#and like she has his hand in a death grip
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bleeding blue | apocalypse au
part thirty-four âother parts
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pairing:Â Simon âGhostâ Riley x fem!reader words:Â 4.5k tags:Â death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. harm to a child. summary:Â After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.
The rattle of vials cuts through the quiet sobbing as you raid the cabinet, stuffing a backpack with painkillers and sedatives. No antibiotics. Â
"Is there any alcohol?"Â
From the corner of the room, the response breaks apart. "There's... some... under there."
You move to the sink, uncorking a half-filled bottle that reeks of absinthe. It fits snugly into the backpack. A nod to Nereida. She lowers the gun from the young womanâs temple. Straps over your shoulders, you step into the smoke-tinged air, leaving the woman behind, when her accented voice chokes out: "You have taken... everything from us."
You stand in the doorway, watching a piece of ash fall on the scuffed leather of your shoe, then glance over your shoulder. "There is still some medicine left in there. Take what you can, get the other women, and leave. This place could be teeming with Greys soon with all the blood spilt. Travel north. We're going south." Her glossy eyes drift up from her hands. Your gaze hardens. "We will kill you if we see you. Do you understand?"
"Yes," she whispers.
You look away. "Salome is in the cell. Alive."
The flames lick at the chapelâs frame as you return to the others. The stone walls have blackened, the door swallowed in fire, windows shattered. The acrid stench of scorched wood and charred flesh burns your nose. The last survivorsâthe few men left after Price and Kyle cleared the barnâhad been shoved inside with the Grey.Â
You need to get out of hereâaway from the stench of blood. Clean water is urgent. A safe place to treat everyone's wounds, even more so. The adrenaline is wearing off, so you move quickly, pausing only to hastily dress Blue's feet and Ghost's back with medical cloth from the cabinet before continuing down the main road. While everyone yields a backpack and gun, Ghost carries Blue to his chest. He hasn't once let her go.Â
The flames still flicker behind you when his grip falters. He stops to adjust her weight, and you touch his elbow, speaking low. "Let Price or Kyle carry her."
"I've got it."
You donât press, though the gnawing concern remains. How much blood has he lost? You can only hope it's clotted enough to hold a bit longer.Â
The only words Price manages are instructionsâwhat to watch for to indicate freshwater. Downward slopes, converging animal tracks. Youâre nowhere near as injured as the others, yet your thighs shake, your vision blurs, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut to regain focus. You still flinch at every sound, ready for blood.
An hour out, the sun hangs heavy. Dense vegetation and a small cliffside offer promise. Carefully, you help each other down. Ghost finally relents, letting Blue cling onto Priceâs shoulders so he can manage rappelling down the rocks. You stay close without thinking, your hand ghosting over his bicep when he wavers.
Then you smell it. Water.
Relief nearly buckles your knees.
A narrow creek winds between boulders, tucked beneath towering cypresses.
Everyone washes off the blood, dulling the stench. A fire will be needed to clean it for the wounds. As you rake water through your hair, your gaze drifts upstreamâwhere cypresses give way to ripened plum trees, bordering what seems like a property. Price sees it too. Heâs already shouldering his backpack, moving to check it out.
The gown pools at your ankles, dipping into the shallow water as you cross. The property is silent, save for the rhythmic tapping of a woodpecker. You tighten your grip on the gun, scanning the unkempt garden and overgrown path leading to the estateâa summer home fit for a family or, as you soon realize, two wealthy old fucks. Their skeletons are all that remain inside, draped in dust like the furniture around them.
Price lowers the rifle to his side and nods in approval. "This will do."
If you could, youâd strip off the stained gown and shut your eyes. Instead, you follow Ghost as he kicks open doorsânothing but a bathroom and parlor. On the second floor, the first door to meet his boot reveals a bedroom. You shake the dust from the quilt, and he carefully lays Blue down. You're already sifting through the backpack.
Ghost kneels to take her feet. He fumbles with the cloth, exhaustion stealing motor function. You help, unveiling the jagged cuts edged with dirt. Ghost grits, "They did this?"
"I did," she whispers. "I hoped you'd find me... and the Greys... they got distracted by my shoes."
Her words linger as you dab alcohol onto a strip of cloth. "This will hurt," you whisper, biting your cheek.
Ghost grips her ankle to keep it still and takes her hand, offering something to squeeze. At first touch, her nails claw at his wrist. Her lips press tightly together to muffle a small sound that dies in her throat, and then she falls silent. Her eyes flutter shut, reopening only to release a lone tear when you finish with both, then wrap them again.
"Your arms," you say, reaching for them. One is already bandagedâmust've been done by them. The other is freshly cut. When you try to look at it, she recoils, inhaling sharply.
"They did this one, didn't they?" he asks.
A slight nod of her chin.
Anger leeches from Ghost's skin.
He exhales sharply through flared nostrils, then gently takes her wrist, pressing a kiss to the skin just before the cut begins.
"Let Twix clean it, baby."
Her fist clenches before she offers you her arm. More tears cut a trail down to her lips.Â
"There. Let's get you something else to wear," you breathe out, stuffing the cork back in once it's over.Â
What you find in the closet is at least better than the bloodied dress she was supposed to die inâa large flannel shirt that smells like old man. Blue accepts it, but stares at the shirt in her hands for a long moment before asking Ghost to look away. He does, and you help her, keeping your eyes on hers while undressing her.
You turn to Ghost. "Your turn," you whisper.
Lowering to the bed is a great effort, one you have to steady with a hand under his armpit. As gently as possible, you peel the cloth from his back. Seeing his wounds before did nothing to prepare you for thisâup close, in the unforgiving sunlight. Deep, inflamed gashes ooze fresh blood at the disruption. The stench of festering flesh makes it hard to focus as you murmur for Blue to touch his hair, distract him for the first dab of alcohol.
Where Blue was able to silence herself, he cannot. Not when itâs this bad. The terrible, wrecked groan and the violent jerk of his body make you want to disappearâto run and let someone else do this to him. But you know you wouldnât. You wouldnât trust anyone else to. So you steady the tremble in your fingers and continue, the room heavy with his pain. It finds its way to your back, as though someone behind you is holding a whip. The phantom pain sinks into your skin with each of his groans, forcing you to push it away to steady your hand as you work.
Blue twists her fingers in his hair, whispering in his ear. "It's almost over, dad."
By the time the wounds are cleaned, redness remains, offering little reassurance. Over a day's worth of sweat and bacteria isn't something you can simply undo. You'll need to keep an eye on them. You sift through the vials and push two painkillers to his lips, helping him sit up to swallow them. As youâre about to help him back down, he grabs onto your wrist, a pulse of pain pulling your gaze to where you slit your own vein. The linen strip is soaked through. Ghost silently unties it and reaches for the alcohol at the bedside table.
"They did that?" Blue questions from behind him.
"I did."
The pain sears as he cleans it, though itâs nothing compared to his.
When he lays back on his stomach, thereâs no fighting the heaviness of his eyelids. Blue curls up beside him, wincing. You get her two painkillers as well.
"Is he going to be alright?" she asks quietly.
You pull the light quilt over her body. "His body just needs to rest. So does yours."
"That's not an answer, Twix."
The way she calls you out makes your face fall. "I'm sorry. I just... I don't know."
There is a pause of silence before she sighs audibly, arms falling flat at her sides and her gaze finding the ceiling. "I don't think I can sleep."
Your chest tightens at the thought of what she must be thinking of, what she must have seen when you weren't with her. The wounds you can't wrap up. You dig for one of the sedatives: lorazepam. "Here."Â
It takes a while for it to take effect.
"You're safe," you whisper to her, over and over, tucking her hair behind her ear until you feel the subtle shift in her muscles as they slowly loosen from their panicked tension. When sleep finally comforts her, a shift in the air causes you to leap up.
"It's me," Nereida whispers, poking in her head. "The others are sleeping, too."
Right. The others. "They're alright?"
"Just a few fractured ribs."
"Someone needs to keep watch."
"I'll do it." Seeing the protest twist on your face, she adds, "You haven't slept in days."
She's right. It was impossible to sleep in that cell outside of being drugged.
You give in. "Patrol the whole property if you can. And keep track of the air. The flowers here should help mask our scent, butâ"
"I've got it, Twix."
The fatigue truly hits when she leaves. You barely have enough fight in you left to peel off the stupid dress and raise another flannel shirt from the closet over your head, the hem resting above your knees. There is a chair in the roomâthat's where you sink down, knees tucked to your chest. At first when you close your eyes, the world is loud and red. Then, it quiets to black.
A dove call announces morning, and you jolt awake to fresh light from the window.
You fell asleep.
They've already killed her.
You didn't get there in timeâ
Your gaze lands on the small body lying in the bed beside a much larger one, and the panic escapes through a shaky breath. You inhale and exhale to calm your heart rate before uncurling from the chair to touch Blue's soft cheek. The skin is cool. You move to her father next. Palm to his forehead. Hot, dry skin snaps your touch away as if burning you.Â
"Fucking shit," chokes out of you, along with a fresh wave of urgency. Blue stirs in her sleep. You clamp a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself and whirl out of the room. A fever: you need water. If you hadn't slept so long, you could've boiled some sooner. With the recovered energy, you race outside in the chilled morning air.
Nereida sits up from the porch.
"Good morning. You're the first one up. I haven't seenâ"
"He is burning up," you seethe. "You should've waken me. I slept all through the night!"
Her eyes widen. "I didn'tâ"
You push past her. "I'm getting water."
She lightly touches your elbow. "I already got some from the creek. I boiled it over the fireplace." She rushes to show you the full metal pot in the kitchen.Â
You don't pause to say thank you, hoisting the water upstairs to urgently wet a cloth and place it over his forehead. His lashes flutter, once, then twice, before fully opening.
"You have a fever," you exhale, swallowing hard. "I need you to drink a little."
He sits up to swallow a handful of the water from your palm, faint bobs of his throat, and you feel just how dry his lips are. His voice emerges low. "Did they have anything for it?"
"No antibiotics," you admit, swiping a thumb over the faint freckle on his temple, as if maybe, the sip of water has already changed the temperature. It hasn't. A growl pushes under your breath. "A goddamn cult who had shit to knock us out with but hardly anything to treat infections. We'll need to experiment a bit."
"Sounds promising," he manages through his teeth. He glances down at his daughter. "She's alright?"
"She's okay, not warm." You inhale sharply. "Lay down. Let me look at it again."
When he does, you gently remove the bandages and are met with yellow-green pus. The sound that fills your throat, caught between helplessness and disgust, has him popping an eye open to look back at you over his shoulder. "Sorry, it's just..." Another explicative leaves your lips, and you have to bite your cheek hard to keep from vomiting at the sight and smell. Blue is awake now, sitting up against the pillow; she need only glance over once for her face to twist in concern.Â
"It's bad, isn't it?" She covers her mouth.
"I need to drain it," is what you say. Luckily, it's already oozing, saving the need to puncture the wounds open. You wet another cloth and carefully press at the swollen ridge of the first laceration, making him groan through his teeth as pus begins to run down his sides. Blue has one hand back in his hair, and uses another wet cloth to collect the pus. You keep pressing, draining each irregular wound, having to remind yourself the rotten smell being released is for the better.Â
After what feels like hours, it's mostly cleared. Only a bit of swelling remains, revealing just how deeply the skin was shredded, as if slashed through repeatedly in the same spots.Â
"How come you were hurt more than the others?" Blue asks him the question you've been mulling over since the moment you found him.Â
"I was their favorite," he mumbles lowly. "The most handsome."
Your brows lower.
"It's not funny," she presses, nails twisting in his hair, teeth grinding. "It's infected. You could fucking die."
"I won't," he says to her, but the silent, heavy glance you exchange with him acknowledges the understanding that he very well could, deepening the harsh pit in your stomach. "We have a nurse here."
"An unlicensed one." You finish securing a new layer of cloth and lean back. "And one without real medicine." Realizing you are supposed to be reassuring her, you hide the way your nails pick each other and add, "But draining all that pus will help. Eating will help even more," you look at Blue, "For you, too."
Blue and you share a meal of wild cucumbers, strawberries, and two small field mice you catch by the creek, swiftly snapping their necks before skinning them. For Ghost, you boil the bones with garden carrots to make a broth. You have to coax him into finishing it, no matter how it tastes, promising that once it's done, he can sleep longer.
By the time the others are awake, you and Blue have failed to leave his side, simply watching the continued rise and fall of his chest as if it might halt if you look away. "Please get better," you catch her murmuring. The only time you go is to speak with Price, informing him that Ghost is in no condition to travel again.Â
"Twix," he interrupts you, the knowing tick in his brow, and worn smile, making you realize you'd been rambling, your tone coming off a bit accusatory. "I have no intention for us to continue yet. No one is ready for it. We need food, and rest."
You release a filtered sigh, nodding. "I can help hunt, I just need toâ"
A firm hand finds your shoulder. His seafoam eyes glance past you at the door to the bedroom, then back into your gaze, low voice barely above a murmur. "You've done more than enough. Let us take care of the food. Just make sure we don't lose him, alright?"
You nod, and when he turns to leave, you mutter to yourself, "I'm trying."
You spend the evening refreshing his bandages, and draining the new wave of pus. You have the idea to look for onions in the garden, remembering they have antimicrobial properties, but there aren't any. So you clean the wounds again with a flush of water, and also scrub his dirty hair a bit. Your brain must be tricking you, because once when you touch him it feels like his fever has at least dropped a degree or two, but then a minute later it feels like it went up more. There is practically no color to his skin except the angry red of his wounds, and the rosy sheen on his cheeks. Other than that he is a pale ghost. It's as if your efforts haven't done a thing.
Frustration strangles your lungs, and you palm at your forehead. His body, deprived of sleep and nutritions for days, is struggling to bounce back, to fight off the encroaching bacteria. His unyielding strength is yielding; succumbing. He needs more food and water. You try to sit him up again, retrieving a small bit of leftover broth, but he is unable to help pull his weight.
"Come on, Simon. Please."
He's too heavy for you, even with Blue pulling at his other arm.
You hurry out of the room and call for Price. He and Nereida are there quickly, his rifle ready. "No, I just needâI need you to lift him."
Price drops the gun to steady Simon up despite the heavy hiss of protest. "Gotta eat, Simon."
He holds him as you spoon broth to his mouth, having to rub at his jaw to release enough tension for him to open it and swallow.Â
The room is quiet once it's all done, and Nereida stands in the doorway with her head hung low. Price carefully lays him back down so as not disturb the work you've done to his back. He glances at the empty bowl in your hands. "Kyle cut up some squirrels he killed earlier. I'll tell him to make more broth with them in the morning."
All you can do is nod and pass the bowl to him.
When they leave, the heaviness in the room has Blue picking at her wrist. You take her hand, placing another painkiller and sedative in them, and urge her to lay down for more rest.
"I'll stay up with him, alright?"
Her chin drops, and she stares blankly at the quilt. "What happens to me if he dies?"
The hollowness in her voice cuts through you. "We can't think like that," you murmur, refusing to acknowledge how terrified the answer makes you.
"Why not?" Her eyes blaze in the dark. "It's a possibility. I've never seen him like this before."
You shake your head, touching two fingers under her jaw to tilt it up so yours eyes meet. "He's stubborn, like you. And he has too much to live for. He loves you."
She looks away. "I'm not like him. I wouldn't be able to keep going on my own."
"Youâll never be on your own. He and I... we will always come for you," you swear, your voice firmer than you intend. You soften it to a whisper, breathing out, "But even if you were, youâre smarter and stronger than anyone here. Thereâs nothing you canât handle, Blue. It was you who kept yourself alive this time."
"It was just luck," she murmurs, curling a fist into the sheet below her. She peers back at you. "If you guys hadnât found me, I wouldâve been bitten to death."
"No," you insist. "It wasnât luck. You survived because you saw the opportunities, and you took them. You made time for us to find you. You are just like him."
Emotion floods through you, thick and reeling. Without thinking, you pull her into a solid hug, pressing your nose to her scalp. "Youâre just like him," you whisper again, screwing your eyes shut. White-hot tears escape, burning a quiet trail down your cheeks, and you feel her begin to tremble in your arms, silently soaking your shirt with her own tears.
Through them, she manages to whisper, twisting your shirt in her fists, "I-I don't want him to leave me again. H-he said he wouldn't."
"He won't," you promise, struggling to catch your breath through a choke, the words rushing out of you. "Never again. I won't let it happen."
After minutes, hours, like this, she grows limp with exhaustion, and you lay her back down, tucking her under the quilt and wiping your cheeks.Â
You resume position in the chair by Ghost.Â
This time, you refuse to close your eyes, locking them onto himâthe way his cheek is squished against the pillow, the bare stretch of his arm, the curve of his ribs where an old scar splits into the new ones. You keep pulling the blanket over him, thinking maybe the extra heat will break his fever, only to rip it back off moments later, convinced the cool night air would be better. Frustration burns behind your eyes as you rub them hard, then press your forehead against the uninjured part of his shoulder.
âGoddamn it, Simon,â you whisper, pulling back just enough to trace your thumb over the freckles there, connecting them with soft, absentminded sweeps of your finger.
It must be well into the night when sleep threatens with a pull at your lids, and again, you see red. Blood-red. Like the burst of an open throat. You reopen them and jolt up to your feet, panting hard. The need for a distraction to keep yourself awake pulls you out of the room for a stretch of your legs, pupils straining against the dark hall as you stumble through it, crossing your arms over yourself. You've barely looked through this place besides what was necessary, so it's a surprise when you happen upon a spiral staircase going up, not down.Â
A cool metal rail bites your fingertips as you heave upward, revealing a small attic library. Dark oak shelves reach the low ceiling, all of the leather spines neatly alined as if never having been touched even once: a capsule of time. A large window at the far end offers enough moonlight for your eyes to scan the embellished spines as you brush a finger over them, various French titles staring back at you. You work your way to the window, where the thin curtain is parted just enough to allow you a view of the creek, cliffside, and dark horizon where stars disappear into distant earth.Â
"I should've killed them." The words barely leave your lips before the stench of burning flesh fills your senses. Your hands shake violently. With a sudden, forceful yank, you tear the curtain from the rod. Your voice cracks, rising. "I should have killed them. All of them. I shouldn't have let a single one walk away."
You spin around and begin pulling books off the shelves, ripping at pages, thrashing them at the floor with a cacophony of thuds, until only half are left untouched. The years-old dust caking the covers explodes into your eyes, stinging them, and tears begin to fall, the painful kind. They come hard, ragged, anything but quiet. You sink to the oriental rug, burying your face into your knees and hugging them close as you sob through your teeth, scraping your nails into your shins.
You imagine all their faces: the blonde man who tortured them, the old woman you only saw once when they took Blue, all the pretty eyes beneath the stupid veils. In your head, you slash all of them to pieces. Shreds. Torn nerves and burst eyes. Until you are swimming in their entrails.Â
There is a voice. In your head maybe. But no, it's realâsomeone touches your shoulder, and you flinch. You lift your gaze, and through it, make out the shape of warm, almond eyes, one of them half-opened beneath a swollen bruise.
Kyle kneels beside you. He doesn't say anything, just sits there, his knee touching yours the only point of connection. When your crying subsides, you feel a tinge of embarrassment at the state he's found you in, and wipe at your cheeks. "Sorry. I woke you up."
"I was already awake."
Silence hums between you, and he thoughtlessly picks up one of the books, thumbing through the pages, then quietly closes it.
"We all owe you our lives, you know. Nereida told us about all you did."
You dig your chin into the tops of your knees and stare off at the wall. "I still didn't do enough."
"You're doing all you can." His gaze pierces into the side of your face, making you feel translucent. "He'll be alright. Always is."
You don't know what to say to that, sighing through flared nostrils and looking down at your feet before over at him. "How is Ari?"
"He's alright. Just shaken, I think. Thank you for asking." A tinge of guilt finds you that you haven't checked on them enough. Ari, just a boy, and he's hardly crossed your mind through any of this.
"You know," Kyle continues quietly, his knuckles whitening around the book. "When we were in there, I didnât know what to say to get him through itâbecause I couldn't see much hope myself. I had to watch, do nothing, while they made him memorize that goddamn book just to earn a meal. And he wasnât allowed to share any with me." He lets out a short, bitter snort. "I've never felt so fucking weak. So powerless. Watching someone you love suffer, not knowing how to help them..." His gaze locks onto yours. "That has to be a pain worse than any torture."
His words catch you off guard, stirring something deep and unformed. All you can do is reach for him, gripping his shoulders in a firm hug, evening your heart rate. He murmurs a promise about the broth, his hand brushing your shoulder before he excuses himself. Returning to the bedroom, you check their pulsesâher pinky curled around his in sleep. You press a kiss to Blueâs hair, then, without thinking, let your lips brush her father's fevered temple.
#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x reader#ghost#simon ghost riley x reader#cod#simon ghost riley#zombie apocolypse au
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Cross My Heart
Part 17 - Wouldn't Be the Same Without Them
Summary: poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic. CW: +18 MDNI explicit content. Sex, threesome kind of (MMF), fingering, interrupted sex kinda, PiV sex, use of weapons, death, canon typical violence.
What's the best thing to do after a near death experience? Fuck of course.
Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3
Enjoy <3
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You wake in Kyleâs arms, Johnny has gone, as soon as you move he grips you tighter and he hums into your hair.Â
âWhere are we?â You ask sleepily.Â
âStill in Russia, the car broke down, and you got worse.â He explains, you look up at him frowning. âYeah your temperature dropped, we were worried you were going to get hyperthermia.âÂ
âI donât think that's how it works.â You chuckle, turning to face him. His eyes light up as he props himself up and leans in to kiss you. This time youâre determined to let him kiss you for as long as you want.
