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h3catee · 5 days ago

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Introductions Are in Order

Paring: Robert Reynoldsx Fem!Witch Reader! Past Avenger!

Summary: Bucky asks a favor of you and ends up getting you entangled with one of Valentinas ploys.

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*, talks of mental health, depression, anxiety. Some violence (bc its marvel), some language. Trauma. Angst. Decent amount of Hurt/ With some comfort!

Word count: 2.7k

AN: Hi! Welcome to my fic! this is probably multi part idk my plans yet. I'm leaning more towards multi-part bc I'm usually a chapter by chapter writer so there isn’t a lot of Bob in this one but I hope its a good intro to maybe a 2-3 parts. I literally fell in love with Bob's character during Thunderbolts and this man gave me motivation to write again. I didn't have a Beta reader for this one so pls forgive any grammer or silly mistakes. Forewarning (y/n)’s powers based off of the Marvel character Morgan le Fay just to throw that out there, she’s definitely not Wanda but definitely not Morgan. Think morally gray/ hates everyone except like 3 people/ witch trained by the past avengers. Next part will have more Bob I promise, just wanted to introduce the story here >:3

Song for the chapter: https://open.spotify.com/track/09fDemXgXzRReTfb7UWxjD?si=7e0b5d606b824813

xoxox

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“I need your help with something.”

You sighed heavily before responding, “Hello to you too Senator Barnes!” You heard the man grumble from the other phone line.

“You know I hate when you call me that,” Bucky said.

“Well…what do you want, Buck?” You said, rolling your eyes. You look around your empty apartment for something to fidget with while Bucky chews your ear off about calling him another stupid nickname.

“Y/N, Valentina’s got this guy apparently named Bob-”

“Bob?” You ask, cutting him off. Who names their kid Bob in this day and age?

“Yes, Bob! I’m with Nat’s sister and she said we have to go get him because he’s part of some Sentry project,” He explained, voices yelling at him in the background of the phone call. “Can you just meet us at the tower?”

A wave of nausea rolled over you, “The tower? Bucky, I don't go around there anymore.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t be calling you if I had anyone else to call.”

“How nice,” you taunt. You were never any of the Avengers first calls. To be fair you weren’t sure if it is because they were scared of you or your lack of social skills. “Also Nat’s sister?”

“Later,” Which means he says he’ll tell you later but in reality he’s never going to bring it up again unless you find the answer yourself.

You sigh, walking over to the bookshelf in your apartment that’s filled with books, both regular and magical, and pictures. Your hand brushes across a photo of yourself, Steven Strange, and Wanda, “I don’t fight anymore Bucky. You couldn’t just ask Sam?”

“He’s uhmm..busy,” He answered, “I know how you’re feeling y/n.”

“You don’t,” You interrupt. How could he possibly understand how you’re feeling when he barely reaches out to you unless he needs something. Him and the rest of the remaining team abandoned you, after Wanda, you had no one to turn to. You felt the all too familiar dull ache in your chest. You chewed on the skin around your nails waiting for Bucky to respond.

“ I think we need you for this one.” Which means in Bucky terms that whoever they are fighting is a mutant and something he can’t fight.

“Fuck,” You mutter to yourself.

Ever since Wanda vanished you refused to step back out on the field.She was the only one that truly knew what you were capable of considering she was the one that found you all those years ago. Not even Thor, a god, could hold you back during training sessions and the only avenger to understand your pain was Wanda. And now she’s-

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to ground yourself. You haven’t been able to sense her magic anywhere. No matter what realm you went to, you couldn’t find her.

Fuck you Bucky Barnes.

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“She already knows we’re here,” You try to explain to the group in front of you. Bucky gave you and the rest of the team a run down of Sentry and what Mel, Valentinas assistant, told him about Bob. That doesn’t stop them from driving a truck through the lobby destroying the front of the building in the process, “Awesome,” You have no choice but to join the fight to defend the group. Defense only, you tell yourself

While Walker has his back turned, a soldier on the ground fires a few stray bullets, you toss your hand up and redirect the shots to the wall behind him, “Watch yourself walker,” You growled. Before he could reply you went back to the fight. Using your magic to cast illusions into the minds of the soldiers fighting to give the group an advantage when attacking.

“I just had that drywall put in. You can just come up, you know that right.” Valentina’s voice rang out over the intercoms, “But I know you knew that already y/n. Come on up!”

Yelena and Ava looked at you, knowing you had previously stated that and they had just refused to listen. You just rolled your eyes at them before motioning them to go in the elevator.

“You are not coming,” Yelena asked as the group of 5 squeezed into the elevator.

You shake your head before pointing up. You close your eyes and feel the familiar stomach reeling feeling of teleporting to where the penthouse once was. Where you shared few but long lasting memories. Your eyes wander across the empty walls and fairly empty room before you look at Val.

“Ah! Y/N, so lovely to see you darling. You see I’ve always wanted to work with you,” The woman said.

“Can’t say the same,” You said in a sarcastic tone.

“Hmm, well maybe he’ll change your mind.” You just raise an eyebrow.

You don’t have the chase to question her because Bucky and the team come through the elevator doors ready to arrest her for crimes. You look between each person and back to Valentina, honestly not sure what is going on.

That's when you feel it. A humming. Power. You look around only to notice no one else in the “Thunderbolts”, as Alexie is calling them, notices it. You try to pinpoint a mind to tap into to find where this power is from but you can’t, a black shadow blocking you out. Shit.

“Meet Sentry.”

You look up to where a man is clothed in a…ugly suit, with unnaturally yellow blonde hair.

“Hey guys,” He greats. You study him for a second, the power dripping off of him but there's something else there, something all too familiar. You try to invade his mind but there's something keeping you out. You pull and claw at the black void keeping you out.

“Y/n.” You vacate the attempt on his mind and meet his eyes. You cock your head to the side, he knows what you were doing, “That won’t work,” his voice coming out cautious.

“Take care of them Robert,” Valentina orders.

“I don’t want to hurt you guys,” Bob says, looking around at all of them in front of him, “Please just give yourselves in.”

“Wait-” Yelena tries to interrupt.

Alexie yells before running towards the man. Instead of following the rest of the team you stand back and observe. Everything they throw at him gets blocked or countered. Teleportation. Flight. Strength.

Bucky shoots at Bob only for the bullets to be sprayed back at him and Walker. You hold your hand up blocking the bullets and directing them towards the already broken window. Thats when Sentry notices you.

“I knew I liked her,” Walker says to Bucky, getting ready to fight again.

“Wanda’s not here to save you this time.”

You barely move after hearing the voice in your head when the rest of the Thunderbolts move to attack Bob. You shake your head as if to clear your thoughts but you feel his eyes on you. Instead of the blue you saw earlier, Bob’s eyes have a golden hue.

“She left you, just like you told her to.”

“Stop,” You whisper to yourself, rage boiling beneath your skin.

The fight breaks out and you watch as Bob grabs Bucky's Arm.

“God damnit,” You whisper, before running towards the two to save Bucky. Bob tosses Bucky to the side, his arm now torn off. You shot a blast of energy towards him only for him to teleport out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you, You try to telepathically tell him.

“You can’t hurt me,” He says aloud.

“Says who,” You taunt. Your feet leave the floor before you can’t register your rage taking over. Blast after blast and nothing is hitting him.

He teleports in front of you and grabs your neck. What he doesn’t expect is to look behind you and see a beach. A sunset. He furrows his brows as he looks around in confusion.

That gives you enough time to grab his wrist and teleport out of his grasp.

The illusion collapses around the two of you as you lose contact. With every fight you’ve been in, usually your opponent will be thrown off once coming out of the illusion but Bob…He raises a hand before you can counter and you slam into the concrete wall of Avengers Tower, the wall cracking behind you.

You feel an arm hook under your shoulders and begin to drag you to the elevator which you see is already occupied with the rest of the team besides you and Yelena. “Get off of me,” You grumble. You teleport out of her grasp and out of the tower completely. Your knees are wobbly beneath you and you assess your surroundings. Guard still up.

“Are you hurt?” You turn and see Bucky running towards you, the rest of the Thunderbolts following in suit.

“You know I’m not,” You used your magic to heal yourself immediately after the hit, “I tried to help Buck but I’m not strong enough anymore. I’m leaving.”

“No, let us regroup and we can go back in,” Alexie tries to argue.

“All of you just got your asses beat, you especially-”

“Well I am just rusty but now I am ready to go,” The older super soldier bellows.

You see Yelena put a hand over her eyes. You just laugh out of disbelief and begin to walk down the street.

“Wait y/n,” Bucky follows after you, “Just wait-”

You turn, he can feel the rage dripping off of you, “What!” You shout, “What do you want from me?”

He just stares at you, “I was going to ask if you were okay.”

You laugh, “Am I okay? God, you should've asked me that when Tony died. Or when I lost Vision and then lost Wanda. Or Nat. Or Steve.”

“You acted like you didn’t even care about half of the team, what did you expect me to do?” He argues.

“I didn’t want to hurt any of you!” You exclaim, letting your emotions run wild on the streets of New York, “If you think that up there I used all my power, you're wrong. I didn’t want to hurt any of you so I stayed away.”

“But Wanda-”

“But Wanda understood me, more than you or Tony or any of them. You don’t understand what I went through, what I’ve done. Bucky, you don’t know who I really am.”

There was commotion behind you, taking your concentration away from the conversation. Citizens were pointing up towards the sky. You and Bucky exchange glances before running to where you could have a clear view of what they were looking at.

A shadow of man floated above Avengers Tower. You watched as he raised a hand and all of a sudden a helicopter came crashing into a crane. Concrete and rubble began to fall from the buildings that were hit. People were screaming.

Typical avenger in New York occurrence.

You and Bucky split off to protect the people from being crushed. You used your magic to stop concrete from crushing a family and urged them to get into a building.

“You’re alone,” You turned to see the man closer to you now. You recognized the voice from just minutes ago, Bob, “You’ve always been alone.” You just stare at him, “It eats you alive doesn’t it, y/n.”

People are screaming, you turn to look behind you and see shadows of people spread across the floor in dark black smoke. You heart drops, what the fuck is this guy.

“The pain goes away. Just come with me,” Bob captures your attention once again, “I can make it go away.”

“How?” You whisper. He reaches a hand out to you.

“Y/n! Stop!” Bucky shouts behind you but something in your mind is telling you to go. Telling you that everything will stop if you accept his hand. Everything will be quiet. Will the pain finally go away?

“Y/n,” The distorted voice urges.

That’s when you close your eyes and walk into the void.

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You open your eyes and find yourself in an all too familiar room. One lined with archaic symbols preventing you from escaping. Your heart drops because you see yourself, younger, wounded, broken standing on the other side of the room.

You know this day, you recognize it by the energy alone. This was the first time you killed someone. The first time you disintegrated someone's body and brain.

“Y/N, Before you is a man who is being convicted of crimes against countless women, including your own mother,” You watched as your younger self balled her hands into fists, “Your task is to eliminate him.”

Younger you nodded.

“N-no,” You ran over to where you stood and wrapped your arms around your younger self, “you don’t have to do this,”

“Get off of me,” Your body is thrown a few feet away from your younger self. That's when you feel it, the pain of a curse of 1000 sharp white-hot knives digging into you, you scream and writhe on the floor. That was your punishment when you were captured, if you ever disobeyed or failed, they cursed you over and over.

“Stop,” You sob, the curse diminishing, “Stop,” You whisper, tears falling onto the floor beneath you. Your mind whirls and your limbs ache, like you’re gripped by a fever that burns through you like wildfire.

“Y/n?” A male voice.

You look towards a doorway where Bob stands, not Sentry, not Void but Bob. You squeeze your eyes shut to stop crying.

“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry,” He runs over to you, “I-I can’t stop it,” He apologized.

“I don’t understand,” Your voice comes out as a whisper, “What is this?” You finally sit up and watch the rest of the scene play out in front of you.

You watch as younger you raises her hand towards the man and he begins to scream in agony. You watch as his skin flairs and melts.

“Don’t look,” Bob urges, grabbing your arm and pulling your attention from the memory. There are tears in his blue eyes. He has brown hair now instead of the fake gold that Val gave him. He’s clothed in a sweater and tan pants. He honestly looks like he’s going to pass out. “I can’t do anything right, I’m so sorry,” He mumbles, “I-I don’t even know you and you’re stuck here with me. It’s this…void.”

“How do we get out?” You ask, looking down to study your shaking hands.

“I-I don’t know. There’s different rooms and each one just gets worse. I’m so sorry Y/n,” He begins to cry. Your heart shatters for a moment thinking about what he must go through if he deals with this constantly, now with the serum it must have fully taken over him.

“Let’s just get out okay,” You place your hand on his thigh and he tenses beneath you. You squeeze his leg in reassurance before standing up, “P-please don’t tell anyone what you saw, I-I can’t. No one knows.”

“I won’t, Why would I tell them?” He asks sincerely. All you can do is nod, “Y-you can trust me.” Once again, you just nod.

“Do you think everyone else is in here?” You ask, trying to change the topic.

“M-maybe,” He saying, shrinking in on himself.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m fine. We’ll all be fine,” You soothe, “Let’s just find them.”

Thats how you ended up finding the team, fighting Bob in a chicken outfit, and getting out of the void. Only to have Valentina throw a new title on the group right after.

The New Avengers. Including you. Awesome.

And that’s how you ended up here, living in the tower after some much needed renovations. Bob didn’t remember anything after the Void incident but something told you to tell him. So you showed him through your magic. He apologized profusely to the team and kept his distance since then. Honestly, he reminds you a lot of yourself when you first joined the Avengers with Wanda. But you refuse to let him fall into that dark of a hole like you did.

You want to save someone for yourself, for once. You want to save him.

part two!

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queers-gambit · 7 months ago

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The Risk

part one: Match Made in Grey Haven

prompt: after your wedding, you and Elrond embark on your honeymoon touring Middle-earth. your company is attacked on the road by Orcs. help comes from an old friend.

pairing: Elrond x shy!female!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 7.1k+

note: internet researched Elven wedding customs, i don't want to hear it. keep the Elrond requests coming.

warnings: pre events of TROP, the "shyness" more so conveys as inexperience, romance, little bit of fluff, Gil-galad is a girl's girl, and Elven weddings! also cursing! violence! angst! character injury! Orcs! blood! literal hurt and comfort! emotions are hard! abrupt but happy ending, not edited, wonky brain went wonky, and intentionally misspelled words to indicate accent.

You spent a year and a half planning your wedding.

Due to your status amongst the Elves and their court, it was declared the event of the century and the High King himself demanded it be planned to the highest of exquisite detail. Granted, you and Elrond were content to marry in a quicker fashion, leaving it between family, but Gil-galad loved a good party and who were you to refuse your King?

So, you spent about 18 months (on and off) in Lindon, going over details and specifics with Gil-galad while Elrond did the King's actual work. You're positive Elrond was content to escape the wedding planning and honestly, you didn't mind as much as you feared you would because the King was opinionated, decently funny, and decisive. He spared no expense. He encouraged you to branch away from your usual humble taste. He wanted the whole of Elvendom to come together to celebrate. He wanted this occasion to be...his.

You had no objections.

You were honestly relieved someone else wanted to plan such an extraordinary event for you - but were beyond you ready to be married! Several times in the last several months, Elrond actually offered to elope - run away to the Gray Havens and marry before your beloved grandfather, Elrond's old master, Círdan - but the King was putting so much effort into your wedding, you didn't accept. It was nice, though, how mutually anxious Elrond appeared to be to marry you, too.

However, the past three moons, you've been absolutely inconsolable. Your wedding was only days away, Elrond had traveled to Eregion for "business" months ago, and Círdan had yet to arrive! You felt overwhelming panic consume your very being, becoming slightly more irritable as you couldn't help but feel (wrongfully) abandoned - should it not of been for your best mate, fellow Elleth, Bôril. She held your emotions in check, posed as buffer between you and emotional ruin, and was the voice of reason when your rationality vanished.

"What if something happened?" You worried during one of your late night, last minute sessions. "How would we know? What if - while traveling - something went awry?"

Gil-galad sighed gently, "Herald Elrond was sent with some of my most trusted warriors."

"Elrond is warrior enough by himself," Bôril smirked, "you worry for nothing - "

"I am supposed to get married in a matter of days and neither my grandfather nor my intended can be found. I think I have plenty to worry over!" Gil-galad and Bôril shared a knowing look while you wiped your face clear of frustrating fear. "I am not accustomed to not knowing. It's this unknown, the lack of answers that pushes me towards insanity."

"Well," Bôril smirked, her eyes casted towards the hall, "fear no longer, sweet friend, all your answers approach."

In confusion, you turned in the seat you had been slumped in, seeing Elrond and Círdan heading down the hall towards the room you were gathered in. With a gasp, you leapt from your chair and rushed into the causeway towards your dearest loved ones. "Thank the Valar! Elrond!" You gasped first, flinging yourself into his arms; which coiled around you tightly and lifted you, his face burying in your neck. "My love - where were you? What happened - why the delay?" Your voice cracked as your whispered, "You said you'd be only 6 weeks, you were gone twice that! I was so worried!"

"I'm so sorry for worrying you, my star," he whispered back; breath hot in your ear. "I'll explain it all," he promised, lowering you back to your feet to pull back only to instantly take your cheeks in his hands. "I'm sorry it took so long, but I promise, it was for a good reason," he told you softly, thumbs sweeping over the apples of your cheeks; then glancing over pointedly at your grandfather.

"And you!" You scolded playfully. "We expected you weeks ago! Yet you sent no word!"

"We were delayed," Círdan smirked, approaching you as Elrond released his hold; confirming they were together this time. "C'mere, sweet one," he chuckled, bringing you in for a tight embrace. After releasing, he gently tapped the button of your nose, "I am here now, ready to help where I can."

"Oh, please," you chuckled, taking a half-step closer to your betrothed, "there's nothing left to be done, our generous King has planned it all for us. I'm just relieved you are both safe."

Elrond smiled and wrapped his arm around your waist, bringing you in to place a sweet peck on your cheek. "Come," your fiancé encouraged, and when you reentered the planning chambers, you realized others had followed you in.

Evidently, Elrond had gone to Eregion on "business", yes, but it was personal. He had gifted you a ring to symbolize your engagement; modest, silver, simple, gorgeous, and so perfectly "Elrond" - but he wasn't satisfied with it, apparently. As per Elven customs, the engagement rings would be exchanged at the ceremony for wedding bands, and Elrond was determined to give you something extravagant - to prove his adoration. So, he went to Eregion and forged with the Greatest of the Elven Smiths, Lord Celebrimbor, a wedding ring he thought suitable for your finger. Círdan met them to aid in the creation of this gorgeous ring Elrond crafted - insisting you couldn't see it until the ceremony. The trio also crafted Elrond a matching wedding ring that would only accentuate yours; another show of his devotion to you.

Hence their collective delay. Lord Celebrimbor arrived with them, greeting you with mirth; truly excited and honored to have been involved with your wedding band creation.

You were just relieved everyone finally safe and gathered in Lindon. That night, you laid in bed with Elrond; deflated by relief, just staring at him, hand on his cheek, caressing his flesh. "Next time, send word if you're to be late," you requested in a whisper.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "we were so focused, purely driven by creating something that you'll have forever - we lost track of so much time."

