#i am now in far too deep into the fandom

[allylikethecat]

I just posted the All the King's Horses update and I tagged it as "Happy Friday!!" and realized I missed out on the golden opportunity of having On a Friday be my Friday update fic. Oh well

[vortexbloom]

Can I request some dialogue heavy scenarios where the HSR men, Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Boothill, Sunday, Jiaoqiu, and Moze are in a relationship with a Neko reader and how they react when the reader jumps up like an actual scared cat when they're spooked.

Sure :)

I decided to make a Aventurine one too btw.

How they‘d react, if they‘d see their Neko Lover jump up like an actual cat when they’re spooked (Seperate OneShots)

Pairing: Jing Yuan / Blade / Dan Heng / Boothill / Sunday / Jiaoqiu / Moze / Aventurine x Neko Reader

Fandom: HSR (Honkai Star Rail)

Warnings: Some parts may be similar

─୨ৎ────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────୨ৎ─

Masterlist - Honkai Star Rail

Masterlist - Genshin Impact

Moodboards - Genshin Impact

Masterlist - Marvel

Boycott List

─୨ৎ────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────୨ৎ─

English isn’t my first/native language, so there might be misspellings etc.

I do NOT own any Characters !

Have fun reading this :D

⋆˚࿔ 𝒥𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The warm glow of lanterns bathed Jing Yuan’s study in a soft light, casting elongated shadows across the neatly arranged scrolls. It was a quiet evening, the kind he treasured, especially when you were here, curled up beside him, tail lazily flicking as you read through one of his many books.

Jing Yuan leaned back in his chair, golden eyes half lidded with drowsy contentment. He had been watching you for some time now, admiring the way your ears twitched slightly when you were deep in thought. It was a small, endearing habit, one of the many he had come to cherish.

The peace, however, did not last.

A sudden crash echoed through the room as the wind managed to drop a tray, the clattering sound cutting through the silence like a blade.

Your reaction was instant.

Ears flattening, tail bristling, you let out a startled yelp before leaping straight into the air, your body moving with feline agility as you landed on the desk with a soft thud, wide eyed and claws lightly extended. A scroll rolled off the surface, and Jing Yuan barely had the presence of mind to catch his teacup before it tipped over.

Silence.

Then, a deep chuckle.

Jing Yuan pressed a hand to his lips, his broad shoulders shaking as he struggled to contain his amusement. His golden eyes gleamed with mirth as he regarded you, still perched atop the desk.

"My dear," he drawled, voice laced with humor. "I never realized you had such…remarkable reflexes."

You shot him a glare, ears twitching in embarrassment. "That wasn’t funny," you huffed, crossing your arms.

That only made his smirk grow.

"On the contrary, I found it quite delightful." He reached out, fingers brushing over your ears with a gentle touch, smoothing them down as if to soothe your ruffled pride. His gaze softened, though the amusement never quite left his expression. "Though I do apologize if I annoyed too much."

You huffed again but didn’t pull away when his hand slid down to scratch at the base of your ears. The tension in your shoulders slowly melted, replaced by a quiet purr that you refused to acknowledge.

Jing Yuan’s grin widened. "Ah, so I am forgiven?"

You flicked your tail in response, before muttering, "Only if you don’t tease me about this forever."

The General chuckled, leaning forward until his forehead nearly touched yours. "I make no promises."

You just rolled your eyes.

With a swift motion, he tugged you forward, pulling you effortlessly into his lap. A surprised squeak left your lips as he wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin atop your head with a satisfied sigh.

"Now, stay here and let me enjoy this warmth a little longer."

You grumbled, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear was a difficult comfort to resist. So, despite your embarrassment, you let yourself relax in his embrace, tail curling around his wrist as his fingers continued their lazy strokes through your hair.

Jing Yuan merely smiled, content.

This, he decided, was far better than any paperwork.

════════════════════════════

⋆˚࿔ ℬ𝓁𝒶𝒹ℯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The silence in the room was comfortable, broken only by the occasional rustling of fabric as Blade shifted in his seat. He wasn’t one for idle chatter, and you had long since grown used to his quiet nature. It didn’t bother you. If anything, you found a strange sense of peace in his presence, knowing that despite his distant demeanor, he always kept an eye on you.

Curled up on the couch, your tail lazily flicked behind you as you read, the dim glow of the lamp casting soft shadows along the walls. Blade sat nearby, sharpening his sword with slow, methodical movements, his eyes flickering to you every so often.

And then—

BANG!

The sound of something heavy falling outside the room shattered the tranquility. Instinct took over before your mind could catch up, your ears flattened, your tail bristled, and in one swift motion, you leapt straight into the air.

Blade barely had time to react before you landed with perfect feline agility, on top of the bookshelf.

Silence.

He blinked.

Then, without a word, he set his weapon aside and leaned back against his seat, tilting his head slightly as a quiet huff of amusement left his lips.

"…Hmm."

That was it. No teasing remark, no laughter, just that small, almost imperceptible sound of amusement. But you knew him well enough to recognize it.

Your ears twitched. "Don’t say it."

He exhaled through his nose, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Say what?"

You narrowed your eyes. His were unreadable, as always, but there was something behind them? a flicker of entertainment that he was clearly holding back.

Slowly, deliberately, Blade stood up. You tensed, watching as he moved to stand directly in front of the bookshelf, his gaze sharp, calculating. Then, in one fluid motion, he reached up, his strong hands effortlessly wrapping around your waist.

Before you could protest, he lifted you off the shelf with ease.

"You land well," he mused, setting you down in front of him. His hands didn’t immediately let go, lingering at your waist as his thumb brushed against your side. "Jump high, too."

Your tail flicked, your ears still slightly flattened. "Blade."

His lips twitched, just barely. Then, as if the moment had already passed, he released you, stepping back as he picked up his sword once more.

"Next time, land somewhere I can reach you faster."

You stared at him. "Was that…concern?"

He didn’t answer, but the way his fingers tightened briefly around the hilt of his sword told you everything you needed to know.

And despite your lingering embarrassment, you couldn’t help but smile.

════════════════════════════

⋆˚࿔ 𝒟𝒶𝓃 ℋℯ𝓃ℊ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The Astral Express was unusually quiet that evening. Most of the crew had retired to their rooms, leaving only the soft hum of the train’s engine and the occasional flicker of passing stars through the windows. You sat comfortably on the couch in the archive room, tail lazily flicking as you drank some tea. Across from you, Dan Heng sat with his own reading material, his gaze focused, his expression as unreadable as ever.

This was routine. A quiet evening together, surrounded by books and tea, with the gentle presence of each other’s company. You liked it this way.

Until—

CLANK.

The sudden noise from the hallway shattered the silence. Something heavy had fallen, perhaps March had dropped her camera again, or Caelus had knocked over something. Either way, the sound was unexpected.

Your body reacted before your mind did. Instinctively, your ears flattened, your tail bristled, and with an alarmed yelp, you leapt straight up into the air.

Straight onto the shelf.

Silence.

Dan Heng’s book remained open in his hands, but his eyes had drifted upward, following your movement. You clung to the top of the shelf, wide eyed, tail still puffed up in fright. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, with a barely perceptible sigh, Dan Heng closed his book.

"I see your reflexes are…impressive."

Your ears twitched, heat creeping up your face. "Don’t say anything."

He tilted his head slightly, expression calm but unreadable. "I didn’t."

You scowled, shifting slightly but realizing with mild horror that getting down was trickier than expected. The shelf was taller than you thought, and your balance was precarious. You hesitated.

Dan Heng noticed.

Without a word, he stood up and walked over, stopping just below you. He extended his arms, gaze steady. "Come down."

You blinked. "I can do it myself."

A pause. Then, his tone softened, just barely. "You’ll land better if I catch you."

You hesitated again, but there was no teasing in his voice, no amusement at your predicament, just quiet patience. Huffing softly, you relented, letting yourself lean forward until gravity took over.

Dan Heng caught you effortlessly, his grip firm yet careful as he steadied you against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, his warmth familiar. For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then, he finally spoke again.

"Next time, stay close to me. That way, you won’t have to jump at all."

Your ears twitched, tail flicking against his arm. You mumbled something about not being that easily startled, but the way Dan Heng’s arms lingered just a second longer than necessary told you he wasn’t entirely convinced.

════════════════════════════

⋆˚࿔ ℬℴℴ𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The dusty air of Penacony’s lower districts buzzed with distant chatter, neon signs flickering in the twilight. Boothill leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on the table, hat pulled low over his face. A slow evening, just how he liked it.

You, on the other hand, were perched on the armrest beside him, tail lazily flicking as you toyed with the rim of his hat. "You always this relaxed, cowboy?" you teased, ears twitching as you watched him.

Boothill let out a slow chuckle, tilting his head just enough to glance at you. "Ain’t no rush, sugar. If trouble comes, I’ll handle it before you even blink."

As if the universe itself wanted to test that claim, a loud crash echoed from the alleyway behind you. Something, someone, had knocked over a stack of crates. The sudden noise sent your instincts into overdrive.

Ears flattening, tail puffing up, you let out a startled yelp before leaping straight up and landing perfectly on one of the wooden beams above. Claws lightly digging into the wood, you clung there, wide eyed, heart pounding.

Silence.

Boothill stayed completely still for a beat. Then, slowly, he lowered his boots from the table, his hand coming up to tip his hat back as he looked up at you. His eyes gleamed under the neon glow, amusement curling at the edges of his smirk.

"Well, ain’t that somethin’."

You groaned. "Don’t."

He chuckled, rolling his shoulders before standing. "Darlin’, you got reflexes quicker than a gunslinger in a standoff. You ever think ‘bout joinin’ me for a duel?"

You shot him a glare, tail flicking irritably. "I don’t see you reacting that fast."

Boothill smirked, tapping his holster. "That’s ‘cause I don’t need to jump, sweetheart. My gun does the talkin’."

You huffed, carefully shifting your weight to prepare for a jump down. But before you could move, Boothill was already underneath you, arms casually open. "Go on. I gotcha."

Your ears twitched. "I can land fine on my own, you know."

He smirked, tilting his head. "I know. But humor me."

