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pathologicalreid · 2 months ago

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litmus test | s.r.

in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

find more chemist!reader here!

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: flangst (like. the end is a little angsty and it has case details) content warnings: typical cm violence, science talk, fem!reader, reader is not built for crime, morgan being an older brother, some fun banter!! death by firework is crazy lmao word count: 1.68k a/n: this is one of my favorite fluff pieces i've written in agessss i missed chemist!reader so much i learn so many things when i'm writing her. this was a request! i hope you like it as much as i do!!

“Do you have a second?” Spencer asks, his voice slightly choppy over the phone. Between his ancient phone and being inside concrete police precincts, some disconnect was bound to happen.

Saving your document to your computer, you rest the lab phone between your shoulder and ear, “If you’re asking me if I have any corrosive chemicals in my hands, the answer is no.”

He chuckles lightly, “I never know with you.”

You roll your eyes in response, even if he can’t see you, “It was one time and I needed a new phone case anyway.”

“You fused the plastic of your phone case to the material of your phone,” he retorts far too quickly for your liking.

“Yes,” you acquiesce, “but I know the exact chemical reaction that caused that phenomenon.” You cross your legs one over the other, maintaining your balance on your lab stool as you speak to Spencer over the phone.

He gave a light hum in response, “Speaking of chemical reactions – I need your help.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You’re asking me for help in chemistry?” There really was a first time for everything, you suppose.

Spencer was more than capable of navigating a lab on his own, even so, he admits, “You have more applied practice than I do.”

Pursing your lips, you nod to yourself, “Fair enough. What’s stumping you, Dr. Reid?” Your inquiry, while innocent enough, garners a wolf whistle from your graduate assistant.

“There’s something burning a hole in these bones, and I’m not sure what would be causing it to happen this fast,” he explains, giving you minor background information on how long the bones were out and if the medical examiner had treated them with something.

You clear your throat, frowning at the notes you had scrawled down in front of you, “Burning or corroding?” What was seemingly a meaningless distinction would actually allow you to filter through approximately half of the possibilities.

“Corroding,” he corrects himself, “My mistake.”

Crossing off some of your notes, you purse your lips at the new possibilities, “No worries. Did you try flushing it out with water?”

You hear papers flipping on his end of the call before you get a response, “That would destroy evidence.”

“Well,” you raise your eyebrows, “It sounds like your evidence is destroying itself.”

“Baby,” Spencer says in a no-nonsense tone reserved for when he was deep in a case. You could’ve sworn you heard Morgan in the background of the call mocking him for the pet name.

Turning back to your notes, you sigh, “Yeah, yeah, all work and no play. Was the body buried?”

“Partially,” his reply intrigues you, “I can have Garcia send you the crime scene photos if you think it’ll help.”

Wrinkling your nose at the thought, you made an unsure sound, “Right, because nothing says lunchtime like getting up close and personal with a homicide victim.”

“What lunchtime? It’s three pm in D.C. right now,” he caught you, a slight chiding tone in his words.

Ignoring his questions, you ask more of your own, “Was the body near water? Did they test the pH of the soil and water?”

There were more papers flipping, likely someone presenting the results of those tests to him, “Yeah, the soil was a five-point two and the water was a seven-point eight,” he listed off for you.

While your knowledge of the pH of the soil in Iowa was limited, you did know that those levels were pretty on par for the northern Mississippi River. “O-kay,” you say, extending your vowels, “and they didn’t find anything else on the scene that points to corrosive materials. Hydrofluoric acid?” You posit, “No, you know what – maybe you should send me those files. My work email is encrypted, you can give it to Penelope.”

He speaks to someone else in the room with him and you resist the urge to ask him if he’s enjoying Iowa, “It’s sent,” he confirms with you.

Pulling up your email only takes a moment, and once you get over the initial shock of seeing a dead body on your computer screen, you lift your lab glasses to the top of your head in order to get a better look. “I mean,” you think for a moment, “those look like alkali burns to me. I’ve never seen them on bones before, but you should do a litmus test to check either way.”

“So, we rinse it with water?” He asks, seeking instruction from you in a way that makes you feel oddly powerful.

Your eyes widen, “No, no, no. If it’s a metal compound then it’ll be covered in a mineral oil, so rinsing it with water would actually make the burn worse.”

Pausing for a moment, you consider the possibility that Spencer didn’t have the luxury of time – he was trying to solve a murder, not do experiments in a lab.

“Alkali burns can be serious, it all depends on what caused them, and most are helped by rinsing with water. So, unless you have the time to test for metal compounds, I’d go ahead and rinse it. You might want to brush the damage to the bones with a dry brush first. If there’s lime on the bones it’ll foam, which not only will corrode the bones even further but it might release a toxic gas,” you have no idea how the corrosion would interact with bone marrow, but something tell you that you don’t want to know

“Wait a minute,” Derek interjects, being included in the conversation now that Spencer put the call on speaker, “I thought things like alkaline water were good for you.”

You scoff instinctively, “Oh, there’s no definitive evidence that shows alkaline water as having any real health benefits. Especially not the benefits that the internet says it has.” Straightening up in your stool, you continue, “In fact, there is evidence from the NIH that says drinking alkaline water could cause kidney damage. There’s a particular-“

“My bad,” he interjects, effectively stopping your rambling before it really took off, “I forgot whose girlfriend I was talking to.”

Groaning at your new vexation, you huff, “Oh, fuck off, Derek. Go kick down a door.”

Spencer quickly switches the phone back, “Thank you, angel.”

Squinting at the photos that were still on your laptop screen, a crude, disturbing thought came to mind, “You know, sparklers can cause alkali burns. It might be something to consider because of the diameter of the burns.”

Your boyfriend was silent on his end of the call for so long that you had to check and make sure the call hadn't dropped. “Did you say sparklers?”

“Yep,” you confirm, “like the ones you can get everywhere this time of year.”

He says something to Morgan, placing his hand over the receiver so you can’t hear, “There’s only one spot in this town, though. I’ve gotta go, see you soon.”

“Stay safe, please! I prefer your bones unburned,” you rattle off into the phone before it clicks, placing the phone back on the stand and deleting the crime scene photos from your inbox.

The front door to the apartment opens and shuts quietly, with Spencer under the assumption that you already went to bed, he was surprised to find you on the couch, nursing a cup of tea. “Hey, baby,” he chirps, unusually peppy for this time of night.

“Hey,” you say half-heartedly, threading your fingers through the handle of the mug.

Your somber tone gets Spencer’s attention, “What’s wrong?”

The slight panic in his voice causes your eyes to snap up to his, “Nothing,” you murmur. “It’s just… the woman who was in those pictures. There- the burns on her bones, they were signs of torture, weren’t they?”

You’d been thinking about the burns ever since Spencer showed them to you, “Yes,” he answers with a reciprocating softness, sitting down next to you on the couch. “The medical examiner concluded that she was burned antemortem.”

That woman had been burned alive by fireworks, sparklers had seared their way through skin and muscle until it finally met her bones. You blink a few tears from your eyes at the thought, “I like my lab, Spence.”

The confusion on his face was palpable, “I know you do.”

“I like my minimal human interaction and my chemicals, and I like knowing why certain things cause certain reactions. I like it when things make sense.” You take a deep, shaky breath, “Killing someone. Torturing someone with fireworks. That just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You had no interest in hearing the excuses that the killer had provided. You had no interest in hearing the psychological breakdown of that woman’s killer. Spencer knows that, “The photos got to you?”

Taking a sip from your mug, you nod solemnly, “I can’t stop thinking about the way it must have felt. Oh, the smell must have been horrible. That poor woman.” In theory, it was a ridiculous notion, killing someone with fireworks seemed neither probable nor possible. Yet here you are.

“But we got the person who killed her,” Spencer reassures you, resting his hand gently on your knee. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he adds.

Your face warms at his compliment, “I wish I could have helped before she was killed.” You were grateful that Spencer hadn’t passed on any personal information about the woman, it was easier for you if you kept things in separate storage files in your mind.

Spencer hums, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “There’s always going to be another one. I’m sorry about the photos, I should’ve made sure Garcia only sent the necessary ones.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you look at him thoughtfully, “This will pass, but for tonight I just feel bad for the victim.”

“I can have Penelope share some of her favorite baby animal videos, if you’d like,” he offers softly, resting his head on your shoulder.

In return, you give him a small smile, “Well, I suppose it really can’t hurt.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #chemist!reader

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pucksandpower · 3 months ago

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Black Widow

Toto Wolff x black widow!Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton and George Russell are convinced you’re trying to kill their team principal, and, to be fair, you do have a trail of seven dead extremely wealthy husbands behind you … but it’s not what they think, you promise

The soft beep of medical equipment provides a rhythmic backdrop as you sit beside the ornate mahogany bed, your manicured fingers intertwined with those of your latest husband, Reginald Worthington III.

At 89 years old, Reggie, as you affectionately call him, is by far your oldest conquest yet. His wrinkled face, now gaunt from months of illness, still manages a weak smile as he gazes at you.

“My darling,” Reggie wheezes, his voice barely above a whisper, “I hope you know how much joy you’ve brought to these final months of mine.”

You lean in, your silky hair cascading over your shoulder as you press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Oh, Reggie. The pleasure has been all mine.”

It’s not entirely a lie. While you don’t love Reggie — or any of your previous husbands, for that matter — you’ve grown fond of the old codger. He’s certainly been the most amusing of your elderly spouses.

Reggie’s eyes twinkle with mischief, a ghost of the rakish playboy he must have been in his youth. “Now, now, my dear. We both know this has been a mutually beneficial arrangement. But I do hope I’ve provided some entertainment along the way.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’ve been a delight, darling. Truly.”

As if on cue, Reggie is seized by a coughing fit. You quickly grab a glass of water from the bedside table, helping him take small sips until the spasms subside. When he catches his breath, he fixes you with a serious look.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you. About the will.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your face carefully neutral. “Reggie, please. We don’t need to discuss such morbid topics.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. We both know why you’re here, and it’s not to admire the wallpaper. Now listen, because this is important.”

You lean in closer, curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Reggie’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “In addition to the usual — the houses, the cars, the offshore accounts — I’m leaving you my stake in the Mercedes Formula 1 team.”

Your eyes widen in genuine surprise. “The racing team? Reggie, I had no idea you were involved with-”

He cuts you off with a wheezy laugh. “Oh, my dear. There’s so much you don’t know about me. Did you think I made my fortune selling denture cream?”

You can’t help but smile. “Well, I did wonder about all those trophies in your study.”

“Remnants of a misspent youth,” Reggie says with a wistful sigh. “But this, this is my crowning achievement. A 33% stake in one of the most successful F1 teams in history.”

Your mind reels at the implications. This is far beyond anything you’d anticipated when you’d set your sights on Reginald Worthington III.

“Reggie, I ... I don’t know what to say.”

He pats your hand affectionately. “You don’t have to say anything, my dear. Just promise me you’ll make the most of it. I’ve always admired your ambition. It reminds me of myself at your age.”

You lean back in your chair, studying the old man before you. In that moment, you feel a surge of genuine affection for him.

“I promise, Reggie. I’ll make you proud.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, tell me about the others. I want to know how I measure up to my predecessors.”

You laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Are you sure? It’s quite a list.”

Reggie’s eyes sparkle with interest. “My dear, I’m on my deathbed. Regale me with tales of your conquests.”

With a theatrical sigh, you begin. “Well, if you insist. Let’s see ... first, there was Harold.”

“Ah, the virgin husband,” Reggie interrupts with a knowing nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “And how did you know that?”

He winks. “I have my sources. Go on.”

“Right. Well, Harold was a sweet man. A bit naive, perhaps, but genuinely kind. He left me his tech startup. It wasn’t worth much at the time, but I sold it for a tidy sum a year later.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “Smart move. Who was next?”

“After Harold came George. He was ... intense. A retired army general with a penchant for war stories and expensive scotch. Left me his collection of rare military memorabilia.”

“Fascinating,” Reggie murmurs. “And the others?”

You tick them off on your fingers. “Let’s see ... there was Joaquin, the passionate Spanish chef. He left me his Michelin-starred restaurants. Then came Dmitri, the Russian oligarch. That was ... an experience.”

Reggie chuckles. “I bet it was. What did he leave you?”

“A series of shell companies and a rather gaudy yacht. I sold the yacht, kept the companies.” You pause, lost in thought for a moment. “After Dmitri was William, the British lord. Lovely man, terrible teeth. Left me his crumbling estate and title.”

“So you’re technically a lady now?” Reggie asks, amused.

You nod. “Lady Y/N, at your service. Though I don’t use the title much. It tends to raise questions.”

“Understandable. And the last one before me?”

Your expression softens slightly. “Ah, that was Hiroshi. Japanese tech mogul. Brilliant mind, but so lonely. I think I was the first real companionship he’d had in years.”

Reggie studies you carefully. “You were fond of him.”

You nod, a bit surprised by the lump in your throat. “I was. He ... he understood me, I think. More than the others.”

There’s a moment of silence as Reggie processes this information. Finally, he speaks. “And what did Hiroshi leave you?”

You smile wryly. “His AI research company. It’s been ... interesting, to say the least.”

Reggie nods slowly. “Quite a collection you’ve amassed, my dear. But tell me, what drives you? Surely it’s not just the money.”

You’re taken aback by the question. No one has ever asked you that before. You take a moment to gather your thoughts.

“I suppose ... it’s the challenge of it all. The thrill of reinventing myself with each new husband, of navigating these complex worlds they inhabit. And yes, the wealth is nice, but it’s more about what I can do with it.”

Reggie leans forward, intrigued. “And what is it you want to do?”

You pause, realizing you’ve never really articulated this to anyone before. “I want to make a difference. Real, lasting change. These men, they’ve all built empires in their own ways, but they’ve been limited by their own mortality. I don’t have those limitations yet. I can take what they’ve given me and create something ... more.”

Reggie’s eyes light up with understanding. “Ah, now I see why I was drawn to you. You’re not just a pretty face or a clever mind. You’re a visionary.”

You feel a flush of pride at his words. “I try to be. Each husband has taught me something new, given me tools I never had before. Harold showed me the potential of technology. George taught me strategy. Joaquin, the importance of passion in one’s work. Dmitri, how to navigate the murky waters of international business. William gave me a glimpse into old-world power structures. And Hiroshi ... well, he opened my eyes to the future.”

Reggie nods slowly. “And what have I taught you, I wonder?”

You smile softly. “Patience, Reggie. The long game. And the value of a good sense of humor in the face of adversity.”

He chuckles weakly. “Well, I’m glad I could contribute something to your education. Now, about this F1 team ...”

You lean in, eager to hear more. “Yes?”

“It’s more than just a racing team, you know. It’s a pinnacle of engineering, a testament to human ingenuity and the constant push for improvement. I think you’ll find it fits quite well with your ambitions.”

You nod slowly, mind already racing with possibilities. “I can see that. The technology, the global platform, the prestige ...”

Reggie grins. “Exactly. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find husband number eight in the paddock.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, Reggie. Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?”

He winks. “Someone has to. Now, promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” you say, and you’re surprised to find you mean it.

“When you’re accepting that championship trophy — because I know you will — wear something fabulous. Give those stuffy old men in the paddock something to talk about.”

You can’t help but grin. “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to shake things up a bit.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “That’s my girl. Now, I think I need to rest for a bit. But don’t go far. I want to hear all about your plans for world domination when I wake up.”

As you watch Reggie drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Sadness at the impending loss of this charming old rogue, excitement at the unexpected opportunity he’s given you, and a renewed sense of purpose.

You glance at your reflection in the ornate mirror across the room. Lady Y/N Y/L/N, soon-to-be racing magnate. It has a nice ring to it.

As you settle back into your chair, you begin to plan your next moves. The motorsport world won’t know what hit it.

***

The sleek boardroom of the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team headquarters buzzes with hushed conversation. Around the polished mahogany table, team executives and board members huddle in small groups, their voices low and urgent.

Toto catches snippets of conversation as he reviews his notes for the meeting.

“Did you hear? She’s actually coming today,” whispers Bradley, the team’s financial officer.

Sarah, head of marketing, leans in. “I can’t believe Reginald left her his stake. What was he thinking?”

“Probably wasn’t thinking with his head, if you know what I mean,” chuckles Thomas, the technical director.

Toto clears his throat, silencing the gossip. “Let’s keep things professional, shall we? We have important matters to discuss today.”

As if on cue, the boardroom door swings open. The room falls into an immediate, almost eerie silence as you stride in, turning heads with every click of your Manolo Blahnik heels against the polished floor.

Toto finds himself holding his breath, caught off guard by your presence. He’s seen photos, of course, but they didn’t do you justice. Your tailored Armani suit exudes power and confidence, while your eyes scan the room with a shrewd intelligence that sends a shiver down his spine.

You take your seat at the far end of the table, directly opposite Toto. “Good morning, everyone. I hope I’m not late.”

Your voice, smooth as silk with a hint of amusement, breaks the spell. The room erupts into a flurry of awkward greetings and nervous coughs.

Toto clears his throat again, trying to regain control of the situation. “Not at all. We were just about to begin. Welcome, Lady Worthington. We’re honored to have you join us today.”

You smile, a dazzling display that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Please, call me Y/N. We’re all colleagues here, after all.”

Toto nods, fighting to keep his composure. “Of course, Y/N. Shall we begin with the agenda?”

As the meeting progresses, Toto finds himself increasingly distracted. He’s used to being the most commanding presence in any room, but your arrival has shifted the dynamic entirely. Every time you speak, offering insights or asking pointed questions, the rest of the board seems to hold its breath.

“I’ve been reviewing our sustainability initiatives,” you say during a lull in the conversation. “While I applaud our efforts so far, I believe we could be doing more. Formula 1 has an unique platform to drive innovation in green technologies. We should be leading the charge, not just following along.”

Bradley shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “With all due respect, Lady- I mean, Y/N, implementing new sustainability measures could be quite costly. We need to consider the bottom line.”

You lean forward, fixing Bradley with an intense gaze. “And what about the cost of falling behind? Of being seen as out of touch with the concerns of younger fans? Sometimes, you have to spend money to make money.”

Toto finds himself nodding in agreement before he even realizes it. “Y/N raises an excellent point. Perhaps we should form a task force to explore more aggressive sustainability options.”

You flash him a grateful smile, and Toto feels his heart skip a beat. He quickly looks down at his notes, trying to regain his composure.

As the meeting continues, you consistently challenge the status quo, pushing for bolder strategies and innovative approaches. Toto watches in fascination as you deftly navigate the complex dynamics of the board, alternating between charm and steel as the situation demands.

During a discussion about driver development, you interject again. “I’ve been looking into our junior driver program, and I think we’re missing opportunities. We’re too focused on traditional racing backgrounds. What about sim racers? Or scouting karters from developing countries? We could be tapping into a whole new pool of talent.”

