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soaps-mohawk · 8 months ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 13: Piece Me Back Together

Summary: Your pack deals with the aftermath of your heat.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader, Ghost x Soap

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex irl), spanking (it’s like once), choking (kind of), light Dom/sub dynamics, Johnny's praise kink, excessive use of the word cock, heat cycles, mating cycles, brief mention of blood, brief medical stuff, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, and of course a little fluff

A/N: Well folks, we've made it past the heat portion of the fic. Now things can really start moving. Lots of aftercare, some world building, and of course a little spice at the end for you all to enjoy (as if the last chapter wasn't enough lol). I tried to catch all the possible tags for this one but as always, let me know if I missed one. The smut happens in the very last scene, so if you'd prefer not to read it, then skip that last little bit. You won't really miss much. Also, there's a lot of jumping around in time in this one so I tried to mark when things are happening relative to the present moment in the fic.

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6 Days Ago

“Looks comfortable.”

Kyle glances up as Johnny closes the door to his room, blanket and pillow in hand. “Slept on worse.” He shrugs, glancing down at the cot set up in the hallway before looking back up at Johnny. “Moving out?”

“Camping in Si’s office for the next week. Keep our distance.” He nods at the closed door.

“Probably for the best.” Kyle says. “Have fun!”

“Don’t enjoy yourself too much.” Johnny winks at him before making his way down the hallway and disappearing around the corner.

Kyle shakes his head, starting to sort through the many bags of supplies they’ve stocked up on in preparation for their omega’s heat. They’re well prepared, all of them, for the next week, Kyle especially. He’s spent the last few days reading up on what to expect, how to best help and support his alpha and omega, and what to look out for in case things start going wrong. He doesn’t think they will. He has a lot of faith in Price and he knows Price will take good care of their omega.

Still, he can’t help but feel a bit nervous. He has a big job to do, even though there’s not much to do until after the heat is over with. He just has to ensure Price doesn’t hurt you accidentally, or maul you to death. He doesn’t think that’s likely to happen, but then again, one can never know.

Kyle lets out a shaky breath, grabbing the bags with the electrolytes and nutrient bars before heading for your door.

It’s going to be a long week.

Present Day

It’s quiet. Has been for almost an hour now. Kyle rises from the cot, slipping his phone into his pocket. He slowly approaches the door, leaning in to listen for a moment before putting his hand on the knob. He lets out a breath before pushing the door open slowly, slipping in and closing the door quietly. The smells in the room are worse than they had been last night, a toxic mix of omega, alpha, sex, and sweat. He takes a moment to breathe, adjusting to the scent.

You and Price are spooned together on the bed, asleep, or at least you are. Price had pulled the blankets up around you, tucking you in. Kyle approaches slowly, not wanting to accidentally step on a wrapper and startle either of you and risk you getting scared or Price getting territorial. He brushes the damp strands of hair from your face, your body temperature significantly lower than it had been even last night. He pulls the forehead thermometer from his pocket, taking your temperature quickly before sending a text to Dr. Keller.

He carefully lifts the blankets, checking beneath. You’re still locked together as he expected, and he lowers the blankets back down, tucking you both in again. He unplugs Price’s phone from the charging cord that he’d plugged in last night, rotating it to your phone. He knew the chances of either of you being aware enough to use a phone for anything would be low, but just in case, he kept them both charged.

He tiptoes through the mess of wrappers and bottles, grabbing the bag of trash that he had started a couple days ago. He picks up the mess on the floor, cleaning off the nightstand as well before setting out a new bottle of electrolytes and a couple nutrient bars. There’s still quite a few left, but those could be saved for your next heat.

Price stirs a bit as Kyle sets the bag of trash off to the side next to the bag of things that would have to go to the wash. He hurries over, gently keeping Price from moving too much.

“Easy. You’re still knotted.” He says, putting a hand on Price’s shoulder as you let out a quiet sound. His skin is warm and sticky from sweat, and probably other things.

Price rubs his eyes before blinking up at Kyle. “What day is it?”

“Morning of the sixth day.” He answers, passing Price the bottle of electrolytes. “I think it’s over. Her temperature’s back to normal. Just waiting on Dr. Keller’s opinion.”

Price hums, unscrewing the cap from the bottle before taking a long drink. “Feel like shit.”

Kyle grins. “Been a long week for you, Cap. How do you feel?”

Price screws the cap back on the bottle before leaning over you to place it on the nightstand. “Like I got hit by a truck and rolled down a hill.”

“Speaking from experience, sir?” Kyle smirks.

Price gives him a look before closing his eyes again, relaxing against your back. He lets out a groan as his knot deflates, his cock slipping from your folds. “Christ, that's going to hurt later.”

“Let me get the bath started.” Kyle says, going into your bathroom.

He starts the water, making sure it’s warm enough before he grabs the epsom salt off the counter and adds some in. He leaves the water running as he moves back to the bedroom, helping Price off the bed first. The alpha groans as he stands, leaning heavily against Kyle’s side. Kyle wraps his arm around his shoulders, supporting Price as they make their way to the bathroom.

“I’ve been beaten, tortured, shot. I’ve jumped out of moving cars, been in helicopter crashes.” Price says, grunting as Kyle helps him down into the bath. “This might be the worst I’ve ever felt.”

“Not quite as spry as you used to be, old man?” Kyle teases, making sure he’s comfortable.

“Plenty spry, but god I forgot how energetic omegas can be.” Price leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“Just relax.” Kyle says, turning off the water. “I’ll bring her in.”

He heads back into your room, approaching the bed. You’re shivering, eyes squeezed closed and eyebrows pinched. Kyle kneels down next to the bed, placing a gentle hand on your arm. You start a bit at the touch, a quiet whimper leaving your lips.

“Shh, easy love.” Kyle tries to soothe you as you shake. “You’re alright.”

You let out a whine, seeking out your alpha in your disoriented state. The bathwater splashes as Price shifts in response to your call, his own instincts still on high alert.

“Let’s get you into the bath.” Kyle says before gently slipping his arms under you and lifting you up.

You let out a whine in protest, your body sore and aching from the last six days. Kyle quickly carries you to the bath, easing you into the water between Price’s legs. You’re trembling, quiet whines leaving your lips as he eases you back against Price’s chest. The alpha wraps his arms around you, a quiet rumble sounding from his chest as he tries to ease your disorientation and discomfort.

Kyle leaves you and Price there to soak as he heads back to the room to strip the sheets and start the laundry. Most of your pillows and stuffed animals are stacked in the corner of the room by your desk, spared from the mess that the bed has turned into. The sheets are still wet with a concoction of fluids, and he knows they’ll need to soak for a while. He stuffs them into the bag with your clothes, along with your blankets, before he heads down the hall to the laundry room.

He checks on you and Price when he returns, both of you content still in the bath. He can’t help but smile as he watches the two of you, pride swelling in his chest at the sight of his alpha taking care of their omega.

Their omega.

It seems almost strange to think now. They’d gone so long without an omega, and thought they wouldn’t be getting one. Now, six weeks later, they’ve all fallen head over heels for a little omega none of them even knew they needed. He can’t imagine life without an omega now, how well you fit into their pack, how well you fit with all of them, how you’ve only served to make them stronger and more efficient.

He hates to admit that perhaps Laswell was right.

Maybe they did need you after all.

Kyle bags up the plastic mattress protector, glad to see it did its job. He replaces the sheets and blankets for now, knowing you’ll want to nest once you’re more aware. He checks his phone before heading back into the bathroom, kneeling down next to the tub. Your shaking has subsided, reduced to a shudder here and there as you’ve slowly relaxed in the hot water.

Kyle grabs a cloth and your body wash, starting to gently clean your skin, or at least get the sweat and other fluids off. Bruises litter your skin and the claiming mark on your shoulder is scabbed and angry. Kyle carefully washes it, not wanting to apply too much pressure as he cleans off the dried blood still stuck to your skin. He knows it’s going to hurt for a while.

“What did Dr. Keller say?” Price asks as he helps ease you up so Kyle can wash your back.

“Said if her temperature is normal then the worst is over.” Kyle answers. “She wants to do a check up soon, make sure everything’s alright. Said she’d come here to do it, if that’s alright.”

Price grunts quietly as Kyle starts to wash his chest. “That’s fine. Easier than going all the way to the medical building. Simon and Johnny?”

“Fine.” Kyle answers. “Been keeping busy running drills and stuff. Johnny’s been keeping Simon occupied.”

Price hums, letting his eyes close as Kyle washes his neck and shoulders. “Good.”

Kyle makes sure to get all of the soap rinsed off before pulling the plug on the water, carefully lifting you up to stand. He lets you lean against him, grabbing one of the towels to dry you off as best he can. Price gets himself standing, drying himself off as Kyle helps you back to bed. Price joins you, wrapping his arms around you tight as Kyle tucks the blankets up around you both.

“Can I get you anything?” Kyle asks as he sets a new bottle of electrolytes on the nightstand. “Real food maybe?”

“I’d kill for some bangers and mash, maybe a pint.” Price says, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” Kyle says, glancing at you one last time before he leaves the room.

Your body aches. There’s a deep soreness in your muscles, and a painful throb between your legs. Your skin feels raw and tight, and there's a steady pulse behind your eyes. A quiet sound leaves your lips before you can stop it, the sound cracking and broken from your raw throat. There's a desert in your mouth again, your tongue dry and heavy in your mouth.

Your thoughts are dragged away from the agony in your body as a quiet rumbling starts somewhere in front of you, your brain going quiet except for the need to seek it out. You press yourself closer to it, meeting warm skin as you try to get closer and closer. You want to bury yourself in it, seep into its depths until you can feel the vibrations of it in your bones. Arms wrap around you, pulling you in closer until you're squished against a bare chest.

You press your face against the soft skin, trying to get closer to the rumbling purr vibrating from deep within. You let out another sound, body going lax as the purr lulls you into a relaxed state. The tension leaves your body, easing the ache in your muscles a bit. Not much, but enough to pull a relieved sigh from your lips.

“Easy, love.” A quiet voice says, another hand touching your back.

You tense slightly at the intrusion on your safe space, but quickly relax as the hand stills on your skin. The calming scent of beta overtakes you, easing your mind to a quiet hum as your alpha and beta work to calm you. You feel a bit disoriented as reality slowly begins to return, seeping back into your brain.

You went into heat.

You remember waking up with the blistering inferno burning hot within you, the insatiable need pulsing between your legs. You remember Kyle being there, the soft scent of him as he helped you prepare, pulling off your clothes and making you drink some of the electrolytes. You remember John entering the room, the way his scent made your brain feel like mush. You remember him sinking his teeth into your shoulder, his knot forcing you open before everything went dark.

Everything else is a dark blur, wiped from your memory after your instincts took over.

You shift against the body you’re pressed close to, a deep ache rippling through you. It hurts, everything hurts. Your hips are sore, your shoulder is throbbing, every muscle feels like you just did a triathlon with no training, and there’s a sharp throbbing between your thighs.

You’re crying before you even realize it, the tears uncontrollable as they slide down your cheeks, the quiet sniffles and sobs aggravating your already aching body. The arms around you tighten, the purring getting louder, but you can’t stop the onslaught of tears.

You flinch as something tickles the skin of your forehead, chapped lips pressing a soft kiss to your hairline. You let out a whine as you continue to cry, your mind a swirl of confusion and disorientation as you try to come to terms with everything that’s happened. You don’t know how long it’s been, what day it is. You don’t even know what happened to you in the last week.

You continue to cry, oblivious to the conversation happening over you, the gentle purring in your ears lulling you into a dazed state as you float in and out of consciousness. The pain of being moved momentarily brings you back before you settle again, laying back against a chest. A baggy shirt is pulled over your head, smelling of your alpha. The fabric feels different than it had days ago when you’d woken up in the throes of your heat. It’s soft, not offending, and it offers you warmth and comfort.

You don’t want to move, you don’t want to do anything. Exhaustion pulls at the edges of your mind as you lay there, the tears still streaming down your cheeks.

He hasn’t stopped purring since you woke up. The low rumble in his chest hasn’t stopped, and neither has the ache blooming there since you started crying. Even in your dazed, half asleep state, the tears still roll down your cheeks, quiet shaky breaths catching every so often. He’s not sure what to do, how to help. He’s never been with an omega that’s cried before. Not like this.

His purring kicks up in volume as you startle awake when the door opens, letting out a broken whimper as your space suddenly gets invaded. He tries to soothe you, his arms tightening around you to try and ground you in his presence.

“Hi, honey.” Dr. Keller says, kneeling down next to the bed, her voice soft and the scent of beta thick in the air. “Still a bit out of it, huh?”

“She hasn’t stopped crying since she woke up.” He says, rubbing gentle circles on your arm with his thumb.

“That’s not unusual.” Dr. Keller says, digging through her bag to pull out a thermometer. “There’s a lot going on right now for her. Besides the exhaustion and the confusion and the pain, there’s a lot of rapid hormonal changes happening. Some omegas can just wake up and hop out of it immediately and be just fine.”

John frees one of your arms so Dr. Keller can take your pulse and blood pressure.

“Others might struggle a bit more.” She continues. “Purebred omegas especially have a hard time coming out of it. They’re more sensitive to those instincts and the sudden cut off of them is rather jarring.” She puts her equipment back in her bag. “Her vitals look good, which makes me confident to hold off on any further examinations until she’s more alert and aware.”

“Are there things we should look out for?” Kyle asks.

“She’s going to be drowsy and fatigued for a while, but if you can’t wake her at all, call me. If her breathing gets shallow or her pulse weakens or she starts developing a fever again, call me. Also check for blood the next time she uses the bathroom. Her vitals aren’t showing any indication of internal injuries, though, so I think she’ll be just fine.” She pulls a pill bottle from her bag. “I’ve prescribed some muscle relaxers for her. There’s a week’s worth in there. It’ll help with the pain and discomfort, but they will make her sleepy. The best thing she can do right now is rest and recover. Once she’s more aware, you can try some soft foods and lots of liquids. If she’s really struggling, I can set up an IV and get some fluids into her, perk her up a bit.”

“Thank you.” John says, shifting you slightly so Dr. Keller can look at the bite mark on your shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” She asks him, pulling out a disinfectant wipe.

“Sore.” John huffs out a laugh. “Nothing I can’t handle, though.”

Dr. Keller hums as she cleans the wound on your shoulder. “I know I’m not here to give you medical advice, but as your omega’s doctor I feel the need to remind you not to ignore your own symptoms. She needs you right now, more than ever. So don’t try to macho man your way through anything. You need to rest just as much as she does.”

“Yes, doctor.” He grumbles, adjusting your shirt once she’s done.

Dr. Keller gives him a smile. “You did a good job.” She turns to Kyle. “Both of you. Don’t hesitate to call me. It’s what I’m here for.”

A smile tugs at John’s lips as Kyle practically beams from Dr. Keller’s praise. He did do a good job. You’re both still breathing after all.

3 Days Ago

“I cannae take anymore.” Johnny pants, his breaths near wheezes as he rests his hands on his knees. “Ye said you'd go easy on me.”

“I never promised anything, Johnny.” Simon says, standing behind him.

“Hell's bells, L.T.” Johnny groans, dropping to his hands and knees. “Gonna kill me at this rate.”

“Don't be dramatic. C'mon, again.”

“Uh uh.” Johnny says, flopping onto his side on the ground. “Am pure done in! ‘S almost lunch anyway.” He rolls onto his back, looking in the direction of the barracks as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “Think they're havin’ fun?”

Simon looks down at him, looming over him like a shadow. “Probably seems like it right now. Be a different story when it’s done.”

“Sometimes I wish I knew what it was like.” Johnny says, turning his gaze up to Simon's face. He can't see much under the mask, and right now is one of those moments when he wishes he could.

“You really don't. It's messy and gory.” Simon offers him a hand, helping Johnny to his feet. “Gotta be prepared to pick up the pieces afterwards.” Simon turns, heading in the direction of the barracks.

“That why you've never taken an omega?” Johnny asks, following him.

Simon stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at Johnny. Johnny's back straightens at the look in Simon's eyes. No, not Simon. Ghost. He's looking at Ghost again.

“Drop it. Or I'll make you do another lap.” Ghost says, his voice taking on the low rasp he gets when he's shifted into the laser focused headspace of the Lieutenant.

“Yes, sir.” Johnny says, following after Ghost as they head back towards the barracks.

Ghost slips into the showers once they enter, Johnny heading to the corner to peek down the hallway towards their rooms. It's quiet now. It hadn't been when they left earlier. He could hear it as they passed the hall to go out the door, the distant sound of moans and the bedframe knocking against the wall. He had fought the erection threatening to tent his shorts all the way to the field. He knows heats are no light matter, but the mental image he's drawn up of you blissed out, mouth open as you moan, back arching in pleasure has been plaguing him for nearly two weeks. He's desperate, practically chomping at the bit to get a chance to see it himself first hand, to see the real thing putting his mental image to shame.

He makes his way down the hallway, keeping a respectful distance between himself and your room. Kyle looks up from his spot on the bed where he'd been scrolling on his phone.

“How're they doin’?” Johnny asks, wiping the sweat from his face.

“Alright. Sleeping for the moment.” Kyle answers. Johnny can only imagine the torture of having to sit and listen to nonstop fucking for the last three days.

“We're gonna grab lunch soon. Want us tae bring ye somethin’?”

Kyle nods. “Sure. That'd be great.”

“Ye got it.” Johnny nods, passing a glance at your door before looking back to Kyle. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, mate.” Kyle says, watching his fellow beta walk back down the hall.

Johnny glances up from his phone as Simon huffs out what's the tenth sigh in the last three minutes. The alpha is seated at his desk, clicking away at something on his computer and occasionally mashing away at the keyboard rather harshly. Johnny's surprised he hasn't cracked a key yet, or just thrown the whole thing out the window. The beta can see how tightly his alpha is wrung by the tenseness in his shoulders, the hard set of his brow, the set line of his lips, the occasional tick of his jaw.

“What's got ye all riled up?” Johnny finally breaks the silence, setting his phone aside.

“Nothing.” Simon grumbles, ignoring Johnny's gaze.

Johnny’s brow furrows and he pushes himself to stand, moving over to Simon’s side. “Doesnae seem like nothin’ to me.” He puts his hands on Simon’s broad shoulders, squeezing them, feeling the tension in his muscles. “Awful tense, Si.”

“Leave it, Johnny.” Simon grumbles, trying to swat the beta away, but he’s insistent.

“Wouldnae be a little omega getting you so tense, would it?” Johnny teases.

Simon turns to him, his eyes darkening. His jaw clenches, hands closing into fists where they sit on the armrests of his chair. “Don’t push it, Johnny.” His voice has that deep rumble to it, the threat of his alpha coming through.

Johnny stares at him, feeling the danger prickling at the back of his neck, but at the same time, he wants to push that boundary. He wants to see just how far he can push his alpha until he finally gives in.

“I don’t know why ye keep torturing yourself like this, Si. Ye know ye like her. She’d be more’n willing-”

“That’s the problem.” Simon snaps, pushing himself up from his seat, forcing Johnny to take a step back. “She’s not doing this because she wants to. She’s only doing this because she’s been told to do it.”

“She’s an omega. Her whole life was going tae be people tellin’ her what to do and forcin’ her tae do things, even if she didn’t want to. Ye think things would have been different if she’d been put with a different pack?” Johnny doesn’t back down from Simon’s glare, having been on the receiving end of it enough times now he’s almost immune to it. “Things could have been a lot worse for her. She might not have wanted to be here, but she is. Ye can’t change that, Si. No matter how badly you might want to.”

Johnny can tell by the slow fall to Simon’s tense shoulders that he’s struck home. The situation wasn’t ideal, but it’s what they were dealt. You’re here with them, and he’s going to make sure you feel as comfortable as possible.

Simon lets out another sigh, turning away from Johnny to crawl into their makeshift bed. He lays down with a huff, closing his eyes. Johnny smirks, slowly crawling onto the two cots pushed together, laying down right next to Simon. He rests his hand on Simon’s thigh, feeling the powerful muscle flex under his hand. He slowly begins to drag it higher, Simon’s eyes opening again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Simon rasps, but he doesn’t move, even as Johnny reaches the junction of his hip and thigh.

“Yer all worked up, big guy.” Johnny says, leaning his head on his hand, slowly moving his hand over Simon’s very prominent bulge. “Thought I’d help ye.”

“What makes you think I want your help?” Simon says, still laying still.

Johnny lifts his brows, slowly rubbing Simon through his pants. “This looks rather painful, and I seem to be the only option to help, since everyone else is rather occupied-”

Johnny’s words are cut off as he finds himself suddenly on his back, Simon’s hand around his throat. The alpha is leaning over him, a deep rumble vibrating through his chest. “You talk too much, Johnny.” Simon rumbles, leaning close to the beta’s face.

“I’ve been told tha’ before.” Johnny says, leaning up to try and kiss his alpha, but Simon backs away before he can make contact. “By you if I remember correctly.”

Simon’s fingers flex around his throat, a moan spilling from his lips as Simon grinds his hips against Johnny’s. His cock is hard in his pants, has been for a while. He’s not sure if it’s from the lewd thoughts that have been plaguing his mind since you first kissed him, weeks ago, or if it’s just a response to the knowledge that you’re currently fucking their pack alpha like your life depends on it.

Johnny lets out a whimper, bucking up against Simon desperately. Simon tuts at him, pressing against his throat to keep him still on the bed as he sits himself up on top of the beta.

“Naughty little thing.” Simon says, staring down into his blue eyes. “Know you’ve been thinking about sinking your cock into the new little omega for weeks.” Johnny lets out a whine, his cock twitching in his pants. “I don’t think you’ll even make it that long, will you pup?” Simon chuckles. “Gonna cum in your pants as soon as you see her tits, huh?” Simon presses down, putting more pressure against his cock as he rubs it through his pants. “Gonna cum in your pants just thinking about it.”

Johnny holds his breath, trying to focus anywhere except for Simon’s hand. He squeezes his eyes closed as Simon undoes the button on his cargo pants, releasing his throat to tug the fabric down around his knees.

“Bloody hell.” Simon says, wrapping a hand around Johnny’s hard cock. “Prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.”

“I thought Kyle’s was the prettiest.” Johnny says, opening his eyes to glance down at his alpha.

“Kyle’s just pretty.” Simon says, slowly stroking Johnny’s cock. “You have the prettiest cock.”

“Christ...” Johnny breathes as Simon continues to jerk his cock, his hips bucking as he can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge.

A pathetic whimper leaves Johnny’s lips as Simon pulls his hand away, sitting up on his knees over his beta. He undoes his belt, tossing it to the floor before undoing his pants, pulling them and his briefs down to release his own throbbing cock. Johnny licks his lips as Simon fists his own cock, slowly stroking it.

“Turn around. Let me see that pretty ass.” Simon says.

“Yes, sir.” Johnny smirks, wiggling himself until he’s flat on his stomach, pushing his ass into the air as best he can with his legs trapped between Simon’s.

Simon purrs quietly at Johnny’s response, running his hands over his beta’s pert cheeks. “Prettiest ass too.” He murmurs, gently spreading his cheeks.

“I’m startin’ to think I might be the prettiest.” Johnny says, gasping quietly as a glob of warm spit hits his hole.

“Give me a night with Kyle and I’ll get back to you on that.” Simon says, pressing a finger into Johnny’s ass.

Johnny groans, pressing his face into the pillow. “Fucking Christ.”

“You can take it.” Simon soothes him, reaching down to fish the lube out of the bag he’d tossed it in last night. He squirts some on his finger before pressing further in, spreading Johnny’s ass open. “Good boy.”

Johnny nearly melts into the cot, letting out a pathetic sound as Simon adds a second finger. He’s still sore from the last three days, but his drive to please his alpha pushes away any sensitivity he’s feeling. That, and the lust burning hot in him. Betas don’t have heat cycles, but he might as well be in the middle of one with how horny he’s been these last few days. He knows part of it is Simon being worked up by the knowledge that there’s an omega in heat nearby, and his own body reacting to his alpha. He’s never been around an omega in heat, and he doesn’t think Simon has either.

He’s not sure Simon has ever been with an omega at all before.

More cold lube hits his hole, a second finger pressing in. He gasps at the stretch, squeezing around Simon’s thick fingers. Simon’s other hand trails up his back, pushing his shirt up as he goes. Johnny pushes himself up slightly, tugging the fabric over his head before he relaxes back down against the blankets.

Simon presses a third finger in, working Johnny open with what still won’t be enough, but Johnny won’t complain. He’s taken his alpha before. He’ll do it gladly again.

“Fuck, Johnny.” Simon grunts as Johnny squeezes around his fingers again.

“Cannae help it.” Johnny whines. “Feels too good.”

“Didn’t say you could cum yet.” Simon says, removing his fingers. “Naughty pup.”

Johnny lets out a pathetic sounding whimper, pressing his ass up to try and chase Simon’s fingers. He yelps as Simon’s hand meets his skin, his hips dropping back to the bed at the force of Simon’s spank.

“Stay still.” Simon growls, the cap of the lube popping open again.

Johnny does as he’s told, keeping himself still as Simon prepares himself. He groans as the tip of Simon’s cock presses against his hole, his hands fisting the sheets at the stretch. Simon’s hand rubs his back, trying to get him to relax. Johnny breathes, forcing himself to go lax, letting Simon slip in further.

“Good boy.” Simon groans, bracing himself on the bed as he presses further and further into Johnny’s tight hole. “That’s my good boy. You can take it.”

“Fuck!” Johnny groans, practically preening from the praise.

“That’s it.” Simon groans, pressing in until his hips are flush with Johnny’s ass. “Bloody fucking hell.”

Johnny’s mind goes blank as he’s filled, all thoughts leaving at the feeling of his alpha inside of him. He’s panting already, stretched open around his alpha’s cock. Simon begins to move, rocking his hips slowly, drawing his cock out before pushing it back in. Johnny whines, pushing back against Simon, needing more.

“Please...” Johnny begs. “Please alpha!”

“Fuck.” Simon grunts, bracing himself further before snapping his hips against Johnny. “Like that? That what you want, pup?”

Johnny almost yelps at the sensation, hands fisting the blankets as his body rocks forward on the cot. “Fuck, yes!”

Simon sets a brutal pace, hips snapping against Johnny’s ass. Pleasure numbs Johnny’s mind as the sensation of Simon inside of him. His cock is trapped between his body and the cot, dragging against the blankets with every thrust. He’s going to cum soon, he knows that. He won’t be able to hold it, not with how sensitive he already is.

“Gonna cum, can’t hold it!” He whines, pushing back against Simon’s thrusts for more friction. “Fuck, alpha!”

Johnny cums quickly with a groan, the blankets getting damp under him as he shakes in his release. Simon doesn’t stop, undeterred by Johnny’s clenching around him in his orgasm. He’s going to ring a few more out of Johnny before he’s done.

They’re both in for a long night.

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madamechrissy · 2 days ago

Text

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- Medical procedures, surgery descriptions, crazy sexual tension, eventually explicit sex etc. ER setting. Reader 26, Dr. Gojo 34, small age gap, work sex, complications, lots of humor, eventual drama and angst

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

Toying with the idea of making this a full story soon! Comment to get added to the tag list when I do :) A rough draft of the beginning. Enjoy!

Part One

Fuck, you’re exhausted, the first month of your internship as a surgeon was brutal, you haven’t had but a couple hours of sleep here and there, mostly on some of the hospital beds. Your bones ache, your skincare routine is barely hanging by a thread, and your hair is a wreck in a messy bun today. You thought med school was difficult, but it was nothing like this.

“Hey, you okay babe?” Your best friend Maki Zenin asks softly, you look at her and smile, nodding, she purses her lips, tilting her glasses. “No you’re not.”

“I’m wiped, Maki. This patient injected cocaine up his ass.” She bursts out laughing right in the middle of the hospital floor, you cover her mouth quickly, looking around. “Shh!”

“Shit, forreal? I thought my case was bad, he’s been here eight times for hits of pain meds since I have been here, he keeps bashing his hand on shit.” She sighs, handing her files to the desk then picking up several more.

You’re both in your pale blue scrubs, Maki’s pretty green hair is high up in a ponytail, now your other two best friends from your internship come up, Inumaki Toge and Yuta Okkotsu, both looking exhausted along with you. Yuta’s eye bags rival yours by far, he slicks back his dark hair as you all check the time on your watches.

“Another sixteen hours almost down.” He says through a yawn.

“Tired.” Inumaki says, and you sigh, nodding in agreement.

“Fuck that, we need to throw a party.” Maki says, somehow still so energetic, and you’re so confused how it’s possible.

“Party?” Inumaki asks, he’s certainly a man of few words, but his violet eyes explain whatever anyone needs to know.

“No way, Maki. Fuck that.” Yuta says, earning Maki sticking her tongue out at him.

“Buzz kill, ugh. Listen, this weekend, we’ll invite some of the people from our class, we can invite some of the other interns too. Ooh, maybe even those sexy resident doctors.” She wiggles her brows with a mischievous little grin.

“Maki, we're too old for that shit now.” You grumble.

“Bitch we’re twenty six? How are we old.”

“I feel ancient.” Yuta agrees. “Coffee everyone?”

“I have to stop by Doctor Gojo’s real quick, meet you all there?” You say, and they nod, waving you off as you head to your Resident doctor’s office. Dr. Gojo was the boss of you four, one of the residents along with Dr. Nanami and Dr. Geto. All three were fawned over by all the interns, except you.

Yes they were gorgeous, and yes Dr. Gojo was positively beautiful, with his snowy white hair, his glittery blue eyes, his big grin. But you were just too exhausted and too beat to really fawn over someone, especially someone you really could not be with, seeing as he is your resident, you’re just a little intern. Satoru also happens to be the top surgeon in the hospital.

You go to knock but see his door is cracked open, you carefully take the knob in your hand, twisting it and peeking your head in, seeing Satoru Gojo’s head fall back, as he’s gasping. You look curiously, but his hands are up on the desk, as he’s biting his lower lip, his brows together, eyes shut. You clear your throat and he jerks then, clearing his throat.

“Um… hey intern.” He says, his voice clipped. You shut the door behind you, tilting your head curiously at him, his face reddening slightly.

“Dr. Gojo, I have a question about this patient, is everything okay? It won’t take very long.” You say, and his eyes flicker over your face, an expression you can’t explain, as he sucks in a breath.

“I um… can listen… in… fuck, fuck!” He moans then, he clearly moans, and you hear a bump on his desk now. “Oh, oh that’s so much better.”

“I… what the fuck!?” He flushes then, sliding back, and one of the nurses jumps up, giggling now and wiping her mouth, she has pretty blue hair.

“Thank you Miwa, you’re a gem.” He stands, patting her head with a smile, and she giggles again, as you watch in confusion, your brows together, mouth open. “I need to talk to her about cool doctor things, I’ll see you around later?”

Cool Doctor things.

Blow jobs on the clock?

How is this your boss?

“Yes, Dr. Gojo. Hi there!” She waves at you, as if nothing has happened, as if she wasn’t just sucking Dr. Gojo off, and he’s looking bashful!?

“What the hell is this shit? Lock a door?” He comes to you, locking the big door with a click behind you. “Not now!”

“I forgot it was open, shit. I’m sorry. Stress relief, you know.” He smiles down at you, a stupid smirk you’d like to smack off his pretty face, hands in the pockets of his long white doctor jacket. “Don’t you ever need any?”

You heat up at his husky tone, as you realize just what you’d walked into. It had been a long time since you’d even thought that way, not just with Med school but now being an intern, especially since you broke up with your ex months back. “What? Yuck don’t come near me.”

“Why, ya jealous.” He brushes your hair back, earning your glare. “You’re awfully cute when you are.”

“Jealous of you? No thanks, I'm good. I sure am not part of your fan club.”

Satoru pouts. “Yeah, and you’re the only one.”

“Yep. Anyway, I’m now disturbed.” You shiver with feigned disgust, making him snort a bit in laughter. “But I only came in here to go over Mr. Lewis.” Sighing, you hand him the file with a gentle brush of your fingers against his palm. “He's been a difficult case.”

“Fuck, the cocaine dude? Ah shit, it’s that bad?”

“We have him stable, but something about it threw me off, how could it be that severe of an effect? Colitis has lasted days now and no improvement.”

“Mmm, true. But it makes sense, you can’t just inject cocaine into the anus and… have a party.” A hint of laughter escapes from his lips before he can control it, earning a stern look from you, making him study the file more carefully.

“Be serious.”

“I’m your boss, you know!”

“Yeah, somehow. Anyway, I feel there is something underlying. Perhaps exasperated by the cocaine.”

“Up the ass! Hah!” He’s smacking his long leg now, chuckling, earning your glare. “Oof you’re so serious, sorry, carry on.” He gives you a mock salute, and your eyes are so far back in your head they might stay that way.

“So I’m wondering if he has something else, untreated, the man has no history of any doctor visits since he was living with his parents.”

He taps his chin then. “Hmm, good point. It’s possible. Have we checked him for Chron’s?”

“Shit, maybe, that would make so much sense too, his white blood cell count is through the roof. I’ll leave a note to run some tests before I go.” You take the folder back then, your fingers brushing, and it brings a blush to your cheeks.

“What’s wrong, intern?”

“Just weirded out by you, Dr. Hojo.” He snorts then.

“Dr. Hojo!?”

“It’s what they call you, I guess it’s true.” You say, raising a brow, and he is leaning close, too close. You can smell that stupidly expensive cologne he wears every day, filling your senses far too much. You try to avoid those eyes, even though you look at them all the time, they still are…

Too much.

“And you don’t ever wanna just get eaten out?” You blush more now, looking down as he stands up tall, so fucking tall over you. “Don’t be shy now, we spend more time together than alone.”

“I don’t do that when not in relationships.” He pauses, and you expect some joke, since he takes nothing serious but surgery it seems. But he tilts your chin up, and studies you with those eyes, lids lowering ever so slightly.

“Aw, so you’re a good girl.” He says teasingly, causing a warm sensation to spread through your stomach at his words. You shake your head and try to ignore the fluttering feeling within you.

“Don’t say that!”

“Turn you on?”

“No! Jesus. I don’t care what people do with their bodies, I don’t care if you’re a whole manwhore-”

“Excuse me!”

“But I just need a relationship, I’m not attracted to just looks, there has to be a deeper connection.” He studies you carefully now, so serious unlike his usual goofy demeanor.

“Hmm, a challenge.”

“What now?” You glare up at him, clutching the folders to your chest tightly. “Not a challenge, you psycho. Go get all the blowjobs you want, like Thanos collecting all those infinity stones.”

He grins, sharp little fangs glinting, and you don’t like the effects it’s having on your body, or your mind. You can barely take a breath. “You’re actually so funny, holy shit.”

“You don’t really know me. Aside from work.”

“You never take me up on any of those offers of coffee, or grabbing a bite, all you do is work Missy. All work, no play, makes a sad girl.” He taps your nose, and it scrunches up, making him smile a bit. “Cute.”

“Whatever, I have to work my ass off, it’s important, I have to make sure I get to scrub in with you. That chance comes at the end of this month.”

“Well you’re the top intern I have, so don’t worry so much.” He pats your shoulder, and you blink a bit. “Surprised? How. You graduated top of the school, you bust your cute little butt, and you’re intelligent, caring for your patients. Of course I was picking you first.”

“Oh my god…”

“You’ve ruined your own surprise. Act surprised when you find out, mmkay?” You hug him then, heart racing as you think of it. “Oh so now you like me.”

“I can really scrub in to a surgery with you!?” You couldn't contain your excitement as you leaned back and looked up at Satoru Gojo. He nodded, his hands taking hold of your waist through your scrubs, and that touch?

Does things, fuck.

“I’m so sorry-”

“You’re fine, intern. Stay a little longer.” You nervously step back, his hands are still on your waist, making you tremble, as your eyes both lock.

“I can never fuck such an opportunity up. Um… thank you though, that gives me so much hope, maybe I can actually relax for two minutes!” He smiles softly, nodding, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m sorry I…”

“Interrupted? Nah. Think you made me cum quick.”

“What!?” You glare again, and his smirk makes you itch to smack him all over again. “Dr. Gojo!”

“You’re so pretty though, I think it made her job quicker. Win win.”

“I’m out of here. Ugh.” You turn away, hand on the knob, and then his comes on top of it and gently unlocks it with a twist, you feel his hard body against your back, and you get overwhelmed in his office, damn near unable to breathe, as he’s clearly…

Is Dr. Gojo inhaling your hair!?

“New shampoo?” He asks, you turn to glare up at him, putting your faces far, far too close.

“How would you know my…”

“You always wear that one that smells like strawberries, this one is more floral. Hmm I don’t know if I like it as much, but it’s still yummy.”

“I… you…”

“See you later, intern.” He says softly, then finally steps away, leaving you reeling as you hastily step out without a word, leaning your back against his door, shutting your eyes for a moment in the quiet hall his office is in. You shake yourself out of it quickly, he’s just being…

Dr. Hojo.

Notorious womanizer, but the best damn surgeon there was, a whole idiot and yet an entire genius. And not your type, not at all, even if he’s gorgeous, you did not like man whores, or men that aren’t serious, especially not your boss, anyway. Fucking your boss in this industry would essentially make everyone question every accomplishment as favoriteism.

You sure weren’t going to sacrifice all your hard work for some dick.

You bounce away, heading to the little cafe where your friends are waiting, sitting next to Yuta who hands you a coffee with a little smile. “Thank you, ugh.”

“You’re welcome, girlie.”

“So, party?”

“Maki!” You three say, and she sighs, shooting her espresso down.

“Next weekend! Come on you guys, what do you say?”

“Oh fine.” You concede. Maki, Yuta and Toge all live with you, in your town home, since you could absolutely not afford it yourself, with the shitty pay of your internship and the college bills. It was left to you, but you still had property taxes and other bills, so they helped a ton. “No one better fuck my house up, I swear.”

“Hell yeah, here’s to a party bitches.” She holds up her little styrofoam cup, and you all cheers each other then, laughing.

“Party, hmm?” Comes Dr. Gojo’s voice, he’s standing there with Dr. Geto and Dr. Nanami. You all get nervous then, but he grins. “I’m coming. What about you guys?”

“No way.” Nanami grumbles, he’s very serious, his glasses slung over his sandy blond hair, his face exhausted.