You hesitated for only a second before letting go, landing effortlessly in his arms. His grip was steady, warm, secure. You half expected him to tease you, but instead, he just chuckled, adjusting his hold for a brief moment before setting you gently on your feet.

"Next time, sugar, maybe try jumpin’ towards me instead of away."

Your tail flicked against his leg in response, but the way he grinned told you he definitely wasn’t gonna let this go anytime soon.

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⋆˚࿔ 𝒮𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The dazzling lights of Penacony’s Dreamscape cast a golden glow over the lounge, where Sunday lounged effortlessly on a velvet couch, a half empty glass of wine twirling between his fingers. He looked as he always did, relaxed, poised, utterly unreadable.

You, on the other hand, were seated beside him, tail flicking lazily as you nibbled on a delicate pastry. The night was peaceful, the music soft, the company…pleasant.

And then—

BANG!

A bottle behind the bar toppled over, crashing to the ground with a sharp clatter.

Your instincts kicked in before logic could catch up. Ears flattened, tail bristling, you let out a startled yelp and leapt straight up.

Not just a small jump, no, you soared, landing gracefully on the chandelier hanging above the lounge.

Silence.

Sunday, who had not even flinched at the noise, slowly lowered his wine glass, looking up at you with an expression that could only be described as…delightfully intrigued.

"Well, well," he mused, tilting his head as a slow smile curved his lips. "Now that’s what I call a grand performance."

Your tail flicked, embarrassment heating your face as you clung to the chandelier, claws digging slightly into the golden frame. "I—That was—"

He chuckled, setting his drink aside before standing, adjusting his pristine cuffs. "Darling, if you wanted all eyes on you, you only had to ask."

You groaned, ears flattening further. "Don’t start."

Sunday merely extended a hand, the neon reflections in his golden eyes glimmering with amusement. "Come down, love. Or should I call in a ladder?"

You huffed, preparing to leap down, only for Sunday to effortlessly step forward and catch you midair before you even landed. His grip was steady, his arms strong as he pulled you close, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips.

"Impeccable form," he murmured, voice low, teasing.

Your tail flicked against his chest in protest, and he laughed, a smooth, velvety sound.

"Though, next time, my dear…jump into my arms first, won’t you?"

════════════════════════════

⋆˚࿔ 𝒥𝒾𝒶ℴ𝓆𝒾𝓊 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Jiaoqiu sat at his desk, his fingers tracing the lines of his latest research notes. He glanced up from his work, eyes narrowing slightly as his gaze fixed on his beloved, curled up like a content kitten on the sofa, a small book resting ion your lap. The gentle, rhythmic sound of your breathing was oddly soothing, and for a moment, Jiaoqiu allowed himself to indulge in the comfort of your presence.

Then, something happened. A sudden, sharp noise cut through the silence.

The next thing Jiaoqiu knew, you, who had been peacefully dozing, launchedyourself into the air with a startled yelp, an elegant but startled leap that mirrored the precise movements of a frightened cat. Your eyes were wide, the ears on top of your head twitching in every direction, and your tail, Jiaoqiu’s favorite part of you, was puffed up in surprise.

The scene happened so quickly, he couldn’t help but blink in disbelief.

"Jiaoqiu!" Your voice cracked with sudden alarm as you hovered midair, eyes flicking around the room, as if searching for the source of danger.

But Jiaoqiu was no stranger to your cat-like reflexes. Still, it never ceased to amuse him.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, low and warm, as he leaned back in his chair. His expression softened, though there was a glint of affection in his eyes.´´

"Did you got startled, love?" he teased, his voice calm and controlled, as always.

You landed softly back onto the ground, your face flushed with embarrassment. You quickly tried to compose yourself, but your tail betrayed you, flicking erratically behind you as your eyes darted around to make sure the threat (whatever it was) had passed.

"I…I wasn’t expecting that noise," you stammered, still trying to regain your bearings.

Jiaoqiu stood up from his desk, taking slow, measured steps toward you. His hand gently reached out, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. He couldn't resist teasing you a little further, but there was a tender warmth in his voice.

"You’re so cute when you’re startled,´´ he said, his lips curling into a soft smile. ´´You remind me of a cat, always so quick to react."

His words made your cheeks burn brighter, making you pull your knees up to your chest, feeling embarassed. You were so used to your feline-like tendencies, the ears, the tail, the reflexes, but hearing Jiaoqiu call you cute´ always ´turned you into a blushing mess.

"I didn’t jump that high!" you protested weakly, though the sheepish smile on your face said otherwise.

Jiaoqiu chuckled, sitting next to you on the couch. "You did. And I think it’s adorable," he said, his voice softening. "I never thought I’d be so lucky to have someone so…unique, so full of life."

You looked up at him, your heart fluttering in your chest. Despite the teasing, there was a sincerity in his words. Jiaoqiu wasn’t one to offer praise lightly, and when he did, it meant something.

"Really?" you asked quietly, your tail swishing a little more contentedly now.

Jiaoqiu nodded, his gaze soft and unwavering. "Absolutely."

He took your hand gently, pulling you closer to him, and placed a soft kiss to your forehead, brushing his fingers over the tips of your ears. "Now, I think it’s time for you to relax, my little neko. I’ll make sure nothing scares you for the rest of the evening."

You felt your heart melt as you curled closer to him, feeling safe in his embrace. Youwere still a little embarrassed about your jump, after all, you had hoped to appear graceful, even with the feline traits youcouldn’t help but flaunt. But Jiaoqiu never made you feel self conscious.

In fact, he loved you all the more for it.

And so, in the calm after the the startle, the two of you settled together.

As Jiaoqiu continued to hold you, his beloved, close, you realized that sometimes, being startled and falling into the arms of someone who cared, made everything in the world seem perfectly aligned.

"Jiaoqiu" you whispered, nuzzling your cheek against his shoulder. "Thank you for always being here."

He smiled, brushing a gentle hand through your hair, his heart swelling with love.

"Always."

════════════════════════════

⋆˚࿔ ℳℴ𝓏ℯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Moze had seen a lot of things in his time. But watching his lover, his sweet, supposedly normal lover, leap straight into the air like a startled cat? Yeah, that was new.

The night had been quiet. You walked beside Moze, tail swaying lazily, ears twitching at the distant sounds of the city. Moze, ever the picture of relaxed confidence, strolled with his hands in his pockets, cigarette hanging from his lips.

Then—

BANG!

A trash can tipped over in a nearby alley.

Before Moze could so much as glance over, you sprang into the air, landing effortlessly on the ledge of a street sign.

Silence.

Moze stood there, cigarette paused between his fingers, head tilting up to look at you. His eyes gleamed with slow, dawning amusement.

"Huh." He exhaled smoke, taking his time before smirking. "Didn’t take you for the ‘climb first, think later’ type."

Your tail flicked in embarrassment. "It was instinct!"

"Instinct, huh?" His smirk widened. "So, what’s the plan now, kitten? You settin’ up shop up there, or you need a rescue?"

You huffed, crossing your arms. "I don’t need rescuing."

"That so?" He took a step closer, tapping ash from his cigarette. "Then jump down."

You hesitated. The leap up had been easy. The jump down, especially with Moze watching so intently, felt…humiliating.

His grin turned lazy as he opened his arms. "C’mon. You know I gotcha."

With a sigh, you finally leapt and true to his word, Moze caught you effortlessly, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you against him.

"Told ya," he murmured, voice warm against your ear.

You buried your face in his shoulder. "You’re never gonna let this go, are you?"

A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Nope. Might even start keepin’ a tally."

You groaned, but his laughter, low, teasing, and utterly fond, made it a little harder to stay mad.

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⋆˚࿔ 𝒜𝓋ℯ𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃ℯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Aventurine had seen many things in his line of work, bluffs, desperate gambles, high risk plays that paid off or crashed spectacularly. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for the sight of you his oh so charming lover, springing into the air like an actual startled cat.

The two of you had been walking through the Reverie, his usual smug confidence on full display as he lazily shuffled a deck of cards in one hand. You, tail swaying, ears twitching at every sound, strolled beside him, casually entertained by his smooth talk about probabilities and luck.

Then, the universe decided to throw in an unexpected variable.

A sudden clatter, a serving tray crashing to the floor behind you.

In an instant, your body reacted before your mind could catch up, ears flattened, tail puffed, and you launched yourself straight up, landing gracefully atop a decorative light fixture.

Silence.

Aventurine blinked. Slowly. Then, with the ease of a man who had just been blessed with the most amusing hand of cards ever dealt, he let out a low, delighted chuckle.

"Well, well. I must say, I didn’t account for this particular…reflex of yours."

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "Don’t start."

"Oh, but I must." He smirked up at you, eyes gleaming with mischief. "You know, darling, if you wanted a change in perspective, you could’ve just asked. Climbing the decor seems a bit dramatic, even for you."

"I didn’t mean to!" you huffed, tail flicking in irritation. "It was instinct!"

"Instinct, you say?" He tapped a finger against his chin, as if considering his next move in a game. "Fascinating. You do this often? Perhaps I should start placing bets on how high you’ll go next time?"

You shot him a glare. He only laughed, ever the picture of infuriating amusement.

Finally, he stretched out a hand, voice laced with an exaggerated sigh. "Come now, kitten. As much as I enjoy this newfound discovery, I’d rather not have my partner perched above me like some elusive jackpot prize."

You hesitated, only because you knew the second you were back on the ground, he’d never let you live this down. Still, with no other choice, you leapt down.

Aventurine caught you with infuriating ease, his arms securing you in place before he leaned in, voice dropping to a teasing murmur. "See? Always a safe bet with me."

You groaned, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. "You’re never letting this go, are you?"

His smirk widened. "Oh, sweetheart. Not in a million cycles."

© 2024-2025 vortexbloom all rights reserved. Don’t repost, edit, translate or plagiarize my work!