Sarah, the marketing head, perks up at this. “That’s ... actually a brilliant idea. It could really broaden our appeal, especially in emerging markets.”

You nod appreciatively. “Exactly. And imagine the stories we could tell. The sim racer who became an F1 champion or the kid from a small village who rose to the top of motorsport. That’s the kind of narrative that builds brand loyalty and inspires the next generation of fans.”

Toto finds himself leaning forward, completely engrossed. “I love this direction. Y/N, would you be willing to work with Sarah to develop a proposal for expanding our driver search?”

“Of course,” you reply with a smile that makes Toto’s pulse quicken. “I’d be delighted.”

As the meeting winds down, Toto realizes that the entire dynamic of the board has shifted. The initial wariness towards you has given way to a mixture of respect and curiosity. Even those who seemed most skeptical at the start are now hanging on your every word.

“Well,” Toto says, glancing at his watch, “I think that concludes our agenda for today. Unless anyone has any other matters to discuss?”

The room is silent for a moment before you speak up. “Actually, if I may, I’d like to address the elephant in the room.”

A tense hush falls over the gathering. Toto holds his breath, unsure of what’s coming next.

You stand, your posture relaxed but commanding. “I’m aware of the rumors and speculation surrounding my ... personal life. I want to assure all of you that my presence here is purely professional. I’m not here to cause drama or upheaval. I’m here because I believe in the potential of this team and this sport. I hope that over time, you’ll come to judge me based on my contributions, not on gossip or hearsay.”

The sincerity in your voice is palpable, and Toto can see the effect it has on the room. Shoulders relax, expressions soften. There’s a collective exhale, as if a weight has been lifted.

“Thank you for your honesty,” Toto says, standing as well. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we look forward to working with you and seeing what fresh perspectives you can bring to the team.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. As the meeting officially adjourns, people begin to gather their things and file out of the room. Toto notices that several board members linger, clearly hoping to have a word with you. He feels an unexpected twinge of jealousy.

Before he can second-guess himself, Toto makes his way around the table to where you’re chatting with Sarah about the junior driver program idea.

“Excuse me,” he says, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “Y/N, I was wondering if I could have a word?”

You turn to him with a smile that makes his heart race. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

He takes a deep breath, acutely aware of the curious glances from the remaining board members. “I was impressed by your insights today. I think there’s a lot we could discuss further about the future direction of the team. Would you perhaps be interested in continuing this conversation over dinner?”

A hush falls over the remaining occupants of the room. Toto can practically feel the weight of their stares, but he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

You raise an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement playing across your features. “Dinner? My, my, Toto. Aren’t you afraid of me? I do have quite the reputation, you know.”

There’s a challenge in your voice, but also a hint of vulnerability that catches Toto off guard. He realizes that beneath your confident exterior, you’re testing him, gauging his true intentions.

Toto meets your gaze steadily, his voice low but firm. “I don’t put much stock in rumors. I prefer to form my own opinions based on what I see and experience. And what I’ve seen today is a brilliant, passionate individual who could be a tremendous asset to this team. That’s the person I’m interested in getting to know better.”

The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for your response. You study Toto for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spreads across your face.

“Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to have dinner with you. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

Toto feels a rush of relief and excitement. “Eight o’clock sounds perfect. I know just the place.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Toto can’t help but feel like he’s standing on the precipice of something monumental. He’s built his career on calculated risks, on seeing potential where others see danger. Looking at you, he knows that this might be the biggest gamble of his life.

But as you turn to give him one last smile before exiting the boardroom, Toto is certain of one thing: it’s a risk he’s more than willing to take.

***

The Monaco Grand Prix paddock buzzes with excitement, a hive of activity as teams prepare for the most glamorous race on the Formula 1 calendar. Lewis Hamilton and George Russell huddle in a quiet corner of the Mercedes garage, their voices low and urgent.

“I’m telling you, mate, something’s not right,” George insists, his eyes darting around to ensure they’re not overheard. “Have you seen the way Toto’s been acting lately? It’s like he’s under some kind of spell.”

Lewis nods grimly, his usual pre-race focus replaced by concern. “I know what you mean. Ever since she came into the picture, it’s like he’s a different person. Always distracted, making decisions that don’t quite add up.”

“Exactly!” George exclaims, then quickly lowers his voice again. “And have you noticed how she’s always around now? At every meeting, every strategy session. It’s like she’s trying to learn all our secrets.”

Lewis furrows his brow, deep in thought. “You don’t think ... I mean, surely she wouldn’t actually try to ...”

“Kill him?” George finishes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, mate. But look at her track record. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marrying her. And now she’s got her claws into Toto.”

As if summoned by their conversation, you appear at the entrance of the garage, Toto at your side. The team principal’s hand rests comfortably on the small of your back as he leads you through the bustling workspace.

Lewis and George fall silent, watching intently as you make your way towards them. Your designer sundress and oversized sunglasses scream understated elegance, but to the two drivers, you might as well be wearing a black widow’s web.

“Good morning,” Toto calls out cheerfully. “Ready for qualifying?”

Lewis forces a smile, his eyes never leaving you. “Morning, Toto. Yeah, we were just discussing strategy.”

You step forward, flashing a dazzling smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I’m still learning all the intricacies of race weekends.”

George clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Not at all. We were just finishing up.”

Toto beams, looking from you to his drivers with pride. “Isn’t it wonderful having Y/N here? She’s already brought so many fresh ideas to the team. I don’t know how we managed without her.”

You laugh, a sound that sends chills down Lewis and George’s spines. “Oh, darling, you’re exaggerating. I’m sure these boys were doing just fine before I came along.”

As you speak, your hand reaches up to smooth Toto’s collar, a gesture that seems innocent enough but makes both drivers tense.

Lewis clears his throat. “Actually, Toto, could we have a quick word? About the, uh, tire strategy?”

Toto looks surprised but nods. “Of course. Y/N, would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Not at all,” you reply smoothly. “I’ll just go chat with the mechanics. I’m fascinated by all this technology.”

As you saunter away, Lewis and George exchange a meaningful glance. This is their chance.

“Toto,” Lewis begins, choosing his words carefully. “We’re a bit concerned. About you, actually.”

Toto’s brow furrows in confusion. “Concerned? What do you mean?”

George jumps in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s just that ... well, things have been different since you started seeing her. And given her history ...”

“Her history?” Toto repeats, his voice taking on an edge. “What exactly are you implying?”

Lewis takes a deep breath. “Toto, we care about you. And we can’t help but notice that Y/N’s previous partners have all met with ... unfortunate ends.”

For a moment, Toto just stares at them, his expression unreadable. Then, to their surprise, he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, boys,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I appreciate your concern, truly. But I assure you, it’s misplaced. Y/N has been nothing but a positive influence on both me and the team.”

George persists, his voice urgent. “But Toto, you have to admit, the pattern is alarming. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marriage. And now she’s here, learning all about our team, our strategies ...”

Toto’s amusement fades, replaced by a stern look. “That’s enough. I understand you’re worried, but I won’t have you spreading baseless rumors. Y/N is here because she’s a part-owner of this team and because I invited her. End of discussion.”

As Toto walks away, Lewis and George share a look of dismay.

“He’s in too deep,” Lewis mutters. “We need to do something.”

George nods grimly. “We can’t let her hurt him. Or the team. We need a plan.”

Throughout the day, as qualifying unfolds, Lewis and George find themselves constantly distracted. Every time they catch a glimpse of you in the garage or on the pit wall, their imaginations run wild.

During a brief break between sessions, they overhear a snippet of conversation between you and one of the engineers.

“So, if something were to go wrong with the car during the race,” you’re saying, “what would be the most catastrophic point of failure?”

The engineer launches into a detailed explanation of various mechanical vulnerabilities, unaware of the horrified looks on the drivers’ faces.

“She’s gathering intel,” George whispers to Lewis. “Probably planning some sort of accident for Toto.”

Lewis nods, his jaw set with determination. “We need to warn him again. Make him see reason.”

But their attempts to get Toto alone prove futile. You seem to be constantly by his side, your hand on his arm, whispering in his ear. To an outsider, it might look like the actions of a loving girlfriend, but to Lewis and George, every gesture seems calculated and sinister.

As the day wears on, their paranoia grows. They start seeing threats everywhere. When you hand Toto a bottle of water, they’re convinced it’s poisoned. When you suggest he take a look at something in the back of the garage, they’re sure you’re luring him away to do him harm.

Finally, as the sun begins to set over the Monaco harbor, they decide they can’t wait any longer. They need to confront you directly.

They find you alone in the hospitality area, reviewing some papers. As they approach, you look up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Lewis, George,” you greet them warmly. “Excellent qualifying today. You must be pleased.”

Lewis takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Cut the act. We know what you’re up to.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in your eyes. “I’m not sure I understand. What exactly am I up to?”

George steps forward, his voice low and intense. “We know about your husbands. All seven of them. And we’re not going to let you add Toto to that list.”

For a moment, you just stare at them, your face unreadable. Then, to their surprise, you burst out laughing.

“Oh,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “Is that what this is all about? You think I’m here to kill Toto?”

Lewis and George exchange confused glances, thrown off by your reaction.

You lean in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me tell you a little secret. Those men? They were all terminally ill when I married them. It was a business arrangement, pure and simple. They got to spend their last months with a young, beautiful wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play involved.”

The drivers stare at you, speechless. You continue, your tone becoming more serious.

“As for Toto, well, that’s different. For the first time in my life, I’ve found someone I genuinely care for. Someone who sees me for who I am, not just what I can offer. I’m not here to hurt him or the team. I’m here because I want to be part of something meaningful.”

Lewis and George exchange uncertain glances, their convictions shaken.

“But ... all the questions about the car, the team strategies ...” George begins.

You roll your eyes, a hint of amusement in your voice. “I’m a part-owner of this team now, remember? Of course I’m trying to learn everything I can. How else can I contribute?”

As the truth of your words sinks in, Lewis and George begin to feel a creeping sense of embarrassment. They’ve let their imaginations and preconceptions run wild, seeing threats where there were none.

“I ... we ...” Lewis stammers, struggling to find the right words.

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “It’s alright. I understand. My reputation precedes me, and you were just looking out for Toto. I can respect that.”

George rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “We may have gotten a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

You smile, and this time it reaches your eyes. “Apology accepted. Now, what do you say we put this behind us and focus on winning tomorrow’s race?”

As if on cue, Toto appears, looking between the three of you with curiosity. “Everything alright here?”

You stand, moving to his side and slipping your arm through his. “Everything’s perfect, darling. In fact, I think Lewis and George were just about to share some ideas they had for the race strategy. Weren’t you, boys?”

Lewis and George nod, grateful for the out you’ve given them. As they launch into a discussion about tire management and overtaking opportunities, they can’t help but marvel at how wrong they’ve been.

Watching you interact with Toto, they see not a black widow spinning her web, but a woman genuinely in love, bringing out the best in their team principal. They realize that sometimes, people can surprise you. And sometimes, the most unexpected additions to a team can be the most valuable.

***

The soft glow of chandeliers bathes the exclusive Monégasque restaurant in warm light, casting elegant shadows across the faces of Monaco’s elite. Grigori Volkov, a grizzled veteran of the Russian underworld, sips his vodka, his weathered face a mask of careful neutrality as he surveys the room.

His eyes narrow as they land on a familiar figure across the crowded dining area. It can’t be, he thinks, leaning forward for a better look. But there’s no mistaking that face, those eyes that have haunted his dreams and nightmares for years.

You.

Grigori watches as you laugh, your hand resting lightly on the arm of a tall, distinguished-looking man. He recognizes him vaguely. But what catches Grigori off guard is the easy intimacy between you, the matching wedding bands glinting in the low light.

For a moment, Grigori considers slipping out unnoticed. But curiosity gets the better of him. He signals the waiter, ordering another round of drinks to be sent to your table.

As the waiter approaches with the drinks, Grigori sees your posture stiffen slightly, your eyes scanning the room until they lock onto his. He raises his glass in a small salute, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You lean in, whispering something to Toto. The man looks surprised but nods, and together you make your way towards Grigori’s table.

“Grigori,” you greet him, your voice a mix of warmth and wariness. “It’s been a long time.”

Grigori stands, bowing slightly. “Indeed it has, my dear. You’re looking well. And who might this be?”

Toto extends his hand, his grip firm. “Toto Wolff. And you are?”

“An old friend of your wife’s,” Grigori replies smoothly, noting the flicker of surprise in Toto’s eyes at the word ’wife’. “Grigori Volkov. I knew Y/N back in her Russian days.”

You gesture to the empty chairs. “May we join you?”

Grigori nods, waving expansively. “Please, be my guests.”

As you settle in, Grigori can’t help but study Toto more closely. He’s younger than expected, vital and alert. Not at all what he’d imagined for your latest conquest.

“So, Toto,” Grigori begins, his accent thick with amusement, “how long have you and our dear Y/N been married?”

Toto smiles, his hand finding yours on the table. “Just over two years now. Best decision I ever made.”

Grigori’s eyebrows shoot up. “Two years? My, my. That’s quite impressive.”

You shoot him a warning look, but Toto just looks confused. “I’m not sure I follow. Why is that impressive?”

Grigori chuckles, taking a long sip of his vodka. “Oh, forgive me. I just meant that Y/N here has always been something of a ... how do you say ... free spirit? Never one to be tied down for long.”

You interject quickly, “People change, Grigori. I’ve found what I was looking for.”

Grigori nods, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Indeed they do. And what of your ... other interests? The ones you inherited from dear Dmitri?”

Toto’s brow furrows. “Dmitri? I’m afraid I don’t know much about Y/N’s ex-husbands.”

“Ex-husbands?” Grigori repeats, feigning surprise. “Oh, but Dmitri was special, wasn’t he? After all, not every day one inherits a slice of the Bratva.”

The color drains from Toto’s face as he turns to you. “The Bratva? As in, the Russian mob?”

You sigh, shooting Grigori a glare that could freeze vodka. “It’s complicated, darling. And very much in the past.”

Grigori leans back, thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding before him. “Oh, come now, Y/N. Surely your husband deserves to know the truth? About your colorful past, your string of deceased husbands, your unexpected rise to power in certain ... shall we say, unofficial circles?”

Toto looks between you and Grigori, his expression a mix of confusion and growing concern. “Y/N, what is he talking about?”

You take a deep breath, squeezing Toto’s hand. “Toto, there are parts of my past I haven’t told you about. Not because I wanted to keep secrets, but because I wanted to leave that life behind.”

Grigori interjects, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Oh, but my dear, can one ever truly leave such a life behind? Especially when one has risen to such ... prominent positions?”

Toto’s eyes narrow as he looks at Grigori. “And what exactly is your role in all this?”

Grigori smiles, all teeth and no warmth. “Let’s just say I’m an old associate of Dmitri’s. And by extension, of Y/N’s. Though I must admit, I’m surprised to see you still among the living, Mr. Wolff. Our dear Y/N has quite a reputation, you know.”

You slam your hand on the table, your voice low and dangerous. “Enough, Grigori. That’s not who I am anymore.”

Grigori holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, of course. I meant no offense. I’m merely ... surprised. After all, your previous husbands weren’t quite so fortunate. Or so young and vigorous.”

Toto’s jaw clenches, his eyes darting between you and Grigori. “I think it’s time we left.”

As you stand to leave, Grigori calls out, “Oh, but we’ve only just begun to catch up. There’s so much your husband doesn’t know, Y/N. About the power you wield, the empire you inherited. Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth about the woman he married?”

You turn back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something deeper, more dangerous. “The truth, Grigori, is that I left that life behind. I found something real, something worth living for. And if you or anyone else tries to drag me back into that world, you’ll regret it.”

Grigori leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that a threat, my dear?”

You smile, cold and sharp. “Consider it a friendly warning. From one old friend to another.”

As you and Toto walk away, Grigori can’t help but feel a shiver run down his spine. He’d forgotten, in the years since you’d left Russia, just how formidable you could be.

He watches as you and Toto have an intense, whispered conversation by the exit. To his surprise, instead of storming out, Toto nods, takes your hand, and leads you back to Grigori’s table.

“Mr. Volkov,” Toto says, his voice steady and controlled, “I think it’s time we had an honest conversation. About Y/N’s past, about your ... association, and about how we move forward from here.”

Grigori raises an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Well, well. It seems you’ve found yourself a man with a spine, Y/N. Very well, let’s talk.”

As the three of you settle back into your seats, Grigori can’t help but feel a grudging respect for Toto. Most men would have run for the hills by now, but here he is, ready to face the truth head-on.

“So,” Grigori begins, pouring fresh vodka for all of you, “where shall we start? With Dmitri? With the Bratva? Or perhaps with the mysterious deaths of Y/N’s previous husbands?”

Toto takes a sip of vodka, his eyes never leaving Grigori’s. “Let’s start with the truth. All of it.”

You sigh, your hand finding Toto’s under the table. “Alright. Dmitri was my fifth husband. He was a high-ranking member of the Bratva, and when he died, I inherited his position and his connections.”

Grigori nods approvingly. “She’s being modest. Y/N didn’t just inherit Dmitri’s position — she expanded it. Forged new alliances, eliminated rivals. She became a force to be reckoned with in our world.”

Toto looks at you, his expression unreadable. “And the other husbands?”

You meet his gaze steadily. “They were all older men, all terminally ill. It was a business arrangement. They got to spend their last months with a young wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play, I swear.”

Grigori chuckles. “Oh, come now. There were rumors, whispers of poison, of accidents arranged just so ...”

You whirl on him, your eyes flashing. “Rumors started by people like you. People who couldn’t believe a woman could gain power without resorting to murder.”

Toto squeezes your hand, his voice gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

You turn back to him, your expression softening. “Because I wanted to leave it all behind. When I met you, I saw a chance at a real life, a real relationship. I didn’t want my past to taint that.”

Grigori watches this exchange with growing fascination. He’s never seen you like this — vulnerable, open, genuinely in love. It’s... unsettling.

“And now?” He asks, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. “What becomes of your empire, Y/N? Your power? Your connections?”

You straighten, your voice firm. “I’ve been systematically dismantling it all. Using the resources to fund legitimate businesses, charitable foundations. I’m out. For good.”

Grigori leans back, genuinely surprised. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re really walking away from it all.”

Toto speaks up, his voice steady. “We’re building something new together. Something honest, something we can be proud of.”

Grigori studies them both for a long moment, then throws back the last of his vodka. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve actually done it. You’ve found a way out.”

You nod, a small smile playing at your lips. “I have. And I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word. Y/N Wolff is retired. Permanently.”

Grigori stands, straightening his jacket. “Consider it done, my dear. But know this — there will always be those who remember who you were, what you were capable of. Be careful.”