“I’ll come.” Dr. Geto chimes in, chuckling and sipping his coffee, he’s as tall as Dr. Gojo and well swoon worthy. He would be more your type you think, with that serious yet fun nature, whereas Dr. Gojo…

“C’mon Nanami. You gotta, you gotta, you-”

“Jesus you’re a child.” You say, and Gojo gasps at you, Geto and even Nanami laugh, only earning Gojo’s scowl.

“You brat, I’m a good eight years older than you!”

“You look like a twenty year old frat boy.”

"And you look like an angry little brat!” He shot back, only causing more laughter to erupt from the group.

“Okay, okay.” Dr. Geto holds up his hands now. “Let’s be nice, kids.”

“Kids! Suguru I’m older than you.” Gojo says with a glare.

“Like six months. Anyway, we’ll be there at this party, text us the details? We’d love to unwind.” Dr. Geto says, and Maki jumps up now, as you and Gojo are glaring at each other across your table. “Got it, thank you Maki.”

“Of course, we’ll invite both of your interns too. It’ll be much needed after hell month.” You just sit there, as they all talk, and Gojo is all pouty, like a baby. You peek at your phone now, seeing a text from your shitty ex, your face falls.

“Everything okay?” Maki asks softly, and you sigh, nodding.

“Just the ex.” You whisper back.

“Ex huh?” Satoru has somehow gotten behind you, leaning over, you smack at his hand then, glaring. “What, I wanna know!”

“You’re too fucking much sometimes. Ugh.” You stand up then, slinking past him. “I’m headed to get changed and then I’m leaving. See you all at home?” They all nod, eyeing you and Satoru curiously, you wave at the Doctors then head out.

Ugh, along with Satoru just being… weird and annoying, and your ex? He was a toxic, needy mess. He’d left you because you didn’t have enough time for him, and maybe you really didn’t, how could you have a relationship until your internship was finished? The first week none of you even left the hospital, sleeping in bunk beds and showering there.

But he constantly needed you, made you feel guilty, would fuck with your alarms and everything. Thank God he was long gone, even if he was annoying you currently, you delete his messages, heading to the locker room and hearing steps. You look back curiously to see Satoru holding the door open for you.

“What are you doing?”

“I am sorry, that was rude of me.”

“Yeah, well, what’s new.” You both walk into the locker room now, Satoru’s shrugging off his white lab coat, your cheeks heat up while you slip off your scrub top, it was normal to change in front of everyone, you all had co op locker rooms and showers even, all of you took years of anatomy, the human body was nothing really but parts.

But as you feel his eyes on you, when you’re down to just a black lace bra and a pair of boy shorts, you tense a bit, looking at him, shirtless, his lips parted as he looks at you. “I am sorry I know I annoy you, Miss perfect.”

“I’m no Miss perfect. I guess I have a lot to prove.” You say softly, trying not to drink in his rippling muscles, perfect well defined torso, cuts low where he’s now sliding up a pair of dark blue jeans.

His blue eyes fixate on you as he does, as you’re sliding on a pair of jeans yourself, buttoning them with trembling hands. “I had a lot to prove once too. I do understand.”

“You’re being serious?” You tease, earning a little smile, as he slides a black long sleeve shirt over his head. You get flustered as you realize your nipples are pressed against the cups of your bra, sliding your shirt and then a jacket on yourself, sitting at the bench to slide on your black boots.

“I can be serious sometimes, I just think there’s enough death, sadness, and depression in this career. Why not just try to have some fun? Otherwise, it’ll just consume you.” He says softly, in that husky voice of his, so sexy it alone could wreck someone. But his words…

“That makes sense.” You say softly now, standing as he does, grabbing your purse and locking up your locker, spinning the combination, at the same time he grabs his keys and wallet. “So you try to… brighten up things.”

“Yeah, someone has to.” He walks to you then, tapping your nose once more. “You’re too serious, you’ll have to lighten up, or this career will wreck you.”

You nod then, carefully, realizing perhaps this slutty, silly doctor had a lot more to him, than just being the perfect surgeon. “I’ll take that advice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, also…” He leans forward as you all are stepping out of the locker room, headed toward the automatic glass doors, and you look at him curiously. “Nice panties.”

“Oh fuck you, Dr. Hojo!” You glare now, shoving at him, as he heads to his mercedes benz, and you’re in your ancient SUV that sounds like a beast.

“Night-night, intern.” He shoots you two fingers, sliding into his fancy car with blacked out windows. You roll your eyes, putting your car in gear.

What a day.

This is just a little bit of what I'm thinking of doing when I finish up my Lawyer Gojo story, thought I'd see who wants to be tagged and is interested in this :) Look forward to your thoughts on Dr. Hojo lol!

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easy-there-leftovers · 4 months ago

Text

Mixed Messages

Written with season 1 Spencer in mind

Summary: The 5 times that you think you might hate Spencer Reid + the 1 time you realize you can't.

Alternatively; You're completely oblivious to your own growing feelings for Spencer that it constantly puts you in harm's way.

This can be seen as a prequel-sequel + sequel (?) to "A Question Unasked," but can be read independently of it.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader | cw: slight spoilers for s1e02, s1e04, s1e06, s1e10, and s1e18 | reader gets really mean in the later half lol |slight description of canon-typical violence, slight timeframe switches because it made more sense that way | word count: 8.9k (yowza--)

“It’s something, I know it is.” You mutter to yourself, rubbing the pads of your fingers together in an attempt to gather your thoughts. But you can’t.

Can’t find it.

Can’t find that one word.

“What do you call that thing when you–” you snap your fingers at your colleague. Your equal. “I’m sorry– what do you call the urge to do something or behave a certain way?”

This was your second case out on the field with the rest of the BAU since you’ve been recruited, and it had not been easy for you.

The BAU always seemed like a prestigious unit to be a part of. Only the best of the best ever got to rub elbows up in that department, having been founded by Jason Gideon and David Rossi.

Two of the most legendary profilers in the world.

And right now you, you haven’t been feeling the best. But Aaron Hotchner seemed to have thought otherwise.

Spencer thinks for a moment, trying to understand what you had just asked him while he stared at the board that still had the team’s ideas on it.

“Actually, it could be a number of things; urges, cravings, stressors, compulsions–”

“That one! You’re amazing at this, Dr. Reid.”

After noticing your knack for the more analytical aspects of the job, your mentor, the unit chief himself, had assigned you to work with one Dr. Spencer Reid. Another fresh grad that could not have been any older than you, but certainly seemed way smarter.

He said that you would work well together.

And you believed him.

You looked at the calendar that had been marked when the fires were started, fully missing how the genius had frozen at your praise, and you frantically reviewed the theory in your head.

Double-checking, triple-checking, and nodding when you see it’s consistent.

You then hurriedly pulled up the recording of Matthew in his dorm. Hovering so close to the screen, that Spencer had to be equally as close to it, and by extension to you, in order to even try seeing what you were seeing.

“Do you see it?” You look back at him, and his face is so close, you almost lose your nerve but thankfully, Gideon opens the door to check up on the both of you.

He pauses as if he’s seeing something he shouldn’t be, but carries on anyway.

“Don’t just look at the next move. It’s like chess, think three steps ahead.” He says it mostly to Spencer, you notice, but you also notice how he was slightly bothered by your proximity to his protege.

He doesn’t say anything about it, but you’re working as a profiler now for a reason.

You move away a little.

When he leaves, Spencer turns to look at you again and asks what you saw.

“See this?” You ask as you point to the part where there were two, clearly lit windows on screen and he nods. “There are two fires, right?” He nods again.

“Now look at this,” You show him the part where Matthew gets wet with gasoline, and is eventually set aflame.

“That was the third fire.”

You see Spencer’s eyes light up at your statement, and you hurriedly scrub back to where the unsub had been trying the door knob. Making sure to zoom in on the handle.

This time, it's the boy-genius that says it. “He turns the knob three times.” He looks at you to confirm his statement, and you nod. Looking into his eyes.

Something you did out of respect.

“Right, so if we’re not wrong,” you use the pronoun on purpose, “the professor’s office should have something to do with the number three as well.”

He walks with you to the burned office, professor Wallace’s office, and there you collectively discover more of the same number.

You have all the evidence you need.

***

“Sir Hotchner, we know why the profiles never fit.” It’s you who opens the door first, but Spencer is the one that carefully closes it behind you.

He looks at Gideon. “You were right to tell Morgan not to rely on precedent.” He then sets up the computer that you two had brought and you continue for him.

“So far, the fires that have been set are completely task-oriented.”

Hotch quirks his brows at that. “So once the fires are set, the unsub is done?”

You nod.

“Correct, sir. The reason why the profile never fit is because it contradicts the mold of a classic serial arsonist– his use of fire is the compulsion of a completely different disorder.” “Which is?” Gideon questions.

“An extreme manifestation of OCD– Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.” Spencer answers as he finally found out how to turn the computer on. The two of you exchanging lines in perfect synchronization.

“He does everything in threes. And if I’m right, he’ll have to kill again.”

The four of you discuss the behavioral evidence that had led to this discovery, with Spencer taking the lead as he mentions its possible tie to ‘scrupulosity,’ a type of OCD centering on religious obsession.

As you continue though, and you know you shouldn’t take it to heart, but the way that Gideon’s constantly questioning your ideas and not Spencer’s was starting to make you feel uneasy. As if you were a bug under his careful scrutiny.

Or was it the way that you sat?

Granted, there were only three chairs in the area, so you had absentmindedly sat on the bit of the desk that had been uncluttered. No one else seemed to be bothered by it, and certainly not Spencer, who had cleared the area nearest to him just for you.

So what…?

Being the non-confrontational kind, but not one to be pushed around, you take a mental departure from the discussion and start thinking about what else could be useful to the case. Bringing something new to the table that’s relevant.

You try to think if there had been anyone that stood out to you. Spencer had mentioned religious obsession, and the call from earlier definitely supported the idea, but you couldn’t single out one theology student that would fit that criteria.

You tried getting up from where you sat. Pacing has always helped you gather your thoughts, but you didn’t even need to take those few steps when you felt the cold sweat run down your back.

And it seemed like Gideon had noticed it. “What is it?”

You turned to slowly face the rest of them. “I think I know who it might be.” You groan as you think about it.

“And it’s not a he.” If you thought about this too late and another fire is happening right now–

—-------

It wasn’t until you were on the flight home that you felt like you could breathe easy again. You didn’t have to be near Gideon anymore, giving you the side eye every time you were the least bit close to his protege.

You could just exist silently while you think about what to write in your report.

It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, nor his mentor’s, you thought as you stared at the somewhat empty file in your hand.

You’re sure that Reid didn’t mean to take credit for the theory that you had essentially spelled out for him, and you’re also sure that Gideon was just a little uncomfortable with how unprofessional you might’ve seemed.

Looking all cozied up with his golden boy. That had to be the only reason why he practically ignored you, but congratulated the boy-genius.

You sigh and wonder if you’ll ever get on his good side. Maybe you just needed to work a little harder.

As you nod at your resolve, it's your mentor that takes a seat in front of you.

“Congratulations on your second case.” You’re still a little starstruck, getting to work with him, but you manage out a polite, ‘thank you’ as a response.

You try to make yourself look busy by rereading the other file that had been completed.

You already made a fool of yourself in front of one of your seniors, you didn't want to mess up in front of him too. Hotch could–

“I meant it, by the way.”

You look up at him again. Eyes wide in question, and perhaps fear, as you realize you don’t understand what he’s talking about.

“You were focused on that calendar more than any of us, even before we landed in Arizona. You recognized the pattern before you even knew what it meant. And that definitely helped.”

“Oh.” Is all you could say, because what else could you have said?

A small laugh leaves your mouth. He recognized you for your efforts. Made it known that he saw what you saw, and that what you saw was helpful.

Without the usual mention of the boy-genius.

It was a moment just for you.

A moment where you vowed to work harder. Smarter.

And the moment you knew that SSA Aaron Hotchner was the best leader that you could ever have.

“Oh and agent?” Both you and Spencer look back to see your supervisor, but you see that it’s you that he’s singling out. “A private word, if you please.”

You nod without a second thought, despite not knowing what this other meeting could possibly be for. You were just as clueless as you were about the one earlier.

What you weren’t clueless about was how you felt towards your situation. You had been assigned to work with Spencer so often that you were starting to get sick of it.

Not a slight to his company at all, on the contrary! You actually enjoyed it! He was a fascinating and accomplished young man that charmed his way into your heart with his little fun facts and references.

And if that weren’t enough, Morgan hadn’t exactly coined the nickname “pretty boy” just for laughs.

Dr. Reid lived up to that expectation.

With his soft brown hair, bright, inquisitive eyes, and how cozy he always seemed in his clothes— how could anyone dislike him?

No, it was the attention that you were getting that was starting to frustrate you. Or perhaps the wrong kind of attention, would be more appropriate.

Lately, it seemed as if you were only being treated as an extension of Dr. Reid. As if you were always attached at the hip, and that you always knew where he had to be and what it was that he was doing.

You don’t know where all this came from. Not even a little bit.

All you know is that it was slowly starting to rub you the wrong way, and that you wanted a semi-permanent departure from the situation.

But that didn’t happen because Spencer had just unknowingly shut down your only chance.

You digress, and put your feelings aside for now. You were at work, after all.

“What did you want to discuss with me sir?”

Hotch makes the effort to clear away his desk for a bit, and places his hands on top of it. Grasping them together as he looks at you with his usual stern expression.

“We’ll be issuing you a gun soon. You’re qualified to own one after having enough hours on the field, and you’ve shown a respectable record, so please keep that in mind.”

Your eyes widen in glee. Those were just a few words, but you couldn’t help how your heart swelled in pride at them.

It wasn’t the gun that you were happy about, it was what it represented.

Being issued a gun by the bureau signified that you were officially part of the team, and that you were deemed a responsible enough member of the organization to be trusted with it.

You should be honored to be given this chance and yet it felt sort of wrong— something didn’t sit right with you.

“Sir, with all due respect, while I’m thankful for the opportunity, I don’t see why I’m being issued a gun when Dr. Reid has still yet to have one.”

He sighs at that, as if he had hoped that you wouldn’t ask, but he tells you anyway.

“Dr. Reid has failed numerous firearm qualifications and will be retaking his test soon.”

You nod slowly, still not quite seeing the relation between the two scenarios.

He sighs again, but this time, with a small, tight smile.

“We’ve been thinking that it would instill more confidence in him if you knew your way around a gun. He seems to have a great respect for you, and seeing you have one might help him a bit.”

You smile at that and respond good-naturedly. “Duly noted, sir! I’ll make sure he has the confidence that could rival even Derek Morgan’s.”

He shows you a polite smile and dismisses you promptly. Getting back to his stack as you nod and you make your way to his door.

It shouldn’t bother you, and it doesn’t, you think.

A job’s a job.

If it wasn’t going to be you, it was going to be someone else. You just so happened to have been given this particular job due to the presumed rapport you had with one another, and you saw no problem with that.

You trust your boss, and it’s not like you dislike Spencer, so it shouldn’t bother you at all.

And yet it does, ever so slightly, when you see Morgan and Elle, crowding and cooing around him like he was a baby when you make it out of Hotch’s office.

You’re confused at what it is that you’re feeling, but you hear something akin to the word, ‘math.’ What could they be teasing him about now?

“Is something going on here?” You hope they don’t see how hard you’re trying to keep a straight face. Looking to and fro.

You’re at work now, and you can’t let your emotions get the best of you.

"Was just caught trying to add my stack onto pretty boy's plate." Morgan says with his usual chuckle.

You detect a slight hint of something else hidden somewhere in there, probably another inside joke that you weren’t in on, but you can’t bring yourself to pay it any mind.

So you let out a small, ‘hm’ to let them know that you heard what he said, and you eventually turn your back to them to reach your desk.

You don’t see the way Derek shoots you a knowing look.

And you don’t see the way Spencer looks at you longingly either. Too busy burying yourself in another stack of files, sure to go overtime once again, to drown out the unknown feeling that was welling up inside you.

Did you hate Spencer Reid?

“Isn’t it amazing he knows what he knows and he’s only twenty-four?” Gideon huffs out and gives Aaron a small smile in response.

“Imagine what he’ll know by fifty.”

It’s times like these that you remember that he does have the capability to smile. Well of course he’s smiling, his surrogate son looked like he was having the time of his life, blowing out those trick candles.

Everyone crowded around him.

Everyone but you and the two seniors.

You want this moment to be something that everyone can enjoy, and you know just how much it would sour Gideon’s mood if you were right over there. So you opted to take your place right next to Hotch.

And Hotch seemed to notice that.

“Why aren’t you with the rest of them?”

You really don’t want to answer that right now. Not when the reason is staring right back at you, waiting for your response as well.

“I can see the party just fine from here.” Is what you settle for, and look right at Spencer’s still heaving back to make a point.

Before he could question it any further, he’s called to the other side of the room where a phone call was waiting for him.

Reid takes the opportunity to excuse himself and take his place by Gideon’s side.

“You having fun?” The elder asks and he nods slowly at that.

“Yes, definitely. I am definitely– having fun.”

He punctuates each pause with a tight-lipped smile and a snark that is just itching to break free and you can’t help the little chuckle that escapes you. As it happens however, you quickly try to hide it behind a cough and a cover of your mouth.

You’re right next to Gideon, you need to look professional, you think, no matter how cute or ridiculous Spencer might look.

You quickly try to find Hotch with your eyes to ground yourself. Trying your best to zone out and not pay attention to the conversation happening right beside you, but it’s getting increasingly harder to do that.

“I wonder where the cake was from.” The younger one asks absentmindedly, but you feel the twitch of your fingers at the question.

Gideon subtly looks over to you, but he doesn’t answer him. Instead asking if he made a wish yet, which quickly changes the trajectory of Spencer’s questions.

You let out a breath of relief, but the moment is short-lived when you see the solemn expression on Hotch’s face.

“Sorry guys. Party’s over.” You put your game face on, and quickly excuse yourself from them to grab your go bag.

What you didn’t see was that Spencer had failed to notice Gideon’s gaze because he had been looking somewhere else.

He had been looking at you. Waiting for you to greet him with a happy birthday like the rest of them did. You were the only one that wasn’t there, after all.

But you had already been looking at Hotch, and that, he notices.

***

The more cases you work for the BAU, the more you realize how much of your work isn't just the investigation anymore.

You feel it when you still see the victims’ faces when you close your eyes.

Feel it in the hammer of your chest when you have to face off another degenerate with a gun.

Feel it in the tenseness of your shoulders when either Spencer, or Gideon, or Hotch, or any of them are looking at you because if they even have the slightest idea that you’re not doing fine, you’ll lose your place on the team.

If you even had one, that is.

It was a strange position you were in. Everyone was expecting you to be boy-genius’ sidekick or something. Having all these ideas of you being someone bigger and stronger than you really were.

Someone that was smart enough to show him just where to look, but not smart enough for the rest of the local PD to listen to because for some reason, it was more believable when it came out of Dr. Reid’s mouth.

You still remember how Morgan rolled his eyes at you when you corrected him. ‘It’s a ballad, actually. Not a poem.’

What’s worse was that the only person that didn’t seem to have this expectation of you was Spencer himself because he had no idea that any of this was even going on.

He didn’t ask for this.

He was just doing his job, just like you were.

You’re officially off duty, now that you’re on the flight back to Quantico. So you unfortunately no longer have the excuse to shut away your feelings for the sake of your profession.

You sigh and figure that maybe a little shut eye could help, but that idea is completely thrown out the window when you hear the soft pads of rubber-soled shoes shuffling on the jet’s carpeted floor.

You look up to see the less than comfortable posture of one Dr. Spencer Reid. Obviously caught between trying to go back to the main space, and just staying near the tail where you were.

Your heart warms at the sight and you invite him over.

You were thankful that he took up on your offer.

Even under the harsh lights of the craft, you still notice just how soft Spencer looks. Even softer now that he’s donning your gift, and rambling on and on about how cool the color purple was to him. Gesticulating with his hands in a frenzy and you relax for what feels like the first time in months.

If you didn’t work together, you realize, you could’ve been a lot closer. He’s everything that you liked about a guy. He was smart and sensible, with a childlike wonder for anything and everything.

There was an endless amount of things that he could accomplish, with a brain like that.

And he was only twenty-four.

He was just like you, so why weren’t you closer? You ask yourself this as you sigh out, but you immediately find your answer in the form of his and your mentor looking right back at you. Whispering amongst themselves and occasionally shaking their heads.

Looking just like they had earlier when you had brought in Spencer’s cake before the rest of BAU had showed up for duty.

You know that there’s no way Reid can see them. Not when his back is quite literally turned to them, so you opt to ignore it. Maybe it was all in your head.

And maybe working with him so often wasn’t so bad.

After all, how could you hate Spencer Reid when he’s this happy from just a scarf?

You see the scarf again, soon enough.

Maybe a little too soon.

The BAU had received an urgent call to McAllister, Virginia to investigate the supposed work of a satanic cult. Two bodies that had sustained identical blunt-force trauma to the head were recovered, one skeleton and one fresh, but the team was debating the involvement of the cult in the case.

“You're saying that there's no such thing as devil worship?” Elle asks with disbelief, but is quickly answered by Gideon.

“Not at all. But most of the satanism that we've seen is juveniles damaging property, desecrating churches, cemeteries,” He shrugs a little as he pauses.

“Besides,” you add. “Satanists, removed from religious stigma, are just ethical hedonists. They reject the perceived oppression of the Christian community by building their own, and indulging in more worldly pleasures. They’re not inherently violent.”

The elder nods at that, and you feel a bit proud of yourself in that moment.

“And to my knowledge, there has never been a proven case of a satanic ritual killing in the United States.”

“Well, maybe there is now.”

***

The scene is certainly interesting.

Gideon, Reid, JJ, and you were curious about the state of the older body, so you had made your way down the steep slope to check up on it. You get acquainted with the local sheriff while you’re there too and he explains that they found the body when they were doing their own investigation.

Just seventy-five feet away from where they found Adam.

“It's a man. The male pelvis is more narrow and the opening at the bottom is heart-shaped, as opposed to oval.” Spencer announces as he prods at the body’s clothes with a stick, but he is immediately distracted by another element.

“Melted wax?”

“Candle wax?” JJ asks as she leans forward a bit to see it too. Spencer agrees.

“Candles are used in rituals.”

“They’re also used on birthday cakes.” Gideon is no longer interested in the scene and looks for something else that could be nearby.

You, however, notice something different about the body. You were expecting it to look different.

If you were blitzed from behind, gravity tells you that you should fall forward. Chest on the ground.

But this skeleton’s chest was facing up.

“Actually, they were originally used to protect the birthday celebrant from demons for the coming year. As a matter of fact, down to the fourth century, Christianity rejected the birthday celebration as a pagan ritual.”

You nod, seemingly not paying attention, but you add on to that. Much to Spencer's delight.

“Yeah, they thought that evil spirits lurked around the days of major changes so they lit candles for every year that had passed. Anway, sir, do you happen to have a good picture of Adam’s dead body?”

The sheriff narrows his eyes at the two of you, then looks at JJ who only shakes her head with a smile.

“What kind of kids did you bring out here?”

***

You’re surprised it took you this long to actually feel like you needed a gun.

Hotch, as always, had paired you and Spencer together.

Again.

But this time, it was to go out on the field.

You had been left behind with him to continue searching the Jenson’s house. To look for anything that could concretely point to the group being responsible if the case ever went to court, but you and Reid found nothing.

And it was expected that you would find nothing. You and him had agreed that it was just far too convenient if you did, but then that kid— Cory— He asked you two to check the abandoned house farther up.

A house that you’re pretty sure not even his father knew about.

And that’s when you got the idea. It was dark, law enforcers weren’t nearby, and you were trying to trace the tracks of an unsub that lived in an area only locals wouldn’t get lost in. You had every right to feel nervous.

Especially when you had that sinking feeling that the unsub was the one guiding you right where he wanted you to be.

So when he led you to a house that had the goth kids’ insignia written in bright, red paint, you knew that you had to play along.

But you also knew that whatever may or may not have been up there, the team wouldn’t want Spencer to see.

You didn’t want him to see.

So you look back at him, and nod. Giving him a look that told him that you would check the house alone, that you had a plan, and that he should stay exactly where he was until you gave him the okay clear.

By the time you got back down, he knew you saw it.

You saw the girl, and you knew you had to get Spencer out of here.

Fast.

“Was she in there?” Cory grabbed you by the shoulder, and you could only gulp.

You had to think quickly, but you were also still so shocked to see her in– whatever state it was that you saw.

And then this kid was just pretending like he didn't know jackshit about it.

“She was in there.” Was all you could breathe out, vacantly looking past the kid that eventually let you go.

You instinctively reach for your phone, speed dialing Hotch, but the service was so bad up here that it wouldn’t even go through. You had to clear the area, in case this goes haywire.

With no other choice, you said what you thought could get him out of there.

“Dr. Reid, I need you to check back downhill and see if the deputies have returned.” He looks at you incredulously.

“What? No! I can’t leave you here– ”

“We need the rest of the sheriffs and the crime scene team here.” Looking dead into his eyes, he still doesn’t relent.

You need to calm yourself down. The more he thinks you’re not okay, the more difficult it’s going to be to convince him to leave.

He whispers your name as if it’ll persuade you. Grasping your shoulders like Cory did, albeit more gently.

“Right now, you’re experiencing an acute stress response, also known as the fight-or-flight response. It would be much safer for all of us to–” “Do as you’re told.”

He freezes, but he’s still looking right at you. Eyes shaking in what you assume to be fear or worry, but he eventually nods and leaves. Constantly looking over his shoulder at you and he trips a little because of it.

You make sure that he’s out of sight before turning back to the football-genius.

You saw the gun he wasn’t so subtly concealing in his pants, and there was no way you were going to risk him hurting anyone else. You included.

You position yourself right in front of the house. If he makes a break for it and runs in there, it’ll be game over for just one cop and one manic robber. So you try to keep the open forest his only escape route.

That’s when you start cornering him.

Telling him that you knew what the profile said about the killer and how it all seemed too good to be true. How the crime had to have been done by someone who was just as smart and connected as him.

How it could have only been done by him.

What you failed to take into account however was how Spencer would have definitely come back to check on you and report his findings.

Your heart drops as he stumbles into the fray.

Which is why you’re here right now.

Gun drawn at the kid, with his own resting right on your friend’s head.

“She shouldn't have gotten mixed up in all this, it was his run! I didn’t mean to hurt her, but make no mistake– I will shoot your boy right now.”

You raise your hands and drop your gun in surrender. Scared of what he might do to him if you don’t.

—-

You hear Aaron Hotchner shout for you as he approaches uphill and you sigh.

You’re fully expecting to hear a lecture, but not the look of deep impatience that graces your supervisor’s face.

“Agent, I hope you understood what just happened.”

You shrink under his gaze, but he doesn’t let up. “Your actions during this operation put both you, and Reid, in serious danger.”

“Sir, but we handled it. I even made extra sure to evacuate Dr. Reid from the premises, I just wasn’t expecting him to come back and–”

“But that doesn't change the fact that he had a gun on Reid mere moments before you took him down. You were antagonizing him and while you may have been successful in apprehending him, what you did also put Reid at risk.”

This was unfair.

He was talking like you hadn’t had the same gun pointed at you too.

Like he hadn't made an effort to shoot at you.

There was nothing you could’ve said that could stop him, and you acted as fast as you could but you knew Hotch wouldn’t listen to any of it.

So you stayed quiet. Nodding along in understanding as he gave you a rundown of everything that you could’ve done better, and anything that you could’ve said differently.

Things that, he said, you could’ve done better while trying to keep yourself calm.

Tring to keep yourself calm after discovering a dead body, and being threatened by someone that had your friend at gunpoint.

What’s worse is that not even a moment after Hotch left you to talk to the rest of the team, Morgan came and it looked like he had his fair share of complaints too.

“Sir Derek Morgan, I understand that you might be mad–” “Oh, so you know I’m mad?” You curse and groan out childishly, you know that, but you just really wanted to leave now.

“Kid, I get that he jumped you, but you can’t just go rogue and expect everyone else to know what you’re doing.”

You scoff.

“I didn’t go ‘rogue,’ I sent out Spencer to get backup so I could handle him myself. He would’ve been out of the line of fire. I did that to protect him–”

“No. You did that to play hero.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Splitting up and acting on your own like that wasn’t heroic. It was reckless. Do you know how much sleep he’s losing right now and how much more he’s going to lose just when all of this hits?”

You shake your head humorlessly. Why is it always about him?

You’re not responsible for knowing anything and everything about him, you’ve barely known each other for a year. Why is it suddenly part of your job description to be boy-genius' caretaker?

“He’s been having nightmares,” he says your name with a weight in it.

“Don’t give him any more reasons to stay up at night.”

And he just leaves you right there. Going up to the very guy you were talking about, who was being checked by the only medic the county had on standby. Probing to see if he was alright.

And he seemed like it. If the way his face lit up at Morgan’s embrace or the way that he smiled when JJ congratulated him was anything to go by.

Or the way that Hotch patted his back to soothe him.

Or the way that Elle seemed to be intently listening to what he was saying–

He’s not your responsibility, so why the hell should you care?

God, it just wasn't fair.

And you know that. You know that he didn’t ask for any of this to happen, and that you should be happy that he’s fine–

But you can’t bring yourself to look at him for any longer. Not when he goes to look at you with that tight-lipped smile and raised brows that makes him look like he can’t do anything without you.

Not when it’s starting to look like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Not when it starts to feel like he’s doing this on purpose.

You’re starting to hate Spencer Reid.

After Morgan knocks some sense into the camera man that had been spying on the pair, Elle is the one that gives you his camera and makes her way to Spencer first. You know exactly what should be on that film, but you just wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

That maybe if you didn’t look at it any closer, you wouldn’t see anything that could make you hate him more than you already do.

That he had been behaving and just being the good, perfect boy that Gideon and Hotch, and everyone else, seemed to rave on and on about.

But you didn’t even need a proper light to see just what was on it.

And you made sure he knew exactly what he had done.

“I– I fell in–”

“Doctor Spencer Reid!” Seeing you walking towards him with an anger he had never seen directed towards anyone before made him freeze where he stood. Cowering under your gaze.

“What in the fuck was going on inside you goddamn head, huh?” Elle had already left by then to talk to the camera guy with Morgan just a few feet away to leave you two to it.

She knew what was going to happen, and she was going to let it. It needed to.

“It was an accident, I swear! She pulled me in and I—” He tried to reason, but you were having none out of it.

“And you what? Decided that then and there was the right place to eat her face off? Might I remind you that you are still on duty and this behavior is completely unacceptable!”

If this had been you, this is exactly what you would’ve been lectured about.

But Spencer feels his brows knitting together and he shakes his head in confusion.

“You’re-- not jealous about me kissing Lila?”

“You think I’m what?!”

You cannot believe the gall of this man.

Cannot comprehend how oblivious he seems to the severity of the situation.

And for what, because some hot blonde just happened to give him the slightest bit of attention? That since the rest of the team wasn’t around, he could go ahead and play house with some model and waste all his training on the field for nothing?

You shake your head incredulously at the thought.

“I don't know just what the hell is going on in that fuckass head of yours, Doctor, but that little bone-headed stunt that you just pulled? Could’ve cost you your life and hers.”

Spencer tried to quell your anger. Tried to apologize, but you just kept going. Seemingly growing more and more frustrated at his feeble attempts.

“I couldn’t give less of a shit who you do and don’t kiss in your spare time, Mr. 187. But let me remind you of something in case that brain of yours got all scrambled from exchanging extracellular fluids with Miss Archer,”

No longer caring for his aversion for germs, because he certainly stopped caring about that earlier today, you brought your index and middle finger up to rest dead center on his forehead.

He closed his eyes and whimpered at your touch.

“You are still being pursued by a psychotic killer who is going around, shooting people in the head. We’re lucky that the guy in the bushes was just some sorry voyeur doing his goddamn job, but if it had been anyone else, you would’ve been fucking–!”

Spencer feels the contact get ripped away from him suddenly, and he instinctively chases after it.

The realization of how insane that must’ve been however, makes him open his eyes.

He sees Morgan pulling you into his chest as he strides towards Lila’s house. He sees you struggle against the hold, but as his friend keeps shushing you and repeating your name from inside, you eventually calm down and relax. Disappearing into his form as Derek’s back now faces him and he can’t see you anymore.

The boy-genius feels his heart clench at the sight. A feeling not so dissimilar to what he felt when the blonde first started kissing him.

He didn’t know what to do then. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but some small, sick part of him just wanted your attention on him so badly that he was willing to do whatever it took for that to happen.

He had been waiting for so long–

But as he recalls how you were seething at him, how even though he had your eyes right where he wanted them to be, all he could feel was the heavy cloak of shame burdening him. Weighing on his form like the weight of his wet, pool bacteria-infected clothes.

And something tells him that no amount of bathing or scrubbing would ever rid him of it.

He doesn’t even notice the rest of the team coming back to apprehend the trespasser until Elle picks up the roll of film that you had dropped when you were dragged away. Holding it out for him to take.

He extends his hand out of instinct, but he crushes it soon after he recognizes what’s on it.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Is all that she says as she leaves him frozen there too.

***

Meanwhile, you were still in Derek’s arms. Crying like some young little fragile thing and you hated it.

You didn’t even know why you were crying anymore because even you knew that breaking a code of conduct was nothing to shed a few tears over.

“Come on, sweet girl, talk to me.” Morgan coos as he continues to hug you, which makes you sob all the harder. Embarrassed that an authority figure just saw you lose your shit on the job, so you shake your head no.

He’s probably going to tell Hotch and you’re going to get transferred out–

“We can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

But somehow those exact words had you spilling your heart out on to him. Doing so in such a frantic state as if this was a one-time opportunity that you were never going to be granted ever again.

So much so that all your insecurities came out of your mouth in word vomit.

How you tried so hard to do everything right. How you fought tooth and nail just to make it onto the team.

How even though you were just as young as Reid, everyone else seemed to dote on him more.

How everyone expected you to know just as much, if not more, than him so that he wouldn’t feel so out of place, and how every time that you didn’t, everyone only seemed to care because you had put him in danger.

How none of your efforts were ever noticed because they would either be overshadowed by Spencer’s, or brushed aside because it was not enough to make up for something that could’ve gotten him hurt.

And most of all, how bad you felt because none of it was his fault, and you knew you were being unfair to him.

And Morgan listened to all of it. Listening and occasionally apologizing when he knew that he had been guilty of one or two of those transgressions.

Patting your back and giving you all the comfort that he could before he knew you had to refocus on the case.

When you see Spencer again, his eyes remain low and you can’t bring yourself to apologize in that instant because you were still on duty and work had to be done.

No matter how sorry and how pathetic you felt, it had to wait.

What you don’t see is how his gaze lingers on his friend’s hand. Absent-mindedly moving up and down your arm in, what he understands to be, a protective manner.

—————

He was being a distraction. A liability. To the case, or to Lila, or to you, you’re not sure anymore, but you needed him out. So you did exactly what you were hired at the BAU to do.

You’ve always thought the art piece on Lila’s wall was bizarre. And now that you’re looking at it again with a much clearer mind, you finally see why.

You had asked for everyone in the room to take the wall apart, after gaining Lila’s approval, and you all pieced together the final clue.

A mural depicting the birth of the star that is now Lila Archer.

After Spencer points out that the man in the mural was his ex-classmate, Parker Dunley, the team sees no further reason to question his involvement and makes the preparations to leave.

Yet something is gnawing at you, telling you that this can’t be it.

And at this point? No one is going to listen to a theory you have because nobody listens to you once Spencer says anything.

So you suggest the next best thing.

“Excuse me?” Your unit chief raises his eyebrows at your suggestion, but you can tell that it’s mostly a formality.

“Sir, with all due respect, it is in our best interest to relieve Dr. Reid of his position as Miss Archer’s bodyguard. He is now a potential target, and he knows Parker Dunley best among all of you. He would be most useful to the investigation if he joined the others.”

Spencer makes no attempt to contest, wanting nothing more than to just get this over with and talk to you when it’s all done, and Lila doesn’t say anything either. Just wanting the ‘traitor’ to leave her house and never come back.

Hotch senses this and sighs. He looks over to Gideon, who looks like he couldn’t care any less, and then back to you.

“Alright then. You’re switching places with Reid. We’ll let you know if anything happens.”

He then discusses with the others that he’ll be joining JJ at the local PD while Morgan, Elle, Reid, and Gideon will be closing in on Dunley.

So that left you alone with Lila, which was going a lot easier than you had expected it to.

“I’m sorry about your boyfriend. If I knew you were a thing, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to kiss him.”

She seemed so guilty as she said it and you just shook your head, but you noted the use of the term, “try.”

“Oh Miss Archer, please don’t apologize. He's not my boyfriend. I was just really upset that he could’ve gotten you hurt when he was supposed to be protecting you.”

You move to stand a little closer to her, still keeping a fair amount of distance so you wouldn’t crowd her.

"Besides, I think he's more into you than you think."

Under more normal circumstances, you supposed that they could work. Spencer most likely only hesitated because he was holding on to some semblance of professionalism he could maintain with the beautiful woman.

In another life, maybe this would've panned out differently.

“I saw the way he looked at you, you know?” Now that interests you and you tilt your head at her.

“Like he hated me?”

Her laugh was empty as she shook her head. “You’re just like him.” Is all she said.

But before you could ask any further, a call had interrupted you.

You looked at the caller ID and saw that it was the very guy you were talking about. ‘Dr. Reid,’ it read. The sight makes you sigh.

You know him well enough that he would never call you for work, and that this must have been for something personal.

‘Stay professional,’ you told yourself, so you drop the call.

If it had really been important, someone else would call you.

As soon as you move to put your phone down however, it rang again. You checked it and fair enough, this time it was from Derek Morgan.

You bring the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Sweet girl, listen to me. We have a name, and it’s ‘Maggie Lowe.’ We’re on our wa—Christ man—we're on our way back over there, okay? Stay put and we’ll let Hotch and JJ know.”

There’s shouting from his end that worries you, but you nod with a hum and end the call.

You turned back to Lila and asked her very hurriedly if she knew anyone by that name, and her reaction tells you everything.

You try to tell her that she’s the unsub and just while she’s still confused at your sudden change in demeanor, her phone rings.

She shows you that it’s ‘Mags’, her friend, and you immediately try to calm her down and ask her to keep her friend on the phone. Expressing softly, but with great urgency, that it is imperative they keep her on the line.

Just as Lila answers, you immediately dial Garcia. “Oracle of Quantico, speak if you deign to hear the truth.”