Have a good day/night/evening/morning/afternoon ☼꥟☽

[eviesaurusrex]

tale as old as time | X. Riorson

Xaden Riorson x Aurelia Melgren (OC)

summary: Usually, he’s the dangerous, unapproachable wingleader in public, but since a few days, Xaden Riorson can’t bare to be apart from Aurelia Melgren.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: none really, mentions of past injuries, dragons, Xaden being touch-starved after admitting his feelings, Xaden’s shadows, Tairn being Tairn, two idiots in love, childhood friends-to-lovers, not entirely proofread

author’s note: Lately, I really am all over the place with my writing for fandoms lol. This could turn into a series of oneshots if people are interested—I can also switch this up into a typical reader-insert starring YN, just let me know!

divider by @enchanthings-a

It started right after Threshing.

First, she almost didn’t heed it no mind, not even realizing a change in his daily routines. Sometimes, she felt his eyes lingering on her whenever they passed one another in the hallways of Basgiath on their way to classes or formation in the morning. Other times, she felt him walking closely next to her, the backs of their hands brushing against one another, letting sparks of electricity travel through her bones, dancing on her skin.

All of those incidents, Aurelia categorized as mere blips in reality—undoubtedly enjoying them, but knowing they would not be present for the remainder of their days at the War College.

But then, the shadows started to act up.

Rea knew how masterfully Xaden wielded his signet, being in total control of it; she had watched him train with Garrick and the others and had even gotten a taste of his skills herself. So, for them to act up all of a sudden as soon as she was near a particularly dark corner?

Highly unlikely.

The day on which she woke up with one of those shadowy, smoky tendrils almost lovingly wrapped around her wrist like a delicate bracelet? She knew something had shifted, that something was certainly different than prior to Threshing. And she started to notice more and more:

Xaden casually walking down the hallway of her dorm floor by utter coincidence when she opened her door to head out for breakfast? The way his hand almost naturally found its spot on the small of her back, resting heavily and comfortingly there until they reached the door to the dining hall, his fingers pressing softly into the fabric of her uniform before letting go?

His long-lingering glances across the tables atop the leader platform now so obvious, she had to be blind (or dead) not to notice them?

The way they sat in comfortable silence on the parapet on a particularly starry night because he knew how much she loved stargazing? Hands brushing against one another on the withered stone, one finger wrapped around the other’s? The heavy feeling of his gaze on her profile while she watched the spectacle in the dark-tinted sky in awe and wonder?

She really had to be blind not to see it.

On this particular morning, Aurelia cradled a cup of coffee between both her hands, eyes focused on the dark-haired wingleader as he ate his scrambled eggs while being in deep conversation with Garrick. Taking a revitalizing sip, she patiently waited, smiling softly as Tairn seemed to wake up and growled in her mind. “Your thoughts of the wingleader disturbed my sleep, Stormy One. Keep this up, and I might not be inclined to continue to tolerate him near me.” The Melgren rolled her eyes at that. “Oh, please. I wouldn’t wager my marital bliss because I keep on fantasizing about incinerating the rider of my mate,” she shot back with a humorous tone down their bond, still letting her smile like a fool.

It was exhilarating to be chosen by a dragon, and Aurelia was sure she would keep on grinning like an idiot until the day of her last ride.

The black dragon huffed into her mind. “First: The bond of mates is far more superior to the human concept of marriage, girl. And second: Do not dare think of your last flight—already. We have years upon years, Stormy One. Your skills are too refined to be wasted on an early death. Instead, continue to dream of the rider who is now staring at you—it’s far less insulting.” It was almost as if Tairn chuckled deeply as her eyes fell on Xaden again, watching his onyx eyes soften ever so slightly as he reveled in the attention she granted him.

A small smile danced across her lips as she took another sip of her cooling coffee, her eyes never leaving his handsome face, remembering his whispered words after Threshing when the healers had worked on her bruised and battered body, thinking she wasn’t conscious enough to recall any of it. Until the day before, she had accounted those words to the delirious state she had been in due to the blood loss, but now, with the shadows accompanying her and the expression on his face? The evidence of his shift in person toward her? Aurelia was sure she didn’t dream up his confession.

They held each other’s gazes locked until most of the cadets had left for classes and training, and only then did the woman rise and leave for Battle Brief herself, waiting for him in the hallway. Leaning against a wall, she had her arms crossed loosely in front of her black-clad chest, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as he finally made his way out as well, spotting her instantly. Xaden walked over to her with long, purposeful strides, graceful and lethal as ever, fingers gently twitching as his stare fell from her eyes, raking over the lower part of her face.

“How are you feeling? Is the soreness bearable?”

His question was asked quietly, his voice soft and filled with a warmth barely anyone would receive within these walls, and that knowledge made the butterflies in her stomach whirl like a tornado. He had always been soft to her, ever since their first meeting as children, and he had continued to be like that until they had been separated by fate. Perhaps he still was the boy she once knew—just buried beneath everything he had to be for everyone else.

“Good. Better. It still somewhat aches when I get up too fast, but other than that…” She trailed off when his hand crept closer and touched the spot right next to her navel where she had been run through with a sword during Threshing, a scar now left behind. “But…,” she started again, making him look her directly in the eyes, a teasing smile creeping onto her lips. “I would feel much better if you’d explain this.” And with that, she pulled one of her arms out of their hold across her chest, holding up the wrist with the shadow still in place.

She watched Xaden swallow, eyes lingering on the black, translucent bracelet before he stared down at her again. A hand rose and softly wrapped itself around her fingers, pulling her hand close until it landed on his chest, right above his steadily beating heart. It pushed all the air out of her lungs; her breath hitched as she witnessed the vulnerability the fearsome wingleader showed her at this particular moment.

Xaden watched her intently as he murmured: “Do you mind it? Do they… disgust you? Bother you?” Without having to think about it, Aurelia slowly shook her head, never leaving him out of sight. “Why would you think that? I think they’re beautiful. Immaculate. Watching you wield them is like watching art,” she confessed, still slightly breathless, eyes wide with curiosity and… doubt. Did she never show him what she thought about him, about his talents and skills? Perhaps it had been drowned out by everything happening around them, and a pang of guilt settled in her chest. “Art, hm?” Blinking, Aurelia watched his smile grow, and the guilt lessened for now, making her slap his broad shoulder playfully. “Don’t tease me about my choice of words.”

The Riorson chuckled quietly before his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against his high-towering form. “So, you want an explanation?” His voice had turned into a raspy whisper, and all Aurelia could do was to nod, eyes enthralled by his gaze, her heart beating against her ribcage, trying to escape. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right, Rea, day and night, when I’m here and when I’m not. I wanted to feel close to you at all times, reminding myself every hour of the day that you’re still here, with me.” The fingers pressed against his chest gripped onto his uniform, burying themselves into the midnight black fabric, holding herself up at his steady confession. “Threshing made me realize something I have forgotten for a while: I cannot lose you. I cannot live without you, Aurelia Melgren. If you wouldn’t have made it, it’s safe to say I would have succumbed alongside you. You…” He took a steadying breath with closed eyes before he bent at his waist, coming closer and closer until their foreheads were gently pressed to one another, onyx black crashed against periwinkle blue.

“You are the keeper of all that I feel, of all that I am. One word and I will never speak of it again. One word and I will lock everything away, remaining your friend as I have always been. But…” And with that, he pulled her even closer. “But if your feelings have changed over the years and I was too stupid or blind to see it… Please, tell me and put me out of this… this… misery.” His voice broke at the last word, and it almost hurt her physically to hear his suffering she never knew about.

When has everything between them changed? Aurelia knew when it had changed for her—years ago during a sparring session with him and Garrick back in Aretia when no one had thought about needing to separate. Yes, her father never liked her association with the Riorson’s, but her mother had been from Tyrrendor and called Fen Riorson one of her oldest friends. And on that day, when Xaden had beamed at her proudly for shooting her first arrow successfully, she had known and protected that little secret of hers until… today.

Softly, almost lovingly, Aurelia let the tip of her nose rub against his, staring into his deep eyes and seeing all the emotions she had always hoped to witness on his face, swimming there, freely visible. “Perhaps stupid, perhaps blind, perhaps a bit of both,” the Melgren chuckled, making him roll his eyes at her but turning serious for this particular moment. “You were never just a friend to me, Xaden. You were never just my most trusted companion and confidant—there was always something different between us. I felt… safe with you, protected even. I could be who I was, not the one others desperately wanted me to be. I was… free. You gave me freedom.”

And freedom was the one thing Aurelia had longed for her entire life.

Xaden stared at her unmoving; he almost didn’t dare to breathe when one of her hands cupped his cheek, the pad of her thumb caressing his cheekbone.

“I have always loved you, Xaden Riorson, and I will always love you until my last dying breath as a dragon rider. If you’ll have me…—”

She couldn’t ask the question, not with his lips crashing against hers without restraint, without fear. He was as wild in his claim as he was in his fight, making her his then and there, incinerating every trace of every other man she had allowed to touch her in her life. He unraveled her in a dark corner and put her back together, infusing her with love, passion, and freedom with every move of his lips, with ever raspy sound escaping his throat when her fingers tangled themselves in his dark strands, tucking him closer and closer, until they where almost one.

With a gasp for air, Xaden parted with a heavy breath, chest heaving and heart galloping under the palm of her hand. “If I could, I would make you a Riorson on the spot,” he mumbled, lips pressing kisses to her cheeks and her swollen lips with utmost tenderness. “Slow your dragons, love,” Aurelia’s chuckled words followed. “Let us survive this death sentence of a War College first before we enter a far less superior bond they will most definitely mock.” The man started to grin at her words, pulling her close into his chest. “Did you already get that lecture, hm?” Nodding, she gently pushed back his hair, trying to make it presentable again. “Oh, I have. And I imagine there will be more coming sooner rather than later now that we…” She didn’t dare say the words, but Xaden wasn’t as hesitant—not in the slightest.

“Now that we are in a relationship, mo chroi? You can say it—the title won’t bite you.” Shoving him away, Aurelia showed him her tongue, but letting him take her hand in his, allowing him to hold onto it. “Whatever. Those dragons are menaces, and I’m afraid he will take over the fatherly talk in lack of a present father to do that. And I’m not sure what alternative I would prefer.” As if Tairn had only waited to share his input, his voice echoed through her mind. “I do not know what you dare to imply there, Stormy One, but mind you, I would only propose exceptional measures in order not to procreate ahead of your time. We have goals to accomplish, rider, battles to win, wars to end. No time for… frolicking with your shadow wielder.”