His hand travels down your body, his thumb dipping past the waist of your underwear. You hear someone come into the room, you canât be bothered to look though it feels too good having Kyleâs hands running over, your tongue playing with his.Â
Someone gets in the bed behind you, you turn slightly to see Johnny pressing himself against your back. He hums into your neck his hand moving up your stomach, Kyle smiles before pulling you back in for another kiss.Â
You let Johnnyâs hand travel up and under your bra, you gasp breaking from the kiss. Kyle seeâs Johnnyâs hand groping your breast and smiles.Â
âYouâre eger Tav, sheâs only just woke up.â Kyle says.Â
âItâs okay.â You say, you donât want him to stop, his thumbs feel good brushing over your nipples.Â
âSee, sheâs perfect Gaz.â Johnny presses his face into your neck, his lips kissing your skin. Kyle smiles wetting his lips, you smile back as you feel Johnny unclip your bra. You turn raising your arm so you can pull it off.Â
Their hands run up your body as you lay on your back, fingers squeeze your nipples, Johnny runs his tongue across your collar bones and up your neck, humming and pressing kisses. You arch your neck back to give him better access as he sucks on the sensitive skin leaving marks.Â
You look over at Kyle, his eyes and lips are glossy as he moves his hand down to the front of your underwear. You spread your legs for him, pressing two fingers past your folds circling round your entrance.Â
âAlways this wet love?â He asks, Johnny chuckles reaching up to pull your face over to look at him.Â
âI think thatâs your doing Gaz.â Johnny says, he leans in further to kiss you as Kyle presses a finger into you. You moan breaking from the kiss letting your head tip back trying not to arch your back.Â
âGot the softest lips donât you.â You look up at Johnny leaning over pulling Kyle's face to his.Â
âYouâre a menace.â Kyle says, his fingers pushing into you faster as they make out. The wet sound of their lips smacking together and Kyleâs fingers fill the dead air. You reach out to grip one of their arms clenching round Kyleâs fingers.Â
âGonna cum love?â Kyle moans in your ear. You nod arching your back, Johnny's mouth locks round one of your nipples flicking it with his tongue.Â
âKyle-â You moan his name as you cum around his fingers, he rides you through it pressing on the spongy spot inside you. Johnny pulls his head off your nipple smiling up at you. You donât know what to expect from them, your whole body is pulsing with heat.Â
âChrist love, the sounds coming out of you.â Johnny coos, his hands haven't left your breasts though. You look over at Kyle, he smiles brushing hair out your eyes.Â
âDo you wanna fuck her?â Johnny asks. You both look over at him, he winks.Â
âDo you know how to be subtle Johnny?â You ask him. Kyle laughs.Â
âI donât think he knows the meaning of that word.â Kyle scoffs.Â
âLike youâre any better.â Johnny replies. You look between them both, flicking your eyes between them.Â
âDo you want to?â You ask Kyle. Youâre nervous all of a sudden, maybe heâll say no.
âAre you two done?â Simonâs voice fills the room. You all look over to the doorway.Â
âWanna join us LT?â Johnny asks. Simon doesnât say anything just crosses his arm. You feel heat rushing to your cheeks.Â
âAch, youâre such a buzzkill.â Johnny says, jumping out the bed and grabbing a shirt. He pulls it over his head going over to him, he throws his arm over his shoulder taking him out into the hall. You see him turn back to you and wink as he closes the door.
âDo you think heâs buying us time?â You ask Kyle, he looks down at you. You reach up to kiss him, his hand moves quicker this time gripping the waist of your underwear. You raise your hips so he can pull them down, he breaks from the kiss pressing his fingers on your clit.Â
Pleasure pulses through your body as he shifts next to you taking his own underwear off and climbing on top of you. Your hands run up his back, his hand reaches down to guide his cock into you. Heâs soft, gentle like his kisses, his eyes squeeze closed you hear him muttering praises as he eases into you.Â
He feels good, so good you have to bite the inside of your cheek so you're not moaning out too loud.Â
âKyle.â You moan arching your back, the change in angle makes his breathing pick up, his thrusts picking up.Â
âYou feel so good, no wonder Tav wouldnât shut up about you.â He says, you smile at the praise running your hands up his back.Â
âI donât think he ever shuts up.â You say between your own breathless pants. Your lungs burn but you donât care, Kyle pushing into you hitting the nice spongy spot inside you with each stroke. Your hands end up round his neck, your fingers running up the back of his head.Â
His movements change, his breathing getting more desperate, his hands gripping the pillow, he looks down at you, his nose pressed against yours. His breath is hot on your face, you keep planting kisses on his soft lips as he drives into you faster.Â
You start squirming your hips as you get close trying to hold off for as long as possible, it makes you clench around him which only makes his breathing more feral, it feels like heâs pressing into you deeper.Â
âFuck-â You cry out as you cum, so much for trying to keep quiet. A few seconds later heâs cuming too, his thrusts slow, his cock throbbing inside you as you reach up to kiss him. Itâs needy and messy, too much teeth and tongue but you donât care. A few seconds later he flops down beside you.Â
âYou really are amazing.â He says, you turn in the bed to face him.Â
âNot too bad yourself, well compared to Simon, or Johnny.â You tease. He opens his mouth to protest then sees you smiling and stops.Â
âSoapâs a bad influence on you.â He says sitting up in the bed you chuckle and his hand comes down to brush your face. âHow are you feeling?â
âGood, hungry.â You say, he nods, swinging his legs out the bed and feeling around for clothes.Â
âAll we have are protein bars, I'm afraid.â He says as you feel round the bed for your bra and underwear.Â
âCome down when youâre ready. Iâll save you one.â He says buttoning his trousers up. You nod and get out the bed.
âŠ
Itâs cold downstairs. The place is barren, you find them all in the kitchen. John has a laptop, he watches as you walk over to the table and sit next to Johnny.Â
âWhat do you want? Peanut butter or cookies and cream?â Kyle asks, they both sound horrible. You reach over and take one out his hands, he opens the other.Â
âSo what's the plan?â You ask biting into the bar.Â
âWeâll wait another hour or so for the car to be cooled then weâll go to the border. The plan is to get back to the ULF base outside of Sakhra.â John says.Â
âWhat about the base we attacked?â You ask.
âRussianâs will take care of it, seize everything hopefully before Al Qatala can get there.â He says. You nod, taking another bite of the bar.Â
âWhat about The Butcher and Khaled?â Kyle asks, oh yeah, youâd forgotten about them. They were supposed to be with Makarov.Â
âWe donât know where they are. Laswell and Farah are keeping an eye out but they could be anywhere.â John says.Â
âOr they could take this opportunity to take control of Konni.â Johnny says. You donât like the thought of that.Â
âThey could, but we have to hope theyâre all so busy with the mess they started in Urzikstan they donât have time for that.â Simon saysÂ
âWhat about Makarov, does he have a successor?â Kyle asks.Â
âNot that we know of, he had a habit of killing off his close allies.â John says.Â
âNo loose ends.â You say. They all turn to look at you.Â
âMakarov is dead. With the intel we have it wonât be long before we know where weâre going next. In the meantime I think we could all use a little time off.â John says. Itâs met with agreement and mumbles, Johnny leans back on the chair stretching his back. You keep your eyes on John looking over the laptop at you all.Â
His eyes catch yours and he smiles at you. It makes heat rush to your cheeks and butterflies dance in your belly. It feels like youâre beaming, you really are falling for them.Â
âŠ
Itâs tense when you get back to the ULF base Urzikstan. Farah looks tired, so does Alex, theyâve lost more people than they thought trying their best to stop Al Qatala and Konni advancing the border.Â
Now the Urzikstan military is involved, which takes some of the pressure off her but at the same time now she has to be careful. Sheâs still a wanted woman.Â
âGeneral Shepherd wants the nukes?â She asks eventually.Â
âThe Americans want the nukes.â Alex scoffs.Â
âI donât care who wants them, they need to be secured before we can leave.â Price saysÂ
âThey havenât moved them. We can take the base tonight.â She says.Â
âHow many people do you have?â Price asks.Â
âNot including everyone here, I can spare about 10 people.â She says. Price smiles looking over at Ghost then back at her.Â
âTonight then.â Price says.Â
âŠ
âWhat did the doctor say?â Price asks as you wait in a car for the signal to attack the base. Thereâs no sneaking around this time, other than Ghost and Alex to cut the alarm system. Then it would just be a rush, leave no survivors, secure the missiles and nukes.Â
âHe said my lungs sound like Iâve been smoking 40 cigarettes a day.â Soap chuckles. âSaid I would need to see a proper doctor at a proper hospital.âÂ
âWhen weâre back in the UK. Weâll get you sorted.â Price says. âIf you still want to come back with us.â You nod smiling at him. Soap nudges you and rests his hand on your thigh. Youâre still waiting for the all clear. Farah managed to find more people to help with the raid, she promised Price that the nukes would be handed to the authorities.Â
In exchange some ULF prisoners are being freed. You have no idea how the politics side of things work, youâre happy with just shooting where Price points. Maybe you would have made a good soldier, maybe if your captains in Urzikstan were more like Price you would have stayed.Â
You see the flair rise into the sky. That's your cue, Price turns the engine on and drives down the road to the main gates. It feels like second nature right now, strangely surreal as you all pile out the car. Bullets fly around, more ULF fighters trickle into the base.Â
You catch a glimpse of Ghost in the distance, he sticks out like a sore thumb all in black with the white skull mask. Price barks orders you follow without thinking. Moving with Soap and Gaz like youâve done this a million times before. By the time you make it to the barn most people are dead and the place starts to get eerily quiet.Â
Ghost and Farah meet up with you as you go into the barn. It doesnât look like anything has changed from the last time you were here with Soap. Everyone walks around looking at the bombs still resting in their holders.Â
âWhere will you go after this Captain?â You hear Farah ask behind you.Â
âJamal and Khaled are still out there, Makarov is dead and now thereâs a power vacuum. Someone has to take his place.â Price says. You look up at Soap standing next to you and he smiles. Â
âAnd what about you?â You hear Farah call. It takes you a second for you to realise sheâs talking to you. You turn to look at her, raising an eyebrow.Â
âIs there still no way I can convince you to work for us? Fight with the ULF and take our country back.â You almost want to laugh at her, instead you swallow taking a step towards her.Â
âThereâs nothing left for me here.â You say as a matter of fact.Â
âItâs your chance to build a new life for yourself. A better life.â She says, you look past her up at Price whoâs standing with his arms crossed. You made your mind up a long time ago, before you had even met them.Â
âYou canât build something out of nothing.â You smile. She sighs, nodding.Â
âIâm sorry about what happened with your parents. They were good people.â She says. It shocks you, you doubt she would even remember them, she ordered the airstrike that killed one of them. Employed your mother then failed to protect her. You donât know what to say, you don't want to say anything.Â
Her bringing them up makes you mad. Â
âYeah well. Itâs always the good people who get hurt. Not the fuck ups like us.â Before she can reply you turn and walk away. You donât care if you never see her again, youâve done enough for them. Now itâs time to move on, and get out of this god forsaken country.Â
âYou good?â You hear Soap ask, his hand lands on the top of your back as you walk.Â
âYeah.â You say looking up at him, you can tell he doesnât believe you but you donât push him any further.Â
âSoap!â Ghost calls from ahead of you. âStop fucking around and get these missiles disarmed.âÂ
âYes sir.â Soap says, he walks past you. You hear footsteps behind you but you donât turn around. Another hand rests on your shoulder. You know itâs John before you see him.Â
âYou really want to do this? Leave your home.â He asks. You let out a long breath watching Ghost and Soap talk by a crate of something.Â
âI get to start my life again.â You say turning to look at him. âAre you telling me you would turn down an opportunity like that?â He shakes his head.
âWhat are you going to do?â He asks.Â
âFirst I'm going to sleep for at least a day. Then I think I'll try fish and chips.â You say, he chuckles, crossing his arms.Â
âWhat about us?â You ask feeling the nerves rise in you.Â
âWhat about us?â He asks, raising an eyebrow. You sigh, you donât know what to say. Maybe this is over now, they got what they want, you get passage to the UK.Â
âI donât want it to end.â You admit. His arm comes to rest on your shoulder and he squeezes it.Â
âWho said anything about it ending. The only thing we need to know is which of us you want to stay with. And I'll let you in on a secret, Gaz has the nicest place.â You look up at him, youâre not sure what to say. You want to hug him, kiss him you canât right now though, youâre just standing there beaming at him.Â
âCâmon, weâve still got inventory to do before we can leave. Canât keep Shepherd waiting.â He says walking over to Ghost and Soap. You swallow the tears, theyâre happy tears but you donât want to cry now.Â
Itâs not ending, nothing is ending. You donât want to mourn your old life, you want to celebrate your new one. You watch Price turn and wave you over. You smile at him and walk over to them. It wouldnât be a new life without them.
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#call of duty#cod#fanfic#ao3 fanfic#ao3#john price#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#ghost cod#taskforce 141#tf 141#poly 141 x reader#tf 141 x reader#tf 141 x you#task force 141#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost x you#simon riley x reader#johnny soap mactavish#johnny soap mctavish x reader#johnny soap mctavish x you#kyle gaz smut#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz x you#kyle garrick#captian john price#captain price#john price x reader#john price x you
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It happens in an instant.
One moment, Gojo Shiki is easily fending off the tall ice statues, and in the next, she falls.
No!
Kamado Tanjiro immediately grips his sword, and turns. But itâs no use. A long bolt of the brilliant pink brocade from the Obi Demon slams down in front of him, blocking off his path and tearing through the rooftop at the same time, destabilizing his footsteps.
Heâs too far. Too far away to make itâ
Gojo-san canât die.
She canât die. Gojo-san is the only demon slayer whoâs killed an Upper Moon. She canât die here, not like thisâ!
Tanjiro inhales deeply, forcing himself to focus. Use his fatherâs Hinokami Kagura for explosive strength, and the Breath of Water for restoration; both breathing styles in tandem with each other, just as heâd done to save Hinatsuru-san earlier.
He is not too far and he can make it. Please, please workâ!
Tanjiro leaps. His sword cleaves through a snakelike tendril of pink cloth that blocks his way, heedless of any obstructions.
Midway through his leap, arched over the cloud of glittering frost that Gojo-san is fighting in, Tanjiro sees it.
The Ice Demon, Upper Moon Two, standing right in front of her.
Tanjiroâs blood runs cold, and it has nothing to do with the ice crystallizing in the air around him.
⊠Even so, he doesnât give up. Tanjiro clenches his fingers around the hilt of his sword, gripping it with all his strength as he roars and brings it down with all his strength upon the demon thatâs standing there carelessly with its back to himâ
âand there is a sharp, shattering sound, as his blade cleaves into a lotus-shaped block of ice that suddenly materializes out of nowhere in front of him.
âMy, my, how hastyâ The tall demon turns towards him with a small frown. âItâs rude to interrupt a meal, donât you know? Iâve been looking forward to this for a while.â
Upper Moon Two. The chilling characters are etched clearly into the demonâs eyes, and unmistakable identifier of its status and strength.
And Tanjiro can feel the way that the air almost seems to solidify around him, sharp and freezing and utterly choking when the demon snaps its fan shut and points it directly towards him.
âYouââ
Whatever the demon is about to say is instantly cut off and will remain a mystery forevermore; its head suddenly falls off from its neck with a spray of blood. Thereâs a small expression of slight shock on its face âan expression that Tanjiro almost feels is mirrored on his own face, too, in this moment.
With a small gulp, Tanjiro lifts his gaze to look behind the demon. Gojo-san stands there impassively, with a bloodstained sword in her hand thatâs dripping long crimson rivulets onto the ground as she proceeds to carve the rest of the demonâs body into pieces.
Outwardly, she doesnât look to be injured too badly, but⊠there is still blood trickling down from her mouth, and she had literally coughed up blood earlier. Internal injuries? Oh, that wasnât good.
âA-are you alright, Gojo-san?â
The girl does not respond. Instead, she silently wipes away a stark trail of blood from her lips, and tilts her head to glance backwards over her shoulder âdirectly towards where the fighting has ceased for a brief moment, where Upper Moon Six is staring with disbelief at the death of the higher-ranked demon.
âNext,â she says softly.
#writing#zenith of stars au#demon slayer au#special thank you to ko-fi friends!#continuation of the flower district fight#where douma joins the fight in this au#sadly he does not last long#although this isn't mentioned anywhere#shiki got tired of douma sticking at range#and pretended her injury was worse than it really was to draw douma in#plan success#tanjiro got a scare out of it though
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I've been reading a lot of whump!Buck fics and it's been raining here so this came to mind. Hope you enjoy!
Buck is lying on the ground in the rain, staring up at a sky thatâs somehow too bright for such a gloomy day. His mind scrambles to catch up. Why is he on the ground? Why does his body feel like it doesnât belong to him? His breath rattles in his chest, uneven and wet, and though he knows something bad happened, he canât quite piece it together.Â
Then, pain crashes into him like fire. It floods every inch of his body, crushing, suffocating. His chest screams with every shallow breath, his ribs aching as if theyâre caving in.Â
Somewhere close, someone is talkingâfrantic, desperateâbut not to him. No, theyâre talking to someone else. A dispatcher, probably. 9-1-1.Â
Heâs been here before. Close to death too many times to count. But this time? This time feels different. Final.Â
Heâs accomplished almost everything he wanted to in life. His sister is happy, married to an amazing man, and building the family she always dreamed of. And Buck? He found the love of his life. He just wishes he could have spent forever with them.Â
But thatâs life, he supposes.Â
He has no regrets.
That thought should scare him. It doesnât.Â
A strange, eerie peace settles over him, maybe because the pain is fading. Or maybe because everythingâthe rain, the voices, the worldâfeels like itâs happening miles away.
His breaths come slower, weaker. Keeping his eyes open is a battle heâs losing. And deep down, he knows. This is it. Heâs lived a good life. He can let go, knowing the people he loves will be okay. Theyâll grieve, theyâll hurt, but theyâll get through it.Â
All except maybe one.
Even though they broke up, Buck knows the news of his death will tear Tommy apart. And the thought of him grieving alone is the one thing that makes this unbearable.Â
With the last dredges of his strength, he fumbles for his phone. His fingers feel sluggish, barely responsive, but muscle memory guides him.Â
One number.Â
The one heâs resisted calling, the one he swore heâd never dial again.Â
It rings.
And rings.
And ringsâuntil the voicemail picks up.Â
âTommy,â Buck rasps.
His voice is hoarse, strained, barely more than a whisper. The wheeze in his breath is unmistakable. Tommy will hear it. Heâll know.Â
âDonât shut them out again, okay?â
Buck swallows against the burn in his throat. His chest is so tight. He blinks, and suddenly there are tears in his eyes. Not for himself. For Tommy. For the image of him pushing everyone away, hurting alone.Â
âYouâre allowed to let them be there for you. PleaseâPlease let them be there for you.âÂ
The wheezing worsens. Buck isnât sure how much longer he has. He forces out the words that matter most.Â
âI love you.â A shaky breath. âI hope you know that. I love you more than Iâve ever loved anyone.â
His lips twitch, not quite a smile, as his mind supplies an image of Tommy: kind, gentle, sharp-tongued, funny, sassy. So damn easy to love.Â
âYou deserve to be loved.â His voice cracks. âI really hope you find the person youâre meant to spend your life with. No matter what you think, Iâm grateful. So grateful. That you were my first, and my last.â
He wants to say more. One more âI love you.â One more goodbye.Â
But his fingers are numb. His grip slackens. Heâs pretty sure the phone slips from his hand, but he doesnât hear it hit the ground.
He doesnât fight it anymore.
He said everything he needed to say.
So Buck, feeling the most peace heâs ever known, closes his eyesâhoping Tommy and his family will be okay.Â
he's not dead I PROMISE. I'm considering writing a Tommy POV of when he checks his voicemail đ€·ââïž
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ohmygosh my fav writer has requests open? time to cook >:}
lee!phainon,, iâm begging and pleading,, the ler can be anyone of your choice, i just wanna see phainon getting bullied (affectionately of course)
thank you so so so much in advance đ«¶
- đ° anon
[Requests open]
Hello anon! This kind of bullying does seem fit for phainon, so I hope this is enough to ease your cravings
âStop trying to run away, deliverer!â Mydei roared, yanking at Phainonâs arm as he harshly pulled the man back into his grip - probably with enough strength to rip off a regular personâs limb. âYou asked for this, didnât you?!â
âM-Mydehehei!â Phainon giggled, nearly tripping over his own feet after losing his balance. If it wasnât for Mydeiâs arm around his body, he would probably have fallen face-first to the ground. Well, if it wasnât for Mydeiâs hand tickling him, he wouldnât have tried to run away in the first place.
Mydei was clearly annoyed to his very core. Phainon, on the other hand, beaming as bright as ever, almost having fun. âAlmostâ because, at least according to his words, he was overwhelmed.
âI-I sahAHAhaid Iâm sohorry!! M-MydehEHEhei!!â Phainon laughed, his feet stomping the ground and his back pressing into Mydeiâs bare chest. âP-Plehehease!! MehehEHercy!â
ââMercyâ? You dare to make such a claim before me?â Mydei grinned, his hand forcing its way to under one of Phainonâs arm while he hugged held Phainon even tighter. âThe only thing fitting for a weakling like you itâs death, so take it with honor!â
It was hard to tell if Mydei actually meant those words or if they were just said in the heat of the moment. Phainon surely believed in them, however.
His laughter rose a pitch when the tickling shifted to his armpit, panicked cackles poured from his lips like the water from Phagousaâs chalice. Phainon shook his head, feeling his feet losing touch with the ground as the other man slightly lifted him, rendering him helpless.
âS-should⊠I help him?â Caelus asked, pointing at where Mydei and Phainon were. âHe is not going to actually kill Phainon, right?â
âDonât worry,â Tribbie nodded, a hand to her chin as she cocked her head to the side, âDe and Snowy always bond like this. Itâs almost like Snowy teases De just for these outcomes.â
#asks#đ° anon#anon#requests#honkai star rail#honkai star rail tickling#mydei#mydeimos#phainon#phaidei#myphai#lee!phainon#ticklish!phainon#ler!mydei#tickle fic
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Ooh I'm a bit new to the Modern Epic PJO AU, how does Luke, Camp Jupiter, and Jason start out? Does Luke just meet Jason, realize the marks on his arm is branding and not a tattoo, and just finds Camp Jupiter out of sheer rage alone?
Okay, I apologize because this is gonna be long.
Because of the whole "died while by possessed by an evil time titan" thing Luke was out cold for about a week after getting back to camp. During that week Annabeth demanded that Jason hide his spqr as best he could and not say shit about Camp Juniper. Because both she and Percy knew that when Luke found out about that shit he was going to be enraged. Annabeth was trying to figure out how to break it to him in a way that wouldn't lead to the second most diabolical crash out she'd ever bore witness to, Thaila's being the first. She was going to tell himâshe wasâbut...