“Miss Garcia, I need an emergency trace to a cell phone from Lila Archer’s phone.”

You hear her gasp a little, reasonably concerned that you had been speaking so softly. A stark contrast to your usually strong and sure voice, but she steels her own and lets you know that she’s on it.

You recite to her Lila’s phone number, having memorized it from her manager, and you instinctively look back at her to see her still pacing on the phone.

You try to smile warmly, mentally patting her on the back for her efforts, and she nods back in response. Somewhat thankful for yours.

As you wait, you suddenly remember Spencer’s phone call from earlier. Was this why he called?

Fuck, what if he wondered off and had been calling for backup but you just dropped the phone on him?

Maggie could be anywhere. It would be no surprise to you if she had actually gone back to find Dunley to eradicate any leads that could trace back to her. What if she was–

You’re quick to tune back into your own call however when you hear Penelope halt her typing and call out your name.

“Is Lila’s address 6028 Pike Street?”

You don’t like where this is going. “Yeah.”

“She’s calling from inside the house.” You sigh, in relief? In fear?

“I’m sending you backup right now, please be safe, my love.” She says with a tremor in her voice and you drop the call immediately. Catching the attention of the blonde in front of you.

“Lila–” but then you hear a shout and a thud from another room and you shake your head. You didn’t need to ask how she got in the house because that wasn’t important anymore.

The profile was. And the profile said that it was an erotomanic killer.

You could work with that.

—----

It didn’t take long for you to find Maggie. Well, you'd laugh if you could, because it was more like she found you.

On the other end of her gun.

With Lila in her arms.

There was no way that you could stall for however long it would take for the rest of your team to get here, so your best shot at surviving this was to talk her out of it.

“Maggie, put the gun down–”

“Don’t call me Maggie, you don’t know me.” She spit out, venom in her voice as she tried ushering Lila out with her.

“I know what it’s like.”

You don’t know what the fuck you were saying, but you were panicking. It wasn’t your first time being held at gunpoint, it had happened so often that Hotch even claimed you were always begging for it.

But this was different. None of the right words were coming to you.

You had to think of a way to deal with this, fast, and you didn’t know how to make it believable enough.

“No you don’t, little girl. Don’t pretend like you do.”

“But I do!” You put your gun down in a panic and held your hands up in surrender.

“I know what it’s like to l-” your mouth went dry. “To love someone– someone that doesn’t love you back.”

You seriously don’t know what the fuck you’re saying.

Maggie laughs at what you say though.

“Well it sucks to be you, but my baby loves me. Isn’t that right?” She makes a show of tucking Lila’s hair behind her ear, but even through her fear, she denies her friend.

“I don’t, Mags.” Maggie’s jaw tightens at that.

“Yes you do, I know you do– Don’t act like you don’t, you stupid, ungrateful–” you cut her off.

“She doesn’t, Miss Lowe. And I know you know that.” She shakes her head, but still keeps her gun on Lila.

You push a little harder. “I know because I know what it’s like to love someone. To meet your match.” You approach her just a little.

She shifts the gun to you now, but you continue to push.

“I know what it feels like to get tunnel vision. Where nothing matters, not even yourself, as long as it makes her happy. Keeps her safe. ”

You look her in the eye, and you can tell that it’s not enough. You need to switch gears, but you can’t think of anything else to do.

“And– And I know what it’s like–to feel everything so strongly—so much so that you don’t even know what’s happening until it just is.”

You realize it now. It was all you

It was never about the teasing of your teammates, never about the expectation that Hotch or Gideon had.

You never hated Spencer. You just wanted to belong. You just wanted to be treated like how he was.

The realization makes your eyes water.

You didn’t even notice it, but as more and more words fall free from your mouth, all you can think about is him.

About how you’re sorry. About how you never meant to hurt him. About how he doesn’t deserve your frustrations and that everything you did was just for him.

About how you could never hate anyone as loveable as him.

You shake the thought away. Hands still up high.

Maggie’s eyes narrow, her finger twitching on the trigger. “You think you can understand me, huh? Talk your way out?”

You shake your head. “No, but I think I can reach you,”

You take a step forward.

“I thought I hated him, Maggie. I thought he was doing it all on purpose. Kept thinking, ‘we were so similar.’ So why was it that being smart was special, and made everyone treasure him, but not me? And I think, maybe–”

You take another.

“Maybe I was just scared. Scared that I wasn’t good enough. That I would always be overshadowed.”

Maggie’s grip on the gun tightens. “So what? You think that makes us the same?”

“No,” you say softly, taking another careful step forward.

“But I do think that you’re the type of person that’s willing to do anything, no matter how desperate, to be seen.”

Maggie’s expression wavers, but the gun remains steady. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough,” you insist. “I know that hurting Lila won’t fill that void. It won’t give you what you’re looking for.”

Maggie’s hand trembles. “I would never hurt her--”

“Yes, you will. You will because you’re a danger to her, but that can change. You don’t have to hurt anyone anymore.”

Maggie’s face contorted with rage.

“Shut up! You don’t know anything!”

When Maggie goes to shoot at you, you tackle the gun out of her hand. Wrestling her to the ground as you did.

You look behind you and tell Lila to hurry and grab your gun from off the floor and leave, and she does just that.

Not even sparing you, nor her ‘friend,’ a glance as she makes her escape to where you hope your team now was.

From outside, the team sees Lila holding a gun like a bomb in her hands, and running into the arms of Spencer Reid. The others that were still in their car quickly try to get out. To understand the situation, but then a single gunshot is heard from inside the house.

The rest of the team rushes in.

Due to the results of my poll, there will be a part two! One where it's all from Spencer's point of view + the aftermath of this case lol

Please let me know what you think of this one though!! Or any ideas you might want to see in the second part, or literally anything at all--

Like my work? Consider tipping me!!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x mentored by hotch! reader

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joelsrose · 27 days ago

Text

Guns and Roses: Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: At dinner with Tommy and Maria, you navigate the awkward tension with Joel, who appears to be displaying subtle signs of change. As the days progress, you find yourself grappling with the complexities of his words and actions, trying to decipher the shifting dynamics of your relationship.

11k words.... no comment No TW, enjoy !!! Lemme know if you’d like to be added to the tag list, thank you so much for your support guysss Previous chapter

It had been a week since that patrol with Joel—a week since you’d carefully stitched up his hand, and those quiet words he’d spoken still lingered, refusing to leave your thoughts. In the days that followed, you’d buried yourself in work—tending the garden, taking on extra watch shifts, anything to keep your hands busy and your mind from wandering to him. You hadn’t seen him at all—not in town, not at the gates, not during the late hours when patrols overlapped. You hadn’t felt the weight of his gaze, that quiet intensity that always seemed to linger when he looked your way. And maybe that was for the best. Easier. Simpler. Less complicated by the tangle of feelings you weren’t ready to face.

You came home late from an extra patrol you’d picked up with Maria, the cold biting into your skin, each gust of wind slicing like shards of glass. Exhaustion clung to you, settling deep in your bones, dragging your steps as you trudged down the empty, snow-covered street. The soft glow of the streetlights flickered faintly, casting long shadows across the snow.

By the time you reached your front door, your fingers were numb, stiff from the cold. Just like clockwork, the knob resisted you—stubborn and unyielding, as it always did. You muttered a string of curses under your breath, the sound carried away by the biting wind as you jiggled the handle. For months, you’d meant to ask Tommy to fix it, but it always slipped your mind—until moments like this, when exhaustion weighed you down, the cold gnawed at your skin, and all you craved was the warmth waiting inside.

But the damn door had other plans.

Finally, after what felt like a battle of wills, the door gave way, and you stumbled inside. The warmth greeted you like a long-lost friend, wrapping around you, instantly melting away the chill that had seeped into your bones. You stood there for a moment, letting the quiet of the house settle over you, your breath escaping in a soft sigh. With a weary kick, you sent your boots tumbling off, shaking the stubborn remnants of snow from your clothes, relieved to finally be home.

Upstairs, you peeled off your clothes and stepped into the shower, the hot water hitting your skin like a balm. It melted away the grime and exhaustion, the day’s weight slowly washing down the drain. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the warmth, the steady hiss of the water drowning out the world. For a brief moment, there was nothing but the soothing heat on your skin, each droplet tracing lazy paths down your neck, over your shoulders, and along your back. You sighed deeply, releasing the day’s burdens with it.

After your shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel and padded quietly across the floor, the cold air biting at your damp skin. You crawled into bed, where the soft sheets welcomed you, their coolness quickly warming against your body. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, a gentle reminder of Maria’s sachets, mingling with the earthy scent of the cabin’s aged wood. The weight of the blankets settled over you, grounding you, cocooning you from the chill of the night that pressed against the window.

In this silence, an escape from the chaos outside, you could finally let the world fade away—its noise, its burdens, slipping into the background like a distant hum.

As you lay there, the quiet of the room enveloped you, and your mind began to wander. You thought about life—how everything had shifted, how different it all was now. The past felt so distant, almost like a dream. There was a time, before Jackson, before the world fractured, when the most trivial issues consumed your thoughts—what to eat for dinner, whether to meet up with friends after school, the simple, everyday choices that seemed so important then. Now, those concerns felt like relics of another life, buried beneath the weight of all that had changed. You had learned to live with the loss, to accept that some wounds never fully heal, yet the emptiness still lingered beneath the surface, like a quiet ache that never really faded.

Jackson had given you stability, a sense of home you hadn’t felt in years. It was strange, really, how something so small and unremarkable could offer so much comfort. Tommy and Maria—kind, steady, always there—had become your anchors, giving you a place to belong when you thought that feeling was lost forever. You’d stumbled upon Jackson by chance, after weeks of traveling alone, exhausted and battered by the world outside. You hadn’t expected to stay, let alone find safety, but something about the place, the people, made it feel like a refuge from the constant chaos.

Maria, with her quiet strength, had been the first to welcome you. Her friendship slowly chipped away at the loneliness you carried like a second skin. Tommy, with his warmth and easy smiles, always ready with a joke or quick laugh, made the weight of life feel just a little bit lighter.

Yet, even with Jackson’s security and the friendship of people like Tommy and Maria, you tried to avoid the thoughts that crept in during the quiet moments—the yearning for someone to truly share your life with. But love in this world felt selfish, a luxury you could no longer afford.

All that mattered now was survival.

You buried that ache deep, convincing yourself it was easier this way, after the scars of your last relationship had left you afraid of opening up again. The pain of the past had taught you to keep your walls up, and though you longed for connection, the fear of being hurt again kept you at a distance. Even now, the loneliness remained, hiding in the shadows, always waiting.

Without realizing it—or maybe without wanting to admit it—your thoughts drifted to Joel, just as they did every night, like clockwork.

You couldn’t help but wish things were different between you two. That you could turn back time, undo the awkward silences, soften the sharpness of his words, and erase the coldness in his eyes. The distance between you and Joel felt like an unbearable weight. It wasn’t just his words that stung—it was the way he looked at you, like you were someone to tolerate, an inconvenience in his tightly guarded world. You often wondered what it would take to break through that wall, to have him look at you the way he did Tommy or Ellie—with that rare warmth, the quiet loyalty he reserved for only a few.

But maybe it wasn’t just Joel. Maybe it was you, too. Maybe there was something fundamentally wrong with you, something about the way you occupied space that made you feel like an outsider, always on the fringes, looking in. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but the thought gnawed at you relentlessly. Was it something you’d said? Something you’d done? Or was it simply who you were—always too much or never quite enough?

The echoes of your past relationship still lingered, making you second-guess every word, every gesture. You had been made to feel like you were too needy, too clingy, and that doubt had rooted itself deep inside you. Now, every interaction felt like a delicate balance, as if any misstep might confirm the fear that you were just…too much.

You sighed, pulling the blankets tighter around yourself, as if they could somehow shield you from the weight of those thoughts. But the image of Joel’s hardened gaze clung to you, like a bruise you couldn’t touch without feeling the dull ache beneath. The friction between you had thickened into a wall so impenetrable, you didn’t know how—or even if—you could break through it. With that heaviness pressing on your chest, you let your eyes drift shut, sleep slowly creeping in, even as your mind swirled with memories: his sharp words, the cold bite of snow, and the wide, unbridgeable distance between you.

But then there were those rare moments, like when you had tended to his hand. His fingers, rough and calloused from years of survival, had briefly rested in your own, forming a fleeting connection. For just a second, you thought you saw something softer in his eyes, something that disappeared as quickly as it came. It left you questioning whether it had been there at all, or if it was just your tired mind imagining what you wished to see. That glimpse of warmth was always so brief, it felt almost like a dream, gone before you could even grasp it.

Your eyes grew heavy, the exhaustion finally settling in, and before you realized it, you had drifted off, once again with thoughts of Joel lingering in your mind.

It was becoming a pattern—no matter how hard you tried to push him away, he always found his way into your last waking thoughts, like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

•••

The next morning, you woke with a quiet sense of resolve. The world outside felt different, lighter somehow, as if the weight of the previous days had begun to lift. The snow, once harsh and unrelenting, had softened in the night, its flurries now gentle, drifting lazily through the air. There was something in the crispness of the morning—a quiet, unspoken promise of change. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there, lingering in the air. It whispered of new beginnings, though what those might be, you weren’t sure just yet.

You stepped out onto the front porch, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath your weight. The morning was still, but the world around you was beginning to stir. People walked by in small clusters, bundled up against the cold, their breath visible in the crisp air as they moved through the motions of daily life—talking, laughing, going about their routines with a sense of quiet purpose. Children’s voices carried faintly from a distance, their laughter bright against the otherwise muted morning. There was a peacefulness to it all, an ordinary rhythm that felt comforting in its familiarity.

The garden in front of you lay dormant, a barren stretch of earth dusted with a thin layer of frost, its potential hidden beneath winter’s icy grip. For now, it seemed lifeless—a quiet, desolate patch of ground that mirrored the stillness around you.

But you had plans for it.

You had told Maria and Tommy all about your dream for the garden, how this coming spring, you would finally put it to life. As you stood there, cradling your coffee in both hands, warmth seeping into your fingers, you imagined what it would become. In your mind’s eye, the empty space transformed—bursting with color, vibrant and wild, flowers of all kinds stretching along the fence, breathing life back into the soil. And most of all, there would be roses.

You had always loved roses—their fierce, unapologetic beauty, delicate yet resilient, with thorns that spoke of their strength. You could already picture them—soft pinks, fiery reds, deep purples—spreading across the garden, filling the air with their sweet scent. The thought brought a small smile to your lips, a quiet hope stirring within, as if nurturing the garden might somehow heal something within you too, fill some sort of void you had become too aware of.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the creak of Tommy’s front door swinging open across the street, pulling you from your reverie. He lived right in front of you, and the sound was as familiar as the rhythm of the town.

Instinctively, you glanced up, your eyes landing on Joel as he stepped out alongside Tommy. They were deep in conversation, their breath forming clouds in the cold morning air. You couldn’t make out the words from this distance, but then something caught your attention—Joel’s laugh. It was rare, almost unexpected, the sound soft but carrying across the quiet street. It lingered briefly in the air before fading, like something you almost didn’t catch but somehow couldn’t ignore.

Your eyes lingered on Joel longer than you intended. He looked much the same—his shoulders squared, his expression as unreadable as ever. But something was different in the way he stood next to Tommy. There was a subtle ease to him, a rare sense of relaxation in the way he moved, the tension that usually clung to him seemed to soften, if only slightly. The bandage still wrapped around his hand was a quiet reminder of the last time you’d been alone together, stirring a mix of emotions inside you—uncertainty, regret, and something you couldn’t quite name.

And then he caught your eye.

For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a split second, you saw his eyes flicker over you, a subtle once-over that made your breath hitch. His expression remained unreadable, but the way his eyes lingered left you feeling exposed. Embarrassment surged through you as you realized you were still in your pajamas, the thin fabric showing more skin than you would’ve liked. Flustered, you quickly looked away, turning your attention back to your coffee, hoping its warmth might somehow hide the flush creeping up your neck.

It was too much to stay outside any longer, the cold biting at your skin and the weight of Joel’s gaze unsettling you. You were already on your way back inside when Tommy noticed you, his eyes catching the awkward exchange.

As you scurried toward your door, fumbling with the stubborn knob once again, Tommy couldn’t resist. “Everything alright over there?” he called, a teasing lilt in his voice. You felt the heat rise to your face, hastily ducking inside before you had to answer, hoping the door would shut fast enough to hide your embarrassment.

From across the street, Tommy’s laughter rang out, likely at the clumsy spectacle you’d made of yourself. What you didn’t see, as you hurried inside, was the faint hint of a smile pulling at Joel’s lips—a rare flicker of amusement that softened his hardened expression. He watched you disappear, his gaze lingering on the door long after it had shut, as if your rushed retreat had left something behind, something only he could recognize.

•••

The knock on the door interrupted you as you sat reading, pulling you from the pages just as you were starting to lose yourself in them. With a sigh, you set the book aside and opened the door to find Tommy standing there, his usual grin plastered across his face, leaning casually against the frame.

“Hey, kid,” he greeted warmly, his eyes darting to the door handle before letting out a laugh. “Still fighting with this old thing, huh? I thought this morning might’ve been its final battle.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. You loved this about Tommy—the way he could make you laugh, no matter what. He had this duality about him, able to take command on patrols, protect the town, and then switch to being a total clown at the drop of a hat. It was a rare skill, and you appreciated it more than you let on.

You thought back to that one time, when you’d come back from a patrol, shaken up after a close call. The adrenaline had barely worn off, and you couldn’t get your mind to settle. Not long after you made it home, Tommy had shown up with a deck of cards, a grin on his face, and simply said, “Heard you need to learn how to lose at poker.” The next couple of hours were spent with him playfully mocking your terrible hand and telling stories that had you laughing until your stomach hurt. He never once asked about what had happened on patrol, and somehow, that made it better. He had this way of knowing exactly what you needed, even when you didn’t.

“Anyway,” Tommy continued, snapping you back to the present as he straightened up, “You’re coming over tonight. Maria’s cooking up a storm, and we’re not taking no for an answer.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s the occasion?”

Tommy shrugged, grinning as usual. “Do I need an occasion to hang out with my favorite people?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, not entirely convinced. “Who else is coming?”

“Just the usual suspects,” Tommy replied, throwing in a playful wink. “You, Joel, and Ellie. Figured we could all use a night to unwind. Besides, we’ll finally get to hear some of those patrol stories now that you two aren’t at each other’s throats anymore.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Right. Because we’re such great storytellers.”

Tommy laughed. “Hey, if nothing else, it’ll be entertaining to watch you try.”

You forced out a chuckle, though it felt hollow, the irony of his words twisting in your gut. The lies you’d fed Tommy were beginning to catch up with you, knotting something tight and uncomfortable in your chest. Just like last week, when he’d casually asked how patrol with Joel had gone, and you’d plastered on a smile, insisting everything was fine—because that was easier than admitting the truth. But now, the thought of spending an entire evening with Joel, pretending like nothing had changed, made your stomach twist. You hadn’t corrected Tommy then, and now you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep up the charade.

Tommy must have caught the flicker of hesitation in your expression because he waved a hand dismissively before you could even form a protest. “No excuses, alright? Six-thirty sharp. Be there. Gotta run!”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you standing there with a knot tightening in your stomach. The prospect of dinner with Joel hung heavy in the air, a weight you couldn’t quite shake as the reality of spending the evening with him settled uncomfortably on your mind.

•••

That night, a low hum of anxiety thrummed in your chest, your mind racing through every possible scenario of how dinner might unfold. Would Joel sit in stony silence, barely acknowledging your presence? Would his gaze linger too long, sharp with frustration, making you wonder if you’d said or done something wrong again? Or maybe he’d be short with you, his words clipped and cold, each sentence feeling like a subtle reprimand. You imagined accidentally dropping a fork, the clatter echoing louder than it should, and him shooting you that look—the one that made you feel small, like you didn’t belong. The air always felt thick with him there, heavy with unspoken tension. You couldn’t stop replaying his words in your mind, the way his eyes had cut through you, the frustration lacing his voice. You knew he thought you were a burden, and now every little thing felt magnified—every move, every word, overthought and picked apart, terrified that one misstep would only confirm what he already seemed to believe.

For the past week, you’d been silently relieved that you hadn’t crossed paths with him, grateful for the distance. But deep down, you knew that seeing him again was inevitable, not just tonight at dinner, but eventually.

You stood in front of your closet, fingers trailing over the hangers as you searched for something that felt right. After a moment of hesitation, you pulled out a soft, knitted sweater—the pale pink one Maria had once said brought out the warmth in your skin. It was thick enough to fend off the evening chill, hugging you in a way that felt both comforting and flattering. The sleeves draped past your wrists, brushing your fingertips like a quiet, reassuring touch you hadn’t realized you craved. You paired it with a well-worn pair of jeans, something familiar and easy.

As you got ready, the sweet scent of apple-cinnamon pie drifted up from the kitchen, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. It was a soothing contrast to the nerves building in your chest. Standing in front of the mirror, you left your hair down, letting it fall naturally in loose waves, framing your face. There was a simplicity to it all that made you feel put together—nothing overdone, but just enough to feel like yourself.

Pie in hand, you braved the cold night air, the chill biting at your cheeks until they flushed pink. Your boots crunched softly through the snow as you made your way across the street to Tommy and Maria’s. The faint glow from their windows spilled out into the darkness, a warm, inviting light that seemed to pull you in, offering a welcome contrast to the cold night pressing against you.

You paused at the door for a moment, taking a deep breath before stepping inside.

“There she is!” Tommy’s voice rang out, cheerful as ever, breaking the crisp silence that followed you in from the cold. The comforting aroma of roasted chicken and warm spices greeted you immediately, wrapping around you like a blanket, a stark contrast to the biting air outside.

Maria looked up from the table she was setting, her smile as warm as the scents filling the room. “Hey, glad you could make it,” she said, her voice easy and inviting, making you feel at home in an instant.

Ellie popped up from her seat with an exaggerated grin, waving you over. “About time! Thought you’d frozen out there or something.” Her teasing tone, paired with the glint of amusement in her eyes, pulled a soft smile from you, easing some of the tension lodged in your chest.

But then, your gaze drifted almost instinctively to the table, where Joel sat. Your steps faltered for a brief moment when you saw him. He looked different tonight—refined, even. His usually disheveled hair was slicked back, neater than you’d ever seen it, and he had traded his familiar, worn-out jacket for a crisp button-up shirt. The fabric stretched taut across his broad shoulders, making him seem even more imposing. It threw you off balance, and for a heartbeat, you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself.

His eyes flicked up, catching yours for just a second. The look he gave you was unreadable, as if he was holding back something he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—say. He nodded, barely perceptible, a silent acknowledgment of your arrival. The tension from the past week hung heavy in the air, thick and unspoken, settling between you like an invisible wall. But tonight, there was something different about him. A softness, a deliberate effort, though you couldn’t quite pin down why.

You hesitated, your familiar unease creeping back in, knotting in your stomach. It was like Joel could sense it. His gaze lingered, just long enough to make you question everything, the silence between you filled with things you both refused to say.

“You brought pie?” Maria’s smile widened as she took the dish from you, her eyes bright with appreciation. “You didn’t have to, but thank you. It smells divine.”

You managed a small laugh, though Joel’s presence still weighed on your thoughts. “Figured it’d make up for my lousy company,” you teased lightly, trying to shift your focus.

Maria chuckled, giving your arm a light pat as she placed the pie on the counter. “Oh, stop it. We’re just glad you’re here.”

You gave Maria a small smile, though your nerves still fluttered beneath the surface. As you glanced back at the table, you realized everyone had already taken their seats—except for you. The only empty spot left was next to Joel. Your stomach twisted at the sight, and you couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or just an unfortunate coincidence.

Joel’s eyes were back on his plate, as if the brief exchange between you hadn’t even happened. But the tension between you hummed in the air, undeniable, even if no one else seemed to notice. As you reluctantly moved toward the empty seat beside him, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his presence, the quiet weight of it pressing against your thoughts. Sitting down, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too, or if you were just stuck in your own head, overthinking every glance, every silence.

•••

Dinner was awkward, the kind of awkward that lingered like a thick fog, clinging to every corner of the room despite the efforts to keep the conversation light and flowing. The tension seemed to wrap itself around the table, settling between you and Joel like an invisible barrier, palpable even in the spaces where no one spoke.

Tommy, ever perceptive, had picked up on it quickly. His brow furrowed in confusion as he glanced your way, his expression silently asking, I thought you and Joel were fine now? The lie you had told him after that patrol—the one where you said everything was “just fine”—seemed to hover in the air, taunting you, its weight pressing down on the space between you and Joel.

And yet, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the clatter of forks or Maria’s cheerful voice, you couldn’t escape the feeling that everyone could sense it. The tension hummed beneath the surface, thick and suffocating, binding you to Joel in a way that neither of you seemed ready to face.

“Tell us about your hand, Joel,” Tommy said, his voice deliberately light, as if trying to sweep away the thick tension clinging to the room. There was a playful note to his tone, an attempt to soften the atmosphere. “Bet there’s a funny story there.”

Your eyes drifted to Joel’s bandaged hand, watching as he flexed it slightly before lifting his fork to his mouth. The memory of you stitching him up flickered in your mind, and the tension between you felt as raw as it had that day.

Joel barely glanced up, his jaw tight, his focus still pinned on the plate in front of him. “It’s nothing, Tommy,” he muttered, the gruffness in his voice like a wall shutting down any further inquiry. His words were flat, dismissive, a quick brush-off. “Just a scratch.”

Tommy, still blissfully unaware of the deeper currents beneath the surface, pressed on with a grin. “But it happened during patrol, didn’t it?” He threw a playful glance your way, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “And I heard Sunshine here patched you up. Woman of many talents, huh?”

You forced a small smile at the nickname Tommy had given you, trying to match his lightheartedness, but the unease settled deeper in your chest. Tommy always meant well, but he didn’t see the cracks beneath the surface. His playful tone smoothed over something jagged, but it wasn’t enough to shake the heaviness between you and Joel.

Maria, though—she wasn’t fooled. She always had a way of sensing the undercurrents, and tonight was no exception. Her eyes caught yours across the table, a flicker of understanding passing between you. It was the kind of look that said she knew more than anyone else in the room and wouldn’t push, but she was there if you needed her.

You busied yourself with passing plates, focusing on the small, routine tasks as a distraction from the tension that had settled deep in your chest. Ellie, bless her, filled the silence with her usual bright energy, recounting some story about an old man who’d mistaken her for a boy during patrol.

“… and I swear, he didn’t believe me until I had to practically spell it out for him!” Ellie’s voice rang through the room, her laughter contagious. Tommy chuckled, shaking his head, and Maria smiled softly as she listened.

But even Ellie’s infectious spirit couldn’t cut through the knot that had formed inside you. Every word, every glance felt like it was being scrutinized, held under the weight of Joel’s silent watch. You hated it—the way his presence lingered, how the memory of his harsh words still held you captive, turning you into a shell of who you were around the others. It grated at you, that all it took was a few biting words from him to undo everything, to make you doubt yourself.

You kept your focus on the plates, nodding occasionally at Ellie’s story, but your mind was elsewhere. You could feel Joel across the table, the tension between you like a live wire, sparking every time his eyes drifted your way, even if just for a second. It was like the room had split in two—one half filled with light conversation and Ellie’s laughter, and the other weighed down by the unspoken strain between you and Joel.

As Ellie continued her stories, you reached for your glass, only to realize it was nearly empty, and without thinking, your hand hesitated. Before you could pull away, Joel’s hand quietly reached across the table, refilling your glass without a word. The gesture was simple, almost unremarkable, but it stopped you cold. His rough fingers brushed the rim of the glass, and the unexpected softness in the midst of all the tension sent a jolt through you.

For a moment, you froze, your mind racing. Why did he do that? It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d expect from him—especially after the way he’d acted toward you lately. You thought he couldn’t stand you, that he saw you as nothing more than a burden. The words he’d once said echoed in your mind, tightening your chest. You had backed off, kept your distance, because he made it painfully clear he wanted nothing to do with you.

And yet… this. This small, quiet gesture. Was it just habit? Politeness? Or did he feel bad for how he’d treated you? The questions swirled in your head, and you couldn’t quite shake the confusion.

“Thanks,” you mumbled softly, your voice barely audible. Joel gave the faintest nod, never meeting your eyes as he returned to his meal, as if nothing had happened. But you couldn’t let it go. That brief touch, that moment of quiet consideration—it lingered, making you question everything. Did he regret the way he’d treated you? Or was it just you, overthinking as usual, grasping for meaning where there was none?

•••

Dinner came and went, the awkwardness that had settled over the room earlier slowly ebbing away. After that small interaction with Joel, you found yourself subconsciously loosening up. The knot of tension in your chest slowly unraveled, and you began to relax, slipping into your usual self without even realizing it. You laughed at Ellie’s stories, joined in on Tommy’s playful banter, and let yourself ease into the flow of the evening, the weight of Joel’s presence not as heavy as before.

Joel, as usual, stayed mostly silent, his focus on his plate. He only chimed in when Ellie made some snarky comment about their latest patrol, and even then, his words were short, gruff responses. But his silence didn’t feel as suffocating now—it was just… Joel being Joel. You couldn’t help but glance at him occasionally, wondering if that small act earlier had meant anything to him. But he remained distant, his expression unreadable, and you tried not to let your thoughts linger too long.

Still, the evening felt lighter, easier. For the first time in a long while, you found yourself almost enjoying the company, allowing yourself to be present in the moment. The tension that had once felt unbearable had faded into the background, at least for now.

When it came time for dessert, you brought out the pie, your hands a little unsteady as you tried to focus on the simple act of serving it. The warm, sweet aroma of apples and cinnamon filled the room, carrying with it a sense of nostalgia that momentarily eased the tension in your chest. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you as you approached the table, their conversations quieting in anticipation. But as you carried the pie to the table, still hot from the oven, you misjudged the thickness of the towel in your hands. The heat seared through the fabric, and a sharp, instinctive “Shit!” escaped your lips as pain shot through your fingers.

Before you could even react, Joel was there, reaching out without hesitation. His hand wrapped around the dish, and for a second, you were sure he’d burn himself too. But he barely flinched as he steadied it, his fingers brushing yours just as he took the pie from your grip. His touch, rough but steady, sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with the heat.

“Careful,” Joel muttered under his breath, his voice low and rough, as he set the pie down on the table with a practiced ease, barely acknowledging the burn that would have scalded most.

You stood frozen, staring at him, wondering if he felt the sting—or anything at all. His hand lingered on the dish a moment longer than necessary, and you caught the subtle tension in his jaw, the slight clenching that made you think maybe he did feel the heat but wasn’t about to admit it.

The pain in your own fingers faded, overtaken by the weight of his presence. The unexpected gentleness of his touch still buzzed through you, unsettling in its intimacy. Something about the moment—something beyond the heat—left you feeling off balance.

You looked up at him, startled by the ease with which he’d helped, by the gentle steadiness of his hand on yours. His face remained as unreadable as ever, but for the briefest moment, you felt something shift. It was subtle, barely there, but it was enough to make your heart race, to make you question everything you thought you knew about him.

You just gulped, the words thank you struggling to leave your mouth. To the others, it was nothing more than a simple slip of the hands—an almost-accident, easily shrugged off—but between you and Joel, it was something else. What exactly, you weren’t sure, but you didn’t like the way it left you feeling. That brief touch, the way he’d steadied the pie without a second thought, unsettled you. It was too intimate, too confusing, and you hated how it lingered in your mind.

As you resumed passing out plates, Ellie’s exaggerated enthusiasm over the dessert barely registered. Your mind kept drifting back to Joel, who sat quietly, his eyes fixed on his empty plate. When Tommy offered him a slice, he waved it off, muttering something about being too full.

•••

After dinner, you and Ellie gathered in the living room. Maria was in the kitchen, despite your repeated offers to help, and Tommy and Joel had disappeared into another part of the house, likely fixing something.

Ellie leaned back on the couch, stretching out like she hadn’t a care in the world. Meanwhile, your shoulders tensed under her gaze—you knew she was about to pry.

“Sooo,” she began, drawing out the word in a way that told you this was her attempt at subtlety. “What’s up with you and Joel?”

You felt your heart skip. Of course, she had noticed. Ellie noticed everything. You tried to brush it off, running a hand through your hair to buy yourself some time. “What do you mean?”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with your attempt to deflect. “Oh, come on. You two can barely be in the same room without it getting… awkward. So, what’s the deal? What happened?”

The word awkward echoed in your mind, and somehow, it still felt too simplistic to capture whatever this was between you and Joel. It wasn’t just awkwardness—it was tension, unspoken and unresolved. You shifted in your seat, unsure of how to put it into words. “I don’t know,” you said softly, your voice hesitant. “He said some things, I said some things… it’s complicated.”

Even as you said it, the weight of that truth lingered in the air between you. Complicated didn’t begin to cover it.

Ellie gave you a knowing nod, as if she understood more than she was letting on. “Complicated,” she echoed, her tone almost amused. “Yeah, I get that. But you know… you and Joel? You’re more alike than you think.”

You blinked at her, caught off guard by the comparison. “Alike?” you repeated, the word feeling foreign when applied to you and Joel. “Should I be offended?” you added with a playful smirk, trying to lighten the moment.

Ellie rolled her eyes but smiled. “Sure, when I first met him, he was a total asshole. And I mean asshole with a capital ‘A.’”

“Sounds about right,” you said, your tone light, but inside, something stirred.

Ellie grinned, but her expression softened as she continued, her voice lowering. “But that’s just… how he is. He builds walls, you know? Keeps people out.” She played with her fingers, her usual confidence faltering for a moment. “He’s been through a lot. Lost people. I know we all have, but… I think he just deals with it differently.”

Her words settled over you, heavy and unshakable. You hadn’t known much about Joel’s past—just bits and pieces from Tommy’s passing remarks or whispers around town. But now, as Ellie spoke, there was a deeper layer to it, something that made your chest tighten with a strange, unfamiliar ache.

“Lost people?” you asked softly, a strange feeling coiling deep in your stomach.

Ellie’s expression shifted, a flicker of sadness clouding her eyes. She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor as if weighing whether to continue. After a brief pause, she let out a soft sigh, the sound heavy with memories. “Yeah…” She glanced at you again, her voice quieter now. “Before we got here… there was someone else with us.” Another pause, as if the name still carried weight. “Her name was Tess.”

The name hit you harder than you expected, solid and heavy. You’d never heard about Tess, but from the way Ellie said her name, you knew Tess wasn’t just anyone. She had been important—more than important.

You swallowed, your voice hesitant as the question slipped out. “Were they… close?”

Ellie paused, glancing away, her brows furrowing like she was picking through memories, unsure of how much to say. “Yeah, they were close. I think so. It was… complicated, but you could tell she meant a lot to him.” She sighed again, her gaze distant, caught up in a world of memories that didn’t belong to you. “When we lost her, it messed him up. I mean, more than usual.”

The mention of Tess left a bitter taste in your mouth, tightening the knot in your chest. You wondered why it even mattered—why the thought of her knowing him, of softening his rough edges, bothered you at all. It unsettled you, and the fact that you were questioning it only made things worse. You didn’t care, or at least, you shouldn’t. So why the hell were you thinking about it?

Ellie’s voice grew quieter, more introspective. “It’s like… Joel builds these walls around himself. High ones. To keep people out, to keep from getting hurt again. He couldn’t stand me a few months ago, and now it’s like… he worries if I’m gone for too long or if I’m not where he can see me.” She smiled, the kind of smile that was both wistful and knowing. “You just have to keep trying to see it… what’s underneath.”

Her words lingered in the air, tugging at something deep inside you. You weren’t sure if you were ready to try—or if you even wanted to. The thought of breaking through those walls, of seeing what lay beneath, left you more conflicted than ever. Why would you want to with someone who had made it painfully clear he couldn’t stand you? But after the small gestures tonight, you couldn’t help but wonder if that was still true.

The weight of Ellie’s words settled in your chest like a stone. The image of Joel she painted wasn’t just the gruff, distant man you knew; it was someone who had been hurt, someone who had lost so much that he didn’t know how to let anyone in anymore. Maybe that’s why he was the way he was with you—maybe it wasn’t even about you at all. Maybe it was about Tess. About whatever scars she’d left behind.

You sat there in silence for a moment, your thoughts churning with everything Ellie had said. The awkwardness between you and Joel felt different now, less like anger and more like a shadow of something neither of you had the words to explain.

Ellie looked at you, her expression softening even more. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but… Joel can say and do things he doesn’t mean. And, well, I actually like you, so if you two could figure it out, that’d be awesome.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her words, a faint warmth spreading through your chest. “Yeah,” you murmured, the smile lingering a moment longer. I wish we could too, you thought, casting a quick glance toward Joel. He had just come back inside with Tommy and was now standing by the door, talking quietly. You watched him for a moment, noticing how his gaze flickered your way now and then. If only it were that simple.

The evening came to an end, and after saying your goodbyes, you slipped into your house, your mind swirling with thoughts. Ellie’s words replayed over and over, He’s lost people... Her voice echoed in your head, pulling you into a whirlwind of questions that spun relentlessly. Joel never shared much about his past—especially not with you—but Ellie had unknowingly cracked open a door, offering you a fleeting glimpse into the shadows he carried.

Now, for the first time, you found yourself wondering what it might be like to know him beyond the gruff exterior, beyond the walls he’d built so high and guarded so fiercely. The idea unsettled you, the weight of it lingering longer than you expected, tugging at a curiosity you weren’t sure you wanted to explore.

•••

A week later, you found yourself returning from another long night shift with Maria. Patrol had dragged on, leaving you bone-tired, your limbs heavy with exhaustion as you finally made your way home in the late afternoon. The snow had mostly melted, clinging only in stubborn patches, and the biting cold had eased. The air had shifted, carrying with it the faint warmth of the approaching spring. The sharp edge of winter had softened, replaced by a mild breeze that whispered of change. Yet, despite the gentler weather, the fatigue weighed you down, every step toward home feeling heavier than the last.

As you trudged up the steps to your front porch, exhaustion draped over you like a heavy blanket, your mind was already set on the hot shower waiting inside. But something felt… off. The door opened too easily.

You paused, confusion furrowing your brow. Turning back, you pushed it again—this time slower, more deliberate. It moved smoothly on its hinges, without the familiar stubborn resistance you’d grown so used to. Gone was the creak and the nightly battle just to get inside.