She couldn’t hold back the laugh at the growled words and let go of Xaden’s hand in order to wrap her arm around his waist, claiming her spot at his side, his arm instinctively snaking around her shoulders. “Tairn warned me not to frolic with you, shadow wielder,” she explained at his cocked eyebrow and smiled with closed eyes as he bent down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “I will keep that in mind, but don’t you think I won’t put my hands on you, Stormy One.”

Walking beside him felt good. Freeing. Empowering. It got into her head, she thought, but it did not matter. She had rarely felt this wonderful.

“Has Sgaeyl spilled Tairn’s secret?” Xaden chuckled humorously as they walked the empty hallways toward Battle Brief. “She did—unintentionally, I think. But it is fitting. You are a tornado, a force of nature to be reckoned with. And with that dragon at your side now? With me? We will be unstoppable, love.” Teasingly, Rea nudged his hip with hers as they stopped in front of the massive double doors leading into the largest classroom Basgiath offered. “Do not over-exaggerate, Xaden darling. You sound like you have an appetite for conquering the world,” she whispered as he bent down again, lips ghosting over hers. “Oh, I have an appetite for many things, mo chroi. And I’ll show you each and every single one of them.”

Kissing Xaden, Aurelia silenced him with flushing cheeks before opening the door to slip inside the now-settling-down cadets. She intended to make her way down toward her usual seat next to her best friend, Merope. Xaden had different plans, though.

His hand snatched hers, and without uttering another word, the tall man tugged her after him, making his row scoot up a seat to create room for her next to Garrick, who watched the interaction with gleaming interest. His cheeky grin was oh so prominent, Aurelia hit his cheek with the flat side of her quill, shaking her head slowly, almost threateningly. “Don’t you dare utter a single word,” she whisper-hissed at him, cocking an eyebrow when he dared to open his mouth, watching him reconsider his next move. “I just wanted to say I told you so, but whatever.” Grinning triumphantly, Garrick winked at her, chuckling when her hand hit him multiple times on his shoulder. “You are unbelievable,” was all she huffed in slight annoyance, forcing herself to look in front, trying to ignore all the stares and the whispers at her new spot. They seemed to increase in volume when everyone bore witness to Xaden Riorson moving his hand in her direction, grabbing her thigh under the small table each seat had sat in front of it, squeezing it tenderly, and leaning in her direction.

“Forget about them, all of them. It doesn’t matter what they think, okay?” He knew her too well, but in their case, she couldn’t give a fuck. Leaning closer herself, Aurelia pressed a lingering kiss to his jawline—it was the only part of his handsome face she could reach without making a fool out of herself—and smiled with a teasing gleam in her eyes. “You won’t get rid of me that easy, Riorson,” the Melgren promised, making him hum in contentment, his hand settling heavily on her thigh—and it would stay there for the remainder of this class and every other they shared.

“I intend to keep you, Melgren. I intend to keep you for a very long time.”

Thank you all for reading! Please consider leaving a like, a comment, and a reblog. Tell me your thoughts about this fic and/or ideas for potential new fanfictions ♡

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Day 19: Size Difference{struggling to take his size}-

Fandom: Marvel Universe

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warnings: Bucky has a big cock, light fingering

Hovering above your much smaller frame, Bucky let his thumb glide across your cheek. "Are you sure?"

Giving him a soft smile, you shifted your body nodding your head. "I am Bucky...I'm ready." You whispered.

Leaning in, his lips grazed your neck as he parted your legs. "I'm going to get you ready for me. I don't want to hurt you." Caressing your inner thigh, Bucky continued to kiss your neck as his finger brushing your slit.

A small whimper leaving your lips as Bucky started to pump his fingers in and out of your pussy, thumb slowly rubbing your clit. "Does it feel good?"

Eyes squeezing shut, you nodded your head as you moved your hips to the thrust of his fingers. Pressure building in your lower belly, the familiar warmth rising until he pulled his fingers out. A disappointed groan leaving your lips as your gaze met Bucky's, your eyes then fell down to his cock. Warmth creeping up your neck seeing the size.

It was bigger, far bigger than what you were used too and now you were worrying that it wouldn't even fit fully within you.

"I got you." Bucky whispered as he pulled you in for a soft kiss as his hand grasped his cock. Tip brushing your slick entrance, as he let out a deep groan slowly pushing into your cunt. Stretching you, your pussy fluttering around him.

A soft whine leaving your lips, your leg against his hip as he slowly thrusted. While you may not have been able to fully take him yet, it still felt good, you felt like heaven.

"Fuck.."

Slowly adjusting to his girth, you moved your hips against his thrusts as you let your walls clench around him. "Bucky."

"Thats it...thats my girl."

[queers-gambit]

The Strength in Honor [ part 1 of 3 ]

prompt: ( requested ) embarking on a marital affair with your older sister's husband. strength to those with honor.

pairing: Marcus Acacius x female!Aurelius!reader

fandom: Gladiator II -> no masterlist

word count: 7.3k+

note: welcome back, my Roman Empire; my OG muse -> second note: author's only seen both movies once so AU timeline 'cause wonky brain is wonky

warnings: spoilers! AU timeline, kinda reader insert? flashbacks, reader knew Maximus, Aurelius reader, essentially nicknamed reader, cheating, sneaking around on your sister / family angst, depiction of secret abortions, romance, smut, NSFW, is this "feral" idfk, cursing, some implied age gap, height difference, use of Y/N, set up for a dramatic part two that will not be necessary to read, author interchanges Muse's names on purpose, drama, talk of impregnating reader, relationship angst, established relationship, very brief depiction of injury / blood / medical phenomenon (tending to Lucius' cut, putting in a stitch).

part two: read here part three: read here

Year 180 AD

Blood of Germanic natives still stained under his nails, armor latched tight, sheen of sweat cooling on his brow as the heat of the fire's flames he stared into licked his knees. There was confusion marring his thoughts, brows knit towards his newly broken nose that ringed his nostrils with dried bloody flakes. Marcus Acacius was faced with an impossible decision and prayed the flames before him would reveal any truth.

A heavy hand clapped his shoulder, startling the young soldier. "At ease," a deep, baritone voice rumbled in amusement; General Maximus Decimus Meridius shuffling around his comrade a moment to take a seat on the fallen tree trunk a foot or so from Marcus.

"General," Marcus greeted.

"It's late, soldier."

Maximus watched Marcus glance up to the night sky, blinking thrice before nodding with overturned, pursed lips noting, "So it would seem." His gaze returned to the flames, wondering, "Does sleep elude you, too, General?"

"Well enough," Maximus confirmed. "Though I am oft haunted by the events on the battlefield. You've a different look about you tonight."

"Am I that transparent?"

Maximus snorted, admitting, "No. In truth, I overheard what the Emperor offered you. What an honor, my friend."

Marcus nodded absently, agreeing almost inaudibly, "An honor..."

"Do I detect a hint of distain?"

Marcus looked up sharply, "Of course not, General, I did not intend to sound - "

"Be at ease, Marcus, my friend," Maximus chuckled, "we are alone here, you may speak freely. Come, tell me why I had to scour the camp to locate you. Why does the proposal to the daughter of the Emperor send you into isolation?"

Marcus sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees; the flames silent in their wisdom, only spewing muted whispers of ash. "I love her," the accented soldier spoke quietly, sharing his secret with the fire.

Maximus sighed, "Lucilla is a woman of great beauty - "

"With respect, General," Marcus interrupted, turning to look at Maximus with near glassy eyes, "but while Lucilla is, indeed, beautiful; I fell in love with Venus."

Now, General Maximus smiled brightly, genuinely, softly identifying your name, musing, "The People's Princess."

Marcus chuckled, "Mine own Morning and Evening Star."

"One helluva woman."

"I'll say - she kneed me upon our first meeting," Marcus grimaced, hand to his crotch in phantom pain.

"Ah," Maximus laughed boisterously, "sounds like her. A true gem of a lady, rivaled by none."

"The fact that she even looked at me again after that..." Marcus had a far off look, one Maximus recognized well as one he adorned during his own affair with Lucilla. "Let alone that she... She loves me, too, Maximus. I know she's young, but what a feat to have her love. Yet, now..."

"Yet now the Emperor would have you marry his widowed Lucilla instead," Maximus finished, recalling the conversation he heard. "He needs an answer by morning, when you are to ship off once more to bring together his idea of Rome. The timing is... Less than ideal, I'll admit."

"How can I tell the Emperor no?" The soldier begged his General, almost startling him. "Maximus, please, you say you are my friend - please - how can I say no to marrying the Emperor's widowed daughter, and in the same breath, ask to marry his youngest? The very embodiment of Venus herself - whom all men and women covet?"

Maximus sighed and reached out to grab the solider's shoulder, giving a small rustle while asking, "Well, what did you tell the Emperor?"

"That he honors me with such an offer."

"And are you a man of honor, Marcus Acacius?"

"I endeavor to be."

Maximus sighed deeply, giving his man's shoulder a harder, more meaningful shake, "Then honor our Emperor - honor Rome - and accept his proposal. Lucilla's boy will need a father."

With one last smack, Maximus dropped his hand from Marcus just as the wood burning into embers crackled and hissed as if to input its opinion. Neither man listened.

"How am I to tell Y/N?" Marcus asked desperately. "The woman who loves me when I am nobody, with nothing? Who supported all I've done or wanted to do? It'll break her heart."

Maximus snorted in amusement, shocking Marcus, quickly assuring, "Ah. Do not underestimate her, she knows best what is expected of each of us, what our duties must be and where loyalties lie. Worry not, she will understand - better than any, of that, I can promise."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because she once told me..." The two leaned in, Maximus gripping Marcus by the back of the neck to intimately hush, "There is Strength in Honor. And I know no stronger woman than she. Minerva in Venus' body, eh?"

16 years later Year 196 AD

You were draped in sheer white fabric, latched by shining belts and broaches of glimmering gold to match the gem-crusted jewelry dangling from your neck, wrists, and earrings. Different sized rings sat on freshly manicured fingers, moisturized in the finest of oils, a delicately crafted circlet of ivy crowned hair coiled in ringlets.