As he turns to leave, Toto calls out, “Mr. Volkov?”

Grigori pauses, looking back. “Yes?”

Toto’s voice is calm, but there’s steel beneath the surface. “If anyone from Y/N’s past tries to cause trouble for us, they’ll have to deal with me. And I assure you, I can be just as formidable as my wife when necessary.”

Grigori studies Toto for a moment, then breaks into a broad grin. “I believe you, Mr. Wolff. I really do. Take care of her, won’t you? She’s one of a kind.”

As Grigori walks away, he can’t help but shake his head in amazement. You, the Black Widow of the Bratva, settled down and in love. Will wonders never cease?

He glances back one last time to see you and Toto deep in conversation, your hands intertwined on the table. There’s an openness to your expression that he’s never seen before, a vulnerability that speaks volumes.

For the first time in years, Grigori feels a twinge of envy. Not for your power or your wealth, but for the genuine connection you seem to have found. As he steps out into the cool Monaco night, he wonders if perhaps it’s time for him to consider a change of his own.

After all, if the infamous Y/N can find redemption and true love, maybe there’s hope for an old dog like him yet.

2K notes · View notes

itneverendshere · 3 months ago

Text

LOOKIN' LIKE MOTIVATION - hockey!r.c (+18)

requested by my #1 @zya4lifers

warnings: meantions of cheating; SMUT. pairing: sports physical therapist!reader x hockey player!rafe; friends to lovers.

Rafe’s day started the same way it had for the last two months: with a groan of pain that shot up from his knee and settled into his mood like a stubborn storm cloud.

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

At least that was what he thought when he first met you.

But two weeks in, his hatred had morphed into something else entirely, something way more complicated. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when he caught you singing quietly along with the radio while taping up his knee, or when you’d given him that first, honest-to-God smile that wasn’t out of politeness but genuine amusement at some stupid joke he’d made.

And he made a lot of those.

Now, sitting on that same damn table, Rafe found himself looking forward to PT in a way that had nothing to do with his injury.

You walked in, clipboard in hand, looking as professional as always. It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you.

Rafe knew he got under your skin—hell, he made sure of it. He could tell by the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for just a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away. You tried to be cool, but he knew better.

“Alright, Cameron. How’s the knee today?”

He put on his best wounded-puppy face. “Terrible. I might never skate again.”

“Shut up.”

“And I could be better,” Rafe drawled, his lips curling into that signature smirk. “But seeing you always helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time,” he shot back, winking at you.

You tried to ignore him, busying yourself with adjusting the equipment. “Let’s focus on your knee, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Rafe said, stretching out on the table with a lazy grin.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “We’ve got to work on your pain tolerance.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to keep me on my toes.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression deadpan.

“And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid actually doing your therapy, Cameron.”

Touché.

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots.

It was refreshing.

The first few minutes of the session passed in relative silence as you guided him through the exercises, your hands expertly working his injured knee. Rafe winced, but it wasn’t all from the pain.

It was from trying to resist the need to say something that might actually cross the line.

But resisting wasn’t really his style.

“So, what’s your boyfriend up to this weekend?” Rafe asked, his voice casual, but his eyes keen, watching your reaction.

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s.

Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

You looked up at him, a little caught off guard.

“Out of town.”

Rafe snorted, unable to help himself. “Figures.”

You frowned, straightening up to give him a look. That look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

“He’s busy,” you said defensively.

“Too busy for you?” he pushed, his tone dripping with faux concern. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d make time.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, “I’m sure you would.”

“You don’t think I would?”

“I think you’ve already got your hands full with the cheerleading team.”

He liked to pretend you sounded jealous and not critical.

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Cheerleaders are fun and all, but they’re not really my type.”

Okay, that was half a lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t slept with anyone on the cheer squad since sophomore year in college.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as you adjusted the strap on his knee brace. “And what exactly is your type, Cameron?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “Complicated. Smart. Gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss a beat, even as your pulse quickened. “So, basically the opposite of you?”

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, his eyes locked on yours.

There was no denying the chemistry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. But you were with someone else, someone who, despite his flaws, you cared about.

Still, Rafe made it hard to remember why you were trying to resist in the first place.

“Rafe, we really should focus on your PT,” you chastised, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Trust me, m’focusing,” he replied, his tone suggesting he wasn’t talking about his knee.

You rolled your eyes, standing up straighter to put some distance between you.

“Right. Well, you need to focus on this next exercise. We’re going to work on your range of motion.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, watching you with a lazy smile as you moved to demonstrate the exercise.

He couldn’t help but admire the way you carried yourself—confident, knowledgeable, and completely fucking beautiful.

It was a challenge, and Rafe Cameron loved a challenge.

As you guided his leg through the motion, your hands firm but gentle, he couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “You know, you never answered my question.”

“What question?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What you’re doing this weekend.”

You glanced away, focusing on the movement of his knee, your fingers brushing against his skin as you adjusted the angle. “I’ll probably just catch up on some work. Maybe relax.”

“Sounds boring,” Rafe remarked, then adding most absolute out of pocket suggestion. “You should let me take you out.”

You looked up sharply, caught off guard by his directness. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Taken, I know,” he interrupted, biting his tongue not to add the unfortunately’. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, does it? Just as friends.”

“Just as friends?” you echoed skeptically, knowing full well what his idea of ‘just friends’ probably entailed.

Rafe shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “We could get dinner, maybe hit up a bar, talk about something other than my knee for once. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before it came back stronger, more determined. He leaned back on the table, pretending to stretch as he tried to ignore how much your rejection hurt his feelings.

"No?" he echoed, as if the concept was foreign to him.

You crossed your arms, standing straighter. "No. We both know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to happen."

"And what exactly am I trying to do?" he asked, feigning innocence with a earth shattering smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to get drawn into his game. "You know what. I’m here to help you with your injury, not to entertain whatever fantasy you’ve got going on."

"Who says it’s a fantasy?" he shot back, his voice lowering, taking on a more serious tone that caught you off guard. "Maybe I just want to get to know you better."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. But he was hard to read when he wanted to be. "Rafe, you're a good guy, but—"

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

"Fine," you conceded with a small smile. "Maybe ‘good’ is a stretch. But you’re not as bad as you want people to think."

Rafe’s smirk faded. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it made you hesitate, made you wonder if there was more to him than just the cocky, relentless flirt.

But before you could dwell on it, he was back to his usual self, flashing you that devil-may-care grin that made it hard to stay mad at him. "You know, I’d actually take that as a compliment if it came from anyone else."

"Don’t get too excited," you replied, trying to keep things light. "I still think you’re a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass," he teased, stupidly blinking his lashes up at you.

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to something I want," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Cameron, this isn’t going to happen. I have a boyfriend."

He shrugged, unbothered. "And? You’re no fun. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You handed him a water bottle, expression neutral. “You’re just out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Do you see this body?”

You didn’t take the bait. “I see a guy who’s been slacking off on his conditioning.”

He laughed, low and warm, as he took a sip of water. “You’re tough. Tougher than most of the coaches I’ve had.”

You shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

“Logan’s a lucky guy.”

The hockey world was small, and word got around, of course he knew his name.

“Logan’s great,” you said, a little too quickly.

Rafe nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

He didn’t push it further, though. Instead, he fell back into his usual routine of teasing and flirting.

Every time you guided his leg through a stretch or adjusted the equipment, he found his mind wandering, imagining what it would be like if things were different. If he were the one you were coming home to after a long day, if he were the one you smiled at without that guarded look in your eyes.

But you were with Logan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to cross that line. Not when you were clearly trying so hard to keep things professional between the two of you.

As the session wrapped up, you handed him his schedule for the next few days, “I’ll see you on Thursday. Make sure you keep up with the exercises over the next couple of days, and don’t overdo it.”

He took the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Can’t make any promises.”

He spent the weekend bored out of his mind, thinking about you—wondering if you were with Logan, if the guy was actually smart enough to know what he had.

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

The guy was too perfect, too dependable, too fucking boring. And he had been praying, in a way he wouldn’t admit to anyone, that something would happen—something that would make you see Logan for the jackass he really was. It wasn’t that he thought he was a better guy; he knew his own flaws better than anyone. But he also knew that he could make you happier, make you laugh harder, make you feel things that Logan never could.

So when you walked in late to the next session, he was ready to make a joke, to tease you about finally deciding to show up.

The words died on his lips when he saw you. You weren’t looking at him, not really, just muttering a half-hearted apology as you dropped your bag in the corner. But when you finally met his gaze, his chest did that stupid thing where it almost stopped. Not in a good way.

Your eyes were bloodshot red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, from tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried. You looked exhausted, like you hadn’t slept in days, and your usual spark was nowhere to be found.

His first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood the way he always did, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice void of its usual cockiness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that was meant to shut someone up, not because you actually meant it. You were far from okay.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone teasing, but even he could hear the concern underneath.

“I know, sorry,” you replied, your voice small, almost defeated.

Rafe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. This wasn’t like you. You were always so put together, so in control, and seeing you like this was…so unsettling.

“What happened?” he asked, more serious now, the joking tone completely gone.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the equipment, but Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Not when he could see the pain written all over your face.

“C’mon sweetheart, what’s going on?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Did something happen with Logan?”

The way you flinched at his name told him everything he needed to know.

Protectiveness instantly swelled inside him. He’d always thought Logan was too good to be true, but seeing you like this confirmed it.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden from you, saved it for the ice. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice cracking as you finally looked at him, “I mean, yes, but… it’s not like that.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What did he do?”

You hesitated, the words trapped in your throat as you tried to hold it together. But there was no point in pretending anymore, not when Rafe was looking at you like that—like he actually cared, like he was ready to go to war for you if that’s what it took.

“He cheated,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as the tears you’d been holding back started to spill over. “I found out through a fucking DM on Instagram. Some girl… she just messaged me out of the blue and told me everything. And when I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just—just said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with red-hot anger. The kind of emotion he only felt when his team was being robbed by referees or losing.

He wanted to find Logan and beat the shit out of him for making you cry, for being stupid enough to let you go. But more than that, he wanted to make you feel better, to make the hurt go away, even if he didn’t know how.

“That fucking asshole,” He growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “I swear to God, I’ll—let me get on that ice and I’ll wipe the entire ring with his face.”

“Rafe, don’t,” you pleaded quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it, okay?”

His heart twisted at the broken look in your eyes, the way your voice wavered as if you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe rebutted, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler, “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be so serious. But here he was, looking at you like you were the most important person in the world, and it made you want to cry even more.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you admitted. He reached out, hesitating for just a second before he gently held your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had finally escaped.

“You deserve someone who knows what they have when they have you,” he reassured you, his eyes locked on yours. “Someone who would never make you cry like this. Someone who would never, ever cheat on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over at his words. “Rafe…”

“I’m serious,” he continued, not giving you a chance to doubt yourself again. “You’re… you’re amazing, you know that? Any guy would be lucky to have you, and Logan’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but it was no use.

You started to cry, the kind of deep, gut-wrenching sobs that you’d been holding in all weekend. And before you knew it, you were collapsing into his arms, letting him hold you as you cried, his arms strong and steady around you.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to shush you or tell you everything was going to be okay. He just held you, his hand slowly rubbing your back as you let it all out, crying into his chest until there were no more tears left.

When you finally pulled back, your face red and puffy from crying, you only uttered a small, “Thank you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes practically glazed with love sickness as he looked down at you. “Anytime.”

And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft, hesitant peck to his cheek, lingering for just a second before pulling away.

He blinked, a little stunned by the gesture, but before he could say anything, you stepped back.

“Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?” you said quickly, your voice still shaky. “I’m not sure I-“

“Of course not.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to tell you to stay, to tell you that it was okay to not be okay, that you didn’t have to face this alone.

But he knew you needed space, needed time to process everything that had happened. He could wait. He’d wait forever for you.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

He wanted to be there for you, to be the one you turned to when everything fell apart. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to put you back together again, to show you that not all guys were like Logan—that he wasn’t like Logan.

And as you disappeared down the hallway, he made a silent promise to himself: he was going to make you see that. No matter what it took.

The weeks passed, each session with Rafe seamlessly flowing into the next. What started as this totally professional thing, strictly business, slowly morphed into something way more personal. His cocky jokes and playful banter had shifted into these deep conversations that actually mattered, and somewhere along the way, you found yourself getting closer to him than you ever expected.

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice.

As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety started to mess with your head. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

You were going to miss him.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that he might distance himself once he was back on the ice. After all, athletes had their own lives, their own routines, and you were just the therapist who had helped him get to this point.

But when he invited you to his first game, the gesture came as a welcome. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he’d slowly lurked his way into your heart.

It was after a particularly intense session, where you’d pushed him harder than ever before, that he brought it up. You were finishing up, wiping down the equipment while he caught his breath, stretching out his legs on the bench.

“Y’know sweetheart,” Rafe started, his voice casual but with a hint of something more in it, “I’ve got my first game back tomorrow night.”

You looked up, catching the not so subtle excitement in his tone.

“Yeah, I’ve heard. You must be excited.”

“Nervous as hell, more like it.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long time coming. A lot of pressure to perform, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding him. You’d seen how hard he’d worked, how much this comeback meant to him. “You’ll do great, Cameron. You’re more than ready.”

He smiled at that, but there was something else in his expression, something hesitant. “I was thinking…maybe you could come. To the game, I mean. It’d be nice to have someone there who’s seen the whole process, who knows what it took to get back on that ice.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was what it represented. He didn’t just see you as the therapist who’d helped him heal.

He saw you as someone important, someone he wanted by his side as he took this next step. A friend maybe.

“I’d love to, Rafe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a grin that was equal parts gratitude and something else— “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now, “because I’d hate for you to miss it. You’ve been a big part of this, more than you know.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze.

“I’m just doing my job,” you shook your head, but the look in his eyes told you that he saw right through your attempt to downplay it.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you,” Rafe said, his voice earnest. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you made it hard to breathe. This was more than just an invitation to a game. This was him telling you, in his own way, that you mattered to him—that you were more than just his therapist, that you were someone he wanted to keep around.

“I’m glad it was me too,” you admitted, unable to keep your eyes away from his.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Now, as you sit in the stands, watching Rafe skate out onto the ice, you feel a nervous anticipation that has little to do with the game itself.

Just before the puck drops, Rafe catches your eye, giving you a confident wink that sends your heart racing like a school girl. He knows what this game means, not just for him, but for you as well.

Logan is there, playing on the opposite team. You haven’t seen him in exactly two months. Whatever feelings you had for him disappeared the moment you found out about his betrayal, but your ego still hurts like hell.

The energy in the arena is electric, a buzz that makes his blood hum with anticipation. His first game back, and the stakes couldn’t be higher—not just because of his injury, not just because it’s a rivalry match, but because Logan is on the other side of the ice. Rafe’s jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard, the memory of your tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

During warm-ups, he spotted Logan, skating like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him. Rafe’s grip tightens on his stick, his knuckles white against the black tape. The rage simmering beneath his skin isn’t just about the game. It’s personal.

His focus is razor-sharp, every movement precise, every play calculated. But no matter how much he tries to concentrate on the game, his eyes keep drifting back to Logan, who skates circles around the ice like he owns it.

The first period passes without incident, but by the second, the tension is boiling over. Rafe feels it building, that need to do something, to break Logan’s face in half. He doesn’t just want to beat him; he wants to humiliate him, to knock that smug look off his face once and for all.

Then it happens.

Midway through the second period, Logan makes a hard hit on one of Rafe’s teammates, sending the guy crashing into the boards. The hit is clean, but it’s the arrogance in Logan’s smirk that pushes Rafe over the edge.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

“You think you can just get away with that?” He snarls, his voice low and menacing as he shoves Logan hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back on his skates.

Logan’s eyes flash with surprise, quickly followed by anger. “What the hell’s your problem, Cameron?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply.

He swings, his fist connecting solidly with Logan’s jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone is drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but Rafe doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to unleash all the pent-up anger and frustration that’s been eating away at him since the day you walked into that PT room with your heart shattered.

Logan staggers back, his expression twisting with fury. He recovers quickly, launching himself at Rafe with a wild swing, but Rafe is ready. He dodges the punch and counters with another one of his own, this time aiming for Logan’s ribs. He can feel the impact reverberate up his arm, but it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Come on!” He shouts, face red from all the pent-up anger simmering inside him. “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Logan grits his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. “You’re fucking crazy, Cameron!”

“You haven't seen shit," He spits back, landing another punch to Logan’s midsection. “But at least I know how to treat someone right.”

Logan’s eyes widen, the realization of what this is really about dawning on him. “This is about her? You’re seriously going to throw down over some girl?”

Rafe’s vision goes red at the mention of you, the casual way Logan dismisses you as “some girl.” He doesn’t care that he’s going too far, doesn’t care that the refs are probably going to break this up any second. All he cares about is making Logan feel a fraction of the pain he caused you.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” He growls, grabbing Logan by the collar and yanking him close. “You don’t even get to think about her.”

Logan tries to shove him off, but Rafe is relentless, landing punch after punch, each one fueled by the memory of you crying in his arms, by the way your voice trembled when you told him what Logan had done.

By now, the refs are on them, trying to pull Rafe away, but he isn’t finished. Not yet.

“You don’t deserve her,” He hisses through clenched teeth, his fist connecting with Logan’s face one last time before the refs finally manage to separate them. “You never did.”

Logan stumbles back, his face a bloody mess, and for a brief moment, he feels a little satisfaction. But it isn’t enough to stop the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to protect you from ever being hurt like that again.

He sits in the penalty box, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He can barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knows they’re going wild. The fight has been brutal, and he’s given Logan exactly what he deserved. But as the rush of the fight starts to fade, he starts to overthink: how will you react?

The game ends with a hard-fought win for his team, but the victory feels hollow. As his teammates celebrate on the ice, Rafe’s thoughts are miles away, fixated on you. What if you’re pissed? What if you think he’s overstepped?

After the final whistle, he makes his way to the locker room, his mind racing. He’s about to strip off his gear when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and determined. Before he can even turn around, the locker room door flies open, and there you are, marching straight toward him with a look on your face that he can’t quite read.

Shit. You’re mad.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, his voice low and uncertain as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know that might’ve looked bad out there, but I swear—”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

His mind goes blank as all he can focus on is the way your mouth moves against his. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—raw, heated, desperate.

His hands instantly find your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you flush against him, the heat of your bodies mingling in the small space between you. Your kiss is wild, all tongues and teeth, and when you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make him groan, he realizes this is real.

You’re kissing him.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your mouth, his voice ragged with need. But you don’t give him a chance to catch his breath, your hands threading through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving with a feverish intensity that makes his head spin.

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

The way you say it, half-growled, half-breathed, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help the sound that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a groan. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to keep control, but you aren’t making it easy.