"How many rings did you make?"

"Too many. Though, Celebrimbor will have now options to gift others."

You both snickered, sighing with contentment. Then you whispered, "I fear I might owe a few people an apology..."

"Why? What happened?"

"I was... Operating on a short fuse while worried about you. Might've gotten a little snappy."

"You were rude?" He gasped comically. "I didn't know you even knew how to be."

"Hush," you breathed, leaning closer, "I was worried."

"But I'm here now," he promised, hand to your neck encouraging you to kiss him.

After that, the days passed in a breeze, as if a collective sigh of relief had been heaved by all of Lindon.

And then, the morning of your wedding finally arrived and it was like chaos struck. You never knew, but apparently, outside the chambers you used to prepare in, Gil-galad had everyone rushing around to perfect final details; prepare food, set tables, water and arrange flowers, retrieve whatever was requested by other guests. However, you were none the wiser (as he intended), being fretted over by all types of Elves who were impassioned to make you and your day as flawless as possible.

The High King ensured Elrond was taken care of, the young Herald quiet and seemingly concentrated on his thoughts; lips moving without words, repeating his vows to himself silently. Before it could've been questioned, Círdan arrived with a velveteen jewelry box; appearing ready for the day's events, as if awake for hours.

"Here," Círdan smiled, shooing away the attendants so he could sit beside Elrond, "this is for you, my boy."

"My Lord?" Elrond questioned softly, accepting the gift.

"It's customary."

"What is?" He wondered, opening the lid and revealing a gorgeous, glimmering broach. "Lord Círdan - "

"It's custom for the bride's mother to gift her new son-in-law a gem to be worn as a boastful show of the joining of two families," the craftsman explained. "This... This sapphire belonged to my daughter, and now, I'd like you to have it."

"I don't think I could accept - "

"It is customary," Gil-galad stepped in, seeing the refusal ready on Elrond's tongue.

So, Elrond swallowed his nerves and nodded to Círdan, "Thank you, my Lord. This stone is... Beyond words, surely, only it's previous owner could rival it's beauty."

The tears were bright in Círdan's eyes the rest of the day.

Due to the lack of conventional family, the ceremony was kept between only the High King Gil-galad as officiant and Círdan as witness. The King had designated a private overlook for your ceremony, standing at the cliffside under the golden glow of the Great Tree with Elrond in fine velvet tunics; gorgeous sapphire glittering on his chest, keeping his father's cloak in place as his own special tribute. Just as the sky turned heavenly, sun in position to set, Círdan began to lead you down the pathway - towards your forever.

Elrond choked on air, tears slowly filling his eyes.

You were draped in the finest of silks, a thin veil covering your face; hair in long ringlets, pinned back from your face in an elegant updo. It was like the Light of Valinor itself was shining through you, nearly blinding Elrond with sheer bliss. It was almost as if time slowed, nearly stilling completely; as if your form was moving in slow motion. Even under the sheer veil, Elrond could see your grin and suddenly, he couldn't hear, see, smell, feel anything but your love and light.

With a gentle sniffle, Elrond glanced at Gil-galad, who was beaming with pride already; his own growing, which nobody realized was even possible. Upon approach, Elrond instantly met you at the base of the stone stairs; watching Círdan give a watery smile while hugging you sweetly. He pulled back, gently lifted the veil to flip over your head, and sighed while caressing both cheeks.

In Sindarin, he whispered, "They'd be so proud of the woman you've become... And the man you're marrying. Just as I am."

Now, Elrond choked on his emotion.

"Thank you for everything," you managed to whisper, your grandfather sighing gently before guiding your hand from his into Elrond's. He joined Gil-galad on the platform, both watching proudly as Elrond was at a loss for words - only able to look you up and down.

Finally, he breathed in Sindarin, "Gorgeous."

Before the Elven High King and under your grandfather's loving eye, you and Elrond exchanged vows during sunset. It was intimate and private, either of you slipping your engagement rings off as Círdan presented your wedding bands. You gasped when you saw the ring Elrond crafted for the first time, looking at him with wide eyes, voice gentle as you asked, "You made this?"

"I did."

"For... Me?"

Elrond smiled, "Of course. A wife as beautiful as you deserves a ring that could only strive to embody your shine."

"Don't make me scold you for being so cheesy on our wedding day, my love, please," you giggled, Elrond chuckling while he took your hand to splay before him. He slid the ring onto your index finger, allowing you to do the same with his matching band. Neither of you were able to contain your glee when Gil-galad pronounced you officially as man and wife - Elrond all but lunging forward to hold your cheeks, swooping in to sear your lips with his kiss. You were just as excited, holding onto his biceps to keep him close; feeling warmth swell and burst in your chest as you realized... You were finally married.

After, at the feast Gil-galad had planned, the whole of Lindon was decorated and celebrating your union; hosts of food on long banquet tables, live bands entertaining the crowds, lanterns and candles glowing, conversation turning boisterous as Elves indulged on the castes of wine gifted or collected by the King.

Who, if you were wondering, was hosting the entire affair and having a splendid time as Bôril danced with Camnir - seemingly to Vorohil's chagrin, which Elrond pointed out to you first.

You were just happy to bask in your husband's glory; unable to believe he was yours, that you get to spend your life with him, that you were bound together. He seemed... Youthful in this setting; a young lad that was forced to grow up too quickly, finally able to appreciate the attention directed at him while gracefully accepting words of congratulations everywhere he turned. It was so simple, something decently mundane, but you found it impressive; the way Elrond could accept conversation from just anyone.

It simply intimidated you; content with your written letters and accounts, never truly needing to interact with people on this level. You were better, not quite as shy as before, but old habits die hard and overcoming social anxiety was a lifelong profession. Speaking of, your anxiety spiked from the sheer number of attendants, but Elrond was both sword and shield - intercepting people left and right, saving you from any "on the spot" moments.

The party went deep into the night, and while it was a fun time - complete with Bôril challenging the High King to a silly drinking game, Celebrimbor teaching the steps to an old dance, and Vorohil getting shot down by several Elleths - you were beyond exhausted. Perhaps you didn't hide it as well as you thought because Elrond slid into his empty seat and instantly leaned into your ear to ask, "All right, love?"

"Hmm? Yeah, 'course," you answered, setting the glass of First Age wine (a gift from Celebrimbor) aside to focus on him. Gently caressing his chin, you asked, "You all right?"

"Perfect, actually, just look at my wife," he mused, "though, you look tired, my star."

You hummed, "Can't fool you, can I?"

"It's my job now," he chuckled, letting you lean in gleefully to peck his lips. "How about we slip away? Hm?" He whispered softly, glancing around dramatically - like he was conducting a secret mission.

"Yes, please," you hissed, both snickering lightly. Like a couple of randy youths, you stood with the gifted First Age bottle, hands tangled together, 'sneaking' away to your rooms; thinking you were pulling it off, being so sneaky.

"Oh, bless their hearts, look. Look! I love those idiots," Bôril giggled to the King, "they're so obvious! Look at them go!"

"They're in loooove," Gil-galad teased, refilling his goblet.

"Guess they just can't wait to consummate their marriage, huh? Good for Elrond," Camnir snickered, freezing when Círdan's blank stare registered. "I-I'm so sorry, my Lord, I did not - I misspoke - I didn't think you, uh... I'm sorry."

Círdan just groaned lightly, his friend, Lord Celebrimbor, leaning over to top off his glass and encourage it closer to him; patting his shoulder in sympathy. Bôril and Gil-galad truly tried to hold back, but the scene was truly comical to witness and the two laughed so hard, they ended up leaning on each other and slumping in their chairs.

The party continued without you and Elrond, but it's safe to say, you were engaged in a party of your own.

"You've been quiet, love," you noted softly, one hand held tightly by Elrond's, the other holding your horse's reins; walking to give them a break on this leg of the journey. For weeks, you've been on the road together, touring Middle-earth as part of your honeymoon.

Never having been anywhere other than the Gray Havens and Lindon, you were like a new born fawn in the wilderness - but it was exhilarating to travel.

"Hmm?"

"You're pensive," you amended.

"I am simply in thought, my star, nothing of concern," Elrond assured.

"You're sullen."

"I don't mean to be," he sighed.

"What's troubling you?"

Elrond was quiet for a long moment, stepping carefully as neither of you noticed thick, dark clouds beginning to fill the sky. Finally, he admitted quietly, "We are not far from Khazad-dûm."

You hummed in understanding, then pondered while stepping around overgrown tree roots, "Remind me why we did not extend Prince Durin a wedding invitation?"

"We did," Elrond informed, sighing deeply, "he just... Did not respond..."

"That does not sound like him, based on your account."

"No, it was truly... Odd," Elrond admitted, "perhaps being why I feel strange being close to his kingdom now."

"Do you wish to visit?"

"We don't have the time - "

"We can make time, Elrond," you insisted, squeezing his hand with a grin. "And as far as anyone is concerned, the great Dwarven Kingdom of Khazad-dûm is part of Middle-earth, and therefor, part of our tour. I'd like to meet your friend, my sweet. Now, which direction?"

"We don't have time, starlight, we are expected by Lord - "

But Elrond came to a sudden halt, pulling you into his side as both your horses stamped and whinnied loudly; tossing their heads and snorting, the whites of the eyes flashing as ears flattened as they suddenly stopped in place. You flinched into your husband's side, the horses restless, guards circling around the pair of you quickly. Darkness descended.

"What is it?" You asked in concerned confusion.

"Something is amiss," Elrond rushed, looking confused and concentrated. "I-I do not know what, but the shadow has stretched. C'mere, mount up, my love, quickly, please."

"My Lord," Vorohil, one of your guards and a friend to your husband, directed his horse between yours while Elrond ensured you were safely seated, "there's a darkness to the path ahead, the horses - they are refusing to go forward. It grows darker, my Lord."

You had to reseat yourself as Elrond mounted; the horses backing away as there sounded a ghostly moan from the woods surrounding you.

"This darkness?" Elrond repeated, "Where did it come from? 'Tis midday - "

"Look around us!" Vorohil barked, Elrond sending him a sharp look before looking up - realizing there seemed to be a sort of dark cloud covering the sun, your path, and the woods surrounding you.

You gasped when there came a sudden, horrendous, guttural screech in an echo, making it impossible to locate the origin; and suddenly, a force bodied into your side. It knocked you from your horse, but due to the sudden nature of the attack, also took your beast down with you.

You were lucky your leg didn't shatter on impact.

You heard Elrond scream your name; body hitting the dirt and rolling a few feet before being halting by a boulder. Your sight cleared, evened out, gasping again and shoving yourself against the jagged rock in an attempt to create distance when you saw the horrid, gangly creature made of pure, tangible darkness - pure evil - muddy and growling while surging towards you with gnashing teeth.

A sword decapitated the creature before it could reach you, making you flinch at the show of violence. Your name was spoken in a rush, but you couldn't comprehend hearing words yet; staring at the dead creature, twitching from the severed nervous system at your feet - spewing black blood. Your eyes caught sight of it splattered up your skirt.

Boots hit the ground, a pair of hands caressing both your cheeks and making you gasp in panic. But Elrond's worried face was in front of yours, speaking soothingly in Sindarin, "Easy, easy, be calm, it's me, my love, it's just me. I'm so sorry, but we have to go - now, my love, please, get up for me, come with me - "

"My Lord!"

"Elrond!"

Elrond was forced to stand over you and use his bloody blade to defend you both; choking back tears as you realized this was an ambush by Orcs, creatures of pure hate; something Middle-earth thought extinct after not having been seen in an age. And you were defenseless.

"NO!" You gasped when a hand came around your throat, hoisting back into the boulder; holding you in place as two Orcs ravaged your body for anything of value they could've taken. When they tried taking your wedding ring, you fought back harder - struggling in their putrid arms, sobbing, trying to stave them off. "ELROND!" You begged, gagging when the hand around your throat constricted to close your airway.

"Just cut the bloody thing off!"

You whimpered when you were overpowered, hand flattened to the rock forcefully; fingers spread, the Orcs snarling as a dagger was brandished and stabbed directly into the boulder through your pointer finger.

"Y/N!" Vorohil was heard struggling, your cries muffled from the lack of air and tight hand. The gem-glittering belt you wore was yanked from your waist just as the Orc holding you hostage was ripped away, making the other react by stabbing your lung with his dagger between your ribs.

After Elrond killed the first Orc, he instantly engaged the second; only Vorohil catching sight of you freezing before slowly collapsing against the boulder and sliding down it. He noted the smear of blood you left on the rock before the blade protruding from your ribcage.

You were in shock. The pain was insurmountable, yet you felt nothing at the same time. Numb. Confused. Overwhelmed. Paralyzed.

The fighting lasted several long minutes after that, your dress now properly saturated as you knew enough survival skills to not pull the blade free of an injury; it acted as a plug to keep the blood from pouring OUT of your body. You were left on the ground, slumped, weakly holding your wound and feeling unable to react when an Orc leered closer to you.

Elrond's blade emerged from the Orc's chest and was yanked free, the body dropping to reveal your husband; bloodied, panting, caught off guard, but obviously fairing well enough. He was in the heat of the moment, battle turning his blood hot, eyes catching something glittering in the mud and only thinking how out of place it looked. When he blinked, Elrond realized it was your wedding ring - complete with your severed finger still in it.

Elrond snatched the digit from the mud, eyes raking over you, needing to do a double look when he realized the extent of your injuries. Your finger was lost but your ring was secured in your husband's belt.

"No," he whimpered, rushing forward and dropping his sword to take hold of your cheek; blood gently leaking from your nose at a slow but steady pace. "No, no, no, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, stay with me, stay awake for me," he begged, sniffling emotion as his other hand laid over yours around the dagger's handle, "just let me see, let me see the damage, my love, c'mon, I've got you. I need to see to help."

You were too weak to fight him anyways, letting his muddy hand pry yours away to reveal the weeping wound. His eyes widened, nodding as he assessed the situation; wanting to get you out of here, but the Orcs weren't yet vanquished.

In fact, Elrond was tackled off you by another Orc, crying out when the momentum yanked the dagger free. Ironic timing, perhaps, because an injured Orc was clawing at your legs; biting at your flesh; making you grit your teeth, pick up the dagger, and drive it into the Orc's eye. You were relieved when the creature stopped moving; adrenaline instantly draining and making you slump back once more.

You didn't notice when the Orcs were fully killed off until Elrond was propping you up again, sprayed in blood and mud, tears in his warm brown eyes. "No, my starlight, no, you have to stay awake, you must," he reminded, getting one arm around you, the other first laying to your openly bleeding wound, then shoving the dead Orc off your legs. Elrond cursed in Sindarin when he noted the bite marks, how dirty nails left deep streaks after clawing up your body. "Please, stay awake," he hissed, cradling you into his chest before calling out, "Vorohil!"

"My Lord!"

"We need to get her to a healer - where? Where?" He begged, sniffling as you were shifted into his arms and lifted; few surviving horses being wrangled in.

"I don't - I don't know - "

"You are the cartographer!" Elrond snapped, "Tell me where to take her, where are we closest - !?"

"My Lord," Vorohil sighed, "t-the closest civilization to these parts is-is Khazad-dûm - "

"Hurry!" He barked, situating you sideways on his horse before swiftly mounting; settling you into his chest with a secure hold. The others were left in the dirt as Elrond spurred his steed onward, knowing the way to the Great Dwarven Kingdom of Khazad-dûm.

Upon arriving at the gates, he was a frenzied mess. Elrond doesn't even remember the procession of events; he just knows his men showed up at his flank, he was holding your limp body, begging for aid, and someway, somehow, was then lead into the Kingdom's healing quarters.

"Elrond?" A voice questioned softly, a few nurses and healers checking over the remaining company as you were laid on a surgical table. "Is tha'... You?"

He looked over, eyes void, dead, still splattered in the blood and grime of his enemies. "Durin," Elrond whispered.

"What happened?" The Dwarf Prince asked carefully, taking a slow step forward.

"We... We were..." Elrond looked back at you, hating how many healers surrounded you, "We were attacked - just less than a league from here."

"I see. Who... Who attacked you?"

"A pack of Orcs," he whispered, stumbling back into a wall as his breathing turned ragged, "while we were on the road."

"She's not breathing!" It was announced, Elrond sliding to the floor as horror struck his face. Panic seized his heart, short circuited his brain.

"Elrond?" Durin worried, Disa rushing into the room after him. "Hey? Can yah hear me?" The ginger asked, hand to Elrond's shoulder. "Elrond? Elrond, can yah - "

"I need help! Hold here! She's bleeding!"

"I can't see the wound - cut the corset!"

" - the finger's been lost - "

"She's got bruising on her neck, help me save her windpipe!"

Elrond's breathing became erratic, knees pulling into his chest as his men stood firm in support. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, Durin asking his name again, then, "Who is she?"

"M-My wife - she's my wife, Durin, she's my wife - "

"Okay, okay, okay," Durin comforted, kneeling to the ground at Elrond's side; keeping themselves separate as Disa neared them slowly. Durin shot her a look, silently saying 'close enough', and she stopped - heart aching for the devastation on the Elf's face.

"What's this? An Elf!?" Another Dwarf was heard barking.

"We do not deny aid!" A different Healer Dwarf barked, quickly shedding your dress and revealing your wounds to the room; making a few avert their eyes and hiss as ebony poison had taken to the veins around the wound.

"Do what needs done!" Durin barked, "To save her life! Use any means necessary!"

"You heard your Prince!"

"C'mon," Disa encouraged the Elves, "we should let the Healers work, we do not want to get in their way."

"Is there... Somewhere we can wait, nearby?" Vorohil asked nervously, glancing at you, who was being fussed over as blood splattered onto the ground; wound raging, blood covering your side as they seemed to aggravate the wound in order to clean it of the infection. "What if they need us?" Vorohil whispered.

"We have somewhere close-by for yah's," Disa assured. "Durin?" She asked, "Perhaps Elrond would like t'wait with us?"

"We'll be along," he agreed, knowing Elrond was like a rock in that moment. Disa lead the others away, leaving Durin to sigh and take a seat beside Elrond; just watching the Healers at work. "So, uh, how long yeh been married?"

"We... We sent you, um, a, uh..."

"Oh, right, yeah, yeah, of course. So... Only a couple months, then?"

"Seems like no time at all."

Durin chuckled, "Nah, two months in? You's two are still in that blissful state."

"And when it ends?"

"Oh, yeh'll see, married life becomes all yah know." Durin sighed, hating himself but needing to ask, "What happened to her, Elrond?"

The Elf shook his head, the tears never ending; suffocating him. "The horses," he managed to choke out.

"What of 'em?"

Elrond gulped. "They picked up on it first - that's what I noticed. They didn't want to go down the path, then this sort of darkness came... It was quick... It happened so quick, Durin, I did not - I did not see nor hear them. We were unprepared."

"What else?" Durin was unusually soft.

Elrond shook his head, "I got her on her horse, something didn't feel right. I thought - I just thought to get her out of there, get to safety - you know?"

"Just in case?"