You waited in the ranks of other persons of high society ready to greet the procession of officers returning from their gruesome efforts abroad. Despite your position in society, you were - unfortunately - still a woman and women were never listened to; so, you leaned into your peer-appointed high-societal ranking and did your best to influence the Senators of the Republic. It wasn't exactly hard, being the People's Venus, the People's Princess, the People's Empress, the Should-Be Empress, or even the Never Empress - a nickname you weren't so fond of. You were the voice of the people and most had enough sense to tolerate you, else risk the wrath of the whole of the city in riots.

Twin Emperors Geta and Caracalla knew to keep you close, a symbol of peace and prosperity to the people; a puppet on strings, free for them to do or command as they pleased with no complaint from you since your only safety net, your father, Marcus Aurelius, has long since passed. Yet, despite their vivaciously open sexual appetite, the Twins never dared touch or disrespect you by soiling your innocence - hence the symbolic white drapes you wore, being unmarried. Little did anyone know, with the incineration of your safety net from your father's death, anew shall be woven.

When the heroes of Rome returned, you were called upon to greet the soldiers - and their officers, including the General. Floral petals snowed from the sky, and from your elevated position, watched as the love of your life was charted through the city on a chariot - wearing pristine matching white.

He waved to the crowds, honored by the hearty reception thrown to celebrate both his return and victory. You were merely relieved at the sight of him - whole, no visible wounds, and most importantly, alive. You were part of the welcoming party, a face people expected to see as despite not being married to either Emperor, they considered you their Empress. Something your older sister, Lucilla, did not particularly like - yet would never voice.

You waved from a private balcony, greeting the people cheering for their returning warriors. While a symbol of purity, white also symbolized victory - two sides of your coin, as cocky as that may sound. To the public, your innocence was still intact and yet, maintained secret hold of the man you loved. You slowly strolled along the banister, keeping par with the chariot hosting General Marcus Acacius, his eyes finding yours and holding for several long moments. You rounded into the palace's courtyard, waiting in the wings and simply watching Marcus ascend the stairs to greet the Emperors and briefly detail his successful campaign abroad.

You watched from the crowd of Senators, eyeing the General subtly to suss out any smaller injury he might've sported; ignoring the fact that his wife, your sister, was absent. After he properly greeted Emperors Geta and Caracalla, and presented the trophies (or spoils) of war, he was dismissed with a fresh, weeping cut to his neck. You felt something stir in your gut, making sure to catch Marcus' eye again before smirking and slinking away to attend your royal appearances.

Due to your father's legendary influence, corrupted brother's demise, and sister's emotional distress, the people turned to you for guidance and wisdom; part of why Geta kept you so close, having an unhealthy attachment to you as Commodus once did Lucilla. He did not mind your abrupt departure, watching you exit the royal grounds with your usual set of guards to begin daily duties around the city.

As selfish as it sounds, this was how you kept your place in a kingdom no longer your own: by getting your hands dirty. To work alongside citizens; to carry your own weight and soil pretty white fabric to facilitate a deep love from the people. Your most popular implementation was the law that food from the palace shall be sent to orphanages first, then what was left to the less fortunate. Whereas the Senators viewed your charity as a sign of weakness, Geta only allowed it because of his unsettling obsession, but you cared little for their opinions as it meant the food was not a waste and you secured your safety amongst the citizens of Rome. They knew your face, could voice their woes, found a friend in you rather than a politician.

Princess of the People, indeed.

Knowing the upcoming Games would be the official celebration of Rome and today was to be used to update the politicians on their success, you ended the day by mixing and mingling with the other persons of influence before returning to the private, personal villa armed with men hand selected by the General himself. They bid you a good evening as you passed, swiping the shaw from your shoulders with a heavy sigh of fake playing nice with the Emperors and others.

Their craven ways rubbed you wrong after your brother, Commodus, wrongfully usurped your father's throne after his passing; leading to a broken bloodline you were unsure how to fix. Though you understood why, you tried not to judge your sister too harshly on her decision to send your nephew, Lucius, away. Though it was a struggle the longer you lingered in the company of the Twin Emperors.

"My lady," a voice greeted, startling you enough to gasp and stumble back into a spare table in the middle of the room you passed through; knocking over a golden bowl of fruit.

"Marcus!" You snapped, seeing him remove his cloak's hood from the doorway he'd entered from with a smirk. He neared you as you caught your breath, hand to your chest, demanding, "Why have you come? What're you - you - you cannot be here, Marcus!"

"'Cannot'?" He repeated, slowly stalking down the stone stairs. "I do not remember asking permission, Princess."

"Yet still, you are denied, General," you scoffed, glancing at the other (empty) known entrances. "You risk everything by coming here now. Why? Have you not had your fill of adrenaline?"

"I had to see you, there is nowhere else I am to be but here with you, my lady. Are you displeased with me?" Acacius questioned, stepping in front of you with his hands once clasped in front of him, lifting to grip your waist.

"Never," you breathed, petting down his armored chest, "but my sister will be expecting you - you should not be here. If anyone were to discover us, there's no excuse we could offer."

Marcus sighed deeply, "With respect, my star, Lucilla is not my priority. She did not bother to attend the ceremony, it isn't like she's wanton to see me." His forehead rested on yours, "But I could not bare another second without you - "

You silenced him by lifting onto your toes and searing a kiss to his lips; holding the back of his neck for balance. His calloused hands tightened on your ribs, groaning in relief when your lips spread and both tongues instantly began their slippery dance of dominance. Nails raked into the short curls at the base of his head, other hand drifting to hook around his shoulders.

Waiting for a natural lull, you pulled back, "I've missed you."

"I swear to you, no more than I've missed you," he hissed, hands dropping to trace the curve of your bottom only to grip both thighs and heave so you were pushed back onto the round table the fruit toppled from. He didn't have to, but still spread your legs to stand between them; mouths open, tongues licking into one another. "I came straight here - after Geta dismissed me," his lips latched to your neck, licking, biting, careful not to leave any visible marks, "I had to, I needed to see you. I cannot stand the distance that curates between us."

"As much as I want to take our time, Marcus, you know someone will come looking, my love," you cautioned, sliding closer to reach for his many belts and latches. He began to assist you.

"Being why I chose your guards as I did," he chuckled, both moving frantically to shed his armor. "They're discreet, they'll hold off whoever may come and give us enough warning, too."

"Even from your secret tunnels?" You teased, working now on your broaches and belts as he stripped bare.

"Even there," he assured, nudging your hands away to bunch together the skirts of your dress and bundle them around your waist. "Thank the Gods," he breathed when your bare cunt was exposed to the cool night air; fingernails raking down the outside of your thighs to caress either knee to spread you further.

"I love you, Marcus, but if you're not in me in the next 30 seconds, I swear to every God - "

His laugh was borderline cruel, taking his free cock in hand to pump himself to full life. "Let me see you," he demanded, settling your hips at the very edge of the table while you freed your chest from the confines of your dress. "Good fuckin' girl," he praised, lathering his cockhead at the entrance of your progressively dampening cunt. Marcus' upper lip snarled as he took a moment to swipe himself from cunt to asshole, back, again, then notching and checking, "Good?"

"Please," you begged with a nod, yanking him by the shoulders so he pushed fully into you until sheathed like his sword deep within the enemy. Yet your wet warmth was no foe, but a succulent vixen that left his head spinning, heart hammering; totally addicted and coming back for more. Yet the way he instantly chose a feral rhythm to pound into you on a random table instead of the bed would've made any spectator think he was working out some kind of anger. Though hard to explain, you still felt every inch of his care, devotion, and love, but felt just as panicked to fuck him after his long trip away.

His movements left you absolutely speechless, repeatedly impaling you and feeling as if you were being fucked through the table; only able to hang on for dear life. "Oh, fuck the Gods," he panted, lips finding purchase along your collarbones, "needed this, needed this so fuckin' bad - just needed you. You feel heavenly, my love, shit, how're you this perfect?"

You could barely respond, "I have the perfect man to impress."

"Never need worry about that," he chuckled, coat of sweat layering both of your skin. "Fuckin' obsessed with you, my star, oh, fuck, just look at you," his one hand rose to curl around your neck, head instantly falling back to let your hair tickle down your spine. "My Venus, my perfect lady, my love," he grunted, guiding your torso back to rest on the face of the table so he could paw messily at your bouncing breasts.

"Mar-Marcus," you begged, writhing from the pleasure that now mounted after the subtle pain passed. Even after losing your virginity, going so long without your man's cock left you tighter than usual. And his vigorous speed and rhythm didn't help soothe the pain; but you didn't complain, part of you even enjoying that pinch, the stretch, the burn of him filling you. "Baby," you rushed, "fuck, you feel so good - don't stop."

"If I had it my way, this is how we'd live," he grit, humping into you with shorter strokes as his balls tightened with his mounting orgasm. "With me in you, in this tight, wet cunt, all the time. I'd never leave, never be apart from you," his mouth fell to your tit, biting harshly at the pebbled nipple before soothing his tongue over the sensitive flesh. "We'd go missing for days," he mumbled, lifting his mouth to your neck, "never to be seen, just lost in one another. I'll get us a country house," he promised over your lips, "give us remote, total privacy. Get away from this toxic city, be at peace, have free reign to fuck where we please. Everywhere, anywhere - ah, shit, love, I'm there - I'm there - fuck - "

"Please, please," you encouraged, nails digging into his biceps, "I need you to cum, Marcus, please, my love, cum in me, it's been too long - fuck, I need you to fill me."

"Fuck, yes," he hissed, "and watch you grow with our child in the countryside."

"Yes, please, please," you cried, toying with your own pleasure pearl to bring about your release. "All of it, Marcus, please, I need it - I need you - I need us - forever, please."

He reached to caress your cheek, the other planting your sweaty hips, "You'll never be without me. I love you - I've always loved you, for my life. All my life, it's always been you."