You press yourself even closer, your body flush against his as you kiss him again, harder this time, more demanding. Your tongue sweeps into his mouth, claiming him, and Rafe is more than happy to let you take the lead. He’s never felt anything like this before—this urgency, this hunger that makes him want to lose himself in you completely.

You tug on his hair, tilting his head back to give yourself better access, and Rafe nearly loses it right then and there. He can feel his self-control slipping, can feel the primal need to devour you taking over, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how badly he wants you, how desperately he needs to feel more of you.

When you pull back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breathing just as ragged as his. You stare at him, your eyes dark with lust, and Rafe feels his heart hammering in his chest, each beat echoing with the desire pulsing through him.

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

Rafe’s hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he doesn’t stop. His fingers grip you there, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pressing against his.

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before moving back down to cup your ass again, pulling you even closer against him. You can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh, and it sends a wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You want him—more than you ever wanted anyone—and the way he’s looking at you tells you he feels the same.

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue.

His reaction is immediate. He groans, a sound so deep and full of need that it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands flex against you, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he’s trying not to loseg control completely.

But you can feel it—the way he’s trembling, the way his breath is coming in harsh, uneven pants against your neck. He kisses you again, hard and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that matches the wild pounding of your heart

But just when you think you can’t take it any longer, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, snapping you both back to reality. You pull back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, your mind spinning with the intensity of what had just happened. He’s just staring at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips swollen and red from your kisses. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it takes everything in you not to drag him back down for more.

But you know you shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Except there’s no fucking way Rafe is letting you go now. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with a raw need that makes your breath catch.

He doesn’t ask; doesn’t need to. He’s done waiting, done pretending he can hold back.

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

He presses you up against the cold tile wall, his body flushes against yours as his lips find yours again, hands running over your wet skin. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone as he kisses, licks, and nips at your sensitive skin. You whimper, fingers threading through his hair as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips trailing down your stomach.

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the hot water and his hot mouth on your skin driving you insane. "If you don’t-" your voice trembles with need as he spreads your thighs apart, “Fuck.”

He looks up at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

His hands grip your hips firmly. Without another word, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sudden, intense pleasure makes you cry out, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he licks and sucks, his tongue working you over with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath. It’s not fair.

This man can’t possibly be real. The water splashes against your back, masking the sounds of your moans as he takes his time, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue. Your body trembles, your legs barely able to hold you up as he pushes you higher, his hands tightening on your hips as he holds you in place.

"Oh my god," you moan, your voice breaking as you feel the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until you are crying out his name, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through you.

Rafe keeps his mouth on you, drawing out your release until you are trembling, your legs shaking as you struggle to catch your breath.

Truth is, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get enough now that he has finally gotten a taste. He stands back up, his hands running up your sides as he kisses you again, the taste of you still on his lips. You can feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, and it only drives you crazier. Of course, this man had to be fucking huge.

Without breaking the kiss, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall as his hands grip your hips, pulling them back slightly. You brace yourself against the tile, your body arching as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

"Oh Rafe," you groan out his name, your voice low and needy and he growls softly in response, his breath hot against your ear as he slowly pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch until he is buried to the hilt.

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world.

“So fucking pretty.” The feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely, is almost too much to bear, and you let out a long, low moan as he begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that drives you wild. The water cascades over your bodies as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you with a steady, unrelenting rhythm.

Each thrust pushes you harder against the wall, the cool tile a pleasing contrast to the heat between you. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensation of Rafe moving inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with every thrust. The sound of the water mixed with the wet slap of skin against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to consume you.

"God, you feel so fucking good," He groans, his voice rough with desire as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Faster," you gasp, your voice pleading as you push back against him, needing more, needing everything. He doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickening, his thrusts coming harder and faster as he drives you both toward the edge. The intensity of it is overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he fucks you with a raw, desperate need that matches your own. Just when you think you couldn’t take any more, you heard footsteps outside the shower, followed by a voice calling out.

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged.

"Yeah, I’m here," he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the strain in it.

"We’re heading downtown to the bar. You coming?"

He looks down at you, all too pleased with himself, "Not tonight," he replies, his voice thick with lust. "Got something else to take care of."

There’s a pause, then a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Alright, man. Have fun."

The footsteps retreat, and the moment the door closes, he’s moving again, thrusting into you with a renewed urgency, the near-interruption only heightening the intensity of the moment. You moan loudly, your body quaking as he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending you spiraling closer and closer to another orgasm.

The combination of the heat, the steam, the feel of Rafe fucking you so hard is too much, the almost getting caught. You feel yourself losing it, your entire body tightening as you reach the edge once again.

"Come for me," He growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His words push you over, and you cry out as your orgasm tears through you, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Rafe follows right behind you, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he comes, his body shuddering as he fills you to the brim with a low, guttural groan.

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you panting, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. The water continues to pour over you, washing away the evidence of your encounter as you slowly come down from the high.

Finally, he pulls out, turning you around to face him as he cups your face in his hands, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss that’s so different to the rough, desperate way he just fucked you.

"You’re a fucking idiot," you whisper against his lips, a small, breathless laugh escaping you.

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you, drowning in affection. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

He was fighting every fucking player on that ice ring if it meant having you again.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #hockey!rafe

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scholliski · 10 months ago

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I bet andrews brain never shuts up, like sure obviously also in the sad traumatised way, but that medication didn’t make Andrew “Jean. Hey, Jean. Jean Valjean. Hey. Hey. Hello” Minyard think all of that hilariously unhinged nonsense but only made him speak it out loud, all I can imagine is anyone looking at a blank faced Andrew and wondering what ominous thing he must be thinking and it’s literally just “Neil josten, number 10, jos-10, cannot be a coincidence, Neil josten fortune teller perhaps?”

#his internal monologue must be so unserious #aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #the foxhole court #tfc #andreil #all for the gay #aftg shitpost #shitpost #1k

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etheries1015 · 11 months ago

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I had sort of a crack idea of what would the non-human twst boys do if their crush or s/o was allergic to them? Savanaclaw and Octonivelle with like the fur allergy and seafood allergy. Maybe diasomnia’s s/o has some sort of fairy allergy? Sorry if this is too silly for you to write, it’s alright if you don’t 😭

I LOVE THIS BECAUSE I'VE HAD A SIMILAR THOUGHT i'm allergic to cats and i'm like...man what am I gonna do around Grim BUAHAHA...this is a great idea. Nothing is too silly to write my friend!

Non-human Twst boys reacting to a S/O who is allergic to them!

featuring: Savanaclaw and Octavinelle!

general warnings: gender neutral reader, not really proof read \

TW: None! just fluff. and allergies.

Leona

The first time you sneezed around him, they didn't know it was literally BECAUSE of him. This was until you two took a nap together for the first time, and when you woke up he saw your face...Oh, brother. Your eyes were puffy and red, congested, and your nose leaked like nobody's business. He genuinely felt bad about this, but wouldn't let you in on his true feelings/emotions. Without understanding the cause (though he had an inkling) he immediately took you to the doctor.

"They're allergic to me? What kind of shitty nonsense is that?!"

Leona invested in the most expensive of healthcare for you. Allergy pills and whatnot, because he wasn't about to sacrifice his lovely naps with his significant other. No amount of allergy is gonna stop him from getting what he wants, and that is your affection.

Ruggie

"Sooo...basically you're saying you're allergic to me? Cause' im part heyena?"

"It's a little more complicated than that. It's more like...animal dander? I guess?" You didn't seem to certain in your answer either, it was more or less a guess since...well, there wasn't half beast half human where you are from. You can only make an educated guess on why you're so allergic to him based off of the information you had back at home.

Ruggie is honestly so sad about this. He can't afford to get you any treatments or medical help with this, so you two just have to be careful. He does manage to get his hands on some special washing products (probably legally) and takes extra care of what he eats, and how clean he his. He's consistently brushing his hair and cleaning his ears.

"Man i'm such a simp. What's wrong with me?!" ...He isn't used to bending backward for people. But seeing you so sick around him, hurt him even more than his pride, so he of course would do anything to make sure you're as comfortable around him as possible. Ahh...the power of love <3

Jack

He gives me the "I must stay away from you for your own good," Type. Although this doesn't last very long. Jack is incredibly loyal, and he's far too attached to let you go. There's times where he would try and keep a distance (much to your annoyance), but when you began sneezing and itching your eyes you knew he was somewhere nearby. Jack is protective like that, but it pains his heart to see you so sick because of something he cannot control.

He does both a mix of what Ruggie and Leona does. He took up extra part-time jobs to afford good allergy medication for you, the entire works. Pills, eye drops, nasal sprays, breathing treatments...He also invests in high-quality shampoo and conditioner to help rid of his dander and hopefully reduce the amount of shedding he has.

With the amount of hair Jack has, he is CONSTANTLY brushing it and it is CONSTANTLY shedding. He does EVERYTHING under the sun to control this, all for you. Although... this is a partnership! You told him that a relationship goes two ways. You love him regardless of how itchy you may get, and you equally chip in to problem-solve.

You're both loyal to each other until the very end, no matter what trivial matters may get in your way <3

Azul

He knew before you two started dating that you had a severe allergy to seafood, so he made it a point to avoid you. But...that didn't stop YOU from coming to HIM. It was one of the things that drew him towards you, the way even though you were gaining a rash you would still wrap your arms around the back of him. Although it wasn't as bad in his human form, he was always terrified what would happen if he were to unleash his original form.

But worry not! We are talking about the literal king of potionology. He finds a remedy very quickly, and you trust him...a little too fast. He is astonished when he says;

"Take this...the second you drink this your allergies will be something of the past. But be warned-" You grabbed it out of his hand and chugged it. He stared at you with his jaw slacked open, his face turning a deep shade of hot red when you throw yourself onto Azul and place a big fat kiss against his cheek.

He imploded. But hey! his potion worked! He tried to get you to give him some sort of paypack, but you mentioned that your form of payment was in that kiss.

He now demands kisses every time he makes the potion for you <3 It's kind of a silent agreement. He just stares at you after you're done drinking it, and whenever you feign ignorance the point upon his lips is far too obvious.

Jade

The first time you broke out in hives, he remained completely calm. Jade is rather smart, and he understands your allergy must be because of his disposition as a mer-folk. Although in human form, he couldn't help but notice the way you would hide your rashes either behind makeup or by bulking clothing. He was amused by this for a moment, but when he saw it worsen he couldn't help but become worried.

"Why would you go so far for me? what do you gain by allowing yourself to become sick?" When you replied with a blush that you simply liked Jade, thus his shock soon turned into action. He excused himself for a few days to climb mountains and collect the most effective of flowers and medicinal remedies for allergies and put together a potion that you were able to take to alleviate your symptoms.

He isn't the vice house warden for nothing! His talents and magic prowess truly aided him, albeit in a way that was seemingly selfish. It was all worth it for you, though.

But he does use you as an example during a class project in potionology, having you stand up in front of the class while he compares your allergies before and after taking the potion.

He got a 100% in the project. And a Significant other. A win-win for everyone!

Floyd

Floyd is much smarter than he lets on. The moment he hugs you from behind and touches your arm, he notices the rash right away. He eyed it with a frown, and without saying anything he let go of you much to your dismay, leaving you to your lonesome for a few days on end.

You had to admit you missed Floyd, his silly jokes and way of talking, his unpredictable personality, and the attention he would often give y you. While sitting at the table during a free period, your head was propped up against your hand and a sad sigh escaping your lips.

"Ehhhh? Why is shrimpy sitting here all alone? Didya miss me?" A familiar voice teased as arms wrapped around you and something akin to a vegetable drink set in front of you. You gasped and smile up at the tall male, who wasn't wrapping his arms around you as you were used to, typically ignoring the itching of your rashes. He convinced you to drink what he sat in front of you, and although you eyed it with suspicion, you sighed and drank it in one gulp and tightly shut eyes.

Nothing happened. You turned to look over at Floyd, about to question the purpose of making you drink the (surprisingly tasty) smoothie-like liquid but were quickly interrupted by lips pressing against your own.

The kiss caught you off guard and you began to panic, talking about your allergy...before you realized that nothing was happening. No rash, no itchiness, nothing.

"Seeeee? It's a potion. I made Azul make it for me. Now I can touch you as much as I want," He smiled proudly. However he managed to convince Azul would forever be beyond you...

He forgets to give you the potion sometimes, only when you two are cuddling and a rash or itching pops up do the both of you realize it's time for a dose.

Ya'll are so silly for each other <3

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #octavinelle x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #jack howl x reader #twisted wonderland headcannons #twst headcannons #leona x reader

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actiniumwrites · 3 months ago

Text

patches

synopsis: even though you’re both self-proclaimed enemies, they can’t bear to see you hurt. or in which, you show up at your enemies door all bloodied and bruised and they’re forced to take care of you

characters: xiao, gaming, alhaitham, and arlecchino x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, crying, enemies to lovers, some of them are kinda mean, extremely mild misunderstandings, probably swearing idk

notes: i’m in a massive enemies to lovers kick right now omg you guys don’t understand. this was also inspired by arlecchino’s voiceline from a heavy hit or something where she says, “wanted my full attention, did you?” she’s so fine i’m sobbing 😖

Xiao:

It was a relatively quiet night before you showed up at Xiao’s room at the Wangshu Inn. For the first time in a while, he had felt a semblance of peace. That was until the indistinguishable scent of blood forced itself in his nose and a weak knock sounded at his door.

Xiao opens it immediately. He doesn’t care to know who it is, but rather what they want with him at nearly three in the morning. No one ever bothers Xiao this late. Not unless it was serious.

“What do you—“ he starts harshly but stops mid sentence when he recognizes your face. You’re doused in blood, your clothes all ripped up. And god, you look so weak it almost makes him feel bad for you. “Get inside,” he grabs your arm harshly, but still manages to avoid all your injuries.

You start to speak, but your mouth is full of blood too. He can barely understand what you’re saying aside from a bunch of nonsensical, I’m sorries. And if your injuries weren’t enough to show it, the fact that you’re apologizing to him at all tells him something is seriously wrong. Most of the time you talk to him it’s a bunch of insults thrown back and forth, some even result in physical fighting. Neither of you have been able to get along for centuries, yet here you are getting patched up in his house.

Xiao remains mostly silent as he sets you on the counter and pulls out his medical supplies. First he cleans up all the excess blood with a cloth before tossing it aside and moving to work on the actual injury itself. You can’t help but watch him, feeling nothing but shame as you do. You couldn’t help it. There was no one else you could think to go to.

“You are unbelievably weak and irresponsible. It’s idiotic to think you could ever handle anything in this world, not even a few monsters,” he grumbles between stitches, “Pathetic.”

You just stare at him as tears well up in your eyes. You aren’t one to cry. In fact, you can’t even remember the last time something so bad happened that you did. But sitting here, terrified of the monsters that had you within an inch of your life combined with Xiao’s cold words made you completely shatter inside and out.

Quietly, you sob into your other half-cleaned arm, “I know. You don’t have to say it.” You begin to get up right after, mumbling about it being a mistake coming here but he pushes your knee back down before you can fully stand up.

Xiao looks up surprised from where he sits as he does, his hands drop the thread and needle against the counter. Without word, he stands up and furrows his brows. “I should not have said what I said,” he practically whispers, a twinge of embarrassment hitting him too. A darker look shades his gentle amber irises as he stares into yours, “I don’t entirely dislike you. As stupid as your actions may have been, seeing you injured makes me…upset.”

“They weren’t normal monsters,” you breathe out between the remaining sobs that still involuntarily leave your mouth. You know you don’t owe him an explanation, but you figured you could at least make it known you weren’t taken out by some random hilichurls. “I was down in the Chasm. Those…things weren’t anything like I’ve ever seen before. I didn’t even have time to react.”

Xiao nods and places the last bandage on your face, “You shouldn’t go down there by yourself. It’s too dangerous. The last time I was there I hardly escaped.”

“What do you mean?” you raise a brow, your interest suddenly peaked. Xiao wipes the remaining tears off of your face in silence before turning to walk away.

“Call for me next time and I’ll be there.”

Gaming:

Gaming and you had gotten off on the wrong foot when you first met each other years ago. As children, you always felt like he stole your spotlight and he never seemed to care. And as you got older, it never seemed to go away. You constantly bickered and loathed having to see each other whenever one another’s name was brought up.

Yet whenever you got hurt, he was always the first person you went to. Although normally, it was for small things like paper cuts and bruised elbows. Not for your face having a cut so deep you could barely see and an arm twisted out of place like today.

“Fuck,” you mutter as you bang on his door, hoping it was the right one. There was too much blood in your eyes. Every door in the village looks the same right now, and even if it is the right one, you aren’t sure he’s even home. “Please be home,” you pace back and forth. Gaming stopped asking questions years ago when it first started.

You were forced to go with him after a group of bandits had found and beat you up, taking nearly everything you had in your bag. Gaming had found you while on delivery, and like the sweet guy he is, he stopped and helped you even though you could both barely stand each other. He didn’t want to see you dead either.

You weren’t often hurt, but it became somewhat of a cycle whenever you were. You were a nice person, well liked by most, but you also enjoyed stirring up trouble and it often landed you in some pretty hot water countless times. You knew Gaming wouldn’t say anything to anyone or turn you away like other people would. And above all, you like the kinder side of him whenever he patched you up, which he was good at too.

“Gaming!” your fist pounds on the door again. It’s almost nightfall and a few villagers have begun staring. You almost go to knock again, but your body begins to give out. You mumble a few more curse words before the door opens and you fall forward, directly onto the very person you were looking for.

“Ow ow ow, oh my god my arm!”

“Sorry! Is that blood?! What happened to you?”

“I don’t know! Ask the guys who thought my joke wasn’t funny.”

Gaming picks you up off the floor in a state of panic and rushes you to the bathroom. Luckily for you both, his dad isn’t home to see all of this.

Gaming begins to wipe the blood off your face and examine the cut that runs all the way from your forehead to your cheek, narrowly missing your eye. “This is bad,” he says and begins rummaging through his drawers for medical supplies.

You scoff, “Yeah, you think?”

“You didn’t have to come here, you know. You should’ve gone to a doctor,” he bites back nicely. Sometimes you wish he would just be a little meaner to you. It was easier to hate him that way.

You quiet down and let him take care of your face, “I’m sorry. You’re the only one who I can actually trust to take care of me.”

Gaming hides a small smile while avoiding eye contact with you. Not that you could even see, but just in case. He’d never admit it, but he actually really enjoys when you go to him for help. He’s never resented you like you’ve resented him, but he never bothered to change it either. Somehow he hoped bandaging you up would make you change your mind about him.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, pouring disinfectant onto a small cloth and wiping the cut gently. You wince and he places a hand on your upper arm to silently comfort you, “If you want some good news, you don’t need stitches on your face.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, having always hated needles, “Thank god.”