Her brother was backâher big brother had been dead for months and now he was back and she just...Logically she knew the sooner he learned about it the less likely he was to go ape shit, but emotionally? Emotionally she didn't want to upset him, emotionally she wanted to make up for the time they'd lost due to him being fucking dead, wanted to make his recovery as smooth as possibleâdidn't want to put any more stress on his mental state. This was a situation where her emotions were beating out her logic, specifically because he'd been dead, they'd spread his damn ashes.
In the end she'd put it off too long, because there was no way Luke and Jason weren't getting close.
Luke was the general, war veteran, oldest demigod of his generation, survived a quest given by his father, hero of fucking prophecy. There was no way Jason wouldn't look up to himârespect him as a senior. But above that he'd been Thalia's best friend for years, her closet confidant. Luke was one of the last ties to his sister (oh shit there'd be some complicated feelings there đŹ) and Jason was Luke's last tie to his old friend. So them getting close was a given, Luke is basically Jason's dad in this au.
It was pure coincidence that Luke's eyes lingered on the markâthat he noticed that it wasn't ink staining his skin. He'd had Jason's arm in death grip before the teen could even blink. Jason is strong yesâbut he's still a teenager, Luke is a grown ass man. He couldn't have gotten his arm out of his hand if he tried.
"Jason"
"Yes?"
"This is branding"
"..."
Someone branded himâsomeone branded his kid like fucking cattle.
"What do these lines mean?"
"It's my years of serviceâ"
"Years of service? You're fucking sixteen, who did this to you?"
And Jason wouldn't know how to react to this because he'd have never seen Luke that angry before. That enraged over something so normal to him.
"Jason Grace...Who did this to you?"
Soldier mode is activated because Luke isn't speaking in that calm laid back tone he has with teenage campers, not the kind soft one he reserves for children and family(Jason is family now), his voice is cold pragmaticâhe is giving him an order. It doesn't take long for Jason to start talking. Luke is at Camp Juniper by the next day, and had he not been a decent man he'd be there for a slaughter but all he wants is to see the gods forsaken place burn.
#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo#pjo x epic#luke castellan#jason grace#modern epic pjo
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An EPIC Oneshot
There are other ways~
(Slight spicy implications warning)
"-Everyone's true colors are revealed in acts of lust"
"I'm not sure if I follow."
The doors of the bedroom trapped Odysseus inside with her, he suddenly felt immensely vulnerable despite having his sword out in his pointing at his witchy foe he still felt wrong...
"There are ways of persuasion.. there are other modes of control~"
Circe smiled smugly, she snapped her fingers magically making her hair longer and making her dress very thin. She lowered Odysseus' sword and gripped his hands making Odysseus feel more uncomfortable. Lack of confidence or control.
"Awh, you have so much left to learn~"
"What.. Wh-what are you..."
Why..Why am I shaking so much?
The seductive enchantress got up in his face making his uneasiness feel worse making him, feel hot and sweat. She wrapped her arms around his neck, "trapping" him making only look at her and only her.
"Want to save your men from the fire, show me what you're willing to burn~"
She lifted the miserable man's head making him face her once more, eye-to-eye. She pulled him making the two of them head towards a nearby bed. Circe falls fluidly on the bed as Odysseus pins her down, his hands start to tremble as Circe slowly made pulls one of his hand and puts it on her chest.
What am I doing?? I can't do this! I can't do THIS!
At this point he knew what she wanted, but he didn't want to given into her demands he wanted to back away or run away but he couldn't if he really wanted to save his comrades. His mind starts to spiral up as he started to think about her
Penelope I'm so sorry!
How would his wife think of this? What would she think of him killing a innocent infant, How would she react to learning that half of his comrades and best friend were killed by a Cyclops, how would she react to some of them also drowning to their deaths? And especially now how would she feel about him sleeping with this enchanted mistress?
2
His thoughts starts twisting inside him, pretty much breaking him as he tries to the resistance to cry or show even more vulnerability than he already has. But his vision of his already trembled hands start to blur as tears start to fall, his breathing starts to become more slightly rapid than before..
He needed to leave now. But this is the only way to get through her right?
"Awh what's the matter, don't be afraid it's okay. You can always go slow if you want to."
"I... C..an't I don't...(Sniffles) Why...why are you doing.... Why am I d-doing..."
He was choking on his own tears to properly get a word out or aloud considering that every word he said was just very quiet painful moans
Despite Circe being the one more "restrained" Odysseus felt more like he was the one getting pinned down and pretty much tortured by this uneasy tension though there wasn't much happening except Odysseus repeatedly gripping Circe's arms and placing his hands on his her stomach trying his best to avoid her torso
STOP...! Stop shaking! WHY can't I stop shaking what's wrong with me?!
"P-please... I.. I NEED to... Too... N-no..! I..."
"C'mon you~ Don't tell me that you're afraid of a woman"
"N-no... No I...I..."
He couldn't do this... He can't do this, he couldn't betray his wife like this..
"I CAN'T!"
He screamed, jolted off of the bed no longer "restraining" himself on top of Circe. Odysseus looked at his hands still shaking but, not as badly as they were before also realizing that his hands were cold and wet covered with his tears.
Circe's ears went down as she watched Odysseus cover his mouth and hold his stomach
"By the gods, I feel sick..."
He mumbled to himself as he started pacing around the room and suddenly vomits on the floor
"Ahh...hah... Hnngg...my chest hurts.."
Odysseus glared at his sword for what felt minutes slowly calming down and putting himself together and tried to wipe the pathetic tears though, they continued to fall down his face. He sighed
3
"Back at home my wife awaits she's my everything.. My Penelope, she's my motivation for everything she's all of my power, my only purpose but it's been 12 long years"
He starts to scream and wail and covers his face
"AHHH 12 LONG YEARS SINCE I HAVE SEEN MY WIFE!! AND... And now the god of tides is out to kill me.... It's too much to handle it... it's so much ache so please... I beg you Circe please grant us mercy and let us puppets leave.... Please!"
He was on his knees bowing down to her, he felt so pathetic and helpless
Circe at first atleast what it looked like from her facial expressions, she didn't seem to care.. but now, she seemed to be empathizing him as she sighs heavily
"Poseidon you say... Hmm..you know I now about that blue blobfish too... Congrats... Old mortal"
"What...(Sniffles)what are you... GHHN--"
Unexpectedly, he felt a sudden sting in his eyes as she gently wiped his tears away
"You know, I know what's it's like to love before..."
"Come... Let's try to get you out of here"
"Wait..wait you're helping us?"
"Look, I might not be able to get you back home properly but I know someone, a prophet but he's dead."
"...what?"
Odysseus felt his heart sink a little bit from that last sentence, he was still slightly startled from she did to him.. Circe grabbed some small and medium potion bottles and opened a curtain to revealing a bunch of animal pens almost like a farm but the one that caught Ody's attention was the pig pen
"Despite the prophet being dead, I can take you to the underworld to see him"
Within the cunning witch's directions she, throws the held potions onto the pigs transforming the swine into men
The men cheered in enjoyment loudly, as they all headed towards the boat captain Odysseus bows once more to Circe but not out of pity and desperation but as a way to thank her
Euryrlochus walks by to check if the captain was okay.. The captain gleefully noded, and confidently smiled
Take this as a Valentine's day special thingy I guess lol
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| NTAs red carpet 2021 vs. Pride of Britain red carpet, 2023.
#michael sheen#welsh seduction machine#david tennant#soft scottish hipster gigolo#nta awards 2021#pride of britain 2023#i just needed to put these two moments side by side#for science#awkward#the difference in Michael is especially noticeable#but AL looks equally uncomfortable#and like she has his hand in a death grip#and in one of the other pics she is recoiling from him#they just do not give 'couple' energy and never have#michael is a talented actor#but he can't hide his true feelings as himself#but i will leave it to my followers to make up their own minds#anna lundberg#discourse
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Cuddling
Squid game x reader hcs
Summary: How the people in squid games would cuddle you (separate)
Includes: Thanos, In-ho, Se-mi, Dae-ho, Myung-gi, Jun-ho, Hyun-ju, Mi-na (non!squid game au)
Warnings: might be slightly suggestive at some points.
masterlist
a/n: I love writing these so much! I hope you guys enjoy them as much as I do!!
Thanos
Get ready to be crushed
Lays on-top of you
And does not let you get up for anything
âLet me get up for a second I-â
âNo.â
While laying on-top of you he takes the opportunity to kiss your neck or chest
If you do end up getting up he whines until you lay back down
Type of Bf to use your butt or thighs as a pillow đâ
Randomly bites you
Has cute aggression 100%
Very deep sleeper
Moves so much in his sleep so if you guys fall asleep cuddling at least one of you is gonna be upside down when you wake up
Will give you pda anytime anywhere he does not care
Iâm literally Dr. Seuss
In-ho
Not very big on cuddling
He tolerates it for you tho đ
Even tho cuddling isnât really his thing he LOVES when you sit on his lap
Especially when youâre facing him
Also likes when you lay on his chest
Literally just lets you cling to him and do whatever
Acts like he doesnât care for it but we all know the truth
When heâs tired he just completely lets his guard down
That will probably be the only time he initiates cuddling
Other wise youâre kinda on your own ïżŒ
Se-mi
Loves laying on your chest !!
Gives you neck kisses when sheâs the big spoon đ
Also a biter
Likes to have you on her lap
Touches your tummy while cuddling
you cannot stop her đĄ
Clingiest Gf you can have !!
Takes every opportunity to hug you from behind and just stays like that for as long as possible
When you lay on her chest she likes to play with your hair
Another deep sleeper
Girl will not wake up for anything
If you are in bed with her you better be ready to never leave the bed again once she gets her hands on you
âBabe I need to get upâ
âFive more minutessssâ
Dae-ho
Most cuddly person ever
Big spoon !!
not so secretly likes being small spoon sometimes
Either rests his head on-top of yours or in your neck
If you guys fall asleep like that expect not to be getting up at all
Literally has a death grip on you
Lays his head on your thighs or chest pt.2
Will fall asleep immediately if you start playing with his hair đ
HATES sleeping without you
The lightest sleeper ever
If you softly shake him awake he will either have a dramatic mom reaction or heâll just be confused asf
My babbyyyyyy
Myung-gi
Struggles to sleep if you arenât next to him
Religiously the big spoon
He likes to put his hands up your shirt while cuddling and his excuse is
âMy hands were cold đâ
âDamn right they are đĄâ
Yaaaa we all know his real intentions â
Neck kisses pt.2 !!
Another one that uses your thighs as a pillow
Moves a lot in his sleep as well but stays holding you the whole time somehow
Loves you being on his lap pt.2
The type to rub your thighs while watching a movie or some shtđđđđđĄđđđĄ
I want him so bad
Gives you so much kisses !!
I need someone like him omg đ
Jun-ho
Loves cuddling face to face if that makes sense đ
Likes to hear about your day while just holding you
Listens intently and plays with your hair as you speak
He also enjoys when you lay on his chest
The weight of your body calms him down and he feels better knowing youâre safe in his arms
If heâs feeling extra vulnerable that day heâll lay his head on your chest
Probably gets super exhausted after work sometimes so he just falls asleep the second he gets home
and when you join him in bed he immediately wraps his arms around you
Overall I donât think heâd be to big on cuddling but he also wouldnât mind
Hyun-ju
Sheâs just a big teddy bear
Especially when youâre alone with her
She isnât too big on pda so in public she probably just sticks to holding your hand
But in private youâre getting cuddles, kisses, you name it
There will be a lot of giggling going around
Loves if you braid or play with her hair while cuddling
Lets you try out new hairstyles on her to see which one looks the prettiest đ€
Loves when you lay on-top of her
When the both of you go to bed she HAS to be touching you
No matter if itâs holding hands or being straight up on top of eachother
Poor girl just needs you đ
Mi-na
I feel like she wouldnât really care for being touchy with anyone but if itâs her s/o
Sign her up !!
Definitely small spoon
She wants to be treated like a princess đ
Puts her legs over your lap and just pouts at you till you rub them
If sheâs feeling a little frisky sheâll get you to put your head on her chest and then just cling onto you
Loves giving you kisses !!
ugh I want her
Cannot fall asleep if you arenât in bed with her
a/n: hii! I hope you guys enjoyed thissss! (If youâve made requests it might take awhile for me to get to them Iâve been busy lately I hope you understand!) (reqs are currently closed)
#dae ho x reader#thanos x reader#se-mi x reader#squid game x reader#dae-ho x reader#squid game#choi su bong x reader#choi su bong#se mi#semi x reader#se mi x reader#junho x reader#jun ho x reader#lee myung gi x reader#myung gi x reader#myung gi#lee myung gi#daeho x reader#kang daeho#daeho#kang dae ho x reader#cho hyunju#hyunju x reader#hyun ju x reader#kang mi-na x reader#mi-na x reader#in ho x reader#in ho#hwang in ho#inho x reader
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anatomy of us (3) | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader
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type: limited series, part 3 (9.8k), AO3 in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.
series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence (this part contains graphic depictions of gore + murder + minor character death), military criticism, protective!simon, dubcon (but reader does consent), possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+
PART 1 †PART 2
The mirror betrays you. Thereâs someone staring back, but it isnât you. You donât recognize her. Whoever is there, sheâs a traitor. A liar. She stole what used to be your body, and now you can only stare back as she lifts her hands to your face and touches your skin.
Itâs warm. Your cheeks are warm to the touch, skin bouncy and firm. When you pull on the apples of your cheeks, they bounce right back, elastic almost. Youâre glowing, too. Your skin has never looked so soft, so smooth.
Somethingâs different.
You bring your hands up and cup your own breasts. When you squeeze, you shudder, realizing how sensitive you are. They ache a little, feel heavier than normal. Your bra feels a little tight, too. Your hands drop and grip the sink firm, and you swallow hard before turning to face the door.
Your body is telling you something. Itâs trying to talk to you. Itâs natural, you know it is, and it is inevitable, and you shouldnât hate your omega for it because she canât help it, but you do. Itâs whatâs happening to you because youâre off your meds. Your hormones are firing like they never have before, and the voice in your head is starting to talk to you in a way that sounds way too appealing. Sheâs starting to sound right. You like the way sheâs talking to you, especially afterâŠ
You havenât spoken to him yet. You havenât talked about it. Itâs only been a few days, but you donât think you can sleep next to him for one more night and pretend like you donât know what itâs like for him to be dick-deep inside of you and satiating the shrill insanity that lives under your skin.
So big. So capable. Isnât he so strong? I bet he tastes good. Letâs find out.
You open the bathroom door slowly. Simon is sitting there on the bed, phone in his hand. Heâs typing, eyes narrowed in thought, and you make the door creak so he knows youâve come out.
âEverythinâ olright in there?â Simon asks. He doesnât look up from his phone. You decide to be mean, because you can be. You want to be.
Fuck off, you tell her, try to. All she wants to do is get Simon on his back on that bed.
Can we just suck his dick already? Itâs right there.
âWhat do you care?â You mumble. You go to the closet to pick out something to wear. Itâs a Sunday, which means there wonât be much to do today besides relax and eat. Johnny invited you to Mass, which you promptly declined, and you didnât much feel like spending time with Captain Price or finding out which beta would be underneath Gaz tonight (more than one, would be your guess, but it couldâve been another alpha, too, he doesnât seem to care as long as he can devour something whole).
You donât turn around to see Simonâs reaction. Maybe he doesnât react at all. You grab a pair of jeans and drop your sleep shorts. Ever since Simon had taken you on a roof, you decided it was no use trying to change in the bathroom anymoreâheâd seen everything, anyways. You step into the jeans and pull them up, jumping a little to get them over your hips, and just as youâre about to adjust the waist, you feel him come up behind you.
Simon grips both sides of your jeans and hikes them up around your middle. You suck in a breath as he slides his hands around, zipping them up, deft fingers finding the button and fastening them. You huff as he keeps walking, forcing your front flat against the closet doors until he can press his chest up against you from behind.
Remember how good he felt? Letâs do it again. Take them off.
âWhat the fuck are you doing?â You hiss. Your omega purrs. She softens your insides. You grip the closet, irritated, but you canât help the way you bend at the hip and push back into him. He snarls as he puts his hands on your hips, holding you there. You can feel her, pushing against you. Itâs getting harder every day to shove her backwardsâthereâs a part of you that doesnât want to.
Is that part me? Or are we drifting together?
âWot does it look like?â Simon murmurs. âI smell you.â
Yes, yes, yes, let him. Take it off. Take them off. Let him have it.
âWhat did I say before?â You let your arms fall, and you smack his hands off of you. You turn around to glare up at him, grinding your teeth. âBoundaries, Simon. You need to ask for permission.â
âI donât have to do anythinâ,â Simon bites back. âI said some things before, too, didnât I? Yâr mine.â
Oh, thatâs how he wants it to be. You can see it in his eyes, the way his alpha is feeding him lies. Feeding into his ego. Heâs got tendrils that are choking him from the inside-out, trying to tell him to be the bigger species, the more dominant figure. Your omega wants to let him, but that isnât you. Fuck submissionâitâs just not your style. Youâre a taker, not a giver, and your omega will need to learn that the hard way.
You lean up on your toes, pressing your forehead to his. You meet his alpha in the middle, not backing down. You can be nasty, too. You can be dangerous. You might not have his build nor his strength, but omegas have teeth, and they are sharp.
âThen you better sleep with one fucking eye open, Simon. Cause Iâll kill you if you put your hands on me without asking.â
You make sure you hit him on your way around him. You open the drawers of the dresser angrily, ripping a shirt out. You slip your pajama shirt off, tossing it onto the floor, and you fit your bra straps over your shoulder before turning around. Simon is still staring like a dogâeyes watery and intense, staring right at your tits, and you grab a pillow off the bed and throw it at him.
âOh my god!â You cry, and he sucks on his teeth under the mask.
âMmmâŠâ He puts a hand over his chest, rubbing there. If he didnât have it on, you have a feeling heâd a smug grin on his stupid face. âMy mate is fuckinâ naked, wot you want me to do, look away?â
âYes, exactly, you pig,â you mumble, clasping your bra and fixing it to cover yourself before slipping your t-shirt on. You frown as you pick up a clip to tie up your hair. âAnd weâre not mates.â
âThaâ right?â
âThatâs right,â you say curtly. You turn to give him a hard stare as you slip your boots on. âAs far as anyone else can tell, Iâm not claimed.â You run a few fingers over your scent gland. Soft. Unmarked. Pulsing.
Itâs like youâre taunting him. He snarls a little at that, something low and territorial under the mask.
âThaâ wot you want? Me to claim you?â
âNo,â you stand on your toes, faces barely touching. The air in the room is humid and thick, curling, competing scents making you a little dizzy. âI want you to drop dead.â
Itâs half of a lie. It would be funny, you think, to see Simon eat a bullet or catch on fire and perish in a frenzy of equal pain and misery, but you know Kate would just do it all over again to you. There are no shortage of alphas at her disposal. With a swipe of her signature, she can have you moved halfway across the world again, and youâd like to not end up on the CIAâs bad side because you keep spending all their money on flights and bribes to get you some kind of mate that will tolerate an indifferent omega such as yourself.
An unruly one. A terrible one. A decisive one.
You donât really want Simon dead. Better the beast you know than the one you donât, and from the time youâve spent with Simon, he is all bark, no bite.
For now.
Meals are always awkward. You feel like all you and Simon do is snap at each other lately. Call each other names. Spit nasty insults. Maybe it isnât fair to be angry with Simon; you have a feeling he didnât have much of a choice, same as you, but it doesnât matter, because nothing really changes in his life the way it changes in yours.
Simon isnât the one that loses himself. Simon isnât the one that has to wear a brand on himself, a permanent reminder of his submission. Simon isnât the one that has to succumb to things he canât control about himselfâthe heats that last for days, the ones that will burn you from the inside out until it gets that nasty fill that your omega was born for.
Ruts just arenât the same, you donât believe it. They can swallow them down. Save them for later. It isnât a comfortable thing to do, but if an alpha is missing their omega, they can satiate themselves with a lazy hand or a soft mouth until they get what theyâre searching for.
Omegas arenât offered the same luxury. If you donât get what your omega feeds off of, she might kill youâand you donât need to be reminded that you and your omega arenât exactly on great terms.
The boys are quiet at breakfast. John has secluded himself in his office for the day, but Simonâs sergeants are pretty quiet for how much they usually babble. They are, however, shoving their faces in with food in a matter that makes you scowl.
Theyâre dogs, really. Johnny looks positively famished. Heâs got his cheeks pillowed with eggs and toast, and you look away from Gaz as he tips his head back to wash down a mouthful of ham with coffee.
You jump when you feel a fist hit the table. It rattles the trays, and Johnnyâs orange juice splatters a little outside of the cup. Simon is back from the kitchen, sliding your own tray in front of you. Your mouth waters a little at the smell of the freshly baked croissant and moka pot of coffee that waits for you, and the sergeants grumble a little as they look up at their lieutenant.
âWould you both fuckinâ eat with yâr fuckinâ mouths closed?â Simon snaps. âBloody rats eat more proper than you lot.â
âWhatâs the matter, LT?â Johnny gulps down his food, wiping his mouth with a wet thumb. He smiles at you with teeth, and you pick up your fork to busy yourself. You can see feel his crazy eyes on you, trained on your face. He licks over his teeth as he does. âWant us to be proper gentlemen around yer bonnie girl?â He wiggles his tongue at you. âWhatâs proper about knotting a pretty little omega like thaâ, aye? Can smell âer from âereâŠSmell like taffy.â
Simon takes a seat on the bench next to Johnny. You stare wide-eyed as Simon cocks his head to the side. Your eyes water a little as you see Simon slide a big hand up Johnnyâs neck. He leans into it, clearly comfortable (youâre going to try and forget this observation), but his face contorts from contentment to sheer pain as Simon wraps his gloved fingers into the curls of his mohawk and pulls. Johnnyâs neck snaps back at a hard angle, making him hiss and kick his legs out. They bang against the table, shaking it, and Gaz looks down at his plate as Simon tugs Johnny close to him.
âYou listen âere, Sergeant. Iâll say this once, and I wonât repeat it,â Simon growls. âIf I hear you say one more word about my mateâs cunt, Iâll rip your throat out with my own teeth. Donât care âow many times youâve covered me or saved my arse on the field. My rank is her rank, so from now on, I want you to drop yâr eyes when she looks at you, and I want you to say, yes, maâam, and nothinâ else, you âear that?â Johnny grits his teeth as Simon shakes his head violently, holding him firm. âAnd if I hear about it when Iâm not around, Iâll let her cut yâr dick off, yeah? Or maybe Iâll let her shoot you in the head again. And trust me, mate, she wonât missââ
âSimon,â you interrupt gently. Simonâs face turns, and you meet his eyes. You shake your head a little. âItâsâŠitâs okay. Johnnyâs just a huge flirt, and it came out wrong. Didnât it, Johnny?â
Simon closes his fist, letting out a sharp breath. His eyes are a little darker than youâre used to. Youâre not sure heâll listen to you, but when you see his fingers start to loosen, you relax a little. You donât understand why heâs defending you, anyways, but maybe Simon has some twisted moral code when it comes to insulting his mate.