"Yes. But the darkness - it brought them, let them move in the daylight. They tackled her from her horse - I tried to get to her. I swear, Durin, I tried, but it was all so fast - I didn't even see her get hurt. I just found her like that, holding on. What kind of husband can't even defend his own wife? By the end... She was... She wasn't..."

Elrond melted into sobs, folding in on himself, Durin's frown deep and concerning. Despite his own feelings of malcontent towards his old friend, he reached out and let his arm wrap around Elrond's neck. This allowed the Elf to lean into the Dwarf's neck and absolutely lose his shit. Not like anyone heard him, though; the Healers all yelling over one another as they rushed around in an effort to pull the blackened poison from your body.

You don't remember much. Just pain.

Then you remember voices. They were all around you, yet hazy; like you were underwater.

You remember smells - like alcohol and disinfectant.

You remember warmth in your hand; a weight, a constant presence that you squeezed when you felt ready to open your eyes. The twilight had passed, you were awake, a soothing voice cooing and encouraging you back into reality. It was just hard to pull yourself out of the tarpit your mind was seemingly lost in.

Upon regaining consciousness, you were greeted by Elrond's tearful expression of relief. "My love," he spoke clearly, "can you hear me?" You nodded, trying to open your mouth, but he rushed, "No, no, do not - don't do that, don't try to talk. Save your strength, please. You're okay." You nodded again, watching his watery smile warble before dissolving into sobs. "I thought you wouldn't make it," he admitted through his emotional breakdown, hovering close to you if only to feel your warmth and be assured that blood still pumped freely through your body.

"I had reason to come back," you whispered, earning a stony look of reprimand before he sighed and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

"Here, I have something for you," Elrond sniffled, reaching for his belt, "and I cannot keep it any longer." Your brows furrowed when your husband retrieved a bright gem, quickly realizing it was your wedding ring. Elrond saw your confusion, lifting your hand to place the ring on your pointer finger - making you lift the other, finding it bandaged with only four fingers. Your head snapped towards Elrond, but he begged, "Please, just rest, my star, you've been through enough - "

"What happened?" You demanded in a gravely voice.

"Do not - "

"Tell me."

Elrond sighed and situated himself at your side, careful not to jostle your form. "Well, first... We are in the Dwarven Kingdom of Khazad-dûm." He descended into the tale of how you lost your ring and obtained further injury, then rushed to get help, being reunited with Prince Durin, and ending on how you've been asleep for 'too long'.

You croaked, "I'd like to thank our hosts..."

"That can wait until you've rested longer. You've been unconscious for days."

"Then I've rested enough."

"I almost lost you," Elrond growled, "you will not move, not until you are cleared to do so. And I have the best authority to ensure you follow the rules."

You chuckled, "Oh?"

Elrond went to answer, but frowned in a panic when you started coughing from the dry prickle in your mouth and throat; quickly fetching the cup of water from the side stand. "Easy, my star, here, carefully, carefully," he whispered, holding the back of your neck, helping you sit up only slightly as to not irritate your abdomen, and tip the cup to your mouth to fill it with cold, fresh water.

"How's our patient doin' today, Elrond?" A voice asked cheerfully, "I'm tellin' yah, I can feel it, she'll be awake in no time, real soon, and then you'll actually sleep - "

"You have not slept!?" You asked sharply, looking to Elrond and noting the contradiction to his flesh; how pale he appeared with dark circles under his eyes, cheeks sunken.

Yes, Elves didn't need sleep like humans or Dwarves, but still, they needed some - and it was evident Elrond had none.

The Dwarf gasped and whirled around to spy you awake and conscious on the stony bed they had layered with fluff, furs, and blankets for your comfort. She dropped the tray of nutrients to another table, looking like she wanted to rush you. "You're awake!" She squealed.

"Disa - "

"DURIN!" She bellowed, hiking up her skirts and rushing from the room, "SHE'S AWKAE! DURIN! DUUURIN!"

You couldn't help the laughter that burst forth, wincing when your side seared in pain - making you choke on air. Elrond muttered to himself in Sindarin, finding a wet cloth and approaching your injury, carefully lifting the thin sheet covering you and peeling the bandage off. You heard Elrond hiss between his teeth, you trying to glance at the mark - but your husband would not let you. "Just stay still, my love," he whispered, "this won't take long, but it might sting - "

You grunted and whimpered when Elrond began soaking your wound; the cold water feeling nice in the hot infection, but making you squirm from discomfort. "Elrond," you begged, hand slapping to his wrist, "please."

"I know, but it needs cleaned - it won't hurt forever, my love."

"Oi," the Dwarf, Disa, snapped as she reentered the room, "get away from there, Elrond, go, go, go, shoo, let me through."

"Disa - "

"No," She now scolded Elrond, pushing him to stand straight and take the cloth from him, "your only job is to be a husband, not Healer - that's my job. You stand over there, hold her hand, and - DURIN!" She suddenly shouted towards the door, where a ginger Dwarf revealed himself sheepishly.

"Oh," you breathed in interest, trying to sit up a little, "Prince Durin, what an honor - "

"Oh, no, no, you don't, lassie, you lay back - just lay back."

"Listen to Disa, starlight," Elrond worried, both their hands reaching out to try to gently encourage you back down.

"It's customary to greet royalty on your feet - "

"Not in yer state, dearie," Disa comforted softly, patting your shoulder; Elrond gently caressing the top of your head. "Just rest - Durin will come to you," She shot her husband a look, who slowly entered the room.

"I just - I want to thank you, Prince Durin," you stuttered, wincing as Disa started tending to your wound again. "For saving me - or saving us, so I hear."

"Ah," Durin cleared his throat, nodding with pursed lips, "'twas nothing, uh, my Lady, we just... Couldn't say no to the state of things."

"Still. Thank you," you breathed. "And for your friendship to Elrond, it's been - "

"Starlight," Elrond quietly discouraged you with a small head shake, looking just as uncomfortable as the ruddy-faced Dwarf.

"What? What's wrong?" You asked, but neither man could meet your eyes. So, you looked to Disa, "What did I say?"

"Oh, you said nothin', dearie; 's just two stubborn mules refusin' to speak of the boulder in the room," she tisked with a small smirk.

"Do you think this boulder has to do with your absence from our wedding? I must admit, I allowed myself to feel excited, thinking we'd finally meet; and was entirely saddened by your lack of attendance."

"I know, sweetling, me too," she assured with a sigh, "but their boulder is truly suffocatin' - prevents them from speakin'."

"Oh-hhhh," you hitched the word to exaggerate, both your husbands stunned into silence by the quickly casual conversation, "so, like most men?"

"Mhm," she hummed sassily. "Friends for decades, Durin even considers Elrond a brother - "

" - So does Elrond - "

" - And yet, the fools cannot bear t'speak few words t'mend the bond! Oh, it's absolutely pigheaded!"

"What exactly needs mending?" You pondered softly. "I thought..." You looked over to see Elrond's head bowed, both hands resting in your single one; looking ashamed. "Elrond?" You asked, squeezing his hand.

"It's nothin' of note anymore, my Lady," Durin stepped in, making your suspicion grow, "just... A little, uh..."

"Distance," Elrond supplied finally, lifting his head and nodding, "our tension stems from a matter of distance."

"Hm," you noted, turning to Disa - who was already offering you a tired, pointed look. "What do you know of this boulder?"

"Oh, aye, it's distance," she nodded, frowning, "some... 20 years of it? Or just about."

"Has it been only 20?" Elrond questioned softly, looking earnestly to his friend; who stiffly looked away, but you saw the cracks in the ginger's foundation.

"'Only'?" You repeated, Disa sending her husband a look. "Prince Durin, my Princess, you must forgive my husband - he can forget how... Long life is. 20 years is a mere blink to an Elf, but to the other races, Elrond, it's a lifetime."

"I did not mean to offend," Elrond told you.

"I know, love, but you speak to the wrong person - I am not the one who deserves to hear your apologies," you said, pointing at Durin with your wedding ring firmly in place.

Elrond agreed and turned to his friend, admitting, "I'm sorry for the offense I've caused. I did not realize so much time had passed." Durin scoffed, Disa growling his name. "Is there more I've done? I do not understand, I have missed my friend - "

"Missed!? Yah missed my weddin'!" Durin snarled in a shout, your head resting on the pillow under your head and deflating in pain as Disa worked to fix one of the stitches.

"You missed ours - "

"And the birth of my children! Two of 'em!" Durin tacked on. "You cannot barge into my mountain and demand I welcome you with open arms! You cannot claim that which you discarded! I did yah this favor because of the obvious threat to life, and I comforted you in the wake of yer wife's injury! I ignored my own woes and bygones because that was the decent thing t'do! I mean," he chuckled without humor, "even when yeh wrong me and refuse to even take ownership - accountability - for yer wrongdoings, I still comfort yah!"

"'Discarded'? 'Refuse to take'..." Elrond repeated, "Durin, I - "

"It's as yer wife said!" Durin growled, "20 years might be the blink of an eye to an Elf... But I've lived an entire life in that time!" Emotion caked Durin's tone. "A life you missed! So, yeah, yeh know what? We missed yer weddin', yeah... But you've missed the past 20 years..." There came an awkward sort of silence, the group stewing in their tension. The Dwarven Prince scoffed a couple times as Elrond processed his words, asking with attitude, "So what do yah have t'say to that... 'Friend'?"

You smirked gently as Elrond did not respond, instead slowly approaching his friend as if a skittish, injured deer. Slowly, in a fluid movement, Elrond laid his hand to Durin's shoulder, squeezing as he spoke with sincerity, "Congratulations." Disa laid her hand in your bandaged one, both smiling as she paused her cleaning session to watch and listen. "On your wife, your children," Elrond elaborated. He slowly retracted his hand, "And thank you for your help, the aid that saved my wife's life. Thank you for comforting me, too; I hope you can come to forgive me."

You cleared your throat, the two turning to find their wives watching them smugly. "I think you might owe someone else an apology, my love," you whispered.

"Disa - "

"Don't even," she beamed, "yer already forgiven."

"Ah, don't let him off easy," Durin grumbled.

"His wife almost died in front of him, I think that's reparation enough."

Durin paused for a long moment, then nodded, "Yeah, all right, fair enough."

"Now," Disa announced, standing, "I think the Lady's wound is as good as it'll get for now - it's up to you for the rest of the healing," she patted your shoulder.

"On the morrow, we shall - "

"Oh, no, you mistake me," Disa smirked to Elrond, "there's no leavin' yet. She's not ready - she can't sit on a horse, one awkward bump on the road and she'll pop a stitch, start bleeding, risk worse infection - "

"How long?" Elrond worried, magnetized to your side again with one hand in yours, the other caressing the top of your head to stroke your hair in calming motions.

"Just a few days, until the stitches come out," Disa assured. "Yeh'll stay with us!"

"No, they will not," Durin argued.

"They're staying."

"They're leaving."

"They're staying!" Disa scolded her husband, who huffed and shook his head before pacing in a circle. "Now, yeh wanna try t'move around a bit, love?"

"Please," you begged, "losing my mind just sittin' here."

"All right, just be careful - your legs took a beatin', too. Them buggers got you good with their teeth - easy, easy, there's a good girl." Once on your feet and both hands in Disa's, she distracted you from the pain by asking, "So, go on, lass, tell us 'bout yer weddin', hmm?"

You chuckled, stumbling a little into her arms before rightening yourself while answering, "Oh, it was lovely. 'M pretty sure my best friend hooked up with the High King, too."

"No!"

"I know! I knew the King wanted the party of the century, but there's other ways to achieve such status."

Durin snickered, thinking Elrond looked like he was going to have a stroke as Disa helped guide you around the room to earn your bearings. Behind you, Durin's hand held Elrond's shoulder to keep him in place; letting Disa assist you as the two men appreciated the obvious relationship blooming before them.

And years from now, when your daughter rescued the Ring Bearing Hobbit, Frodo Baggins, your husband would heal him; a direct result after nearly losing your life that caused him to study the art.

part one: Match Made in Grey Haven

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yetanotherexhaustedalchemist · 4 months ago

Text

Yet more TWST HCs

Cater likes gossiping with the living paintings around campus. He tells them all the modern-day student tea and they tell him about the drama that went down two centuries ago in return. (He has acquired a surprising amount of blackmail material on the staff through this.)

If Lilia can't find Silver anywhere, the first place he checks is Scarabia. That's because whenever Kalim finds Silver asleep in a weird place, he gets Carpet to scoop Silver up and take him back for a nice place to nap.

Fellow/Ernesto is LUCKY that the event ended the way it did. If he actually succeeded in capturing everyone (and not imminently letting them go), he would have had some of the most powerful people and organizations in the world after him. (Is this even a headcanon? Idk)

Ace can do the splits. Idk why this makes sense to me. He's not very flexible besides that though, somehow

When he's particularly annoyed at Azul and Floyd, Jade leaves pebbles and gravel in hidden places that they'll only notice when they're going to use it (like in Floyd's shoes or in the jar for Azul's quill ink).

Yuu and Ruggie form a pact after Chapter 2 where they exchange chores and errands sometimes. Like if Yuu takes care of the laundry, Ruggie will do the shopping and drop Yuu's groceries off at Ramshackle. Later, Jamil joins the pact as well. (In return for a good dinner, they'll take care of Kalim for however long he needs for a break.)

Vil does a great job of making any trans/nonbinary students in Pomefiore feel welcome and at home. He offers haircuts, make up and fashion advice, voice training and more to anyone who asks.

Riddle is very sheltered when it comes to romance, even when it doesn't regard himself. Because of this, he has a tendency to assume a couple are just friends despite how close they are (like Vil and Rook) or think a duo is already a couple (Adeuce). This has led to many miscommunications and unintentionally funny situations.

Kalim actually does invite Malleus to a lot more events than he thinks, but the invitation always ends up getting lost due to improbable chains of errors.

Rook's family is from the Shaftlands nearby Fleur City, but they've lived in the Sunset Savannah for several generations.

Yuu's come up with a Fun Little Game for Friday game nights (usually with the first years but anyone who's interested is welcome) where Yuu tells them about a historical event from their world and everyone has to guess if it actually happened, or if Yuu's just making things up. Every time they think they've figured things out, Yuu hits them with a "the country that declared war on birds and lost is an actual thing that happened".

I don't think literally anything in-game suggests this, but. Hey. Memories from the 'lost in a book' events, while they vanish out of the books, carry over to other books. So when appearing in The Nightmare Before Christmas, Yuu, Riddle and Azul get all their memories from Stitch's Tropical Turbulence flooding back.

When Silver was young, there were a few occasions where he wanted to do something that was exclusive to rainy days (jumping in puddles, looking for frogs/worms or just listening to the rain, ect) but it was sunny with no chance of it raining. If he was ever particularly disappointed, Lilia would just so happen to mention the problem to Malleus. It could start raining minutes later. (Did he do it? Of course not, what a silly question.)

Ruggie usually avoids Jade (fair, he's terrifying), but they've had a few good conversations about common edible plants. It was surprisingly informative for them both. Jade now sometimes 'just so happens' to bump into Ruggie and continues the discussion, and Ruggie is smart enough to not bring up how convenient it all is.

Silver often helps pigeons build their nests. He's also unexpectedly passionate about messenger pigeons, and how messed up it is that they were bred to be messengers and then called dirty when they weren't useful anymore.

Yuu does this thing where they say the most insane, out-of-left-field things which baffle their friends, then when they're asked about it later, they swear they don't remember saying that. (It's usually something vaguely prophetic, exhausted and annoyed, or about The Mouse.)

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ivymarquis · 1 year ago

Text

Happiness is a Butterfly

It's been literal months since I read @ceilidho's divorce AU and guess what it is still rattling around in my brain because it is just scrumptious.

This is what I vanished to work on lol

Pairing| John Price x F!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 10.6k Kinks/Content/Warnings| 3rd person reader, Post Divorce John Price x Wife!Reader, Attempting to co parent, John is obnoxiously agreeable until he no longer wants to be, there is the s l i g h t e s t mention where reader is worried John might snap but he doesn't scout's honor, squirting, unprotected PiV, blow job, face sitting, unplanned pregnancy, childbirth, reproductive coercion if you squint, baby trapping if you squint, it is a lil dubby because John doesn't do anything behind Reader's back but he steamrolls the fuck out of her into getting what he wants lmao

The words choke in her throat like they don’t want to leave.

Maybe that’s a higher power giving her just one last out to change her mind- to not say the four words that will upend the lives of everyone in the household.

She can barely bring herself to look at him.

In the decade they’ve been married his temper has never been something she’s been afraid of, but in that moment it is all she can think about; every headline she’s ever read of a soldier snapping and killing his wife and children floating in her mind like a neon sign flashing danger.

She’s never feared his temper but she’s also never croaked out the words I want a divorce to him before either.

Her arms cross over her body as her gaze settles a bit off to the side of him. Everything about her body language is closed off and cagey as he looks up from his desk- no doubt having been mentally preparing for another round of come to bed, love - in a minute darling, almost done only to be caught off guard by the actual request.

He doesn’t answer her as he sits back in his chair, looking at her.

She chooses now to choke out the words because she really doesn’t think she has it in her to say the words with him standing. He’s sitting- still imposing as ever even if he’s always been magnanimous around the house- and she’s on the other side of the room avoiding eye contact.

He stands, still silent as the grave, before walking towards her in slow, measured steps and coming to a halt right in front of her. The ground has become absolutely fascinating as she refuses to meet his gaze.

As his hand raises she imperceptibly starts to shift, but absolutely nothing escapes John’s notice. “Don’t,” he starts before clearing his throat, his tone softer as he speaks again, “Don’t do that. You know me better than that.”

This time she doesn’t move as he goes to cup her face- takes her chin in hand and forces her head up. “Look me in the eye and say it again.”

It takes a moment for her to scrape together her nerves, eyes picking up off the floor to meet his. She’s not sure entirely what she expected but she thinks she assumed there’d be more of a reaction. He’s watching her- thinking- as she stumbles over the words.

Doubt twists in her gut as once again she squeaks out “I want a divorce.”

“Is there someone else?” he asks evenly.

��No! John I’d never-” It’s true; ever since he’d turned her head all those years ago she’s been blind where other men are concerned.

“Okay,” he soothes with his thumb against her cheek and she’s suddenly aware that this is probably not how this conversation should be going. “I believe you. Are you sure this is what you want?”

She’s been agonizing over this for months. She’s not even sure what gauntlet was thrown down to make her say enough is enough and have today be the day. Nothing spectacular has happened.

Maybe that’s reason enough. His job is always just the higher priority. While he always ensures his family is cared for while away, he drops everything for work in a way that simply isn’t reciprocated at home. Even when he’s physically here he spends so much time locked in this damn office he might as well be back at base.

Nothing has changed after begging and pleading and she is tired with a bone weary ache.

Are you sure this is what you want? Echos in her head while he awaits an answer.

“Yes.” No. “I’m so tired of being alone,” she confesses. “I’m tired of constantly having to beg you to be here even when you’re home. If I am going to be by myself raising the boys then I just need to be by myself.”

He doesn’t seem surprised by the words in the slightest. Probably because they’ve been having the same argument for years. This is not the first time she’s been frustrated with his job.