Curious, you pushed it open and closed a few more times, realization dawning on you. It had been fixed.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Tommy,” you muttered softly to yourself, shaking your head with a mix of amusement and gratitude. He must’ve finally taken pity on you after seeing you struggle with it the other day on the porch.

A warm shower and a much-needed nap later, you found yourself heading to the famous Jackson pub—something you and Tommy did regularly, with Maria occasionally tagging along. That evening, as the sky deepened into a cool twilight, you made your way through the brisk air toward the bar.

The moment you stepped inside, the warmth of the room enveloped you, the familiar hum of conversation and bursts of laughter offering a welcome reprieve from the cold outside. Memories of this place rushed back to you, woven into the fabric of your time in Jackson. This was where you’d celebrated your last birthday—Tommy insisting on toasting you, and the whole pub joining in with a boisterous, off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” You remembered how embarrassed you’d felt but couldn’t help the warmth that settled in your chest when Maria brought out a cake she’d somehow managed to make despite all the supply shortages.

And then there was the night after one of your toughest patrols, when Maria had dragged you in here for “just one drink” to unwind. You’d ended up staying for hours, swapping stories with Tommy and Maria while the pub filled with laughter and the comforting sound of clinking glasses, the stress of the day melting away.

You spotted Tommy and Maria easily, sitting at a small table by the window. Tommy was already nursing a glass of whiskey, his grin widening when he saw you. Maria leaned in beside him, chatting quietly, her soft laughter mixing with the sounds of the bar. The glow from the dim lights above bathed the room in a cozy warmth, making it feel both alive and familiar—a place full of memories and moments that felt like home.

“Hey,” you greeted, sliding into the seat next to Tommy with a grin. “How’s it going? Long day?”

Tommy glanced up from his drink, giving you a welcoming nod. “Always is. Had to sort out some supply issues earlier, but we got it under control. Maria’s been on my case about takin’ a break, so… here I am.” He gestured around the pub with a wry smile.

Maria chuckled from across the table. “If by ‘taking a break,’ you mean half-listening to me while checking in with half the town, sure.”

“Hey now,” Tommy shot back, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”

You laughed and shook your head. “Well, at least you’re both here, so that’s something. Speaking of which, thanks for fixing my door, by the way. I didn’t even hear you come by. You’re officially off the hook for at least one favor.”

Tommy looked at you, confused, his glass halfway to his mouth. He lowered it and furrowed his brow. “Fix your door? What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You blinked, surprised. “The front door—remember? It used to stick all the time. You said you’d get to it eventually.”

“Yeah, I remember. But I didn’t fix it,” Tommy said, chuckling as he leaned back in his chair. “Trust me, if I’d finally gotten around to fixing that door, I’d make sure you knew. I’d probably make a whole show of it, to be honest. That thing’s been givin’ you hell for months.”

Now you were the one confused. “Wait, seriously? You didn’t fix it?”

“Nope,” he said with a grin, shrugging. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a mystery handyman.”

A wave of confusion swept over you. If it wasn’t Tommy, then… who? You shook your head, a small laugh bubbling up despite the strange, nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

Maria, who had been listening quietly, raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Maybe you’ve got yourself a secret admirer,” she joked, though a flicker of genuine curiosity sparked in her eyes.

“Yeah, or a fucking stalker,” Tommy chimed in with a grin.

“Tommy!” Maria scolded, swatting him lightly on the arm.

He laughed, unbothered. “Or maybe you were just drunk and forgot you fixed it yourself.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a smirk. “Very funny,” you said, though the joking didn’t entirely settle the strange feeling gnawing at you. Even as the conversation drifted to other topics, the thought lingered, tugging at the edges of your mind. Who had fixed the door? And why wouldn’t they say anything?

As you made your way home later that night, the streets quiet under the soft cover of darkness, your thoughts kept circling back to the door—how easily it had opened, how it had been fixed without a word, without explanation. A gentle breeze stirred the air, the last remnants of winter whispering through the night, but it wasn’t enough to chill you. You felt light on your feet, a little tipsy from the drinks and the easy company of the evening, but even that couldn’t shake the strange feeling gnawing at you.

When you finally reached your porch, you hesitated, turning the knob once more. The door opened with a soft click, smooth and effortless, as if it had never been broken at all. You stood there for a moment, the faint breeze brushing against your skin, staring at the door as if it might somehow reveal its secrets.

A quiet mystery settled over you, but for now, it remained unsolved. With a sigh, you stepped inside, the warmth of your home embracing you as you closed the door behind you. Maybe you’d never know who had fixed it. Or maybe… you already did.

You just weren’t ready to admit it yet.

•••

The next morning, as you groggily made your way toward the front door, still half-lost in the remnants of sleep, something unusual caught your eye and halted your steps. You blinked, trying to shake off the haze of early morning sluggishness. You had woken up with a mental list of things to tackle—maybe a trip to the market for supplies, finally tackling that patch of overgrown weeds in the garden, or even sorting through the clutter slowly piling up in the house. But all those plans slipped from your mind as you stood there, staring in disbelief.

The snow that had once piled up in your front yard—left untouched and heavy for weeks—was now neatly pushed aside, creating a clear path through the garden. It wasn’t just a quick shovel job either; it was precise, deliberate. You frowned, stepping closer to the window to get a better look.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath. You hadn’t even thought about shoveling the snow—not with everything else weighing you down lately.

You pressed your hand against the cold windowpane, peering outside. There were no footprints, no signs of who had been there. The remnants of snow were perfectly undisturbed except for the careful path that had been made. It was as if someone had come and gone without a trace, but with deliberate care.

First the door, now this.

Your eyes scanned the rest of the garden, and that’s when you noticed something else. The pile of firewood stacked by the side of your house—it had grown. You hadn’t even realized it had been running low, but now fresh logs were neatly stacked, perfectly arranged. It wasn’t just a casual pile; it was deliberate, almost too neat to be random. The firewood you had struggled to keep up with all winter had somehow been replenished overnight, quietly and without a word.

You stood at the top of your porch steps, hesitating, your gaze sweeping the street. You half-expected to catch a glimpse of someone lingering nearby, the person responsible for these quiet, thoughtful gestures. But the street was empty, bathed in the soft morning light spilling across the snow-dusted town.

For a brief moment, you wondered if this was Tommy, playing one of his pranks on you. He would be the type to mess with you like this. But no—Tommy wouldn’t have been able to resist bragging about it, he was much too proud to do something this thoughtful and remain anonymous.

Suspicion crawled up your spine again, and your thoughts immediately landed on one person.

Joel.

Yesterday, the mysteriously fixed door. Today, the snow cleared. And now, the firewood. It couldn’t all be coincidence, could it? You chewed the inside of your cheek, weighing the possibility.

The idea that Joel—the man who had barely spoken to you in weeks, the one who had kept his distance—might be behind this felt almost… absurd. But at the same time, you couldn’t shake the thought.

You stood there for a moment longer, staring out at the empty street, your mind racing. The thought of Joel quietly looking out for you, going out of his way without even telling you, left you feeling strangely unsettled. It didn’t make sense, yet a part of you knew—he was the only person it could be.

As you stepped outside, the faint breeze brushing against your cheeks, your eyes instinctively scanned the street, and there he was.

Joel stood by the stables, his back to you, deep in conversation with Tommy. His arms were crossed over his chest, his posture rigid, as though he carried the weight of a world unseen. For a moment, you stood still, rooted to the spot, watching him, your thoughts spinning.

Could it really be him?

You couldn’t help but remember the sharpness in his voice the last time you had clashed—the coldness in his eyes when he’d called you a burden. His words had sliced through you like ice, leaving behind a wound that still stung. It was a moment you hadn’t been able to shake, no matter how hard you tried. That Joel, the one who had made you feel small and unwanted, couldn’t be the same person quietly taking care of you now. Could he? And if so, why?

And yet, there was this. The fixed door. The neatly cleared snow. The replenished firewood. These were acts of quiet kindness, thoughtful gestures that didn’t align with the distant, sharp-edged Joel you remembered. They didn’t make sense—not with the man who had gone out of his way to keep you at arm’s length.

Your gaze lingered on him, the questions swirling in your mind. What was he trying to tell you? Or was he even trying at all? The small, invisible acts felt like whispers of a truth you weren’t quite ready to face. Something about Joel didn’t add up—and that unsettled you more than anything else.

•••

Later that day, you made your way to the stables, seeking the quiet solace that always came from being around your horse—a ritual that had become your sanctuary on days off from patrol. The stable was your refuge, a place where the weight of everything outside seemed to lift, where your mind could finally quiet. The familiar scent of hay filled the air, mixed with the earthy warmth of the animals and the soft rhythm of their breathing. It was calming, grounding.

As you entered, your horse whinnied softly in recognition, his large brown eyes locking onto yours with a familiar sense of trust. You smiled, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly as you approached him. Running your fingers through the rough texture of his mane, you began brushing it with gentle, practiced strokes. The repetition was soothing, and though it was a routine, it felt like something more—a quiet, unspoken connection that tethered you to something steady amidst the chaos of life.

You were so lost in the quiet rhythm of brushing your horse, in the familiar warmth and stillness of the stable, that you didn’t notice someone else had entered. It wasn’t until a voice, deep and familiar, broke through the calm that you realized you weren’t alone.

“Hey.”

The sound startled you, and you turned quickly, your breath catching in your throat. Joel stood a few feet away, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. It wasn’t just his presence that surprised you—it was that he was talking to you at all.

“Hey,” you replied, your tone more guarded than you intended. Instinctively, your walls went up, the wariness creeping in like a defense mechanism. This was Joel, after all, and every interaction with him carried a weight, an undercurrent of tension, with so many unsaid things lingering between you, like ghosts refusing to be laid to rest.

The silence that followed felt thick, hanging in the air as you stood there, bracing yourself for whatever came next. With Joel, you never knew if his words would cut, or if he’d just turn and leave, like so many times before.

But something was different this time. Instead of the familiar tension that usually thickened the air between you, there was a quiet understanding, a silence that wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable. It was… calm. The kind of calm that settled over you both as you went about your tasks, tending to your horses in a shared silence that, for once, felt like enough. The sharpness that usually lingered between you was absent, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel the urge to fill the space with awkward conversation or unspoken explanations.

Curiosity tugged at you, and you glanced over at Joel. He was focused on his horse, his hands moving with a practiced care that mirrored your own—a surprising gentleness in the way he brushed the coat, checked the reins, and tended to his mount. It was so natural for him, almost second nature, and watching him like this, in the quiet of the stable, was different. The weight he always seemed to carry, the burden you often felt in his presence, wasn’t as visible here. There was something almost peaceful about seeing him in this light—away from the guarded walls, the harsh edges.

Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out. “How’s your hand?”

Your voice was softer than you intended, the question carrying more weight than you meant for it to. You held your breath, unsure how he’d respond. Joel glanced over, his eyes meeting yours, lingering there for a moment longer than usual, something unspoken passing between you. Then, almost absentmindedly, he flexed his hand, as if testing its strength.

The bandage was gone now, replaced by a pale scar tracing its way across his palm, a quiet reminder of that day. He lifted his hand slightly, giving you a clearer view of the mark, and for a brief second, you both just stared at it—the silence between you no longer tense, but strangely reflective.

“It’s better,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, but with a softness you weren’t used to hearing from him. There was no edge, no coldness—just a simple, honest reply.

You nodded, your gaze lingering on the scar for a beat longer before you turned back to your horse. “That’s good,” you murmured, and somehow, it was. Knowing that he was healing, that the wound had closed, left you feeling unexpectedly lighter, though you couldn’t quite pin down why.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable like before; something had shifted, subtle but there. Joel went back to packing up his things with his usual quiet efficiency, moving as if nothing had happened. But you found yourself watching him from the corner of your eye, your mind swirling with questions—questions you weren’t sure you were ready to ask.

Just as he was about to leave, his figure slipping into the shadows at the far end of the stable, something inside you stirred—a pull, an instinct you couldn’t shake. Your heart beat a little faster, a sense of urgency you couldn’t explain. You hesitated, the words on the tip of your tongue, unsure if you should let them fall. But the moment was there, hanging in the air, and part of you knew if you didn’t reach out now, it might slip away entirely.

“Hey,” you called out, your voice cutting through the stillness, louder than you intended. Joel stopped in his tracks, turning slowly to face you. His eyes found yours, steady but questioning, waiting for what you had to say.

For a moment, you hesitated, your heart hammering in your chest. You didn’t know why this mattered so much, but it did. You needed to know. The words felt heavier than they should, as if each one carried a weight far beyond the simplicity of the question itself.

“Did you… fix my door?”

Your voice softened, almost uncertain, but the question hung in the air between you. Joel’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something you couldn’t quite read, yet it felt all too familiar.

There was a beat of silence, the air between you suddenly thick with unspoken tension. Joel didn’t answer right away; he held your gaze, his eyes dark and searching, as though he were measuring the significance of something so small, so seemingly inconsequential. The moment stretched out, loaded with anticipation, making you acutely aware of everything around you—the ground beneath your feet, the faint whinny of your horse in the distance.

After what felt like an eternity, he gave the slightest nod, his posture relaxed but his presence charged with an intensity that unsettled you. “Yeah, I fixed it,” he said, his tone casual, almost dismissive, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. Yet even as he spoke, his eyes remained locked on yours, revealing a depth that contradicted his easy words. It felt like a quiet admission—like this small act was far more than just fixing a door.

It made sense now, knowing he’d seen you struggling with it that day, his gaze lingering as you wrestled with the stubborn knob, frustration clear in your movements. He hadn’t said a word, but the fact that he’d gone out of his way to help—it tugged at something deep inside you.

His attempt to downplay it only sharpened the contrast between the gesture and the unspoken understanding between you, a bridge between two people who had spent so long pushing each other away. That tiny thread of connection, fragile but undeniable, hung in the air like a promise of something deeper.

You swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it difficult to speak, but you pushed the words out. “And... you cleared the snow in front of my house?” As the realization sank in, a faint heat crept up your neck, and suddenly, you struggled to meet his gaze, unsure why the simple question made you feel so exposed. The silence stretched between you for a moment, thick with something unspoken, until he gave the slightest nod.

The acknowledgment sent a jolt through you, though you tried to keep your expression neutral. “And the firewood... you filled the bin?” you added, your voice quieter now, feeling even more aware of his presence than before.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper now, each question adding to the tension building between you, the weight of the realization pressing against your chest. Joel said nothing, but the intensity of his gaze spoke volumes, his silence holding more meaning than words ever could.

There was no grand declaration, no apology, no explanation—just that quiet, wordless acknowledgment. It had been him. Every time. He had been looking out for you, in his own silent, stubborn way, without ever needing to tell you.

“You didn’t have to do that. I don’t... I don’t need your help.” The words came out sharper than you meant, laced with the same defiance you’d thrown at him after that first run-in with the raider. You remembered the tension, the way you’d stubbornly insisted you could handle it, and how he had been just as unwavering, silently reminding you that you couldn’t. Now, as the words hung between you, that same feeling flickered to life—pride mixed with frustration, though this time it felt more complicated.

Now, standing here in the thick, loaded silence, those old wounds hovered between you, threatening to open again. You wanted to reject his kindness, to hold on to that stubborn pride that had become a defense mechanism after all the hurt you’d carried. But a part of you—small, buried, but growing—wanted to accept it, wanted to let yourself lean into the warmth of what he was offering.

Joel’s gaze softened, his rough voice breaking the silence. “I know.” There was something different in his tone this time, something almost gentle, and it made your heart clench in a way you weren’t prepared for.

He looked down, shifting uncomfortably as if he wasn’t used to these moments, these conversations that brushed too close to vulnerability. “I shouldn’t have said… those things.” His words were gruff, awkward, but sincere, and you could tell it wasn’t easy for him to admit.

His hands were stuffed into his pockets, his shoulders hunched ever so slightly, and for the first time, you didn’t see Joel Miller as the man you had sparred with, or the one who had saved you. Instead, you saw him as someone carrying the weight of his own regret—regret for the words he had said, and the way he had treated you.

“I’m not good with words,” he added, his voice rough, and you realized that this—this awkward, halting admission—was as close to an apology as Joel was capable of. It wasn’t grand, but it was real, and it hit you harder than you’d expected. You thought about what Ellie had said—that Joel kept himself walled off, a fortress built to survive, to keep from getting hurt again.

Your eyes held his, the tension between you shifting ever so slightly, as though this small, almost imperceptible gesture was his way of trying to close the distance between you—a distance shaped by the sharp words and cold walls that once stood in your way.

As he turned to leave, something tugged at you. “Joel,” you called softly, your voice almost catching in your throat. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder, waiting.

You swallowed, unsure of what to say, but not wanting to let him go without acknowledging the moment. “Thank you,” you murmured, the words simple but heavy with everything left unsaid.

His eyes met yours, just for a beat, and though he said nothing, the flicker of understanding in his gaze told you he’d heard more than just your words. With a small nod, he turned and walked away, leaving behind the faint echo of something unresolved, but no longer as distant.

You stood there, the warmth of the hay and the soft rustling of the horses grounding you in the quiet aftermath of his departure.

•••

Tag list!

@valkyreally @ccmoonshine @dlwrish @immyowndefender @babygals-world @zenrobbins0021 @malfoycassimalfoy @damneddamsy @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @frogjumps-world @dendulinka6 @orcasoul @whirlwindrider29 @lol-im-done

@somedayheaven @ohdearvalentine @keseqna @kulekehe

@darkheartgatita @ickearmn @spacegirl-3 @mystickittytaco

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band--psycho · 2 months ago

Text

Zayne x Reader - Doctor Visits

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support! I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over.

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Warnings: Doctors appointments, brief mentions of a blood test, mature themes towards the end

I do intend to write a Part 2 for this

L&DS Masterlist / Zayne Masterlist / Join My Taglist

“Thank you for checking in,” the receptionist at the hospital said with a polite smile, “Dr Zayne will be with you soon”

Your heart dropped at her words.

Dr Zayne?

“I think there must be some mistake?” You stated; trying to understand how you’re seeing Zayne for this appointment when 1) you didn’t book this appointment with him and 2) he was meant to be on holiday; at least that’s what he told you a few days ago when you last spoke to him.

“The doctor you booked to see is unavailable right now,” the receptionist clarified her focus shifting from the screen she’d been staring at for a few moments.

Obviously your unease must’ve been written all over your face because the receptionist followed her own words up with, “If you wish to wait until the doctor you originally booked in to see is available we can reschedule your appointment.”

You wanted to reschedule.

But you knew that you couldn’t.

The Hunters Association had very strict rules on keeping up to date with doctors appointments so that medical records could be kept accurate.

And recently you’d been so busy with missions and studying; that booking the appointment had completely slipped your mind, that was until Tara mentioned it a few days ago.

This was the last day you could have an appointment before you would be overdue on it.

Which although it wasn’t the end of the world, wasn’t exactly an ideal situation.

But neither was having Zayne as your doctor for this.

“It’s fine,” you reluctantly said, moving away from the receptionist's desk and taking a seat in the waiting area.

Zayne was your usual primary physician, he was the one that kept a vigilant eye on your heart condition and made sure that your blood pressure and everything else was okay.

And although this was just a routine doctor's appointment, knowing that Zayne was now going to be asking you private questions and listening to your answers, made you want to run out of the hospital eight that second.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Zayne, you did.

More so than you trusted anyone really.

And you knew that he would remain professional regardless of your answers.

But the truth was you were embarrassed; embarrassed to admit things that you hadn’t shared with anyone.

Things that you certainly didn’t ever think you’d have to admit to Zayne.

“Y/n,” a familiar voice snapped you out of your thoughts, looking up you saw Yvonne standing in front of you, “Dr Zayne will see you now.”

You nodded briefly, giving her a small smile as you rose to your feet.

It was like your body was on auto-pilot, and you followed Yvonne straight to Zaynes office.

The nurse gave you a small nod, signaling that you could go in, before walking away down the hall.

You took a deep breath; your hand gingerly hovering over the door knob, wondering if you could attempt to make a last minute dash to the exit without anyone seeing.

The opportunity to do so was there, you could go now and no questions would really be asked.

Except Zayne would know that he was meant to see you today…and if you didn’t show up to your appointment, he’d start asking why.

And it would mean that you’d have to reschedule it for another day without knowing when the original doctor you booked in with would be free.

‘The sooner I go in, the sooner it’ll be done’ you thought to yourself, placing your hand on the door handle, pushing the door open and walking into Zaynes office.

“Y/n/n,” Zaynes stoic voice filled your ears, only raising your already heightened anxiety

‘Just breathe,’ you thought to yourself, turning to look at the doctor sitting behind a desk.

“Please have a seat,” Zayne continued, extending his hand slightly towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

You let out a shallow breath, attempting to compose yourself as you sat down in the chair opposite him.

“I apologise about that change to your appointment,” Zayne began; typing away on the keyboard, his eyes fixed on the computer screen.

“It’s okay,” you answered quietly, absentmindedly fidgeting with your hands as they laid in your lap.

“You seem nervous,” Zayne pointed out, glancing up at you over his glasses briefly, before turning his attention back to the computer.

His words made you aware of what your hands were doing; halting your fidgeting movements.