That only he gets to, and no one else.
âYeahââ Johnny spits, and when Simon lets him go roughly, Johnny just laughs a little. His cheeks are rosy, and he tries to shake it off, but you can tell by the way he averts his eyes and the smell that wafts from himâJohnny is terrified of his lieutenant.
Simon stands, making the table rattle again. Johnnyâs cup spills over the edge, and your cutlery falls to the floor as he makes his way out of the mess hall, throwing the doors open and letting them slam shut behind him. You scoff, rolling your eyes, and you swipe Gazâs fork from his tray before continuing to eat.
âWhat the fuck is his problem?â You stab your sausage with the fork, cutting it angrily, and Johnny clears his throat. His rubs the back of his neck, rolling it out carefully.
âYer serious?â Johnny scoffs. âFuckinâ big man is in love with ye.â
Not me. Heâs in love withâŠher.
âHeâs just mad because he thinks heâs the only one entitled to say anything derogatory to me,â you explain. âHeâs such an asshole, I swear. So are you, Johnny, by the wayâIâm not gonna wet your dick for you, go flirt with someone else.â
Gaz snorts, shaking his head, and you pour him a little more coffee from the pot Simon left for you and some for yourself.
âKind of sweet, innit?â Gaz murmurs. âHe cares about you, you know.â
âYeah?â You raise a brow. âHas a real funny way of showing it. You donât see him when weâre alone. Heâs mean. I donât know what goes on in your heads, but your kind jump to conclusions. And you assume. And youâre too aggressive.â
âWell, what did you expect?â Gaz asks. He turns to look at you, shrugging. âThatâs how weâre made.â
âI try everyday to be anything but how Iâm made,â you say lowly.
Itâs a lousy excuse, especially for an operative like him. Kyle and Johnny are no strangers to aversion or high-stakes. There is combat, and then there is what this team does. Youâve peeked at the papers on Simonâs desk. Youâve read the files you have no clearance to read. For the air-headedness that Simon radiates, heâs excellent at writing post-op reports, with fine detail. He doesnât miss anything. This team isnât something like SWATâthey donât carry big guns for show and break down suburban houses. They hit foreign targets without a trace and eliminate threats before they blink. They are in and out of a building in thirty minutes, and they leave no man behind and no target alive. Each of them are experts in their own subject, and even with Johnnyâs big, disgusting mouth, you cannot deny what makes him special.
He could make an explosive out of regular kitchen supplies; maybe even out of the toiletries you keep in a go-bag. His affection for chemistry is as equal to that of a good, protein-rich meal. Kyle is no differentâyouâve seen him just for fun program an auto-correct feature into Johnâs laptop that replaced every word that he typed that started with a vowel to shitfucker. You saw him do it remotely. Over Bluetooth. With a Blackberry.
These arenât just operators. These arenât just idiot, self-engorged, misogynistic and animalistic men that panted and waited for orders like lovesick puppies, they are much too intelligent and way too self-aware. You wonât take thatâs how weâre made as an excuseâitâs beneath them, if youâre being honest, and itâs infuriating. They arenât a normal pack, and they never will be, and so you need them to stop using stereotypical excuses as reason for them being just like the rest.
It is conscious. Itâs disgusting. Itâs exactly as you thought it would be.
âWell maybe if ye tried that less, tried just being what ye areâŠthings would be easier for ye,â Johnny mutters, picking up his overturned cup and sighing sharply through his nose. You drop your fork and lean forward on your elbows.
Oh, alright. If Johnny wants to play rank, then you can play rank.
âYou know, you both have a lot of nerve,â you say lowly. âI would start being very fucking nice to me from now on. Simon and I may not get along, and maybe we never will. But he sure as shit wonât stand aside if tuck my tail between my legs and blame one of you for something you didnât do.â
âThought you said he hated you?â Gaz mocks. âThought you said he was mean?â
You stand up and shove your tray towards them, starting to walk. You lean over to murmur in Gazâs ear.
âHe is,â you threaten. âBut heâs still an alpha, my alpha, and pussy talks, Gaz. Youâd know. Youâve been drooling for it since I sat down. I can smell you, too.â
You pat Gazâs cheek a bit too roughly, and he snarls a little. You smile to yourself as you make your way out, and down the hall, you see a familiar shadow disappear around the corner into the darkness. You cross your arms over your chest, sighing, and then you start towards it.
When you round the corner, heâs standing right there. Leaned against the wall, big arms crossed over his chest. His face twitches under the mask. You move to stand in front of him so you can get his eyes.
âYou know, for someone who doesnât want to babysit me, you canât seem to leave me alone.â
âI have others to answer to if something happens to you.â
âDonât act like you care what other people think. Especially your superiors.â You roll your eyes. You donât have much more time to talk to him. Or berate him, you were still deciding. A shadow comes up next to you, and when you turn, Captain Price is staring at you both, nodding his head behind him.
âI need to have a word. With both of you.â
You give Simon a look, but he doesnât give one back. He merely slips a hand down your back and puts you in front of him, ushering you to walk. Youâve never been reprimanded by a superior, not because of a mission or anything of stake, so you canât help the feeling that overcomes youâsomething of failure.
Had you done something wrong? Surely you had.
Johnâs office is bigger than Simonâs, but just as messy. Messier. Thereâs a pretty beta secretary out in front of it, and she smiles at you and waves. Sheâs too cuteâtoo sweet. She probably puts sugar in Johnâs tea to make him smile or draws little smiley faces on messages from missed calls. You pity her and wish you were her all the same. When she notices your solemn face, she shrinks and dips her head, picking up her pen and continuing to fill out some forms.
John waits for both you and Simon to sit before shutting his office door behind him. He sucks on his teeth before tossing his hat onto his desk, nodding towards the two creaky seats in front of him.
âSit.â
âRather stand,â Simon counters, but one hard look from his captain, and Simon is begrudgingly taking a seat. The metal creaks under his weight, and you take a seat next to him. John sits on his desk in front of you both, and he looks at Simon before ending on you.
The scents in the air are driving you insane. You take a breath to try and keep your eyes from watering, but itâs difficult.
âYou know, Kit, our team isnât known forâŠfollowing the rules,â John begins. âBut I was assured thatâŠif anything went wrong, that my lieutenant here would be responsible. He vouched for you.â
You fold your hands in your lap. You prepare yourself for the beratement. You sit up a little straighter, squaring your shoulders. The neutral expression your face falls into seems to irk your captain. He scrunches his nose a bit, smoothing a palm over the papers in front of him. Heâs trying to establish his air of dominance, but itâs increasingly easy to stare him back down when your alpha sits right beside you.
Thereâs comfort in his presence, and your omega feeds on it.
âI saw you shoot. Got a good eye for those kinds of things, Iâll admit,â John nods. âAnd you did well in training. Followed Simon. His orders. Saw you clearinâ rooms like youâve been on this team for years.â He grins, but it doesnât reach his eyes. Blue, but empty. âHe was right. Fast learner. You know your place.â You narrow your eyes at that, and he hums. âBut it doesnât change what this is. What you are.â
Youâre surprised at the way your omega curls in your gut. Angry. Thereâs an alpha insulting you, but this one isnât yours. She warms your hands, and you dig your nails into your chair to keep her calm. She wants to bite, and sheâs confident with Simon at her side.
âAn asset?â You try talking instead.
âA liability.â John leans forward. âYou put my men in danger. Going into heat like that.â
Your heart drops into your stomach. Itâs alienation. You are an outsider. Not part of his pack. John draws a circle around himself, and you are not included in it, and the sentiment leaks into his words like a flood, and it hits you through the chest. Your lip trembles just slightly, but you swallow down the rejection, keeping it close. Your omega whimpersâan alpha, though it is not your own, is isolating you, and it hurts her.
âShe didnâtââ Simon is interrupted by Johnâs laughter.
âYou were off comms for 15 minutes and 37 seconds, an amount of time that during an op is fucking critical and couldâve blown the entire operation!â John snaps. âI told you to be fucking careful, I told you both to take precautions, and you failed me. I can understand youââ He points at you, and omega lingers unsaid, âbut you, Simon? Youââ
âIt wasnât his fault, it was mine,â you interrupt. âI shouldâve known.â
âHeâs your alpha, itâs his fuckinâ job,â John clarifies. âBut Simon has more than one job, and on that day, it was keeping the target in his sight and waiting for my fuckinâ say.â
âDonât reprimand him for making the call,â you tell him. âIâm the one who misread what I was feeling. Iâm the one who distracted him from what he was doing. Iâm the one who was projecting so badly, he had to help. Itâs me. I screwed up. Iâm just as much of your team as they are, so hold me accountable, not Simon.â
âYou are not on my team, you are my problem.â
She wails. She grips your heart in both hands and hangs on, crying, wailing, begging you to say something to make him approve of you. She so desperately wants to be included in Simonâs pack, and it aches inside to be pushed away. You dig your nails in further, and you donât realize how much your scent is flaring. Simon gets one whiff of it and snarls. His hands close into fists.
You goinâ to let thaâ wanker talk to your mate thaâ way? You goinâ to let another alpha walk all over her? Heâs challenging you, thaâs wot this is, innit?
âChoose yâr next words wisely, Captain.â Simon finally speaks, and his tone rattles you. His voice dips low, and you can hear his alpha soaking into his words, and the bitterness in the air has to be him deciding whether or not today would be a good day to stand up to his captain.
âThaâ right, Simon?â John murmurs. âIs that an order?â
Simon stands. Immediately, the humidity in the room expands, and you nearly choke from the sting of their scents in the air. Simon is much larger than John. Heâs so much bigger, so much wider. You stand, too, and when Simon feels your hand along his bicep, his shoulders loosen just an inch.
Your omega may beg for approval and inclusion, but even she stands down when you remind her of the importance of pack bonds. You are not mated, and Simon has his own to keep, so you must appease. It hurts to do it, but you know you will thank yourself later.
âIâm sorry, Captain,â you say softly. âI-It wonât happen again. I swearâŠI promise.â Your eyes water, and you try to hold in the cough youâre holding. âFirst timeâŠand the last time.â
Simonâs task force is a unique group. Four alphasâa lot of ego and fighting dominance in one bunch. Itâs normally not done. They like to have a nice mix of betas and alphas to keep groups balanced, but Kate needed an exceptional group, so she built one. Four alphas in one pack is not common, but it worksâand she has the stats to prove it.
You wonder if she knew what would happen when she threw you into the mix. How each of them might react when an omega tried to slip in between them. If Kyle would try to sink his teeth in. If Johnny would pass out from panting so fucking hard. If John would let his resolve slip for just long enough to blur the lines between a commanding officer and his subordinate.
Maybe Simon reacted just as she expected. That he would see what was meant just for him and pull her apart so he could slip under her ribs and stay right there. You have not been claimed, and yetâit is truth. They know it, Simon knows it, you know it, and so does your omega.
Simon paces in his room. A slow pace, but paces, and you observe him from your place on the bed as he breathes deeply. His alpha is leaking through the cracks, and you can smell his anger. It fumes, makes your nose curl. Itâs a bitter scent. Your omega purrs in your chestâshe wants to soothe him.
We will do no such thing. Shut the fuck up.
âYou need to let me handle things when we get cornered like thaâ.â
âIâm a big girl, Simon,â you say softly. âAnd it was my mistake.â
âIt doesnât fuckinâ matter,â Simon explains. âIâm your alpha.â
âI donât care,â you shake your head. âYou donât speak for me.â
âNo, I speak for us both,â Simon points a finger at you, coming closer. âFor you and for me, and you need to understand thaâ.â
You glare up at him. In all the time youâve spent with him, heâs still letting his alpha bleed when heâs angry. You need to understand nothingâSimon needs to learn. He needs to learn that the omega they write about in textbooks isnât reality. You fight your omega tooth and nail for control, and you are still on top for now. Simon needs to learn this. He needs to learn that you are not easily influenced by command. You may smell like an omega. You may keen like an omega.
But itâll be a cold day in hell before I submit like an omega.
âFuck you.â
Donât talk like thatâŠyou know you want to.
âYa already âave, kitty,â Simon spits. âWould you like to go again?â
âI know this is hard for you to get through your thick head,â you whisper. âBut just because I fucked you doesnât mean anything. What happened between us was clinical. Your dick is medicine, and there was nothing I could do, and that is where this ends. You can tell yourself over and over again that you are my mateâŠthat youâre my hero, that you saved me, but maybe next time, Iâll just let my omega kill me. The thought of you inside of me ever again makes me physically fucking sick.â
Youâre a bad liar.
âYeah?â
âYeah,â you say lowly. He leans closer, until his face is nearly against yours. âYouâre a pathetic, insecure, waste of space. I will never be your mate, and I pity every omega that might come after me, that has the unfortunate mistake of thinking you could claim them with any sense at all. You use and you abuse, and you have your head so far up your ass, I donât think you know whatâs real and what isnât.â
Simon stares. You stare back. Your chest heaves, and so does his, and you keep your eyes on each other as you stare back and forth. His eyes are so dark. Beautiful, but so dark, itâs difficult to tell what heâs thinking. Itâs not long that you notice his lashes fade to blonde at the end of them. His skin, where it bleeds from the eye-black he wears to the pale color of his face, has freckles scattered around the eyes. You can see the raised, white line of a scar that is just peeking from under the mask.
Isnât he so pretty?
âOn your knees,â Simon murmurs.
Itâs whiplash. One moment, your entire body is buzzing. Angry, fieryâyou can feel it shaking you. You hate him with ever fiber, want to smack the smug look you know he wears under that mask. You hate the power that he has over you and how much he relishes in it. The next moment, in a few slow words, it vanishes.
Like it was never even there at all.
âExcuse me?â You breathe.
âOn your knees. Lose the pants. ân yâr knickers.â
âWhat makes youââ
âWonât ask again.â
We need this. We need this. We need this.
Itâs just that easy. For all the resolve that it feels like you have, maybe you really have none. You blink, but then he hears the sound of you toeing off your boots. They hit the floor, and then your cargos are falling on top of them, and then youâre turning over, sliding along the warm sheets of his bed until youâre lying on your tummy, ass up, and youâre closing your eyes as his gloved hands push your panties down your thighs until theyâre around your knees.
You donât really know whoâs doing it. Youâre afraid to think about it too hard, because you know that it just might be you.
He eats nasty. All tongue. He spreads your ass with big palms, and you gurgle when he kisses your folds with tongue. Your brain starts to fog, and you relax easily. He kisses soft and slow, but wet. You fist the blankets, pushing back, and he slides a thumb down to smooth over your puffy clit very gently. He hisses when he sees your hole flex in response, a drop of slick falling onto his palm.
âKitty, why didnât ya just say so?â Simon asks, stupid and fascinated by you. âWhy didnât you just say you wanted yâr pretty pussy kissed, hmm?â
âBecause I hate youââ You whine, and Simon slips his tongue inside of you. You babble, your mouth dropping open, and he hums as he gets a taste of you before pulling back, smacking his lips. The taste of you spreads across his tongue, and his alpha howls. Heâs never spoken to him this way, not really. The only time his alpha has ever really come to the forefront like this was the times he thought he was close to death; but Simonâs never been this close to life, either.
âI know,â he coos. âI know ya do. But this isnât personal, is it?â He uses his thumbs to open you up, growling when he sees your hole pucker a little. A dribble of slick falls, and he catches it with his tongue, swallowing it down. âHowâd ya put it, luv? âs medicine?â
âYour dick is medicine.â
âMy mouth, too, I reckon.â
âShut the fuck up, and eat me, baby,â you whimper, and he opens his mouth wide and licks with a thick tongue. He presses his mouth to your cunt and eats, bobbing his head as he alternates between slobbering licks and eager sucking. His tongue slides between your folds occasionally before slipping into you, and you curl your toes every time he brushes against your clit. His thumb will sometimes circle it, or his tongue will suck softly, but he never stays there too long. Simon likes to tease. He likes to make you a little desperate, likes to get you soft and drippy and dizzy, and then he gives in a little. He gives you two fingers, gloved still, and you push back against his face with gentle grinds as he fucks you softly with his hand. Itâs agony and relief all at once.
âLike thaâ?â He asks. He sounds amused. You hope his hard cock gets pinched by his zipper.
âMmmââ You try. You arch your back, getting up onto your elbows, and Simon uses his free hand to give one side of your ass a nice smack, jiggling it gently before kissing where he hit. You giggle at that, soft and airy.
âAnswer me, omega.â
âFucking love it,â you gasp. âBig fingersââ
Simon laughs at that. You can smell his ego, but you donât have it in you to say something smart. Itâs true. Even with his hand, he fucks good, hitting deep. His mouth did wonders, and youâre dripping along his hand. His glove is soaked, and his forearm is wet, and when you glance down at the sheets, they are damp and dark with the mess you made. Simon doesnât seem to mind. He leans in to eat more, pulling his fingers out so he can use his mouth again, tongue deep as he sucks and hinges that big jaw to get a mouthful of you and groan. You taste goodânice and sweet, thick juices wetting his chin, and he squeezes your ass in appreciation when you throw it back and smother him. He likes this. Likes the lack of air, the wet pussy, the soft whines. Heâs content here, and he doesnât seem like he wants to move anytime soon, and he doesnât complain. He just opens his mouth and swirls and tongue and fuckâyour clit is in his mouth, and youâre crying.
Itâs too kind. An alpha kneeling for their mate. Taking pleasure in their pleasure. Itâs not unheard of, but itâsâŠunorthodox. It confuses you. Your omega cries with happiness, but sheâs confused, too. She doesnât expect pleasure just for pleasureâbut she wants it, she wants more of it, sheâs digging her nails into your skin to try and get you to convince Simon to give you more, more, more.
âGive it to me,â Simon murmurs. ââs olright. Give it to me.â
âSimonââ
âMhm,â he nods, cocking his head and taking your clit into his mouth again. âGive it âere.â
Your orgasm hits hard, but itâs nice and slow. Your thighs shake, but Simon sinks into you, breathing out through his nose as he delicately laps at your clit. He doesnât stop, swallowing as you come into his mouth, keeping the pace to make sure your orgasm fizzles just as good as it hit you.
You sink to your tummy when he pulls away. Your knees give out, and he slips your panties completely off, and you flop onto the dry side of the bed. You start to cry. Not tears of relief, but tears of pain. Of what is inevitable. Of the hard truth that you loathe more than anything.
Simon can never force you. You will always want him, you think. There will always be something in the back of your mind that aches for him, and you try and you try and you try to fight it off, but you want him so viscerally, it cuts you deep where youâll never notice it.
âSay wotever you want about me,â Simon mutters. âTell yourself wotever you want that helps you sleep at night, hate me oll you want. But I take care of wotâs mine.â He strokes your hair out of your eyes, leaning down, and you cry harder. You clutch a pillow, hug it tight, and your eyes flutter open as you look at him. His mask is still hiked up just under his nose, and you can see half his face. Scars that cut across him like paintbrush strokes, adding texture and depth where there shouldnât be.
âYou have no idea what itâs like,â you whisper. âYou have no idea what itâs like for every single part of yourself to betray what you want. You donât get it. Y-You donât understand, you never will. You will always have the upper hand, and y-you will never know what itâs like to not have a choice.â
Simon continues to brush through your hair with his fingers. Soothing you gently, coaxing you into a headspace that feels like white noise. You whine, and Simon comes closer. He presses his mouth to your forehead, soft, gentle, his scent close enough that your beating heart slows down considerably just in response.
âNo, I wonât,â Simon agrees. âBut thatâs what you are. Youâre an omega.â
He says it like itâs so simple. Like it explains everything in the entire world. Being an omega is the simplest answer he could ever give, and it explains every variable, every nuance, every quirk that makes you you. It explains every time you sink to your knees for him. It explains how easily you let him fuck you on a rooftop in a foreign country. It explains how even though you hate him with every fiber of your being, there is somehow no one else you want standing over you now.
âIâm still me.â
âNo,â Simon shakes his head. âYou cannot change wot you are. Youâre fighting her, and you will lose.â
You wonder, for just a second, if Simon is speaking from experience. Have there been times when his alpha takes over? Does it take control? Are there times when he looks in the mirror, too, and doesnât know who is staring back?
âI hate her, too,â you spit. âI hate her, and I hate you.â
Thereâs a hint of a smile on his terrible face. The first one youâve ever seen. You hate the urge you have to lean forward and kiss it.
âShe is you.â
âThen I hate me. I hate myself.â
Simon changes the sheets silently. He picks you up and moves you when he has toâtwo big, burly arms picking you up like youâre a feather. You cling to his neck, studying him, and you find yourself not being able to look away. Heâs so capable. Heâs so independent. Heâs so reactive to your needs, it infuriates you, how could one man be so in tune with you, more than yourself?
He drapes all new blankets over you. He turns out most of the lights, except for the low glow of the yellow lamp on his desk. He tucks you in, making sure youâre warm, and then he bends down to say something to you, in your ear.
âDunno wot you think,â he tells you, âbut there will be no omega after you.â His voice drops low, and when you close your eyes, you hear his alpha. Threatening, affirmative, exact. âYou are mine. Iâll not âave another. The sooner you accept thaâ, the easier thingsâll be for you.â
Mine, mine, mineâ
âEat a dick.â
Mine, mine, mineâ
âMuch prefer yâr cunt, kitty.â
Simonâs protection is instinctual. Itâs not really a choice, itâs subconscious. He watches you braid your hair in your room, observes as you tuck it behind your ears and tie it off your face. He hovers as you gear up. Watches you buckle your belt, strap your tact vest, adjust your helmet. He comes over after youâve laced your boots, tugging on your vest to make sure itâs secure and fastening your helmet for you. You let him as you clip your watch on, closing your eyes as he smooths a thumb across your cheek and turns you towards the door.
Itâs a long flight. You fall asleep, your face smushed against his arm, and when you wake up, Simon is still sitting there, hands on his knees, staring straight ahead. John smokes, Gaz has a folded up little book in his hand with what seems like sudoku pages, and Johnny is twirling what looks like a fidget spinner in one hand. You blink awake, but itâs dark out, pitch-black.