You moaned from the emotional intimacy, pressing harder on your clit as you reached your end in time for Marcus to find his own. With heavy grunts, he gave three direct, sharp thrusts as he milked himself for his worth in you. You were perfectly out of breath and fucked-out, holding him to you as he folded at the waist - still pulsing and twitching deep inside you - to recover from his simultaneous climax.

"Holy shit," you whispered, now lovingly scraping your nails over his scalp.

"Yeah," he chuckled against your sternum.

"Don't leave me for so long again, please."

"Not if I can help it," he mused, turning his head to kiss between your breasts slowly. When his eyes met yours, he asked softly, "All right, my love? Did I hurt you?"

"No, not at all," you assured. "I needed you just as bad." The air turned poignant as you sighed, "And now... You must go home to her."

Marcus paused before lifting from you, never pulling out. He looked at you for a long moment before gently collecting you into his chest, forcing you to sit upright. Pathetic tears of misplaced longing and sadness were brewing, something your lover could see. "I don't have to leave yet," he whispered, "for the Emperors are still hosting an affair in my honor. She will not expect me for hours more..." He pulled you off the table, making you gasp as his cock slipped out and your arms shot out to wrap around his shoulders. Your legs locked around his waist in an effort to keep your balance while calloused fingers dug into the soft, ample, plush flesh of your bottom. "And I am not finished with you yet, my star. It will be a long night for you, that, I will promise now."

You nodded, caressing his stubbled cheek; leaning in to press a sweet kiss to his lips as he moved for the privacy of your (usually shared) bedroom.

"Listen up, you mongrels," one of the guards, Augustus, shouted over the gaggle of gladiators, "all of you are expected to be on your best behavior! Because today - today, lads, we're being blessed with a visit from Venus!"

Those around Lucius chanted and hooted in what he understood as genuine excitement, piquing his curiosity with shifting and shining eyes. Surely, there was no real physical deity of the Roman Goddess of Love and Beauty - so who was this Venus creating such a stir? For a moment, he considered his Aunt - whom, as a child, he remembered being revered as Emperor Aurelius's Venus - but there was no way she was still alive, let alone in Rome. Right?

"You all know the rules!" Augustus grunted. "Mind yourselves and do not touch her! None of you," he glared pointedly over the crowd, zeroing in on Lucius, "may touch her."

"The hell's everyone on about?" Lucius asked when the courtyard dispersed to let the warriors begin their sparring and various trainings. "Venus?" He scoffed in disbelief, glancing at Ravi. "Seriously? What a cheap ploy."

"The People's Princess," the former gladiator-turned-healer informed, "the Should-Be Empress. Some whisper she's the Never Empress."

"That does little t'tell me anything," Lucius rolled his eyes in humor.

"She is Marcus Aurelius' youngest daughter," Ravi informed with a lowered voice, "rumored as our very own Helen of Troy. Our Venus of Rome, Y/N Aurelius. She's of the people, comes around once a week or so to tend to the wounded and such, and you will mind your manners."

"Hm," Lucius perked his brows, unimpressed by any Roman imperial. Even his own flesh and blood.

He noted when the doors opened, it was General Acacius himself escorting a women of such gorgeous stature, she belonged encased in marble. She wore drapes of varying blues, holding the General's arm tenderly as she earned her footing after dismounting her horse. Lucius watched as she spoke with kindness and animation to the guards of the Colosseum, surveying the group through kicked-up dirt.

Augustus pointed out the few gladiator's that had sustained larger injury - himself included.

Lucius noted the close, attentive, almost protective gaze the General kept on the Lady Aurelius as she worked through the crowded courtyard. Some gladiators needed no tending but still insisted she look at their cuts or bruises, her obviously just humoring them as it seemed they were all friendly enough. Then... Venus came upon Lucius and Ravi last.

"My friend," you greeted with your luscious locks pinned back off your neck and ears. The heat was rather unforgiving today.

"My Lady," Ravi shot to his feet, giving a small bow of his head as she caressed his elbow with a grin. "You look as beautiful as ever - blue's your color."

"You say that about every color I wear," you mused.

Ravi blushed, "It is truth each and every time, my Lady."

"Oh, you charmer. And who might this be?" You directed at the newest, unrecognizable fighter.

"A gladiator," Lucius answered stiffly, wiping his hands on a rag and avoiding your eyes.

"With a gorgeously festering cut," you noted, pointing to his bicep. "May I?" You offered, already moving around the benches to take a seat. Begrudgingly, Lucius agreed; sitting and offering his arm for you to examine with narrowed eyes and gentle fingers, humming knowingly. "I have a poultice that should soothe this infection, but it might need cleared and stitched first," you considered the wound, asking your friend, "have you seen this, Ravi?"

"I have, Lady, and tried treating it - but none have hands as gentle and healing as yours."

"You're too kind," you chuckled. "Though with so much carnage of late, I fear my talents in healing are wasted here."

"What would you know of carnage, my Lady?" Lucius spat. You looked up to hold his gaze for several long moments, a slow smirk pulling on one side of your lips as his eyes - there was something about this particular gladiator's eyes.

"I know my father, Marcus Aurelius, died for a vision of Rome that his loyal devotees endeavored to build," you informed, prodding at his wound with a thin needle, your own medical case open at your feet. "He was murdered, his throne usurped. I was there once upon a time, amongst the bodies. The carnage, death and destruction."

"Why would a Princess of Rome be one the frontlines?" Lucius scoffed, glancing at Ravi with a dramatic snarled lip. He wanted so badly to resist the Lady's charm - but even he had to admit, he was faltering.

"Experience is the best teacher, Gladiator, we all learn most successfully through exposure," you offered simply. "I was there, tending the wounded, harvesting our dead. I saw what war does to a nation, to the land and resources, but most of all, to its people; but I also understood my father's reasoning and necessity. Yet now?" You scoffed, eyes rolling at the man's bloodied bicep as you seemingly lost yourself in explanation, "Those that come after him have done nothing to bring his Empire together, nor deserve such triumph - or so they call it. I do not know of such victory when there's been too much life lost - and so unnecessarily, too. Father would be disgusted by the efforts our Republic has shown."

"Yet you parade with the very general responsible for such carnage you claim to disagree with," Lucius snarled softly, glaring at you threading the needle.

You hummed and threw a stitch in his open cut, "While easy to blame, General Marcus Acacius is a man of great honor and not the man your anger - which you cannot hide," you snickered, bumping Ravi's shoulder with yours, " - should be directed at." When Lucious scoffed and shook his head, ready to retort, you continued, "The General was a solider first and foremost, fought under the greatest gladiator these Games will ever know - the General Maximus Decimus Meridius, the Spaniard." You paused, noting the reaction from the warrior. "Ah. You know the name."

"He's... Honored under the Colosseum, yes," Lucius agreed, seemingly interested in your words suddenly.

"Well - " You had to pick at an angry-looking scab, instantly apologizing, "sorry - sorry - sorry," when it wept again. After using a clean piece of gauze to staunch the bleeding, you continued, "The General is a man of honor, Gladiator, as I said. He takes direction, he is a subject - just like the rest of us. It was not Marcus Acacius who decided the whole of Rome should be expanded - he only took his orders from the Emperors, and for his own life," you smeared the pomade to sculpted flesh, "had no choice but to set sail; to march, fight, invade, concur. There is a reason the people adore him; he is kind and just, fair, generous, accommodating and polite, politically moral - "

"You sound in-love," Lucius interrupted with a knowing grin, teasing you now as his defenses lowered slightly. He wondered if you remembered him; knowing you were younger than he is now when your father passed.

You wrapped his bicep with a simple bandage, "I would not have him become the ire of your anger, nor anyone's - not with our Emperors being as... Unstable," you hushed, tightening the knot of the gauze painfully tight, Lucius hissing through clenched teeth, "as they are."

"You speak dangerously, Lady, restrain yourself," Ravi checked around them for any droppers of eaves.

"I speak to two men who deserve the truth," you corrected. "The General did not wish to invade your home, Gladiator," you told Lucius, "but it was a command he could not refuse. If you wish for vengeance, perhaps direct that anger towards the true enemy of Rome: the greedy and craven who rule it."

"You speak of mutiny," Lucius realized with intrigue, leaning forward to his knees.

"I speak of justice. Tell me what was taken from you, Gladiator, and allow me to aid your division of a plan for your own justice," you bargained, "and in return, I ask only for you to see the truth of Acacius when the time comes."

"Your General sailed onto our shores," Lucius seethed, "to invade our lands and concur our people - unprompted and without reason beyond that of greed. And when my wife shot at him with an arrow, she was struck from our defense walls... I found her in the sea before your General took Roman prisoners of war. And here we now sit, Lady. Tell me - how can you rectify what's been done? How can you justify it to my face?"

"How can any of us? In truth, I cannot imagine the pain, the devastation. Though it means little, I'm sure, allow me to offer my condolences. I'm so sorry about your wife, her fate is unjust, unfair."

He was quiet for a long moment, then nodded, "Thank you. I... I appreciate that."

"I will not justify what Acacius has done during times of battle," you hushed carefully, "but I can direct you towards the true object of ire, those you should not trust. There is something brewing, my friends," you glanced at Ravi, "and we all must be ready. The people are stirring. There has been much done," you told Lucius, "by men greater than General Acacius, much that we cannot rectify. But that does not mean we cannot change the future, adjust course; do better moving forward. I am sorry about you wife, Gladiator, I am - I cannot make you believe that, but trust, I understand the pain of loving someone you cannot have anymore. Yet all I ask of you is to understand, as a gladiator, a solider, a warrior, the General is not who wronged you."

It was quiet as you finished cleaning around Lucius' arm; giving a casual glance around to note where each and every guard was.

The Gladiator questioned quietly to the ground, "Allow me to ask, if one were to... Consider revolting... How might one go about gathering the men and strength?"

You only shrugged and checked his forearms to prolong the ruse of treatment, "I hear rumor there are some 2,000 strong and loyal men to Acacius just outside the city, but rumors are just rumor." You held his icy blue eyes for a long moment, then went back to feigning work as he held no other notable injuries. "Listen, should you still continue this anger with the General, I understand, Gladiator, but allow me to assure, that energy is simply misplaced. You seek the wrong enemy, the wrong death to avenge your wife, because it is not Marcus Acacius, who is only a loyal soldier - yet still slave to the Emperors, as we all are in some degree."