“Okay,” she can’t believe her ears with his easy acceptance. “If this is what you want, then okay.”

She sobs- alone- in their bed like the entire situation isn’t her fault, burying her face in the bedding to stifle herself from the kids. John’s gone.

Everything goes about as smoothly as it can. John doesn’t fight her on anything. With his schedule there’s no point in ironing out a visitation schedule through the courts. They agree to just work it out when they can, given how he can be called away at a moment’s notice.

They’re adults. They can handle this.

Once her nerves settle from the initial shock of actually saying the words to him, and she’s had a few days to think on his reaction, she decides she’s pissed.

The easy acceptance ruffles her feathers in a way she can’t put to words. She gave him a decade of her life, a home, three children- has kept everything running seamlessly while he jumped in and out of their lives to answer the call of duty and he didn’t even try to fight for her.

If he was being sullen or grouchy with her it would be easier to process everything- all the things set into motion that she started.

Perhaps she’s projecting. But he just acts like nothing is amiss as he comes by to pick up the boys or drop them off or just stop by to spend time with them.

She wakes up on the 15th and right on time she is awoken by a ding from her phone.

Perhaps, she thinks, it is a lapse in judgment to kick him out for not being around, given that she’s now cut into what already little time he has to spend with them. Isn’t that the focus of her argument? That it’s too difficult for the boys?

Their boys- three of them, each one a head taller than the last- are understandably devastated and struggling to deal with very big, very complex feelings that result in major meltdowns and fights. They blame her and they’re not wrong.

Then one day, when old habits die hard and she confides in John tearfully one day as he’s returned from his latest deployment to see them, while she can’t say it stops all together she can say there’s a marked improvement when they come back.

What did he tell them?

Her phone dings on the 1st like it always does every other week and her agitation is palpable.

She doesn’t even need to look at the notification.

John isn’t missing a beat this entire time and he’s driving her crazy.

The notification is from the bank, of an entirely too large deposit to an account that only she has access to. John’s name is not on it and he can’t touch anything in it.

He can however put money in it.

He is as steadfast and agreeable as always while stubborn enough to just bulldoze into getting his way.

She knows she should be grateful. That so many ex husbands abandon their children and former wives in favor of some shiny new girlfriend. That it would be so easy for him to throw her “if I'm going to be by myself then I'm going to be by myself” back in her face.

Her career had been put on hold with the boys. When everyone was older and in school and didn’t need her so much the plan had been to go back. And then John had kept putting babies in her and the timeline got pushed further back with the subsequent births of their two youngest children.

It would have been so easy for him to tell her to just figure it out herself, that this is what she wants and she can navigate life on her own just fine.

Instead he deposits entirely too much money into an account he can’t access.

She’s not sure why today is different, but she hits her limit and calls him. They’ve never actually spoken about his little transactions.

“You alright, then, love?” She remembers deciding to pick her battles and not harp that she’s not his love anymore.

“What are you doing?”

There’s a brief pause.

“…I’m on base? About to take my lunch, actually. Maybe you can -“ she cuts him off before he can get any further.

“I’m not calling to ask about your day and you know it,” she snaps irritably. “I’m asking about the deposit. What are you doing?”

John, once upon a time, used to tease about his spoiled, hot headed wife. She knows she is being the epitome of spoiled and ungrateful but come on- no one is this agreeable about a divorce. She doesn’t trust it.

“I have no idea what you mean, love.” He assures her good naturedly.

“You have no idea how several thousands have been deposited into my account?”

She wants to reach through the phone to strangle him when she hears that even tempered laugh of his.

“I know how the money got deposited, love- I did it myself. I don’t know why you’re questioning my motives. We both know you haven’t worked outside the home in years- you need money to keep everything going.”

“John, it's too much. I know you know how much I spend in a month!”

He sighs. She can picture him sitting at his desk on base. Sprawled out in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation.” He responds evenly. “The plan wasn’t for you to go to work until the youngest one’s in school next year. You’ve been out of the market for years, I can only imagine an employer trying to use that to short change you.”

He lets out a sigh, and she feels something akin to guilt for freaking out on him.

John’s always been the one to make the best out of a shit situation. To try to steady the boat in the storm. Even when his own wife (ex wife) is the one making waves.

“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation,” he repeats. “I just want you to be able to raise the boys comfortably without worrying about making ends meet.”

The something coils tighter in her gut.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he assures her and once again she has to bite back a not your sweetheart anymore.

“Now,” there’s the slightest shift to his tone and feels herself falling back into old habits again. As keyed in to him as a dog awaiting her master’s command. “What I was going to say earlier- I’m about to take my lunch. I would appreciate it if you could bring me the boys. I’d like to see them today.”

She can’t very well tell him no now can she?

The boys are her heart and soul but she sees them for exactly who they are- three rambunctious little spitfires always up to something. Good boys, but curious and mischievous. The curse of having smart children.

Until they’re on base at least. All three are quiet as church mice, gathered behind their mother and peering at the soldiers from behind her skirt.

She can’t truly correct the guards at the gate when they greet her as Mrs. Price- she hasn’t changed her name and isn’t sure if she’s going to.

It’s not hers anymore, but it’s still her boys’ name and things are easier. She’d likely have to retrain herself to respond to her maiden name.

The boys are hot on her heels until they stumble across John- as soon as he sees them, dropping a knee with open arms the trio are off like a shot as peals of “Daddy!!” fill the air.

“You can just call me after you’ve finished lunch and I can come get them,” she states amicably, watching John as he wrangles the three of them. The sooner she can get out of here, the better off she’ll be (because God help her, watching him with their oldest two was how she ended up pregnant with the third, and watching him with them now just makes her yearn for something she no longer has any claim to).

Immediately the three boys are protesting, albeit not quite as vocally as they normally would.

“Mummy, no!” “Mum!” “But it’ll be fun!” the trio state their cases to varying degrees.

John shushes the three of them gently to keep them from winding up too much before turning to her. “Come on now, sweetheart, for old time’s sake, hm?”

Their little three stooges voice their approval of that idea, chiming in with various degrees of “Yeah!”

Ultimately it’s the desire to keep her children complacent that has her agreeing. She doesn’t want a scene.

Unfortunately, a (albeit mild) scene is what she ends up having anyway.

She knows (is hopeful, at least) that her oldest doesn’t mean anything by it while they’re waiting for their food and asks “So what time are we going to nana’s later?”

Her eyes snap to him about the same moment as John’s snaps to her, and she’s deliberately trying to avoid his gaze.

Why, oh why, could he not have asked either before or after lunch?

“We’ll probably get ready after we go back home.” she’s careful to keep her tone neutral.

“How fun,” Ah shit, she can hear the suspicion in John’s voice. “Any reason in particular, or just a fun weekend?”

“Just for the night. Mum’s picking us up tomorrow. Right Mum?”

The server chooses that moment to bring their food, which gives her a moment to figure out how the fuck she’s gonna weasle out of this conversation.

“Yes, I’ll come get you after breakfast.”

“Could have called me.”

“That didn’t seem appropriate. They’ll be fine with my mum.” Her gaze drops to her plate, knowing full well if she looks up that his eyes will lock on hers.

“Don’t see what’s inappropriate about me watching my own kids.”

It’s not that she’s happy to squabble with John where the kids have a front row seat, but there is a dark part of her that delights in watching him. He has been obnoxiously agreeable this entire time and the cracks are showing. It makes her feel like she’s dealing with another human being, because she knows she’s got her moments where she loses her mind during all of this and it’s beyond frustrating that he is so dauntless no matter the circumstances in every situation.

“It’s not-” Jesus, does she tell him? What does that conversation look like? “I have plans tonight.”

John is not a stupid man and she can see the moment he realizes she’s not planning a girl’s night out for herself.

That she hadn’t thought it appropriate to ask him to take the kids so she can go on a date with another man.

“I’m watching them,” he asserts before returning to his plate.

“John-”

“I said I’m watching them,” his tone is softer, but leaves no room for argument. Conversation over.

There’s nothing wrong with her date. He is well mannered and polite, attentive when she speaks. No obvious red flags- he doesn’t dismiss her stories, doesn’t shirk back at the mention of her three children, isn’t rude to the server and isn’t texting on his phone opposed to actually engaging with her.

There is nothing wrong with him and for an idle moment she pictures what her could have been like had she married a man like him instead of John. The 9-5, the set routine, the security and reliability of knowing that he is coming home at his regular time and he’ll be there for the boys various sports and activities.

And yet all she can think of is John, who is sitting in their home, watching their children. Of the late night returns from deployment where they’d have their stolen alone time- quiet as church mice so as not to wake the boys who most assuredly would not be going back to sleep if they knew their father was home.

Of the delighted squeals of their children when they come into the room to wake her for breakfast only to find him in bed like nothing was amiss.

(And yes there was always the heartbreak that followed him walking out the door, the anxiety between phone calls that would brew until she once again could assess that he is alive and not dying blown to bits on the other side of the world)

There is nothing wrong with her date but he is not John, and that is an obstacle he will never be able to overcome.

She is safely deposited on her doorstep with polite pleasantries. She thinks he knows, has a kind smile and understanding eyes as she carefully tells him I’m sorry, I thought I was ready but I don’t think I am.

Someone will recognize him as a catch but John never let go of the hold on her heart. Someone will want this man but all she wants is John.

It’s not as late as she thought it would be when she comes home- a fact that John immediately comments on when her eyes land on him while searching for him.

“Well that didn’t last long.” The air feels different from before she left home, and she stands stock still as he rises off the couch and strides towards her.

“I,” she starts and stops, choking on the words. Why the hell did she ever agree to letting him babysit again?

Yes he’s the father of her children and yes she wants him to spend time with them whenever possible but this is just so incredibly awkward for her.

“I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again,” she finishes lamely.

“I would imagine not, if the date ended that quickly. We were always out for hours, weren’t we sweetheart?”

She can’t quite get a read on him but the entire tone of the conversation is… odd. Hell, the entire conversation is odd.

John is not one of her girlfriends for her to cheekily report back how her date went. He’s her ex husband for God’s sake.

“We were,” she agrees amicably- mind spinning with memories of the various times they had stumbled into bed early in the morning, or crawled into the backseat of John’s car like horny teenagers or-

One moment her thoughts are full of the various times John had folded her up like a piece of paper, and the next she’s aware that he’s closed the distance between them while she’s distracted.

“Makes me wonder if that was your plan all along,” he ponders out loud. She squeaks in protest, rooted to the ground and not even attempting to put more space between them.

“Was it? Having me home with the kids while you were out with another man?” His tone holds far more warmth than one would expect of a man all but accusing his (ex) wife of being a hotwife.

John’s hands grip at either side of her hips, thumbs rubbing in affectionate circles. She doesn’t quite know what to do with her own- she can feel the shift in the room. She hasn’t been with anyone since the last time they slept together, and there’s only so much fucking herself can due to take the edge off.

She can’t mimic the weight of a man’s body on top of hers- of his voice rumbling in her ears, the body heat radiating off of him as he coaxes one orgasm after another out of her.

She doesn’t want just a man though, in the broad scope of the term. It’s John.

He stops stroking at her before making a few deliberate swipes. It dawns on her that he’s feeling at the seam of her lingerie set underneath her dress.

“What’s this?” He asks, hands roaming and squeezing at her sides- possibly seeing if he can gauge which set is hidden away by feeling how the fabric wraps around her.

It’s a new one. While she hadn’t been sure about sleeping with her date, the thought of wearing lingerie that at one point had been meant for John felt wrong.

There’s a part of her willing to admit that at the rate things are going, he’s likely going to be christening this one also by the end of the night.

“Were you planning on showing this to him?” John’s enjoying torturing her- dangling the man she wasn’t ever all that interested in just to bait her.

“No, I-,” she hadn’t really thought about it. There was no plan. She was going on a date, so she put on lingerie like she always has.

Like she always did- for him. John would make a game of figuring out which set she had on.

“I just want you,” the truth bubbles out of her throat unbidden.

John descends on her like a man starved- fingers digging into her hips with a grip that she knows is going to leave bruises later.

“Bed,” she mumbles between kisses. Given how John immediately starts herding her backwards towards the bedroom, he’s clearly on board with this plan.

Once the door is shut, the pair cross the room before collapsing against the bed.

Clothes are shed in a hurry, pried off with little regard as they’re shucked to the floor.

“This one looks lovely on you,” John murmurs in praise against her skin as he gropes at the lace adorning her body, dropping to his knees on the side of the bed.

God has she missed this- missed him. The feeling is clearly mutual from the way he busies himself between her legs, lips peppering kisses across her inner thighs quickly while he makes his way towards the spot she wants him most, the gusset of her thong pulled aside.

Just as his breath is fanning over the core of her he pulls back slightly. Her thigh twitches in frustration, so close to finally having the nirvana of his tongue lapping at her only for him to have to be a tease.

“Has anyone else gotten a taste of this sweet cunt?” He asks, eyes on her with an intensity that has her squirming.

“No! There hasn’t been- John, I swear I haven’t-“ she protests.

“I believe you,” he assures her.

She probably should ask if the same could be said for him- for her own sake if nothing else. But she’s already made a slew of questionable decisions that haven’t gone the way she wants, and she errs on the side of not asking questions she doesn’t want an answer to.

Her eyes roll immediately once his mouth is on her. His hands grip at the underside of her thigh, holding them apart to give him unfettered access.

“John,” somehow she can’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that he’s got her back in their bed. Everything is novel and familiar at the same time, and she is overwhelmed by how easy it is to fall back into old habits.

He pulls away just long enough to speak, “I missed you so much,” before going back to eating her out.

John is a man on a mission, and he is familiar enough with her body to know exactly how to get her where he wants her. He also knows all of her tells- God damn him. No sooner has he dragged her to the precipice of her orgasm does he sit back, content to let her dangle but stopping just shy of letting her finally topple over.

“Wh-why?” She whimpers, lust, anticipation and disappointment curling in her gut.

He’s so gentle with her when he takes her left hand in his own, thumb running over her knuckles in soothing movements.

“Where’s your ring, sweetheart?” his question is a non sequitur if she’s ever heard one, head spinning trying to catch up through the haze of pleasure she’d been drowning in just a moment ago.

“My ring?” She mimics more on reflex than anything else, mind still reeling to catch up.

“Yes, sweetheart, your ring.” He repeats, eyeline following hers as her gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the vanity.

There’s no written standard on how long to keep your ring before getting rid of it, and she hadn’t been sure about it. Figured she could always get rid of it later- when it’s never a question of if she’s making the right decision. Even with the ink dried on the paperwork finalizing their divorce, the ring feels like the final nail in the coffin for their marriage.

So she put it in her jewelry box, where it is safe but out of mind and she could worry about it later.

She never thought for a second that ‘later’ would arrive in the form of her ex husband telling her “Go get it and bring it here.”

It’s a beautiful ring; everything she ever wanted growing up. The cut, the size, the setting- John did a lovely job when he picked it out all those years ago.

Gonna be an officer’s wife, sweetheart he’d told her after she’d accepted his proposal. Gotta look the part.

Surely no one can blame her for not gnashing at the bit to part with it?

She hesitates for a moment before ultimately deciding to just do as she’s told- John didn’t tell her to put it back on. So she holds it pinched between her thumb and pointer.

In an alternate dimension, where she’d gone back with her date and let him charm her out of her new lingerie, there would be some insecurity over her body. Bringing three tiny lives into the world takes its toll in the form of stretch marks and loose skin and some extra weight that just clings to her like a needy toddler- but any time John has seen her naked, he is as moon eyed as he was the first time all those years ago. Like he can’t quite believe his luck and he’s not entirely sure she’s real.

Tonight is no exception. As soon as she’s in arms reach his hands settle on her hips, pulling her closer to him.

“We’re going to lay some ground rules, and then I’m going to fuck you into the mattress. Am I clear, pet?” Warmth and affection roll off of his tone in waves despite his words. All she can do is nod dumbly.

“This,” John takes the ring from her before sliding it back on her finger,” stays where it belongs. Right here.”

He pulls her even closer- she has to crane her neck to look up at him. “There’s no more dates with other men. That stops tonight.”

Another easy acquiescence. She nods in agreement.

He spins her slowly, facing away from him and then pulling at her hips so she’s sitting on him. She starts to hover, holding herself up until he swats at the side of her ass. “Now is not the time to play with me,” he warns.

She settles, feeling the mattress dip underneath their combined weight. John clearly has a plan in mind as he guides her to spread her legs, a chill running up her spine as the air laps at her wet cunt. His erection presses heavy at her ass, trapped between his body and her own.

His left middle and ring finger tap at her lower lip and she opens her mouth on reflex. John doesn’t even need to tell her to suck, tongue laving over the thick digits automatically, the same way she would his cock.

“I’m not mad,” he whispers in her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You tried and tried to tell me, and I didn’t take you seriously, did I?”

She can only assume that this is all rhetorical- that there’s no way he can expect an answer out of her considering she’s gagging on his fingers.

“As soon as you told me you wanted a divorce in my office, I knew what it was. You needed my attention, and I wasn’t listening. I don’t blame you. Hell, I practically forced your hand. So I’m not mad,” he reiterates.

“But you’ve got my full attention now, lovely- I can promise you that.”

She twists as much as she’s able, watching John out of the corner of her eye while still sucking; her tongue tasting the metal of his ring as it ran along the base of it.

“We,” he pulls his fingers from her mouth, grinning when she chases his hand slightly, “are going to work this out. I love you, and I have no intention of letting another man raise my children.”

It would be easy to say the arousal dripping from her is left from when John’s mouth was on her, but that would be a lie. Him taking her in hand- literally- and telling her he has no intention of letting her go is definitely doing it for her.

Wet fingers grab at her jaw and turn her head, making her melt into his hold as he kisses her. “There’s my good girl,” his voice is a rumbling timber purring in her ear.

She whines when those two fingers trace down her body- an appreciative squeeze of her breasts trailing to grope at her ass before finally slipping between her legs.

“John,” his name is a whimper against his lips as she wiggles in anticipation.

“So impatient,” he admonishes gently as he works his fingers inside of her.

Warmed by their body heat, his ring isn’t cold against her skin by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, it feels like a white hot branding iron everywhere he touches. That tonight is a reclamation as much as a reunion as he crooks his fingers inside of her.

It was easy to ignore the need that burned in her at night. She’d run herself ragged during the day chasing after children and keeping all her ducks in a row. With John gone, it was easy to shove the desire down and ignore it.

But oh now that he has her in his arms, fingers buried in her as he works her closer to her peak? She feels like she’s on fire. Greed burns at her insides, needing more. Nothing short of climbing inside of him would abate the desire roaring in her body.

Her hips cant in short motions, following the movement of his hand eagerly.

As reluctant as she is to stop kissing him, she can feel a crick in her neck starting to form from keeping her head turned for so long.

Her head lulls against his shoulder when his free hand slips under the lace of her bra and grips one nipple between his middle finger and thumb, his pointer finger teasing the hardened nub in a way he knows drives her absolutely insane.

“Oh my God,” she squeaks just a breath too loud, her hand immediately clamping over her mouth as John pinches her nipple just shy of pain in reprimand. “Not too loud,” he reminds her, mollified when she nods in acknowledgement.