“You don’t need to be, this is just a routine appointment,” he assured you with a small smile; but his words didn’t do much to ease your anxiety.

~~~~~~

The questions started off normal, like “How have you felt since your last check up?”, “Have you had any new injuries from any recent missions,” etcetera, etcetera, and then they started to get a bit more private, a bit more personal.

Starting with, “Any irregularities in your menstrual cycle?”

“No,” you answered back finitely, making Zaynes eyes fall on you once again; but this time, he held your gaze.

He knew that you were lying.

And you knew that he knew.

The way in which you answered the question was an obvious giveaway.

But even without that, you knew Zayne would probably have sussed out that you were lying, he always knew.

“Y/n, it is key in these appointments for you to be honest with your doctor,” he reminded you softly, urging you to tell him the truth.

But you knew what your answer could imply; you were a week late, just one week and you knew that it was probably because of stress and exhaustion; not because of any other reason.

You knew your answer would open a door to more personal questions; but you also knew that you needed to tell Zayne the truth.

“I’m a week late,”

“I see,” he replied, turning back to his computer screen, for a brief moment you saw something in his eyes, a look of…hurt, you watched how his jaw tightened and he continued typing away on his computer, “and when was the last time you were intimate with someone?”

And there it was, the very question types of questions you were trying to avoid.

You knew what he was implying with his question.

His question was almost laughable, had you not been so embarrassed about the answer you knew you’d have to give, you probably would have laughed.

In truth, you could barely remember the last time you went on a date with someone, let alone the last times you were intimate with someone; and now you had to admit that to the very man who was part of the reason why.

You liked Zayne, as more than a friend… in all honesty, to you, no one else compared to him.

So even if you did have the time to date people, or be intimate with them, you wouldn’t because they weren’t Zayne.

Sometimes, you thought he held the same feelings for you,even though he’d never said anything to give you such an idea.

It was more in the way you caught him looking at you sometimes…with a look that not only made your heart skip a beat, but a look that made you wonder.

A look that made you wonder if he felt the same; or if it was just your hopeful heart messing with your mind.

“A year,” you mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment fill your cheeks.

It was a year ago, with someone you met in a bar, one thing led to another and you ended up in their bed.

It was then that you realised how you truly felt for Zayne…because all you could do whilst you were being intimate with them, was imagine Zayne.

After that, you couldn’t bring yourself to try and meet anyone else.

You didn’t want to.

Which is why you kept yourself busy with work; it stopped you from being able to think about your own loneliness too much.

Zayne said nothing in response to your answer; though you did notice his expression seemed to soften as he typed your answer up on your medical record sheet.

A few more questions and a blood test later and your appointment was over and you were following Zayne to the door to his office.

“I’m going to sign you off for a few days; so you can get some rest,” he said as he put his hand on the handle of the door.

“Zayne-” you attempted to argue back but he just shook his head, silencing your words, before you could even finish your counter argument.

“A few days of rest,” He repeated softly, though you knew by the look in his eyes that there was no use arguing with him.

“Understand?” His voice was just above a whisper but it was loud enough to send a small pleasurable shiver throughout your body.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he knew how much of an effect he had on you by just whispering to you like this.

“Y/n,”

You hated your first name, so you always went by Y/n/n.

Hearing your full first name was unusual, no one called you it anymore; but it was especially unusual hearing it fall from Zayne's lips; though for some reason your name sounded good on his lips.

“Do you understand?” he asked again

You knew you shouldn’t have found his question as erotic as you did; it was a simple question, but the authority in his voice mixed with the way his eyes were burning into yours, made you feel very hot and tingly all of a sudden.

You were turned on...

You needed to play it cool, act like you perfectly fine, so you nodded in agreement.

Not daring to trust your voice at this very moment; not when you were this close to each other.

“Good,” was the last thing he said to you before opening the door, allowing you to walk out of his office.

You'd barely take a few steps away from his door before you heard it click shut behind you; it was only then you released a breath you hadn't been aware of holding as you replayed what just happened in your mind.

He was so close to you...so close...

'Stop it,' you mentally scolded yourself as you began walking down the hallway.

You passed the reception and left the hospital quickly, trying to think about what you were going to do with your now free days, instead of how much you wanted Zayne...

Taglist:

@xacatalepsyx @fangirlsfandomsss @book-dragon03 @evilldentists @hao-ming-8 @princess-harvey @deathkat657 @comatosebunny09 @the-slytherin-poet @ladyparamount @ayatoq @cheesemachine44 @popcorn-mochi01 @thegalaxysedge22 @hotdogcookie

#zayne x reader #zayne imagines #zayne imagine #zayne x you #zayne x mc #lds zayne #l&ds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace imagines #love and deepspace imagine #zayne love and deepspace #zayne smut

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hidden-poet · 4 months ago

Text

Commander Snow: 10

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death, sexual assault, child birth, Capitol bullies.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

chapter 9

Chapter 10

The bed you were asleep on felt like a cloud under you.

The bedding was fresh, and smelt slightly of lavender scented washing powder. It held a crispness that could only be given by drying in the sun.

Pillows surrounded you, giving you a sense of security while heavy blankets nearly pinned you to the mattress from their weight.

You slept easy despite your predicament. Only the morning sun, as it streamed through the airy curtains, woke you. Still, you don’t move. Too comfortable, and too tired to face the day.

Coriolanus was not next to you. The large bed was only occupied by yourself. You wondered how long he had been missing, and how much longer he would stay away.

You were in an entirely new world, only he was familiar. And even he had changed. He was President of Panem, not Commander of District 12. His hair was long, and his clothes were fashionable. He even held himself taller and talked slower.

Still, he was what you knew. Your lifeline in an alien world.

Would you change too? You supposed you had.

A District girl, now wife of the President. Soon the weight of the diamond on your hand would become unrecognizable. You would get used to the strange people here. Tigris and Grandma’am would become family and not Capitol enemies.

So quickly, your life was snatched from under you. Everything you have ever known has been replaced. Even the air felt different upon your skin. The people around you ate differently, talked differently, dressed differently. Would anything be left of you? Would you be able to keep anything of your home inside of you?

Your heart hurts to think of your mother and brother. Were you to trust Coriolanus when he said he had released them? He was likely to have had them

released and then shot outside of the gates. How could you ensure their safety? Would he let you call them? What would it cost you?

The quiet turning of the door knob broke your train of thought.

You wondered if it was a maid or Coriolanus but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and look.

You didn’t want to face either one so you closed your eyes hoping that they would leave you.

Coriolanus did not. He gently shook your shoulder, and you rolled over from your fake sleep.

“Good morning,” he pushes back your hair, tucking it behind your ear, “Did you sleep okay?”

You brush his hand away. Your ring scratches the skin of his hand as you do.

“I have a doctor on standby. Are you in any pain?”

You sit up and surprisingly find very little pain. More tightness from a muscle that had never been used before. You were quite wet already, and he was slow. Allowing you time to adjust.

“I feel fine,” you respond, “What time is it?”

“It’s early. I’m sorry. The sign-in is at noon, so you need to start getting dressed. Just like yesterday, some women are going to come in and help you.”

“The same women?” You hoped not. They were so Capitol. You felt repulsed at the thought of sharing a room with them again.

“I don’t know. Was there a problem with them yesterday?” His Commander's face was put on. A displeased stone expression that made you feel like a scolded child.

“No.” You deny. Your eyes go to your ring that sprays out a pale rainbow from the sunlight.

He pulls your attention back to him with a hold on your chin.

“You’re my wife. First Lady of Panem.”

Him calling you wife made your heart curdle.

“You hold the power over them. If there’s an issue you need to tell me.”

“There was no issue,” you insist.

He doesn’t push you on it.

“They will be here soon. Come outside for breakfast.”

He gives your arm a tap before rising from the bed to retrieve a warm dressing gown from the closet.

It was soft around your body and brought a surprising amount of warmth.

The journey to the dining room table was simple. Just past a long hallway, it opened into the living room, where to the right an elevated platform formed the dining area.

The Snow women were not dressed as casually as you were. Fine dresses and jewels were worn for breakfast.

You looked to Coriolanus to see he was also dressed fashionably and felt embarrassed that he had brought you out in last night's worn make-up and a dressing gown.

The women seemed unbothered to see you.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Tigris greeted you.

“Good morning.” You offer back.

Coriolanus holds out a chair for you amongst the 12 available.

“Did you have a good time last night?” she asks.

You looked at her and saw no vindictiveness in her eyes. It was a genuine question, offered to make you feel at ease.

It was, in fact, the worst night of your life. But you were a stranger at her table, you would not repay her kindness with scorn.

“Yes,” you say instead, “Did you?”

Tigris nods her head, as she pours out coffee from a pot into the small white tea cups.

“Bet you never saw anything like that in the Districts.” Grandma’am quipped.

You weren’t sure if she intended for her comment to be a way of reminding you of your place, or as an encouragement to how great the Capitol could be.

“No, I haven’t.” You agree.

There was food displayed on the table, across a long white cover. Coriolanus picked food from and dropped it onto the gold plate in front of you.

You had no appetite. It was all so ghastly rich. There was no need for this amount of excess.

Coriolanus did not share your off-put. He ate his plate, while you examined the strange contents of yours.

Grandma’am doted on her grandson. Telling stories of his younger years. He always had leadership skills, she said. His presidential future was never in any doubt.

“Even when-” Grandma’am stopped herself, suddenly looking at and pushing her food around on the plate.

You were eager to hear what she had to say. Even when he was sent to be a Peacekeeper? Even when he got involved with Lucy Gray? Was there something else that Coriolanus has kept hidden?

“If only your father could see you now,” she redirects, “Oh he would be so proud.”

“We’re so proud,” Tigris states. Trying to defuse the somber mood.

Coriolanus smiles at Tigris under her praise.

“And you?” he asks, turning to you.

You nod your head, unsure on what he wanted to hear.

“Congratulations, President Snow.” You offer.

“It sounds right, doesn’t it?” Grandma’am squeals.

You wait until the rest of the company has finished their breakfast between idle chatter.

Coriolanus was on his second cup of coffee. His arm slung over the back of your chair, as he sits casually, talking to Tigris.

He leans down to your ear, the second Tigris is occupied with Grandma’am.

“Can you eat something, please? The stylists will be here soon,” he whispers.

His casual demeanor returns as Tigris’s attention does.

You follow his request, taking a bite of some sort of breakfast biscuit. It was fresh, and soft, even stone-cold. You could taste the butter in it. Real butter, not the imitation type found in the Districts.

“I am going to miss you,” Tigris sighed.

“We’re not staying here?” You turn to Coriolanus who had just taken another sip of his drink.

Your stomach fills with knots thinking about a new place. You didn’t want to move.

He swallows quickly, trying to answer you before anyone else.

“No. We’re going to the presidential estate, but we’ll come back and visit. And you're both always welcomed at the Presidential Palace.”

You jump as a ringing sound breaks through the air, looking around to try and see the small bell hidden in the room.

Coriolanus’s hand comes from the back of your chair to the back of your neck. “It’s okay,” he soothes.

He reaches for a panel of buttons built into the table and holds one in.

“Yes?” He answers the call.

“Mr. President, the PR team is here,” a voice spoke back.

“Send them up.” His hand returns from you, back to the chair.

“You don’t have long. Try to have another bite,” he commands.

You finish the breakfast biscuit by the time the two Peacekeepers escort a whole team of people up to the penthouse. It sat heavy in your stomach.

You see the same two women in the group. They stand side by side in ridiculous outfits. The one who had burnt you with a curling iron had a spiky, purple hat that reached tall into the sky.

Two racks of clothing, and four big black boxes on wheels, were carted behind them.

Coriolanus walks to the living room to greet them. They all congratulate him on his win, which he brushes off quickly to talk to the head stylist about the plan for today. They mutter between themselves, and the stylist shows Coriolanus a large book, pointing to the pictures. Coriolanus points down the hall, explaining the layout of the apartment.

The book shuts with a heavy snap, and the stylist turns to his workers directing them to their places.

The team split up behind Coriolanus, as he walked back over to you.

“You’ll go back to the bedroom. I’ll use one of the spares. If there are any problems, you come and find me.” He tells you.

You nod in response, noting that three other women follow the two women from yesterday down the hall.

Coriolanus says goodbye to Grandma’am and Tigris, before leading you back to the bedroom where he lets you go without a word. As he closes the door behind you, the women in the room snap their attention to you.

They all begin talking to you. Not one voice is heard but hands are felt all around you as they pull you into the bathroom.

They bicker amongst themselves on what needs to be done first. You had many faults that needed to be fixed before the signing. Your skin wasn’t tight or dewy enough. You needed a facial, and eyelash lift. Your chipped nails were disgusting. Your hair was dull and lifeless.

You feel vulnerable as hands dig harshly into your clothing, pulling it off your body. As you push hands away, more hands take their place. They call you difficult as you beg them to allow you to do it yourself.

The shower is turned on too hot, you could feel the heat of it standing five feet away.

Stripped, you notice the mess of semen still between your legs. Others notice it too and begin to giggle to themselves. Coriolanus had run a wet towel over you so you could sleep comfortably, but it wasn’t enough.

The shower was boiling as you were pushed under it. Your skin instantly turned red. The women themselves didn’t want to get wet, standing outside of the shower screen, and pulling you by your hair to bring you closer.

One lathers a strong-smelling liquid into your hair without much care, while another scrubs a hard brush against your skin to rid the old skin.

It hurt as it raked across your body without soap. The woman's rings got caught in your hair as she scrubbed your head, it yanked as she pulled back.

With a cry of pain, you are pushed back under the stream of hot water.

You think about running to find Coriolanus, but they are here now. Another team would not be sent. He would only reprimand them, and then you would be left alone with their wrath.

You sob instead. You should be at home. It was Wednesday. You were pretty sure. You should be at work, making idle chatter with your co-workers.

“Wash it out!” The woman commands, “We don’t have much time.”

Trying to appease her, you do a quick rinse under the water.

“All of it,” she sighs.

‘'The water’s too hot,’’ you cry. You felt like a cornered animal.

She looks at her co-workers annoyed. “Turn the water down,” she commands.

The water is turned ice-cold but you make no further complaint.

Another round of the strong-smelling liquid is harshly rubbed into your hair, and a nice-smelling lotion is rubbed into your skin.

The cold water makes you shiver as you stand under it, trying to wash everything off you.

The water is turned off leaving you standing shivering in the shower.

“Come on” the women demanded, “hurry”.

You go to her, and she throws a towel at you. It helps to dry the cold water off you, bringing back a little warmth.

They watch you as you dry yourself making you feel self conscious. The attempt to cover yourself with the towel is ripped from you, and thrown to the floor. You are once again being pushed instead of asked to do something.

You were laid flat on a table they had brought. Bare under their eye. Nothing was given so you could cover yourself.

Five women stand above you and begin work.

You close your eyes trying to dissociate from everything. A mask is put on your face, leaving space around your eyebrows so they can be waxed. Another oil is put on your hair and skin.

You could hear the buzzing of the laser and feel its zap as it took the hair off your body. She scaled the length of you with the laser, paying extra attention to your most private parts.

Only a reprimand was spoken to you as tears ran down your face. You were wasting the product with your tears.

For a long time, you laid still against the table as they worked. Your body became sore and stiff before they told you to get up and into the bedroom.

It was there you were given back your dressing gown and placed in front of a vanity.

The women talk amongst themselves as they work. Not one of them asks you anything. You tune them out, thinking about home.

It felt overstimulating to have so many people working on you at once. Someone cut your hair, while the other women took one hand or one leg. They massage more oil into your skin, before shaping and painting your nails. Your ring is given a shine, and they speak about how beautiful it was.

You feel their jealousy as they work. Your fingers were twisted into unnatural positions as they were filed. Your hair was pulled ruthlessly as it was cut. One woman stepped on your toes as she rose from the floor for some polish.

In your head, you were at home, baking for your market stall. Your mother would keep you company in the kitchen, reading a letter from your brother. He had found someone. A nice girl, who treats him well. He wasn’t lonely anymore and had plenty to eat. Edmund was alive, and you would see him when he finished work. He would be joyed at the news that his best friend found a girl, and after dinner that night you would sit with him and draft a letter explaining your new relationship.

It was a surprise when they all stopped to address the President.

You turn to see Coriolanus standing in the doorway with a large mug in his hands. He had been taken from his clothes this morning and undressed into a white singlet. He had no shoes on his feet, and his dress pants still had pins in them from the tailoring.

“It’s time for a break,” he announced. His hair appeared to be cut back, and slightly curled more. His skin glowed with treatment.

You had never been thankful to see him until that moment. A tear slipped from your eye and you quickly wiped it away.

“Sir, we still have lots to do,” one of the stylists said.

“Leave the room,” he commanded.

Tools are dropped as they follow his request.

The five women pass him through the door, and he kicks it closed as the last one leaves.

You get up from the vanities chair with a headache from all the pulling.

“I came to check on you. Are you okay?” he says.

The tea in his hands was a welcomed surprise. The hot shower had dehydrated you, and your crying left your throat scratchy. You take it from him and take three large gulps.

He takes your waist into his hands once they are free from the cup.

“Yeah,” you lie. Your voice was quiet and broken from having not spoken for a long period of time.

The tea was hot, burning your throat as you drank it, but it was good. You broke away from his hold, going to sit on the ottoman by the bed. He followed you as you sat.

Certain parts of your head felt like they were burning from the harsh treatment, You reached up to soothe the sore spots. Coriolanus’s hands follow yours. You knock them away, wanting nothing more than not to be touched.

He moves onto the bed behind you, sitting with either leg by your sides. His strong fingers reach into your hair and massage your scalp. It felt nice as his fingers dug into your head so you allowed him to do it.

You lean back into him, the hot cup burning your lap.

“Do you want to tell me something?” he gently asks.

His fingers press into a very sore spot on your head, causing you to wince and pull forward out of his hold.

He doesn’t let you sit up, pulling you back by your shoulders into him. His fingers go back to your hair once more, but he rakes his nails through your hair instead of pushing in.

He rakes his nails in a continuous backward motion, soothingly as he talks.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. That shouldn’t have hurt.”

A gentle kiss is placed against your ear.

“Are you alright? Do you want me to stay? I’ll stay.” He offers.

You think about it. The women would surely be kinder with Coriolanus in the room. But you didn’t want to admit you needed him. Worse, you didn’t want to feel indebted to him. After all, it was because of him you were going through this.

You get up from him once more, and he allows you to create distance as you go back to the vanity set.

“Leave me alone, Coriolanus,” you demanded.

You wipe the tears harshly away from your face, and he sits there watching you.

A gentle knock is heard at the door. Coriolanus rises to answer it.

“Come in,” he orders.

The women single file in, past him. Only he stops the women who had been barking orders at everyone all day.

You watch him in the mirror as he brings his hand down across her face.

A gasp leaves your lips as you watch her fall to the ground from the force.

“I entrusted her to you. If you make me regret it, I’ll make you regret it,” he warns, staring down at her with eyes that spoke of his anger.

He steps over her and back to his room.

“What did you say?” the woman in the purple hat hisses at you.

“Nothing,” you admit, “I said nothing. I promise.”

The woman who was hit gathers herself from the floor, coming over to you and pinching the skin on your arm between her long, fake nails.

“Well say less.” she rasped.

“It wasn’t my fault. He’s like that,” you contend, rubbing the skin she had pinched.

“Maybe to District scum, but not to us.”

“Your red cheek would suggest otherwise,” you sass.

It earns you a harsh tug on your hair as it is yanked to one side.

“Just do as you are told and face forward,” she spat.

She spins you by your hair towards the mirror. No more tears fall from your eyes, but a satisfied smirk stretches across your lips. The moment had made you feel powerful.

While their nail files dug into your skin, and your hair was gripped too tightly just to be cut, they no longer spoke. Coriolanus had scared them into silence.

A few moments later he reappears with his own styling crew as they struggle to bring everything they need into the room.

He sets up next to you, and under the watchful eye of Coriolanus, your stylists turn gentle. With your body done, they move to your hair and make-up.

The large room is crowded with all the people and equipment. The head stylist tries to persuade Coriolanus back to his own room, but he would hear none of it.

As your hair is curled and pinned into a loose bun, the iron used slipped slightly from her hands as she pinned. It burnt behind your ear, causing you to jump from the hot touch, but no sound escaped you.

Coriolanus noticed anyway.

“Be careful. Watch what you are doing”, he reprimanded.

“Yes, President Snow” the woman apologizes.

With a spray all over your hair, the woman steps back to admire her work.

“Alright. We are fifteen minutes behind schedule. We need to get her in her dress”, the woman with the red cheek called out.

Coriolanus was done. Only one stylist was there with him, shining his shoes.

They lead you to the bathroom with a dress bag.

As soon as the door was closed, one of the stylists who had remained quiet all morning began to speak.

“Yes, President Snow,” she mocked.

“Shut up,” the hair stylist barked.

The dress was pulled from the bag without a wrinkle.

It was a sweetheart, white satin, strapless gown. The bodice had pearls strung along it, and it curved up in the middle into a line of pearls.

It was matched with a pair of white heels with pearl straps and a jacket of the same material that was only meant to go around your shoulders and not to be worn, you learned.

The shoulders of the jacket clipped into the dress so it didn’t move.

“There,” the head woman snapped, “You’re done.”

You quickly rushed from her presence, back out to the bedroom where Coriolanus stood alone.

You turn back as you walk to him, expecting the woman to come from the bathroom. But they never do.

He takes you into his arms, gaining your attention from the door

“You look beautiful,” he comments.

He did too, but you wouldn’t admit it. He wore black instead of white, but his shirt and pocket square matched the material of your dress.

“Thank you,” you reply.

A slight squeak of the bathroom door had you pulling back. You would hate for them to see you so cozy in his arms. But the door never opens.

Coriolanus pulls you tight against him again, leaning down to whisper something to you.

“Do you want me to have them killed?” He asks.

“No,” you say, astonished that he could think of no other solution.

“It’s up to you,” he states, “Come on. We are late.”

He leads you back to the living room where Tigris and Grandma’am stood waiting amongst the stylists packing up.

“Give us time to settle in before you come to visit,” Coriolanus spoke to his family. He leans his tall frame down to kiss each of them.

“Of course,” Tigris answered. After she had kissed him, she moved over to you. Wrapping her arms around your shoulder, and placing a kiss on the corner of your head.

“We’ll see each other again soon,” she promises.

You smile back at her before she is replaced with Grandma’am. The older woman's hug is shorter and less affectionate.

With a final goodbye, you follow Coriolanus and a series of Peacekeepers to the elevator and down to the car park.

A sleek black car was waiting. A driver held out the back door, and Coriolanus placed you in the car first.

The Peacekeepers piled into a large truck. Only one sat in the front of your car with the driver.

The divider was raised so you couldn’t see them, but you could have sworn you had seen the Peacekeeper before. You wondered if Coriolanus had brought back men from District 12.

The car ride passed through the city. You had never seen such buzz. Colors and colors flew past you. Buildings that reached the sky gleamed. Tall statues were littered across the drive. You counted seven, and a possible eighth that flew past too fast to see more than a gray figure.

You wanted to put the window down for a better view as the tint from the window dulled some of the colors. But Coriolanus denied your request. The wind would undo the work done on your hair, and it was important that you arrived looking your best. He had promised to take you out again later with the windows down.

When you arrived at the presidential estate, it was surrounded by supporters of Coriolanus holding banners and sticks with a picture of Coriolanus’s face attached. They waited outside of the tall gates guarded by peacekeepers.

As the car passed them, screams and cheers deafened you.

It got worse when you entered the gates, the screaming was matched with flashes of white light.

Coriolanus was unbothered by it all. His focus is all on the approaching building in front of him.

The building was grand, surrounded by meticulously kept gardens. Large Panem flags hung on flag poles on either side of the staircase that led to the entrance. A line of staff stands at the top of the staircase. All of them were dressed in expensive white material that formed around their bodies in a long coat, and pants. Gold detailing was added to the stitches and a gold pin fashioned into the Panem symbol was pinned across their chest to keep their jacket closed.

Even the servants dressed nicer than the high society of District 12. They looked better fed too.

The car stopped as close as it could to the stairs and Coriolanus turned to you, taking your hand in his.

“Stay close to me. People are excited and that can cause them to act mindless.”

The door is opened by a Peacekeeper and Coriolanus leads you along the slim path through the sea of people.

People reach out to touch him, yelling out to gain his attention. But his mind stayed focused on the approaching building. A look of smug satisfaction and determination played across his features. You must have looked terrified as you followed him.

These people looked like animals. They frenzied around you with only a few Peacekeepers to keep them in check.

You stay as close as you can to Coriolanus, taking the back of his shirt into your spare hand.

The path ends as it comes to the bottom of the step. Coriolanus reaches his hand back to release you from his shirt, bringing you to stand by him as you climb the steps.

One woman in an all-black ensemble stood out in front of the line of staff. She greeted Coriolanus as he reached her on the steps.

“President Snow, an honor to serve you as your head of staff.”

She reached out her right hand but his right hand was latched around yours. He was hesitant to let it go.

She pauses when he doesn’t react but quickly switches out hands which Coriolanus accepts in a handshake.

Upon realizing your importance to him, she turns to you in a curtsy.

“And you, Mistress.”

The crowd cheers once more for President Snow. White roses are thrown from the crowd, falling on the road and upon the bottom of the stairs.

Peacekeepers push back against the crowd. Things were not to be thrown at the President.

“A pleasure. Perhaps we should get inside before the crowd decides to see how close they can get.” Coriolanus suggests.

The woman steps back, nodding her head quickly and too many times.

“Of course. If you would follow me, I will take you to the signing.”

The rest of the staff remain on the steps as you and Coriolanus follow the woman.

The loudness of the crowd was shut out from the big, heavy doors. It offered you two seconds of relief before taking in the vastness of the house.

The floors were polished and matched the furniture. A big lush thick carpet was laid out to add some warmth to the room. It was dark red and had cream accents that splayed out in intricate designs. The entryway must have been 50 feet in width and length but the red carpet covered nearly all of it.

Both you and Coriolanus looked around in wonder. Only Coriolanus was better at hiding his amazement. He acted indifferent as the women explained the history of the house. But you could see his eyes linger on the expensive and well-decorated decor of the house.

Staircases were everywhere, leading up and down in all different forms of design. The house was too big. It would be easy for a person to get lost but the woman led you without stumbling.

You wonder about her. How long had she been here? Was it a choice to serve the house?

She didn’t seem scared or upset. There were no marks upon her cream skin suggesting a lifetime of servitude. She wore make-up, and her thick, black hair was styled fashionably. But looks could be deceiving in the Capitol.

They liked to hide behind their fine things and sharp appearances.

She leads you into a large office. The original flag of Panem hung framed behind a large desk. The dirt and blood that had gathered on it during the war blotted the bright colors.

Only five reporters were allowed into the room, amongst a few other important people. They all greeted Coriolanus with a firm handshake. Only one reporter was female, and she towered over the men, assisted by her six-inch heels. She looks at your ring, and you notice an absence of one on hers.

She was too smart to get trapped by the Capitol men.

Coriolanus thanked them for being here with his dazzling smile while you stood behind him mute, and useless.

The women who brought you in interrupted the polite conversation between the group.

“President Snow, it is custom to sit in the chair while signing,” she directed.

“Yes,” Coriolanus obliged, leading you behind the large oak desk.

You tug your hand from him as he sits. They wanted him, not you.

A dark green plush couch with colorful cushions called out to you. You needed to sit as your legs felt like jelly.

“President Snow, did you want the picture with or without your First Lady?” The woman reporter asked as she readied her camera.

“With.” Coriolanus beckoned you closer but your legs would not cooperate.

You stood until the head of staff pushed you forward.

“Alright, dear, you stand behind your husband and don’t forget to smile. Big smile!” She commands.

You are thankful that her hands moved you into position. The referral to Coriolanus as your husband froze you. She told you once more to smile which activated your lips into a thin smile.

“Okay, Mr. President when you’re ready,” one of the male reporters called.

The cameras flash blinding you as Coriolanus signs his name on the parchment.

His signature is a series of neat loops finished by a long line that curled underneath his name.

It was official. Coriolanus Snow would now rule over Panem. With the hopes that it was over, you go to move back out of the camera frames but it only caught the attention of the journalists.

“Mrs. Snow, how about a kiss for the President?” One of the reporters called out. The comment frenzied the rest who shouted out encouragements.

Coriolanus turns out to you in his chair, permitting you to follow the command.

So you do. Bending down to his height and placing a kiss on his lips. He steadies you with a hand on the side of your face so that the kiss deepens.

The cameras liked that. You pull away, but Coriolanus' hand keeps you in place.

His thumb brushes against the lipstick that had smudged getting rid of it before wiping his hand over his mouth.

A make-up artist comes over to him, helping him to rid the lipstick off his face and reapplying power from a compact.

“Okay, can we get a shot of just the President staring down the lens with the flag in the background?” The woman once more directs.

You move quickly out of the way as the journalists kneel on the floor for the shot, and point their cameras up.

You find comfort on the couch and watch as Coriolanus is directed for the magazine shots.

When he is not directed to stare into a camera his eyes are on you, making sure that you are still in the room.

A deep regret sets on your posed photos. You should have said no. Coriolanus would be too cautious to correct you in front of what constituted the entirety of Panem. You could have gotten away with it. Now your family was sure to see the photos of you happily smiling behind him. Kissing him, with a diamond ring on your finger.

What would Edmund's family think? Your own family would think of you as a traitor. What would the family who lost everything due to you think? Edmund was keeping them afloat. How would they get by now? Would your brother take care of them as Edmund took care of his family? Would they accept the help of a traitor's brother?

Coriolanus stands from the desk in front of the reporters.

“As you can imagine, yesterday was a long day. If you are satisfied with the photos I would like to settle in with my new wife.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” was the resounding response.

He comes to collect you on the couch as the head of staff briefs the people in the room on what is to happen now.

“No one is to leave this room. Peacekeepers will come and escort you out. You and your equipment will be searched before you are released back to your firm. The President thanks you for your time and service to your country.”

Coriolanus brings your arm to loop through his as you follow the woman back out into the vast space of the house.

She takes you up a large, twin staircase back at the main entrance of the house, and along a corridor lined with a long carpet. At the very end came a double-door entrance that stretched from the very bottom, all the way to the top.

This was the President's quarters. She unlocks the door with a key that was passed to Coriolanus, and swings open the doors so you can see the space.

Another enormous space was filled with plush rugs and expensive furniture. Back home a house consisted of the bare necessities. In the Capitol, they had space for every activity and filled it with unnecessary furniture.

A breakfast nook, a long dinner table, a sitting area, a living room, a walk-in coat closet, two full bathrooms, a tall wine fridge, and a set-up bar were all contained within the floor. A staircase that led up suggested that there was more to the living space.

The woman asks if she can do anymore, but Coriolanus assures her there is nothing to be done but rest now.

She shows Coriolanus a button he could push to call for a servant before bidding him goodbye.

He was quick to shut the door behind her as you wandered into the apartment.

“What do you think?” He asks.

“People live like this?” You run a hand over a soft blanket draped over the couch.

“I never have,” he admits.

From a war-ruined boy, to a Peacekeeper, to Commander of District 12, Coriolanus lived far from the luxury of the Capitol.

He got nights of Capitol living when he came to visit from District 12 but his home had always been rat-infested slums.

“It’ll feel more like home when you settle in, and make it your own.”

“It’ll never feel like home,” you remark snidely.

Coriolanus picks up a small decorative statue and examines it.

“Well not your home back in District 12, but your home in the Capitol.”

He places the statue back down and holds out his hand for you to take.

“Shall we see upstairs?”

Upstairs was as impressive as down. Six spare bedrooms each with their own bathrooms and ready for guests, a sizable private study that conjoined to a lavish sleeping arrangement.

You open the doors to your closet to find that it already had been filled with clothing. A pair of comfortable-looking pants and a singlet call out to you, and you ask Coriolanus if you could change.

He gives you permission, telling you that he was going to look around the estate but he would be back soon.

The bathroom had heated tiles which helped to keep you warm as you tried to figure out the shower. There was a pad with buttons that had too many commands to work.

You finally figure it out with pure luck and a heavy stream of water shoots out from the shower head.

You shower off the make-up and hair spray. Some glitter that had been dusted on your skin had to be scrubbed off which left you red, and pruny from the time it took.

Another battle to turn off the water, before you could reach for a white fluffy towel off the rack. It was warm too from the heated rack.

With Coriolanus gone, you explored the room. Everything was set up as if you already lived here.

You find a book about the history of Panem in the bookcase and flick through it. It talked about the Dark Days. How District people were dangerous and out to ruin Capitol life.

Large black and white pictures taken during the war were displayed in large form across the page. The Capitol during the war looked like District 12 now.

The next page showed a photo of rebels being lined up to be shot. The page after that had a photo of a man. A general during the war. The name shocked you.

General Crassus Snow. He looked a little like Coriolanus. Same blonde hair and blue eyes, but without the name, you wouldn’t have known.

A hero they called him. It turned out Coriolanus wasn’t lying to you when he said his father was killed in 12. You wondered how that must have felt for him, to go back there and rule over the place that left him fatherless.

A little blurb read that Crassus Snow was known to have an excellent head for strategy and nerves of steel. With a commanding presence that rose him quickly through the military ranks before he was cowardly killed in an ambush.

Coriolanus had followed in his father’s footsteps. The page could have been Coriolanus' autobiography.

Your fingers trace the photo of the man standing tall in his uniform. If he was alive, you doubt he would have let Coriolanus get involved with you. But he wasn’t, and you were here, trapped in the Capitol, while he was buried somewhere in District 12.

You continue with the book, scoffing as they skew history to fit their narrative. War was never one-sided.

You hear him as he enters the study. The door was heavy and loud.

Expecting him to appear, you continue flipping through the pages of the book.

But time passes with no appearance.

You finish the book and go to find out what he is doing.

Taking the side door, you could see his back as it faced a large painting on the far wall. You knew from school that the picture was of the past President Ravenstill.

He gazes at the portrait with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Coriolanus?” You call. It breaks his concentration, and he unhooks himself from his rigid posture to extend his hand out to you. But he never faces away from the painting.

You rush to accept his hand, looking up at the painting with him. There was nothing special about it. An oil painting that depicted a hateful man in a powerful position.

But something about it captivates Coriolanus.

“Are you alright?” you ask. His broody eyes normally meant bad things for you.

“You see this?” He bends his forehead to your level and points to a faint scar on the top corner of his head.

“During the war, I went looking for scraps around the Presidential palace. I found a great big bucket full of half-eaten bones with meat still on them just sitting there over the fence, so I reached my hand in to try and get one. I was found by a Peacekeeper who informed me that the President said they were for his dogs and left me with a scar from the butt of his rifle.”

He looks away from you and back to the painting. You were grateful for it. There was a darkness in his eyes that scared you.

“Now I am the man in the palace,” he mutters.

“I am sorry that happened to you.”

He smiles at your words. Pity was something he wanted from no one but you.

“You can do a lot of good, Coriolanus,” you temper with a squeeze to his hand.

He nods his head in agreement, “I will. The Capitol will flourish under me.”

“You could do good in the Districts too. You saw the disadvantages there.”

His grip around your hand tightened, and his jaw locked in place. The painting was no longer of any interest. You now bore his intense stare.

“I saw a bunch of animals clawing at each other to get ahead. You should be thankful that I saved you.”

“Saved me?” You questioned.

He had not saved you from a burning building but taken you from your bed at night.

“It wouldn’t have been long before the animals tore into you.”

The hold on your hand loosens and he takes a step back from you.

“I’ll ring down for lunch.” He disappears from the room, leaving you in front of the painting. That night it was replaced with one of Coriolanus. The painting of him was still wet but hung proudly in the room.

The next morning after a luxurious breakfast you went straight back to bed and stayed there until Coriolanus returned home.

You had no idea if he locked the door on his way out, you never checked. There was nothing out there for you. No family or friends to shield you in their arms. No familiar faces, or sense of community.

Tigris and Grandma’am visited on the weekend, wanting to be shown around. But you only knew the bed, and Coriolanus spent too many hours at the official office downstairs to know the little details of the apartment. The head of staff was called again to show the group around the property. It took nearly half an hour to explore the place.

Grandma’am was too old to do that much walking but she wouldn’t slow down. She had dreamt about this day, longer than Coriolanus had. She held on to him as he assisted her in walking, and you held her handbag.

They stayed for coffee and cake which delighted Coriolanus. You spoke very little, even as Tigris tried to coax a conversation out of you. The crushing weight of defeat was hindering your ability to be social.

When they left, you got an earful from Coriolanus, who was disappointed in your behavior. All was forgiven, however, when the lights turned off and you were alone in bed with him.

The staff thought it was odd when you insisted that you would do the cleaning and cooking for yourself and Coriolanus. He took great pride in it. Feeling as if it was a testimony of your love. But in truth, your days were so much longer without it.

Sometimes there were visitors from the Academy or acquaintances from high society. Grandma’am and Tigris came over consistently but most of the time you were left completely alone.

For a brief period, while the facilities for you to cook and clean were installed, you lived back in the Snow Penthouse.

You enjoyed other company besides Coriolanus. One night after he was finished with you, you asked him if home could be here instead of the Presidential Palace.

He gave a laundry list of reasons as to why that wouldn’t be possible. The Presidential Palace was safer. It was the place where the President and the First Lady were supposed to live. Besides he didn’t want Tigris, and Grandma’am around while he adjusted to married life. You knew it all boiled down to the fact he simply didn’t want to.

—------------------

The night you return to the Presidential Palace, he comes to bed with a stack of papers.

“Look,” he leans closer to you, holding out a bit of paper that you couldn’t read under the sporadic flashes of light from the Tv.

“My first official act as President. Schools will now provide breakfast and lunch free of charge for every school student.”

“I thought children in the Capitol never had to worry about food”.

“Some do,” he responds, “There are poorer and richer classes in the Capitol too. Not to the extent of the Districts, but we have our own troubles in the Capitol.”

The Capitol people, no matter how poor, were not treated like animals, and terrorized by a militant group. They were still Capitol, and thus worthy of respect.

“And university is free for those in the top 10% of their cohort. I’ll make the announcement first thing tomorrow morning.”

“That’s wonderful” you praise, although you cared little for the new change.

He felt as if the bill would rewind the clock. Damn the Hunger Games, and the Plinth Prize. If he could bury the mistakes of his past, they never happened.

—----------------

Coriolanus grew desperate for a baby after his first month of presidency. He wished he had gotten you pregnant back in District 12 so he could have a baby halfway through his first term. But he didn’t dwell on the past when he could focus on the future.

He tried desperately every night to put a baby in you, but nothing stuck.

He grew worried that time in the Districts had made you barren. After a very uncomfortable examination by a doctor who assured him that you were able to bear children, but simply have not.

The thought of children made you feel sick. You had no idea how you would manage it on top of everything. You did not want his children, but how could you stop him? He was the one who decided your future.

Every morning he would wait outside of the bathroom door for you to do a test. You would bring a negative result back, and his face would sag.

His frustration was rough in form. Since election night, fun was the only objective for Coriolanus. But as his want for a child grew, teasing and pleasing you were secondary to his need. Again and again, in the same night, he would manhandle you in positions he thought were best. They left him with a sore wife and no baby to show for it.

A doctor had suggested that extreme stress can disrupt the ovulation cycle making it difficult to plan strategic timing of sex. This had annoyed Coriolanus greatly. You went on only a few official obligations in which you stayed by Coriolanus. You were fed, clothed, and rested. There was no extreme stress in your life that would hinder you from his baby.

You verbally agreed with his rant but laughed in private at his delusional hissy fit.

Every night when he was finished, he would sleep thinking tomorrow he would wake with good news.

One day he did. He was getting ready to go down to the office, waiting for you to present him with the test.

You expect the same as before, but as you expect the test, you notice an instant difference.

Scrambling for the box, you check the instructions. A cold shot through you as you looked back to see the indication of pregnancy.

In hope you take another one.

Coriolanus knocks on the door, telling you he has to leave soon.

You don’t care, you stare at the test waiting for a negative result.

It appeared the same as the other.

Coriolanus calls out again. On auto-pilot, you unlock the door and show him the test. He knew from your expression that it was positive but he looks anyway.

He kisses you deeply, but you can’t move against him. You were going to be a mother. Die nursing Coriolanus’s babies.

“A baby,” he says joyously. He brings his hand to your stomach and smiles, “A Snow.”

He ushers you back into bed, and calls for a maid to come tend to you while he is at work. All day you only move to throw up once.

The maid annoys you all day by asking you to do things. You just wanted to cry in bed without an audience.

As soon as the news was announced, floods of gifts came piling into the apartment. Designer clothes, a gold crib, flowers, and chocolate were sent for you. You threw them all out.

Every day you spend organizing and putting away presents only for more to come.

If you had thought your life was miserable before pregnancy, your life was unbearable while you were pregnant. Coriolanus was anxious about losing the baby.

The whole nine months at breakfast each morning a doctor checked for any complications. It made it difficult to eat which frustrated you as you woke every morning with great hunger. Only to throw it up again by mid-morning.

You were young and healthy so the pregnancy was low risk. Due to the rations in the Districts, your iron was low, but with your meals now being made by qualified chefs and nutritionists it quickly came back up to an acceptable level.