Thatâs the job. Dark, where you can use night as cover. Stealth. You and Simon have been tasked with clearing out one building on your own. Several stories, possible targets inside, presumed armed and dangerous. You were given the clear to eliminate any threats on sightâthe op is capture or kill, and John made that very clear in a small room that reeked of his authority.
The bird drops you a few kilometers from where your target building lies. You flip the night-vision down, flicking it on, and you stick to Simon like glue as you follow him silently through empty streets. Youâre somewhere in Eastern Europe, somewhere cold and unfeeling and just on the border of Russia. You arenât privy to any more details; all you know is that your mission is to be Simonâs cover, and you have the face of your target memorized and burned into the back of your eyes.
You spot your target building at the end of the block. The streetlight flickers, and it looks like a low-income apartment building. Itâs very small, dilapidated, with a peeling entrance door that has the window broken, hastily patched up with duct tape. Itâs no trouble for Simon to stick the scope of his rifle through the duct table and shred the remaining glass to pieces, putting his hand through the window and unlocking the door easily.
The first few floors are clear. Simon always enters a room first, with you in quick succession. You are silent, touch and go, soft taps on shoulders that the both of you can read immediately. Youâre in tune with him. When he steps left, so do you. When he turns, you cover, when he sweeps up, you sweep down. Itâs a dance, a very well coordinated one, and it lets Simon breathe easier when he realizes how well youâve adapted to each other over a short period of time.
Just a few weeks, and you are two sides of each other.
Simon swallows down the prideful purr in his chest. Now isnât the time to get distracted.
When you make your way to the top floor, just below the roof, your chest starts to feel warm. You pause at the top of the stairs as Simon keeps his rifle trained at the first door in front of him. You swallow hard, widening your stance to keep yourself upright. You shake your head, trying to toss the jitters off of you. Your throat hurts as the saliva goes down.
Simon clears the room with you shuffling close behind. You blink rapidly when you see two of Simon, and he whips around suddenly. You can see him through your night vision stiffening in front of you. Shoulders tensing, fingers gripping his rifle tighter. You pause as he comes close to you, and your eyes water when he lifts one hand from his gun to cup your face gently.
You know what heâs asking. You nod shakily, and he taps his wrist with two fingers.
Give me two minutes, is what heâs saying to you.
You donât get two minutes.
The door behind you slams open. Two men breach inside, and they come at you with a force too strong, and you go flying towards the far wall. Your back hits it hard, and you collapse onto the ground. Your whole body aches, and you know there will an array of nasty bruises under the skin. Your helmet took the brunt of the hit, but you still feel dizzy as it falls off your head, clattering to the ground. You cough, scrambling for your rifle that is a few feet away from you now, and Simon drops one of them with a few easy bullets, but the second man uses his dead companion as cover, throwing the body at Simon until he can lunge at him.
Simon swipes the blade out of his boot and goes for his weak spots. He manages to get him under the arm, across his thigh, but Simon is wearing a lot of gear, and with the weight of a dead alpha getting tossed at him again, he gets moved backwards enough to lose his footing, and then it happens.
The manâs gun fires, and it goes straight for Simonâs head. A flash of light that seals some sick sort of fate that you know canât be yours. Itâs not you that screams in response.
It is your omega.
You launch yourself at him. In your daze, your omega finds clarity, and she seizes her moment. You slip the blade out of its place in your thigh holster, and you toss a nearby chair at him to incapacitate his gun. It gets trapped underneath it, enough time for you to jump and land on him from behind.
Heâs an alpha. Physically, you should be no match for him given your size differences, but something else is taking over. Your nails donât just grab, they pierce his skin. Digging it, shredding flesh, and you bring your blade down over and over again against his chest. He screams in pain, trying to wriggle you off. You lock your ankles around his middle, keeping your hand coming, tearing with your nails and slicing with your knife, but he manages to get an arm underneath you and throw you off.
You hit the ground again roughly, but it doesnât stop your omega. She gets right back up, but he tackles you. He uses his weight to pin you down, and the knife rings as it slides across the room, but your omega doesnât let it stop her. He got too close, and she will make sure he regrets it.
He went for your mate, and she cannot have that. She wonât survive without him. Unclaimed, but she doesnât careâSimon is hers, and she wonât let him go without something all-encompassing and violent. Heâll have to pry Simon out of her dead hands. You feel like youâre watching from the sidelines. Youâre not yourself. Itâs the first time that you donât really care.
You scream, leaning up, and he doesnât get a moment to think before you sink your teeth into the plush of his scent gland and rip it clean out.
Fuck. Thereâs blood gushing everywhere, spurting from where youâve severed the gland. The gland is precious, anatomicallyâit provides most of the oxygen to the brain, and itâs what seals the bond. While it canât be marked the same way an omegaâs can, an alpha canât survive without it. Youâre finding out just how precious it is as you watch an alpha cough and sputter once he realizes whatâs happening to him.
He crawls off of you, trying to use his hand to put pressure to his neck, but itâs no use. He leans against the wall and chokes, blood filling his mouth, and you spit out the flesh from between your teeth as you watch him gurgle and kick his feet out. He reaches out for you, pleading in his eyes, but you feel no mercy. Thereâs tears coming down his face now, and you watch with a scowl as the blood spills between his fingers instead of bringing his brain precious life.
Good fucking riddance.
You turn over once youâre satisfied he wonât get up. You see Simon still sprawled on his back behind you, and you scramble to get to him. You grab his helmet and throw it off, and you start to cry, feeling around and realizing thereâs something sticky oozing and pooling onto your fingers. You canât see very well in the dark, but you put pressure anyways, unsure of what youâre dealing with. Your heartbeat is loud, and it echoes in your ears.
âNoâNo!â You gasp. You grab Simonâs radio, hands shaking as you press down onto the button.
âBravo-6, d-do you c-copy?â You cry. âBravo-6, answerâpleaseââ
âKit?â Johnâs voice comes out surprised, low. âWhat happened?â
âSiâGhostââ You sob, âW-We need a medevac! Medevacâtop floorââ
Your hands continue to shake as you reach for the bottom of his mask and rip it off. Itâs the first time youâve seen him without the mask, but you need to know. You need to know.
His faceâit is a little ugly. The eye-black is smeared across his freckles, bleeding across his face from the sweat. He has scars everywhere; they criss-cross along his cheek, cut his lips, but you ignore that as you lean down and put your ear to his mouth.
His breaths come shallow and slow.
You cry with relief, feeling around with your fingers. When all you feel is blood, you pick up his helmet and cry harder when you notice the side of the helmet has been grazed, and the bullet casing lies near his head.
He had missed.
He missed.
You cup his face, tapping his cheeks gently, trying to wake him up.
âSimon?â You whisper, sniffling. âSimon, wake up. Please wake up. Pleaseââ
You canât carry him. Even if you tried to get your omega to help you, you arenât physically strong enough to pick him up and carry him out. Heâs too big and too heavy, and you wouldnât be useful anyways; youâd be without cover trying to haul his ass to a bird thatâs just too far away.
âSimonââ
He coughs. You gasp, wrapping an arm under him and trying to sit him up. Heâs so much heavier with all of his gear on, but you do it anyways, lifting him up and laying his head in your lap. You lean down, pressing your forehead to his, and you cup the back of his neck.
âI thought he killed youââ You sob. Simon hums, his eyes opening and closing, and you smooth a few fingers down his cheek, relieved to hear him breathe. In and out, in and out, low and slow as he blinks away the spots in his vision.
Your eyes meet. Itâs not a look you were expecting. You expected him to be angry, but heâs not. Heâs looking at you like he canât believe what heâs seeing. You must look a sight, you think. There must be blood on your face, staining your teeth, but all of your senses are dulled as you try and read him.
Your hands shake as you brush a bit of dust off his face. Your fingers are trembling, but itâs grounding to touch him and see him blink those dark eyes up at you. God, heâs not ugly, no, heâs gorgeous. Heâs so beautiful. Heâll never be prettier than the way he is now. Raw and vulnerableâSimon is most himself here, you think, stuck in the in-between of an operation. This is where he must feel everything the most. You open your mouth to say something else, to ask him if heâs okay, but then his face scrunches when he finally realizes where you are.
âOn the door,â Simon mutters. âGet yâr gun on the fuckinâ door.â
âSimonââ
âNow!â
You scramble to reach for the handgun in your thigh holster, turning to get up on your knees and cover the door. You will your hands to stop shaking, gripping the handle of the gun tight to keep them steady. You can hear Simon getting himself together behind you. Shuffling onto his feet, picking up his rifle and his helmet. When you look over your shoulder for just a second, you notice his mask is back on.
âBravo-7 to Bravo-6, east building clear,â Simon rasps. He shoves his way past you, rattling you a little, and you stare at his back, defeated, as he clears the rest of the floor before making his way up the last flight of stairs. You hear your captain responding on comms, but youâre not paying enough attention. Simon slams the roof door shut once its behind you, and you wipe your eyes as Simon gets situated for overwatch as you cover the door.
âSimon, are youââ
âI donât want to hear another word outta you unless we got contact on this fuckinâ roof,â Simon interrupts.
âI saved your ass!â You cry. âI did that! He wouldâve killed you, you fucking asshole, so for once in your life, can you just look at me and say a fucking thank you?!â
Maybe Simonâs right. If you fight your omega, maybe you will lose. She might just kill you. You know she can. Youâve seen it happen before. Omegas that didnât listen, losing themselves to the insanity of their inner struggle. Itâs a violent end. Itâs like they electrocute from the inside-out. Their minds betray them, and they let it take over, and with no alpha to soothe them, theyâre just gone. If they drift too far, you canât get yourself back.
Use me. I know what to do. I can get him back.
You do the only other thing you can try; you let your omega do the talking. The sweet, syrupy voice. The soft lilt. The edge that glides, doesnât cut, the one that will hit his ear just right and hopefully get his alpha tick-tick-ticking inside of his head. The one that didnât work on Kateâbut Kate was not your mate. Kate never responded to you at all, not the way Simon does, and Kate has never tasted your cunt. Her alpha doesnât know what sheâs missing.
I can do it. Let me in.
âPlease, Simon,â you beg. You see his fingers twitch as he adjusts the scope on his rifle. They falter, adjusting it just a few degrees too far. Simon doesnât make mistakes, but then again heâs never had his omega purring in his ear like that. âPlease.â
You make your way to him, curling a hand around his bicep. You tug him closer, trying to get him to look at you. He resists, but itâs a pathetic kind of resistance. The kind that you can overpower with just another firm tug. You can sense it, his hesitance, and your omega giggles in your head.
I have him. I can do it. Donât worry.
âJohn was right,â Simon breathes. âYouâre a problem. A liability.â
A liability because he doesnât belong to anyone but you, maybe. Heâs Johnâs liability. Not yours. Simon may be a part of their pack, but they shouldâve picked up a fucking book when they knew you were coming. Submissiveness might be an inherent âtraitâ of your kind, but you realize now that is just a lie that alphas tell omegas to keep them quiet.
To keep them soft. To keep them begging. Itâs probably something that your kind have learned over time, so distinct that you inherit it from someone that came before you, but youâre convinced that this kind of obedience and docility can be unlearned. It can be used.
If an omega cries, it would be stupid for an alpha to ignore it. Itâs in their DNAâwith just a soft whine, you can make Simon drop that rifle and bend you over any surface. They say it is for your sake. They say it is because omegas must be serviced or else they will succumb to themselves, but that isnât what this is, and thatâs not why omegas arenât allowed in the field.
Theyâre not allowed because you can make Simon defy orders; because John can tell Simon something, and you can tell him something else, and youâre almost certain you know which way Simon will lean.
âPlease just look at me, Simon,â you whisper. âPlease.â
You cradle his face when he finally does. Your palms touch his wet mask, likely soaked with his own blood. You stand on your toes and draw his face closer to yours.
Fuck them for making you feel small. Fuck them for making you feel less than. Fuck anyone that ever made you feel like you were anything but in control, including her. If she just explained what she could do, this couldâve been a lot easier. If she just told you what she was capable of, you couldâve worked together. You couldâve given her what she wanted, and she couldâve given you what you wanted, and it couldâve been so much simpler.
âGonna get me fuckinâ killed,â Simon growls. You start to cry again. Not because what heâs saying hurts you, but because heâs still bleeding, and all you can see when you close your eyes is that gun firing right at his head.
This is your ticket. This is your way out. Fuck Kate for making you believe that all you were meant for was being in his bed. Youâre so closeâarenât you? You didnât realize how close you were, but now you do, and you know exactly what to do.
Youâre going to make them very, very sorry. Youâre going to make them regret ever letting you inside. Your divisive, spitfire nature was not your line of defense. It was the indication of the future you always dreamed of, the future that is one bite-mark away from being tangible. You can taste it, like you taste what Simon wants in the air.
I can do it. I can help you. Let me in.
There was never a reason to be afraid. If anything, they shouldâve been afraid of you.
You kiss him. Itâs not a proper kiss, because his face is still covered, but you kiss Simon anyways. His cheeks warm, and his lips part, and you kiss him softly over and over as you take his face into your hands. When his arm slides around your waist, your omega is comfortable letting your knees buckle.
She knows already that Simon will catch you.
NEXT
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âłËËËAlastor x Wife!ReaderËËË âŽ
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â Summary: Lucifer gets a little too brazen with Alastor's darling wife. Guess the Ruler of Hell would just have to learn a lesson about who you belong to.
â Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, jealous!alastor, soft comforting shower sex, knotting, alastor has a tail, consent, making out, soft kisses, biting, marking kink, alstor laps up the readers blood because he bites a liiiitle too hard, creampie, banter between alastor and lucifer, as well as banter between the reader and angel
â Word Count: 1,972
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Alastor was quite the jealous type.Â
You were his wife in life and death. To say he was protective of you was an understatement. So, it only made sense that Alastor would lose his composure when the ruler of hell himself arrived at the Hazbin Hotel.Â
Lucifer was a rather charming man, but you were spoken for. So when he grasped your hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back of your palm, your hand yanked away in the blink of an eye. You could have sworn you heard a crackling growl escape your husband's lips as he watched Lucifer offer you a lustful gaze-Â and that was simply unacceptable.Â
"I see you've met my wife!" Alastor let out a forced chuckle as he looped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his side. You let out a sigh of relief. All thanks to your husband's rescue. Lucifer gave Alastor a pointed look before he blurted out, "You're joking... right?" He scoffed.Â
Your face scrunched up in anger at Lucifer's rude remark. "Oh, he's as serious as a heart attack." You spat, snaking your own arm around Alastor's back. You squeezed his waist, a habit of yours that let your dear husband know when you were livid.Â
"But- look at you! You're gorgeous, sweetheart, and he's just... freaky." You were about to snap back before your husband's maniacal laughter tore through the room. "Ha Ha! That's rich coming from the short stack!" Alastor quipped, grip tensing around your waist. Lucifer's chest puffed up in defense before he let out an airy laugh.Â
"Aha! The height I lack up here, I surely make up for below the belt! Maybe I can show your wife sometime." Lucifer shot you a playful wink, causing your face to scrunch up in disgust. Alastor tensed beside you before he let out another forced laugh, ducking low to get in Lucifer's face. "Ha Ha! Fuck you." Your husband spat, voice missing its usual radio static tone.Â
Before the situation could escalate further, Charlie intervened. Pushing her father away from the tense atmosphere while mouthing a sympathetic "Sorry!" your way. The aura in the room was stiff. You could certainly cut the tension with a butter knife. "Damn, smiles! Looks like lil' Luci himself has got eyes for your girl!" Angel stated before taking a swig of his cocktail.Â
You turned your head in Angel's direction. Shooting him a warning glare. The last thing you wanted was for Angel to get caught in the crossfire of your husband's anger. Alastor remained quiet before he slowly began walking toward the staircase. You could tell he was seething with how his ears twitched atop his head. Your husband flickered up the steps without a word, making you worry.Â
"Damn it, Angel! You knew he was pissed enough as is, no need to poke the bear!" You sighed, rubbing your temples as you made your way over to the bar. Husk poured you a drink, shaking his head in agreement. "Dont'cha mean poke the deer?" Angel chuckled, patting your back in a lighthearted manner. Husk cursed under his breath at Angel's remark.Â
"Cut that shit out, or he'll put you on his next fuckin' broadcast," Husk grumbled, cleaning a glass with a worn-down rag. You sipped your drink before rubbing your temples once more, shaking your head in annoyance. "I should probably go check in on him..." You spoke to yourself before turning on your heel, waving a small goodbye to your two good buddies.Â
"She's in for a loooong night!" Angel giggled, causing Husk to flick his forehead as a warning to "Shut the fuck up."
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You took a breath before carefully opening your shared bedroom door. "Darling?" You called out, descending further into the space as you scanned the room for your husband. You peacefully made steps toward your private bathroom, having heard the shower running from beyond the door. To your luck, the door was left unlocked, making it easy for you to slip inside.Â
The bathroom was full of steam as your eyes trailed to the red tufts of hair reflecting through the clear glass shower door. Alastor heard you come in, but he still remained silent. Trying his best to cool off. He hated losing his composure more than anything. Carefully, you began ridding yourself of your garments, leaving your clothes in a pile beside Alastor's. You slid the glass door open, stepping into the shower with your husband.Â
Alastor's ears were pinned against his head as he stood underneath the shower head, allowing the water to cascade down his face. His back was toward you. Your husband's hands were placed in front of him on the cold tiles. Keeping him stabilized. "Al, my love? Is it alright if I touch you?" You whispered softly from where you stood behind him. A moment passed before he nodded in agreement, still remaining silent.Â
Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him. Allowing your hands to caress his midsection all the way up his chest. You rested your head in between his shoulder blades, pressing your chest flush against his back. Alastor let out a deep sigh, your touch bringing him much-needed comfort. "That impudent man.." Your husband muttered, ears twitching in annoyance as he did so. You rubbed circles into his chest, placing gentle kisses against his back.Â
"He's a jerk, Al. I'm all yours, forever and always," Your lips curled into a smile toward the end of your sentence as you felt his tail wagging, brushing against your lower tummy. Your husband's shoulders eased up from your words. He let out a breath before turning on his heel. Alastor's hands immediately cupped your face, doubling over to capture your lips with his. Your eyes fluttered shut, hands rubbing your husband's sides lovingly as your mouths molded perfectly against one another.Â
Your shared embrace lasted a few beats longer before your husband pulled back, half-lidded crimson eyes gazing down at you. "Indeedy, my doe. You're all mine! I suppose I'll have to make it evident to the short stack... and anyone else who dares to court you." His voice dipped low; as did his wandering hands. Alastor's pointed nails dug into the back of your thighs as he hoisted you up. On instinct, your legs wrapped around his slender waist.Â
A pleasant gasp escaped you as you felt your husband's hard length brush against your core. Alastor let out a deep growl against the nape of your neck as he nipped at the sensitive flesh there. "Alastor..." You whined. Tipping your head back so your husband could have better access. A shiver ran down your spine when your back collided with the cool tile walls. Alastor bit a little too harshly between the juncture of your throat and shoulder.Â
A bit of blood trickled down your collarbone, but your husband was quick to lap it up. A deep groan from him sent a rush of heat down to your core. "Divine, my little doe. Absolutely delectable," Alastor mumbled against your sternum before one of his hands slipped between your bodies. He rubbed the flushed tip of his cock between your folds, groaning at the feeling of your slick. "May I, my darling?" Alastor whispered, lips ghosting over yours as he waited patiently for your approval.
"Yes, please..." You sighed, burying your hands into his soaked two-toned locks. Your husband slowly pushed himself past the tight ring of your pussy. Capturing your lips at the same time, drinking up all of your moans as he stretched you open. Your eyes rolled back into your head when Alastor bottomed out inside you. Slowly, you caressed his sensitive ears. Pride pooled in your chest when your husband twitched wildly inside you from the gesture.Â
Your lips pulled back from his when Alastor began thrusting into you. His movements were sharp but shallow, not wanting to pull back more than he had to from the warmth of your pussy. Your husband's head fell forward, forehead resting flush against your shoulder. Alastor groaned against your damp skin as your walls clenched tightly around his throbbing cock. All you could do was moan in pleasure as your husband fucked into you perfectly.Â
"Mine, all mine..." Alastor huffed out before suckling at the base of your neck. You could feel your husband's knot begin to swell inside you as your own release approached rapidly. Apsentmindly, Alastor's thumb dipped between your bodies. He rubbed at your clit expertly as he jackhammered up into you. Your legs tightened around his waist as the coil within your tummy was only moments from snapping. "I'm yours, all yours..."Â
Your words sent Alastor over the edge. He moaned loudly into your neck as his hips stilled, emptying his load deep inside you. The feeling of your husband cumming inside you was enough to trigger your own orgasm. Alastor hissed as he felt your pussy gush around his cock, squeezing him like a vise. After a few moments, you felt Alastor's knot begin to deflate. Allowing his now softening cock to slip out of your inviting heat. "You truly are just darling. How did I get so lucky?" Alastor chuckled as he lifted his head to gaze into your eyes.Â
A bashful smile crossed your features as Alastor slowly lowered your thighs from off his waist. Being sure to hold your hips, stabilizing your trembling legs. "Oh, hush! I'm the lucky one." You giggled, untangling your hands from his hair. Allowing your palms to cup his face, pulling him down for a chaste kiss. Alastor kept his eyes open as you kissed, admiring your lovely visage. After a moment, you pulled back, nuzzling your nose into his. "Now, let's get washed up before heading back out there, yeah?"Â
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Alastor and you emerged from the room a little while later. Meeting up with the group from where they gathered in the foyer. Charlie cheerfully waved you and your husband over, and you didn't miss the way Lucifer scowled at Alastor. "We were wondering where you lovebirds wandered off to," Vaggie stated, scooting over on the couch to allow you both to sit. Swiftly, Alastor sat on the sofa before pulling you into his lap. A smile etched into your face as your husband's arms looped around your frame, large palms caressing the tops of your thighs.Â
You heard Lucifer grumble under his breath from the public display of affection. Your friends, on the other hand, had their jaws on the floor. Alastor rarely showed his physical admiration toward you in front of them. So, to say they were shocked was an understatement. "Told ya they snuck away to fuck! Look at her neck, haha- Husk! You owe me that hundred bucks," Angel blurted out. Laughing his ass off. Heat rushed to your face from your friend's crass words. Alastor, on the other hand, glared at Lucifer. His smile stretched from ear to ear as the ruler of hell fumed.Â
"Angel-! Husk-?! You made a bet on whether or not Alastor and I would... ah, you fuckers!" Embarrassment flooded your entire being, hands darting up to cover your face. Alastor let out a loud chuckle from your adorable reaction. "No, toots. We're not the fuckers! You're the one who got fucked, aha!" You quickly got up from your spot atop Alastor's lap, storming over to Angel. "Husk, you're next!" You shouted, chasing Angel around the lobby. "Leave me out of this! That dumbass wouldn't shut up until I accepted the bet." Husk grumbled, not entertaining the bullshit.Â
All the while, Alastor was giving Lucifer a sharp look with that shit-eating grin still illuminating his features. "As you can see, there's no need for you to show my wife your little chum below the belt. My darling is more than satisfied in my care!"