He’s got her panting in need in record time, a small part of her suspicious that he’s going to stop her short of her climax again. The anxiety only serves to fuel the fire burning in her gut, giving the final push to tip her over the edge.

Apparently neither trust her ability to be quiet when her climax hits, because John’s hand abandons teasing her breast in favor of also making sure her cries are muffled. The other is soaked as she squirts, twitching and bucking in his hold.

“Need to shove your face in a pillow,” he comments dryly, a shit eating grin on his face as he takes in her blissed out expression.

He knows her inside and out; knows exactly how long she needs to recover before he’s tapping at her side and prompting her up. “Get on the bed and lay on your back.”

She complies immediately on shaky legs, standing to turn and crawling to the middle of the bed.

John is just as delicious now as he was over a decade ago, and her brain threatens to short circuit watching him crawl over top of her. There’s more grey hairs and fine lines creasing around his eyes, and her heart still thrums in her ribcage like a hummingbird.

She relaxes against the mattress, trusting entirely that John has everything handled. He positions her how he wants, settling between her legs and rubbing the tip of her cock against her wet entrance.

“Please, John, I can’t wait anymore,” she begs, feeling like she’s about to lose her mind. The edge should be taken off considering John’s rather patiently gotten her off already once, and yet if anything it just makes her more frantic. As much as each swipe of his cock against her swollen clit sends tingles of pleasure up her spine, she’s gagging for him and running out of patience.

“You are a spoiled thing,” he admonishes good naturedly like he hasn’t made a habit of indulging her every whim and desire in the past decade up to and including getting a divorce.

“We might have our problems, sweetheart, but being able to fuck you right was never one of them, was it?” John teases as he lines himself up with her. She shakes her head in agreement. If she’s being truthful, that’s partially what had stayed her hand for as long as she had. The frustration with his work being so all consuming it was like his mistress had been a slow boil for quite some time. For years John would mollify her by fucking her into submission- and she has a sinking suspicion that their youngest was an attempt to get her to let up on the subject.

His generosity in the bedroom stems from equal parts wanting to please, and the pragmatic aspect that he is not a small man, and it’s usually easier for everyone involved if he gets her off before attempting penetration.

It’s like they haven’t missed a day- it takes a few thrusts to get her body to spread for him and then all the blood on John’s body dives south for the wet, warm cunt wrapping around his cock.

“This pretty cunt’s got me like a vice, sweetheart,” he praises, leaning down to kiss her.

“I missed you so much,” she whines into the kiss. “It feels so good.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he grunts against her neck, each clap of his hips against hers earning a whine. “You divine creature- got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

An entire relationship’s worth of orgasms makes it so she doesn’t begrudge him that he’s going to be a quick shot tonight. His earlier statement is correct- if there is one thing the man knows how to do, it’s fuck her within an inch of her life. He’s proven that time and time again.

If anything, given their time apart, it appeases some of her anxiety- he must not be getting any from anyone else if he’s already this close to finishing.

“Look at me,” he instructs and she complies immediately. One of his hands strokes her face while his other arm braces his weight above her. “Tell me you love me.”

Her answer is immediate. “I do! John, I love you. I love you so much!”

His hips come to a halt against hers as he grunts against her neck in pleasure. “My perfect girl,” he praises, hands stroking at her sides as he comes down from his high.

She’s so caught up in the lust of the situation that it takes a second for reality to come knocking on her door. “Shit! Pull out!” she tells him, trying to scramble out from underneath him.

“What?” In all their years, ‘pull out’ has never been one of the instructions. He complies even as his brows knit in confusion.

“I haven’t been keeping up with my birth control!” Despite John’s easy assurance that he can just stroll in and assert that they are going to work through things (and she does want to)- adding a new baby on top of their mess will not help get shit sorted out.

Once again, his unflappable attitude has its way of driving her absolutely insane. “Bit late for that, innit? You’ve already had 3 of mine, what’s one more at this point?”

“One more at this point is exactly the point!” she tries to reason.

“We did say a girl would be nice,” he reminds her.

“That was before we got a divorce!” she hisses, trying to be mindful of her volume lest she wake their children.

“That’s nothing but paperwork, pet. We can have it sorted by the time you’re due.” John can tell he’s truly gone and wound her up more than he meant with that, immediately shifting gears to try and settle her back down.

“Okay, too much. I’m sorry. Come here,” he guides her to lay down, which she does albeit with a fair amount of suspicion.

John wisely chooses not to agitate her further or do anything that could be considered pushing in his luck (like, say, pointing out that despite her protests about another baby, she’s not said a peep about the cum dripping from her).

Instead he draws her up into his arms, sticking his nose firmly in her hair.

For a long moment it’s quiet, nothing but the sound of their breathing in the late night.

It catches her off guard when the tears come unbidden. One moment she’s happily lazing in her (ex-turned-hopeful-once-more?) husband’s arms, and the next she’s sobbing uncontrollably.

They’ve been through enough that it shouldn’t embarrass her. For fuck’s sake, she’d vomited all over him during the birth of their second son. But she feels like an exposed livewire sobbing over nothing and without warning.

“What’s wrong?” John mumbles as he wakes half-way, pulling her closer to him and stroking her back to console her.

“I mucked everything up,” she chokes out, burrowing her face against his neck. “I didn’t even want this, I just didn’t know what else to do!”

He shushes her gently, petting at her in an attempt to calm her down. “I meant what I said, pet. I know things have to change, but at the end of the day it’s just papers. We’ll get everything fixed back in its proper place.”

She doesn’t remove herself from the spot on his neck she’s nestling against, but quiets down and eventually they both fall asleep once again.

When she wakes again, she feels far more level headed- although neediness eats away at her. It’s like her body is craving to make up for lost time for the months they’ve been apart.

She can’t help herself as one hand trails down the thick hair dusting his torso, pressing kisses against his neck. Even in his sleep John responds to her touch- pulls at her to be closer to him, huffing as his dick twitches in interest.

It only takes a quick lick of her palm and a few strokes to have him stiffening in her hand.

The dried spend on the inside of her thighs is enough of a reminder, even if she’s feeling affectionate this morning, that she’s going to have to figure something out for her birth control.

For the morning at least the answer to that is easy- still working her hand in slow motion up and down on his shaft she kisses a trail down his neck and working her way south.

The movement is enough to have John stirring with a sinful groan in the back of his throat.

“Well good morning, gorgeous,” he greets, voice clouding in sleep in a way that makes her just want to sit on his face.

Humming out an acknowledgement, she continues to work her way down his abdomen. She does give in to the impulse to nip at the base of his happy trail, delighting in how he sucks back away from her teeth only to push at her head immediately after.

“Bad girl,” he admonishes with no true venom in his voice “Keep those teeth to yourself, hm?” he advises with an affectionate swat to her ass.

Rather than crawling down him, she’s got herself angled perpendicular to him. All the better for him to pet her with one hand while the other encourages her to take him in her mouth.

The moan he makes as she bobs her head is sinful, and she presses her thighs together and shifts her hips to get whatever little bit of friction she can- an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by John.

“That pretty pussy of yours needs some attention, doesn’t it sweetheart?” he asks, a warm hand running down her spine and trailing across her ass until he starts to tease her.

She works with a sense of urgency, even with John taking his time playing with her. They should have another hour or so to themselves before the boys wake up, but they’re also no strangers to a mad scramble under the covers with an unplanned interruption.

“Fuck,” he bites out a curse, hips flexing underneath her. That’s all the encouragement she needs to redouble her efforts, the hand not supporting her weight wrapping around him and stroking to help get him there faster. Despite their years together she’d never quite been able to take all of him down her throat.

“Look at me,” and the eye contact is all it takes for her to feel him stiffening beneath her. “Gonna swallow for me, sweetheart? Yeah, that’s my good girl- keep those eyes on- fuck,” he grunts, his climax hitting.

She’s well versed in swallowing his seed as he cums- keeps up the suction even as his orgasm tapers off just to see how long it takes him to grab her by the hair and pry her off of him.

“Sit on my face. And don’t even think about fucking hovering,” John orders and she complies immediately. His teasing while she’d blown him leaves her a horribly needy mess- None of the pent up lust releasing yet, although anticipation has her scrambling back up the bed and straddling his face.

He pulls at her hips, locking a forearm around her like he wants to make sure she isn’t going to change her mind and start teasing him back.

And fuck does that man know exactly where to lick and suck to make her eyes roll. One of her hands gripping the headboard for dear life, the other one buries itself in John’s hair. He takes direction like a champ, following the not-so-subtle cues from her as she pulls him where she wants him.

“Please, please, please,” she babbles breathlessly as he gets her teetering over the edge, only to release his hair in favor of clamping her hand over her mouth as her orgasm washes over her.

Her legs are weak as he guides her back down before getting her on her back and kissing her until she’s breathless. As engrossing as their make out session is, neither one particularly cares that they can taste themself on the other.

Eventually the pair wear themselves out, calming down from their earlier romp and managing to get into the shower and cleaning up.

It’s only after they’ve escaped the pull of their marital bed, as the water washes the lust out of her system that the reality of the situation comes knocking again, insistent.

“I want this to work, John.” She wants to melt at the way his expression softens at her.

“I do too, sweetheart- you have no idea how much.” A sigh escapes her, already fearing that they’re back on their loop that’s been the routine for the past decade. “What’s that for, hm?” he inquires.

“I want this to work, John,” she repeats “but things have to change. I mean it.”

“ I know you do,” he assures her, reaching down to kiss her temple. “I believe you.”

She’s uncertain if her refusal to be mollified is her winding herself into a snit again, or because she’s justified in the knowledge that this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.

Especially when his palm drops to hover over her belly.

“You can’t try to get me pregnant if you’re not retiring from the field, John,” she asserts. “I can handle the boys, I cannot handle a fourth baby by myself.”

And much like a kind stranger trying to lure a skittish stray dog into their car, John hums in agreement.

Retirement from the military as a whole, she knows, is far too much of an ask. John has spent his entire adult life serving and it will probably take a career ending injury to get him to agree to retire outright. However she’ll happily settle for him promoting high enough that he’s not one of the first people contacted when they need boots on the ground. She just wants her husband home. She’s paid her dues being the sweet housewife raising the kids alone while he plays hero on the other side of the world. He’s beyond capable of climbing the ranks to one that involves less clandestine missions and more paperwork, and it’s absolutely infuriating that he hasn’t.

(She knows it’s not entirely a blind devotion to country and crown and preventing acts of terrorism, and the fact that he enjoys fucking off to who-knows-where at the drop of a hat- never knowing where he’ll be 24 hours from now at any given time, and he doesn’t want to give that up yet. She tries not to think about it too hard though, otherwise she’ll melt down like chernobyl.)

The hot water runs out before John’s refractory period, which is a good thing for her sake because she’s a scatter brained mess right now. The man’s not 20 and she doesn’t begrudge him the time it takes to recuperate, but she’s swinging wildly between being sappy and sentimental and wanting back what she had, and knowing full well she needs to get a grip before she does something stupid like letting John talk her into trying for a girl.

By the time they dry off and dress there are three hungry boys who are in for quite the surprise to see their dad come morning. No doubt there had been a reasonable expectation that John would leave in the middle of the night after they went to bed.

John keeps the boys distracted and out of her hair as she gets their breakfast sorted.

Before the divorce, the pair of them would go about their separate routines; making their morning caffeinated beverages of choice, idly commenting on the latest news headline, alternating getting things sorted for their children.

Now John hovers. Like he’s not entirely certain if he wants her out of his sight. He wrangles the boys to their seats as she gets their food, but it’s like one eye is kept trained on her.

Before the divorce, her children would make their protests- high pitch peals of ew! (The youngest, she suspects, merely imitating his older brothers who get a kick out of their parents' displeased stares) if they witnessed any displays of overt affection. While of course anything where they could see was kept G rated, once the boys thought something was funny they committed to the bit entirely.

Now, while she’s distracted by John giving a chaste kiss to her temple and running his hands up and down the sides of her arm, she realizes that the boys are as silent as the grave. Three sets of owlish eyes watch them intently before comically making a big show of going back to their breakfast as they realize they’re caught.

“John,” she starts quietly, eyes watching the boys before shifting her attention back to her husba- ex-husband. “We really need to talk about this. Actually talk.” Not just fuck each other silly - she knows they’ll just slip back into old habits. They need ground rules.

She knows how her husband works. If she can wrangle him into actually agreeing with a discussion, that is workable. John’s got his quirks and idiosyncrasies that she’s learned over the years. He won’t outright lie to her, he won’t go back on his word if he commits to something. But he will push and widdle and chip away at her to keep her compliant and happy enough to get off his dick (usually by putting her on his dick. Or mouth. Or hands. Or-

Anyway.)

“We will, sweetheart. Let’s just get through breakfast, hm?”

It is so familiar and yet still so different. The boys are running a mile a minute, eagerly soaking up the additional time with their father (the guilt gnaws at her- knows this could just be a normal morning. Had she either never divorced him, or kept him firmly away. This hemming and hawing that feels inevitable can not be good for the boys).

Screentime is a bit of a hot topic, but they need the boys content and quiet long enough for them to speak without interruptions.

The eldest is a bit too old for the target demographic for Bluey, but his handheld console is enough to keep him entertained.

She can’t help but feel like her oldest boy and John are conspiring- John firmly telling him “Your mother and I need to have a little talk with no interuptions. You keep an eye on your brothers, got it?” only for the oldest to salute him with a “Yes, sir!” that has John grinning as he herds her towards his office with a hand low on her back.

The click of the door sliding shut is as loud as a gunshot.

“I know I pushed too far,” John begins. The pair of them stand in front of each other. “You kept asking for the same thing over and over again. I never thought you would actually leave, but I can’t say I was surprised when you asked for a divorce. You were trying, and I wasn’t listening. I meant what I said last night. I’m not mad.”

It…. stings. Knowing the truth the whole time- John thinking he can just wait her out. That he can lean on her despite her protests and eventually she’ll give up. But it’s a dull pain, considering it’s something she’s lived with for years. She’s well familiar with it.

“So why? Why let it get that far. I know what you do is important. I know it’s selfish to ask you to give that up, but we’ve got three kids, John. You want a fourth! It is so hard to be the one who stays with them when you leave. They don’t grasp the situation. They just know that their dad’s gone and they miss you. And I cannot breathe when you are deployed and sent off to fuck-knows-where dealing with some of the most violent, dangerous groups on the planet. What if you don’t come home? How am I supposed to raise them without you?”

Sharp words coming from the same woman who kicked John out. But it’s the same story he’s been hearing for the better part of decade ever since their first was born. He can likely recite her speech from the heart at this point.

Like always, John is steadfast in the storm no matter how far into orbit she flies. He’s well acquainted with her whims, and knows just how easy it is to rile her up and yet also knows exactly how to bring her back down.

At the moment her expression is similar to that of a wet hen’s.

“I didn’t think you’d leave.” It’s the truth and she knows it and it pisses her off. “I knew you weren’t happy with it, but overall we were happy with each other. I wasn’t cheating on you. I’m not a mean drunk. I might be absent at times but I’m not cruel. I keep you happy in bed. You want for nothing. The boys know I adore them. Every marriage has its problems. I thought we both understood that the nature of my job is ours.” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she reiterates, and she’s not sure if her voice warbles from how angry she is at the confirmation that he thought he could wait her out until he felt like retiring (or, more likely- she buries him), or at herself because she picked him and how mad can she be when he’s been honest about his work from the start.

There’s no clear cut villain. John is right. His job has weighed down on them since the beginning. In the beginning she thought she could handle it. But three children later and she’s begun to realize- far too late- that it’s so much. Subjecting them to something they never asked for because they were born into this schedule where John is beholden to Kate fucking Laswell more than his own family (peace and love to her- she’s great but she is the walking representation of everything they are struggling with in their marriage).

Her mind is a jumbling mess, like twine that’s interlocking and needing to unravel. There’s no clear cut path forward. She will go absolutely insane if things continue on the way they have been, but the time apart has shown her that she doesn’t really want to separate from John. No other man can even come close to him.

“So now what do we do?” she asks.

John steps closer to her, reaching to run his knuckles across her cheek in affection. “I want to come home, sweetheart.”

“It’s not that easy.”

She expects some sort of protest. Some sort of Yes it can be, and she’s not sure if she’s got the mental fortitude to continue holding her ground. But she knows that nothing will change if she lets up now. This is the moment where she either needs to throw in the towel, or maybe- just maybe there’s a chance.

They’ve made it this far. But she is so tired. She can’t go back but she’s got no idea what’s ahead or how long it will take to get there.

“I know. All I’m asking for is a chance.”

“It is your last one John, I swea-” She’s always hated that stupid fucking movie trope where the man shuts the woman up by kissing her. Yet here she is, her (fragile) attempt at a stern warning cut off as John snatches her up and pulls her to him.

After last night, one would think they’d gotten enough of each other to not be groping at each other like animals in heat.

Mother fucker he’s doing it again. He doesn’t fight as she pulls away, though those pretty blue eyes are blown showing where he would have been heading had she not stopped him.

“I mean it, John. You said you want this to work, but I need to see changes. You need to be home and not fucking off half away across the world at the drop of a hat. I need to be able to make plans and know that you will be here.”

“Anything, sweetheart. I just want my family back. I swear, I’m listening this time. I’ll figure it out.”

The lust has calmed from his eyes as he approaches again, making her look up at him. “You remember our little conversation from last night?”

He looks as serious as a heart attack, and there was a lot said last night.

She’s taking too long to answer, as he continues unprompted. “I know you’re not going to sign the papers overnight, and I’m fine with that. But your ring stays on, and there are no more dates with other men. You are mine. You are not single, and I expect you to act like it, hm?”

The chaste kiss to her temple is a sharp juxtaposition to the severity of his tone. He certainly doesn’t need to tell her twice.

“I promise,” she assures him, seeing how the intensity drains out of him as he’s mollified by her words. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, but did you- was there-” the words choke as she stumbles over them. She can’t be mad. She’s got no right to- they are divorced, and he (was) single and free to do as he pleases. But the idea of John drowning his sorrows in another woman’s body makes her want to claw someone’s eyes out.

And she really should have asked before he fucked her without a condom, but hindsight is 20/20.

Despite her inability to get the words together in the right order, John seems to know her question. He pulls her close to him, tucking her under his chin.

“No, sweetheart. There was never anyone else.”

The knot in her gut unwinds a little bit. “I love you, John. I’m sorry it came to this.”

“We’ll fix it, sweetheart.”

For a moment they stand there in the quiet, but there was no telling what sort of trouble their little trio might get into if left alone for too long. When John unlocks and opens the door, they both raise an eyebrow at the sight of their youngest dashing off around the corner.

Like the three little troublemakers had tried to listen through the door (which they would not be able to do- because she has tried once or twice), and the youngest was too slow to keep up with his brothers who are perched on the couch for all the world like they never left it.

The older two try to play their hand at staying cool, although the youngest boy is giggling- enjoying his “game” of teaming up with his brothers to try and pull a fast one on their parents.

“Do you have to leave?” The question from their oldest is deliberate, and succeeds in distracting them from the fact that their kids were definitely trying to eavesdrop on a conversation not meant for young ears.