“But you will have to see a doctor for your arm. There’s no way for me to fix that on my own,” he says bashfully, “I can maybe…take you if you’d like?”

You peer up at him, shocked at the question. Perhaps this could be a new start between the two of you, and you’re not so against it.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Alhaitham:

It’s pouring outside when Alhaitham hears banging on his front door. At first, he ignores it thinking it was just Kaveh forgetting his keys again and he doesn’t care enough to let him in. But the banging persists and then comes the faint sound of pained sobs.

He slams his book shut and groans as he gets up and trudges angrily to the door. He swings it open only to be met with the sight of you clutching your waist, barely keeping yourself standing as the rain envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper weakly.

Alhaitham scoffs, “Really? I’m not a doctor, go somewhere else.” He begins to shut the door, and he almost does so successfully before you collapse on the floor, blood beginning to mix with the puddle outside his door. And there’s a lot of it.

The next thing you know, you’re in your least favorite scholar’s arms as he carries you to his room. He sets you on a chair and you take the time to take in what his room looks like. It isn’t much different than you expected, yet you never thought you’d see it.

“Don’t move. I don’t want you making any more of a mess than you already have,” he sneers, walking off to the bathroom connected to his room to grab out a small bag of medical supplies. When he returns you’re blankly staring ahead of you, barely conscious as tears start running down your face. It’s like you don’t even know you’re crying. Alhaitham stares at you for a moment in utter disbelief before snapping in your face, “Take your shirt off.”

“Huh?” you snap out of your daze, confusedly wiping your tears as you do so. A few sniffles leave your nose as you do so.

“Do you want help or not?” he snaps again, losing his patience with you. He’s beginning to seriously regret not leaving you on his doorstep. You quickly follow his instructions, taking off your shirt to reveal a huge cut stemming from one side of your stomach to the other.

Alhaitham’s eyes slightly widen in shock, and he almost can’t pull them away. For a brief moment, you even catch them soften but it’s fleeting and doesn’t give you enough time to register that maybe the stoic scribe really does care for you, even just a little bit.

You both sit in complete silence as he begins working. You catch his eyes every so often, but he quickly looks back down at the injury before either of you can speak on it.

“Who was it?” Alhaitham grumbles as he finishes wrapping it up, his arms wrapped around your waist. The feeling of his hands distracts you from the question.

“What?”

“The people that did this. Who was it?” he repeats it, more anger this time around. You shake your head and look off to the side.

“I don’t know. It was too dark to get a good look at them,” you try to explain, but Alhaitham doesn’t have any of it. You’re not sure why, but he doesn’t seem like the normal him. The guy that normally finds any and every chance to torment you.

He gets up and grabs the bag, noting something down on a nearby piece of paper and shoving it in the left pocket of his pants before angrily walking out the door of his bedroom, “I’ll be back.”

“Wait! Don’t go,” Your hand reaches out and grabs his. You pull back suddenly, not realizing how impulsive your decision was until it was too late. You go to mumble a sorry, but before you can, you find your hand back in his.

You stare at him in shock, but he just squeezes your shaking hand. “Stay here,” he says somehow both coldly and warmly at once, pulling the blankets back and gesturing to his bed, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Where are you going?”

“To deal with the people that hurt you.”

Arlecchino:

You wince as the door swings open aggressively, not expecting Arlecchino to open the door before you could even think to knock.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, squinting her eyes so as to scale you up and down. For a moment, they linger over your bloodstained clothes and the already bruising cuts that litter your body. You don’t notice the way they widen in shock for a moment, too distracted by the adrenaline wearing off.

You still manage to crack an arrogant smile and sarcastically mutter, “Couldn’t think of anyone worth patching me up but you.”

Without waiting for a response, you push past her figure and let yourself inside already knowing where the infirmary is. Although, you don’t make it two steps before your legs give out and your body tumbles toward the hardwood floors.

The clicking of heels stops from just beside you before a strong hand grips your arm and aggressively pulls you up, “Don’t dirty my floors. The children worked hard to clean those today.”

“Yeah? Well they can clean them again tomorrow,” you grumble and weakly attempt to push her hand off of your body. Arlecchino doesn’t budge, however. She instead drags you all the way to the infirmary and sets you down on one of the beds.

“Wow these are surprisingly comfortable. Didn’t know you had it in you to be so accommodating to all the children you like to hold hostage,” you tease to keep yourself from focusing on the pain. She ignores you and instead places a firm hand on your uninjured chest and slams your back against the bed.

Immediately, she begins working on all the little cuts and gently wipes all the blood away, saving your bigger injuries to be dealt with in a moment. For now, she didn’t mind if you suffered for a little longer.

“So,” Arlecchino starts after a few minutes of silence, finally deeming it worthy to have a real conversation with you, “was this your way of getting my full attention? If you wanted me to notice you, you should have just said something.”

“What? No! I got attacked, I wasn’t trying to ‘get your attention’ or whatever.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I really wasn’t,” you cross your arms and turn your head away from her, “I was scared, you know? I didn’t know who else to go to. Make fun of me all you want, but it’s the truth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t say anything more after the conversation takes its turn. You’re glad she doesn’t, not wanting to engage in the horrible embarrassment you already felt from having to show up here anyway. She was the last person you’d want to have see your weakness, yet here you are covered in the House of the Hearth’s bandages.

When Arlecchino is done with stitching up your leg, she moves to your face and gently brushes away the blood. And cut by cut, she heals each one and leaves you feeling brand new again. You stare up at her for a brief moment, unable to look anywhere else when the red X’s in her eyes are so focused on you.

“So who did it?” She asks suddenly, her tone a little more caring than before. It almost shocks you, but then again, deep down you knew she cared more than she let on. No matter how much either of you didn’t get along, you always had her back. Even if she didn’t know it. You always liked the think that she had yours too.

You sigh and scribble down a few names on a nearby clipboard left by the bed, “That’s only a few of them…the ones I was able to get talking before everything happened. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding their leader though.”

Her eyes scan over the paper before she glances back at you and nods. She begins to walk away but stops at the doorway and calls out over her shoulder, “I’ll be back in the morning. My room is on the second floor, last door at the end of the hall. I expect to find you resting there when I return.”

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misotsukiiyeooo · 3 months ago

Text

"Just one more?" Part 3

Pairing:Husband!Father CSC x F! Mother!Reader

A/N: I'M BACKKK!!! After the polled votes came in I immediately started to write lmao! This one will also be a bit longer since it's the last one...or is it? jkkk unless...Enjoy!

Genre: Fluff (Hint of crack)

Word count: 16.6k (Not proofread sry)

Synopsis: After Seungcheol finds out you're pregnant, again, the whole experience has been, tender, lovely, and well....shocking

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

3 Months Later

Everything with Seungcheol has been so perfect. Well, this is your fourth kid but that's what made the experience even better.

He already knew how to help you with your cravings and everything.

Telling the rest of his members was also fun. Of course, Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Joshua ran up to hug you first.

And telling your children was also exciting with Seojun, your oldest son hugging you while Jieun, your second child blabbers on how she's going to dress up the baby. Your youngest, Dohyun just smiles handing you a toy to play with him.

Today, You and Seungcheol are so excited because you can finally find out the sex of your child.

"Babe, we're going to be late!" He's rushing you, clearly he's more excited than you are.

"I'm coming hold on!" You grab your sweater and wave goodbye to your kids and thank Seungkwan once again for watching them.

Seungcheol holds your hand as you walk down the stairs. "I'm only three months, Cheol..." He still treats you as if you were going into labor this instant.

"I know....but we still need to be careful" You look at him while he continues to talk nonsense.

Entering the car, he closes your door; going to the driver's side.

"What do you think the gender is?" You ask him, curiously. "Hm, probably another boy. But whatever the gender is, I'll love them either way." He looks at you fondly.

"You're so cheesy! But I think it'll be a girl because we just had a boy and it seems like a pattern." Seungcheol thinks about it, nodding. "You're probably right, but there's only one way to right out." He starts the car.

As you enter the hospital, you are greeted with warm smiles. "Hi, I had an appointment for an ultrasound today." The nice lady behind the desk looks at you. "Oh yes, Choi Y/n was it? Please fill out these papers and bring them back to me."

She hands you some medical papers and you take them, walking to a seat where Seungcheol's already at.

After filling out the papers you hand them to the lady to take your seat again but before you even sit back down, your nurse calls you in.

"Choi Y/n?" She calls out. "Yes?" You both lock eyes, smiling. "Follow me right this way."

You hold Seungcheol's hand, excited and nervous to find out the sex.

You are seated in the reclined seat while Seungcheol stands beside you. "So you're finally three months! You're here to find out the sex, right?" You nod.

The nurse puts the cold gel on your belly causing you to twitch. You look at the screen above which shows the ultrasound.

"Seems like your baby's doing well." She continues to look at the screen. Her eyes widen, causing you to get scared.

"Is something wrong?" You and Seungcheol both look at her. "I'm afraid I'm not able to say anything. Only the doctor could, and she shall be here shortly." She exits.

You feel anxious, many negative thoughts running through your mind. 'Is the baby sick?' 'Is the baby alright?'. Taking you out of your thoughts, you feel Seugcheol grip your hand.

"Everything's going to be okay, alright?" Just the right words you wanted to hear.

A few seconds later, the doctor enters. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Choi. Is everything alright? I just received some information from the nurse who was here, and I want to check it out for myself."

"If you don't mind me asking, what's wrong?" Seungcheol asked, looking quite nervous himself.

The doctor now looks at the screen. "There seems to be two babies in here."

"What!?" You and Seungcheol both say in unison.

"How's that possible? When I came here two weeks ago they said they only saw one?" You're utterly confused.

"You are quite early in your pregnancy so mistakes like this can occur, especially with the babies hiding and such. But yes, look here," She points to the screen. "There's two babies in here, congratulations. You're having twins!"

You're both left shocked, mouths gaped. "I'm not mad...however I'm just in shock." You let out, not knowing whether to be excited or in tears.

"What are their genders?" Seungcheol pitches in. "I'm sorry I almost forgot to even tell you. This one's a girl and the other's a boy." The doctor points at the screen, identifying each baby.

"A boy and a girl?!?" You still can't believe this.

"Yes but if you'll excuse me, I have another patient that needs to be checked. If there are any more questions, you can ask anytime, take care and remember not to stress too much." The doctor exits and you sigh, now facing Seungcheol.

"You did say you wanted another baby" He smiles. "Yeah, but I didn't expect to have babies!" You both look at each other, breaking the silence with laughter.

"I'm a bit scared though...we have to get two of everything and more stress, more waking up at night, more everything! And no wonder I'm so huge at only three months!!" Seungcheol wants to let out maybe even the tiniest bit of laughter but knowing how hormonal you are, he could never do such a thing.

"It's going to be alright baby, you need to remember; that I'm also here. I would never let you do this alone." He holds your hands.

"Hm...You're right, I'm sorry but still, these are two babies!" You let out. "I can't even imagine the boy's faces when I tell them," Seungcheol said.

Arriving home you see Seungkwan and the kids playing together. "You sure you don't want to have your own kids?" You rest your hand on your hip, smiling at him.

"No, most definitely not. I'm good as a fun uncle, not a father." He lets out a chuckle causing you to also laugh.

"Well, I have some news...we're having twins!!" His face has shock written all over it.

"Twins? Twins!!" Seungkwan rushes over to you, hugging you tightly. "Kwan...the twins, remember?"

He made an 'o' shape with his mouth and then let go, apologizing.

"When are you going to tell the rest of the boys?" Seungkwan asks. "Maybe tomorrow? I can't wait to see their faces!"

Seungcheol comes back from the kid's room after putting them to bed while you are talking with Seungkwan. "Well as much as I love to stay and talk with you, I have to get home. Practice is pretty early for us." He looks over at Seungcheol.

"Right, get home safe Seungkwan." Seungcheol waves as you walk Seungkwan out.

After saying your goodbyes' he left; leaving you and Seungcheol alone. "I still can't believe everything that's happened today..." You hug Seungcheol who already has his arms open for you.

"I know, I'm even more excited now that I know it's twins," he says as he kisses your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips causing you to giggle.

"Should we get ready for bed? You also have a long day tomorrow you know." You said earning a pout from him. "But I wanted to spend my day with you and the kids tomorrow..."

Smiling at his cuteness, you play with his hair, "How about we visit you during practice? We do have to tell the boys about the twins."

"I do like the sound of that." Seungcheol kisses you once again before you head off to bed.

Next Day

You wake up to an empty bed. However, you do see a post-it note on the side dresser.

'Good morning my beautiful wife, I made breakfast for you and the kids ;)'. Smiling at the note, you get off of bed and freshen up for the day until your kids wake up.

As soon as you got out of the bathroom Dohyun, your three-year-old was walking up to you. Slowly but surely.

"Mama, where dada go? I went to room but no one there" He has his hands in a shrugging position while shaking his head. 'Aw this cutie' You thought.

Taking him into your arms and pampering him with kisses you, finally answer. "I'm sorry Dohyun, dada went to work. Do you want to go surprise him later?"

He doesn't let even a second go by before yelling out excitedly, even waking up the rest of the kids. "Dohyun...you woke me up..." Jieun walks out rubbing her eyes while Seojun's just a couple steps behind her.

"I'm sorry kids, but Dad made you guys breakfast! So after eating, we can get dressed to see him at work."

They both look at each other, then you. "Does that mean we can see our uncles too!!" They say in unison happily.

"Yes, you can but, not if you don't eat breakfast." Seojun and Jieun race to the table to eat the food Seungcheol made in no time.

After driving to get some food, you finally make it to Seungcheol's workplace.

You enter the elevator with the kids. "Mommy, I'm so excited to see Uncle Gyu!" Jieun jumps excitedly.

"Hm, and why is that?" You ask. "Because he's so tall and I can pretend like I'm flying!" She puts one arm up as if she were.

"Well, it's a good thing we're here now." You all exit the elevator and they're already used to the place; running to the practice room before you can even get there.

As you approach, all you can hear are indistinct screams of joy.

Entering the practice room you see all the boys surrounding your kids. Seungcheol notices you immediately and grabs the food out of your hands.

"Babe...why didn't you tell me you were downstairs? I could've helped you with the food." He pouts.

"It's okay, Cheol. It wasn't that heavy." Seungcheol still takes the bags.

"Y/n!!" Mingyu runs to hug you but slows down; eyeing you. "Wow..." You laugh at his face.

"I know, right?" You affirm, moving toward him to offer a reassuring hug because he was too hesitant to do so himself.

"Uncle Gyu! Carry me, carry me!!" Jieun wastes no time asking for what she wanted this whole time.

"Ms.Jieun, please keep all arms and legs in the vehicle at all times." Mingyu bends down so Jieun can go on his back. "Prepare for take off!!" As he runs around the practice room with Jieun, you take the opportunity to head towards everyone else.

"Hey guys!" They all look at you, waving, smiling, and coming up to hug you.

"Thanks Y/n for the food!" Soonyoung thanks you while taking another spoonful. "You're welcome!"

Dohyun walks to Wonwoo- calmly sitting on his lap, you've always noticed Wonwoo was his favorite uncle. Probably because they're both calm people.

And Seojun simply talks with his favorite uncle, Seokmin. He knows how crazy Seokmin is; however, he just finds him enduring.

You sit with everyone, patiently waiting to drop the news. "When are you going to tell them?" Seungkwan whispers next to you. You hit him for whispering too loud, "I'll tell them now..."

You eye Seungcheol, signaling to him that you are ready to tell them. "So guys...I actually have some news." They look at you confused on whether it's good or not.

"Is something wrong?" Jeonghan asks. "Well, no. It's just shocking."

"Tell us, tell us!" Chan grows impatient.

"So, I went to my ultrasound yesterday, and turns out...I'm having twins!!" You finally let out.

Many expressions were shown but you can tell they were all happy; just shown in...different ways.

Mingyu, Soonyoung, and Seokmin literally jump like animals.

Minghao, Jihoon, Wonwoo, and Vernon congratulate you with the biggest smiles.

Junhui and Chan both sit down in shock.

And lastly, Jeonghan and Joshua run up to hug you, again.

"I'm so happy for you!!" Joshua tells you. "Oh my gosh! We can make them just like me and Seokmin!" Everyone pauses; looking at a happy Soonyoung.

"Or maybe not." He shuts up completely as we all laugh.

The rest of the day was spent with the kids playing with their uncles while you talked it up with the ones who weren't occupied.

6 Months Later

Everything has been going well with you carrying twins and all.

Your best friend, Seungkwan threw you a baby shower with the help of your parents.

Your kids felt the twins kick, and Seungcheol almost cried.

Seungcheol even decorated a whole room for the twins. And now you're 9 months pregnant and shopping at the mall.

"That dress in that store looks cute! Let's go Cheollie." You hold your back as you walk into the store.

Grabbing the dress in your size, you head to the changing room, Seungcheol steps behind you.

You managed to successfully put on the cozy dress but taking it off was a hassle. "Cheol? I need help."

He comes into the changing room worried. "What happened?" He asks.

"Nothing too serious I just need help taking off my dress." He lets out a sigh of relief and helps you.

As he lifts up the dress a bit you pause.

"Cheol..stop."

He looks at you puzzled, but lets go.

"Either I just peed my pants or I think my water just broke..." Eyes widening he panics. "Your water broke?!?"

You simply nod, panicking yourself. Out of all places, your water broke before; it's never been at a mall.

You knew you were going to give birth at any point just not right now!

"We-we have to go!" You groan at the contractions. You both try to walk out of the store but get stopped by security.

"Ma'am you can't leave without purchasing the dress." He puts an arm out.

"Add it to my tab, I'll call this place later. It's an emergency." Seungcheol holds you by the waist attempting to calm you before you yell at this man. But the guy once again has his arm out.

"That's what they all say. I'm afraid I can't let you leave without paying."

That's it

"My water just broke and it just so happens to be I was trying on this dress! So if you don't want two fucking babies coming out of me in this store I suggest you listen to my husband and let us fucking go!!" The security's eyes widen, looking you up and down and gulping.

"Well, I'm sorry for not reading the room. Please, go on and give birth to your twins.." He finally moves his hand and you and Seungcheol rush out of the place.

Entering the car, your screams only get louder and louder. "We're almost there, Baby. Almost there.." Seungcheol holds your thigh while driving as fast yet safely as possible.

You make it to the hospital and Seungcheol does the talking for you. "My wife is going into labor." He attempts to stay as calm as possible.

"Come right this way." A nurse brings you to a room while you're very much in pain.

Multiple nurses enter now as your contractions are getting close. "Ms. Choi, breathe, just breathe."

Did she really just tell me that?

"What the hell do you think I'm doing?!?" You counter back. Seungcheol smiles at the lady apologizing for you.

