It means I’ll be able to wear that bikini you like so much.”

His eyes go wide and he kisses her once more, a fierce press of his lips against hers before he shifts her out of his lap and gets off the couch, already walking towards the kitchen as he replies.

“I’ll book the flights.”

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

#emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss fan fic #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron x emily #hotchniss

38 notes · View notes

adoracora-elizabeth · 11 months ago

Text

Music made me love you, chapter 13

"What if nobody shows up?" Cora was pacing around in her small living room.

"Can you please stop? You are making me nervous." Sorcha moaned. "Your book is selling very well. Especially since you managed to get it into your local supermarket. People will show up, and if they do not. Well, then you will have a free evening."

Cora stopped pacing. "You are right. And the book is selling, so I should be a bit more confident."

"Making sure your book is sold in Supermarkets was a very smart decision."

"Right. Time to go, I cannot be late for my own Meet & Greet, even though nobody will show up."

"Stop being this negative." Sorcha poked her side. "Do you have enough pencils with you?"

Cora held up a big pencil case. "I think this must do." she chuckled.

+++

Cora looked around the corner, the room was filled with people. It scared her, there were more people than she could have hoped for. Where did they all come from. A local bookshop had arranged this evening. There was not much room left in the shop. All those people where here for her and she had to pinch herself. How was this possible? She shivered.

"Nervous." The shop owner asked.

"I was not expecting this many people." Cora said shaky.

"Do not worry, they loved your book, that is why they are here. You will not disappoint them; I am sure of that. We will start with a short introduction and question round, and then they will be able to come up, so you can sign their book." She walked into the shop and the crowd got quiet.

Cora nodded, while wringing her hands. She saw Sorcha sitting close to the place she would sit. That gave her some reassurance.

"And now, let us welcome Miss Levinson."

This was her que, she quickly walked towards the small podium. She tried to look over the people, so she would not have to make eye contact.

"Where did you get your inspiration from?" one of the audience members asked.

Cora smiled at the woman who asked the question. "That is hard to say, to be honest. The idea popped into my head, and I decided one day to start writing."

"Did you ever hit writers block?" Another audience member asked.

Cora chuckled. "Many times, to be honest. There was one thing that helped me out of it. When I open my window, I can hear the most beautiful piano music. The moment I hit a writer’s block, and the piano player is blessing the streets with the wonderful music, my writers block melts like snow in the sun."

"I think you all would love to have a signed copy of the book you are holding. Please form a line, so miss Levinson can sign them all." The bookshop owner said, once there were no more questions.

+++

Robert had to rush to get to Rosamund on time.

"I almost thought you would not come." Rosamund said, while opening the door for him. "We have to eat a bit quicker, otherwise we will miss the meet & greet."

"Do we really need to go?" Robert complained.

"Yes, we do. I want to go, and you promised to come with me."

"Why is Marmaduke not coming with you?"

"I have not read the book, Rosamund asked you, and you agreed." Marmaduke said, while Robert walked into the dining room.

Robert sighed, they were teaming up against him, it was useless to argue. He felt kicked around as always. It did not matter, being here in London or at Downton. Recently other people decided how his live was run and he was getting fed up with it.

+++

"What a cute bookshop this is." Rosamund said, while they looked at the building.

Robert could see it was busy inside the shop, and he was regretting coming with Rosamund, more and more. He should be in his own home playing the piano. It had now been weeks since he last played, and he properly missed it. He should find a way to get back here more often, without having to meet up with Rosamund and Marmaduke. He loved his sister and brother-in-law, but he needed his own life.

They were on the late sight and could barely find a place inside the shop. Rosamund managed to get a spot where they could see the small podium. Robert stood behind her, he was taller than his sister. Because they were late, it did not take long before the bookstore owner announced that Miss. Levinson would come on stage. Robert almost gasped audibly when he saw who stepped onto the podium.

He blinked a couple of times. But no, he was seeing it correctly. That was Cora. Cora was C. Levinson. Of course she was, how could he not have noticed that. Especially since she introduced herself to Rosamund recently as Cora Levinson. He had not made the connection, but clearly Rosamund did. That is why she was insisting on them coming here.

"I told you it would be worth it." Rosamund said, when the questions where finished and they lined up.

Robert was shaken by Cora's words. Was she referring to his music? Should he tell her that he played the piano. What if it was not his music, that made her come over her writer’s block. What if he made a fool out of himself by assuming that.

Slowly they made their way to the table where Cora was signing the books. He was how she made time for everybody and truly listened. In each book she wrote something personal. What a wonderful woman she was, he thought. He felt nervous the closer they came. How was he going to explain being here.

Finally, it was their time, Rosamund handed Cora her book. When Cora looked up, Robert saw that she recognized her.

"Hello Rosamund." She said. "What a surprise seeing you here."

As she had done with everybody, she fully focused on the person in front of her. She had not seen him yet, should he leave? He could quickly leave without her noticing it. He felt embarrassed being here, it felt like he was stalking her. He had that feeling earlier, when he kept running into her in the supermarket and on the street. But she did know by now that he had a home here, so it was less stalking. Was it? His change of making an escape was gone, the noticed that Rosamund pointed towards him.

Cora looked in his direction and her face lit up when she spotted him. "Robert." She exclaimed.

"Hi." He answered sheepishly.

"I did not know you read my book."

"I did not know it was written by you." He answered.

"Let me sign your copy." Cora said, while extending her hand.

Robert coloured. "I forgot to bring mine." He felt stupid, how could he forget to bring the book.

"We have some more copies for sale." The bookstore owner said, while handing him a new one.

Robert gave the book to Cora with still that sheepish smile on his face. Cora touched his hand, while taking the book from him. He felt his cheeks get more colour. She started writing, but Robert could not see what she wrote. Quickly Cora closed the book and handed it back to him. "You should read that at home." She winked.

"We should walk on, there are more people waiting to get their book signed." Rosamund took his arm and pulled him away. Robert kept his eyes on Cora, who clearly had trouble focussing on the new people in front of her.

"You knew it was Cora who wrote that book?" He said, while they walked to the front of the store.

Rosamund smiled. "I made the connection the first time I met Cora. She introduced herself and I recognized her last name. It surprised me that you had not said anything about it. Later it dawned on me that you had no clue."

"Thank you for dragging me here."

"It was hard to get you here, I was scared this whole evening that you would sneak out the shop."

Robert blushed again; his sister knew him all too well. In the corner of his eye, he saw Sorcha walking towards them.

"Good to see you again Robert."

"Likewise. I do not think you have met my sister. This is Rosamund. Rosamund this is Sorcha and friend of Cora."

"Nice meeting you." Sorcha said polite. "Cora is asking if you want to get something to drink once she is finished." Sorcha looked at Rosamund. "You are invited too."

Robert looked at Rosamund to see if she would like to stay or preferred going home.

"That would be nice, thank you for the invitation. Should we wait here?"

"Cora mentioned the white cross. You two could get there already and secure us a table or booth?"

"Sound as a perfect plan. We will do that." Rosamund answered.

Robert pressed the book against his side, while he followed Rosamund outside. He glanced one more time at Cora, who was still chatting with the people that wanted a signature of her. There were only a couple left. He figured it would not take very long for her to come to the pub. He only hoped that their visit to Kew Gardens tomorrow would still stand.

#cora crawley #downton abbey #robert crawley #downton #fanfiction #cobert

3 notes · View notes