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Tradition.
Cregan Stark x Pregnant!reader
Summary: the reader and Cregan go to King's Landing to support her nephew, Luke's, Velaryon claim. She goes into early labor away from the North.
Warnings: Aegon is his own warning, body shaming, talks of brothels and stuff, labor, blood, death, fighting, all that stuff.
A/n: Based on an ask! I'll proofread later đ
Masterlist
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Cregan held out his hand to help his very pregnant wife out of the carriage.Â
He absolutely hated riding by carriage. It seemed pointless when you could ride a horse instead. But when summoned to King's Landing by King Viserys with his Targaryen wife to join the rest of her family, he had to guarantee her safety on the travel by any means necessary.
Alicent's face lit up at the sight of her daughter, practically running over Cregan to get to her. She embraced the pregnant woman tightly, "Oh, my love! How you've changed!"Â
Y/n hugged her mother back just as firmly with a smile, "I've missed you, mother."
Alicent pulled away and admired her grown girl, "King's Landing is better with you here." Only then did Alicent notice Cregan, "Oh. Lord Stark."
Cregan bowed his head politely, "My queen."
"Cregan has been eager to see King's Landing again," Y/n chirped in, "He has only been a few times."
Alicent's brows lifted, "Really? I wouldn't have thought that."
He nodded, "I could've been patient enough to wait until after the birth, but alas, when the King calls, you answer."
Alicent gave a forced smile, "Right. Of course. The birth." She looked to her daughter, "How far along are you, my dear?"
"Nearing eight moons now," she said nervously with a hand on her swollen stomach.
Alicent didn't miss the equally nervous and protective look in Cregan's eyes.
âŠ
Dinner that night was beyond tense.Â
What was joy for Viserys was misery for everyone else.
Watching the king decay at the table and the rest of them squabble over trivial matters that seemed of great importance.
"A toast to the young princes and their betrothed."
Aegon leaned over to his nephew Jace, "Well done, Jace. You'll finally get to lie with a woman."
A glare was sent his way by Jace and Baela.
Y/n caught on and quickly looked to Aemond, who sipped his wine with no reaction.
"You do know how the act is done, I assume?" Aegon continued. "At least, in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?"
Jace's jaw clenched, "You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed."
"Aegon." Y/n hissed through her teeth across the table.
His head immediately snapped to his sister in annoyance, "What?"
"Let it alone."
He scoffed lightly, "What do you mean? I'm only asking." He gained a grin, "It's not like I have to ask Lord Stark that. Look at the state of you!" He gestured to her swollen belly.
Cregan's grip on his fork tightened, turning his knuckles white.Â
She placed a hand over her stomach and grimaced, "At least I was able to find a husband that wanted me. Mother had to force you to marry the only girl around, and that was Helaena."
Aegon gave an incredible glare, one that his sibling shot back.
Aemond became amused.
"Let us not fight at the table," Alicent reprimanded lightly.
Y/n looked to Jace, who gave a small nod of gratitude.
Silence filled the room until the King's long monologue of the need for peace in the house.Â
Rhaenyra and Alicent gave small and seemingly back-handed toasts but Y/n was too set on the continuous mischievous look in her brother's eye.
And she called it right when he stood and moved to whisper in Baela's ear.
It was clear that it was muttered with the intention of riling up Jace, which it did quite well.
He stood up in anger, slamming his fist on the table.
Cregan, who had remained entirely silent thus far, instinctually moved a hand across his wife as if shielding her and the child.
The tense toasts only got worse from there.
Luckily, the music seemed to drown out the intensity, as well as Jace's good gesture of faith in dancing with Helaena.Â
Y/n leaned over to Aemond, "Brother."
His brow raised as his eye traveled to look at her.
"It has been⊠long since I've seen you. I see you've faired quite well."
He hummed lightly, "I see you've⊠managed."
She could feel Cregan's intense gaze from behind her, "WhâŠwhat do you mean?"
Aemond smirked and leaned in to where only the two Starks could hear him, "Inpregnanted by a brute-"
Cregan's jaw clenched so hard he feared for his teeth. His voice was a hushed whisper, but still held furiously to it, "Watch your words."
Y/n held Cregan's shoulder, "Let us not do this here."
Aemond smirked with Cregan sighed and leaned back in his chair.
When Viserys was escorted from the room due to his pain, Y/n decided to leave as well, and Cregan behind her.
They claimed a pregnancy illness and Rhaenyra smirked, knowing she'd used the same card many times.
âŠ
Cregan helped her into bed, "I don't understand their need to crawl under everyone's skin like beetles."
She sighed, "They've never known life outside of a castle, Cregan. They've never been told no, and they never will. It's best to let it go."
"They mock us both. My name has been through dirt, blood, and tears, and I do not care, but yours?" He scoffed, "I will not stand by the next time you are mocked."
"It is only for a little while longer," she rebutted.
"Know that I do this for you, and only you, my love."
She smiled, "That's all I ask."
âŠ
"The north has done a number on you, really," Aegon said as he appeared at her side.
She tilted her head, "I don't know what you mean."
He shrugged, "You'reâŠ" he then gestured his arms widely. "I dunno⊠well indulged?"
She pushed down the tears that welled up in her eyes, "Why do you care?"
He scoffed and leaned in towards her, "You know how many friends of mine asked for whores that looked like you? Many."
"And?"
"And?" He asked mockingly. "And? Who wants to fuck a whore that looks like you now?"
Her jaw went slack for a moment, completely shocked by his words.Â
Finally, with now watery eyes, she spoke. "You're the worst kind of man, Aegon."
"Oh? And what kind is that?"
A sudden punch came from nowhere, landing on Aegon's jaw and sending him to the ground.Â
Cregan stood over the man's body, a predatory look in his eyes and a murderous tone in his voice, "One that can't defend his fucking words."
Y/n pulled Cregan back, "Stop!"
He wanted to fight against her, but he knew better. His shoulders rolled back and he stood tall.Â
She cursed under her breath as she took in exactly what had unfolded, "They could have your head for this, Cregan."
"Only if your brother wishes to defend his words against me again," Cregan scoffs as he looks down at the man.
Aegon sits up and huffs, wiping his nose that begins to leak blood. "Northern brute-"
"-Aegon!" She reprimands.Â
Cregan glared at Aegon for a while, then scoffed and walked off a few steps to calm himself.
Aegon stands on shaky legs as he glares at his sister, "I liked you better when you lacked a guard dog."
Cregan immediately turned back to the man with a look that said he was ready to murder him. As he stepped forward, Aegon stepped back as he began to regret his words.
"Take me to our chambers, Cregan," she lightly pleaded.Â
The wolf of the north only stared for a while before nodding, "Lead the way."
She sighed as she gave a final look to her brother. "Clean yourself up. You look like shit."
âŠ
Standing behind Rhaenyra, Y/n and Cregan whispered idly to Daemon when someone would comment something out of hand.Â
Luke's legitimacy was coming into question, and though the Starks knew the truth, they would not dare pry the inheritance from the boy's hands. That was not their place. So next to Daemon they stood as petitions were made to and against him.
Daemon leaned in to speak to Y/n, "how far along did you say you were?"
"Eight moons now," she whispered back.
Daemon let out a surprised grunt. "You're to have the child here then? That seems unlike you."
"Uncle, my father insisted I come, and I have. Whether the child is born in the North or the South, it is a Targaryen and Stark all the same."
He smiled lightly, "I suppose you're right. If you wish for someone to accompany Lord Stark to the dragon pit to choose a proper egg for the child, only say the word."
Cregan, who had been listening quietly, now leaned in, "I am to choose an egg?"
"It is tradition," she explained. "It can be before, during, or after the birth, but the father chooses the egg. If⊠If you would wish to continue that tradition."
He grinned, "I'd be delighted to try."
When Vaemond Valaryon stepped up forward to speak his mind, the Starks quieted.Â
He spoke in anger, trying to take Luke's right.Â
Y/n looked past him to her mother and siblings.Â
Aegon looked like he'd rather be doing anything else. He didn't care the outcome of this ordeal. Aemond watched intensely with his one eye, taking in every detail. And Helaena⊠sweet Helaena.Â
She needed to visit her and the children soon.
"And her children areâŠ" Vaemond paused.
The room stilled.
"Say it," Daemon whispered under his breath.
"Her children are BASTARDS!" He screamed.
Y/n jumped back in surprise as Cregan's steady hands caught her waist.
"And she. Is. a. Whore." Vaemond finished.
The air in the room stilled and became stuffy as the tension reached an all time high.
Viserys stood on unstable legs as he unsheathed his dagger, "I will have⊠your tongue for this."
A sudden slice moved through the air, and half of Vaemond's head was gone.
Blood splattered across the ones' nearest, meaning the Starks. Cregan let out an annoyed grunt.
"He can keep his tongue," Daemon said proudly as he lowered his sword.
Y/n rested a hand over her swollen stomach with a shaky hand, trying to ignore the blood that began to seep into her clothes.Â
Cregan leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Are you alright?"
"I⊠I want to go," she shuddered back.
He nodded, looking around as the crowd began to whisper amongst themselves. He held a hand firmly against her back as she became to let out an uncomfortable whine.
"Cregan, please," she whispered.
"Alright. Alright, let's go, my love," he said as he tried to move her through the crowd.
But her legs faltered as she let out a pained noise.
He caught her in panic, "Are you in pain?"
"The babeâŠ"
No longer caring for proper manners, Cregan stood tall and looked over the crowd. "MOVE!" He yelled out.
The people quieted and moved as Cregan helped his wife through the room and out of the doors.
Alicent only saw a brief glimpse of her daughter's silver hair go through the doors, and she was on edge. She ran through the crowd to follow behind them.
He held onto his wife's arm with one hand and held her waist with the other, trying to support her as they moved to their chambers.
Y/n let out a gasp, and her water broke.
Alicent caught up to them and grabbed her daughter's other arm. "It's alright. You're alright." She turned to a servant and ordered him to get the maester.Â
Sweat began to break out of the poor woman's forehead as the weight of what is happening began to settle.Â
Once on her bed, Cregan refused to move from her side, Alicent as well. Alicent rubbed soothingly across her daughter's forehead as Cregan paced at the foot of the bed.
The maester and midwives came quickly, immediately moving to the woman in labor.
"My lord, it is best if you remain outside," one of them said.
Cregan's brows furrowed in confusion. "Out⊠Outside?"
Alicent chipped in, "It is tradition. The husband waits outside of the doors."
He stared at Y/n in thought. Tradition. How that word weighed on them like boulders.Â
"Alright."
âŠ
He tried to ignore the sounds of her cries as he stood in the corridor.Â
Nothing could ease his worries.Â
In the North, it was not uncommon to be by their wife's side.Â
This was unusual to him.
"My lord," a midwife questioned as she poked her head from the room.
His eyes widened, "Is she alright?"
"The child is⊠having trouble, my lord."
That was Cregan's greatest fear. The maester in Winterfell had spent endless hours with Cregan to determine a plan for if such a thing were to occur. Now he was without a plan entirely.
"Alright?" He finally breathed.
"What do you wish for us to do?"
"What options do I have?" He spoke barely above a whisper.
The midwife gave him an empathetic look. "We can cut the child out-"
"-No." He was quick with his answer, the very thought of taking a blade to her seeming the greatest sin he could commit.
"Um⊠it will be painful, but we can help her force the child out."
"Is that safe for her?"
The midwife shrugged lightly, "More than any other option I can give you."
He nodded.
She gave a weak smile and moved back into the room, but Cregan caught the door before it closed and forced his way in.
At the sight of his wife, he felt as if a blade went into his own stomach.
She was crying in pain, the midwives forcing her hips down as she tried to move away from the pain, as if that was possible.
At the sight of him, her entire face relaxed, "CreganâŠ"
He moved to her side, "I'm here. How can I help?"
Alicent glared slightly at him.Â
"They won't⊠I can'tâŠ" Y/n whimpered out.
"They won't what?" He looked up to Alicent, "What are they doing?"
"She wishes to get up. We cannot have her standing," she explained.
Cregan was thrown off by that. "She cannot? W⊠Why ever not?" When in labor with him, Cregan's mother was said to have walked the length of Winterfell 3x over.Â
"It hurts⊠please, CreganâŠ"Â
He nodded as his expression hardened. "Let her stand."
The maester shook his head, "She is nearing the labor. She should not-"
"-She wishes to stand. She will stand."
Alicent spoke up. "Lord Stark-"
"-This is my wife and child. If she wishes to walk, then she will," he barked.Â
A fire lit behind the queen's eyes. "She will not."
The midwives watched the tension grow.
Finally, Cregan calmly reached down and began to help his wife sit up.
Alicent cursed under her breath and grabbed Cregan's wrist in an effort to stop him.
Cregan's eyes slowly moved up to Alicent's face as anger began to overcome him.Â
But she was first to speak. "You are no longer in the North. You abide by our traditions when you are here."
He'd heard enough of that word for a lifetime.Â
His words came out sharper than he intended, but he cared little to soften them. "Your family is made of vipers and cutthroats. When I take my wife and child back to Winterfell, it will truly be a miracle if you ever see them again, for I will not let her sit and be neglected and tormented. I am a brute, but I am not without heart. Now, Let. Go."
Alicent reluctantly let go.
Cregan helped Y/n sit, and she immediately felt relief. "I want to walk," she panted.
He nodded, practically holding her up as she stood. "We will walk the corridor and return." His voice had no room for argument.
Once they paced the corridor a few times, she was returned to the bed, only to find that Alicent had left. Cregan only cared about it when he noticed the tinge of sadness that moved over his laboring wife.
But he was quick to fill the gap. As she moved back to the bed, Cregan sat behind her and held her against his chest, messaging anywhere that began to ache.
The labor came soon after that. Cregan held her close as she screamed in pain and gripped his wrists. She surely left bruises.
"The babe is crowning, princess," the midwife exclaimed. "Keep pushing."
The pain came in waves that made her see white.Â
Cregan began to panic when the midwives gave one another a look. "What?"
"She is not pushing hard enough."
Y/n began to cry in frustration.
"She is pushing," Cregan sighed. "What else is there to do?"
One of them reached up and began to push on her stomach, prompting the princess to cry harder as the pain multiplied.Â
"Allow me," Cregan shifted her in his hold and carefully placed his hands where the midwife had, slowly applying pressure to the same place.
As Y/n screamed and cried, Cregan placed assuring kisses against her neck and cheek and whispered calming words to her. "You're doing well."
If the pain had not been so bad, she may have blushed.
âŠ
Cregan held the baby close to his chest as his wife slept.
"My lord," a servant finally entered and interrupted the silence. "The queen has requested to see the child."
An annoyed feeling washed over the man. Of course, she wished to.Â
The servant took note of his changed demeanor, "I can take-"
"-No," he countered. "I will go myself. Should my wife awaken in my absence, give her anything she desires."
His heavy feet stormed from the room and he walked to the queen's chambers.
Alicent turned and shock overcame her. "Lord Stark. I did not expect you to-"
"-Neither did I."
The two stared at one another for a moment before Alicent's eyes wandered to the bundle in the large lord's arms. "Healthy?"
"The very picture."
She nodded, unsure of what to say next.
"A boy," Cregan stated.
"A boy?" Alicent whispered. Any thoughts of annoyance were past to her, and she walked to the lord and eagerly looked at the child.
The baby was indeed the picture of health. Bright purple eyes looked up at the two. Dark hair sat atop his head.
"He's quite northern," she stated.
"Indeed." Cregan was sure she meant it as an insult, but he could care less. The thought of such a gift as a northern boy filled him with pride.Â
"Congratulations, Lord Stark."
He nodded. "Your daughter is fine as well."
Alicent moved away from Cregan and sat down. "That is a blessing. To all of us. She will be a perfect mother."
"Aye, she will."
The tension between the two was evident, but they wouldn't let it dull the excitement of the newest addition to the line.
"I should return to my wife."
"Please, do."
Cregan moved to the door.
"Lord Stark?" She asked.
"Yes?"
Alicent stared at him and then the babe. "Thank you. For caring for her. And now him. You are a better man than most."
Cregan sighed. It wasn't a compliment, but it was something. "Thank you, my queen. She will want for nothing until my dying breath."
"This is all I wished for her."
......................................................
Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver
#fanfiction#game of thrones x reader#cregan stark x reader#cregan stark x you#house of the dragon fanfiction#game of thrones fanfiction#house of the dragon#game of thrones x y/n#game of thrones imagine#cregan stark x y/n#cregan stark x targaryen!reader#cregan x reader#cregan stark imagine#cregan stark#cregan stark fanfic#hotd cregan#house of the dragon imagine#drew drools over cregan stark
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here with me | s.r.
four times Spencer feels out of place in your house after being released from prison, and one time it's like he never left
margotober masterlist
who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: mom!reader, dad!spencer, post prison, crying, stephen walker's death, non-specified illness, baking, kissing word count: 3.58k a/n: i love this fic format i have been wanting to do it for ages. and here we are. as always-tell me how you feeeeeeeel
âI wanna stay home,â your daughter whined from her place at the kitchen table. She periodically reached to her sisterâs high chair so that she could steal blueberries from her plate.
You hummed, pouring the egg mixture into the preheated skillet, âWe played hooky yesterday, bub. Weâve gotta go back to school today.â Using a silicone spatula, you started to scramble the eggs.
She grumbled unintelligibly, dramatically sliding down the chair, âLivvy gets to stay home.â
Turning down the heat on the stove, you went around the counter and crouched in front of your five-year-old, âWell, Livvyâs two, and before you ask, Finnâs not going to school either.â
âFinnâs a baby, mom. He canât go to school,â she told you proudly.
You frowned at your daughter, âItâs hard to be the oldest, honey. We canât keep staying home.â Ruffling her hair affectionately, you get up from the floor and go back to the stove, you continue scrambling the eggs.
To your eldest, going back to kindergarten was a fate worse than death. It wasnât strictly that she didnât want to go to school, it was that she didnât want to leave home. The sniffle from the table lets you know that this morning was going to be harder than you initially anticipated. âI wanna stay with daddy,â she cried, kicking her legs at the table.
Turning off the heat, you set the pan on a trivet before going back to the table, âI know,â you responded. Every time you thought you had run out of tears, new ones managed to find their way out.
Of your three kids, Eleanor was old enough to really feel Spencerâs absence. To your dismay, she ended up bearing some of the burden of her father being gone for three months. After staying with your parents for a few days, she was finally reunited with her dad yesterday morning, and they had been nearly inseparable since.
âOh, Nell,â you sighed, cupping her cheeks in your hands, âI donât know if daddy has plans today. He has a lot of stuff that needs to be done.
Pulling away from your touch, she frantically wiped the tears from her eyes, âI can do stuff too,â she whimpered.
She unwound your resolve like a ball of yarn, âI know you can, honey. I justâŠâ you faltered. You had let her miss so much school over the last three months that the school had sent letters home, âWeâll just have to see.â
You sighed helplessly, standing back up and smiling softly at Olivia, who had successfully gotten blueberry juice everywhere. Returning to the kitchen, you put some scrambled eggs on Eleanorâs plate and put more in a bowl for Olivia, setting it aside to cool more before you give it to your toddler.
Putting the pan in the sink, you flipped on the tap before starting to clean it. While you kept a watchful eye on the baby monitor, you didnât notice Spencer come downstairs and walk into the kitchen. In fact, you were completely unaware of his presence until he spoke, âCan I help with anything?â
You lost your grip on the pan, sending soapy water flying all over the kitchen as you frantically tried to catch the handle. Eleanor either didnât notice or didnât care. Olivia thought it was hilarious. âOh,â you breathed as Spencer reached over and turned off the water, âYou scared me.â
The two of you shared a timid glance, his hand ghosting over your waist as he walked past you to where the girls were sitting.
Biting the dead skin off of your lips, you finished rinsing the pan before setting it on a drying mat. You were wiping down the countertop when Finn finally woke up, and you dropped everything to go get him from his crib, almost like you were running on autopilot.
Unzip the sleep sack. Change the diaper. Get dressed. Cuddle him. Every morning. In that order.
Resting the groggy baby on your hip, you made your way back downstairs and into the kitchen, starting the bottle warmer and listening to the conversation between Spencer and Nellie.
âWhat if you go to school today, but on Friday we can both take the day off? We could go out for lunch,â he offered, crouching down so he was at her level.
She looked pointedly over at Olivia, who was happily eating the eggs that you assumed Spencer had given her, now thoroughly doused in ketchup, âJust us?â
Spencer nodded reassuringly, âIf itâs okay with mommy, we can have a daddy and Nellie day.â He reached out tentatively and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, everything about him seemed so timid.
You looped around the kitchen table, ruffling Oliviaâs hair before doing the same to Eleanorâs and even Spencerâs, which made Olivia giggle.
âCan I?â Spencer asked, nodding his head to the bottle that you had just grabbed from the warmer.
Blinking absently for a moment, you eventually nodded, handing Finn over to his dad along with the bottle, watching as Spencer cradled him, walking him around the kitchen while his bottle was clamped between his tiny hands. âHey, girls, time to get dressed,â you said, forcing yourself to peel your eyes off of your husband.
Eleanor groaned but got up anyway, trudging up the steps while you followed with Olivia in your arms, feeling like you were missing something without Finn also in tow.
Nell made her way back down first, sitting on the couch and watching her dad, keeping an eye on him like she was afraid he was going to disappear before her very eyes. âDaddy?â She whispered, her voice barely audible from your place at the top of the stairs.
âYeah?â He asked, you heard the sound of him setting the bottle in the sink.