Before anyone could answer, a cart was being lead into the courtyard by a procession of guards. You handed a small jar to Ravi with a set of instructions and when the General approached the tented benches you sat upon, you accepted his helping hand and bid the pair a good day - and to the Gladiator, good luck in his future fights. His smirk broadened when you dropped him a personal, private, knowing wink. You were escorted towards your horses, Lucius leaning towards Ravi, "What's happening with the carts?"

"Venus does not let food go to waste," Ravi smirked. "Anything from the palace is dispersed through the city of the less fortunate. Today, it is our turn."

Lucius turned to face Ravi directly on the bench, questioning sharply, "Who is she? Truly?"

"I told you, as did she."

"What is this kindness she shows? What game does she play?"

Ravi smirked, "There is not a single citizen in Rome who is not self-serving, my friend. Rome was not built in a day, but should something ever happen to her, the entire city would burn in a night. She's our Should-Be Empress, and her kindness is genuine, there is no game. I've come to know her intimately through the years - she's truly her father's daughter. If you question her loyalties, know it is with Rome."

Lucius nodded slowly, watching in the distance as while all were distracted by the arrival of food, the General spoke intimately over Venus. Lucius noted she was who reached to caress his jaw briefly with a grin before turning for their horses. His hands looked all too natural on the Lady's waist as he helped hoist her into the saddle, different questions brewing in the warrior's mind.

Days later, returning to the palace after visiting the gladiators again for more potent wounds after another round of the Games, your guards dismounted outside the stables as you leisurely strolled inside whilst still mounted. You nodded to the grooms and stablehands, leading your beast into his usual stall; spacious enough to turn him in a circle before dismounting. It was later in the day than you originally intended to return by, but it wasn't as if you were missing anything or had other engagements.

You just wanted to be home. In bed. Preferably with the man you loved, but you'd take a cask of wine at this point.

You tiredly untacked the bridle from your steed as hands seized your waist from behind, making you gasp and with the bridle in hand, swung your fist about as hard as you could. To your shock and horror, the intruder anticipated this and caught your wrist, musing, "Impressive reaction time, my lady."

"Acacius!"

"Sh," he hissed, backing you into the wooden stall's corner, "do you want to get us caught? We've not long - they're turning the horses in soon, but the guards are posted," he let his lips remain parted from his words to all but instantly push his tongue into your mouth. You could not restrain the moan he elicited from your lungs even if you tried, bridle dropping to the sawdust and hay so your hands could find purchase in his curls.

"We don't have time," you insisted when his hands grabbed at the flesh under your skirt.

"You underestimate me?"

"I would never, General," you whimpered when he used every muscles in his arms to lift you onto his waist; pressed back into the wall for balance. In assistance, while he was busy holding you up, you maneuvered the skirts of his tunic and usual armor to free his cock; finding him hot, hard, and heavy. "How're you this - "

"Thought of nothing but you all day, love," he grunted when he needed to readjust to better support you while taking hold of himself. "Don't think I can keep this up much longer, pet," Marcus panted into your mouth, swiping his cockhead up and down your slit to quickly ready you. He paused to pull back and spit in his hand, using that to smear around himself. "This sneaking around, the secrets, this affair. I love you, I want to be with you in every way; I don't think I can keep up with this ruse any more, my sweet."

"Acacius, you must."

"No, no, you don't understand," he heaved when he sunk inward, encasing himself in your gooey warmth, "I'm at my wits end, my lady. You are all I know, all I think of, I cannot be without you." His teeth bared as he humped into you wildly, bodies banging into the stall; making you reach out to hold onto the wall as the other slapped around his shoulders. Your nails dug deep into the layers of flesh.

"You're," you moaned and gasped in his ear, feeling his skin slick with sweat already, "you're - you're married - "

"That can change."

"To my sister, no less!"

"Matters little to me," he grit against your neck, "because I've loved you for my life and I am sick of not hosting you in my life as appropriate; to not have you as I need, as I must."

"To marry me?" You asked desperately, bringing your arm back in to caress his cheek and keep his face over yours; lips barely grazing together. Knowing he was turned on by emotional intimacy just as much, you continued, "To make me your lady? Love me loudly, in front of them all? All of Rome? Have a baby, perhaps?"

"Yes, yes, exactly that - marry you and watch my seed stick," he snarled into your flesh, humping harder, faster, like a stud horse during the season. "Bet you're gorgeous swollen with child, tits filled with milk - "

"Only when you marry me," you bargained, the sounds of his balls clapping the apex of your cunt a strange comfort to listen to. You didn't even think of the guards. "When my sister is taken care of," your voice lowered as you focused on your orgasms, "given a life of peace. I would not have her outcast as a divorcée."

"I'll see it done on my honor, she'll be taken care of," he promised, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust of his hips, "and then, it's just us, my love, it's us - it'll only be us. As it was always meant to be."

"Only us," you moaned, tears slowly gathering in your eyes. You knew he was too honorable to actually divorce your sister and desecrate your father's dying wish; you knew this was as good as you'd have him. Your heart broke as it did 16 years ago whilst accepting Acacius' orgasm.

Two days later, you were laid in bed, bare to the world, gazing at Acacius as he slumbered in momentary peace. Guilt wracked your entire being, never wanting to hurt your sister, but after having everything stolen or stripped from you, there was no true shame in loving the man beneath you.

Or so you told yourself.

"I can feel you staring again."

With a chuckle, you watched Acacius open his eyes and tilt his head downward. "You're just so handsome, I can't look away," you whispered. "And we don't often get hours like this, I want to relish in this sight."

He hummed, "A fault I shall amend. Do you know the time, my star?" Based on your saddened expression, he guessed, "Time to go, I suppose?"

"She'll get suspicious if you stay much longer."

"She pays me no heed," Acacius scoffed, rolling his eyes as he sat up; forcing you to roll off him in shock. "Our entire marriage - she doesn't so much as look at me, not the way she looked at Maximus. Not the way I look at you."

"I care little for how she looks at you, it's about the law, Acacius!"

"Spare me the law! She is committing far worse than me!" He snapped, making you recoil slightly; clutching the thin white sheet to your chest. When he noted your expression, Acacius sighed, "I'm sorry, my star, I should not have spoke in such a manner."

"It's not the manner in which you spoke," you watched him dress with your heart drowning in your chest, "but the meaning behind such words."

"I did not wish to tell you," he spoke to the tunic being adjusted, "but there have been... Suspicions."

"What sort?"

"Have you never wondered? In the years we've been married, she's never bore us a child?"

"Not for lack of trying, I'm sure."

Acacius shook his head. "She used herbal remedies to rid herself of the implications of our coupling," he frowned, watching the information register. You got from your bed, wrapping the sheet around you as he sighed, "I did not want you to know for this reason, do not look at me like that - "

"As long as I've known you, you've wanted to be a father," you pointed out, "and now you tell me, my sister's been secretly, what, aborting - ?"

"Yes," he spoke seriously, "and to the Empire, that is a serious offense. Yet I spoke nothing of it, I never confronted her out of guilt. She had Maximus, I have you; it was only fair of me to keep quiet of my suspicions."

"There's no such thing as fair, Acacius!"

"Then we shall make it so. Your father - he made what he wanted, why can we not do the same?"

And so, at long last... You had been forced to the table. The time had come for "the talk". Much was discussed late into the night, seemingly forgetting about time restraints as the seriousness of your conversation took precedent.

At the center of it all, you had realized the Twins could no longer rule and a revolution needed to take place. Rome needed saved, you bore a responsibility to the Empire and her citizens first. You lead the idea, Acacius supporting you wholly as ideas came to mind almost rapidly - reminding him once of your father, and later, of Maximus in some ways.

After dressing, you walked the General to one of the many hidden entrances of your villa; unaware of a nearby maid lurking around a column, a newly non-vetted face in your home. A detail that slipped through the cracks and would lead to devastation. She listened as you promised, "I'll go tomorrow before we meet with the Senators, but I am sure the gladiators will fight with us."

"Let me go instead, the men know my face, they will take my order," Acacius tried once more.

"They know and trust me, too," you smirked. "Father outlawed the Games for a reason, I have strong suspicion they will fight with us. Rome will fight with us, she deserves better than what she's getting now, it's up to us to complete Father's vision."

"And the Senators?"

"We'll find out tomorrow." The maid gasped to herself and fled around the corner, rushing for a distant entrance. "I'll send word to them by morning. Acacius, you know we speak of overthrowing the Emperors, whom we are both sworn to serve... Are we sure? The people are behind us, but are we sure this is the best course of action?"

"There's little other choice. I fear it's this or we run away - abandon the Roman Empire to her devices under craven rulers who someone will surely overthrow eventually."

You nodded, tears gathering, "We're truly doing this?"

"We're truly doing this," he swore, taking either cheek in hand. "I'm divorcing your sister, we'll free the gladiators, lead my men into the city and take it back; turn the tide for Rome at long last."

"As Father intended..."

Marcus nodded, glancing down before pulling you forward into his chest, requesting hastily, "Don't drink the tea."

"My love, the tea is how we stay safe."

"The tea is what poisons my seed. I'll marry you by next week, there'll be no need by then - why not start now?"

You gulped, "Because if this revolution doesn't work, the tea might be ineffective in a few days."

"Good."

"Acacius," you scolded, "this is serious - "

"I'm well aware," he rushed, thumbs swiping over the apples of your cheeks. "I know the gravity of my words, of what I ask you. Yet I will still request you do not drink the tea - though, I cannot tell you what to do with your own body."

You were quiet, leaning into his embrace until your foreheads met and his hands dropped to hold you by the hips. "I am not my sister, I will not make a decision such as this by myself, for myself. I won't drink the tea tonight, but I will have a decision about it by tomorrow."

"Of course," he whispered, "fair is fair, my star."

Your nose nuzzled up his, agreeing, "Fair is fair."

"Tomorrow then."

You froze, shaking your head for a moment, "Now that it's time, I don't think I can let you go."