The pain was unbearable, those twins were really doing a number on you.

A doctor finally walks in, "Hello, your contractions are pretty close I see, I'm going to need you to push."

Push!?! Can't she see I can barely even breathe?!?

Seungcheol holds your hand as you are preparing to push.

"And 1, 2, 3, push!" Said the doctor. Only screams were heard; everything felt hazy you didn't know if you could even do it.

"You got this, Babe. Just keep pushing." He never once left your side as you continued to push.

"Just one more Ms.Choi-There we go. A beautiful boy!" The sound of the newborn baby crying calmed you in a way that brought you back to your senses.

The nurses took that baby to clean him while you still felt in pain. "One more Ms.Choi, you got this come on."

"I-I I can't. I can't do it" You felt exhausted, this was serious pain.

"Y/n, look at me- Look at me. You need to push; I know you're tired but there's still our daughter in there waiting to be brought into this world. So push!! I'm right here for you." Seungcheol's words help you realize, you have to keep going.

For the sake of your daughter.

You push as hard as you can, taking breaks, tears leaving your eyes, and even sweat dripping from your forehead.

But that didn't stop you from completing your mission.

And with the last push, your daughter was finally out. "Congratulations Ms. Choi, you did well."

You drop your head on the pillow, and tears of happiness and pain keep escaping your eyes. "You did it Y/n...it's all okay now." Seungcheol kisses your forehead and those are the last words you hear before falling into deep sleep.

After some time, you blink your eyes open only for them to be set on Seungcheol holding two babies in his hand. Tears of joy leaving his own eyes.

"Oh look, mommy's up! let's go say hi." He walks up to you so you can see your children.

"They look perfect, right?" He said as you can't even keep your eyes off them.

"I know, they must've gotten that from me." You chuckle at your newly found confidence. "I think they did." He adds on giggling himself.

"What should we name them?"Seungcheol asks you. "Hm..I don't know yet..."

"How about I name one and you name the other?" He proposes. "But they should rhyme, no?" You ask. "If you want them too."

"Well then, what if...she's Jisu and...he's Jiho?" You pitch in, pointing at each kid, waiting for his response.

He nods, "I think it's perfect. Jisu sounds cute like her and Jiho sounds manly like this handsome boy here." He kisses they're cheeks.

"Jisu and Jiho it is."

Reqs are open!!

This adorable divider is by @dollywons !!

Taglist!!

@jjunie-0 @minminghao @honglynights @allieyaaa @bath1lda @black-swan-blog27

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coffeeman777 · 4 months ago

Text

This is for all of my follwers/mutuals who are Christians:

I want to preface this by saying that what I'm about to share with you is only to ask you for prayer. I don't want favors, and I'm not looking for a handout. We need God to open a door for us, and so I beg you, please pray for us.

We moved to Florida coming on three years ago. We came here primarily because we believed God was leading us here. In various ways, we believed God confirmed His will for us, and so I left a great job and we sold a great house to move here. We have been opposed in every way imaginable since.

Days after moving down, Lisa and I were in a terrible car accident that we only walked away from by God's grace. We were rear-ended by an Edible Arrangements delivery truck on the highway, and Lisa sustained significant injuries that are still causing us major problems. The franchise owner was operating their delivery vehicle without insurance, and I've learned since that they shut down their Edible Arrangements franchise and took off, leaving us holding the bag.

I've been in armed security since I got out of the Marines, and in New Hampshire, that was enough to take care of myself and my family. But it isn't in Florida. The pay for most armed security gigs here is super low, and I haven't been able to find work comparable to what I had in New Hampshire. So I tried to change courses.

I earned my personal trainer certification through the National Academy of Sports Medicine, but couldn't make it as a trainer. I made the attempt to go back to college and get a degree and certification as a paramedic, but after months of jumping through hoops, that fell through. I went back to New Hampshire by myself and spent six months away from my family to try to earn enough money working both my old job and a second job, but that plan didn't work because hours were limited with both gigs, and each job wanted me to work overlapping hours; I couldn't make the schedules line up.

My incredibly generous parents-in-law offered to pay our bills so that I could come back to Florida and try a new plan. I went to a CDL training course to get into trucking. After the very long and very expensive process, I finally got my CDL-A. While I was working on that, a random disagreement between my health insurance company and the medical supplier that issued me my cpap (I have sleep apnea) resulted in the supplier demanding that I give them the machine back. It took from middle February to early June for me to get another cpap. The end result is that, as of today, I have just under two months of cpap usage data. I discovered only after getting my CDL that no trucking company will hire me with less than 90 days of cpap usage data.

I've been pre-hired and subsequently turned away from three different trucking companies since I got my CDL over the cpap nonsense (one of which told me that what I had for cpap usage was fine, only to tell me on the first day of orientation that it actually wasn't fine, and they had to let me go). It's going to be another month before I can get started with any trucking company, and I'm concerned that I'll have to go to refresher training, which will only increase the months of time I'll have to spend as a trainee with whatever company hires me, which means it will be a long time before I make enough money to survive.

My in-laws can't continue paying our bills, and although I've had a half dozen low paying jobs in this time just to be bringing in something, now I'm struggling to get anything. I've applied to more jobs than I can remember, and I can't get any traction. Not even Domino's will call me back. Our backs are up against a wall.

My first payment for the money I borrowed to pay for CDL school was due almost a month ago, and I haven't been able to pay it (I had to get financing because my GI Bill expired and the VA ignored my request for an extension). Rent is almost 2k a month. We can't afford groceries (we've been living off of food pantries).

I don't know what to do. I've been crying out to God for an open door, but so far nothing has happened. My in-laws are just about tapped out, and in my mind, the only thing worse than wrecking my own family financially is dragging them down with me.

Please pray for us. Please pray for God to give us an open door, or some understanding of what to do next. I know God didn't bring us here to let us die. God is good, and God keeps His promises. God is perfect, and righteous, and just in all His ways. God has promised that He will turn about all things for the good of them that love Him. I know God has not abandoned us, and that when the time is right, God will make a way.

I say again, I am not looking for favors or begging for money. I know all of us are really going through it right now. All I want from you is prayer. Please pray intensely for us.

Thanks, I love you all.

#prayer request

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barcaatthemoon · 5 months ago

Note

“i'm at the hospital” or “oh god, you’re bleeding” with alexia? 💗

paying attention || alexia putellas x reader ||

"hey! keep your head in the game," misa said as she hit the back of your head. it had to be the tenth time in the past two minutes that you had been caught staring at alexia. you couldn't take your eyes off of her. she was hot, and unfortunately had noticed that you liked her.

"it is! it is!" you swatted wildly for a moment. in all of the excitement, you didn't notice the ball as it came hurtling towards your face. misa held her breath, but luckily, your face knocked the ball away from the goal. even if you had noticed it, you'd have been in too much pain to celebrate.

"shit! are you okay?" misa asked as she knelt down next to you. you glanced up at her, and despite her best efforts, misa looked horrified.

"don't look at me like that," you whined. misa looked like a fish out of water as she tried to figure out what to do. alexia noticed, and took pity on her national team goalie.

"what's going o-, oh my god you're bleeding!" alexia knelt down in front of you. everybody sort of watched as alexia took care of you. what everybody assumed was a crush turned out to be much more. "i don't think it's broken, which is good."

"yeah, you wouldn't love me if my face got all messed up," you joked. alexia would have loved you no matter what you looked like, something that she had reassured you of time and time again.

"nonsense," alexia muttered as she shook her head. she bent down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before the medics finally made their way over to you. they cleaned you up, but didn't make you sub off since your nose wasn't really broken.

#answered #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

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gallusrostromegalus · 1 month ago

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Just wanted to say I’m enjoying all of the world building and snippets from AEIWAM - it’s clear how much fun you’re having and how much though you put into it. I’ve started rereading bleach because of that, though I always wind up stopping after the rescue rukia arc 😅. Maybe I’ll make it past that this time.

Eh, I gave up after My Blorbo was killed off in deeply narratively unsatisfying fashion, so you're not alone. Anyway, have some More AEIWAM Worldbulding Nonsense:

---

The Kuchiki-Yamada-11th Division Fucktangle

It started with Chigiri Shijima.

The first captain of the 4th Division, part of the original Dirty Dozen Yamamoto hired off of Death Row to fight the first Quincy Invasion, was an unassuming and chronically fatigued looking woman* with a profound sense of curiosity about the limits of The Flesh:

(from Kubo's sketches of the original 13) *Chigiri might be male in canon. I don't care

She became fast friends with the young Yachiru Unohana, who shared her fascination with the limits of the flesh, though from the opposite direction. Chigiri was the first person to show Unohana how to channel her Reiatsu to prefrom Kaido, and let her sit in on /Hold people's ribcages open during /do some of the surgical cuts for Chigiri's Field Surgery sessions, much to the horror of everyone else involved.

After the War, when the Captains had to shape up from a gang of mercenaries into a real governmental organization, Chigiri met and eventually married a Similarly-Sadistically-Curious young Dentist named Fumihiro Yamada. Longtime friend and frequent visitor to the hospital Unohana attended the 100-day ceremony of their first and subsequent six children, the start of a grand tradition- Unohana, under one name or another, has been present at the Okuizome of every Yamada born for the last millennium, and delivered most of them for the last 800-odd years.

The Yamadas are one of the most prolific Shinigami families, producing more Shinigami by percentage than any other clan, and have served in all divisions of the court Guard. Eighth Division Fifth Seat Suichi Yamada is the current highest ranked Yamada, but there have been four Captains Yamada. There's also a Seated Yamada in the third divison, and another in the 12th (though there's a popular rumor that 15th Seat Tosako Yamada isn't part of the 12th so much as a Spy to keep the 4th abreast of any important developments in medical science, rather than deal with Mayuri directly).

It is little wonder then that, despite the lack of noble standing, the Yamadas are one of the most highly regarded families in the Seireitei, and even less of a wonder that, every time the gene pool starts to get a little shallow, that the Noble Houses start looking at the latest generation for potential spouses.

The Kuchiki Clan in particular has intermarried heavily with the Yamadas, to the point that Byakuya Kuchiki is actually fourth-cousins to the infamous Former Fourth Division Lieutenant and Current Head of the Private Central Medical Institute in the Noble Quarter, Seinosuke Yamada:

(Description: A cool and handsome if somewhat menacing Wizard)

...and his less-famous younger brother, current 4th Division 7th seat Hanataro Yamada.

(Description: the most bully-able looking dweeb you've ever seen)

Due to the way the Kuchikis keep marrying daughters they won't legitimize for some goddamn reason to Yamada Sons, there's an argument to be made that the Kuchiki Clan is a Branch Clan of the Yamadas...

In fact, until Rukia was adopted into the Kuchiki Clan, if something had happened to Byakuya, Seinosuke was Byakuya's closest living relative in their generation and a reasonable argument could be made that he was the Hier-Apparent.

This, of course, would not do.

The thing is, Hanataro's shy and gentle demeanor is very unusual for a Yamada. The whole clan has a reputation for being Manic Sociopaths with dubious ethics and a tendency towards sadism. They make excellently competent officers, but not exactly 'friendly', like a terrible hybrid of a Border Collie and Cane Corso. Seinosuke himself is known to take great pleasure in bringing back patients that are actively begging for death.

There is a persistent rumor that this infamous disposition is at least partially due to the influence of Captain Unohana, who has been an active member of the Yamada household for the last millennium, presumably so they're very acclimated to her nonsense by the time she starts recruiting the prize ones for the 4th. She's delivered most of them and officiated the marriages of more than a few, and given the woman's patience in cultivating the Seireitei's Most Magnificent Flower and Vegetable Garden, it's suspected she's been cultivating the Yamada line as well.

Seinosuke was her lieutenant before the current Isane Koetetsu, and the bond between them was almost legendary. They would frequently not actually bother to finish sentences around each other, or communicate entirely by gesture because they were so familiar.

---

It was little wonder then, when Seinosuke's little brother also joined the 4th Division, though it wasn't exactly happily received news. People get jealous and see favoritism where there is none- Hanataro had entered the 4th on his own merits, and actually against his brother's recommendation.

Hanataro also had the strange fortune of entering the 4th the same week as the Tragic West 66 Incident in which several captains, lieutenants and nearly all of the 9th division's seated officers were killed by the machinations of (as was believed at the time) former captains Urahara, Shihouin and the head of the Kido Corps.

Three days after that, 11th Division Captain Kenpachi Kiganjo was struck down in a duel, and infamous barbarian Kenpachi Zaraki took over the 11th.

... So the day afterwards, when the lower officer in charge of assigning jobs to trainee medics saw that apparently this Zaraki bastard needed a complete medical checkup and every vaccine ever, he thought 'Well, let's see if Little Hanataro really did get in on his own merits. He's A Yamada after all, this should be a piece of cake for him-'

-and sent first-day-on-the-job Hanataro to the famously hostile 11th Division on his own.

---

"Um, Excuse me, Mister- I mean, Captain Zaraki?" Hanataro mumbled peering in the door of the captain's room at the nest of pillows and blankets that might contain his charge.

The 11th was deserted- not really a surprise, given the heavy casualties the 11th had suffered the week before. In fact, all 20 of the surviving members of the 11th were still recovering at the 4th, and Hanataro had wandered around looking for someone for a solid half hour until a little girl with neon pink hair had playfully tackled him to the ground and then, giggling, shown him to the Captain.

"KEEEEEEN-CHAAAAAAAN!!!" Miss Yachiru shouted, leaping into the nest and tackling her adopted guardian with similar glee. "Re-Chan sent one of her guys here for something!"

There was a low rattling noise of irritation that reminded Hanataro eerily of the family's temperamental rooster, but much, much larger. The nest of fabric shifted, arching up into an alarmingly tall shape, Yachiru balancing on top and scolding it for sleeping in so late, he's probably very busy-

A lithe but powerful arm longer than Hanataro was tall suddenly lurched out from the nest and slammed on the floor in front of where he was sitting, swinging the entire torso of 11th division captain Kenpachi Zaraki around and bringing Hanataro eye-to-fearsome-yellow-eye with the giant.

"...the fuck're you?" Zaraki grunted, blinking slowly at Hanataro, not entirely awake yet.

"I- I- I'm-" Hanataro sputtered, struggling to introduce himself when he noticed something peculiar- an extra bit of translucent flesh behind Zaraki's eyelids, sliding sideways across his eye to behind his tear duct- "- I'm sorry, do you have Nictitating Membranes??" Hanataro gaped.

Zaraki glared blankly at him for a moment, before breaking into a slow grin and, very slowly closed the pearly membrane over his eye and opened it again to Hanataro's slack-jawed astonishment.

"WHAT THE FUCK THAT'S SO COOL I'VE NEVER EVEN HEARD OF HUMANS HAVING THOSE DO YOU KNOW IF IT'S GENETIC OR-" Hanataro yelped with excitement, jumping to his feet and grabbing the captain's head and staring at his eye, nose pressed to Zaraki's cheekbone for a moment before abruptly remembering where he was and letting go, dropping into a bow hard enough to audibly bonk his head on the floor. "I'msosorrysirpleaseforgivemeidon'twanttodie-"

He was interrupted by Zaraki's loud cackle of amusement and the sensation of being lifted. Zaraki was sitting- well, had extracted his gangly limbs from his nest and arranged them into a pile mostly in contact with the floor- and picked up Hanataro by the collar of his Shihakusho and set him back up on his feet. His cackle trailed off into amused clicking and he sat back, regarding the tiny medic with a peculiar sense of favor.

"Good catch Mr. Sorry." he teased, Yachiru climbing onto his right shoulder. "Dunno who my father was, but my Mom an' Sisters 're Eagles and they got 'em too."

"...Eagles?" Hanataro blinked, cocking his head sideways with confusion. "Like. Birds?"

"Kami, technically, but yeh." Zaraki shrugged, rolling his neck and stretching, still waking up. "So who're you or am I gonna be calling you Mr. Sorry forever?"

"Ohhh... That- well that doesn't exactly explain things but I think I get how- uh, sorry, I'm- I'm not sorry, I'm Hanataro Yamada from the 4th Division!" He yelped, staggering back on topic. "Captain Unohana said you needed an intake medical exam and vaccinations?"

"Yeah probably." Zaraki shugged, scratching at his neck. "Yachiru too- Tired to get as many of 'em in her as I could afford but you know how it is out in the sticks."

"Hm." Nodded Hanataro, who did not. "Um, well- If you wanted to get started, we might be able to finish up before lunch, you must be busy with a whole division to put back together-"

"Yyyyy... -nah." Zaraki yawned. "Stayed up all last night writin' letters to fill it back up and posted 'em early. No rush until I get summat back."

"Which is probably good- I don't think you've EVER gotten a shot, have you Ken-chan?" Yachiru asked, kicking her feet in the air behind his shoulder.

"...Oh." Hanataro mumbled.

"...Has anyone seen Yamada?" Yamada the elder enquired after Yamada the Younger, the late afternoon sun casting golden beams through the windows onto the dispatch desk of the 4th.

The incessant chatter of the nurses, medics, janitorial staff and the dispatch officer came to a sudden and extremely suspicious halt.

"It's just that he promised to meet me at the end of his shift so we could walk home together, and it's not like him to be late." Seinosuke spoke lightly, eyes casually panning over the remarkably guilty-looking faces around him.

"He- he's not back yet?" dispatch officer Hiyako Gendo gulped, eyes suddenly fixed on the clock. "I sent him out like five hours ago..."

"Sent him where?" Seinosuke asked pleasantly and the medics collectively flinched.

"Uh, to the- um-" Officer Gendo sputtered, color draining from his face.

"You haven't misplaced my brother, have you?" Seinosuke smiled with gentle menace.

"No!" Gendo yelped. "I- uh- well- the new captain needed an intake exam-!"

"...Which new captain?" Seinosuke spoke softly, looming over to the dispatch counter. "We have promoted an unprecedented SEVEN new captains this week and I would not want to waste time searching nearly two-thirds of the court guard."

"Eight, actually." one of the nurses squeaked, and Seinosuke's head swiveled to face her like an owl. "Eep! We- um, there's a new captain of the 11th division as of last night, Sir." she stammered.

Seinosuke turned back to the dispatch officer, staring down at him with the burning eyes of a wrathful god.

"Hiyako." he spoke gently, putting a hand on the dispatch officer's shoulder. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"Y- yes? Sir?" Hiyako Gendo gulped.

"Good, good- So you wouldn't do something like, I don't know, send my baby brother into the division with a history of such violent enemity with that only combat certified officers are cleared to enter it?" Seinosuke asked fingers over the pressure points of Gendo's shoulder.

"Um." Gulped Gendo.