Sheâs quiet for a moment before responding, âI missed you.â
Spencerâs footsteps stopped abruptly, âI missed you too, lovebug.â
You started to make your way down the stairs, letting Olivia go down on her own now that she wasnât covered in blueberry. Eleanor looked at you with big eyes before helping her sister climb up on the couch. âFinny, Finny, Finny,â Olivia echoed.
Zipping up Eleanorâs school lunch in her bag, you sighed, hoping you were doing the right thing by sending her to school. âHey, Nell,â you said, checking a new message on your phone, âMrs. Jareau is here.â
JJâs carpools had saved you multiple times while Spencer was in prison, you were just grateful she was willing to continue them.
Normally, sheâd run out the door at the prospect of being able to talk to Henry, but this time she lingered by the front door, holding her backpack straps in her hands and staring at her dad, âWill you be here when I get home?â
He looked at you, a thousand emotions flashing in his brown eyes, and he squatted in front of her, âIâll be here,â he said, holding out his pinky finger to interlock with her much smaller one. âI promise,â he said, kissing her forehead before standing up.
Once you knew she was off to school, you made sure Olivia was settled in on the couch and Finn was in his bouncer before going back to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. You were placing dishes in the dishwasher when Spencer came back.
âIâm sorry,â he said, leaning against the countertop and handing you a bowl to put on the top rack.
Taking the bowl, you didnât look at him as you placed it in the dishwasher before putting a tablet in and pressing the start button, âI wish youâd stop apologizing.â
He stepped slightly closer to you, âI know. Itâs just⊠watching you handle all three of them in the morning. Itâs incredible,â he praised you. âI left you alone,â he said mournfully.
You shrugged, having never really thought of it that way, âYou didnât leave me alone. I had them,â you said, nodding in the direction of the living room, where Finn and Olivia were having a conversation that only the two of them could understand.
You sighed in relief as the shower water washed over you, an early afternoon shower just before Eleanor got home from school, the little ones were down for their naps, and you had to race against time before one of them woke up. It didnât give you a lot of time to just sit under the running water, but youâd have enough time to wash your hair before you needed to pause the shower.
You had narrowly avoided disaster this morning when the girlsâ breakfasts had been mixed up. Thankfully, you navigated a toddler meltdown that was triggered by the appearance of ham in her eggs. Poor Spencer was still confused even after you explained to him that she wouldnât eat ham because itâs pink and pink is her favorite color.
It wasnât something that made a lot of sense to you either, but the only person that it needed to make sense to was your two-year-old.
Rinsing your hair, you remembered how happy Spencer had been when he got Finn down last night. Heâd spent the day talking about how babies donât start to really recognize faces until theyâre around four months old, and that was about how old he was when Spencer left.
Finn knew his dad. Heâd even started reaching out for him when he wanted to be held but feeling comfortable enough to be put down for the night by himâit felt like a milestone.
The crying started right after you finished rinsing your hair, you quickly shut off the water and grabbed your towel off of the hook. Wrapping it around yourself, you dried off your feet before opening the bathroom. Sometimes when Finn cried while you were in the shower, youâd just bring him in with you to finish, but when you opened the door, his tears were already waning.
Spencer had gotten to him first, scooping him out of the crib in your room and holding him to his chest, âHey, buddy,â he cooed softly, âWhatâs wrong?â
The baby chattered in response, gripping the cotton of Spencerâs t-shirt in his tiny fists and wiping his tears away.
âYouâre alright,â Spencer whispered, placing him on your bed to undo his sleep sack, smiling at his son when he kicked his legs once freed. âYou just wanted to be held, huh? Your sister was the same way when she was a baby,â he said.
Nell. He was remembering Nell as a baby, who slept best when she was being held and would cry if you were out of her line of sight.
Spencer turned around, stopping in his tracks when he saw you in the doorway, âDid you finish?â
Youâd been caught, âOh. Could you get a new soap from the hall closet? Weâre out,â you fibbed, mindful of the way your hair was still dripping wet.
He frowned, âI just put a new one in this morning. Did you look on the caddy?â
Blinking, you shook your head, âNo, my bad.â
You had already started closing the door when he called for you, âHoney?â
Pausing, you peeked out the door to look at him, âYeah?â
âIâm here,â he told you, something urgent in his tone.
Your face warmed, the reminder of his presence making your heart race, âIââ you faltered, âI know.â
You had managed to get Nell out the door without a fight this morning with the promise of her father-daughter date tomorrow. Olivia was settled with her toys in your line of sight and Finn was in a sling. The baby hadnât slept well last night, and you were fairly certain that he had a new tooth poking through. He seemed fine now, catching up on sleep while you wiped down the kitchen.
Spencer was across from you, filling out some required papers for his reinstatement hearing. He hadnât fully committed to seeking reinstatement until you brought it up. Frankly, you were horrified by the fact that Spencer was under the impression that you would ask him to leave the BAU for any reason.
âWhat do you have planned today?â Spencer asked you, still focusing on the papers while making gentle conversation with you.
You raised your eyebrows briefly, âReally awesome exciting stuff.â You took a sip of your coffee before adjusting Finnâs sling. Very slowly, you were beginning to find a new routine with Spencer and the kids in the morning. Spencer was learning about everything that had changed, and you were learning how to give him more responsibilities around the house.
You needed to let go of the notion that you were still alone. Spencer hummed in response, laughing at your blatant oversell, âLike what?â
Smiling, you dried your hands on a tea towel before standing next to him, distracting him from his paperwork with the cuteness of a sleeping baby. âThere is so much dirty laundry in this house,â you told him, âIâm surprised anyone has any clean clothes.â
âAnything else?â Spencer asked, placing one hand gently on your hip and pressing a tentative kiss to your lips.
You hesitated, âUh, cooking?â
He looked at you curiously, âCooking for what?â
Chewing on the inside of your lip, you looked over at Olivia, making sure she was preoccupied before answering, âMonica and the kids.â
Realization dawned over Spencerâs face, âOh,â he breathed. It didnât surprise you that Spencer had conflicting feelings about Stephenâs death, given that he hadnât known him that well prior to his arrest, but he and his family had grown close to you in your husbandâs absence.
You nodded, âThereâs a meal train thing going on for them, so I was going to make some stuff and drop it there later.â Tentatively, you smoothed Spencerâs hair back, needing something to do with your hands, âMaya used to babysit a lot when I needed extra hands. I just want to feel like Iâm returning the favor.â
âCan I come with you?â Spencer asked, tilting his head back to look up at you.
Smiling softly at him, you answered, âOf course.â You sniffled, âIf we time it right, we could pick Nell up from school at the end of the day.â
He squeezed your hip comfortingly, âI love you.â
You leaned down and kissed him again, âI love you too.â
The chattering woke you up, Finn in his crib talking to himself as you glared at the alarm clock. It was just past three in the morning, and the second thing you noticed was that you were alone in your bed.
You sat up in a panic, worried you had dreamt the past few weeks until your eyes found Spencerâs watch sitting on his nightstand. Rubbing your eyes, you dragged yourself out of bed before getting Finn from his crib, taking his sleep sack off to make him easier to hold, âHey,â you whispered, âLetâs go find daddy.â
It didnât take you long, Spencer was sitting on the floor in the hallway, his knees bent to his chest as he looked into Nellâs room, her space nightlight providing a soft glow into the hallway.
âIf you move to the left about a foot, you can see both of them at the same time,â you informed him.
He listened, shifting over so that he could see Eleanor and Olivia at the same time, both of them sleeping peacefully in their beds. Spencer looked up at you, âWhy do you know that?â
You slid down the wall, taking a seat next to him and settling Finn lengthwise along your thighs, âAt the beginning of March, Nell brought home a virus from school and gave it to Liv, and then one of them gave it to Finn. So, Iâd sit out here in the hallway and watch the girls with Finny in my lap,â you told him, leaning your head on his shoulder. âJust so Iâd be nearby if any of them needed anything,â you kept your voice at a whisper, rocking your legs in hopes that it would soothe Finn back to sleep.
Spencer didnât respond for a moment, thinking through what you had said before finally speaking up, âNo one told me theyâd been sick.â
Humming, you smoothed the babyâs hair back, keeping it out of his face, âI didnât tell anyone.â To this day, no one else knew that you had juggled three sick kids at once, âI lied to JJ and told her that I was keeping Nell home for a few days, and she didnât push for more information.â No one had pushed you for anything in the past three months.
âWhy didnât you ask for help?â Spencer asked, leaning his head on yours and resting a hand on your knee.
You didnât want to, quite honestly. You hadnât wanted to have to call your mom or anyone from the BAU when you needed help because it felt like an admission of sorts. Admitting that Spencer was gone long-term and that you were a solo parent. âI donât know,â you lied, âI felt like I had something to prove to the world.â
Spencer swallowed thickly next to you, âDid it work?â
Shaking your head, you sighed a breath of relief at his presence, âNo.â
He was quiet for a while, likely wallowing in a pit of guilt that he had been constructing for weeks, âWe should get him back to bed.â
âSpence?â You whispered, closing your eyes and listening to the sounds of your quiet house, âCan we just stay like this for a little while?â
Humming a confirmation, Spencer placed a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, leaving his hand resting on your knee while the two of you remained in the hallway, enjoying each otherâs company.
âWe shouldâve done cupcakes,â you said mournfully, turning on the oven light to see that there was something very off about the cake youâd put in the oven.
Spencer hummed, looking at the recipe again to see if there was something you had missed, âWhy didnât we do cupcakes?â
You huffed, âThe Pinterest photo I found was of a cake.â It was a perfect cake, complete with a purple graduation cap made out of fondant that you could put on the top. The only problem was you had severely overestimated your baking abilities.
âSo,â Spencer started, âItâs your fault.â
Scoffing, you tapped his chest with a silicone spatula, âItâs the fault of whoever posted the original photo!â
Spencer smiled at you, a dopey look in his eyes despite it being one in the morning. âWe shouldâve asked Penelope to do the cake,â he told you, flipping over the recipe you had printed out.
âWe can make a cake,â you retorted, you were throwing a very small party for Nellâs last day of kindergartenâthe first time youâve invited a group over since Spencer was arrested. âYou have three PhDs and you donât think you can bake a cake?â
He raised his eyebrows at you, âThis might come as a surprise to you, but none of my coursework ever involved baking.â
You grinned at him, âThat does surprise me, itâs basically chemistry,â you challenged.
Spencer rolled his eyes, âOkay, come here,â he said, pulling you into his arms by the fabric of your t-shirt.
Realization fell over you as you scrambled to get away, âNo! Youâre gonna put frosting on my nose again.â It would be his second offense of the evening.
He followed you into the living room where you tripped over a toy truck, causing you to fall to the ground. When he offered a hand to help you up, you tugged him to the floor, causing one of the balloons that you had previously blown up to pop.
You covered your mouth to muffle your giggles, waiting to see if the noise had woken any of the kids up.
The kids were all so happy to have Spencer back, but your stomach twisted at the realization that this was the first night youâd really felt like you had Spencer back. You loved the kids, but you havenât had a moment without them since February.
âHey,â you said to Spencer, rolling over and flinging a balloon at him for good measure.
Carefully, you rested your chin on his chest, staring at him while he tried to calm his own laughter, âHi,â he said back, ruffling your hair affectionately.
You took a deep breath before speaking up again, âI missed you.â
You hadnât said it yet. Youâd developed some misconstrued fear of making him feel guilty if youâd told him just how much you missed him, but it was the truth. You missed him. He smiled softly down at you, almost as if he had been waiting for you to say the words. âI missed you too,â he whispered.
Slowly, you lifted yourself up and pressed your lips to his, kissing him. It was more than any of the quick pecks youâd shared in the last few weeks, it was real. His hands dug into your waist as if he was afraid you were going to disappear, but you stayed there. You stayed with him, and you always would.
Up until the timer for the cake went off, your phone buzzing in your pocket when you finally pulled away. Breathing heavily, Spencer asked, âIs it too late to ask Penelope to do the cake?â
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fluff#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#criminal minds fic#spencer reid x fem!reader#written by margot#spencer reid dilf agenda
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SHOW ME WHO YOU ARE .á ââ PITFIGHTER VI. been wanting to do something like this for a while now omg. i keep thinking about @shouyuusâs work and i decided to make my own version, because ⊠i have rotted for far too long over this woman and i cannot lose any more sleep.
TAGS . . . 18+ !!! , f.reader , meeting at the bar , drunk vi , but she sobers up as she fucks you , vi yearning for you .
+ @eveningatthemoviesnetwork @thehoneypotserver @pixelcafe-network <33 tysm guys
ᯠĘË PITFIGHTER VI probably spotted you across the bar she always crashes into after her bloodied wins. sheâd definitely give you a look and continue to stare even when you catch her, her eyes darkened and her brows furrowed as if sheâd met you before and that non-existent encounter held a gory weight.
Ë â¶ PITFIGHTER VI pushed past all the people dancing and flailing around just to get to you. some poor guy even tripped and fell on his ass just from her drunken shove aloneâand seeing as she too were fighting ghosts to keep from swaying, it couldnât have been that strong of a push. then againâthis is vi, the pitfighter champion.
ᯠĘË PITFIGHTER VI somehow had the balls to let loose in front of you while you were trying to dance by yourself. you surprisingly didnât mind despite how heavy her glances were, and it was almost telepathic how you both communicated wordlessly when you allowed her hands to rest on your waist.
Ë â¶ PITFIGHTER VI kisses like she didnât wreak of cheap liquor, her tongue nearly pinning your own down from how aggressive she was with needing to feel you on her. chest to chest, she supported your back when she continued to push against you like she knew she had this horrible habit of greed, of needing everything from something as sweet as you in three seconds, physical limitations be damned.
ᯠĘË PITFIGHTER VI cursed herself when she grabbed your hand and led you back to her room, knowing exactly how disgusting and grimy her sweat-filled bed was and had of course decided sheâd rather get a slap to the face for even thinking youâd ever lie down on that thing than not try at all. what do you take her for, a madwoman? with a girl like you, she would be if she didnât take you somewhere when you gave her enthusiastic consent.
Ë â¶ PITFIGHTER VI seems like sheâs begging to get lockjaw when her tongue swirls anxiously around your clit, every so often flicking upwards in that sweet spot sheâd discovered made you squeal and arch your back. how you reached new heights in both your moans and your nerves when she very carefully slipped a finger in, her thumb replacing her tongue when she rose up again and let you taste yourself on her tongue without warning. you grabbed her shoulders as if you want to shove her away, and when she entertains the idea that you could in fact hold a candle to her strength, she just huffed and smiled before going, âyou opened your mouth, princess. donât tell me you didnât like that.â
ᯠĘË PITFIGHTER VI finally gets to fucking you and holy shit she was waiting so painfully long for youâher first strokes of her clit against your own were rough from the very start, both of you soaking and bubbling from everything that had been happening tonightâexcept she held out on her own pleasure just so she could see you come undone on her tongue and fingers. She bucks her hips against you roughly and the initial contact is explosiveâyou both moan in unison, yours higher and shakier as if racing her to something. you fell limp right after that first stroke and she continued to hold your leg up against her, hips bucking at a frenzied pace like she could see your orgasm approaching quickly, stopping at nothing to claw and fight to bring it back down to earth and let it spill all over her.
Ë â¶ PITFIGHTER VI has a death grip on your thighs and your waist when you cum, making sure you donât squirm away now as your clit and hers throb in an unspoken rhythm like theyâve done this before and have made their shapes match perfectly with where contact is made and rubbed and heightened. Youâre certain thereâll be bruises where her thumbs dug into her skin, and you can see it on her face the way one corner of her lips turn up just because she managed not to dig her nails into your skin but oh fuck is it going to bruise. she doesnât even seem to realize, sheâs too drunk on your clit to think now.
ᯠĘË PITFIGHTER VI cums and you scream because she pushes her clit all the way up yours like she wants to take up all of you in a capacity physically and biologically impossible for either of youâbut she pulls your leg and waist towards her anyway, screaming your name when she cums and she pants, letting her grip lax finally as half-mast black-smeared eyes drag up your body from one last lick of the view before she collapses next to you, both of you panting and taking in the liquor and sweat.
Ë â¶ PITFIGHTER VI found the strength in her to somehow get up and pass you her waterbottle. when you tried to sit up, you winced and she snapped her head back to you only to put the waterbottle aside and slide a leg under your knee, her left arm slipping under the curves and lumps of your back and its bones before lifting you like you were wind ready to slip away. âhey woah woahâiâve got you,â she muttered and you swore stars circled your head at how incredibly gentle she sounded, as if someone elseâs sweet, unused and unexercised voice made it into such a hard-trained throat and still managed to stay soft despite everything. her handâs grip was tight but her arms were so stable you might as well have been lying on a rock or a bumpy wall.
ᯠĘË PITFIGHTER VI lent you her jacket when she offered to at least send you off to wherever you needed to be in the morning. you were about to shrug the jacket off when it was time to leave but she chuckled weakly as her hands weigh it down on your shoulders, keeping it there before going, ânah, return it to me when we see each other next time. iâll be at the bar every night.â
Ë â¶ PITFIGHTER VI lost her mind even more than she already had when you didnât return for the next three days. her punching bag broke from its chain, stuffing blasting in her face and she had to go through one hell of a hassel to get a new one. but all she thought of was you and so she was ending fights quicker, thinning her voice and reducing it to a coarse hair of a sound from all the screaming. even if she had wiped the spot where both of you came, she flipped her mattress the moment she found the stain.
ᯠĘË PITFIGHTER VI jacked off to you eventually, needing to forget you quickly but after cumming found that it just might be her end because she canât forget how sweet you smell, the taste of you somehow still lingering even when a week or two has gone by and sheâs weakened by the lack of your essenceânot just from your clit but from the saccharine flowers that you managed to plant in her head and her chest with the memory of your smile, eyes narrowed like it was making room for such a pretty thing. she canât breathe when she jacks off to you, remembering how your hips twitched into her at how good her clit felt against yours.
#vi x reader#vi x you#vi x y/n#vi arcane#arcane#netflix arcane#arcane netflix#arcane violet#violet x reader#violet x you#violet x y/n#vi fanfic#arcane fanfic#arcane fandom#arcane smut#lipsent.dvds#lipsent . . . works
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"good god, she's on the floor rollin' her eyes at me"
ft. itoshi rin . aged up! . inexperienced x experienced . ooc!rin ? . rin lwk go easy on u . fem! reader . established relationships . fingering . cunnilingus . smut . unreliable narrator
wc: 0.7k (715)
imagine the amount of pride the itoshi rin had received when he finally was able to convince his always hesitant n worried partner to let him pleasure her. huh... crazy to believe this itoshi has some experience despite being a disrespectful, unfriendly, idgaf ahh attitude man.
he swore you were like a siren luring him in. you being splayed across the bed as he was prodding and sliding his fingers in n outta your slit while eating away at your pussy like a fucking starved man...
never in your damn life would you expect to see the seemingly cold but, beautiful man in between your legs â makin' a damn mess. "r-rin!" you managed to moan out. your voice was so strained after all that screaming.
your legs wrapped around his head into a headlock. your grip on his hair got tighter and tighter. that wasn't the only thing that got tighter. your core was burning, his tongue flicking up n down your clit while he slip his fingers out of your heated hole. stroking the lips sensually.
"r-rin i swear t'god you gotta stooop!" you whined, biting your lower lip. tears were going to rush out of your eyes, it felt so good.
"you're gonna kill me rin! rinnie stop- i- can't! i'm gonna die !" you choked out. your last straw was him shoving his fingers back in, curling them inside your hole. it hit that damn sweet spot. fuck. he bit your clit as your legs loosened around his head. you swear you felt a smirk when you came all over his gorgeous face.
he spent zero time lapping your juices all up. rin had a deadpan face as he removed his face from your soaking cunt. his fingers were still in you, showing no remorse. finally, there was some emotion shown in face. "you'd die for me right, [name]?" he chuckled. "with the way your pussy is clenching against my fingers, the way you taste, fuck. i think i'd die for you too."
you were finally catching your breath before he dived right back in. you let out a yelp as you pulled his hair. "rin- rinrinrinrinrin!" you repeated almost religiously with tears in your eyes.
the striker had made you came god knows how many times now. . no clue. all you knew was this man would be the fucking death of you the way that warm tongue swirling around in your hole. his tongue was stimulating your labia.
you thought you were goign crazy 'til he hummed a little against your poor poor pussy :c something inside you sparked as you gripped his hair harder. your core tightened. the heat was getting to you. your legs were jus dangling down his shoulders as he kept eating you ut.
his tongue were hitting that sweet spot within you again. was it just you or did it feel like he had found a spot even sweeter n deeper than that spot? ah. whatever. you were going insane from the stimulation. his fingers were playing around with your little bud.
you were going crazy. genuinely insane at this point. you pulled so damn hard on rin's hair as a scream had erupted from you. your core was so heated and tight. your hands loosened, so did your legs. you squirted all over him. you were panting, heaving all of the above.
rin withdrew himself from your pussy after "cleaning" it up (basically licking up all ur juices lol.) "[name]?" he began, "was that your first time squirting..? that was so damn hot." his words came deaf upon your ears. c'mon. you were literally trying to catch your breath.
he slipped hisf ingers out, giving you a soft kiss in your inner thigh. he tapped you after kissing your plush thighs. you finally calmed down â recovered a lil. "you good?" rin asked. you look at him with a softer expression. "mhm." weakly left your lips.
"you better be. cause i can't wait anymore." he grunted as he stood up, looking down at you. "h-huh..?" you mumbled confused as your blurry vision became clear again. your eyes widened as you saw his hard, girthy n lengthy cock.
before you knew it, he was aligning his member along your slit. oh you were in for a ride tonight.
â ©isaisliterallyhim, 2025
a/ n: ew ew first time writing smut LOL hpefully its readable.. i did not proofread at all cus um... i have to focus on school but oh my gaaawd.. i have such a soft spot for rin. sorry if this is extremely bad written n bad plot i lack experience. the english is also uh.. please spare me! anyways rin brainrot fdjgjeafud hehe rin reminded me of the song die for me hence the title kkejrjre
#bllk#blue lock#bllk x y/n#bllk x you#bllk x reader#bllk smut#blue lock x y/n#blue lock x you#blue lock x reader#blue lock smut#itoshi rin x reader#rin itoshi x reader#rin itoshi x you#rin itoshi x y/n#itoshi rin x y/n#itoshi rin x you#smut#itoshi rin#i love itoshi rin#hes so cute#drabble#blue lock imagines#imagine#wtf is smut...!#chase atlantic was playing#i love chase atlantic#isaisliterallyhimwrites
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â iâm in love with a dying man
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rating: mature. or explicit? iâm not sure. angsty study on grief in unconventional forms. (mild) smut purely for poetic reasons
word count: 4,1k
pairing: viktor x gn!reader
cw: terminal illness. several mentions of death. everyone is horny in a heartbroken way, so grab a napkinâbut not for the reasons you think. and yes, you may dox me for making you even sadder after whatever happened in ep 6.