Coriolanus insisted that everything was a risk. Cooking over a hot stove, or bending to clean. You came to work with him like you did at the Compound. It was then you realized that he was more worried about you self-sabotaging the pregnancy than he was about the chemicals in cleaning products.

You grew big and uncomfortable. With the hormones raging in your body you would cry randomly during the day. One time when Tigris came to drop off the baby clothes she had made you, Coriolanus insisted she stayed for tea in the garden.

It was a beautiful day, and you had company other than Coriolanus. It was one of your better days. But upon seeing a dead baby bird at the edge of the garden, you began to cry uncontrollably.

You resisted Coriolanus' hold as he shouted for the bird to be taken away. The scene greatly shocked Tigres who quickly left when Coriolanus returned you to your room.

In addition to the mood swings, your baby kicked all day long giving you little rest. It took a toll on your appearance, leaving you looking half-dead.

Everywhere you turned someone was handing you a pillow and a blanket or offering you food. You felt like the main attraction at a circus. The only good thing about the pregnancy was that no meant no.

Coriolanus was far more respectful of your boundaries. All you had to put up with was his interactions with his unborn child. He liked to speak to it in your stomach and feel it kick. On daily walks for the baby's health, he would hold the bump as he accompanied you around the grounds. He was excited to be a father but you were terrified of being a mother in an entirely different world than your own.

Both you and Coriolanus attended parenting classes to help with the transition. Even raising babies was different in the Capitol. Mothers were not supposed to leave the house for 40 days after the birth. District women went back to work before the week was out.

The teachers talked about safe sleeping practices in a cot, District babies slept in a basket cushioned with rags.

Special food was designed for every stage of toddler life here. Babies back home ate what was available.

The classes made you grateful that your child was Capitol. At least you could give them a happy, comfortable life.

Coriolanus would ensure the best for his child that you were sure of.

—--------

Nine months passed quickly. One early morning you woke up in a great deal of pain. Coriolanus was still asleep next to you. You knew the baby was ready to come, but you were not ready for the baby.

You try to delay the baby. The midwife said you had another week.

A hot bath stops the pain for a little while, but the sound of running water wakes Coriolanus. You’re in the bath for thirty minutes before he rises from bed to join you.

He doesn’t knock as he enters. There was a time when you would have tried to cover up, but those days were long gone.

Coriolanus kneels by the bathtub and places a hand on your rounded stomach.

“Kicking, is he?” Coriolanus asks.

“Yeah. Something like that,” you state.

“He’s just excited to be here next week.”

As if it was a call to action, your stomach begins to contract painfully tight. You wince, trying hard to keep a sound from coming out.

“Are you alright?” He asks with concern.

“Yes. Can you help me out of the tub?”

The plug is pulled by twisting a round knob to your left, and the water drains quickly.

He helps you out of the tub gently, wrapping you in a towel and helping you walk to your wardrobe.

All of your pregnancy clothes were loose dresses that fell down to your ankles. You picked a light blue one but as the fabric fell around your body, your stomach gave a harsh twist. It felt as if your stomach muscles were being pulled from your stomach.

You feel Coriolanus place a hand on your back.

“I’ll call for the doctor,” he says.

The doctor and his nurses had been moved into the presidential palace for the pregnancy. Coriolanus wanted to be sure that if anything went wrong, a team of experts was at hand.

“No,” you moan, “He’s just moving that’s all.”

The next contraction had you yelling and kneeling over in pain.

“Is he coming?” His voice carried an excitement that could only be found in a person not about to give birth.

“To the bed,” he demands, “Come on.”

The team is quickly called up, bringing with them scary-looking machines. Your doctor had previously explained what they did and how he would deliver the baby. But none of it mattered now. You were terrified.

Coriolanus only left your side to get dressed. The labor was nearly fourteen hours, during which Coriolanus held your hand and waited for the contractions to get closer together.

He tried his best to make you comfortable. Hard pillows were brought in for you so you could sit up, and he held a water bottle close, ready for you.

As you enter the second stage of labor, the pain intensifies as your body gets ready for the push. Your fear spikes, knowing that a baby would soon be placed in your care.

“No, no,” you mutter. This wasn’t supposed to be like this, You were supposed to be married to the love of your life, and have your mother to coach you through this.

“You’re alright, darling. He is almost here,” Coriolanus dabbed an ice-cold rag over your forehead as he spoke.

“No,” you state more forcibly, “I want my mother.”

“Mrs. Snow, you need to start pushing,” the doctor instructs. Your body pushes automatically, causing a painful groan to resound around the room.

Coriolanus gives you words of encouragement but they buzz in your ear. The sound of your mother's name coming from your lips was the only thing you heard.

“You don’t need her. Just keep going.” He soothes.

You scream at the pain. The room felt as if it was on fire around you, but you knew it was cold outside. The world began to blur, the beeping of the machines and talk of the medical team lapped.

You look towards the doorway as your body begins to push again. You swear you see your mother peeking in.

“Mum!” you scream, “Mum, please, don’t leave me.”

“No, No.” Coriolanus consoles.

“No. Coriolanus, I want my mother. Where’s my brother?” You ask in a state of panic that brings tears to your eyes.

“Mrs. Snow, push.” The doctor bids.

“No!” you scream back, “Not without my mum.”

“Mrs. Snow, this baby is coming. You don’t have time,” the doctor says.

“Push,” Coriolanus tells you.

“Please, Coriolanus, please,” you beg. All you wanted was to see her. If he didn’t want you to speak that would be fine. You just needed to see your mother as you delivered your first child.

“What have you done?” You sob, looking at his worried face.

“I haven’t done anything,” he defends, “You need to start pushing.”

Pain ripples through your body and you push to ease it.

Three big pushes that burn, and suddenly the pressure in your stomach is gone.

A loud cry fills the room, in constellation with your heavy panting.

The crying buddle is brought to you by the doctor, but you push his hands away. One peak at his light blonde hair had you feeling sick. He was supposed to have dark hair like Edmund’s. He was supposed to be Edmund’s child.

Instead, the child was given to Coriolanus who accepted him into his arms.

“Coriolanus, where is my mother?” You ask.

“She’s not here. You know that,” he answers.

Still, you scream for her to save you.

“Commander Snow, please! Just let me see her,” you beg.

He looks down at you puzzled, with the screaming child in his arms.

Despite feeling as if you had been hit by a train, you attempt to rise which is discouraged by everyone in the room.

Coriolanus steps forward to stop you, but won’t release his hands from his son.

You feel the pressure from the nurses on your shoulder as they press you back into the mattress.

“Sir, can I administer a sedative to calm her?” a nurse asks.

Coriolanus nods at the nurse, and she inserts a needle into your IV drip.

“Get off. No!” You try to tug against the IV connection, but your hands are pinned down.

“Mum!” you shout, “Archie!”

The sedative works fast. You soon find yourself unable to hold your head up. The fight kicked out from under you.

You watch as Coriolanus holds tight to the small blanket.

“Commander, please.” You mumble, but hear no response as you slip into a deep sleep.

—-----------

When you wake it feels as if each limb has been torn from your body, and you have been hastily stitched together again.

The room is blurred but your eyes are opened. You could feel their sting as you failed to blink.

You had a son, you think, but where is he? Why can’t I hear him crying?

With newfound motivation you will yourself to get your bearings.

Your muscles move at your control once more, and your eyes focus on the lamp on the table.

As you regain control, you hear footsteps by the end of the bed. Your head rolls on the pillow to see Coriolanus as he stands over a bassinet, still for a second, before he reaches down and picks up your baby, wrapped tightly and swaddled.

You wanted to call out and demand that he place your baby back down but you were still hazy from the drugs. You're too slow to gain back your voice.

He sits in a nearby rocking chair with the baby tightly in his arms, beginning to rock gently as he gazes down at the small bundle.

The baby fusses slightly but is soon soothed back to sleep.

Seeing your baby in no harm, you try and sit up

“Coriolanus,” you call. His eyes shoot up to watch you as you rise into a sitting position but go back to your baby as he speaks.

“Take it easy. He’s okay,” he consoles.

“Is he healthy?” You ask.

Coriolanus smiles down at his son, as he rocks back and forth.

“He’s perfect. I’ve named him, Crassus Alexander Snow, after my father.”

You hate that your son is named after the man in the book. You hate that Coriolanus has named him without your approval. Your son wasn’t a doll for him to play with. He had taken enough from you, now it felt as if he was after your son too.

“You named him?” Your voice was hard with your displeasure.

“I had to. The nurses needed a name. Don’t worry you can have the next one.”

The next one. Not even 24 hours after an excruciating labor, and he was talking about the next one.

Looking around, you see that you only felt like you had just given birth. The machines, apart from your IV drip next to you, had been taken back. The bed was fresh under you, and you had been changed into comfortable pajamas.

You lean back into the bed, silent. This was not how you pictured your first child. You wanted your mother and brother to see him.

You picture seeing them again. Just one last time to say goodbye.

The thought of it makes you break the silence you otherwise never would have broken.

“Coriolanus, do you think I could write to my mother to let her know I had a child?” You ask quietly.

He is quiet which worries you. Your mother would know when the Capitol news circulated through the District, but you were hoping to at least let her know you tried to tell her.

“Yes, you should,” he finally spoke.

He gets up from the rocker and walks slowly towards your bed.

“Here, do you want to hold him?”

You open your arms for Coriolanus to place your son into.

He fits perfectly and doesn’t wake.

You stare at him. He didn’t feel like your son. Crassus was a small baby, with light blonde hair. Not how you imagined him.

Coriolanus lays on the bed next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders so he could bring you close.

“Thank you,” he says, “I know how scared you were. You called for your mother. Do you remember?”

You were hoping that he wouldn’t mention it. That it could just be something that happened and then forgotten.

“Did I?” you fawn.

You're careful to keep your eyes on your son, and not to look anywhere that could gain Coriolanus's attention.

He captures it anyway by bringing your chin up to his height.

“You did so well, and I am so proud of you,” he praises. He places a quick kiss on your lips before drawing his head back.

“I love you.” He states. His eyes look at you expecting.

“I love you too, Coriolanus.”

You never know if the letter you write is sent home. No return was ever given.

—--------------

A week later your baby boy lay between you and Coriolanus on the bed. He was sleeping after you had just fed him. It took a while for you to feel connected to him but now a mother's bond was established, and you could watch him sleep for hours.

Coriolanus ran his finger down the side of his baby's face and down to his little belly, rubbing soothing circles to try and help him digest the milk.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Coriolanus spoke to you but kept his gaze on his child.

“Yes,” you agree.

You wished your mother could see your baby. To hold him as is her right as a grandmother. You had wanted to ask Coriolanus, but you knew the answer. Still, you had to ask. Maybe he would be kinder to you after birthing his child.

“Coriolanus, I was wondering if I might be able to take him back home to see my family?”

His eyes shot up at you. The answer was more than no, it was how dare you.

“Don’t you ever ask me that again.” he seethes.

You held little hope that he would agree so his denial hurt less.

“Can we video call them?” you try to compromise.

“No,” his answer was hard and cold, “Put him in his bassinet and come back.” He commanded.

Crassus’s bassinet was only at the end of your bed. Coriolanus wanted to keep him close.

Your baby stirs as you gently pick him up but settles back into his mother's arms. He was so milk-drunk that the normal fight to set him into his bassinet was won with a gentle rock.

You knew you were in trouble with Coriolanus. The only time you had wished that your baby fought sleep was so you could avoid Coriolanus’ wrath.

He holds his tongue until you are back lying next to him.

“I don’t want you speaking about your family ever again. I don’t want our son to know that you are District. Think about them if you must, but if you continue to speak about them, I will have them killed.”

“They are my family,” you spat.

“We are your family. Us. Your son and your husband.”

You get up from next to him, even though you know you shouldn’t.

“Lay back down,” he demands.

“I’ve done everything you have asked of me,” you snivel, “Gone to every event where they look at me like a trained animal. Cooked your meals, washed your clothes. Gave you a son, just like you wanted.”

Your voice was wobbly and raised. The hormones that were still raging through your body from birth trapped you between uncontrollable sadness and an unquenchable fury.

“Be quiet. You’ll wake Crassus,” Coriolanus scolded.

“I don’t care!” You yell.

Coriolanus looks to the bassinet at the end of the bed, expecting his son to wake, crying.

All is silent. You lower your voice as you continue speaking. If you upset Crassus all conversation would stop.

“Crassus doesn’t have to come. I can have a one-hour phone call a month without him. He doesn’t have to know, but I can’t live like this.”

His eyes snapped to you as he lay in the bed. “Can’t live like this? I have given you a life so terrible that you can’t bear it?”

He rises from the bed, and you take a step back. You were in a bad condition after birth. There was no way you could defend yourself against him.

“Nothing I do for you is ever good enough for you” he exclaims. His eyes squint at you but his voice is calm and collected, “You know how dangerous it was for me to help you in 12? A Commander, and a District girl. How that looked for me in my presidential run? But I didn’t care. From the day I met you, I have looked after you. And you want me to feel in debt to you, because why? You cook the food I give you? Wash the clothes I buy? Birthed a beautiful son that you never would have had without me.”

“You didn’t ‘take care of me’, Coriolanus. You took me. I never asked for any of it. I want to go home to my family.”

Coriolanus stood across from you, his face unmoving and hard.

“You’re right. Family is important,” he suddenly says. His face relaxes, and body unwinded.

He moves quickly to the end of the bed where Crassus lies.

“Your brother had a child. A little girl, named after you,” he rocks the bassinet gently despite his threatening words.

“You want to see her? I can bring her here,” he taunts.

“No,” you whisper.

“No? All this talk of family, and the answer is no?’’

He looks down at his sleeping baby, checking for any signs of distress.

“I could bring them all here. They could work in the presidential estate. You’re the only one who doesn’t have to earn their keep”.

You imagine them dressed in the same white uniforms as the other servants. How much control Coriolanus would have over their lives daily.

“That’s not what I am asking,” you state.

“You’re asking to have your family around you, and I couldn’t agree more. Unless you don’t consider them family?”

“Well?” he pushes after a moment of silence.

“No.”

“Who do you consider family then?”

“You and Crasuss,” you gave the answer he wanted to hear.

“That’s right!” He cooed, running a hand over Crassus’s head, “Just us. All you need is us.”

He straightens once more, giving his full attention back to you.

“I am not asking you to be grateful, but I will not allow you to be thankless,” he shoves his hands in his pockets in a casual manner.

“You should sleep as he sleeps,” he suggests. He wanted the fight to be over, and the newborn bliss to continue.

“Lay back down, and go to sleep. No more talk of Districts.”

He leaves you in the room with your son, retreating from any further fighting.

You wondered if it was true. Did Archie have a baby?

Some part of you hoped it was true, and that she would fill the void of you in their lives. Just as Crassus filled the void for you.

—-----------

With the success of Crasuss, Coriolanus was eager to have another one. You were still getting used to motherhood. You weren’t sure if you could deal with this one, let alone another one.

Coriolanus stayed home with you for the 40 days that you were supposed to be on bed rest. He was up late with work, and then during the night with Crasuss.

He tried to give you as much rest as he could. But Crassus needed you for feedings, and sometimes he would only settle if he was in your arms.

Coriolanus was unversed in assessing others' needs. He would bounce Crassus when he needed to be held, change his diaper when he needed to be fed, and give him toys that were too old for him.

He couldn’t decipher his cries like you could, leaving him frustrated.

You knew he tried, which was more than you expected of him.

You wake from the sound of your son crying from what feels like a two second nap. Coriolanus tried to prolong it for you by trying to soothe the baby himself.

“He needs to be burped,” you tell Coriolanus, “Put him up on your shoulder and pat his back.”

He had only just fed so you knew it was just tummy pain.

Coriolanus does as you say. Crassus settles as he is put upright but no burp comes.

“It’s not working,” Coriolanus panics. Every little thing the doctor was to be called to check it out.

“Keep going,” you encourage.

Coriolanus sighs in relief when Crassus lets out a little burp and returns to being a happy baby.

“You’re good at this,” he commented, “ A natural.”

He always knew you would be, but to see it in action filled him with great joy and admiration.

You huff in response, closing your eyes to go back to sleep.

Coriolanus had to go back to his usual duties, leaving you with the full responsibilities of being a mother.

It was overwhelming to have no one else to talk to but a baby. You spent your days in the apartment which drove you crazy.

You eye the door. Coriolanus never told you to stay in the apartment. It was just an assumption you made. You knew you would never get outside of the gates, but you would settle for the gardens.

With your baby in your arms, you cautiously twist the knob.

There is no booby trap as you step out. No alarm rings. So you continue your journey.

You vaguely remember the way from when you were out of the apartment with Coriolanus.

A maid was polishing the wood of the staircase you needed to go down. You curse but try to act casual as you approach her.

“Mrs. Snow,” the maid seemed surprised to see you, “Can I do something for you?”

“No. I am just going to the gardens,” you justify.

You walk quickly away from her. You hear her calling your name but you don’t stop.

The house is large and echos as you make your way across it. The entrance out into the gardens was almost hidden.

You wanted to run, but you were careful not to shake your baby too much.

The big door comes into view. A sense of excitement and apprehension overcame you. You had never been outside of the Presidential quarters without Coriolanus. Now you were stepping outside. It felt as if you were gaining some independence back.

When you open the door, you are confronted with a Peacekeeper, who stands aside out of your way.

You thank him as you move past him, but he follows wordlessly as you cross the field.

The maid had called the Peacekeeper on you, who called Coriolanus on you, and Coriolanus had told the Peacekeeper to keep an eye on what you were doing.

You find a spot under a tree in the lowest field, the Peacekeeper stands ten feet away to give you and your baby some privacy.

You play with your baby in the short grass. He liked the feeling of it.

Some maids come, bringing a picnic blanket, and a glass of lemonade.

You thank them although you wanted none of their assistance.

Crassus has some tummy time listening to the birds. You lay back on the grass and watch the sun as it goes down. It was comforting to know that your mother and brother would be looking at the same sun. As far away as they were, at least something still connected you.

You tell Crassus about them and he babbles back as if he was trying to talk. You tell him about Edmund in the prime of his life. You don’t discuss Edmund’s death or his father's involvement.

You begin to explain District 12 to him just as the sun disappears behind the trees, when you hear the Peacekeeper stand to attention in greeting. You shut up immediately.

“It’s time to come inside” Coriolanus’s voice is heard.

He picks his son up and places him on his shoulder after a quick kiss.

You get up with the blanket and cup as you follow him back to the house.

Coriolanus takes the items from you and gives them to the Peacekeeper in passing.

“Look at this,” Coriolanus pulls out a small doll from his pocket, “A senator's little girl gave it to me. She was so cute. We should try for a girl next.”

You still had four weeks before the doctor gave you the go-ahead to engage in intercourse. But you knew Coriolanus would push the limits on that time frame.

“I want to wait at least a year before another one,” you tell him.

It already was so difficult, you wouldn’t survive having to care for another one.

“No,” Coriolanus protested, “I would like a girl before the years out.”

You knew how obsessive Coriolanus could be when he had a thought trapped in his head. You also knew that nothing you said was going to change his mind.

You wait until Crassus is asleep, and your shift with Coriolanus starts.

He was waiting for you like he usually is. After Crassus was asleep, it was his turn to have his wife.

He had opened a bottle of wine and was flicking through the tv channels. It surprised him when you dropped to your knees in front of him.

Your hands reach for his trousers, and he eagerly helps you to take them off. During pregnancy he didn’t want to force you to do anything, thinking that it might harm the baby. After he was born, there was a recovery period that he had to wait through. It left Coriolanus pent up and hungry for your touch.

Your lips were warm on him and worked so well.

After all of your experience, you knew what Coriolanus liked. You swatted his hands off you as he tried to take control. He relents, bringing his hands to his thighs in a tight grip.

You feel it grow in your mouth with your attention. It twitches under your tongue and you knew it as a sign he was close.

Just as he is reaching his high, you drag your lips back and off.

He gasps as you do, throwing his head back onto the couch.

“What are you doing?” He groans. He was irritated, which was not your desired effect.

“Crassus turns one before another baby,” you demand.

His hands curl into the couch as he counters, “Eight months.”

You move to get up but his hands stop you, “Okay, okay, a year. Just finish.” He begs.

You do finish him off, with the smug satisfaction that Coriolanus Snow is just a man.

The day Crassus turns one, Coriolanus keeps you to your bargain.

Coriolanus was determined to have a girl. Clothes and bows had already been brought.

While Capitol technology allowed you to artificially change the sex of your baby, Coriolanus was more interested in conceiving the natural way.

He researched old myths to increase his chances, and he tried all of them.

He made you drink lemon juice before sex. He initiated sex on even days of the week. You were on a diet of fish, eggs, and vegetables. And you had to leave your legs raised for a couple of minutes after he was finished.

You were slow to conceive like you were with Crassus. But one of the old wives' tales worked, for nearly nine months after Crassus turned one, you fell pregnant with a baby girl.

You named her Aurora meaning dawn. A silent homage to your family back home, and the sun that connects you.

—--------------------

Having children strangely settled you. You had five children in total within years of each other. Your fifth child was your last. After you had lost too much blood during the birth of your next boy, Coriolanus put off plans to have a sixth. It scared him, seeing you so pale, laying half dead in a bed like his mother. The goal of children was to bring you closer, not to use you up.

They gave your life purpose and little room to think about anything else but their needs. As they grew, you got more freedom to explore the city. Always under an army of guards. Coriolanus wanted them to have a full life, even if it meant granting you access to be far from him.

His children were not to miss out on anything the Capitol had to offer. Their names were on the top of the list for any attractions, child star concerts, and plays. The world was at their fingertips, and you got to experience Capitol life through them.

He went when he could but his work was demanding. In his absence, a team of Peacekeepers escorted you and your kids around the Capitol.

Despite his many faults, Coriolanus was a doting father. His children were first, sometimes before you. Where once his hold was tight around you all night, now you wake to find that one of your children had escaped their bed and taken your place.

You always worried about his temper. He hasn’t hit you in years. You figure it was partly because you gave him little reason to, and partly because if you weren’t physically holding a child in your arms, you had one in your belly.

But as your children grew would they be in the same danger as you if they acted out?

They all had the signature blonde hair of a Snow, but only the firstborn had Coriolanus’s blue eyes. Your other two boys and girls had your eyes. Something to tell you that they weren’t all Coriolanus.

Date night normally consisted of an official event. They were far and few between as Coriolanus preferred you to be home with the babies. He disliked nannies but conceded to their usefulness.

Tonight was a charity event to raise money for a new public swimming pool. Vapid and silly. At this stage, only Crassus and Aurona were born to be left crying as you tried to leave for the event.

They were not used to being parted from you, and you were not used to being parted from them.

“It’s okay,” you hush, “Mummy will be back soon, and she will check on you.”

Aurora was too young to know what your words meant. Her only cue that something was wrong was Crassus as he screamed.

“No, Mummy, no!” His face was bright red from tears. You worried that he was short on breath from his screaming.

He knew when you dressed up, you were leaving. He was four but a smart little thing. As soon as the stylist crew arrived, his meltdown began.

You held him as they did your hair and make-up, trying to soothe him. Coriolanus was still at work. All he needed to do was change his suit when he arrived home.

He arrived home to chaos he could not settle.

He stood behind you, watching as your son tried to tug off your elbow-length glove.

“It’s alright, it’s okay. Mum will be back,” you promise.

Aurora throws her head back, throwing her body off balance in your hold.

The two nannies try to gain the kids' attention by holding out new toys, and calling out to them.

“Once you leave they will settle,” one of the nannies promised.

With teary eyes, you kiss both of your crying children, Coriolanus does the same, and Aurora is handed over.

Crassus’s little hands claw onto your dress, he has to be picked up and yanked away by his nanny.

You try not to let your tears fall as you walk to the car. It would ruin your make-up, and once you started to cry, you weren’t sure you would be able to stop.

“They will be fine,” Coriolanus promises on the way to the event.

“Why do I have to go tonight?” It was a silly thing that would survive without you.

“Because you’re my wife. That’s why.”

Despite many years in the Capitol, events like this reminded you that you don’t belong.

People would only talk to you in an attempt to gain an audience with Coriolanus.

You would remain civil but not overly friendly.

They all thought you were shy and timid as you were rarely seen, and always by Coriolanus’s side.

Your relationship with Coriolanus had changed over the years but his overprotectiveness never dissolved.

His hand was always on you in some form. Where he went, you went. Who he talked to, you talked to. You were only an extension of him in public. At least at home, you were your own person to your kids.

Tonight it seemed to all children. Only one person spoke to you apart from Coriolanus.

It was a little girl, who passed you a flower in thanks. The public pool didn’t seem so silly in your eyes anymore. You bent down to talk to her, thanking her for the flower. You asked her about school and her siblings. You told her about your own children who were too young to attend a party like her.

You were disappointed when her nanny came to collect her. She scolds the child for running away and bothering the President.

Tucking the flower behind your ear, you blow the girl a kiss as she is carted off.

The rest of the night was dull as you acted as Coriolanus’s shadow.

Coriolanus had just finished a speech on stage, you were walking back down the hallway to the party with him. You passed a few people running the events. They tried to talk to him, but he seemed in a rush.

He turns off the direction of the party, and tugs you down an empty hallway.

You ask him what he is doing as he checks the doors until he finds one that is opened and ushers you inside. It was a supply closest. Small and smelling slightly damp.

He pushes you up against the wall, knocking over a broom and a bucket.

“You’re such a good mother. Such a good little wife. I don’t tell you that enough,” he says.

“Okay,” you respond, pushing back on his shoulders.

“I love you so much.” He kisses you so hard, that your head is knocked painfully back into the cement wall.

It reminded you of the harsh and needy kisses he used to give you as a Commander.

You feel his hands slide up your dress and grip the flesh of your butt.

“Coriolanus, not here,” you beg.

His lips go to your throat in slow, sexual kisses.

“I want another baby,” he requests.

“Not here. Someone could find us.”

“Not if you are quiet.”

“Coryo,” You try. A bit too loud for this liking. He clamps a hand over your mouth, and shushes you with a hard look that tells you he was serious.

“It would not look good if they found the President and First Lady fucking in a closet.”

He kneels on the floor in front of you, going under your dress and up your legs, bringing down your underwear.

You feel him put his mouth on you, and you try to relax. It took you months to fall pregnant the last two times. This time wasn’t anything special.

His fingers dig into the back of your thighs, keeping you close as he works.

Soon a lapping sound is heard, and Coriolanus leaves your cunt with a kiss.

You try one more time to dissuade him. Telling him to wait until home. But he unbuckles his belt and hoists you up around his waist.

Your arms circle his shoulders as he pins you to the wall.

You can feel how hard he is against your heat. He bucks up against your wetness in desperation before he lines himself up properly.

You engulf him in your wetness as he thrusts his hips up into you.

With no way to hold yourself up, you feel yourself sink and then be thrusted up into.

“Are you going to give me a baby?” He grunts.

He is fast and rough as he slams up into you. His words were heard but your mind was far from them.

“Yeah?” He teases. His lips go to your neck again, trapping you head against the wall.

He seemed to continuously hit the spot that you liked, no matter how you moved your hips.

The pressure means you come too quickly. Coriolanus was nowhere close so would continue.

You can’t help to groan as he fucks you through your orgasm.

He reminds you to be quiet once more, and you bite his shoulder to stop the sounds you couldn’t stop coming.

He knew you had come from the way you clenched around him.

Taking the back of your neck, he leans you into his shoulder and wraps an arm around your waist.

He delivers you to the floor, releasing you gently into the tight confines of the cluttered room.

“Think you can manage another one?” He asks.

You shake your head ‘No’, your words failed you as he continued his brutal pace.

“I think you could,” he states.

He uses two fingers to circle your pearl as he drives into you.

The door had no lock. Anyone could open it and see you.

You were being too loud. You knew you were. But he forced the sounds from you. Your whole body tingled under his touch, your legs shook with pleasure.

He was not being entirely quiet himself. He grunted and shutters above you feeling his own end coming.

You feel him twitch in your preceding his exploding into you.

He beats you but doesn’t stop swirling his fingers, determined to have you finish again.

You come too loudly causing Coriolanus to cover your mouth with an open palm and look to the door, expecting detection.

His hand is pulled and with a kiss, Coriolanus pulls back on his ankles with a stupid grin.

He uses your panties to clean up the excess cum from you before placing the underwear back on you.

If you had any energy, you would have taken them back off but all you could do was lie there, watching him transform back into a respectable gentleman.

“We have to get back out there before they send Peacekeepers looking for us.”

He finishes tucking his shirt back into his pants before reaching down to help you to your feet.

You’re a little wobbly at first but Coriolanus keeps a firm grip to keep you upright.

You spend the rest of the fundraiser with damp panties and shaky legs which causes you to bump into Coriolanus as he stands next to you.

The stupid grin never leaves his face, even in the car ride home.

Your children are asleep when you arrive home.

You leave them with a kiss, before going back to your room and rushing to beat Coriolanus to bed while he is occupied going through the messages left for him.

He joins you in the shower but it’s quick and with the intention of going to bed.

He talks about the night. Recalling things he enjoyed and disliked.

He asks you what you think but you shrug. All Capitol events were the same to you.

You finish your shower while Coriolanus washes his hair. Giving you time to dress and get into bed before him.

You roll to your side, hoping that the supply closet tryst fulfilled him enough.

You feel him as he moves in the bed to come over to your side, his arm wraps around your shoulder and his head rests against yours.

“We should take the kids to the zoo tomorrow. I’ll have it cleared out.”

“Okay,” you reply, knowing that there wasn’t any other option.

The zoo was large, and there were too many animals to see before nap time.

Crassus got whiny and tired from all the walking and climbing on things. He demanded to be carried. Instead of using his words, he would scream when he got sick of looking at the same animal.

Normally you would have returned home to put him down for a nap, but Coriolanus enjoyed having his son rest on his shoulder. Crassus was a mommy’s boy and very rarely wanted to be held by anyone else.

It was not your first time at the zoo. You had taken Crassus while you were six months pregnant with Aurora. It still amazed you, however. You could spend hours just looking and learning about the animals, but Crassus was lucky to push a five hour awake period.

It was a blessing to visit the penguins where the sound of the gentle flowing water, and cool air sent him to sleep on Coriolanus' shoulder.

You pushed the pram that Aurora was asleep in as you and Coriolanus searched for a comfortable resting place.

Finding a canopy, you sit with your family in the shade. Coriolanus had successfully transferred Crassus from his shoulder to the bench with his head resting on his father's thigh.

Coriolanus’s other leg went out to gently rock the pram with his expensive shoe.

You lay back resting your eyes yourself. Crassus had woken you up from a nightmare. With him in your bed, you got very little sleep as he tossed and spread out.

Coriolanus disturbs your peace by reaching out to place a hand on your stomach as if there was something already inside.

“What do you think it will be?” he asks.

“We don’t know there is anything in there.”

Coriolanus had wanted you to take a test this morning but it was chaos trying to get the children ready for the day.

“I don’t care what it is myself. I was thinking Marcellus for a boy, and Lillian for a girl”.

You cry at the thought of being pregnant again. It was a horrible experience. It was uncomfortable, tiring, and you suffered great nausea all throughout the nine months. That's all before the recovery period while you run around after two other children.

“Hey,” his voice is soft and reassuring. He stops rocking the pram to reach his hand to yours.

The hand that wasn’t captured by Coriolanus went to your mouth to quieten your blathering. You were always cautious about what the children saw.

“If it’s too much I’ll let you get a nanny to help during the day” he offers.

You rip your hand out from under him in anger, “I don’t want a nanny.”

You didn’t trust Capitol people to be around your children. Only when you were forced to where you parted from them. They were too young. They needed their mother.

“You’re tired,” he pandered. His hand wraps around your shoulder to pull you down to his lap. You rest your head on his thigh like your son, and find your eyes shut by themselves.

You feel his fingers itch your head until you are asleep. Coriolanus waits until your breath evens before returning to rock the pram with his hand. With his arm rested over his oldest child, and his hand lulling his baby girl to sleep, Coriolanus felt a swell of pride.

His family slept under his protection and lead. Pamen had entered into a new golden age. All paths led him here.

You woke to the sound of Aurona crying which woke and upset Crassus.

On instinct, you shoot up from Coriolanus to retrieve your baby girl. She needed to be fed again, but Crassus was now rejecting Coriolanus’s hold, wanting to be picked up by you.

You oblige him when his face starts to turn red from crying. You feel their tears on either side of your collarbones. Their screams rang in your ear.

Coriolanus stretches his dead legs, slowly easing himself up to place a hand on Crassus' back.

“Let's get ice cream,” he bribes.

Crasuss turns his head to look at his father and nods.

With a bright smile, Coriolanus claps his hands together before opening them wide, “Come to daddy?” He asks.

You never let him get ice cream at the zoo. It was too close to nap time. So with the promise Crassus eagerly goes into his father's arms.

At the ice cream shop you could feed Aurona but it took far longer than normal with the anxiety that you were pregnant with your third. Something told you that you were.

It was a boy. A gorgeous baby boy. Doll was your nickname for him, but Coriolanus officially names him Adrianus. He cried very little, and at six weeks old he slept through the night. He latched easily, and from 3 to 4 in the afternoon, he would laugh insatiably at everything. He was a dream child. You were very happy with him, despite his initial undesired conception.

Life settled for a little bit as Coriolanus worked to quell a quiet rebellion brewing in the Districts.

For a year Coriolanus was kept busy. His mind off expanding his family.

For the moment he was happy with the three wonderful kids you had given him. Something you could share. Three young kids, five and under, left you exhausted by the end of the day, yet when the day was over and the kids were asleep, Coriolanus demanded your attention.

Coriolanus was not immune to jealousy even from his own kids. You had learnt to give him enough attention during the day when he was around but it only starved him off until night time. He rarely talked about work. Only upcoming events that concern you. He was more interested in you recounting every single thing the kids did.

After having the kids hang off you all day, your least favorite thing to do was have Coriolanus all over you. But when it was his time, he followed you everywhere you went. Insisting that you sat on the couch with him for an hour. He didn’t feel like it was much, but you felt as if it was the last bit of energy zapped out of you.

You normally got a break when Coriolanus returned home from work. He started early so normally he was home in the late afternoon. While you had lots of staff to help you with chores and cooking, you preferred to do it yourself. It gave you a routine that you could go auto-pilot on.

From five to six every day you were in your kitchen while Coriolanus watched the children. Capitol food took some getting used to. Half of the meat you had never even seen before. Coriolanus organized cooking lessons to help you as a Mother’s Day gift.

Dinner was often followed by free play if they weren’t too messy, allowing you time to feed Adrianus. It was important that he had your full attention as you fed as he was so quiet that you might miss a cue of his discomfort.

Crassus sat coloring at the kitchen table while you were in the kitchen trying to feed your youngest boy, Adrianus, who had just turned one

Coriolanus sat next to his son watching as your daughter Aurora showed off her expensive ball gown that her father had brought her simply because she wanted it. ‘No’ was not in Coriolanus’s vocabulary when it came to his children.

He held out accessories in his palm for her as she explained what they were and where they went.

Despite ruling a country with an iron fist, at home, it was you who disciplined the children. He let them run wild, while you tried to raise them to be respectable, and moral children. Your work mostly paid off. They were good children.

Aurora having free reign over her father and older brother, who both bent over backwards to please her, was spoiled. Her tantrums were something you were yet to stop, but she was sweet when not disappointed which was more often than not.

She only had to cry and Coriolanus would pick her up, giving her what she wanted. It annoyed you to no end. If your marriage was equal, you would push more for him to discipline the kids, but Coriolanus only ever gave you the illusion of partnership.

“Mummy, how did you meet Daddy?” Crassus asks out of nowhere as he draws.

The small spoon in your hand drops to the floor as memories that you had buried spring up. The stalking, the harassment, the loss of freedom. You remember the late nights as your mother cried out from pain from the flogging that he ordered.

“Mummy used to own a cake shop, and Daddy would go by every morning before University to buy one.” Coriolanus answered for you. He reaches out and brushes Crassus' hair lovingly.

“Dad, you can’t have cake for breakfast!” Aurora exclaimed.

“Oh, but I did! Your mother would make them special for me.”

You close your eyes remembering the words, ‘Can you make me some more of those oat bars.’ A demand, not a gesture on your behalf. You remember the hard wall behind you as he pressed you there. Just the thought of it brought your heart back into your throat as if it was happening all over again.

“She doesn’t let me have cake for breakfast!” Aurora complained. Tears sprang to her eyes causing Crassus to push a lollypop you had given him for eating his dinner across the table, trying to fight off his sister's tears.

Coriolanus picks her up from the floor and places her on his knee so she can cry into his arms.

“Darling, these are special cakes. Ones you give to someone you want to marry.”

You remember the cakes you used to make Edmund. Edmund, you hadn’t thought about him in years, yet the scar on your heart never healed.

“Not growing little girls.” Still, your daughter cried, which displeased Coriolanus.

He rises from the table with Aurora in his arms and heads into the fridge.

“Let's see if Mum baked any for you”.

Your youngest son begins to cry from hunger which snaps you out of your spiraling. With your daughter receiving a cupcake and your son resuming feeding, the room is calm once more. But your hand shook as your mind flooded with memories of Commander Snow.

Moments later, Crassus presented you with a picture of two stick figures surrounded by out-of-proportion cupcakes. You stared at it with the weight of your baby resting on your hip.

Just like that Coriolanus had rewritten history. Commander Snow was a distant dream. District 12 a vague thought. Lucy Gray no longer haunted the woods. No longer made Coriolanus Snow the victor of the 10th Hunger Games. The war scar had faded. He had fixed history’s mistakes.

He had taken his rightful place as President of Pamen. Only you were left to remember him as Commander Snow.

The end!

Thank you all for reading, and coming along for the journey. Especially to those who commented and motivated me to write. This story would not have been complete without you.

A HUGE thank you to @hotline-to-hell for editing the work, and restructuring the mess.

And a HUGE thank you to @thaleleah and (who i assume is the same) anon who took the time out to encourage me with their long, and hilarious feedback.

Hope to see you all in my other works!

taglist:

@sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw

@mrsjobarnes

@greekyoghurtwithberries

@namelesslosers

@urfavnoirette

@aleemendoza2425-blog

@hiatuswhore

@jacesvelaryons

@swimmjacket

@brooks-lin

@dawnissunnysideup

@astarborntowrite

@someonefromwutheringheights

@purriteen

@homopheli

@devils-blackrose

@poppyflower-22

@bruher

@dawnissunnysideup

@winter-bearv

@tempt-ress

@serinatly100986

@becauseseaotters

@aleemendoza2425-blog

@inloveallthetime

@hufflepuffxsworld

@chennyetomlinson

@slumnit

@saharadesertaj

@missbeeentertainment

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!coriolanus snow #tom blyth #commander snow #dead dove do not eat

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peachesofteal · 1 month ago

Note

Dr.Riley’s getting attached. I can see him cancelling his day and slipping out of the back, wanting to make sure Clover gets home in one piece.

psych au - 18+ - tw for mental health, alcohol, ptsd, psych hold, references to suicidal ideation, psychologist Simon Riley losing his grip. Note: where I live, an M1 is a 72 hour psych hold. So that’s how I wrote this. Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

It's not crossing a boundary, it's just taking care of her.

He repeats it over and over in his head, slinking a block behind you in the shadows. Old practices, tactical operations and operating procedures revive in his blood, his steps turning silent, ghostly.

This is fine.

It's not. He knows it. His education, his license, his practice, they're all at risk now. The work he's put in over the years, threatened by your existence. And yet-

He can't stop thinking about you. Like an illness, a cold, ice filling his chest, he can't shake you.

He's this close to putting you on a seventy two hour hold. He could see it in your eyes today, the agony, the decay of your will to keep trying, keep living. You didn't say it out right, but he knows.

He's been there. He recognizes it.

He wants to know how much you're drinking. The rule of thumb is usually what the patient says times three, maybe four, but with you it's hard to tell. Alcohol will only push you to the bottom of your will to live faster, an old rusted chain wrapped around your ankle, attached to an anchor at the bottom.

It's the first time he's hesitated putting someone on an M1. You're not a danger to others, sure. But to yourself? You're lethal.

This is how he convinces himself to follow you home.

Your building is nice. There's a lobby, an elevator, and the floor has been recently waxed, shiny with something reminiscent of chemical and lemon peel. The front door is secure, which gives him a sliver of relief, though it wasn't a challenge for him to get it open.

It would be for others though.

He's not surprised to see your door is bare. No welcome mat, no wreath, not even a door knocker, like everyone else's. Its bare bones, as he expected, not really a home, just a place you come and go.

He should stop.

Instead, his fist bangs against the door on its own accord.

Your eyes are wide when it swings open, fingers curled around the knob in a death grip. You’re a little off balance, tipping against the frame, and he chalks it up to the surprise. “Dr. Riley?”

“I- I needed to follow up with you.” Your mouth tugs into a frown, confusion flickering across your face. You’re in a ratty t shirt, sweatpants, and you look so damn tired.

“You make house calls now?” Fuck.

“I’m concerned.” He’s scrambling, trying to tug free some words that will make this make sense, something that will make this situation professional in any capacity. “Needed to make sure you got home. You said you weren’t feeling well, remember?”

“Oh. Right. I um, I’m fine. I’m just tired.” He peeks around your shoulder. Your apartment is mostly bare, a shell of a home, a place you sleep between missions, he’s sure.

You shiver, and hiccup. His eyes narrow. “Have you been drinking?”

“N-no.” He leans in, pinching your jaw between his fingers and forcing your face upwards to his. This close, he can see the dilation in your pupils, your struggle to focus, but most importantly, he can smell your breath.

Whiskey.

Well, that’s it then.

“Go sit down,” he orders, turning you into the apartment and forcing you over to the couch. “This is over.”

“What’s over?”

“This. ‘m not going to let you self destruct, or die.” He sends a text discreetly, glancing back at the screen when he gets an affirmative.

“What’re you doing to do? Babysit me?” You scoff, but he shakes his head.

“You need help, Clover.” He keeps his voice soft, as soft as he can manage so to not spook you, like you’re a scared animal caught in his path.

“I’m fine.” Your hands are trembling, but you maintain the facade, and he only shakes his head. He needs a distraction, something to eat the time with.

“Let’s talk for a bit.”

When the knock and the door comes, your breath catches. “Who is that?”

“Clover,” he says gently, “we’re going to get you help.” He opens the door to reveal the paramedics, and your face falls.

You know. He knows you know.

“No,” you back away, your head shaking back and forth. “No, you- you can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” your lower lip trembles, and he approaches slowly, palms out. “Please.” You’re panting, sweating, eyes wild, snapping to the door. He steps in front of your gaze, holding a hand up to the medics, telling them to stop their advance. If he can get through to you he can make this easier, less traumatizing, less terrifying.

“If you run, I will catch you.” He warns sternly, and you gulp.