“Not today,” John answers, ignoring the sharp look she shoots his way.

It’s a delicate balancing act as they stumble through picking up the broken pieces of their marriage. John can’t prove that he’s controlling his work hours unless she lets him in the house, but does give him shit about not moving in too soon. She doesn’t want him getting comfortable or complacent and back sliding on his promise.

Of course, John gets his lick back. There had been a stern conversation about condoms until her birth control is in hand.

Only to find out at her appointment that they can’t give it to her because she’s pregnant.

Mother fucker. Damn that “one shot, one kill” motherfucker. Their one slip up was the only discrepancy since they have gotten back together- that has to be when she conceived. Why did she fall in love with a sniper?

John is ecstatic with the news, as are the boys. She feels like a wet, disgruntled hen.

The new baby throws a wrench in her plans, but she can’t quite find it in her to be too disappointed once the shock wears off. John had been set on another baby, chattering on and on about how he hopes it’s a girl. They would have had another baby at some point, it’s just a bit sooner than she was anticipating.

No doubt for the boys, the new baby is an assurance that their parents aren’t staying separated. In their simplistic view, that’s as good as ink drying on paper that they’re staying together.

At her scan when it’s revealed she’s carrying boy #4, John kisses her temple and tells her how happy he is.

The youngest daughter that he’s got his sights set on is shelved for the duration of her pregnancy, not another peep of it mentioned.

A girl would have been nice, but she’s well experienced with wrangling John Price’s sons, and no doubt this one will fall into the group just fine.

John’s got quite the track record of giving her pretty babies, which everyone praises and compliments when the little man finally makes his arrival.

When he is home (which has been substantially more, she has to admit), he’s an active and involved father who’s besotted by his children and happily splits night duty with his exhausted wife. Keeps the older boys in line and behaving.

She doesn’t sign anything until John has a signed transfer request. While he’ll still be working in counter terrorism, and still be very close with the 141, his job no longer mandates he ups and leaves at the drop of a hat.

They celebrate quietly. Friends and family have made their opinions known about the back and forth tentative future of their marriage (mostly a well intended shit or get off the pot), and they elect to drop the boys with John’s parents to have a weekend for themselves.

There are no lusty slip ups and everything is followed to the letter but she wants to kill John when he grins at her positive pregnancy test.

Everything can fail, it seems. John merely commenting “Maybe this one will be a girl”, showing his hand that he hasn’t quite given up his dreams of a youngest girl to round out their gaggle of boys.

She doesn’t want to know the gender this time around, which John grouses about but ultimately accepts.

When Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley promotes to a new rank, John is the one the man calls to ask him to participate in his ceremony.

She’s still in her second trimester, not quite teetering into her third just yet. John wants to bring the kids. If the third trimester exhaustion had stuck yet, she likely could have begged to be left out and he likely would have acquiesced. And the boys usually know better than to try anything when on base with John.

The day comes and she feels like a walking stereotype of an officer’s wife- gaggle of kids clinging to her skirt, the newest baby still clinging to her, and an unmistakable pregnancy bump.

“Cookin’ another boy in there, Mrs. Price?” Soap asks good naturedly while they’re waiting.

“Not quite sure,” she answers, eyes on her three more mobile kids making sure they’re settling in and behaving. “John’s been itching for a girl since before this one came,” she gestures to their youngest in her arms.

“Well, hopefully it’a girl then for yer sake- man’s gonna give ya a football team at this rate!” the Scot laughs, chortling at his own joke. There are times when she sometimes wonders how someone as charming as Johnny Mactavish got wrangled into clandestine counter terrorism missions, but then she remembers that as much as he can charm a bird from a tree, it’s comments like that that skirt just too comfortable that yes, he’s probably got a few screws loose. (She sometimes wonders about Kyle too, who is giving Johnny a “fucking really??” look, but can’t quite pin anything. The man is perfectly mild mannered and respectable, and she knows that their work can warp someone given enough time.)

“Hopefully so,” she answers amicably. While her pregnancy has been blessedly uneventful, she’s already over it and will be perfectly happy with this being her last.

Something tells her that John is going to get his wish, one way or another though.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

#captain john price #John Price x reader #john price x you #captain price smut #dub con #dark!fic #<- that is just my typical 'catch all' blocklist tag for anyone who doesn't wanna read anything dark/dubious/etc.#I am being conservative with using the tag pinky promise #my writing

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bumblebriez · 2 months ago

Text

Love Stricken (PT.3)

(Gojo Satoru x Chubby!Fem!Reader)

(PT.1) (PT.2) (PT.4) (PT.5)

⚠️⚠️⚠️: Swearing, no smut in this one, just a bit of love and a BAD possessive Ex.

Never in a million years would you think, you'd catch the eyes of a certain jujutsu sorcerer but you did and with that came alot of consequences. That you would eventually find out the hard way.

Your parents vanished a good couple of years ago with no knowledge of why and where, leaving you; the eldest, to care and provide for your younger siblings. Being responsible and forgetting about the life you used to live, you felt lost. Struggling a lot with your self worth.

Your best friend took it upon herself to finally get you to live your life a little more by taking you out on the town for a night.

But you found that night was the start of your downfall.

Ahhhhhh hah heeeyyy 🫣

So we listen and we don’t judge..

Nah but for real, apologies for taking a long time, I really haven’t picked up any of my works, I just haven’t been motivated to write at all but what I did end up writing ages ago, I just finished. Just a reminder this isn’t following the plot, there will be aspects from it but not really.

Im gonna try and motivate myself more because I really do enjoy writing and I was really enjoying getting into the rhythm of this one. I have some… plans for this.

Sadly this chapter isn’t as long as the last two but I’ll make up for it. Appreciate the support! Thank you for reading! <3

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GIF by saewrq

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It been a good couple of weeks since you heard from Gojo. You quite literally held onto the fact he would call you back later.

You convinced yourself that he was just busy to save yourself some pity.

You’d kind of wished you had forgotten the whole thing but atlas, you didn’t. Every night you laid there, staring at your phone; waiting for his name to flash on the screen.

And now you’re thinking; maybe you should have called him instead.

Maybe you were in over your head already.

Maybe you were feeling delusional.

Another week goes by and you find yourself standing in your small kitchen, staring at a new bouquet of flowers that sat upon the counter.

You had assumed that they were from Gojo, though it didn’t say. You wouldn’t lie.. it was a cute gesture but it pissed you off. How did he have the time to send you fucking flowers but not send you a simple text?

Your phone resting in your hand and you struggle to tap on his contact. You run your free hand through your messy hair; trying and failing at calming your overwhelming body.

Letting out a sigh of defeat, you place your phone softly on the counter. Anxiety ran through your veins, shaking your body at the simple thought of even sending a text.

You didn’t want to seem… needy.

Even though you haven’t even tried to talk to the man.

Maybe you were playing too much and you just missed out on something that could’ve been great.

All these intrusive thoughts ran through your head, making you feel worse and worse. You fail to notice little eyes peering up at you.

“Sidda?” You break from your trance, turning to look down at the little strawberry blonde haired girl. Her little fingers wrapping around the edge of the hoodie, you wore.

“Yes baby?” You hummed, crouching down to her level.

“Are we still going to the park today, like you promised?”Her body swayed slightly as if she was nervous to ask. The question immediately triggering a previous memory of the promise from last week.

“Shit.” You whispered to yourself, Akari not hearing your swear.

“Yes.. yes! Of course. Go get your brother and we can get ready to leave.” Your eyes fluttered to your kitchen window, the bright sun rays shining through.

It is a beautiful day.

A day for distractions.

You watched excitement spread across the wee girl’s face; your lips curl into a smile.

Akari darts off, wasting no more time; her voice echoing throughout the house, hollering after her brother.

You take one last look at your phone; a desperate attempted at manifestation.

Demolishing every last bit of hope you clung onto, you let out a sigh of defeat. Your feet move before your body as they slowly stride out of the kitchen.

At least it was a good night. One you most likely won’t forget.

Little to your knowledge, the day was only beginning.

A faded smile sits on your lips as you watch the memory play on your phone. It was an old video, one where Akari didn’t even exist yet.

You watch as your father hoists your little brother into the air when he was just a wee boy, his giggling flew out of your phone’s speakers.

A familiar sadness filled your core as you swiped to another video.

Your mother was cradling her newborn in her arms, a cute little girl. Your mother’s eyes were filled with so much love as she stared down at Akari. It wasn’t long after that they had vanished, leaving nothing but leaving you with everything.

Your tongue swiped at your bottom lip, wetting the dryness as you lock your phone, having enough of reminiscing.

You look over to where your siblings had gone off too and see your little brother pushing your baby sister on the swing.

Families walked past you of all shapes and sizes, parents and their newborns. No broken families insight.

You were lost in your daze not noticing your little brother approaching you. Alone.

“Have you seen Akari?” You jump at the sudden voice, immediately alarmed.

“What do you mean Riku? She was just with you?” You exclaimed to the younger ebony haired boy, moving to stand up; your eyes scanning the playground equipment.

“I know. She just ran off, I assumed she was coming to you.” He said back, following you as you slowly made your way around the playground, looking for your little bundle of joy.

“You can’t take your eyes off her, you know that.”

“Why weren’t you watching then!” You chose to ignore his comment, knowing he was right. You should’ve known better.

Your pace started to speed up as you felt your heart leap into your throat. If anything happened to her, you would never forgive yourself.

“She kept saying something about patting the pretty doggy. Dogs aren’t even aloud in here.” Riku spoke as he kept up with you. That only made you worry even more, thinking she left the safety of the boundaries.

Both of you past the food stands, specifically the ice cream one, thinking maybe she changed her course and was wanting an ice cream.

You accidentally bumped into a man, not bothering to look up, too focused on your own.

You muttered a quick apology before setting off again, pulling your little brother with you.

The man stood in shock and confusion at the sudden impact that he was not expecting; watching as you disappeared from his view.

To your relief, the search was short lived as the familiar strawberry blonde started to come into view.

You sigh loudly as you made your way to her, seeing a teen crouched down, talking to the little girl.

“Akari! You can’t run off like that.” Ignoring the teen, you quickly pulled the girl into your arms, squeezing her tightly.

“I wanted to pat the pretty puppy.” Her voice croaked out as you held her at arms length.

“Honey. Dogs aren’t aloud in here.” You say softly as you caressed her plush red cheek in your hand.

“Yeah. Idiot.” Riku muttered lightly, earning a glare from you.

“Yes they are. It was his doggy!” She pointed to the teen behind her and you finally acknowledged the awkward teen as he stared at the little girl with a semi shocked expression.

“I’m sorry about her. She has a crazy imagination. Always running off to find something new.” You grumbled, standing to your feet, dusting the grit from your knees; attention on him.

“It’s.. fine.” The teen spoke with uncertainty, his dark blue eyes meeting yours. Making you feel a little uneasy as the shock was quick to go, replaced by a stoic expression.

“Thank you for staying with her..?”

“Megumi.”

“Megumi! Thank you. I appreciate it.” You exclaimed with a bright smile. He didn’t really respond, simply giving you a nod.

“Y/N?”

You turn to the man that was approaching your little group, who just happened to be the one you ran into earlier. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint where you’ve seen him from or why he felt so familiar.

He was sporting a dark blue jacket with a high collar and matching slim pants, along with a pair of black dress boots.

But what stood out the most to you was the black blindfold he was wearing.

Not to mention the deathly familiar pure white hair.

Just as you were going to apologise for bumping into him, it hit you like a truck.

“Satoru?”

“I see you’ve met one of my students.” He gestured to Megumi but your eyes never left his form.

You’ve been waiting for weeks to hear from this man.

And here he was. Two ice creams in his hands. At the park.

All kinds of feelings surge through your body as all kinds of thoughts swirled in your head.

Realising this was definitely not the place to speak your mind. You don’t speak.

at least to him.

“Come on kids. We’re leaving.” You mumbled down to your siblings. Avoiding wherever Gojo’s glaze was.

“But-“ Akari tried to protest but you just gave her a stern look, quick to interrupt her; your hands pushing against their backs.

“I said we’re leaving.”

Satoru was shocked when he saw you, he saw you a mile away. Excitement was brewing in his chest at the thought he’d finally get to see you again, to the point he’d purposely allowed you to bump into him; lowering his infinity.

But to his surprise, you didn’t recognise him. At least not right away.

He wasn’t going to lie.

He was expecting a bigger reaction from you than what he got.

And he knew deep down, he was definitely the cause.

Work was busy, it was very hands on; more than normal. These special grade curses were really giving it to him; especially Sukana and from that he didn’t realise how much time had passed.

Satoru watched your retreating form, most definitely watching your plump ass swaying with every step.

“Who and what did you do to her?” Gojo’s not only student but dependent muttered to him; eyeing his guardian suspiciously.

“That’s offensive. I’m offended!” Megumi rolled his eyes annoyingly at the ‘adult’ and his deflection at the question.

Satoru sighed softly, the smile he was forcing dropping slightly.

“Completely nothing. That’s why.” The raven haired boy’s eyebrow raised as Gojo’s facade slipped away for a second.

“You two should probably make up. That little girl saw my shikigami. She could be in trouble.”

Gojo tapped his chin as thoughts ran through his head. He was obviously pretty good at sensing cursed energy but he didn’t sense any within you.

Were they your offspring?

Where was their dad?

“You’re right Gumi!” His feet moved before his torso, a hop to his step; pushing the ice cream cones he just purchased into Megumi’s hands.

“Where are you going? We are supposed to be looking for this special grade.” Megumi called out, watching his guardian bounce away.

“To make up! You’ve got this!” The raven huffed out before looking down at his shikigami companion; the living twin.

“Don’t call me that.” The boy whispered more to himself before poking his tongue out to lick at the frozen concoction.

“Gross. Rum raisin.”

You sit in your room with your head in your hands, your foot was bouncing against the hardwood floor.

You felt anger. Unnecessary anger. Shame.

His stupid handsome face kept flashing in your mind. It was driving you crazy.

You really shouldn’t be angry, it takes two to tango but is it wrong to expect someone to make the first move?

You’ve been fucked over and fooled too many times to count and with a guy like Gojo.. you want to take extra precautions.

Is that so wrong?

Why do you feel so stupid then?

“What’s wrong?” You quickly lift your head up and see Riku standing in your doorway, looking at you with almost worry.

“It’s nothing. Just have a headache.” You smile briefly, correcting your posture.

“It’s not what I said right? I’m sorry if it is.” His almost worrying expression deepened; his eyes glistening.

“No no. It’s not that. It’s really nothing.” Obviously it was something. You just didn’t want to explain you’d caught feelings for the guy you had a one night stand with to your 13 year old brother.

The boys frown deepened, knowing it wasn’t nothing. He knew you better than that but for his own safety, he wasn’t going to push it further.

The last thing he wanted to see was you upset over nothing that was obviously something.

“Where’s your sister?” You asked as you watched Riku make his way over to you, taking a seat beside you.

“Watching her dumb show.” The boy muttered with an annoyed tone. You smiled sweetly before bumping him softly with your elbow “You use to watch dumb shows too.”

Riku scoffed with a roll of his eyes “Yeah but not like hers. They are really dumb.” You giggled at your younger brother.

You hummed lightly, wrapping an arm around his back; pulling him closer, squeezing softly.

“Do you still think about Mum and Dad?” That previous feeling of sadness returned, your smile dropped slightly.

“Of course. Every now and again.” You spoke with a small voice.

“I don’t. Every-time I think about them, I get mad.” Your hand brushed through Riku’s jet black locks.

“What makes you mad?”

“That they left. They left us here.” Your head tilted to rest on the crown of his own. You weren’t going to lie, you were resentful. You use to be filled to the brim with anger.

So you understood completely where he was coming from but the more you grew into the person you are now.. the more responsible you became.

You had no room for unwarranted feelings. You had had kids to care for. You needed to be different. You needed to grow up.

Perhaps that’s where a lot of your problems stem from. Perhaps those feelings are still there, bottled up.

“Siddda.” The comfort of the silence was broken as your little sister appeared in your room. Pulling a slight grumble from Riku.

“Yes baby?” Her little hand pointed in the direction of the living room.

“There’s a weird man at the front door, he’s asking for you.” You perked an eyebrow at Akari before pushing Riku from you; gently.

“Both of you, stay here.” You muttered, pushing your sister further into your room.

Your feet hit the hardwood floors softly as you strided your way to the living room.

Immediately you halt as you see the ‘weird’ man now in your humble abode. Shivers ran up your spine as your eyes take him in.

“I thought she would recognise me, I’m a bit hurt.”

You straightened your posture, staring coldly at the man.

“Why would she?”

He tilted his head at you, a smirk resting on his lips. “She did love me.”

“She was two.”

He started to look around your home, taking small steps towards you. Making you feel on edge more than you already are.

“Nothings changed I see.”

“What do you want Zack?”

You huffed in annoyance, placing your hands on your hips as you stared daggers at your.. previous partner.

His smirk widened slightly as you almost prowled around your living room, his eyes never leaving yours. “Can’t I just visit an old friend?”

You removed your hands from your hips, crossing your arms across your chest instead, the annoyed expression deepening on your features. “We are not friends. If I remember correctly, we ended on bad terms.”

Zack let out a small breathless chuckle, his eyes glancing over at the entrance to the kitchen, seeing your flowers sitting on the counter but the archway. He changed the topic quick.

“I see you got my flowers.” His eyes landed back onto you.

“Your-“ Your eyes widened slightly, realising you had been wrong. They weren’t from Gojo. They were from HIM. “You sent them?”

He let out a small playful scoff “Of course. Who else?”

You couldn’t help be feel the pang of disappointment in your heart, your face showing that you were more offended than disappointed though, trying to hide the fact.

He lean forward a little that stupid smirk still on his lips “Did you think you got it from someone else? Please.”

“Who would send you flowers when you barely leave the house?” He continued to talk down to you, his tone carrying not only amusement but condescension.

“You need to leave.” You spoke in a stern tone, not in the mood for his antics, you didn’t know why he was here and frankly you couldn’t care less.

“Come on. I know you miss me.” Zack purred, starting to slowly make his way over to you, you couldn’t help yourself as your body recoiled slightly, taking a few steps back, not wanting him any closer.

Your breathing hitched as you felt your back hit the wall and Zack was now standing in front of you, you could practically smell his awful cologne that you always hated flowing off him in waves.

“See. I can see it. You still want me.”

You turned your nose up at him, unable to hide the disgust that started to rise inside you. “I don’t.” Unable to stop the growl.

Suddenly Zack slammed you against the wall, holding you against it by your shoulders, his smirk turning into something more.. sinister. A look you were all to familiar with.

You couldn’t help the hard flinch from your body, the sharp gasp that escaped your lips.

Zack’s eyes glimmered as he leaned in towards your ear “You’re mine. Always will be.” A cold shiver ran through you, fear slowly creeping through.

“What are you doing?” A younger voice broke through the tension, saving you from.. whatever the situation was leading too.

Both You and Zack turned towards the voice and you saw Riku standing there, Akari hiding behind him.

Zack forced a sickly sweet smile, looking back at you, releasing his hold on your shoulders; brushing down your arms to straighten your top.