â
He licks a tear off your cheek, and it seeps in between the bumps on his tongue, all prickly salt running down your face in two glossy trails of sorrow. Stinging, when his calloused thumb swipes over a puffy eyelid, only to inevitably fall to your lip and tug, nudging your mouth agape. His desperate grip softens when you oblige and arch, letting him grunt over the slope of your throat; wheezier than you remember, raw, rhotic and ravenous. The hard shift of his lungs is palpable under your hand, ruckling heavily in his sternum. It almost breaks down to a cough when he cants his hips into you, slanting one last slow, weak slam. Spilling all his pent-up frustration deep inside you through that bitter orgasm, leaving a clumsy mess of stickiness to dry on your inner thigh. Stilling for you to hold him through that collapse, grateful for the shaky hand that you firmly fist into his hair. Not receding until at least a few kisses are strewn upon your shoulder.Â
Itâs always like this now. Viktor clings to you, and you cling to him, nails digging into handfuls of him hard enough to draw blood, each embrace so tight your ribs might just break if he doesnât retreat in time. And god does he wish to let it linger, to drag it out until eternity tumbles inâeven if his eternity is reduced to a question of mere months at best, even if he must crawl out of a casket to have your touch back.Â
The night you almost lost him still has you in shambles. You remember it all too wellâhell, itâs almost like that acute smell of hospitals and doom still coats his skin, more slimline than it ever was, its once ivory shade fading to chalk-like disaster. The utter horror of crushing verdicts, endless heaps of bloodied handkerchiefs and palms so cold that even the heat of your breath fails to make the feeling of him any less chilling.Â
The dark humor of sneaky death: sheâs right around the corner, the cruelest of all mistresses. Ready to snatch him away whenever your fingers ghost over his spine, stroking a languid count over each prominent vertebrae. And no matter how tight you curl up beside him, she will supplant you, and her proximity canât be measured in miles, feet, or inches. Because death is a termiteâshe gnaws at his very heart. And blooms metastases everywhere you still have him. Sheâs inside him. Sheâs merged with him into one.
At first, you denied it. Knuckles drummed against the wall in a frustrated fistfight, painting that scabrous canvas bright with your frustration. White and crimsonâthe speckled pattern of your hysteria. You recall how bad it stung, and how shame creeped up your spineâfrightening and so, so sticky. Throttling, when he tended to that self-inflicted disaster, bandaging your smashed hand in motions sick to the core with gentleness.Â
And it felt so ugly. Like youâve grown to loathe everything around you: the doctors, for their disgusting prognosis; life itself, for being hardly fair. And even Viktor. Especially himâfor slowly slipping out of your pale-knuckled grip. Well, red-knuckled, more like. That angry stunt did cost you a decent injury. White and crimson, remember?Â
Naturally, grief doesnât always progress by the book. However, denial always comes first. Itâs an axiom, an invariable component, and youâre sitting on Viktorâs hospital cot, hand in trembling hand, eyes snapped wide and ferocious. Wrapped up in fear while the silence rings in your ears.Â
His doctor addresses the quandary. It doesnât feel viciousâat least, not yet. Flimsy, more like. Deceptive, too. Like if you just blink it away hard enough everything will snap right in place, and youâll find yourself at home againâwhere that aseptic smell of medication canât reach either of you.Â
Well, of course, thereâs always a possibility of postponing the inevitable. Winning over a year or, even, twoâif Viktorâs lucky enough, that is. But you both know that heâs lacking in that department.
And yet, you grab your little hope by the throat: to look into later, when your comprehension is intact again. Surely, itâs just not plausible: so what if Viktorâs cough pulls you out of sleep every night, so what if every shirt he owns has tiny blood stains on it? Yes, he spends more time in bed than he does at the lab. Heâs simply tired. He needs the rest. Not in peace.Â
The retraction doesnât linger, though. It survives a few more blood tests and a lengthy, dreadful discussion of his calamityâmost strikingly frightening when the doctor talks him through each option. And not a single one manages to appease you. To stop your fury from retching out and causing an ugly scene.Â
So you fling the door to his room ajar and leap inside with a bitter scowl, teeth gritting hard enough to crumble into powder. Arms a tight crisscross over your chest, step wide and listlessâpunctuated with a muffled clack of heels. Viktorâs eyes follow your tremulous circlesâa lazy, sheenless flick of pupils, each widened into a bleak void from the rancid dose of painkillers. He lays supine, with his hair ineptly slicked back, umber waves awry, loose and sweat-damp. Heâs almost mellow, tongue barely a glide over his chapped bottom lipâa martyr-like stiffness, the carrion of a man.Â
But you donât look at him. You pace, and pace, and paceâin that same tiring route, all around his creaky cot. Viktor rasps something indistinctâa muffled plea that tickles the back of his throat, rupturing yet another coughing fit. You silently hand him the speckled handkerchief.Â
He looks up, eyes the saddest shade of buckwheat honeyâdark with remorse; seeking comfort. But you donât have any to give. You stare past him, gnawing at your tongue hard enough to draw fleshy copper. Dodging the kiss he tries to press to your wristâpulling yourself back and out of his loving grip, igniting a staring competition full of glassy eye-daggering. Blink slow and borderline drowsy.Â
âMilackĂș,â he pleads. Pulls at the corner of his mouth to wipe the bloody evidence of his withering.Â
Your tear catches in your bottom lashes.Â
âMilackĂș,â he rasps again, kicking the blanket aside. Stepping one bare foot on the cool tiles and reaching for you: arms, legs, and heartâall yours for the taking. If only you consider crawling under his minty sheets again.Â
You donât.Â
âWhy?â Itâs so meek you barely recognize it as your own. Taut throat tightens even more, and, suddenly, youâre choking on a gasp. âWhy did you turn down the treatment?âÂ
âPlease, if you could justââ He husks, but you canât hear him through the ringing in your ears; the room already smudged into wattery, astigmatic lumps, Viktorâs face but a bunch of fuzzy dots youâre struggling to make out. All missing jigsaws, blurry little fractions.Â
âWhat did I ever do to you?â You yell, shielding your eyes. Turning away from the arm he extends, his weak fist clenching to grab thin air, then tumbling as he stares at his palm in sheer dubiety, upper lip trembling.Â
He winces. Ceases you by the hand and tugs as hard as it getsâfrail enough for you to easily nudge him awayâbut you donât bother this time. Your knees ungainly bend into shaky arcs, drifting apart when he clasps around you and pulls until you finally land on the sheets next to him, your tears mingling with his cold sweatâa salty fusion of mutual suffering.
Then comes a sequence of guttural, squealing whines and you stay twined with him for a while. Lithe fingers run through your hair, spreading to untangle an occasional knotted strandâup, and down, and over your shoulder in a caress. His lips purse on your temple, sucking an indistinct kiss. His heartbeat trails off under your fingertips the second you rake them over his thin hospital gown, growing frenetic again when you tug at the fabric, demanding closure.
âPlease. Please donât do this to me.â You exhale your choked up entreaty into his neck and it pours over his skin in a rigid breath, aftertasting of stinging desperation. His hand seeks your face, taking a forcefully gentle hold of one puffy cheek, drinking in your unsightly, woebegone rebuke. Looking at you like a repentant devotee, his timid eyes meeting your fierce ones.
âThis is not about you,â he wheezes, too stern for your liking. Presses his forehead against yours and holds you through yet another shudderâand thereâs no avoiding his pleading stare. âIâm not trying to get away from you. I merely want to escape my conundrum.âÂ
âThese arenât mutually exclusive, Viktor,â you hiss, voice simmering with betrayal.Â
âUnfortunately.âÂ
âUnfortunately?! Is that all you have for me right now?âÂ
âIâm afraid so.âÂ
He sighs like he means it. His words keep slipping away from him, drowned in coughs and ambiguous humms. You get it, though. Your semantics became sparse the minute Viktor almost died in your arms.Â
You melt into one-another in a teary, sniffling twineâsimply breathing, trading tense silences. His stately stance collapses into a lifeless hunch, straightening a bit only when your fingers billow over his shoulder-bladesâchiseled like ones of a famished dog. There are plenty of dog-like things about him nowâthe pleas lodged in his glances, the newfound hunger for your touch. Especially for the way youâre holding him; every embrace like a loving headlockâand the pressure soothes him.Â
âIâm tired of taking risks,â he finally whispers against your temple. âAll these⊠labored efforts for mere fractions of peace. Decaying steadily. Constantly hurting. Iâm spent.âÂ
âExactly. Which is why you need the treatment.âÂ
His lashes shudder against your cheek in a prickly tickle. They keep fluttering when he recedes, shaking his head with a bitter frown.
âBut its success is⊠highly improbable.âÂ
âYes, but thereâs still hopeââ
âItâs running thin as we speak. I shouldnât squander it on⊠the imminent.âÂ
Viktorâs irksome choice of words had you springing backwards in glossy-eyed delirium. Staring in disbelief as if heâd requested something inexorable: which he did, inherently so.Â
He curses when tears slice your face againâtends to them with the softness of a man most contrite of his omission, shaky hands already catching holds of your waist, using your temporary pliancy to swiftly nudge you into his cot. Curling up close enough to have your weeps reverberate in his sternum.Â
âIâm sorry,â he repents with a deep rasp. âPlease, donât cry.âÂ
He held you in reticence again: this time horizontally. Offered you every solace his body could provide: your fingers in his hair, fumbling mindlessly (he put them there himself). Tangled legs. Apologetic neck-kisses. His head heavy on your shoulder, its weight a welcome tranquility. And only when your last tear soaks his pillow does he commence with his explanation.Â
âI donât want to spend what little time I have left miserable,â he tells you, drawing a breath. âYes, the treatment might win me a yearâa year I would spend bedridden, nauseous, and weary. A travesty of life. An illusive salvation. Iâve had enough of those.âÂ
Your hand stills in his hair, nestled within unkempt strands. Youâve run out of tears, so this bitter truth is met with nothing but a piteous sighâthe only thing you can still master after crying your heart out into his skin. Now you can only stare at the ceiling, chewing on your cheek in cruel denial.Â
Heâs right. He always is.Â
Viktor sees the shift in your faceâknits his eyebrows together in tender pity, tucking himself firmly against your face. Wincing, when he feels the aching tension in your temple.Â
âI know Iâm asking a lot of you. Too much, even.â Heâs sincere when he says that, and you can sense the gratitude in his voiceâfor even allowing him to utter this excruciating of a thing, for attempting to understand.Â
You simply nod. Yes. It is a lot. But you want to hear everything he has to say.Â
So Viktor continues.
âI would hate for your last memories of me to be tainted with despair and hospitals only for all the struggle to go to waste when I inevitably pass away. I have no desire to postpone this torture at the expense of growing indifferent towards everything that makes me feel alive.âÂ
âBut what if we manage to cure you?!â
âThatâs too much of a âwhat ifâ to risk dying a grim death for. I want to dieâŠcontent. I want to enjoy myself before I do. Please. Donât take that choice away from me.â
His eyes brim at you with every ounce of guilt he possesses, big tears wallowing in his eyes like an earnest pleaâtacit, weary, earnest. Yes, itâs not like you have a word in his terrific decision, but Viktor wants your blessing. Itâs only right that he includes you. Even if heâs intending to refuse the treatment regardless. As absurd a bid as that is.Â
You clasp his face like itâs about to vanish. Like you wonât be able to make it out when heâs gone if you fail to remember it right this instant, your gaze frantically jumping from one feature to another, seeking to embroider the image into your very eyeballs. Roaming over the artifically-white hospital light hallowing every streak of his hair. Indulging in a bittersweet smile when you note how prettily it spills over the pillow. Lingering on the patterns in his ochre irisesâalmost fully swallowed by his void-like pupils. Observing how they match the insomniac, mauve shades under his bottom lashes. Tracing every convex little thingâtwo lovely moles, thick eyebrows, the pointy mouth. Everything youâve grown to love so dearly. Everything his illness keeps taking away from you.Â
You wince, cradling his cheeks, your thumbs dipping into the hollows of them gently. Urging him to scoot closerâeye to eye, lips on lips. Breath over shuddering breath.Â
âAre you sure?â You mouth the question on his skin, barely even uttering it. Hot pressure meanders into your head like a prickly impulse. Itâs timid like motion sicknessâborderline nauseating, tooâall murky splashes of trippy lights under your closed eyelids. And the unease is diluted only when he finally kisses youâan approbatory, guilt-ridden thing.Â
Heâs certain. And for that, heâs so, so sorry.Â
You try not to think of it, focusing on the feeling. No tongue, no teeth: just sheer tremor and so much rawness. A soft, soothing exhalation straight into your mouth like the gentlest of placebosâand yet, it works for you, slaps your pulse out of its frantic antics, and the stiffness slowly leaves your limbs under his touch.Â
When itâs over, he winces at you in that sleepy, adoring way of his. Attempts a wry, sad smile. The cold light besieges his head into an even clearer haloâa foreshadowing of what is to come, an inconspicuous little thing. But everything about him is conspicuous to you. Loving Viktor has made you wary, and you wanted to hold onto that attention to the detail before it eventually slips away alongside him.Â
 âAre you sure?â You repeat, tightening the inadvertent chokehold around his neck. The grip weakens only when he pulls away to clumsily clear his throat.Â
âYes.â And you know he means it when his face turns just as solemn as when he confesses his love to you.Â
âIâve had a nice life with you,â he adds, hoarsely. âI want it to feel nice when my time comes, tooâwhenever that might be. Sooner than later, I presume.âÂ
The figurative knife in your stomach twists anticlockwise.Â
âWill you stay with me?â He dares to inquire. Meek, shaky hope tingling in his throat. âFor however many months I have left?âÂ
And when you look up at him with a hurt frown, heâs reminded not to ask you rhetorical questions.Â
âÂ
A few days later, Viktor is discharged from the hospital and insists that you both go back to normal. Well, to the new, tainted definition of itâwhere one spoiled napkin less is considered an ephemeral improvement and grief is a fixed variable by your side.Â
Your slow-paced, quiet life that keeps turning even more timid in a frail attempt to savor whatâs left of it. Faux preservation, but he allows itâsavors it just as earnestly as you do, and your weeks weave into a darling, familiar routine. With some minor, necessary changes, no less: rest comes before the lab now, all deadlines fashionably late to accommodate this newfound tempo. Mandatory hourly breaks. Weekly check-ups. Four days off for every three he spends bent over the parchment. But this time, he doesnât protest. His body demands it, inconveniently so.
You donât tell anyone about your horrific arrangementânot yet, at the very least. Itâs all you can think about, and the words threaten to slide out every time you speakâbut youâre forced to swallow them with a smile so lopsided that everyone around you can only suspect the worst. A mantra of countless âWhatâs wrongâs irritating your ears with pure sincerity.Â
What is wrong with you, indeed? Youâre a spectator to deathânot just any death, but the one you dreaded most. And not only are you witnessing it in the making, but this decision was never forcedâyou handed Viktor the choice and accepted whatever he went with so obediently that it felt absurd, and it had your skin crawling every time someone vaguely mentioned anything even remotely related to his condition.
But theyâwhoever that refers toâcould never get it. They wouldnât know what itâs like: to be stripped of your selfishness for the sake of Viktorâs peace. Defying your needs. Forcing yourself to find relief in demise. You mightâve failed to intimidate her into allowing you to keep him, but you could still accompany him into her arms and make it glorious. Here it is. Your new, appalling reason. Itâs all that you want now.
Or is it?Â
Thereâs plenty of nobility in being his chaperoneâwelcoming him into bed every night, painfully aware that it can become his death one. Treating every new invention of his like a soon-to-be postmortem legacy. Mourning the living. Anticipating the inexplicable. Marking every shared kiss the last, just in case.Â
But then it cameâunabashed and sudden. That blurry line where mourning merges into something dubious, a confusing paradox that leaves you full of filthy carry-over somewhere within your gut. The scorch his lips engrave into the column of your neck. The way it ignites a swell you can almost convince yourself is actually tangible, running your fingers over it recursively like a tactile little prayer. The gaze he throws at you across the lab ever so sneakilyâa figurative punch that feels surprisingly close to a kiss. And you never resist turning it into one. Escalating. Claiming. Indulging those ambiguous, yet-to-be-defined things and having them wash over the remnants of your decorum.Â
You try to fight it when it first happens, but it doesnât last. Thereâs no place for restraint in griefânot when it turns into a beautiful desire to be all over him, to take everything life has to offer before he runs out of it. And Viktor doesnât judge you. He encourages it. He craves it, just as badâif not moreâthan you do. How many more undoings can he claim before the final one absorbs him? Youâve already lost that count. So much for having your love bleed on every inch of his skin.
Tonight you let it bleed mouth to mouthâa sweaty, heartfelt thing that commemorates your hunger for him in a kiss so dizzying that he has to lean back with a silent, breathless plea for brief interludeâfoggy eyes staring up at you so devotedly. Shuddering, when your arms wander over his chest to feel the rasp, pointed lips bruised full of spit-slick swell. Heâs a beautyâexquisite, albeit worn-down, his lines and angles blurring together into one eager, contourless essence, and you cage him in a firm straddleâyour bare thighs over his clothed onesâgrinding in a whiny attempt to reach him through his pants.Â
âIâm sorry,â you mumble, leaning back to let him breathe. Heâs sprawled out beneath you, tortuous hands already busy with tugging his tie offâimpatient, clumsily nervous. âI donât know whatâs gotten into me,â you say at last, averting your gaze almost shyly. His fingers lurch to your hip, locking it in a gentle cradle, stilling above your backside in hesitationâasking for a laze caress, pushing your flimsy limits. As if forgetting that you never set those for him. Or, perhaps, he simply likes hearing your excited âyesâ every time. You canât quite figure out which it is.Â
He grabs a handful of you with reverence, and yet thereâs something resilient about that gripâlike he dreads that you might slip through his fingers if he doesnât hold on possessively enough, staring up at you with his head thrown back in a curious, admiring droop. Aiming to dispose of your shirt in a nimble pull. Plotting a sequence of kisses from neck to collarbone.Â
You expect it when he rises on his elbows, then grips the bedframe to shift beneath you in a silly leap. Inelegant, but he couldnât care less, releasing his hips from the hedge of your legs to make you slide up his crotch insteadâa most welcome, brusque change that you adapt to in a squealing instant. Your moaning mouth agape under his grin. His hips thrusting through restraining fabric. Shaky. Erotic. With your arms tumbling astride his shoulders.Â
âDonât apologize,â Viktor insists in a lulling whisper, switching to a cautionary nip on your ear. âIâve missed you, too,â he confesses somewhere into your hair, brushing through it with a tip of his noseâbreathing you in through a tender whiff. Â
Your words get lost in a deep fluster, rolling back into your throat and lingering there in a suffocating lump. They have you stiffening, heavy eyelids squeezing shutâa voluntarily blindfold to help you explore him through touch only. An invitation to feel you where he pleases. And, wellâit just so happens that your whims align with hisâa cohesive, welcome collateral.Â
Viktor starts at the slope of your shoulder. Pulls the shirt down and traces that lovely curveâfingers first. Throws a brief, askance glance at your face to make sure that your eyes are closed, and, when met with the flutter of your lashes, gets back to his lovely tease. Tender, warm lips taste your skin with delicious, savoring sounds. Getting wetter when his tongue makes a fickle appearanceâleaves a slick, capricious lick in the dip of your collarbone, fluffy hair tickling your face when he bends to tend to your chest, tooâand you shiver as he sucks a plum love-stain that youâll proudly wear under your shirts.Â
âSee,â he cooes. âWhatever gets into you must be contagious.âÂ
You give in to a half-lidded peek and find him begging for your assistanceâa sweet request that you understand in half-nod. Arms up in the air and over your clouded head when he unleashes your skin from the thin garmentâthrows it on the floor for you to find later in the morning.Â
âBut it feels wrong.â You sigh. âEver since we found outâŠâ
âIâd rather you quit talking about that in bed, please,â Viktor reproaches, eyes heady with want. His fingers slide into your underwear, contemplating its fateâshould he make it join your shirt or pull it to the side in hasty fashion? Either approach had him shivering at the thought.Â
But the sudden sorrow stops the rush, rendering your urge for consolation. It wraps you around him all over again, legs locking in a tangle around his waist, drooping hands combing through his hair in a brusque, fervent tug. Seeking succor. Heart to heart and thumping an anxious march.Â
âIâm afraid,â you admit, but itâs not a revelation. All shuddering shoulders under his idolatrous caress, and you pang with guilt at that, tooâitâs you who should be fondling him this delicately, warm reassurance seeping into his earsânot yours. But Viktor wants to be your comfort. If anything, itâs the only thing on his mind.
âWhat are you afraid of, beloved?â A little shiver at the unforeign endearmentâa rare occasion. His thick brows still drawn together in a concerned arc. They relax only when you rake your fingers down his bodyâcounting ribs, toying anxiously. The hurry is gone, thereâs only caution now: his enamored eyes, waiting for you to find your slippery words.Â
âOf losing you before I get to show you how much I love you.â You whisper, suddenly tasting teary salt in your mouth. His thumb comes to the rescue, swiftly flicking the wet trails. So you chuckle at the affection in a silly stagger to bump sweaty foreheads together.
âNonsense,â he insists. âYouâre showing me right now.â
âIndeed.â You shrug. âBut⊠Is this the right way?âÂ
And when he puts your palm over his eager heartbeat, youâre reminded not to ask him rhetorical questions.Â
â
tags: @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @nausicaaandhermouth @thehistoriangirl @vyshnevska
#viktor arcane#viktor fanfic#arcane season 2#viktor x reader#arcane season two spoilers#viktor angst#viktor smut#viktor x reader smut#viktor x gn!reader#viktor x f!reader#viktor x m!reader#viktor x any reader really#not specified AT ALL#wrote this in severe writers block so please be nice to me#im serious ill cry#arcane fanfic#arcane angst#viktor arcane angst
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