"-Perhaps you sent him with a senior officer?" Seinosuke tried. "I can understand wanting to give him an impression of how dangerous this work can be on his first day, to make sure he really does have the guts for the 4th, but that should be done in a fashion where he is only an observer to the example of an experienced officer and not, say, totally alone without telling anyone to go check on him?"

"Well-" Gendo whimpered.

"-Because, Hiyako, and I need to emphasize this-" Seinosuke continued, fingertips digging into Gendo's shoulder. "-That there is no body in the morgue right now, because during his promotion to the office yesterday, the current Captain-Kenpachi bisected a significant amount of the sewer and municipal support systems 200 feet below the 11th whilst rendering the previous Captain-Kenpachi into a fine red paste in a single strike!"

Gendo made a strangled noise of pain.

"So please tell me that my sweet, gentle little brother with the constitution of a bowl of oatmeal is literally anywhere besides the vicinity of that monster, preferably in the company of someone with at least half a functioning braincell?" Seinosuke pleaded, leaning in close and steadily increasing the terrible pressure of his grip.

"ISentHimThereAloneOverFiveHoursAgo!" Gendo shrieked, finally flinching and grabbing at his shoulder.

Seinosuke froze, save to let go of Gendo and let him collapse out of his chair, howling in pain. Slowly, he stood up, pleasantly blank smile on his face, and turned to leave the division.

"Someone please inform Captain Unohana that I have deployed to the 11th to retrieve my brother and if there is so much as a HAIR out of place on him, Zaraki will be the shortest-serving captain in history!" He called out, re-tying his Zanpakuto on his belt before vanishing in a burst of Shun-po.

"-Was that you, Seinosuke?" Unohana called from her office down the hall.

"-Well, most venom isn't a single chemical but dozens, if not hundreds of compounds with complex interactions so any samples have to be refined down to the individual components and tested both singularly and with the others which can take ages but it's yielded some incredibly effective drugs so far!" Hanatarou babbled excitedly, drawing a grid on Zaraki's thigh, oblivious to Yachiru putting his hair in pigtails.

"My goodness! We certainly have come a long way from using bee stings on arthritis!" Yumichika laughed. Zaraki's self-appointed third seat lounged against the wall near the door, enthralled by the process. His mothers had been something between field medics and hedge witches out in the far western districts and was keeping pace with Hanataro's enthusiastic infodumping about venomics while he prepared the captain for the next round of vaccinations.

"Not that far- your beestings were one of the earliest things we tested for pharmaceutical application, and it turned out that the entire combination of bioreactive compounds in the amounts found in an individual sting was the most effective dosage! More sanitary to use a needle than an actual bee though. Speaking of-" Hanataro turned to Zaraki. "Are you sure you want to do ALL of these today? Unless you're planning on messing around in the sewers, your chances of catching any of these are extremely low, so we can stagger them."

"If I'm gonna feel like crap tomorrow anyway, might as well feel like crap once and be able to fuck around in the sewers if needed." Zaraki shrugged. "-Why are the doctors in charge of that anyway? You've got better shit to do?"

"Ah, well-" Hanataro sighed, capping the marker and getting the next round of vaccines in order. "-Civic maintenance *used* to be part of the security duties of the 11th but... well, after we lost Kenpachi Tokagero down there, your predecessors... never resumed their duties? So it's kind of fallen to us since, but to be honest, the previous guy wasn't exactly someone I'd trust to maintain the necessary standards..."

"Yeah, no shit." Scoffed newly-appointed lieutenant Ikkaku, who was attempting to sort through the literal heap of paperwork Kiganjo had thrown into the corner instead of filling out.

"No I think the shit is supposed to be in the sewers." Zaraki grinned and Ikkaku responded with a single-finger salute.

"Right- lets try to not bend any more needles, okay?" Hanataro smiled, preparing the first syringe.

"Yeah, yeah-" Zaraki rolled his eyes, but obediently inhaled and exhaled, focusing on the square Hanataro was touching. Reiatsu manipulation didn't come naturally to him and it had taken a couple dozen broken needles to work out a technique that allowed Hanataro to actually stick him.

Hanataro focused, feeling the pressure drop with the hand on Zaraki's thigh, focusing his own energy into the tip of the needle with the other, until the difference flipped and-

"Ssk!"" Zaraki hissed a bit as Hanatarou slammed the needle into his leg with the force of a sword strike, but that's what it took. "Yer gettin better- that one stung a bit!"

"Sorry!" Hanataro squeaked, withdrawing the intact needle and changing it over to the next syringe.

"Keep at it and you might be able to really hurt me in fifty years!" Zaraki laughed, ruffling his hair.

"Okay, next is for Orange Fever- this one is famous for burning after injection but we'll see-" Hanataro started then looked up at the feeling of someone's absolutely furious reiatsu approaching at speed.

"Someone coming? You all put yer heads up like bird dogs." Zaraki chuffed.

"I think someone's come to-" Yumichika started but the door beside him slammed open and they were all greeted with the terrible sight of the most feared man in the fourth, wild-eyed and teeth bared, utterly consumed with rage-

"Hi Seinosuke!" beamed Hanataro, entirely used to what his brother looked like after a long day at work or being woken up suddenly. "What are you doing here?"

"Hanataro?" Seinosuke yelped, startled by the entirely peaceful and almost domestic scene before him. Zaraki seemed to be politely interested in the vaccination process, the menace that had been at the lieutenants meeting yesterday was sitting in the middle of the 11th's paperwork with a senbei cracker hanging out of his mouth, and Hanataro was getting pink bows tied into his hair by Miss Kusajishi. The remains of afternoon tea were on the table behind him.

"That's him! Who are you?" a third, effeminate man asked from beside the door with a faint prickle of reiatsu, politely reminding Seinosuke to mind his manners in someone else's house.

"This is my older brother Seinosuke!" Hanataro cheerfully explained, reflexively capping the syringe he was holding. "Not that I'm not glad to see you but- OH NO IT'S ALMOST DINNERTIME!"

"It's fine, it's fine." Seinosuke wheezed with relief. "It's my obligation as the oldest to be a worrywart."

"Tch- No point in worrying for this one." Zaraki teased, poking Hanataro in the shoulder. "-We should all be worried about him! He's only gone and stabbed me thirty-two times and I haven't landed even one blow on him!"

"Sir..." Hanataro groaned at the joke.

"Thirty-two?" Seinosuke blinked.

"Could only afford shots fer the kid, so I need all of 'em." Zaraki shrugged. "Not that I was makin' it easy for 'im."

"Um, yeah..." Hanataro hummed. "There's some technique for giving someone with extreme positive spiritual pressure shots that I don't know, right?"

"You? Ask them to lower it?" Seinosuke stared, beginning to wilt as the adrenaline drained out of him.

"Yeah, I... kinda suck at that." Zaraki grunted, looking away from them, right eye shut despite the left one being scarred. "Might as well keep Stabbin'?"

"What's with your eye?" Seinosuke frowned, veteran of spotting unspoken injuries.

"Oh yeah! Check them out- He's got Nictitaing Membranes!" Hanataro beamed.

"He WHAT?" ---

Four hours after that, the Yamada brothers set out for home, Seinosuke with the beginnings of a fascinating new study on Kami-Induced Occular Mutations and Hanataro with a promotion to 'pocket medic' that he wouldn't find out about until Zaraki abducted him from his rounds for 11th division boot camp some four months later.

--- (Tumblr says this is getting too long and is glitching, More about Byakuya and Seinosuke's Marital Conspiracies later)

#AEIWAM #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #Bleach #Bleach fanfic #hanataro yamada #Seinosuke Yamada #byakuya kuchiki #kenpachi zaraki #yachiru unohana #retsu unohana #The Kuchiki-Yamada-11th Div Drama is one of the longest running and funniest soap operas in the Gotei-13

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lovifie · 7 months ago

Text

Well, I Wasn't On That Tunnel 🩷

Masterlist - Taglist Form

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 (6.5k words!)

LAST CHAPTER

Pairings: Ghoap x Reader.

(if you are in the mood for some Ghoap smut just go ahead)

Warnings: Poly, where do I begin? Oral sex (m and f receiving), anal sex, vaginal sex, meany Johnny, bottom Ghost, a squint of body worship to reader, threesome (duh), Ghost gets sandwiched for a bit, and Johnny doesn't shut up for a minute

It would be a reach to believe that everything was settled between the three.

It has been “talked”, but there was still an awkward film over them; that whenever they would lock eyes felt like they were teenagers talking to their crushes.

Gladly, for everyone, work was still work, and it kept them busy as always.

The med bay keeping you away from them, on the completely opposite side of the base; taking care of whiny recruits and concealing your smile when they would tell you to tell their loved ones they love them after giving them local anaesthetic.

The days usually going uneventful and alone. Well, not alone. The medical team worked, ate and stayed together. But feeling lonely without the two men.

On the south side of the base, everyone could tell that Simon and Johnny were a bit… snappy.

It was almost as if everyone had made a deal to keep them from going to see you.

Price telling them to organise the training session.

Recruits asking them to help with the training.

Laswell asking Johnny to prepare a lecture on explosives.

Like? Why was the world making it so hard to slope off? Why was everyone expecting them to do their job they get paid for?

Absolute nonsense.

Instead, they had to keep sending recruits that kept getting hurt to you. Seeing them whine as they walked, about how they were in pain. Lucky bastards.

So text messages it was.

“Morning!🩷” Texts, voice notes as you worked on something else, GIFs and Stickers back and forth.

Reminding Johnny how the newest smartphones worked was the funniest of the afternoon you had spent, especially when he turned on the front camera and he could only see from his eyes up.

“Shite, that's a big ass forehead. Could land an heli there”

Cue to Simon and you playing tic-tac-toe on his forehead via pics back and forth.

It was far, really far, for a conventional relationship, even for a poly relationship. And although whenever Johnny would managed to send a pic of Simon it made you feel you were an outsider to them; you had to remind yourself that he had taken the photo just to send it to you.

Slowly but surely, your gallery was filling up with pics of their faces, an obscene amount of Johnny's forehead pic as well, and when finally, the inexhaustible flow of scratched soldiers finally started to subdue; you bolted to Simon's room.

You don't even think of an excuse as to why you are going to see them, and you realize, half way there… that you don't need an excuse. And that simply wanting to see them is a reason good enough.

It hasn't been easy after the conversations, your mind still telling you they were using you; it was not something you simply forget after a good night sleep. But you still pushed yourself to believe them, that there wasnt any hidden intentions, that they were telling the truth.

The messages, the little calls, the sassy winks from across the training grounds, it all help to ease the feeling of intruding you had been feeling since catching them. Slowly but surely travelling to the back of your mind, to the box of things to be forgotten. Except the box spilled suddenly when you open the door to his room, and find them sitting on his bed.

With Johnny sitting on top of Simon's lap, grinding down against his groyne while their moans and whispers fall on eachother mouths.

Their head whip in your direction at the sound of the door opening. You can see the panic in their eyes, thinking they have been caught; relaxing only when they realize it is you.

“Shit, wow, sorry, I need to start knocking, ah?” You ask, with an awkward chuckle, you hand still on the knob. “S-sorry, I'll leave you to it.”

You barely move the door an inch before Johnny calls for you. “Bonnie, wait!’

“What?” You ask, still from the door, cheeks red from embarrassment.

“Do you… do you want to join?” Johnny asks, a shyness so improper of him. Looking at you, with a hand on Simon's shoulder and the other extended to you.

You feel frozen in place. It was something that was going to happen, sooner or later. It shouldn't have caught so much surprise, but you only find your voice when Johnny stands up to walk towards you. “Do… Do you want me to join??” You ask, looking up at him with a timid voice.

“Yes, fuck, yeah we do.” He answers, a deep chuckle flooding between words. He licks his lips, probably wet from Simon's mouth. His hand still waiting for yours, his eyes soft, awaiting your answer.

“Oh…” You answer, you know, like an idiot. “Okay.” You finally hold his hand and he pulls you closer, a tiny smile on his face.

From the corner of your eyes you can see Simon move to lay down on the bed, his back pressed to the wall, laying on his side and patting the mattress next to him. Johnny nods with his head towards Simon, telling you to lay down without words and you do. Almost skipping to the bed, crawling to move next to Englishman.

“I like your uniform, lass.” Johnny comments, his wide hand caressing your ass over the clothes.

You lay down, hugging Simon closely with your head in his chest, buried safely in his arms. And you turn your head to look at Johnny, faux offence in your look. “Respect the uniform, MacTavish.”

Simon's chest rumbles when he laughs deeply, his hand finding his way under your shirt to rub the skin of your back; just like when he found you in the house, pulling you even closer.

“Darling…” Johnny says, laying himself next to you, sandwiching you between the two men. “I'm about to disrespect your uniform… a lot.”

He uses the lifted shirt from Simon's hand to get his own against your skin; caressing your tummy up to your chest, but still innocent when he only uses it as leverage to push you against him when he feels the need to kiss your cheek squishing your face against Simon's chest.

You giggle against Simon's chest, whining about being squished and slightly pushing Johnny back. He raises his head, being levelled with Simon and looking down at you; they then look up to each other before Simon leans in kissing Johnny.

You are seeing it upside down, but still clear as day the desire in the kiss. Simon leaned in, eyes closed and you felt his hand on your back lift a finger to hook it on Johnny's sweatpants to pull him closer. Johnny has his eyes just the slightest bit open, barely enough to see the other and he smiles into the kiss.

“Eager, aren't ya?” Johnny whispers, making Simon groan.

“Shut up, Johnny.” He mumbles back, the hand on your back moving to Johnny's back pulling him closer squashing you in the middle. “I finally have you both”.

When Simon pulls Johnny closer, you feel both of his bulging erections against your body; the make out session clearly intense.

It makes you turn, switching to lay on your back, still looking up. Simon moves to kiss down Johnny's jaw, kissing his neck, licking up to his ear; Johnny catches you staring, head falling back and mouth open as you shamelessly look at the two men making out, and he winks at you.

You quickly look down, ashamed of getting caught, and you realise then what the weight on your thighs was. On each side of your body, and still trapped in the confines of their sweatpants, both men's growing boners rest over your thighs.

You feel small between the two massive men, and your hands move on their own when you rest them over the tents on their pants. You press them against your body, making both men groan. You move your hand up, grabbing the waistband pulling it down with their underwear. The thick, uncut member resting freely over your body.

It's not the first time that you have seen either of them, but it is still a sight to see them side by side. Bobbing at the lack of attention, a tear of precum glistering on Simon's tip.

You hear Simon talk above you, making you look up to see Johnny looking at you. “Let her do her thing…” is what Simon whispers to Johnny, cupping his face to pull him in for a kiss again.

Using your elbows to push your back off the mattress, you slide down the bed; your legs hanging from it when you get your head on the same level as their hips. You turn your head, setting your lips around the pinkish tip of Simon's shaft; hearing a grunt at the same time you feel a snap of his hips, not being able to prevent himself from moving.

You use your hand to massage Johnny's too, feeling the warm feeling of his skin in your hand; while you use the tip of your tongue to lick on Simon's slit, tasting his precum as you hear him whimper into Johnny's mouth.

With a loud pop, you let go of his shaft, only his head glistering with spit; and your turn your head to give the same treatment to Johnny. Except he lays his wide hand on the side of your head, making you lay your head back on the mattress.

“Stick yer tongue out, love” You do as he says, keeping your mouth open and your tongue out, the muscle twitching trying to stay still. Johnny fists his length at the base, giving it a whip for it to slap at your tongue.

The wet sound is nasty, the head of his member slapping your tongue. Johnny can feel your warm breath against his dick, feeling your saliva get stuck to him as well. Whenever he lifts it he sees the string of spit from your mouth pulling him back.

He switches motions, starting to glide his hips back and forward against your mouth. Simon's doesn't take long to join, only adding to the mess. You have your eyes closed, blinding tasting both men's scent, the musky smell leaving you lightheaded as they thrust smoothly back and forth, against each other and your tongue.

There is drool falling for the corner of your mouth, only making it more and more nasty. And the moans, grunts and whimpers coming from the men beside you has you sliding your hand down your body, towards where you feel your body crying for attention.

Except Simon, still in his pleasure driven mind, catches the movement, calling your mind. “Love, how are you going to have the two of us dying to touch you and still private us from it?”

The sound of his voice has you opening your eyes again, looking up at them and you can feel them twitching at the sight of such a blasphemous look. Your eyes blown wide and pitch black from arousal, a mess of spit, precum and sweat all over the middle half of your face, their wet and painfully hard members resting now over your chest, rising up and down harshly and your hand under the waistband of your pants. “I don't know…”

“Do you want us to touch you?” Johnny asks, his hand petting your head again softly and you nod timidly. “Words, bonnie.”

“Yes, please…”

“Let's take that respectable uniform off then.” Johnny jokes, patting the bed to motion you to move back up between them. You push yourself up,nestling between their bodies once again, and as if they had practised it before, they undress you at the same time they kiss you.

Simon is the first to have his lips on your, his hand cupping your jaw drawing circles with his thumbs. You hum into his mouth, feeling Johnny lick your neck, his tongue slipping between Simon's fingers as he starts to lift your shirt.

He moves down, sitting on his knees and kissing your tummy. His warm tongue getting a taste of your skin with each kiss. He pushes the fabric up, letting it wrinkle over your chest, groaning at the look of your sports bra.

Simon peels from you when he feels Johnny grumble about wanting to take them off. He takes the hem from Johnny's hand, pulling it over your head and Johnny doesn't waste the opportunity to do the same to your bra, leaving you bare from waist up.

And like a chain reaction both of them make their way to your breasts; Simon's kisses travel from behind your ear down to the swell of your breast, kissing your ribs before finally sucking your nipple into his mouth moaning at the feeling. While Johnny kisses your stomach again, burying his face on the softness of it, as he swiftly goes north, dragging his tongue from the underside to the side of your boob, before mimicking Simon and kissing your nipple.

Is also Johnny's hand the one that starts to run down your body, if it wasn't for the filthy sounds of kisses, licks and slurping filling in the room, you could hear the sound of the callous skin of Johnny's hand rubbing against the soft skin of your body. It is only when you feel his fingertips go under the waistband that you speak.

“Wait!”

And as if they had been electrocuted they both peel back, looking at your face. Except instead of explaining you stand up, jumping over Johnny to walk towards the door.

Johnny is quick on his feet, panicking that you will run; not because you couldn't go out but because they were afraid of having pushed you too far.

Still, he stops on his track when instead you lock the door. That was still unlocked. And turn to them, looking over your shoulder almost bashful. “You are not expecting anyone else, are you?”

Simon sighs relieved, sitting on the edge of the bed, that they had not overstepped. “Nah… got everyone we need in here.”

He motions you to walk to him, wanting you to stand between his legs and you oblige; pulling Johnny's hand when you walk past him.