“Just catching up kid.” You let out a small breath of relief as he pulled away, removing himself from your boundaries.

Zack sent you a small wink before turning on his heels and heading for the door but not before looking over his shoulders and saying “Enjoy the flowers Y/N.”

And with that he left.

Leaving you with unspoken feelings that had seemed to have never left, trauma that was never fixed.. that you didn’t think could be.

You turned to your siblings, forcing yourself to be strong. Strong for them but not for yourself..

Forcing a small shaky smile to them, ignoring the look Riku was giving you as he studied your demeanour. That boy was too smart for his own good.

“Let’s get dinner ready.”

After settling your siblings in, preparing dinner and tucking them in for the night.

You made your way out of your house, the bouquet of flowers in your hand, your feet heading straight towards the trash can.

Without any hesitation, you threw the flower to the bottom of the bin, slamming the lid shut and letting out a shaky breath.

You inhaled deeply, running a hand through your hair, dragging your hand down your face.

“Those from your boyfriend?”

Your eyes widened, your whole body jumping from the unexpected voice, you twirl around to face the man, being met with Satoru.

A sheepish grin plastered on his lips, his hands shoved into his pockets. He was dressed in casual attire, very different from what you witnessed him in earlier today. No blindfold. His glasses in place.

You couldn’t ignore how attractive he looked, or the way he made you feel just by being in his presence.

But yet you couldn’t help but feel uneasy, not because of him. (Though you couldn’t help still being pissed at him no matter how good he looked.) but from Zack. He really sent you in a spiral and you felt unsafe. On edge.

“Wha- what are you doing here?” You stuttered out, wrapping your arms around your body, he tilted his head as he took you in, if he noticed something was off.. he didn’t question it.

“So you can talk?” His smile widened just slightly, his eyes slowly trailing over your body, not bothering to hide his interest.

You huffed in annoyance, your eyes involuntarily rolling at his teasing tone. Not a word you heard from this man and he had the urge to tease you.

His smile softened lightly as he took in your annoyed stance.

“Look..” He started with a fleet of hesitation in his tone, taking a step forward. “I get that you’re.. pissed at me-“

You held your hand up to stop him from talking. “I don’t want to hear any excuses. I really don’t.” You made yourself move, heading back towards your porch. You felt guilty that you might’ve been a bit too harsh but you were feeling overwhelmed with.. everything.

Gojo wanted to reach out and grab you but refrained from it, instead choosing to follow you, his eyes briefly glancing over to your trash can.

“Y/N.” He called softly, following you to your front door.

“Please Satoru. I can’t handle this right now.” You murmured softly, going to open the front door.

Gojo couldn’t help but feel frustrated at your lack of patience, he normally could withstand most things, biting back with his own sense of humour and attitude.. but you were different. God you were different and he needed that.

He wanted you. Even if it was just after one night.. you made him feel.. normal. Like he could relax for once. Not being put on a constant pedestal.

“Please just talk to me. Let me explain.” He couldn’t help the hint of desperation that lured into his voice.

You turned to face him with a hard expression “I’m not some booty call okay? Someone you can just.. you can’t just say things like you did and just disappear!” You sighed deeply before continuing. He straightened his posture as he listened, his smile had been completely wiped from his face.

“I just.. I’ve been fucked over too many times, lead on.. hurt and I’ve always been a fool to fall for it..” His face soften at your words but he didn’t interrupt you, he didn’t force his way to control the moment like he knew he could.

“Sweetheart.. You’re more than that.” Gojo spoke softly, taking a few steps up the small stairs connected to your porch before he was standing in front of you, not invading your space like he was prone too, he wanted to pull you in.. not push you away.

“I didn’t lie. I meant everything I said. My life is.. hectic. Work keeps me on my toes, I never wanted you to think I was avoiding you and I’m so sorry that I made you doubt.” Gojo couldn’t believe the words that flowed from his mouth like it was the easiest thing in the world. It wasn’t a common affliction for him to be serious but he wanted you to know.. he needed you to know that he was more than interested in you.

“I won’t lie.. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night..” He smiled lightly; his hands clenching into fists trying to ignore the urge to reach out and grab you.

Throughout when he spoke, your hard expression turned more soft but you still felt like you had to be on guard, shaking your head lightly at his comment about your hookup.

He stepped closer to you, peering down at you and not in an intimidating way. You tensed slightly as he reached up to caress the side of your neck.

“You’re absolutely breathtaking and I’d be the fool to not fight for something I want.” You could hear the determination in his voice, his hand moving to your jaw to tilt your chin up at him.

“So what’s it going to be doll. Think you can give me another chance?”

You couldn’t help the small curl of your lips, as you shook your head lightly. “Is that a yes?” He pressed with a mischievous smile, stepping closer to you, his hand came up to caress your cheek gently.

“You better not make me look like a fool.” *You whispered softly, leaning into his touch.*

“Wouldn’t dream of it sweetheart.” Before you could say anything, his lips pressed to yours, moving in a slow and tender manner, your body seemed to react on it’s own; wrapping your arms around his neck as you kept up the pace.

Your eyes fluttered closed blissfully but Gojo’s however..

His bright blue eyes opened and glanced over slowly to your trash can..

His eyes narrowed slightly as his lips continued to move with yours, watching the cursed energy consume the can, swirling menacingly around it. That bouquet wasn’t just any bundle of flowers..

#chubby reader #gojo saturo #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #x fem!reader

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c0smoshit · 1 year ago

Note

hi! i have a request (obviosuly you can choose to do it or not, im not forcing you ^^) with a cloud x fem reader story.

y/n and cloud were togheter for a year now, and cloud returns home after a long time (1 month) and he was really clingy because he missed y/n so much but he was kinda shy doing all these things and let this side of him go out that much. (i'll leave to you adding details or something to the story) basically just a cute fluff story with shy kisses,cuddles and things like that :3

bye and thank you! i LITERALLY LOVE your story "Shy Kisses", and i love the way you write! i would be happy if you did this story for me❤️

Far Road ミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/Reader ⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ fluff!! ⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ last fic of the year and it had to be a Cloud one, hope you enjoy it and thanks for this adorable request!! ⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 2.233

A knock at your door kept you from washing your dishes.

God how you missed him.

Everytime someone knocked, you would run to the door, only to be dissapointed with a plain looking hair and eyes, not your spiky blonde hair mixed with some astonishing mako infused eyes.

It had been such long, lonely and cold nights without his arms warming you up from under the bed, his body so close to you, you could feel his own heartbeat.

You even tried to replace him with some big chocobo plushie he had gifted you a few months ago.

And although they might look alike, no big, fluffy chick could replace your grumpy one.

"I'm coming"

You announced, the glint of hope on your eyes completely vanished now as you placed your plate down the sink. Drying your hands on a towel, you began walking towards the door.

. . .

"Please don't be out there for too long"

Your words caused a crack inside his chest, when he had finally became comfortable with you, with your home, your smell. He had to help his friends once again.

He hadn't even stepped outside the door on that quiet, dark twilight he already was missing you so much. He couldn't bear the fact that he was going to be without you for such a long time, what if something happened to you?

He wouldn't be able to protect you and he did not want to go over that feeling again.

Your shivering hands held your door as your blanket was still wrapped around you, too cold not to hold it close against your body. He hated seeing you shivering, you should be heading back to the bed with him, you even didn't have to work next day so he could've stayed with you.

You also were supposed to be sleeping, it was definitely too early for your puffy eyes to be staring at his own ones in such a melancholic way. He felt guilty, your poor, tired body had been awaken by him shuffling around the appartment, soon coming to see him depart.

"I'll be back soon, promise"

He whispered into the thin air before wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you close to his chest for the last time before a long while. Getting a whiff of your syrupy shampoo, memorizing it's smell.

But on top of it all, he hated saying goodbye after all the times he hadn't got the proper time to verbalize it.

. . .

Opening it up you didn't even see the face of the person that was standing in front of you at first, your eyes peeking at your kitchen for a brief moment to see if you has closed the sink. But when you took a glance at the very man that was standing in front of you, you almost fell down.

Eyes wide as you recognized his almost hollow scent, you quickly searched his eyes, hoping that they had been exposed to a, now familiar, substance.

"Hey"

Oh god.

It was really him.

His eyes quickly closed tight as your arms suddenly enveloped his neck like a scarf, a homemade one. You smelled good, really good. He had been craving that sweet aroma of yours, how it would linger on his pillows for a while after you had gotten off the bed.

And your soft skin finally embracing his own one, tender as he had imagined so many nights out there without you. Your nose hitting his shirt in such a perfect way as you pressed closer into his chest, your short breaths and your tight squeezes against him.

He finally was home.

He got so deep into his thoughts he didn't notice you dragging him into your home, back to the place you had both shared everything. Your socks dragging along his boots as you happily guided him to the living room, not once spliting appart.

"Can't believe you're finally back"

He huffed, rubbing your right arm soothingly as you both sat on the sofa, getting lost in the softness of the couch, you really had done a great job in choosing the pillows.

. . .

"Hey"

He said with half a chuckle as your hands worked on his belt, eager to get inside the bathtub you had made with so much love for both of you.

He first sat down, letting you do the same as you rested in front of him, a relieved sigh coming from your mouth as you leant your head back slightly, careful not to soak your hair up with the blueberry foam.

Both of you getting lost in the feeling of the lukewarm water, a bit too cold for your liking but you knew he liked it just this way. When he opened his eyes briefly he saw you already smiling like a dork at him, almost seeing hearts in your eyes.

"You really did miss me huh?"

You chuckled, of course you had, buying groceries without him by your side and his nonexisent advices over which fruit would taste better or the clothes that would fit you the best.

His afternoon dates of offering you rides around Midgar, the warm afternoon breeze vanishing through your hair as you stared at the dying sun, mind in blank and finally at peace. Listening to the loud roar of the engine, you would always place your hands underneath his jacket, trying to keep them warm as your cheek pressed against his back.

Your homemade meals, god he missed them, nothing could even come closer to the taste of your food, your own personal chocolate smiling faces on your desserts whenever you had the chance.

"Mmmhm"

You nodded in agreement before getting outside the tub, at first he would've asked you where were you going but the feeling of your hands on his wet hair and the smell of his shampoo quickly shut him up.

"Missed you so so much"

You said in a soft tone, rubbing the liquid on his scalp, slowly massaging it around his golden strands, careful not to make knots.

He was in heaven right now.

He desired to wash himself up on his bath once again, the strong scent of his few soaps and some deserved intimacy. But your hands working on his hair was definitely something else.

"Feels good?"

A nod slowly answered your question, smiling as you admired his state: tightly closed eyes, limbs falling over the bath and the sluggish pace of his chest.

You continued rubbing his scalp, your movements soon growing more and more tender and sweet. You had missed him so much you wanted to express your feelings through your touch, your honeyed words and maybe a tasty meal.

When you had finished cleaning up his hair, you motioned him to wash the soap off with some water, giggling as you saw him sliding down the tub, shaking a bit his head under the water. You finally got up, knees feeling slightly numb as you stretched yourself, slowly getting inside the tub again with him.

But this time you had layed on top of him, his eyes shooting wide as he took in the feeling of your body, too blissed out to even notice you getting back up. But he soon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as he spread his legs, letting you rest in between them.

There wasn't anything sexual about this, the feeling of your wet skin touching his underneath the water didn't make him feel aroused.

It made him feel loved, warm.

The way your cheek would brush into his before your head lowered down below his chin, your red face thanks to the closiness and the temperature of the room. It was all too much for him to handle so he opted to just admire you as you closed your eyes with a sigh on top of him.

He had his arms wrapped around your waist, sitting upright before his limbs decided to copy your own, relaxing and softening under your body.

Oh how he wishes to do this every day, to hold you until his last breath.

The feeling of your skin wouldn't go away even if the tried to file it down his own skin.

He kissed your forehead, and after you were both satisfied and soaked up enough until your fingers were all wrinkled up. You kissed him on the lips slowly, smiling like a dork and laughing lowly, your breath hitting his mouth as you whispered.

"I love you"

"I'm here with you now"

His deep voice made you giggle like a little girl, you loved his low tone, the first thing you would hear in the mornings and the last thing you would hear before falling asleep. For things like that you loved his quiet self, after a long while of not talking, his voice would naturally lower some tones.

. . .

Wrapped with a towel you looked at him, his hair all ruffled and soaked up just as his body. His towel hung lowly on his hips and you couldn't help but admire your boyfriend's chiseled physique.

How did you get so lucky??

Your mind always gets back to that question, he wasn't only caring, honest and cute but he was ripped off too?!?

And his absolutely angelic face, his gorgerous eyes and his small and cute nose were too much for you to handle. Since the day you had first seen him, you had always thought that his absolutely adorable features didn't match his body. He was just too cute to be that buff!

"Seen enough already?"

He asked with a hidden smirk, he also loved the way you drooled over him, teasing you just to see your blushy cheeks as you had been caught. But he couln't really laugh that loud because, hell, you looked absolutely astonishing too.

"Nah, not yet"

You teased back, walking until you met him as you wrapped your arms around his back, pecking his shoulder as you heard his breath hitching, earning a sly smirk from you.

But as much as you wanted to tease him further, the roles were quickly exchanged as he picked you up suddenly, throwing you over his shoulder as he started to walk off the steamy bathroom. He often did this, picking you up or manhandling you around, trying to avoid your teasing kisses or touches. And you should be already accustomed to it, but you couldn't help the yelp escaping from your lips.

He was the one smirking now.

Playfully kicking his back you told him to put you down, laughing as you felt his shoulder poking your stomach through your towel, your hair fell down and your face was starting to heat up again thanks to your blood travelling downwards.

But soon your giggles were cut off as you landed on the bed, jumping off slightly as you stared at him with fake disbelief.

"Did you loose your maners on that trip?"

You said as you stared at him, resting on your elbows, his back was facing you as he searched some clothes on your closet. His back moved swiftly as his muscles flexed under his skin, huffing out he answered.

"Maybe"

You laid your head on the bed, closing your eyes as you breathed out, taking all the space with your extremities. The bed felt extra-soft today and the lavender scent you always sprayed on on top of the mattress seemed to have became stronger.

"But maybe you shouldn't tease me like that"

You almost didn't pick up his words but your pride was much more bigger than just accepting them, so you sat upright, looking at the oversized shirt he was holding on his arms.

"Oh, you love it"

You said in a ludic tone, quickly taking away the piece of clothing as you smiled mischeviously.

"Hey, that was my shirt"

You dropped your towel before putting on the shirt, smelling it like crazy before your head poked out of it. He naturally retrieved his eyes from your back, as if he didn't see you naked just a few minutes ago.

"Well, it smelt too good for you to wear it"

He huffed out, reaching out to grab another shirt before placing it over himself finally and he actually noticed it smelling a bit too much like him. Did you spray his perfume over it?

Well, he couldn't blame you, he was the first one to take a long breath of your hair the moment you hugged him. Press his face on your pillow as he woke up, hell he did even smell your shirts once in a while.

"mmmhmm"

You mumbled, sighing out for a long while as you finally nuzzled into his neck once again. You had really, really missed his arms around you, well, his everything around you. From his soft skin to his steady heartbeat, soothing you slowly into nirvana.

"I love you"

You lifted your head just so you could kiss him once again, lips you couldn't understand how they were perfectly hydrated always. And it wasn't an exception tonight, moving slowly against yours as his hot breath hit your cheeks.

But you felt yourself slowly falling asleep on him, so he took your face off him, pecking your cheek before his right hand guided you back to his neck. His hand then lifted the mattress, carefully covering both of your entwined bodies.

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niallerspayno · 10 days ago

Text

Gates Of Hell

Masterlist

When a hotel mix-up forces you to share a bed with the one member of the band you can’t stand, years of bickering with Zayn explode into something far rougher—and far more intimate—than either of you ever planned.

Tags: Zayn x reader, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, smut (unprotected p in v, fem receiving oral, light choking)

…

You’ve been part of One Direction for almost two years now—long enough that the fans have finally stopped calling you “the new one.”

It was meant to be temporary. A label experiment. A single feature on a single track that turned into a last-minute tour spot, and then somehow, a permanent place onstage beside them.

The boys took you in like family. Louis is your chaos partner. Niall brings you coffee every morning without fail. Harry hugs you just because he can. Liam makes sure you actually sleep. They’re your brothers in every way that matters.

All of them—except Zayn.

Zayn has always been… difficult.

He’s never liked you, not from the start. You don’t know why, and you stopped asking a long time ago. Every word between you two is short, sharp, and delivered through clenched teeth. The others call it “banter.” You know better. You’ve tried civility, silence, sarcasm—nothing works.

And now you’re in a hotel lobby somewhere in Germany, staring at Paul like he’s just announced the end of the world.

“Only three rooms?” you repeat, your voice flat.

Paul sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There was a mix-up with the booking system. They’re completely full. I’ve tried calling around, but everything nearby’s the same story. It’s one night. You’ll survive.”

You open your mouth to argue, to suggest maybe you could share with literally anyone else—

“I’m with Liam,” Niall says quickly, tossing his bag over his shoulder like it’s already settled. “He doesn’t snore. Much.”

“Oi,” Liam mutters, but he doesn’t argue.

“I call Harry,” Louis chimes in, spinning his room key between his fingers. “He lets me use his conditioner.”

Harry gasps. “You use it? I thought it just vanished! You little thief.”

You whirl on them. “Wait, seriously? You’re all just—”

“It’s one night, love,” Louis says sweetly, far too sweetly, already backing toward the lift. “Think of it as… trust-building.”

“Or a social experiment,” Niall offers, eyes twinkling. “Can the two mortal enemies survive a king-sized bed?”

Harry leans in behind Louis, stage-whispers, “Spoiler: they can’t.”

“I’m not sharing with him,” you hiss, jabbing a finger in Zayn’s direction.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Zayn mutters, dragging his suitcase behind him with the enthusiasm of a man heading to the gallows.

Paul groans, rubbing at his temples like the headache just kicked in. “Can we please not do this here? It’s two in the morning, I haven’t eaten since Berlin, and I swear to God, if anyone else makes a joke about ‘enemies to lovers’ I’m putting you all in bunk beds.”

“You hear that?” Louis gasps dramatically. “That’s a trope threat. We’re this close to a ‘there was only one sleeping bag’ situation.”

“Or—” Niall leans toward you with a grin “—we lean into it. Really lean in. Sparks fly. One bed. The tension. The rage. The—”

“The restraining order,” you cut in.

Paul claps his hands once. Loud. “Enough. You’re all acting like children. Room keys have been handed out. No switching, no whining. I don’t care if you build a pillow wall or sleep in the tub, just don’t cause a scene.”

He looks at you, then at Zayn. “And you two—try not to end up on the news.”

Then he walks off muttering something about needing a raise.

You glance over at Zayn. He’s silent, jaw tight, gaze fixed on the elevator.

You grip the key in your fist. “I hate this.”

Zayn shrugs. “Good. We’re off to a great start.”

And with that, he turns and walks toward the lift without waiting for you.

You stomp after him, wheeling your suitcase behind you with all the grace of a hungover rhino. Zayn doesn’t even hold the lift. He just steps inside and hits the button like you’re not two feet behind him.