“Dr. Riley, please.” You’re pleading, tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. It burns in his heart, agony ripping through him.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise.” A syringe is passed to the hand behind his back, and he pops the cap off when you’re looking away.

“You can’t do this- please don’t do this to me.”

“Clover, I can’t trust that you won’t hurt yourself baby.” Baby. It slips out and he bites his tongue. “This is for you, and I know you don’t know that right now-“

“NO!” You scream, hands balled at your side. “I’m n-not going, I won’t go. You c-can’t make me.”

“I can. You know I can. I want to come with us willingly, okay? I don’t want to sedate you.” You’re terrified now, still backing away, panicking when your back collides with the wall. You pivot towards the door your bedroom, springing into a leap, but he’s faster, snatching you around your waist and dragging you backwards.

“No! STOP, nonono-“ you kick your feet, twisting, thrashing, trying to knock the back of your head into his nose as he curls around you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers it against your ear-

And plunges the syringe into your arm.

#peaches writes #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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jaymadii · 1 month ago

Text

FAMILY MAN [O!Bakugo Katsuki x A!Male Reader] PT.1

Bakugo's hero agency was thriving - doing statistically the best in Japan out of all the agencies at the moment (shove it Deku). He quickly gathered traction up the hero ranking, he made it. This was his dream. The problem though, Bakugo’s area of expertise was fighting, specifically, hand to hand. Quirks that messed with the mind or reality always threw him for a loop. So when he comes across a man with glowing blue fingers, the hero had barely landed his first attack before everything around him vanished into black smoke. And he’s down.

The next thing he knows, he’s in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and a shit ton of people in white coats. He doesn’t even have time to process his surroundings before he’s being swarmed with people shining penlights in his eyes.

“Get the FUCK OFF ME.” He yelled, shoving a younger looking man out his damn personal space. He was hooked up to all kinds of wires and lines, yanking at them to get them off and out of his body. The sound of the doctors protesting was drowned out by him screaming over them to get away. He gripped the wrists of one of the doctors trying to stop his from pulling the IV out, pushing him away harshly. She fumbled a few steps away, holding her wrist with a pained whimper. “I SAID DON’T TOUCH ME.” There’s a magical freak out there terrorizing people and robbing banks and they want him to stay in this room? Fat fucking chance. A door swung open.

“Bakugo Katsuki.”

The room went silent. The doctors or PAs or whoever the hell all these people are suddenly shut their mouths. That voice. Your voice boomed his name.

The scent of an agitated alpha filled the room. And despite the sour note from the anger, he could recognize the smell almost instantaneously. Suddenly he could hear his own heart beating in his ears.

At the hospital door, stood you. You looked frantic and worried and pissed all at the same time, your clothes were disheveled like you had been running. Your left hand held a death grip on the doorframe while you’re right was on the knob from where you swung the door open. In the nasty florescent lighting of this place, a solid golden ring gleamed on your left hand. So many thoughts started buzzing at once. A wedding ring. You were married - mated. You were in this hospital. You just yelled at him. You looked almost exactly the same as the last day he saw you.

He didn’t know what feelings he was feeling right now.

It’s been years since Bakugo had last seen you, eleven. It made sense that you’d move on, mate with another omega, he made that decision for the both of you. He told you to go to America, to leave him alone. And from what he remembers of that conversation he wasn’t very nice about it.

You started to approach Bakugo slowly, like you’re unsure of what he’ll do. It’s now that he realizes that he’s halfway off this hospital bed from his attempted escape. Your scent starts to even out, the sourness from your anger fades with every step you take closer to him. He wants to speak, to say something to you. To fuck off, or ask why you’re even here, or what you want. But he doesn’t. He lets you come closer, because even after all these years your scent is still the only one that gives him any remote sense of peace. He’s always hated hospitals.

When you do finally reach him, your touch is soft. It’s like you’re scared, you put his face in your hands and your eyes surveyed his features. You seem satisfied with whatever you’re looking for because the hands on his face begin to thread through his hair and now you’re hugging him. You’re hugging him. You’re hugging him. Any anger still left in his body directed towards the staff or you suddenly lifts like a weight off his shoulders. You hold him close like he’s gonna float away with the wind if you don’t.

“You’re okay.” You whispered into his hairline, tucking your nose in on the top of his head. “I was so worried, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here faster. I dropped off Hinata and Ren with your parents.” It sounded like you were talking underwater. All he felt was his scent begin to mingle with yours as you scented him. It felt so nice, to have this feeling again, to have you want to be near him. He wanted to reciprocate the affection.

But he didn’t.

Whatever the hell was happening right now, wasn’t right. Bakugo tucked his arms between the two of you and shoved you away. Confusion flooded your face as you took a step back, your hands still holding on to his shoulders.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

—————

A/N: Hey I’m still alive and well okay

#bakugou imagine #bakugou x male reader #male reader #mha x male reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x male reader #omega bakugou x alpha reader #bnha x male reader #omega bakugou katsuki #omegaverse #alpha male reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo katuski #bakugou angst #mha imagines #katsuki bakugo mha #mha bakugou

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 month ago

Text

Entrance to a home that's partially underground, and is surprisingly nice inside. They need to tidy this up, though. 1983 build in Shell Knob, MO. 2bds, 2ba, 1,288 sq ft, $379k + $50mo. HOA.

I have to wonder why they buried it, like this. Maybe for heating and cooling reasons?

The only exposed parts are the deck and terrace that both need preservation.

Lake view from the terrace.

Anyway, here's the entrance hall. It looks like a fancy bunker. Even church - like.

It leads straight to a sitting area and living area in the exposed part, surrounded by windows. Note the ceiling. This sitting area has custom built-in seating and a stone floor.

Once you enter the other area, there's carpeting. There's another living room.

And, a dining area in front of the kitchen.

Looks like everything is original.

The stove is new.

The primary bedroom looks like it has a built-in bed. There's a wall of windows and a door to the terrace.

Bath #1 has a tub.

Bedroom #2 is smaller, has a built-in bed and corner closet.

Bath #2 has a shower. It appears to me that only the baths and entrance hall are underground.

The home is on Table Rock Lake and look at the elaborate dock and boat "garage" there is.

They have a whole fleet of boats in here.

Covered picnic table on the water. This is very nice.

0.90 Acre lot

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/26451-Ledge-Dr-Shell-Knob-MO-65747/440986750_zpid/

#lake houses #underground homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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gammasnippets · 9 months ago

Text

[CHANNEL_9] fromis_9 '채널나인' EP59. Spotlighting 🐰 Part.2

fromis_9 Park Jiwon

13,150 words (Co-edited by @dr-occam)

It's been only a couple of hours since you entered the office, but after wrapping up with the prologue video to fromis_9's newest and most daring series, you suddenly feel a surge of excitement rush through your body. You thought that they only filmed something similar to popular sex comedy movies—nothing too explicit, nothing too wild. But after seeing that little teaser the previous editors added at the end of the video, you can't help but wonder just how intense things are going to get in the following episodes. Your mind begins to imagine all the things that may unfold in the next few videos, and you start to worry that you might spend more time jerking off than doing actual work.

Without hesitation, you rummage through the files in your computer for the first video that you plan to feature as the series' first episode. In your search, you stumble upon a video titled "park meg1". You have no idea who named this, but reading it makes you let out a low chuckle. You don't need to guess who's going to be featured in this video. The funny filename gives it away. But you still can't help but wonder how things will play out, given her hilariously ballistic personality.

You take a deep breath and click play, bracing yourself for the exciting events that awaits in the first episode of this series, with Jiwon as the main star.

After the intro, the video shows the entire filming complex from a drone camera as it soars through the sky, capturing the sheer beauty of the area and its surroundings. It then fades to a view of one of the complex buildings. You quickly remembered that this building is where some of the members are headed, namely Saerom, Gyuri, and Jiwon. You begin to wonder if you're going to see all of them in action, or if the focus will solely be on Jiwon for this particular episode. You don't know the answer, and it heightens your anticipation even more.

The camera then shows a hallway inside the building. It’s like any ordinary office building, with white walls and fluorescent lights overhead. As the camera pans down the hallway, you catches a glimpse of someone peeking from around the corner, a mischievous grin forming on their face—it’s Park Jiwon.

"Hello," she greets the camera, bowing, a sheepish smile on her face.

She enters the scene wearing a stylish mix of a green cardigan over a white sleeveless shirt, a plaid skirt, and white high heels. Her outfit exudes a good balance of professionalism and playfulness that suits her personality. She then gets out of her hiding spot and starts walking down the hallway, towards the filming crew.

Curiously, she's alone.

The cameramen greets her back in response. "Aren't you supposed to be with Saerom and Gyuri?" They follow up.

"Uhh... Yeah!" she replies, nodding. "But we went our separate ways since our challenges are in different places."

"So, are you ready for your challenge, Jiwon?" one of the crew can be heard asking her.

She pauses for a moment, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and replies with a smile. "I guess so. I think I'm ready."

She then proceeds to wander the hallway, looking for the place where her challenge will take place. After a few minutes of searching, she notices a door with a pink sign with fromis_9's logo in it.

Jiwon finally found the room with her name on it.

"Ah. This is it, right?" Jiwon looks at the camera crew filming at the corner of the room and asks them for confirmation. You can hear a soft voice from behind the camera, answering her question.

With her hands on the knob, she asks the crew one more time. "Can I come in?"

You didn't hear anything from the crew so they must've used gestures to tell her that she's free to enter.

"Okay. Thank you," Jiwon responds with a smile, bowing at the team as he enters the room.

Cameras installed on each corner of the room capture her every move as she pries the door open. She peeks her head inside the room, full of curiosity.

"Oh. This looks like an office—oh! Hello." Her internalized thoughts are interrupted as she sees a man inside the room, bowing at him.

The guy bows back to greet the beautiful visitor. "Hello. Are you Jiwon?"

"Yes. I was told to come to this room."

"I see. I will be your partner for today," the guy tells Jiwon in a friendly tone.

"Oh! Nice to meet you," Jiwon turns shy and bows at him one more time. Her eyes then sparkle as she scans the room as much as she can from where she's standing. "Is this your office?"

The guy chuckles. "For today, yes."

She gasps as she looks around the room. A stylish and modern-looking office decor with gray tones all over. There's a large wooden desk at the center of the room where a sleek computer sits beside a stack of papers—all in front of what looks to be a window overlooking the Seoul skyline, but is actually a series of monitors that show the stunning view of the city in real-time.

"Wow! Look at the city—wait. Is that just a huge screen?" she asks in amazement as she approaches the faux window.

The guy again chuckles at her innocence. "Yes. Yes, it is."

Jiwon exclaims. "That's awesome! I didn't know we had such a thing here."

"Pretty cool, isn't it?"

Jiwon nods enthusiastically. "Ah, yes. I hope the girls can see this room."

"Actually, there are other rooms similar to this," he tells her.

"Ah really?"

"Yes. They are quite different, though. Their purpose is to create different atmospheres while we're filming."

Jiwon just hums and nods her head in response, taking in all the information in fascination.

"We can visit the other rooms later," the guy adds.

Jiwon's eyes light up with excitement. "Really? We can do that?"

"Yes. After this shooting session, we can arrange a tour of the other rooms with the other members—"

"Wow!" she exclaims hearing the news, accidentally interrupting her partner mid-sentence. "Ah. Sorry."

"It's nothing," he smiles. "So, shall we start?"

His question suddenly makes Jiwon's face blush. She's not new to talking dirty—she always play around with her members in almost every manner possible, and seeing their response makes her excited to tease them more. However, something about the man’s subtle question has taken her aback… And she looks hesitant to respond.

"Ah... Y-yes. We can," Jiwon stammers, her voice filled with nervous anticipation.

He then gestures his hand telling her to step further into the office. "Well, after you."

She takes up the offer and walks forward. "Hmmm... So where should I..."

"Anywhere you want," he replies with a smile.

Upon hearing his suggestion, she again scans the room looking for a comfortable spot to settle into. There, the large leather chair in the middle of the room catches his eye. Jiwon starts to walk towards it and runs her fingers along the smooth surface of the chair, feeling its soft texture.

"Can I sit here?" she asks him with an excited glimmer in her eyes.

"Sure. Go ahead," he replies, his voice filled with a playful tone.

She immediately sits on the big chair, making herself comfortable and trying her best to look like she runs the place. "I wanna feel like a boss."

He chuckles at Jiwon's comment, finding her enthusiasm endearing. "Well you sure look like one."

"You think so?" she asks excitedly.

"Yes. Absolutely," he responds, admiring her confidence.

She chuckles at her response. "Oh, you..."

"I guess that makes me your… Assistant? Secretary, maybe?" he suggests, playing along with Jiwon's idea.

"Are you okay with that?" she asks.

"Of course," he replies. "I've worked in many jobs so I'm confident that I can support you in any role."

"Wow... You're amazing," Jiwon says, her voice filled with appreciation.

He bows upon hearing her compliment. "Thank you."

"So... How should we begin?" Jiwon asks him once again. "Do we kiss first? Or..."

She then follows up her question, smirking.

"Do we start undressing?"

"Whatever you want, Jiwon," he responds. "It's all about what makes you feel comfortable, so we can go at your pace."

"Hmmm..." Jiwon tries to think of an idea. "I think I'm okay with anything so long as it feels natural."

"I see," he nods. He then extends his hand toward Jiwon, gesturing to her to stand up. "How about this?"

She obliges by holding his hands, lifting her up from her seat. As their bodies move closer to each other, he slowly places his hands around her waist in a gentle embrace. It made her startle with a small gasp, feeling the warmth of his touch around her. But his gaze reassures her as if telling her that everything is fine.

Throughout this intimate moment, Jiwon finds something to lighten up the mood. "You're pretty cute."

"Thanks," he replies, giggling. "You're cute yourself."

"Oh, you..." Jiwon laughs playfully, softly hitting his chest with her soft hands.

As they share this sweet and playful banter, the air between them becomes thick with desire. His hands slowly slither lower her waist, down to her hips, until he reaches her ass. He gently squeezes it, eliciting a soft whimper from Jiwon's lips. She looks at where his hands are, before looking back at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Did I go too far?" he asks apologetically.

She shakes her head. "No. I was just surprised," she replies, smirking.

"Then if that's the case..." he leans further towards her, his lips trying to reach hers.

She then giggles at his boldness. "Well I wouldn't mind," she whispers as she tries to meet his lips with hers.

They begin to engage in a soft yet passionate kiss as they press their bodies against each other. As much of a beginner Jiwon is in this realm of intimacy, she tries to match his fervor with equal enthusiasm. It didn't take long until their kisses became in perfect sync with each other and their tongues started to slowly dance around each other's mouths, igniting a fiery desire between them.

After a few moments of intense kissing, his hands search for the ribbon that holds her skirt together, and slowly tugs it loose. At this point, Jiwon notices the intriguing activity his hands are creating behind her and parts away from his lips. Her eyes look deeply into his, filled with a mix of desire and worry.

"Are you..."

"Are we being too fast?" he asks, looking concerned.

"No," she shakes his head with a reassuring smile.

"Then why do you look like that?"

"I... I'm just a little nervous," she replies, laughing slightly.

"You don't know what to do next, don't you?" he asks again, his voice filled with understanding.

She replies with a nod.

"That's okay," he reassures her as he runs his hand through her hair. "That happens with everyone on their first time."

"I see," she responds.

"Do you want us to take it slow?" he asks gently.

"No," she tells him. "I'm fine with our pace."

"Then can you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Can you help me with my shirt?" he asks, grinning.

"Oh. Can I?" she asks back, sounding unsure yet excited at the same time.

"Of course, you can," he replies, encouragingly before tugging the zipper of her skirt further down. "After all, Am I not playing with your skirt already?"

She then laughs softly at her playful response. "Yeah. Looks like you already are.”

Jiwon then starts to unbutton his shirt, her eyes focused on each button as her fingers skillfully navigate the fabric. As more and more buttons are undone, revealing his toned chest underneath, she bites her lower lip. Excitement can be spelled all over her face as she works her way down his shirt. As she's about to unclasp the last button, she feels skirt swiftly fall to the floor, startling her as the lacy purple lingerie she's wearing is now fully revealed. Her cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anticipation as she realizes the effect her lingerie has on him.

"They look absolutely stunning on you," he compliments her with a playful smirk.

Albeit being praised, Jiwon can't help but giggle at his words and playfully retorts. "My fans love me wearing this."

"Well consider me a fan," he responds, matching her playful tone.

She replies with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Looks like this is turning into a fan event."

"You think so?" he asks with a teasing tone in his voice, his hand caressing and slowly pulling her face closer to his after successfully stripping off her skirt.

"A more... Private one, I'd say," she responds, biting her lower lip.

"Well, it's not every day that a fan gets this close and personal with their favorite idol," he adds, a flirtatious tone still evident in his voice.

"First day as a fan and you're already getting quite the treatment. Consider yourself lucky," she tells him with a seductive smirk.

"I guess I should push my luck. What do you say?" he asks her, leaning in closer until their lips almost touch.

Jiwon then responds by pressing her lips against his, giving her a short yet passionate kiss. "I say let's make this a fan event you'll never forget," she whispers in his ear, her voice filled with immense excitement and desire.

Once again, their lips met in a fervent kiss. Their passion consumes them as their hands travel and explore each other's bodies, leaving no inch untouched. She assists him in discarding his unbuttoned shirt, exposing his sculpted physique. Her partner, on the other hand, started working on the remaining pieces of clothing hindering him from bearing witness to her supple breasts. He patiently undid the shackle that holds her green cardigan and lets it fall to the ground. But his excitement got the better of him as he eagerly pulled her blouse apart, causing all the buttons of her skirt to fly across the room. With her blouse now completely open, her matching purple bra is now on full display, causing him to abruptly part from their kiss and gaze at her body in a mixture of both awe and desire.

"Fuck," he breathes out.

She giggles. "Liking the view?"

"I love it," he replies, his eyes alternating between her eyes and her chest with an undeniable hunger.

"You can touch them, you know?" she suggests in a playful tone, her eyes fixed at his with an inviting gaze.

Without hesitation and fueled by his desire, he reaches out and caresses her chest. Her soft and supple breasts molded perfectly to his touch, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. He continued to explore her body, tracing his fingers along her curves and savoring the way her skin felt against his touch. It didn't take long before his hands landed on her back, on its way to unclasp her bra and set her breasts free. As if second nature to him, he then unhooked her bra in a matter of seconds. He then watched as it fell from her chest down to the floor underneath, Jiwon's intimate glares glued at his as if she was silently challenging him to take the next step. As evident in her eyes, Jiwon sure is enjoying his gestures towards her, eliciting a series of pleasurable gasps and sighs at his every touch. This is making him want more, as would anyone caught in such an intimate and passionate moment.

Hungry for more, he relieves her from her standing position, slowly lifting her. His hands firmly grasp her thighs as support. Jiwon, enthusiastic as always, reciprocates as best she can. Her arms wrap around his neck and her legs, around his waist. Their bodies tilt against each other, ever closer than they were the entire time.

"Oh, my!" she exclaims, breathlessly. "Hope I'm not too heavy for you."

"Not at all," he reassures her with a playful wink. "I like it when I can carry you like this."

His remark elicits a mischievous smile from Jiwon. "Well, I actually want my ideal man to make me feel weightless."

"Is that so?" he responds with a soft giggle.

"Yes," the daring tone in her voice softens as she nods shyly. her cheeks flushing from the sudden question.

Seeing her blushing and innocent response, he can't help but feel captivated and flustered. "Hey. Your face is glowing red."

Jiwon hits him playfully on the chest, her flushed face turning even redder. "Oh come on! Stop that."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replies. "Your question just caught me off guard."

"What's the matter? There's nothing wrong with that," he says, his voice filled with gentle reassurance.

"Yeah, you're right," she admits. "It's just that I never thought of having this topic with someone I just met."

"You're still nervous, aren't you?" he asks, his voice filled with understanding.

She only replies with a subtle nod.

"It's completely normal to feel nervous, you know?" he tells her, his forehead slowly tilting against hers. "That's why I'm here."

"I know that," she whispers. "So please take good care of me."

"As you wish," he whispers back as he plants a soft kiss on her lips.

He then gently places her down the nearby desk, a soft thud can be heard as her body rests on its smooth surface. Their intimacy rises as they continue to explore each other's bodies, their passion growing with each touch and caress. From her lips to her breasts, and to every inch of her skin, he leaves a trail of kisses, igniting her senses and bringing her to the edge of ecstasy. Jiwon can't help but let her luscious moans escape her lips as he expertly targets her weak spots and pleasures her in ways she can only imagine.

His continued exploration of her body led him down below her waist. His hands gently part her legs and knead her thighs with skillful strokes, sending her close to the height of orgasm. Her frantic moans become more and more sensuous as his methods intensify. He used this to his advantage, bringing his assault to a slower pace, teasing and prolonging the pleasure that built up inside her. The helpless lass then looks at him with pleading eyes, begging for release. He, knowing that he has eyes on him, looks up at her with a mischievous grin as he savors the anticipation he's drawing out of her.

"Hey..." she calls him.

"Yes?" he replies. "Liking it so far?"

She nods slowly. "I'm close to my limit," she gasps, her voice filled with a mixture of desire and desperation.

"But we're just starting," he teases her as his hands continue to caress her inner thighs.

"But I—hmmp! I want to..." she whimpers, as if aching for release.

"What is it? What do you want?"

She blushes, her voice barely audible as she expresses her deepest desires. "I want your..."

"Hmmm? I can't hear you, Jiwon," he tells her, looking at her with a sincere yet playful expression.

He leans in closer and retires his hand from between her thighs to gently caress her cheek. "Jiwon, I want you to say it louder," his eyes look into hers with a mix of tenderness and desire.

To anyone witnessing this exchange, it would seem like he is only teasing her. But his voice, low and intimate, makes it sound more like a command than a loving request. His intensifying attack on her senses is too much for her to handle as her inhibitions melt away. She lets out a restrained whimper as she drenches her panties, her body shaking as she’s finally giving in to her desires. She continues to moan and tremble, her now-soaked undergarment unable to contain her excess juices as it drips down to the desk.

After a brief moment of ecstasy, Jiwon slowly regains her composure, her cheeks flushed and her breath uneven. Everything at the moment is incomprehensible to her, except for her intensifying desire to experience it more. Her partner, on the other hand, relishes his masterpiece—an alluring idol bare-naked on top of an office desk, soiling the room they are in. He softly presses his thumbs against her soaked panties and rubs them against her sensitive clit, causing Jiwon to let out a gasp of pleasure. She can't help but arch her back, pushing herself further into his touch. After coating his fingers in her essence, he takes a moment to lick it. He savors her sweet nectar for a brief moment before sharing it with her, pressing his fingers against her soft lips. And like an obedient puppy, she licks it off and begins to suckle on his fingers, tasting herself most intimately.

"How is it?" he asks her.

"Good," she whispers, her voice filled with satisfaction. "I like it."

He smirks, satisfied with her answer. "That's how you taste. You know that, right?"

She softly nods for an answer.

"Do you want more?" he suggests in a playful and sultry tone.

She nods again and bites her lower lip. "What more do you have in mind?"

Satisfied with her response, he pounces on her, his lips peppering her neck with kisses as her hands fondle every inch of her body. Her sweet moans fill the room once more as he relentlessly explores and pleasures her, their intimate connection growing stronger with each passing moment. His weight then slowly pushes her against the desk, pushing every pen and paper away until most of her body covers its surface. They continue this sultry fiasco until the air condition barely keeps up with their ever-intensifying heat. Their skins start to perspire, adding to the sloppy juices Jiwon's pussy creates on the once clean and tidy table.

He breaks his hold on Jiwon and takes a step back, marveling at the sensuous masterpiece that is her naked body.

"Fuck..." he breathes out. "You look so hot."

His compliments touch her senses as if he still has his hands on her. Her body squirms as her words slowly penetrate her skin. Yet her eyes look at him, filled with unfulfilled desire, yearning for his touch once again.

"Come on. Why did you stop?" Jiwon whines.

"I just want to take a good look at you for a moment," he tells her with a mischievous grin.

"Awh... But can't you look at me up close?" She follows up.

He nods, admitting that she has a valid point. "I just don't want to forget how good you look naked."

His intimate words seep under her skin once again, and parts of her body slowly redden as her face blushes once more.

"I want you closer to me," she purrs, her eyes filled with luscious longing as her arms slowly reach for him in a gesture of warm embrace.

As any person in the world would know, such a sultry invitation is too hard to resist. He knows that he should fulfill such a request... And that he shouldn't keep a woman waiting.

Her partner reaches for the belt in his pants and quickly unbuckles it. He then bites his lip as he loosens his pants and pulls both it and his boxers down and off his skin, baring himself naked and freeing the hardened boner that he's been keeping all this time. And after taking a deep breath, he looks at her with eyes that are full of hunger, like a beast ready to pounce on its prey.

Jiwon looks back at him, amazed at his naked body as he was to hers. As she scans his entirety, her eyes slowly glance at his exposed cock as it twitches in sync with his breathing. She covers her agape mouth from the sight of his erect boner, marveling at its length and girth.

Her expression gives him another moment of satisfaction, realizing the effect he has on her.

"So? What do you think?" he asks Jiwon as he confidently poses in front of him, his back arched slightly forward, his hands on his waist and his cock standing tall and proud.

"I... Is that..." she stammers, her voice trailing off, trying to find the right words as his monolithic asset distracts her thoughts.

He follows the direction of her eyes, making sure that she's starting where he thinks she is and smirks, knowing he has her full attention. "Yes, it is. First time?"

Jiwon pauses for a brief moment, hesitating to give him an answer. "I... Y-yes... I mean..."

Despite looking confused, she also looked cute as she tried to find the right words. Her adorable display of nervousness made him chuckle. "It's fine. I get it."

"Were you... Was it... Already like that from the beginning?" she curiously asked.

He lets out another chuckle after hearing her query.

"No. It wasn't like that when you first entered the room. But after a few minutes of us teasing each other, it couldn't resist growing like this."

Astonished, she gulps and blushes more, finding herself drawn deeper into this intense and sensual atmosphere. He then slowly approaches Jiwon. He spread her legs, revealing a full view of her wet folds. She blushes as he sees him bite his lips at the sight of her exposed pussy. He presses his length against its lips and leans his body towards hers, grazing her sensitive part as their bodies slowly make contact with each other. The closer they become, the more she mewls in pleasure. She looks at him with pleading eyes as if asking her what happens next. He didn't answer. Instead, he pecks her soft lips, teasing her of the unknown, making her shiver in excitement. As much as her body yearns to have him enter her, he keeps his hands to himself, holding back his carnal desire as he savors the moment. She whimpers, feeling that she is being deprived of what she truly wants, begging him with her eyes to take her. He slowly bites his lip again, savoring her response.

"What do you want?" he asks her, his voice deep and husky.

She only responds by closing her eyes and gasping for air, her body aching for his touch. She squirms as she tries to arch her body towards his. He lets go of her, only to feel her arms wrap around him and press her naked body against his.

"I..."

She tries to speak, her breath uneven and her face flushed. "I want you in me."

He looks at her, his eyes burning with passion. "I didn't quite catch that."

"I want you in me," she repeats.

"I want you to fill me."

"Already? Don't you want to play a bit more?" he asks, a teasing grin on his face

"But I... I want to—" Her hesitation is interrupted by his lips, giving her a full kiss. Her drive for this moment makes her respond in kind, her lips matching his every movement. And once again, their tongues lash against one another in a dance of raw lust and carnal desire. She continues to whimper as they make out, the intensity of his actions only add fuel to her flames. As the passion between them grows, her body squirms to the point that her legs wrap around his waist.

"What is it that you want, Jiwon?" he asks again, as he parts away from the kiss.

"I want your..." She stops as his fingers land on her wet folds. Her back arches and her legs part more as she tries to get her answer out. "I want you inside me."

"I see," he smirks.

He then slowly moves his hips, causing her cock to rub against her wet lips, slowly working its way in. Her whimpers become more frequent, her breathing becomes more desperate and uneven. As his length moves against her entrance, her body tenses as her voice starts to squeak. He watches Jiwon as she pants and whimpers in pleasure, her eyes full of desire and desperation. It is such a sight to behold.

"Fuck! I'm gonna cum again!" she squeals, unable to bear the pleasure any longer.

His lips curl into a devious smirk. "Then cum as much as you want," he tells her in a deep and lustful voice.

His voice became her signal to let go of her last restraint. She squirts yet again, a fountain of sweet nectar pours out of her. Her eyes close as she savors the moment, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms held onto him. Her mind starts to go blank as her orgasm becomes more intense, her body going limp and her senses.

As she whines and writhes in the heat of the moment, she tries to grab onto the edge of the desk to steady her body as it trembles in the throes of ecstasy.

She pants as her orgasm slowly fades. Her mind is still a mess but her body still burns with desire. She looks at him, eyes full of pleading, begging for him to finish what they started.

"Oh dear," she looks at the mess she's caused on the desk, worried at the stains left behind from her arousal.

"It's fine," he reassures her. "You've done a good job, Jiwon."

"Mmmh... Thank you," she whispers, still struggling to find her words.

He grazes her cheek, trying to fix the locks that fell off her face as a result of their passionate activities. "Now... Shall we continue?"

She only nods in response. "I'll try to make you feel as good as I can..."

"You don't need to," he replies. "Let us just enjoy the moment as it is."

"Well... If you say so," she meekly nods.

Like a routine, their lips press against each other once more. They exchange kisses filled with love and lust. Jiwon's body reacts with a series of gasps and soft moans, her voice filling his ears with an enticing melody. His cock hardens even more, the tip pressing against her sensitive clit. She squirms as his slightest attempt of entry makes her shiver, the anticipation of what's about to come only amplifies her desire for him.

His hands then caress her sides, feeling the soft and smooth texture of her skin. It's like they're molded to his touch, perfectly sculpted for his fingertips to explore and please. He then proceeds to hold her ass, squeezing it gently as it fits perfectly in his palms. Exploring her body is almost second nature to him at this point, making her gasp and whimper at every touch and caress.

As they get lost in such an intimate moment, they get interrupted when the computer monitor suddenly turns on. On its screen displays a message that says "CLICK ME". Their curiosity gets the better of them as they reluctantly obey the prompt.

"Hmmm? What is this?" she asks, curious at what this message is.

"Ah, right. It's for the challenge," he tells her.

"Oh really? What is it?"

"I have no idea, to be honest," he responds. "Maybe try clicking that thing on the screen."

Jiwon reaches for the mouse that is almost about to fall off the table and presses on the pointer icon, the cursor automatically changes into an arrow and points towards one of the folders on the screen.

"You mean this one?" she asks.

He nods. "I guess so."

A window then pops up where it says the following;

"SPOTLIGHTING CHALLENGE: LOVE ON-CALL

As the "boss", you should answer calls on the nearby telephone as you have sex with your "secretary" partner.

The "boss" has to be as inconspicuous as you can during a call.

If the caller notices something odd, the call ends.

The "boss" should finish 2 uninterrupted calls within the time limit.

Complete this mission to earn your group a reward.

GOOD LUCK AND HAVE FUN!"

The screen then shows a timer. They have 3 hours to complete the mission handed to them.

"Having sex while on the phone? For 3 hours?" She reads the mission description out loud. "Oh no. Can I do that?" she whispers to herself, doubting her skills.

"Well, it's your first time doing this so it might be tough," he tells her, giving her a gentle kiss. "But I know you can do it."

She smiles. "Thank you. Just don't do it rough, okay?"

"I can't promise you that," he chuckles, before planting a kiss on her nose. "But I'll try."

She pouts at his response, looking disappointed yet excited. "You better be."

"So, shall we begin?" He asks, his hands tracing along her sides.

Jiwon gulps nervously as her eyes look back at him, as if afraid. She then nods, agreeing to his suggestion.

He then positions himself between her legs as she unwraps hers and opens her thighs wide to make room for him. As their bodies slowly and gently meet each other, the tension between them rises again as his boner makes another contact with her wet folds. This time, instead of teasing the seductive lady, he tries to penetrate her. Jiwon's body starts to react once more, feeling the tingling sensation of being filled as his cock grazes her entrance. He stops when her body tenses, her whimpers becoming more desperate than ever. She arches her back as the moment becomes too much for her to handle. He looks down at her, finding it adorable how her eyes are full of expectation and how she's trying her best to hide it. It was then that he pushed a little more, slowly and gently entering her tight tunnel.

She screams as he breaks through the entrance of her cunt, a mixture of pain and pleasure overwhelming her.

"Oh fuck!" Jiwon exclaims. "You're so big!"

Her moans are like compliments to his ears. "You like that, huh?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

"Yes... Please, more," she whispers, her voice shaking in ecstasy.

His hands then hold onto her ass, spreading her cheeks and making her even more vulnerable. He thrusts harder, eliciting more moans from Jiwon. His thrusts are slow at first, but after a while, he starts to move at a quicker pace, his body gradually becoming one with hers.

At the height of their intimacy, the phone in the office starts to ring. They both stop for a moment, their bodies tense from the interruption.

"It's the phone," he tells Jiwon. "It's ringing."

"What now? Who's gonna answer?" she asks with a perplexed expression.

"You," he answers. "The challenge for you, so..."

"Ah, right," she nods in agreement, reaching for the telephone at the edge of the desk.

"Good luck," he tells her, smiling.

"Don't do anything sudden, okay?" she warns her with an angry yet playful look on her face.

He laughs, albeit softly. "I'll try."

She gives him another poorly intimidating glare before answering the call.

"Hello?"

"Hi! I'm calling on behalf of the R&D department. Is the boss available?" a feminine voice is heard from the other side of the receiver.

"Ah, yes. One moment, please," she tells her before looking at him, eyes wide with concern.

"What is it?" he asks her.

"Uhh... They call for the boss," she whispers back to him. "That's me, right?"

He nods encouragingly and whispers, "Yes. You told me earlier."

"Huh? Was that for real?" she asks again, surprised.

"I guess so," he chuckles. "Can you do it?"

"Hmmm," she ponders. "I'll try."

"You can do it," he whispers, giving her a peck. "You're amazing, after all."

"Thanks," She blushes, the subtle remark making her heart beat faster. "But what should I tell them?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, really. Just play it out, I guess."

"Hello? Is anyone still there?" the caller asks.

"Ah! Yes, I'm still here," Jiwon brings her attention back to the caller before pushing the speaker button on the device.

"Hi! Is the boss available?" she asks again.

"Yes. You are speaking to her," she tells her, her voice turning into a more professional tone. "How can I help you?"

She then takes a quick glance at her partner for what she has done so far. "Is this okay?"

He nods and gives her a thumbs up, "Keep it up."

"Ah, right. It's about the upcoming projects for the department," the caller then answers.

"I see. So what do you have in mind?" she asks, her tone is soft yet polite.

"We wanted to see if we could, uhh..." the voice trails off for a moment. "One second. I'm looking for the files."

As the caller is taking her time to rummage through her papers, Jiwon's partner leans back towards her and begins to tease her with a flurry of kisses all over her body.

"Ah, hey! What're you doing?" Jiwon asks him with a flustered look on her face.

"Hello? Did you say something, boss?" the caller asks, getting the attention of her partner.

"Shhh," he whispers as he pecks her lips.

"Ah! That was nothing!" Jiwon shouts, a little bit too loudly for her liking. "Um... Go on."

He then stops his kisses and moves away from her. "That was close," he whispers. "Don't get caught."

She angrily whispers at him for the small ruckus he created. "It's your fault!"

"Well we can't just answer calls and not do anything else, right?" he teases her, smirking.

"I know. Sorry," her tone immediately changes, giggling at what just happened. "You just caught me off guard."

"Then I should do it slowly, then," he continued his teasing, slowly thrusting his hips forward and back inside her.

"Oh fuck..." she moans, biting her lip as she tries to suppress her voice. "Yeah, I like it like that."

"Hmm? I didn't hear you," the caller asks, her voice showing a bit of irritation.

"Uhh... I said that you'll have to—mmmh! To try different... Methods for this," she answers her as she feels her partner move even faster. "I can't promise you an... Immediate decision."

"But I haven't told you anything yet, boss," the caller tells Jiwon.

"I... Ah right. I was just telling you things in advance," she chuckles nervously. "You want to discuss about the... The projects, correct?"

"Yes! It's about one of them," the caller says. "One of them is causing some problems for the company and the whole team."

"Mhhh... Is that so?" Jiwon asks, acting dumbfounded in the midst of her moans.

"It is. And it's what we're trying to fix right now."

"I see—nghh! W-what's it about again? I-I must've forgotten."

"I'm not sure how to tell you, but..." she says as she takes a deep breath before continuing. "One of the employees is stealing ideas from other companies and using them for your own work."

"Oh fuck..." Jiwon elicits a loud moan, her face contorted with pain. "Y-yeah, you can say that. T-that guy is a real jerk."

"Yes, he doesn't seem to be a good person," the caller tells her. "He even changed some of our programs to his liking."

As the conversation gets more and more intriguing between Jiwon and her caller, her partner's thrusts become harder and harder as well.

"Ah... You're really good at this, boss," he whispers to her a compliment.

His words tingle her ears. She squirms as her entire body feels the impact of his thrusts, not to mention that his words are giving her so much arousal. But she has to keep herself under control so that she won't get caught on the phone.

"Then... C-can you—nghh... Investigate t-this issue for me?" she asks. "I think I have myself... Full at the moment."

"We're doing our best to speak with him," the caller says.

"S-sure, good... That's good."

"But we still don't know what to do. So, boss... Can you talk to him for us?"

"I, uhh... I'll see what I can do," Jiwon answers.

"Thank you, boss. We'll call you again once we find out more about the situation."

"A-alright. That's fine with me," she says as she tries to catch her breath with every thrust her partner gives her. "W-would that be all?"

"Yes. It was just about that. Again, thank you very much."

"A-alright then," Jiwon tells her caller. "Bye."

"Good bye."

Jiwon then immediately ended the call and moaned loudly once she placed her phone back on her table.

"You're so sexy," he whispers to her. "I love watching you talk to them while getting fucked."

"Ah-hahh..." she moans. "I hope... They didn't suspect a thing."

"I'm sure they didn't," he replies as he amps up his thrusts even further. "We'd know if we failed that one."

"Ooh! R-right there!" she shouts as he strikes her sensitive spot.

"Here?" he teases, continuing to thrusts at the same spot.

"Fuck! Y-yes, that!" she answers him, her moans growing louder and louder by the minute. "I can't take much more!"

"Same here," he admits. "I think I'm gonna cum soon."

"Huh? T-then we should do it together, right?" Jiwon looks in his eyes with her own pair of pleading, lustful eyes.

"Yeah," he smirks. "Let's cum together."

Jiwon's partner then pistons her begging pussy with the fastest pace he can muster, the wet, squelching sounds of their genitals slapping against each other grows louder by the second. As if an unrestrained beast, he mercilessly fucks Jiwon as hard as he possibly can. The pleasure is at their highest level yet and they knew that they were both nearing their climaxes. The feeling of her lover's member plunging into her velvety soft walls makes Jiwon writhe in pleasure.

When the telephone rings once more.

The both of them are so shocked that they are rendered unable to speak for a moment. Their eyes met with each other before the both of them scrambled for the receiver.

"Fuck!" Jiwon curses in a hushed tone as she pants.

"Should I?" her partner suggests to answer the call as he continues to pick up the pace and give them that much-needed release.

"N-no! Let me..." she scrambles to reach the telephone, the receiver almost slipping out of her grip.

The voice answers. "Yes? Oh, hello. I would like to—

But before they can speak any further, Jiwon's partner interrupts the call as he groans out in a wave of pleasure. "Oh fuck! I'm gonna go!"

A few more thrusts from her partner is all it takes for him to spurt one massive load inside her womb. He cums with such force that Jiwon's body trembled and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she herself reaches her climax. Her orgasm was just as powerful as his, and she let's out a deafening scream filled with ecstasy.

"Aghh! I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" Jiwon yells as she squirts a large amount of her cum all over the table. The pressure was so strong that it pushed his cock out of her pussy, but he continued to pump his semen all over her abdomen and breasts.

Like a fountain, their sexual fluids burst out of her pussy and splattered all over their laps, her desk, and the floor, forming a big puddle. As her partner feels Jiwon squirt all over his limp cock, he lets out a deep growl of satisfaction. They rode their climax together, bodies moving in sync, and with their eyes locked on each other, they basked in their simultaneous orgasms.

"Ow fuck..." he says as he slowly walks backwards and into the chair behind him.

"Hahh... Hah... Mnhh..." she pants heavily. "I can't think of anything right now."

"Same here," he chuckles. "My head kinda hurts."

Jiwon looked at the cum that was all over her desk and her crotch area. "Oh dear. You came a lot."

"So did you," he replied, smirking.

She takes a small amount of his semen on her fingers and licks it off. "Mmmh. You taste good."

"You taste good yourself," he shoots the compliment back. "Especially your lips."

Jiwon blushes. "You're too much. But thank you."

"By the way," He brings his attention to the now unattended telephone. "What about that call?"

"Call?" she then notices the telephone that she was gripping hard the entire time. "Oh shit!"

She inspects if the caller is on the line.

"Hello?"

A long dead beep then came from the telephone.

"Hello? Hell... Hello?"

She looks at the receiver. "Ahh... I don't think they're there anymore."

He grimaces at their first failure. "That's too bad."

"Yeah," she sulks. "I guess we have another try."

"Right. And besides..." he gives her a playful smile. "It's their fault that they called just as you were getting fucked."

She chuckles and blushes as she remembers what the two of them just did. "As if you can be stopped."

He smirks. "And neither can you."

"Well... You can say that," she shrugs as she tries to sit properly on the desk, giving him a great view of her body covered in their shared fluids.

Her tactic is effective. In a matter of seconds, his cock is rock hard once again. He looks at her with a renewed lust and hunger in his eyes, and she looks back at him the same way. Despite the intense debauchery they just engaged in, the two are still fully capable of doing it again, if the way they were looking at each other right now is any indication.

"So? Shall we do it again, boss?" he asks her with a playful tone in his voice.

Jiwon gulps before answering his question, not being able to hold back the naughty thoughts in her mind. The experience he just gave her is still fresh on her mind and it made her even more aroused and excited for the next round.

"I don't think I can deny my secretary of his request," she bites her lip as she tries to caress his cock with her slender legs. "Just one more time."

His eyes twinkled, his lust growing even greater. He smirks before he pounces at Jiwon, giving her a sloppy kiss that makes the both of them moan. His tongue was inside her mouth, swirling and tasting every bit of her oral cavity. Their hands roamed all over each other's body as they tried to remove each other's clothing. It was a tangle of tongues, fingers, and naked skin. They can no longer stop themselves. The pressure of their tryst has finally exploded.

Their hands and mouths moved down to the most sensitive parts of their bodies, savoring every inch of the other's skin. Her partner takes the lead as he pulls her off the table, causing more of her liquids to spill onto the floor. He then quickly lifts her up and grabs her firm ass cheeks, kneading them with his large hands. Jiwon, as aroused as ever, quickly wrapped her legs around his waist. Her crotch met his, grinding their privates against each other's as if it were the last time.