You stand between Simon's legs, Johnny standing behind you hugging your middle. Simon kisses your stomach on the parts not covered by Johnny's hand and slowly lowers your pants. You kick off your shoes at the same time, standing completely naked between them.

Simon leans forwards, pressing his nose against your mound and sliding his tongue between your folds making you shudder. Johnny's hands travel higher, kneading your boobs in his hands while he buries his face on your neck.

You let your head fall back on Johnny's shoulder, moaning when Simon's tongue rubs against your clit. Johnny pities Simon, pulling one of your legs up to the side, giving full access to Simon who doesn't waste a second before diving in and dragging his tongue from your entrance to your clit giving it a harsh suck making you buck your hips as you fist his hair on your hand.

Johnny shushes in your hear, his other hand travelling to your core from behind; touching you along Simon's tongue. And while Simon's focus is on your clit, sending shockwaves up your body, Johnny slides one of his fingers onto your weeping cunt.

“Fuck yer tight…” Johnny moans into your ear. “Are you gonnae choke my dick this hard or is it only cause Simon sucking you off, hm?”

Your only response is a moan in the shape of Simon's name, making both men chuckle. Johnny fits a second finger inside of you making you whimper as you start to move your hips from Simon's mouth to Johnny's hand and vice versa. Johnny starts to move his hand, finger getting sucked in whenever he tries to get the out; your wetness rolling down between his fingers when he scissors them inside and Simon notices, moving down to lick Johnny's hand, tongue dragging between his fingers and inside of you.

When you look down, the only part of Simon's face you can see is his eyes, closed in blissful satisfaction at the feel and taste of your cunt on his mouth.

Both of them feel you clench, your first orgasm of the night approaching. And it doesn't matter how happy he is to finally be together, of you forgiving them, of wanting to pay you back for saving him; Johnny is not skipping an opportunity to tease you. “Coming already, lass? Bit needy, weren't ye?”

You chuckle between moans, biting back. “Yeah… unlike you two little dickheads, shit! I-I haven't gotten laid in a minute… fuck…”

Simon chuckles against your cunt, knowing perfectly fine he deserves way worse than that and focusing on keeping you mind off of it. Johnny does just the same, curling his finger and kissing your neck helping you fall over the edge with a loud moan.

You slide down, Johnny helping you rest on your knees between Simon legs with your head resting on his thigh. Simon pets your head, moving your hair out of your face. You open your eyes, coming face to face with his still rock hard member, and you look up to Simon, questioning.

“Back for more already, love?” He asks, deep chuckle on his chest when you nod blushing just a bit. Johnny laughs too behind you, pulling Simon's hand slightly.

“I have an idea. Stand up, Lt.” Johnny says, kneeling beside you and helping Simon take off his pants. “Two heads are better than one, ain't that right?”

Simon stands before the two of you, looking down and finding both you looking up at him; getting distracted by his mouth watering length just in front of you.

And at the sight of his two little zombies, back from the grave, the two only person that Simon has given himself the freedom to love, the only two person Simon let himself cry for after burying you, the two only person he has truly love; Simon can't contain the tear that drops from his right eye.

He tries to hide it, throwing his head back; but you see it, see the tear glisten as it drops on your cheek. But you don't say anything, and neither does Johnny when he wipes it with his thumb.

You lean forward, leaving open mouth kisses at the base of his shaft while you feel Johnny suck on his tip. It makes Simon groan, the angle of his neck making it sound raspier.

You move towards the tip, feeling Johnny's hand rest on your nape. When you are face to face with him, you feel his tongue move under Simon's dick, looking for your mouth. Pushing towards the tip to be able to finally kiss you, the open mouth kiss revolving in kissing Simon’s tip almost like it was a third tongue involved. And although it almost feels like excluding Simon, the sight of his two lovers kissing around his cock has him moving his hips against your lips; smearing the spit over both of your cheeks again.

Johnny pulls back, making you whine against Simon's dick. “Open wide, love.” Johnny tells you, moving behind you and cupping your face from behind.

Johnny holds your head as Simon lets his dick easily slide over your tongue, and when you close your lips around his length Johnny pushes his thumbs on your cheeks, making Simon feel the pressure on his length. He groans, feeling your throat open around his length to accommodate him as he moves deeper inside of your mouth.

“Easy now, you both.” Simon mumbles when he sees your eyes water as he moves down your throat. Johnny chuckles letting go of your head as he moves, switching to stand behind Simon.

Simon follows him with his gaze, aware already of his plan and the scot has the nerve to wink at him before diving between his cheeks. He rests a hand on the back of yours and Johnny's head, moaning at the double stimulation.

Johnny is ravenous on the way he eats him out, fingertips digging on the meat of his asscheeks spreading them, his unquenchable thirst for making Simon moan driving him to push his tongue deeper.

While you on the other side keep pushing forward, your nose closer and closer to his pubic bone, your soft hands massaging his heavy balls screaming for release as you keep sucking him in making him whimper.

There is a point, when Johnny's tongue is so deep and your nose is squished against his happy trail, your tongue sticking to lick at his balls, that Simon feels his knees buckle.

“Wait, wait, darling.” He whimpers, pulling your head back with a hand on your cheek pushing back softly. “You too, mutt!” He says, grabbing Johnny's mohawk to pull him back without actual strength. “I want to switch… Lay down on the bed for me, love. On your back, raise your legs.” He says, petting your head and you nod as you start to move, stealing a kiss from Johnny's mouth as your crawl passes him.

You lay just like he told you, propping on your elbows to caress his face when he kneels before you. You smile. “In need of some more, pussy boy?” You ask, overconfident in yourself; quickly falling back when Simon runs his hot tongue from your ass to your clit, flat, splitting your lips and making you moan.

Simon chuckles, before turning his head back to look at Johnny over his shoulder, using his hand to spread his cheeks. “It ain't gonna prep itself, Johnny.”

“Fuckin’ hell…” Johnny says chuckling, slapping Simon's ass before standing up and going to his bag. Both Simon and you look at him, wondering what his intentions are and you smile when you see him pick the lube bottle from his back.

Simon rolls his eyes when Johnny shakes the bottle at him, teasingly. Johnny kneels behind him, slapping his ass again but keeps his hand on the taut meat to pull it apart. He moves down, kissing down his back to his already spit covered hole.

Simon sighs at the feeling, leaning on your touch when you pet his head, kissing your wrist before diving back into your folds. Sliding his tongue in circles around your clit, softly sucking it into his mouth.

It is quite the sight to have Simon on his hands and knees in front of you, eating you out and drinking your juices up like a puppy while you see Johnny's head peek over the curve on his ass.

You keep your hand on Simon's head, brushing his hair back as he hums against your cunt. Ah… Johnny's tongue… you are familiar with the feeling.

So you don't blame him when he stills on his movements, tongue falling out of his mouth without care as he moans at Johnny's tactics. Instead, you plant your feet on the edge of the bed, using your hand to grab Simon's hair and slowly start to grind against his face.

You see his eyes widen for a second when he looks up at you, not expecting being downgraded to a ribbed mat to grind against. Not that he cared too much, not with the moans falling so prettily from your mouth and not with the way you so desperately cling to his hair.

He's embarrassed of himself, of the weak excuse of head he's giving you. He should be lapping up your weeping cunt like a parched dog at its bowl, and instead he is just slobbering all over your pretty folds, barely able to suck at your clit.

But he can't focus any better, not when Johnny's tongue is curling inside of him in a way that has him wanting to push himself back onto his mouth, eyes threatening to roll back in his skull. He tried his utmost effort not to whine when he feels Johnny retrieving his tongue, moving back to his knees.

Johnny pops the bottle open, splattering a generous glob of lube between Simon's cheeks, making him grunt at the coldness. Johnny chuckles at him, his fingertip teasing at his entrance, pushing the lube in and he leans on Simon's shoulder. “Aww, bit too chilly for ye, Si?”

“Get at it already.” Simon grunts as an answer when you pull his head back, the tip of his ears red with embarrassment and lust. Johnny lands his free hand on the back of his head, pushing his face back against your cunt.

“You get at it, eejit. Got bonnie bored out of her mind, making her do all the work.” He teases Simon. You slap his hand, scolding him; not wanting Simon to feel bad. But Simon notices the way your ankles are shaking from holding yourself up grinding against him, and he moves his hands from the ground to around your hips, pushing you against his face.

He is resting on his elbows, holding your cunt at level with his mouth as he dives him right between glistering folds. Shaking his head in, his nose smushed against your clit, bending with each shake making your legs buckle; he slides his tongue in, curling it and feeling every rib of your walls drowning down on your taste.

Johnny smiles when your moans rise in volume, your head falling back, he lets go of Simon's head while petting his head like a dog. “Atta boy.” He rests his hand on Simon's shoulder, leaning to kiss his back as he slides a finger in.

Simon's eyes flutter closed, feeling his ass suck Johnny's finger in. He moans against your core, not relenting on his assault and soon enough Johnny is sliding a second finger. The stretch making him arch his back; and Johnny starts to pick up the pace, smiling when he notices Simon roll his hips to meet his fingers.

“Look at you, Simon… getting all loose and soft for us… you can’t wait to get fucked stupid, can you?” Johnny smiles, kissing Simon's shoulder.

But Simon is struggling, he desperately wants to get you off before doing so himself. He really is trying his best, but when he tries to keep himself from coming he clenches around Johnny's fingers only making it worse.

He can feel you are close, sucking his tongue in when you grip him, just a couple seconds more, he knows it. And then Johnny curls his fingers sneakily and Simon is coming all over the ground, moaning loudly against your awaiting cunt, unable to move and ruining your orgasm making you want to cry.

He feels bad, he feels really bad for doing you dirty like that. Johnny only laughs softly, just for him to start moving his fingers at light speed making Simon whine as he crawls towards you, away from Johnny who only follows him.

Simon hides his face in your stomach, moaning loudly at Johnny's attack, his fingernails digging into your thigh at the overstimulation. You whine Johnny's name, your cunt still spasming with the ruined release and Johnny finally pulls his hand back, slapping Simon’s ass.

“Move to the bed, Lt. You so fucking massive I can't even reach our girl.” Johnny says, teasing him even further as he moves to lay on his back on the mattress. Johnny stands up to finally take off his clothes, moving to kneel between his legs, grasping Simon's softening dick on his hand making it slap against his abdomen. “Look at you, Lt… I thought you promised our girl a nice fuck, what are you going to do with this?”

“Shut the fuck up, Johnny.” Simon says, moving his hand to caress your leg from where you are sitting next to him. “Just need a minute…” he mumbles.

Johnny spreads his legs, collecting the lube sliding down Simon's crack with the bulbous tip of his length before probing at his entrance. “In the meantime… Fuck, Si… C’mon, pretty boy… Open wide for me.”.

He starts to push forward, pushing Simon's legs as well against his chest, bending him in half. It knocks the air out of him, making throw his head back with the mouth open on a silent scream of pleasure.

He feels filled to the brim, and he hisses when Johnny starts to move his hand up and down his shaft. And although it is borderline painful, he can help the moans that fall from his lips when Johnny rolls his hips against his.

“Singing like a pretty bird, you are, Si…” Johnny comments, looking at you and seeing how you discreetly try to slide your hand between your legs, desperate for the release. Their poor girl, their poor sweet girl. Her two lovers right beside her and still feeling neglected of the attention she so badly deserves; too sweet to even ask for it. “Ride his face, darling. Don't mind if he can't breathe, that's what he gets for leaving you hanging.”

At the sound of his voice you instinctively close your legs, moving when you see him move his head to point to Simon's head; only to be met by his heart shaped pupils with his hand extended to you calling you in.

You move, sliding your legs over his head as you hoist yourself over him and look between your legs, seeing Simon laying with his mouth wide open, tongue resting over his lower lip waiting for you to sit down on him. When you take too long to do so, Simon grabs your hips, offended by the distance, pulling you down against his face, making you rest your hands on his chest.

He doesn't care to breathe, and if this is the way he dies? Well, he can't think of a more glorious way to go out.

Johnny snaps his hips, making Simon move and therefore grind his face against your cunt. And the harmonious moans sound to him just like a starting shot. He starts to roll his hips, picking up the pace and making the thrusts hard enough to make Simon bounce at them.

The moment Simon mouth is back on focusing on your core, you feel your orgasm turn around embarrassingly quick, moans and whines slipping past your lips in abundance. Grinding your hips once again against Simon's face who's moaning back just as much. Your body easily forgetting the offence of having gotten your release pulled away so harshly.

Johnny leans forward kissing you feverishly, making you cling to his shoulders as you moan in his mouth. He feels guilty too, it was his doing what made Simon unable to function, even if it makes him proud how easily he can get the man undone. So to silence his guilt, he lowers his hand, dragging it down on your body, until he reaches your clit; rubbing tight circles making you wail into his mouth.

“Fuck… Fuck, I'm gonna… Shit!” You close your eyes, letting your face fall into his neck, your legs shaking around Simon's head against his tight hold of your thighs with anticipation and you finally feel the coil in your inside snap. And out of everytime that Simon has been waterboarded this is definitely his favourite, drinking up every drop you are willing to give him.

You gasp for hair, your body shaking with the aftershock of your orgasm and Johnny moves his hand to your waist, keeping you up. “Good girl, what a fucking good girl you are, love. We are so fucking lucky to have you.” He slows down on his pace, helping you lay on Simon's body and letting Simon's legs rest around his hips so you can rest your head; your legs still over his neck, not that he minds it; leaving kisses on the back of your thigh wetting your skin with the moistness of his face.

Johnny pets your head resting on Simon's abdomen, stilling on his movements to wait for your answer. A shiver runs down your body as you mutter “fuck”, making both chuckle and you look up to Johnny.

“You broken, baby?” He asks, smiling.

“Not yet, Johnny.” You answer, wrapping your hand around Simon's still soft dick to lazily lick his tip; pulling back the skin to slide your tongue over his slit to taste his salty seed that ended up wasted on the floor. Johnny looks up to Simon, seeing how he tightly closes his eyes, throwing his head back with a deep groan.

It's the mix of Johnny's ridiculously thick cock rubbing against his prostate on each thrust and your warm mouth engulfing him in that makes him start to chub up at a record speed of refractory period.

You feel it in your mouth, how each bob of your head has your jaw stinging more and more. You look up to Johnny, staring at you in awe at the way you swallow the massive dick of Simon, timing his thrust with your movements. “Yer a fucking eye candy, love.” He says, caressing your cheek. “I can't fucking wait to see yer pretty face every morning.”

He moves his hand to the back of your head, keeping it in place when you have Simon's dick stuffing your throat and he rolls his hips deeper, as deep as he can; leaning his body forward just to feel your forehead rest over his pubic bone.

He pulls back, letting you move back as you pull Simon's cock out of your throat letting it fall on Simon's abdomen with a wet thud, his length finally on his full size again, spit connecting it to your lips as you breathe harshly. Simon groans, the air of the room cold in comparison with your warm mouth.

Johnny picks you up, making you sit over Simon's dick with your back pressed against his chest. “Are you gonna ride his dick like a good girl, love? Hm? Gonna help me fuck him silly?” He asks, making you nod as you whine at his words.

You move a hand down, wrapping it around Simon's base and sitting down on it. The wetness of his length and the arousal still dripping from your cunt the only relief of the stretch of his dick.

You sit down smoothly, moaning incoherent words as you use your hand to rest on Simon's chest. And for Simon it is too much, never has he felt this full and wrapped so tight on his life. The only reason why he hasn't cum already being his dick being barely back to life.

He looks up, at how Johnny is hugging you from behind, hiding his face on your neck and whispering praises while he keeps thrusting forwards. At how you have your head resting on Johnny's shoulder, the prettiest noises falling from your mouth as you slide up and down his length.

His two lovers, finally with him, and as close as he can. He wants to cry again, except this time is also for the overstimulation. He whines, weakly moving his hips to meet both Johnny's and your movement.

But he can't, his balls stuck between you and Johnny clenching with the need of release. He can hold it much longer but he needs to hold it, for you, for Johnny.

Johnny was right when back in th car he told him he was going to break the moment you joined the picture, how the two of you were going to fuck him stupid. Fucking Johnny.

But Simon is not the only one affected, he sees how Johnny's eyebrows furrow, trying his best to keep himself from coming undone, holding himself back so nicely like the good boy he is. So Simon can't let him updo him, resting his hands on your hips; moving his thumb lower to circle your clit.

Johnny's hands move lower, interlocking his fingers with Simon's on your hips; using you to push Simon back against his hips.

And like a chain reaction, when you finally fall over the edge with a silent scream as little white dots fill your vision, Simon spurs thick ropes of his seed deep into your cunt when he feels you clench. Leaving Johnny freedom to snap his hips fast against him looking for his release, moaning beautifully when he also spills deep inside of Simon.

You lay over Simon's chest, Johnny laying next to Simon and pulling you in the middle, kissing your shoulder. The warmth from both bodies surrounding you making you feel the safest you have ever been.

It’s a comfortable silence, basking on the afterglow of an amazing session that has left the three of you unable to move right. Three pairs of legs tangled together, Johnny's arm over your body keeping you close to Simon and him. The silence only breaks when you speak.

“Does this mean we are dating now?” The question making the both of them chuckle.

“We haven't gone on a date.” Simon points out.

“Do you want to go on a date?” Johnny asks behind you.

“Yeah! I would love to.” You say smiling widely.

And after learning all his life how to hate, Simon finally had reasons to teach himself how to love. Because all this new range of emotions, of wants, of needs, of reasons to smile, to wake up in the morning; the origin of it all are lying right next to him, talking about where they want to go on said date.

Simon Riley was a man that died years ago, the soldier nicknamed as Ghost pulling his corspe out of his grave. And after so many years of killing, torturing and ignoring every human emotion from his cold heart; he is finally starting to see himself in the mirror.

The three of them having their own strange death, still coming back with more of their pieces intact, and getting drawn together like a magnet. Maybe it was just normal, no one can understand what is like to die as good as somebody who has done it too, maybe it was destiny way to apologise to almost actually killing them; or maybe it was simply and normal attraction that started the moment every one of them met the rest, and the three were too prideful, too coward or too insecure to actually recognise the feelings as such.

And maybe, in the future, when Johnny’s memory is complete again; he will admit to them how he started to have slim flashbacks of them before the accident. Glimpses of their faces, of nicknames, of kisses on the cheeks, of sighs leaving his mouth when watching them. But for now, he will keep them to himself, and rather that reminiscent on those past memories; he will build new ones, as his, and not as the man he was before the accident.

Many things could have gone differently if the tunnel had fallen on him, and luckily it didn't; because after all, well, he wasn't on that tunnel.

That's all, people.

Hope you enjoyed the "mini" serie, mini because in 5 chapters I wrote almost 25k words. But I hope you enjoyed every one of them just as much as I did. 🩷

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