The doors are nearly closed when Harry wedges his boot in and squeezes in beside you, Louis, Niall, and Liam following like a pack of gossip-hungry hyenas.

“Cozy,” Louis chirps, practically bouncing on his heels.

Zayn leans against the wall, arms folded, hood still up, eyes closed like he’s trying to pretend the rest of you don’t exist.

Unfortunately for him, you do. Very loudly.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you mutter. “I’m not carrying your sulking corpse upstairs.”

His eyes flick open. “As if you could.”

“Oh, I could. I’d just drop you halfway up the stairs.”

“I’d rather that than listen to you talk all night.”

“You wish I’d talk to you at all.”

Louis lets out a dramatic gasp. “Enemies to lovers speed run, lads, we are witnessing history.”

“I give it till midnight before one of them gets handsy,” Niall says, elbowing Liam. “Ten bucks says it’s her.”

You scowl. “I will shove you all down this elevator shaft.”

Harry snorts. “Please don’t. I’m too pretty to die.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything else, just mutters something under his breath in Urdu that you’re pretty sure is not complimentary.

The elevator dings.

Mercifully.

The doors slide open and you barrel out, not bothering to wait for him this time. Your room is at the end of the hall—of course it is—and you lead the way with a huff, ignoring the snickers echoing behind you.

“You two have fun,” Louis calls after you, sing-song and evil. “Remember—cuddle therapy! It’s real!”

“Sweet dreams,” Harry adds. “Try not to kill each other. Or do. It’d be interesting either way.”

You slam the door shut behind you as Zayn steps in.

The room isn’t small, but it sure as hell feels like it. Neutral-toned walls, one low lamp casting a soft yellow glow, and a bed that is definitely not made for two people who hate each other.

You drop your suitcase at the foot of it and cross your arms.

Zayn doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t say a word. He just shrugs off his hoodie and tosses it onto the nearest chair.

And underneath it?

Black tank top.

Tattooed arms on full display.

Of course.

You try not to look, which means you absolutely do look, and then regret it instantly.

Because Zayn’s hot. Infuriatingly, unfairly hot. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? If he were just a dick with no jawline or tattoos or that voice like molasses and smoke, you could hate him easily.

But no. He has to smirk at you when he catches you staring.

“See something you like?” he says, all low and smug.

You scoff. “Please. I’ve seen more impressive shoulders on coat hangers.”

He chuckles under his breath, slow and deep. “That why you’re still staring?”

“I’m not—” you start, then clamp your mouth shut when you realize you are.

Zayn moves toward the bed like he owns it, dragging his suitcase closer and unzipping it with one hand. “Let me guess. You’re the type to steal all the blankets, yeah?”

“You’re the type to hog them.”

“Not if you stay on your side.”

You glare. “I’m going to build a pillow wall.”

He shrugs. “Good. Maybe it’ll muffle the sound of your whining.”

You throw a pillow at him.

He catches it one-handed, grinning now—sharp and wicked—and tosses it onto the bed before peeling off his tank top in one smooth motion.

Your brain stalls.

Every inch of his torso is light olive skin and ink and lean, defined muscle. Tattoos swirl across his chest, down his arms, over his ribs. He stretches just a little as he tosses the shirt aside, like he knows what he’s doing.

And then he crawls into bed.

Not slides.

Not climbs.

Crawls.

Slow. Casual. Effortless.

Like he’s done it a thousand times. Like this is his bed. His room.

You’re still standing there blinking when he flops back against the pillow, one arm tucked behind his head, sheets riding low on his hips.

He doesn’t even look at you.

Just mutters, “Turn the light off when you’re done staring.”

Your jaw drops.

You grab your pyjamas from your suitcase with a snap, fists clenched tight around the fabric, and storm toward the bathroom before you do something insane.

Like look again.

Or punch him.

Or both.

Inside, you slam the door and lock it, breathing hard.

Your skin is flushed. Your heart’s racing.

And you hate—hate—how warm your face feels.

Because no matter how much you loathe him, no matter how much he grates on every last nerve you have…

You’re still flustered.

You change slowly, trying not to overthink it—but of course you do.

The red satin set wasn’t chosen for this. It’s just what was clean. A camisole that dips a little too low, shorts that cling a little too well. Silky, soft, and completely inappropriate for sharing a bed with the one person you swore you’d never even nap near.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, mutter a quiet “fuck it,” and open the door.

He’s still in bed.

But now he’s looking at you.

Lying there on his side, head propped on his hand, sheets tangled around his hips. His eyes trail over you—slow, deliberate, unbothered. Heat simmers behind them, dark and unreadable.

You freeze in the doorway. “What?”

Zayn doesn’t blink. “Didn’t realize we were dressing for seduction.”

You narrow your eyes. “Didn’t realize you were such a perv.”

He hums like he’s amused. “You’re the one wearing lingerie.”

“It’s pyjamas, you dick.”

“Sure.”

“You were shirtless first,” you snap, stomping toward the bed.

“Not my fault you’re easily flustered.”

“Not flustered,” you lie, yanking the covers back and sliding in with sharp, irritated movements. “Just repulsed.”

Zayn’s voice is close when he murmurs, “That why your cheeks are still red?”

You nearly launch a pillow at him again, but instead, you turn your back to him with a dramatic huff and yank the covers up to your chin.

The bed shifts beside you.

You feel it—his body moving just enough to make the mattress dip. His leg brushes yours under the covers, a light, irritating graze that makes you jolt.

You snap your leg away like it burns. “Try that again and I’ll break your fucking knee.”

Zayn exhales a quiet laugh. “Didn’t realize breathing was an act of war.”

“You didn’t breathe. You drifted. There’s a difference.”

He shifts again—deliberately this time—and his foot presses against yours, slow and unapologetic.

Your pulse spikes.

“Zayn,” you warn.

“What?” he murmurs, voice low, almost amused. “Worried you’ll like it?”

You roll toward him with a glare. “Touch me again, and I swear to God, I’ll stab you in your sleep.”

He raises a brow, eyes flicking lazily over your face—and then lower. “That a threat?”

You lean in, your voice sharp enough to cut. “It’s a fucking guarantee.”

He smirks, something wicked curling at the corner of his mouth. “Mm. Might be worth it.”

Your blood boils. From rage. From heat. From him.

You should turn away. You should shut your eyes, roll over, and pretend none of this ever happened.

Instead—your knee brushes his thigh.

Slow. Deliberate.

His smirk falters.

Then he snaps.

In one fluid, furious motion, Zayn rolls on top of you—body pinning yours to the mattress, hands grabbing your wrists and slamming them into the pillows above your head.

You gasp, startled.

“You started this,” he growls, voice rough and right at your ear. “And now you’re gonna pretend you didn’t want me to do something about it?”

You writhe beneath him, your anger tangling with something hotter, deeper—your body betraying you, reacting to the weight of him, the scent of him, the way his chest presses to yours, bare skin sliding against satin.

“I hate you,” you spit, but your voice breaks around it. Your hips lift, trying to find friction, your breath already quickening.

Zayn looks down at you like he’s ready to ruin you.

“You hate me?” he repeats, grinding his hips into yours—slow, punishing. “Then why are you so fucking wet for me?”

Your eyes snap shut as a desperate noise escapes your throat, and you curse yourself for the heat pooling between your legs, for the way your body arches into his touch without permission.

Zayn doesn’t wait for a reply.

His mouth crashes down on yours—hot, rough, furious. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s teeth and tongue and years of unsaid words poured into a single, punishing kiss.

You fight him.

Your hands twist in his grip, your mouth trying to pull away, but it’s all for show—and you both know it. Because the moment his tongue sweeps past your lips, the moment he groans into your mouth like he’s starving for it, your body melts beneath him.

He growls against your lips, releasing your wrists only to slide his hands down your body, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. “Keep struggling,” he mutters darkly. “See how long I hold back.”

“I’m not.” You gasp as he grinds down harder, cock pressed thick and hot against your core.

“Bullshit,” he hisses, dragging his mouth down your neck. “You’ve wanted this for months. You just didn’t want to say it first.”

His teeth sink into your throat, sharp and possessive, and you cry out—not in pain, not really. It’s too hot, too intense. It sends a shiver straight through you.

You slap at his shoulder, but it’s weak, half-hearted. “You’re such a prick.”

“Keep talking,” he growls. “Say something else I can bite you for.”

And he does—right at the base of your throat. Then lower, dragging the strap of your camisole down with his teeth until your breast spills free, flushed and aching.

“You look better like this,” he mutters. “Messy. Needy. Mine.”

You hiss at the claim. “I’m not—”

But he cuts you off with another kiss, this one even rougher. His hands are everywhere—palming your breast, tugging your hips higher, pressing you exactly where he wants you. You can feel how hard he is, how ready.

“You are,” he growls against your mouth, biting your lower lip before kissing you breathless again. “You fucking are.”

Zayn’s mouth is everywhere—biting, licking, tasting. Down your neck, across your collarbone, then lower, lips wrapping around your nipple as he sucks hard, hand splayed across your stomach to keep you still.

You squirm, hips shifting against him, but he growls and pins you down harder.

“Stop moving,” he snaps, voice dark and frayed. “Or I’ll make you beg.”

You glare, chest heaving, every inch of your skin prickling under his touch. “I’m not begging for anything.”

He smirks against your skin. “You will.”

Then he slides down your body, dragging the satin shorts with him. The fabric clings to your thighs, soaked through, and he hums low in his throat when he sees it. “Look at that,” he murmurs. “So wet. All that attitude, and you’re already fucking dripping.”

You move to kick him, but he grabs your thighs and shoves them apart, spreading you wide and lowering his face between them.

You barely have time to snap another threat before his mouth is on you.

Hot. Wet. Unrelenting.

Zayn licks you like he’s trying to punish you with pleasure—long, deep strokes of his tongue that make your hips jerk and your thighs clamp around his head, only for him to shove them apart again with a growl.

“Stay still,” he snaps against your pussy, voice muffled and rough.

You try.

God, you try.

But his tongue is ruthless, circling your clit just right, dipping lower, fucking into you with practiced precision. He moans against you like he loves the taste of your surrender, and the sound goes straight to your spine.

Your fingers twist in the sheets. Your body’s trembling. Your legs won’t stop shaking.

“Zayn—” you gasp, a warning, a plea.

He groans again, arms locking tighter around your thighs, holding you in place while his mouth devours you. Lips, tongue, teeth—every part of him claiming you, ruining you.

You’re so close.

The pressure coils low in your belly, hot and tight and overwhelming. Your hips twitch, your breath breaks, your whole body tenses—

And then he stops.

Pulls back completely.

You whine—loud and raw, shocked by the sudden loss. “What the fuck—”

Zayn wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wild and glinting.

“You don’t get to come yet,” he says, voice wrecked. “Not until you beg.”

You stare at him, panting, furious, soaked and throbbing and trembling beneath him.

“You bastard,” you breathe.

He smirks, lips still glistening. “Keep talking like that,” he murmurs, crawling back up your body, “and I’ll edge you ‘til you’re crying.”

His mouth brushes your ear. “Say it.”

Your body aches—every nerve lit, every muscle trembling, your cunt clenching around nothing, desperate and empty and throbbing with need. You’re furious. Humiliated. Soaked.

And still—your hips roll against him again.

Zayn groans into your ear, his teeth grazing your skin. “Say it,” he breathes. “Say you want me to fuck you. Say it and I’ll give you everything.”

You bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

But then his hand slides between your legs again—fingers slipping through your slick folds, teasing, cruel.

He doesn’t push in.

He doesn’t touch your clit.

He just hovers there. Threatening. Promising.

“Beg,” he growls. “Come on, princess. I’ve got all night.”

You glare up at him, chest heaving, heart pounding.

And then—

“Please,” you rasp. It rips from you before you can stop it. “Please, Zayn.”

He stills.

Your pride cracks in your voice as you meet his eyes. “I need you to fuck me.”

His mouth crashes against yours before the sentence is finished—biting, claiming, starved. One hand grabs your thigh, pulling you open, and the other wraps around your throat, just enough pressure to keep you his.

“Good girl,” he growls against your lips. “Now don’t fucking hold back.”

He doesn’t waste a second.

Zayn shoves his briefs down just far enough, his cock thick and flushed, heavy against your thigh. You feel the heat of him, the weight, the sheer intent in the way he lines himself up and presses the head right where you need him most—slow and teasing at first, like he wants to savor your desperation.

But he’s not in the mood to be gentle.

Not tonight.

With a low, vicious growl, he thrusts in hard—deep and sudden, burying himself inside you in one unforgiving stroke.

You cry out, back arching, fingers clawing at his shoulders as the breath gets punched out of you. The stretch is intense, overwhelming, but it’s perfect. He feels too good, too deep, too much—and your body takes him anyway, clenching around him like it’s exactly what you’ve been starving for.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice rough and ruined. “You feel that? You were made for this. Made for me.”

His hand tightens at your throat—not choking, just holding. Just claiming.

“You begged for it,” he snarls, hips snapping forward again, the pace brutal from the start. “So take it.”

And you do.

You meet every thrust, your body greedy for more, your moans growing louder with every slap of skin against skin. He’s feral with it, fucking you like it’s the only way to shut you up—like it’s the only way he knows how to make you his.

“Look at you,” he pants, watching the way your face twists beneath him. “So cocky until you’re full of me. You love this, don’t you? Love being fucked like you’re mine.”

You nod, barely able to breathe, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes from the intensity. “Yes—fuck, Zayn—”

“That’s right,” he growls. “Say my name. Let the whole fucking hotel know who’s making you come.”

Your voice is hoarse, raw from moaning, crying out, begging. And he’s not slowing down.

Zayn’s hand slides from your throat to the back of your neck, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. “Keep looking at me,” he grits out. “I want to see your face when you come.”

You’re close. Too close.

Your thighs tremble, body arching into every brutal snap of his hips, the bed creaking beneath you as he fucks you hard enough to make the headboard slam against the wall. It should be embarrassing. Should make you shy, make you want to crawl into yourself.

But you don’t.

You meet his thrusts with all the fire still left in you, teeth bared, fingers digging into his shoulders as you growl, “Harder.”

Zayn snarls like an animal, shifting his grip to pin both your wrists above your head again, body slamming into yours with even more force.

“You don’t get to ask,” he spits. “Not anymore. You gave yourself to me when you begged.”

You can barely breathe, tears slipping down your temples now—not from pain, not really, just too much pleasure. Too much of him.

“I hate you,” you rasp, voice shaking.

“I know,” he pants, hips grinding deep. “Hate me while I make you come.”

His free hand slides between you, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, punishing circles. You cry out, body jerking under him.

“You’re shaking,” he growls. “You gonna come for me?”

You nod, frantic.

“Say it.”

“I’m gonna come—fuck, Zayn—please—”

That’s all it takes.

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train—violent, overwhelming, all-consuming. You scream his name, back arching, legs locking around him as you pulse around his cock, every nerve lit on fire.

Zayn doesn’t last another second.

With a guttural growl, he thrusts once, twice, then buries himself deep and stays there, hips twitching as he spills into you, hot and thick and endless. His body shudders over yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin as he pants through the aftershock.

You both lie there, wrecked.

The room is thick with heat and sweat and the scent of sex. Your pulse echoes in your ears, your body trembling with the aftershocks of everything he just gave you—took from you. You don’t know where the hate ends and the need begins anymore. Maybe it never mattered.

Zayn stays buried inside you for a moment longer, breath warm against your shoulder, chest heaving against yours. His hand still rests at your throat—no pressure now, just a possessive hold that lingers like he’s reluctant to let go.

Neither of you speaks.

Because what is there to say?

Eventually, he shifts. Pulls back slowly, carefully, as if suddenly remembering you’re not just a body he can use to vent years of tension. You hiss at the sensitivity as he slips out of you, the loss of him making your legs twitch, the ache setting in deep and low.

You expect him to roll away.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he rises from the bed and disappears into the bathroom.

You lie there, blinking at the ceiling, dazed and sore and flooded with adrenaline. You don’t know if you should feel victorious or defeated. You don’t know if you won whatever twisted game the two of you have always played.

You don’t hear the tap run, but you hear the soft sound of the towel wrung out, the rustle of movement. You half-expect him to just toss it at you from across the room—some smug comment to match it.

But instead, he returns quietly. Stands at the edge of the bed, eyes sweeping over you with something unreadable in his expression.

Then he kneels between your legs.

“I’ve got it,” you mutter, trying to sit up, your voice still wrecked.

Zayn ignores you.

“I said—”

“Lie back,” he says, low and firm. “You’re making a mess.”

Heat rises to your face. “It’s your mess.”

“And I’ll fucking clean it up.”

You scowl, trying to shove his hand away when the towel touches your thigh. “I don’t need your help.”

“You can barely move,” he snaps, catching your wrist mid-swat. “Stop being difficult for five seconds.”

You freeze, eyes locked on his. The heat between you hasn’t vanished—it’s just simmering now, molten and quieter, tangled up in pride and tension and something you don’t have the strength to name.

He softens the pressure on your wrist, then lowers it back to the sheets.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, and this time it’s almost gentle.

You lie back with a huff, turning your head to the side, refusing to look at him while he moves the warm towel between your thighs. He’s careful. Irritatingly so. And despite yourself, the care in his touch makes your throat tight.

It’s not a grand gesture.

It’s not even tender, really.

But it’s real.

When he’s done, he tosses the towel toward the bathroom, not bothering to check if it lands, and climbs back into bed beside you. He doesn’t touch you—not yet. Just lies there, head tipped back against the pillows, chest rising with deep, steady breaths like he’s finally coming down too.

You stay facing the wall, jaw clenched, muscles tight, already rehearsing tomorrow’s regrets.

But the mattress shifts behind you.

And then—without warning—Zayn drags you back into him, one strong arm locking around your waist, chest pressing flush to your back like he owns the space between you.

You jerk in his grip. “Get off.”

“No.”

You squirm harder. “This isn’t a fucking sleepover.”

“Good,” he mutters. “I don’t do those. I just fuck girls who hate me and then hold them anyway.”

Your elbow shoots back, catching his ribs.

He grunts. Laughs.

“Still full of fight, huh?” His lips brush your ear. “Didn’t sound like that five minutes ago.”

“Touch me again and I’ll bite your fingers off.”

Zayn hums. “Tempting.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re warm,” he says simply, already settling in. His thigh slides between yours again, lazy and unapologetic. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

“I don’t.”

“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire something back—but the words die in your throat.

Because you’re still not moving.

Because his arm feels too good around you, solid and steady, the heat of him wrapping around your frayed nerves like something dangerous you can’t quite bring yourself to escape.

“You’re not staying like this,” you whisper, one last stab at control.

Zayn’s voice is low. Confident. “Then push me off.”

You don’t.

And after a beat, he knows it.

You both do.

So you lie there, seething, tangled up in the boy you swore you couldn’t stand—his breathing slowing, his body melting against yours, and your pride burning hot behind your eyelids as sleep starts to pull you under.

…

Author’s note: I kind of want to write a part 2! What do you think?

#one direction fanfiction #zayn malik x you #zayn x y/n #zayn malik x reader #zayn x you #zayn x reader #zayn malik smut #zayn fanfiction #one direction smut

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