His hard cock throbbed underneath him, desperate to enter Jiwon. She mewls at his slightest attempts of entry, her entire body shakes as he attempts to get inside her. But as he gets more eager to go further, she lets go of her hold on him. And as if by some sort of telepathy, he immediately understands what she wants to do next. He gently lowers her body until her feet can touch the floor. She stumbles slightly from the impact of their latest act, and he quickly catches her and places a hand on her waist.

"You good?" He asks her, his voice filled with concern.

Jiwon nods in response, her voice still shaking a bit. "I'm fine. Thanks."

They can't keep their eyes off of one another. Their gazes were locked and as if still full of lust and desire. Their lips meet once again, sharing the most passionate kiss they have ever had. And as they savor their intimacy, their hands explored their bodies with passion, wanting more of each other. Jiwon's fingers began to play with his hard, throbbing cock. She can feel him pulsate in her palms, his desire for her growing stronger as the moment progresses.

As the tension between them rises again, she kneels down before him. Her face is now eye level with his shaft that stands tall and hard, still freshly covered in their mixed fluids. She looks up at him and smiles, licking her soft, luscious lips before making eye contact once again. His cock twitches in response as if telling her what to do next. She giggles at his response and smirks. And as she grabs ahold of his length with her small, delicate hands, her partner looks at her with wide eyes.

"So... Are you gonna..." he asks with a sly grin.

She nods as her fingers explore every inch of his thick, swollen cockhead. "Mhhh... You're big."

She slowly moves her hands down the length of his shaft, making sure that her hands cover every inch of his throbbing member. She gently pumps his cock with both of her hands as she presses her soft, pink lips against the tip of his cock, smearing their fluids all over the sensitive area. Her tongue then playfully peeks out and teases him by flicking his tip in a teasing manner.

He gasps at the sudden stimulation. His entire body tenses up and he has to resist the urge to push his cock deeper into her mouth. She continues to kiss and lick the tip of his penis with great care, trying her best to savor every bit of their mixed cum. Her tongue then flicks and swirls against the tip in an attempt to satisfy him. She closes her eyes as she begins to suck on his head, feeling every part of his cock against her soft, luscious lips.

Her partner releases a deep, lustful growl from the back of his throat.

"Owh, fuck..."

Her cheeks then blush, as if his groans are like a praise to encourage her to do better. She takes his member inside her mouth, her soft, warm tongue moving around his cock, sucking and licking the area where his cockhead meets the shaft. He moans again as he watches Jiwon, mouth wide open and tongue swirling against his shaft. His fingers then tangle themselves into her hair, and he grabs a handful of her beautiful locks as he slowly pulls her towards him. He seems to enjoy watching her perform such an act that he just can't keep himself from thrusting his cock inside her mouth, but he decided to be gentle at the moment. And with the soft and sensual moans she made, he can only imagine the lewd thoughts that are in her mind as she bobs her head up and down his cock, making her look even sexier in his eyes.

His hand then gently pulls her hair backwards as if wanting to make her release her mouth off of his cock. Strands of semen and spit connect from her lips to his member. And with the slightest touch, she looks up at him, her eyes looking back at him as she releases him from her lips.

"Did I do good?" she asks him.

"That was great," he tells her, his voice full of desire and lust.

She blushes and smiles at his comment. "Thank you."

"Do you want to have another go?" he asks her, his hand softly caressing her cheek.

"C-can I? Are you sure?" she asks, surprised by his request.

"I know it's your first time," He then smirks. "But I know you'll do well."

Jiwon blushes once more at the compliment. "You're too much."

"So do you want to do it again?" he asks her again, his cock twitching in response.

She gulps and looks down.

"Yes... I do."

"Then, please..." Her partner smirks, knowing that she wants this just as much as he does.

"Go ahead."

Jiwon looks up at him with a mischievous smile on her face. She wants to please him. She wants to give him back the favor of the pleasure he's been giving him all this time. And that's exactly what she's going to do. She takes her hands and pumps her partner's shaft with a more sensual touch than the one before. She licks the tip of his cock once again before sucking his entire cock back inside her mouth. His length goes deeper and deeper into her warm cavern as he softly moans, enjoying the pleasure of her sucking. She licks and kisses the length of his shaft before stopping and pushing it inside her mouth once again. She bobs her head up and down the shaft, licking and sucking his cock every now and then. Her lips lock with the head of his cock, her tongue licks his underside, and her hands pump the remaining length she can't fit inside her mouth.

Her eyes slowly glances at him and their gaze locks with one another. And as she continues her blowjob, she feels his hands guide her hair back once more. He groans as she continues to move her head back and forth his cock, encouraging her to move even faster and harder.

As the blowjob progresses, Jiwon starts to become more confident in what she's doing. Her hands pump his cock faster as she moves her head forward and back. His groans of pleasure grow louder and louder by the minute, his cock getting more sensitive by the second. She slowly works on putting more and more of his cock inside her mouth. As his groans become more intense and more frequent, Jiwon finds herself to be more aroused from his noises of pleasure. And as her partner becomes even more vocal, she lets out muffled, gurgling moans.

"Oh fuck," he yells. "I'm close!"

She then sucks his cock even more, hoping to give him the most pleasurable experience he's ever had. As he reaches his limit, he grabs onto her hair and thrusts his cock deeper inside her mouth. Its tip touched her throat, causing Jiwon to gag. He worries for a moment about her situation. But the determination in her eyes, along with the gentle squeezes on his shaft, let him know that she is still up for the challenge. And like a good girl, she closes her eyes and relaxes her throat, allowing her to take him even deeper.

"Oh shit, Jiwon," he cries out. "Here I come!"

The sensation of Jiwon's throat was too much for her partner to bear. He thrusts his cock inside her mouth one last time before unloading his cum, shooting a massive amount of semen down her throat. As his load fills up every space inside her mouth, her body squirms in delight. He continues to thrust his cock inside her mouth as he empties his balls inside her mouth. Waves of pleasure hit Jiwon once more as her throat wrings out his shaft, squirting yet again and creating a bigger puddle of her sweet juices. The thick, creamy fluids spill out of her lips, down her chin and onto the floor, a mixture of their cum forms a big pool on the floor.

His load then comes to a halt as he slowly pulls out of her. The two of them pant heavily as they are still overwhelmed from their climax. With his legs weak, his body again retreats to the office chair behind him. He looks at the distraught Jiwon with a look of satisfaction before pulling her closer to him.

"How is it?" he asks Jiwon.

She nods, before making a gesture that her mouth is still filled with semen.

He understands what she meant and smirks. "Let me see."

He holds onto her head as he pulls her closer towards him. Jiwon opens her mouth to reveal that its full of his semen. He can't help but elicit a smile at such a sight. His cock again throbs to life in response, twitching at the sight of her mouth being full of his cum.

"Good. You can swallow it now," He tells her, a commanding tone in his voice.

Like an obedient puppy, Jiwon closes her mouth and tries to gulp down the immense amount of semen that's in her mouth. The salty taste of his seed fills her mouth and she begins to gag once again. Her eyes widened in surprise as she tried her best to swallow the cum that's in her mouth. Her partner watches her closely as he tries to help her swallow his seed, softly caressing her cheek as if encouraging her. After a few more tries, she swallows it all, a big gulp can be heard.

"How was it?" He asks, smiling. "Did you like it?"

She smiles and nods. "It... It's good."

He chuckles before patting her head. "Glad you like it."

"It tastes..." she ponders for a bit. "Hmmm... Weird?"

"Weird, huh?" he lets out a hearty laugh. "You think so?"

"W-why? Is there something wrong?" she asks him, looking confused.

"No, it's not wrong," he chuckles. "I just never knew you can taste that."

Jiwon looks at him with an awkward look on her face. "Was it supposed to taste like that?"

"I guess so," He laughs at her comment, a hearty laugh that makes Jiwon look confused yet also happy at the same time. "Everyone I've worked with all say the same thing."

"Well... I quite like it," She chuckles and smirks.

"Thank you," He smiles at her response. "I like how you taste too."

Jiwon blushes as she feels her body heat up from his words.

"T-thank you."

The both of them chuckle in unison as they bask in the afterglow of their intense sexual encounter. He then picks her off the floor and onto his lap, their faces then met in another sloppy kiss. Their tongues swirled inside each other's mouths once again. She can taste herself on him and she savors every moment of this kiss. His arms then wrap around her waist, pulling her body close to him as they continue to make out with each other.

As their tongues make contact once more, his hands start to caress the curves of her body another time. His fingers gently move along the contour of her body, tracing along her spine, before gently massaging her ass. Jiwon moans at the pleasure as he does this, enjoying every touch he gives. He then pulls her closer towards his lap, pressing her sensitive breasts against his body. Her soft boobs squished against his hard torso, eliciting another wave of pleasure from Jiwon. He can't help but give in to his urges, and his hands then gropes her perky breasts before sucking on her nipple.

"Ahh fuck... Yes... That feels good," Jiwon mewls as he starts to play on her sensitive nipples.

He then moves his lips upwards, giving her soft, pink lips a kiss as his hands knead her breasts.

"Mmmmh... Please, more!" Jiwon lets out a small moan as she reciprocates the kiss, giving him a deeper one than what they have shared before.

His hands then slowly move down from her breasts, towards the dripping slit between her legs. Her body then shudders in delight as she felt his fingers brush against her sensitive clit, sending shockwaves through her entire being. His finger gently rubs against her clitoris in circles, stimulating her pussy in a way that he knows she loves.

Jiwon's moans are all the confirmation he needs as his fingers explore more of her privates. Her back arches in pleasure as his fingers make contact with her hole, teasing and stretching her inner walls. She begins to move her hips, slowly grinding his cock with her pussy as she moves back and forth. Her movement becomes more urgent and desperate by the second as she is now more than ready to fuck him once more. Her partner can see her growing impatience, so he decided to help her out by inserting his index finger inside her pussy, followed by a second one.

"Ooohhhh... F-fuck!" She cries out, feeling the sudden pressure of having his fingers inside her.

"Liking that, Jiwon?" he asks.

She nods, biting her lip in an attempt to stifle her moans. "Yes. I love it!"

He smirks, a proud smile plastered on his face. "You look sexy when you're like this."

"Yeah? You think so?" she asks, smirking back.

"Of course..." he responds, his hands and fingers pumping inside her cunt with the slowest pace he can manage.

"Oh shit! I want you to fuck me again," she mewls, grinding her pussy against his cock with more intensity.

"I'd be happy to," he tells her in a sly voice. "But you should say please."

"Do I have to?" Jiwon giggles at his proposal, she softly hits his shoulder.

"If you want to complete the challenge, that is" he grins before planting another kiss on her lips.

"Hmmm. Wait a second," Jiwon then thinks for a bit, pondering what to say next.

"What is it?" he asks, curious.

Before she does anything else, she looks back at the timer that they both almost forgot out of the debauchery they've done all this time. "01:24:00" is shown.

"Oh. We still have more time to spare," She tells him, a little bit of relief in her voice. "That's good."

"Oh yeah. You're right," he chuckles at how forgetful they are. "I guess we can take it slow."

She giggles before answering, "I don't mind."

"So..." he smirks as he continues to finger fuck her. "What's it gonna be?"

She bites her lip as she stares deep into his eyes, an excited expression on her face. "I want..."

"Yes?" he asks, his voice oozing with lust and anticipation.

"You... To..."

“Go on…”

“Fuck me, ple—”

Before Jiwon can finish her request, the telephone rings for the third time.

The two of them are shocked by the sudden interruption. Their bodies are frozen and stiff for a moment. And as if having a telepathic conversation, they both look at each other as they know what to do next.

"Fuck!" she screams, slightly frustrated.

"There's the call," he answers, slightly amused.

"What timing!" Jiwon exclaims before retiring from his lap and walking towards the desk where the telephone is.

He chuckles at the situation they're currently in. "I can't believe that's just the third call we've had."

"Right? But how could we know?" she replies, looking back at him with a lustful gleam in her eyes. "We were having fun, weren't we?"

"Can't say you're wrong," he gets up from his seat and walks towards her, immediately grabbing her waist with his firm hands. "But how about we have some more?"

She smirks. "I'd like that."

"But..." he whispers to her, a smirk on his face as his fingers glide over her hips. "The magic word?"

"You gotta be... Ugh," Jiwon sighs, looking helpless before picking up the phone after a few seconds of ringing.

"Hello?"

"Hi. I'm calling on behalf of the HR department," a male voice on the other line says. "Is the boss available?"

"Yes! You're speaking to her," she replies.

"Hello. Thank you for taking my call. I'd like to speak about our new hires," the man's voice says, a professional tone to his voice.

"Oh, really? Go ahead."

As Jiwon immerses herself in the impromptu call, her partner is left to himself. In order to sate himself while she's speaking with her caller, he resumes to play with her body using his hands. He leans forward and goes for her ear, nibbling at it. His sneaky fingers move down to her belly, making her squirm as it grazes past her navel and down to her mound. As if knowing where she wants him to go, he starts to play with her slit using just one finger, sending more shockwaves of pleasure to her.

"As of the previous month," the caller continues his speech, "we have a record high number of—"

"Ah yes!" Jiwon interrupts her caller with a sudden yelp, as if something suddenly tickled her.

"Excuse me, boss?" the man asks.

"N-nothing," she tells him, chuckling nervously. "Is this about the... P-performance rating?"

A long pause then follows from the other line.

Tension then builds inside her.

"Hello?" Jiwon calls for the person on the phone.

"Yes!" the voice answered back, albeit slightly frantic. "You are correct, boss,"

"Whew," she lets out a deep sigh of relief. "I thought I lost you."

"Apologies. I believe the signal here is not that good."

"That's too bad," Jiwon responds. "Can you continue?"

"I would like to, but wouldn't we have a hard time in this situation?"

"Uhh... I..." she thinks for a moment.

Her partner then grabs her attention once more by grabbing her ass. As she slowly loses her composure from his naughty advances, she looks at him with a perplexed look, giving him a sly smile.

"What now?" she whispers to him.

"The magic word?" he smirks, raising a brow at her.

Jiwon then gives him a pouty glare, turning her eyes at him. She then turns her attention back to the caller.

“About that, do what you must… Please,” she speaks, as if referring to both of them.

"Sure thing, boss!" her caller replies enthusiastically.

"With pleasure, boss," her partner responds, grinning.

"So, within the last month," the caller continues to speak, but the reception is still quite poor. "We have a recor... Umber of peop... Applying fo... The company."

At the same time, her partner begins the main act of their next attempt to make her finish her task. He slowly pushed his finger inside her pussy, his other hand gently playing with her pussy’s lips.

"Ugh! It's really... Hmmm..." Jiwon struggles to maintain her composure.

"It's really good news. I agree," the caller replies.

Her partner then inserts a second finger inside her hole. And as he moves his fingers in and out, his other hand continues to caress her pussy, teasing her clit and rubbing against her clit in small circles. Jiwon's breathing becomes erratic, her moans get louder by the minute. She tries all her best to muffle the sensuous sounds that escape her lips during their conversation. Her body starts to shake, the intense sensations they've made her experience for the past half an hour is starting to be too much for her.

"Ah! Yes... I see... I-is there a... Hnng!" she struggles to keep her voice steady.

"Is there a statistic about the applications, you mean?" the caller asks.

"Y-yeah... T-that's it... The statistic," Jiwon answers him, her mind clouded with lust and pleasure.

Jiwon slowly loses control of her body as her partner's fingers move inside her in a faster pace. Her juices drip down her legs at his every touch. He notices this and grins. He leans over to her as his fingers continue to move in and out of her hole, hitting her most sensitive areas.

"You look so hot, boss," he whispers in her ear.

She looks back at him with her eyes full of lust and pleasure. "Stop with the teases," she orders him with a shaky voice.

"I have the full analysis of the statistics, boss," the voice on the phone tells Jiwon. "But it seems that I forgot to include the revisions I made recently."

"Oh... It's fine," she mewls, the pleasure overtaking her body. "C-can you... Tell me t-that... N-next time?"

"Will do! When would you like for us to speak again?"

"Uhh..." Jiwon quickly tries to think up an answer. "L-let me check my... S-schedule. One moment..."

"Do I now have the permission to fuck my boss one more time?" he butts in, whispering, as he nibbles on her ear.

Jiwon bites her lip to suppress her moans as her body begins to quake. Her nipples are stiff as a rock and she can feel her pussy spasm. Her partner can see that she's ready to explode at any moment, so he pulls his fingers out and grabs a hold of her waist.

"Fuck!" Jiwon softly yells, a look of surprise in her eyes.

"What, boss?" her partner asks, acting coy.

"Why did you stop?" she looks back at him, looking frustrated and defeated.

"Why... Because we're just about to start," he grins as he props his cock between pussy's wet lips.

"Huh? What? A-ah!" she cries out, a mixture of shock and pleasure in her voice.

He then slowly rubs his shaft against her pussy. Her body suddenly convulses as the sensation sends her into another blissful release, making her squirt on the floor once more. He watches as her orgasm overtook her body and as her fluids spread all over the floor beneath her. She's so aroused that she couldn't even form a sentence to say.

"I haven't even put it inside yet, boss," he teases her.

"O-oh my god..." she gasps for air, her legs buckle as she loses her balance.

"Is anything wrong, boss?" the caller asks. "Should we reschedule?"

"N-no," she answers back, her voice filled with lust and pleasure. "I-I'll be fine."

"Are you sure, boss?"

As Jiwon again has her attention occupied with the telephone, he moves his shaft back to her pussy and slowly penetrates her. Her wet pussy swallows every inch of his cock until he hits her most sensitive spot.

"Oh yes!" she mewls, her hands holding on to his arm.

"Yes?" the caller asks.

"Oh, y-yes," she pants as he slowly pounds her pussy.

"I thought I lost you there," the caller laughs.

"Fuck... That's good..." she gasps.

"Then will we expect a call from you anytime soon?"

"I-I don't know—nggh! I'm so... Full... At t-the moment!"

"You're full?" the caller asks.

"Y-yeah. My s-schedule is... Oh shit," she replies, her voice cracking. “I-I have... Big t-things... T-to tend to right n-now.”

"I understand. If you want to know more about that, you should contact us again."

"O-of course... Yes," she responds, still panting heavily. "I-I'll make sure to do that."

"Thank you very much, boss," the caller says. "Have a good day!"

"Y-you too—mhhh!" she says as she's overwhelmed by the sensation of her partner's cock inside her pussy.

The call then ends. And as Jiwon places the receiver back, the timer on the screen stops. The number 00:09:00 then shows up, along with a message that says 'CONGRATULATIONS' on top.

They both stop to look at the screen.

"Did you... Get it?" her partner asks, still buried deep inside her pussy.

She looks at him with a confused look on her face. "I don't know. D-did we?"

"I guess so," he replies, shrugging. "But aren't we still fucking?"

"Yeah. I thought we should finish at the same time as the call."

Despite their assumed victory, the two of them continue to wonder about the challenge. The timer on the screen then disappears, followed by a message that says the following:

"Congratulations on completing the challenge! The pair should then proceed to the final area after a signal after a few hours. For the meantime, you can do whatever you want together area. Have fun!"

"So we did complete the challenge," she says, smiling.

"Yeah... We did," he smiles back at her. "But... What do we do now?"

Jiwon wiggles her hips, causing his cock to slightly move inside her pussy. She looks at him with a teasing gaze before leaning closer to his face, her breath ghosting over his lips.

"How about we finish what we started?" she asks, her eyes gleaming with lust.

"I think that's a great idea, boss," he grins in response as he kisses her with extreme passion.

Their tongues once again made contact as their kiss deepened. His hands then move down to her ass, gripping and groping it with such ferocity. Jiwon's moans at his actions and moves her body against him, wanting him even more. She kisses him back with just as much intensity, as if wanting to make up for the lost time of their conversation with this impromptu make-out session. He then resumes to pound her pussy with an animalistic intensity. He slams his cock becomes deeper and harder inside her pussy. She arches her back and moans louder, the pleasure building up inside her with each powerful thrust.

Her moans escape her lips and he immediately responds by shoving his tongue inside her mouth to shut her up. With no more restraints, Jiwon opens her mouth and welcomes him in. Her legs wrap around his waist as if to let him know that she's more than ready for more.

Her body arches in ecstasy as the thrusting of his hips becomes even more intense and powerful. He grabs onto her ass with both hands as he picks up his pace even more, plunging deeper into her wet cavern. He moves her body like a rag doll, trying to fit into every inch of her pussy as he can. Jiwon screams are becoming louder and more primal, reverberating through the room as their bodies collide in a symphony of raw desire.

"Oh fuck! Your cock feels so good!" she cries out, breaking the kiss for a moment.

"You like it? Do you want more, boss?" he grunts as he continues to thrust inside her.

"Yes! Fuck your boss, Mr. Secretary! Fuck me harder!" she mewls, her eyes gleaming with lust and ecstasy.

"I'll give you all you need, boss," he replies with a wide grin. as he moves his hips forward.

Their bodies start to move in unison, synchronizing the way they fuck. The only thing that matters at the moment is to satisfy each other. Their breaths are ragged as their movements become even faster, their bodies now wet with a mixture of sweat and cum. He grunts as he begins to fuck Jiwon even harder, his cock hitting her sensitive areas. Their bodies are on the verge of reaching their climax and the fact that they've had three orgasms in the past few minutes is enough to make them ecstatic.

Jiwon's back arches as she feels her orgasm building up once more, her walls clenching around his cock. She then lets out a long moan that fills the room.

"I'm... I'm Gonna... Agh!" she yells, her voice filled with euphoria.

"Yeah? I think I'm close too," He grunts as he feels her pussy convulse around him. "Owh fuck!"

"Fill me up again! Fill my pussy with your cum!" she yells as she feels another orgasm hit her.

"Fine! Here it comes!" he screams, his thrusting now out of control. "Agh... Fucking take it!"

He gives her one last, deep thrust and finally releases his load. He grunts as he attempts to to fill her womb with his seed. The two of them moan as their bodies shake in ecstasy. Waves of pleasure hit her entire body as he continued to shoot his semen inside her. Jiwon's hips spasm as her body trembles in ecstasy.

"Oh fuck! You're filling me up with your cum—oh fucking shit!" she yells, her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

His cock throbs as he continues to shoot his white stuff inside her. He gives Jiwon another deep thrust, causing her to moan. Her pussy then reaches its limit as huge amounts of cum flow out of her. It spills on the floor, adding to the huge puddle of their mixed fluids. He then gives her another deep thrust, releasing another huge load.

"Owh shit," he groans, his eyes fluttering. "You're milking my cock so fucking good, Jiwon."

"Yeah... Give it all to me," she moans, her eyes shut tightly. "It feels so good."

He gives her one last deep thrust, as if trying to keep the cum inside her. She lets out a long, sensuous moan, her body twitching in ecstasy.

He finally pulls out his cock and as he seems to be out of stamina, falls to the floor. Jiwon's body collapses soon after, landing on top of his, cushioning her fall. As they both look exhausted and drained, the two of them pant heavily as they catch their breath. Their bodies are completely spent and tired. But even so, their eyes meet once more and a smile forms on their faces.

"So," he breaks the silence. "How was it, Jiwon?"

"How was it? Hmmm..." Jiwon ponders for a moment before answering, snuggling on his chest. "Well... I'd say it was amazing."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she giggles. "You know, I've never had anything this satisfying. Thank you."

"No problem," he chuckles, his arm wrapped around her body. "Glad you liked it."

"How about you? Did you like it?" she asks him, looking curious.

"Me?"

"Yeah. Was I good?"

He smiles and plants a kiss on her forehead. "You were great."

Jiwon's face blushes, "You think so?"

"Definitely," he nods. "It's not everyday that I get to work with someone as amazing as you."

"Oh stop, you flatter me too much," Jiwon giggles, hiding her face with her hands.

"I mean it," he chuckles, gently caressing her cheeks. "For an idol, I didn't expect you to be this good sexually."

"I see..." she replies. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome."

They then stay silent for a moment, just smiling and staring into each other's eyes.

"So what do you want to do now, boss?" he teases her, grinning.

"Really?" Jiwon chuckles. "You're still gonna call me that?"

"What can I say? Being a boss seems to fit you," he answers, a sly grin on his face.

"Oh stop it!" she then laughs, smacking his shoulder playfully.

"Alright, alright," he laughs as well. "Do you want us to stay like this?"

"Yes. That sounds good," she answers, hugging him tight. "Maybe just a little longer."

He chuckles as he gives her a soft pat on the head.

"Great. Fine by me."

As the two of them are busy enjoying the aftermath of their intense sex, the video fades to black and ends.

You've just witnessed an incredibly intimate and passionate moment between Jiwon and her partner. Their connection and chemistry were undeniable, resulting in a victory and a truly unforgettable experience for both of them. You wish that it was you who could experience such a connection with Jiwon. Who knows? Maybe they'll let you have your way with her after a promotion. But for now, you'll have to satisfy yourself with the fantasy of it as you close the video and move on to the next.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Author’s Notes:

Here is the next chapter of the my "Spotlighting" series starting with Park Jiwon.

Why did I start with Jiwon? Hmmm... No idea. I just went with it and eventually, I had fun writing about her. Her 50-50 personality of half cutest girlfriend/half tazmanian devil really gets me. But I kinda leaned on to the former because I think I made her too submissive. 😅 Maybe I can write her being full-on ballistic next time.

A huge thanks to branfics/@braaan for another great poster and to NoLeafClover/@dr-occam for helping edit this fic. You two made this one possible. 🫂

Again, thank you very much for reading! 🙇

#smut #kpopfanfiction #kpopfanfic #kpopsmut #fromis9smut #jiwonsmut #parkjiwonsmut

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lovelynim · 29 days ago

Text

TickleTober2024/Day 10 - In secret

Love and Deepspace - Zayne x Reader

Zayne gritted his teeth, pressing the back of his head against the door and clenching his hand around the twisting knob, threatening to expose him at any given moment. You smirked, holding out your index finger in front of your lips.

“Dr. Zayne? Are you still there?” Yvonne asked from the other sound of the door, as confused as the poor thing could be. Zayne knew he had to answer, but how was he supposed to do so with you messing around?

And to make things even better: this time, this whole situation was actually his fault, not yours or anyone else’s. He was the one that suggested you should sneak into his office for some late night kissing and… other shenanigans. Now, would he be able to keep his little secret from the rest of the staff?

“Y-yehes,” Zayne groaned, pressing his eyes shut while you pinched and squeezed his ribs to your heart’s content, barely minding his free hand swatting at yours. “G-gihive me a mohoment!”

“Are you ok?” Yvonne seemed even more confused. Oh, what you wouldn’t give to see her face right now. “I heard some noises and came to check, but… is the door locked? I can’t seem to open it.”

“I-it is,” Zayne muttered in a hurry, giving you a death stare that you promptly ignored. You giggled quietly, kneading at his sides and clawing at his stomach. “I-I needed to- AH!”

“D-Dr. Zayne?!” Yvonne gasped, the door trembling a little more frantic. Ah, Yvonne, if only you knew, you thought, wiggling your eyebrows at the doctor.

Just by the look on his face, you could tell you’d get a long, intensive hearing when he managed to get out of that situation - but, again, it was all his fault, right? If he allowed you to use the front door, you doubted Yvonne would dare to be checking on him. Heh.

He turned his face to the side, his smile nearly tearing his lips apart. “I-I neehehed to c-change clothes! I-i’m stihihill at it!”

“Oh,” was Yvonne’s simple answer. The explanation seemed to suffice her curiosity and ease her worries. “I see, sorry for bothering, dr. Zayne!”

“N-no prohobl-AHA!”

“H-huh?”

“I-It’s nohohothing!” He groaned, desperately trying to pry your hands away from his underarm. The panicked look on his face almost made you pity him. Almost is the key word here.

As the questions from the other side of the door stopped coming, you knew your source of entertainment was nearing its end. Still, Zayne only let his guard down after making sure it was safe enough to do so, silently withstanding and taking your tickling.

The scene was quite impressive, you thought.

“Y-you,” Zayne gasped, finally able to use both his hands to hold you by your wrists. He looked angry, in a cute way. “Are you out of your min-”

“Shhh,” you whispered, freeing one of your hands and using it to cover his lips, pushing him back against the door. “If you talk any louder, they will find out about your little secret, doctor. Now, where were we? ~”

A/N: The one to thank for today's prompt is no other than the great, the one and only @ticklygiggles!!

I hope you enjoyed this little piece, dear, and that I managed to make justice to your husband's name

#lovelytickletober #tickletober 2024 #tickletober #love and deepspace #love and deepspace tickling #zayne #zayne x reader #lee!zayne #ticklish!zayne #ler!reader #tickle fic

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hxltic · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! I have a request!

Could you do something where Kenma isn't really giving the female reader any attention because he's busy streaming so the reader sneaks under his desk where the viewer's can't see her and she pleasures him until he eventually cums down her throat?

:) I un-ironically love writing bjs

The shared house was silent anytime after 5 o’clock. Kuroo had just left— his afternoon business management classes calling him in, and Bokuto’s practice overcrowded his schedule to the point where he went twice a day with some gym sessions in between. That leaves you alone with Kenma in your 4 bedroom home off campus that was supposedly his father’s apology gift.

The bills are mainly kept satisfied with Kenma’s profit as his streaming allows you all to live as you do. Of course, there was a sense of independency by your own jobs regardless. There has probably been twice where everyone was in the living room at once, but it’s like there’s a tacit agreement each of you have your own goals.

You can’t be mad at the man for being busy when his job supports his friends and himself.

Kenma has been your friend, now boyfriend, for the longest out of all of them, next in line being Kuroo. Kenma took computer engineering and coding related classes, despite having already perfected building PC’s just out of pure experience. The work is hard. You’ve seen it.

You’ve witnessed him stress first hand about a single error in a strenuous, long line of codes—and you ask him why he doesn’t stop doing it if it bothers him to the extent it does. His determination has grown for activities he enjoys over the years; 12 year old him would have quit.

Kenma’s way to deal with stress is isolation. The entire day he’s been crammed in his room, and with being the only other person in the house majority of the time, you bring it upon yourself to feed him. He gets focused and forgets to eat.

The reminder has you clicking your Ipad off from whatever distraction show you had playing. It was so boring most of the days, Netflix couldn’t even fulfill you. You toss the covers off yourself, then bounce downstairs into the kitchen.

It was so quiet that your feet patting against the floor filled the air. To cure the ennui you felt, you’d take the time to have fun with this culinary experience.

By the time there was fluffy white flour messily coating the kitchen and dishes stacked like game cards in the sink, your dish was plated for two. Maybe you’d keep him some company?

Careful not to fall up the stairs, you prod at his door in attempt to knock with one hand. Somehow you turn the knob successfully.

The fan cuts through the air, every click of Kenma’s pen accompanied with a glance to the paper beside him. He won’t even look up at the waitress bearing goods.

“Hi Ken,” you grab his attention but his slim eyes only dart up at the smell of cuisine. “Have you eaten?”

You know the answer. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, so when he shakes his head the usual strands that follow aren’t there. You place the plate on his desk, next to the two cans of some energy drink and a diet Dr. Pepper.

“Thank you,” he speaks softly. There was a hint of edge to the sound, like he hadn’t used his voice all day.

“Mhmm.”

You turn on your heels to his bed, then sit criss cross as it squeaks and dips. “Do you mind if I just stay in here? It gets lonely in the house.”

To be honest, you forget he’s there sometimes.

“I’m kinda busy,” he replies. He loves you, and your presence, but he just knows he won’t be able to focus. “I’ll be done soon.”

The pout you flaunt deepens, “You’ve been stuck in here for almost a week now! Come out; I miss you Ken.”

He refrains himself from turning to look at you because he knows when he weighs his options, you’ll always come out on top. The chances of you getting picked multiply with your pout.

“Soon, I just need to finish this.”

“Please?”

He doesn’t even have a valid response for that, so he forces the spoon into his mouth. You’re actually a great cook, but since you all eat so much takeout, nobody’s at the dinner table at the same time to enjoy it.

You huff and negotiate to just sit in silence, as long as you’re in his presence. As long as you know he’s there.

This only lasts about fifteen minutes before you’re whining for him again. You completely understand the heavy load of schoolwork, and that it has to get done, but he genuinely has been at it for so long it cannot be healthy.

“I’m done,” he announces coincidentally, his soft fingers coming up to brush a tendril of hair back as he gathers his things on the desk into a neat pile.

Your head perks up like a puppy at attention. He arises from his chair after closing the laptop, pulling his rubber band from the hair connected at his nape as he steps towards you laying on his bed. You giggle in expectancy when he smiles gingerly at you, reaches his arms forward around your feet to plant his hands on the duvet, then crawls up your body. The hair tie wraps around his wrist to join all the other colorful bracelets and bands.

He makes you swoon by just giving you attention.

His hands grew into proportion as he aged, so now they were relatively large. Large enough to connect at your hips as he kisses his way up.

Stomach, chest, then an abundance on your chin and around your face, just for his thumb and index finger to hold your cheeks in position for his softer, slower kiss right on your lips.

You wrap your arms around him like he’d just disintegrate any second. You can feel his body slump, leaving you with most of his weight to carry and his head withdrawing from the kiss to between your breasts. With one hand massaging the round muscle, Kenma was in his element.

Black with barely-there blonde crowds your vision. His soft skin felt warm as you two lay intertwined in the still house, and if you were to fall asleep it would greatly help that Kenma never keeps the big light on. He moans in satisfactory below you.

You lift your hand to rest over his face, the bigger part of your thumb gliding gently over his cheek.

“I love you,” he mutters.

“I love you too Ken.”

After a while of Kenma following your heartbeat and breathing, you would’ve guessed he was asleep. He clarifies he isn’t when he groans lowly.

“I have to get up.”

The words rest tensely in the air, and maybe if you pretend you didn’t hear him, he’ll lay there and forget about it.

He attempts to raise himself from you, politely grabbing your hand and locking your fingers when he comes to a hover above. His pink lips come to the corner of yours as you blink open your eyes.

Truthfully, he wants nothing more than to be with you, here, resting—but he hasn’t streamed in a solid week because of school. You were completely his priority though, so he would make sure to give you equal attention as his stream.

He finds the little willpower to come off you and the bed. He was genuinely hoping you’d stay there and sleep peacefully, that way he’ll come back to join you and it will feel like he never left.

He flips a blanket over your body before he strolls to his setup usually beaming with bright lights. He takes a seat, making sure to turn the brightness down of everything, refraining from playing music, and ultimately deciding not to turn on any light not connected to his PC anyway.

As much as you hate that he’s not cuddled up next to you right now, you love the fact that he’s a steamer overall because he looks so damn hot doing it. Especially the way his muscles on his forearm flex as he quickly types or plays. His hair that’s usually up is down, because he isn’t wearing his mic.

Or like the way every now and then he’ll pop a piece of gum in his mouth and manspread in his gaming chair to shoot a quick message or check his feed. Or like the way he’s so attent, making call-outs, or whenever he gets angry his brows furrow the slightest bit and his face displays whatever he’s actually thinking. You find it hilarious when his eyes roll.

At some point, he hears you come up behind him into view, and his head relaxes into your two hands sliding up his neck to his jaw. You crouch into the screen and the chat immediately multiples. It’s too quick to read them all. Knowing his viewers, Kenma takes the responsibility of closing it with the click of a button, so fast that it seems he never even did it.

“Cracked, 130,” he calls.

You stood there for a moment to watch him play. He and his team beat the level, game, you don’t know, but he releases his focus from the screen and mindlessly cracks his knuckles.

A donation comes in that’s read aloud. Kenma tenses, but you’re excited to hear it.

“jump1nnit donates $70. ‘girl to girl, is it big?’”

Kenma’s head drops back in your hands, eyes closing in annoyance.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles. Where were his mods?

All you were thinking about was how much Kenma was actually earning. 70 dollars in a single donation? How many of these does he get a day? How much more do people pay that’s over 70 when you aren’t here?

You shake these questions away. You knew he was famous. This was not new information; his fans see you sometimes in the background, and they adore you. It’s why your instagram has so many followers and people saying outrageous things in your comments. Ken begs you not to check them.

You find it amusing honestly. God knows what he’s being sent despite his DM’s or what they’re saying in his chats. You know there’s girls all over the world after him, but he doesn’t entertain them, so you don’t either. You trust him completely.

Brought back to reality, you look down at Kenma.

He starts, “Are you-“

To rile up the scene, you nod at the monitor with a mischievous smirk on your face. You bend and kiss his forehead.

“Can I sit right here?” You ask quickly, already pulling up his desk stool because he has no reason to say no. He takes your momentary absence to mute the computer.

“Yeah. yeah, Definitely.”

The blonde’s tone is a little off, but you chalk it up to what just happened. He was just surprised you’d actually respond. He ignores them so he doesn’t get demonetized.

So you sit next to him on your phone playing games, or watching him, or laying on his shoulder. It made it a little difficult for him to play with the last one, but he doesn’t mind. He places a kiss to your forehead, matching earlier actions, and the way you two looked at each other after will definitely reel in some fan edits.

You return to gaming on your phone until you drop it. It tumbles down and under the PC, into the jungle of wires below.

At least with everything included in the setup, that’s what you expect to see, but they’re all neatly accounted for. The seat moves back against the carpet to accommodate for your body, the space you’ve created to retrieve the device. The problem is, you and Kenma occupy this space. You won’t fit.

Kenma heard your phone drop, so he had an idea why you’re down there. He even chuckled a little. Once you pick up the phone, you use his thigh as leverage to turn yourself around, causing him to flinch, and immediately an idea pops into your head.

You could stay down here.

You press the heart of your palm into him once more, the same reaction procreating ideas like a lightbulb.

His voice from above makes another callout.

The lightness of your fingertips glide across his thigh and up to his waist, slipping past the barrier of the thin shirt he’s wearing. Kenma is not ticklish, but his abdomen turns concave to your touch.

By now he has concluded what is happening, or going to happen, and just the thought has him hardening in front of you. Of course it’s something he’s thought about. He hasn’t asked because it feels unnatural—like you would only do it because he suggested it.

His poker face remains stone cold, but the rest gives him away. With every touch you only got closer. You trail your whole hand up the shirt, running this one along the dips of his pale skin, while the other goes back and forth along his thigh. Inwards, then back out. Your phone was long forgotten.

You run the length of your fingers over his center sneakily before meeting both hands in the middle and fiddling with his waistband. He shivers, but continues to play.

He hadn’t been purposely edging himself, and he definitely knows that you would help him whenever he asked, but with all the schoolwork piled on top of him, it never crossed his mind. It was now though, and sensitivity was at its highest.

“No, why would you do that; that’s stupid,” Kenma replies to what you assume is a donation. The technological voice isn’t there anymore for you to hear.

The tips of your nails dive past every ounce of clothing settled at his hips.

He shifts in his seat, whether to allow you to pull the band down just enough or to calm his nerves, you don’t know, but the opportunity was right in front of your face. Literally.

You don’t even do anything but hold his length before you start the up and down motions. It’s enough to turn him on more, having him grow in your hand. You can’t imagine the faces he’s making while his viewers’ minds were already polluted.

“Keep going, push,” he exclaims. Voice still soft, but with some sense of urgency.

He was not speaking to you, but you listen anyway, and do as he says. Maybe you could play a game: see how long it takes before he realizes you’re taking orders.

With this, you stroke him a little faster, then run your fleshy thumb over his tip. It began dripping, a single bud threatening to fall. After swiping it away, you disperse what little you could, then wrap your plush lips around his head.

He wasn’t expecting it right after your slow pace.

“Ugh, fuck- third party.”

The groan he emitted was covered quickly by a call, as if that’s what “frustrated” him.

You pop off as quickly as you came, spread your saliva, and now slide your enclosed hand down his cock steadily. Silky smooth, it took no energy to glide along him. Your unoccupied hand squeezes his thigh through the cotton.

“Down, he’s under and one shot.”

You jerk him off as his breathing barely picks up, occasionally coming down to wet him some more, but you see a significant difference when your hand consistently twists just the tip. You’d swirl your tongue around the reddening, most sensitive part of him before dropping even farther to take his balls in your mouth.

You tug and pull harmlessly.

“Hmm...”

Despite what was going on, the streamer was clever with how he hid it.

He asks, “Hey, what do y’all want to hear?”

The viewers were astonished they were being asked; Kenma has previously told them he likes his music and would play whatever he felt like hearing. He did a stream for song recommendations and half of it was him hating on their music and the other half was his viewers attempting to find songs he would like.

Regardless, he unmuted the sound on his computer and turned on the playlist, only slightly louder than usual.

You took this opportunity to actually wrap your lips around his cock, not having to worry about the sounds. You start on the slower side but it didn’t take long to get comfortable. Whatever you couldn’t fit, you jerked off.

His abdomen showcased whatever his face wouldn’t, stuttering every now and then with his hips correcting their position. You brought the wet hand to his balls once more, and attempted to fit all of him down your throat. There was a deep sigh above you.

You closed your eyes and went again, trying to go deeper. You didn’t gag, but your throat made sounds that was enough implication of what was going on. That’s okay though. Some random band one of his mods recommended was playing.

Once more, you tried to go deeper, actually sputtering this time, but once you got past the uncomfortableness of it all, you could go the same depth over and over. You did, breathing through your nose. He could hear your throat, but chat couldn’t. If they could, they would be saying something.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s on me,” he huffs, “I’m gonna twist around to cover.”

You remove yourself, partially to breathe, and take two hands to twist on top of each other in opposite directions. His belly button caves in with some more muscles, pure evidence of his pleasure.

This was the second he knew what you were doing. What game you were playing.

If you wanted to play, he could too.

“Where is she?” he reads chat calmly. “I think she’s downstairs eating.”

Was it calm enough—you’re not sure, because he was fidgeting excessively in the leaning chair.

The double entendre has you giggling silently. With a deep breath, you’re back down on him again. It’s not long until you sputter.

“Do you want me to tell her to come back up?” You hear him spit out quickly.

You do as he says, but not without the price of your fingers doubling speed at his head.

“Yeah, I’ll tell her. Hold on.”

With quickness, he mutes and turns his camera off.

He was sweating and physically overwhelmed. Pushing back on his heels, his chair rolls from under the table with you following, finally in his sight. He could already imagine how you looked.

Red lips. Glowing face. Glossy eyes, smiling and happy. You were ethereal. Your hands are working him, but now with his cock down your throat too? Oh my god.

He held a soft touch at your cheek and caressed your face with his thumb. Picking up speed, you smile.

The other hand of his would do the same, brushing a loose stand of hair behind your ear. Faster.

“Just like that,” he breathes.

“Mhmm?” you deepthroat him.

His head drops back involuntarily. His mouth does the same. The heavy breaths that he was holding from the stream let loose.

One last look at your flushed features and-

He groans heavily, adam’s apple bobbing and cock tightening. Skin usually pale but red with desire, he stills.

You close your eyes. It was so fulfilling with your throat stretched and his hands on either side of your plush face.

Warmth seeps past your tongue and down the cavern. It causes you to choke but Kenma definitely doesn’t mind. His sounds flow into your ears, plus some faint praise as he soon begins to release from his high.

You couldn’t taste anything as you slowly raise yourself from him, leaving his cock glistening with saliva and pink, but the taste just barely started to form once it caught your tongue on the way down. You swallow anyway—it wasn’t bad.

You use the back of your hand to wipe your eyes and breathe freely. You lay your cheek on the driest part of his pants, even though you’ll have to get up. You just aren’t ready to see the red wilts on your knees.

“You are amazing,” Kenma catches his breath. He looks back down with his eyes glossed over and tired, but he still runs his finger over your wet lip. You softly kiss it.

. .

“Are you getting back on?” You climb into his fluffy bed, throwing the covers back.

Kenma shakes his head and follows after you in a fresh new set. He grabs the covers and returns them over you both, pushing his hair back and holding you close.

©️ hxltic

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