"So continues our nearly 20-year dilemma," he groaned, pulling you in for an embrace; pressing his face into your neck, one arm tight around your waist as the other gripped the back of your head. Quietly, he swore, "Soon, this will all be over, my love. We will all be at peace, able to honor what we've earned."

You whispered, "There will be Strength in our Honor."

"It's strength and honor, love," he snickered.

"Not my version."

[ part two: read here ]

[ part three: read here ]

requesting rules and masterlist

-> no Gladiator II masterlist

Acacius got me like:

yah know?

[sundrop-writes]

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary:

While undercover inside the Separatarian Sect, you and Spencer realize something important: you can’t live without each other.

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Fake Dating. Hurt and Comfort. Set during Season 4, Episode 3.

Word Count: 8,200

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: Lots of spoilers for the canon episode - so if you haven’t watched Season 4 of Criminal Minds yet, steer clear of this fic for now (especially because watching the episode provides some context for this fic/makes things make more sense); the reader uses she/her pronouns and has the ability to get pregnant (she is not pregnant during the fic and there’s no smut, but due to discussions in the fic, it’s not unreasonable that she could get pregnant); fake dating in the form of a fake marriage - the reader and Spencer pretend to be married under the Christian religion to ‘appeal’ to Cyrus; because of the fake marriage, Spencer uses the term 'my wife’ to refer to the reader; lots of mentions of religion (Christianity), religious extremism, mentions of pedophilia/child brides (in line with the canon episode); mentions of systemic sexism and gender roles enforced by cultures of organised religion and religious extremism; use of y/n and l/n (in this case meaning 'your last name’); the reader pretends to follow the Christian religion while undercover but I never stated if she believes in a less extreme version of these things or not (the reader’s true religious beliefs are never stated); protective!Spencer, possessive!Spencer; mentions of Spencer being taller than the reader (which, again, I think he would be taller than most people) - the reader’s body/body type is not described in any other way; mentions of guns and gun violence (not described in deep detail) - in line with the canon episode; the reader and Spencer fear for their lives; dangerous/live-threatening situations; the reader and Spencer are threatened with a gun; Cyrus is just generally creepy and sexist toward the reader; Spencer is pistol-whipped and the reader is threatened with sexual assault (it does not happen, Spencer protects her); mentions of pregnancy/the reader being pregnant (she is not pregnant during the course of the fic); mentions of the reader being a mother/having kids (Spencer makes up fake kids to sell their fake marriage story); the reader realizes she might actually want to be a mother because of Spencer’s fake kids story; mentions of an explosion (as in the canon); love confessions; angst with a happy ending. Hopefully that is everything.

A/N: The title for this fic comes from a Fall Out Boy song of the same name. The theme/lyrics of the song don’t really fit the fic, but I love the way that this title fits - how everyone in this fic is lying in some way but Spencer is someone with good intentions while lying. Making him the Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes. I love how it fits. I wrote this while suffering with heat exhaustion so idk if it’s good or even makes sense. I rewatched the canon episode and it doesn’t 100% align with what happened in the episode in terms of the timeline and stuff, and I am too tired to rewrite the whole fic to make it align with the episode. So uh - alternative canon? But I really love the basic concepts and I do really love how it turned out. I hope you guys like it too!

...

You thought it would be an easy day. 

Maybe that was foolish on your part. So far, you hadn’t seen a single ‘easy’ day while working with the BAU. Between chasing down scumbags and then reliving every single gory detail while doing the paperwork - none of it was ‘easy’. It was worthy, accomplished work - making the world a safer place to live in. (At least that’s what you told yourself.) But it was never easy. 

There was always someone who made the job easier. Someone who made you smile every single day - especially on days when you didn’t think you were even capable of feeling a tiny shred of joy. Someone who made you feel safe, who you always felt had your back no matter what. So you were glad that he was by your side today, along for the ride. 

“Tell us about Cyrus.” Reid prompted. 

He looked to the woman driving, your new companion for the day - Nancy Lunde, someone who worked with the state department and had set up the interviews with the children at the Separatarian Sect. 

“Benjamin Cyrus. No criminal record. In fact, there’s no record of the guy at all.” Nancy explained. 

“That’s odd.” You commented. “Usually someone being accused of something like this would have some past offenses. Especially because it would give him a reason to move into isolation to continue the criminal pattern of behavior.” 

“Well, I couldn’t find anything on him.” Nancy shrugged. 

“What about the 9-1-1 call?” You asked. 

“A fifteen year old girl called in saying that a man was ‘laying with her’ and claimed it as ‘God’s will’. I believe the ‘he’ referred to is Cyrus.” Nancy explained. “The age fits with Jessica Evanson, but I’ve managed to negotiate interviews with all the children, just to be sure. It wasn’t easy.” 

“They’re incredibly weary of outsiders.” You commented. “Our boss warned you not to identify us as FBI, right?” 

Nancy nodded. “I got you some spare credentials, just in case.” 

She took one of her hands off the wheel and reached into her pocket.

“You’re going to be using your real names. You’re going in as Child Victim Interview Experts working with Child Protective Services. No association with the FBI.” Nancy explained, handing Reid your fake credentials. 

He nodded, inspecting the IDs before handing you yours where you were sitting in the backseat. 

“Oh, before I forget.” You noted, reaching into the pocket of your cardigan. “The rings.” 

You pulled out a small plastic bag that Hotch had given to you before you left. It was a bag containing a fake diamond ring in your size and a fake golden ‘wedding’ band for Spencer. 

Reid reached over the seat to grab his ring from you, and Nancy gave the two of you an odd look. 

“Rings?” She questioned. 

“Fake wedding bands.” You explained. 

“It was our Unit Chief’s idea.” Reid added on. “He believes that presenting us as a ‘godly’ married couple to Cyrus will make him more likely to open up to us. He’s less likely to see us as hostile outsiders if he believes that we share a similar system of beliefs.” 

“It could also have a calming effect on the teenagers we have to interview or the kids there who have had more time to go through indoctrination at the Sect.” You continued to explain. “Even if their parents are hesitant to let the kids speak with us, they may be more willing to have their child speak with us or even leave them alone with us if they believe that we’re fellow Christians, rather than hostile atheists there to poison their children’s minds.” 

Reid nodded at you through the rearview mirror. 

“Make sure you put on the left hand.” He told you. “That’s the position for marriage.” 

You nodded at this. 

You placed the ring in the appropriate position, and you couldn’t help but to take a moment and stare at it. It was jarring to have a wedding ring on - especially with the thought that it represented you being married to Spencer. But you supposed, of all the people to call your husband, he would be one of the best. He was honest, intelligent, kind, and… if you were pressed, you would definitely say he was handsome. 

But you couldn’t get too caught up thinking about all of that. Because it wasn’t real. It was a false projection you were wearing for the benefit of a self inflated sociopath. 

Spencer liked the feeling of the ring. He didn’t take too long to stare at it after he had put it on, because he knew his mind would wander if he did. When Hotch had first proposed the idea of the two of you pretending to be married, Spencer had almost tripped over himself to oppose it - mostly because he didn’t think that he would be able to handle simply pretending to be your husband for the day. It was just too cruel. 

Having something he wanted so badly dangled right in front of him and knowing that it was all just a farce - it bothered him, but he delighted in the play nonetheless. 

When he caught the fake gold glinting in the light, Spencer had to remind himself that it was fake - that you would just be playing his wife for the day. He had to push back any internal glee that he felt at the idea that he got to be ‘taken’ by you while wearing that ring. It wasn’t real. It was just for the day. 

“Isn’t that deceptive?” Nancy asked. “Won’t Cyrus be even more angry if he finds out that it’s not true?” 

“He won’t find out.” You replied confidently. “And besides, we use deception in interrogations all the time. It’s a very basic tactic: align yourself with the suspect. Make them think you share the same beliefs, that you’re on their side.” 

Reid grinned at this. He always loved it when you spoke so confidently. 

… 

“We’re looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus.” Nancy announced as the three of you got out of the car. 

“Then you’ve found him.” Cyrus announced confidently. 

He was pretty much what you had expected him to be - dressed informally, slouched over, faking meekness, holding a bible near his chest as though it were a shield. He had planted himself there purposefully, wanting to be the first person to interact with the outsiders as three of you came into the Ranch. 

You hovered back near Spencer, letting Nancy make the first introduction. 

“I’m Nancy Lunde.” She said, giving a small nod toward the man. “We spoke on the phone regarding the allegation.” 

“‘Savages they call us, because our manners differ from theirs.’” Cyrus rhymed off a quote, obviously positioning himself and his group as martyrs being attacked for having ‘different ways’ that the world simply didn’t understand. 

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus.” Nancy reminded him, hoping to keep the religious zealot on track. 

“Actually, it’s Benjamin Franklin.” Reid corrected her, talking about the quote. 

That did surprise you, but you didn’t find it surprising that Reid knew this fact right off the top of his head. It was just one of the many amazing things about him - his perfect memory and his ability to use it. 

Of course, him saying this immediately drew Cyrus’ attention toward the two of you. So Spencer stepped up to introduce you. 

“Hello, I’m Spencer Reid, and this is my wife, Y/N L/N.” He said motioning toward himself and then to you as he introduced the two of you. Hearing him refer to you as his wife - you hated to say it, but it caused a jolt through your system. Almost as if you had been waiting forever to hear him say those words and hadn’t even known it yourself. “We’re Child Victim Interview Experts, here on behalf of Child Protective Services.” 

Of course, you couldn’t get too caught up in deciphering how those words made you feel, because you had to focus on the task at hand. The job that you were here to do. 

“How far from God’s word must we have strayed for there to be a need to invent a job called ‘Child Victim Interview Expert’.” Cyrus said, his tone even, quiet. 

You knew that covertly, it was his way of saying that the two of you didn’t belong there, because he ran the Ranch with God’s word, so nobody had actually been harmed (in his opinion). He believed that he had done nothing wrong. Obviously, he thought your time and resources were better spent with ‘actual’ victims who didn’t have his power wielded over their lives. 

“I can assure you, Mr. Cyrus, we try to bring God into our work.” You told him, trying to appeal to him. “The children we visit usually need prayer and God’s light the most.” 

Spencer gave you a sideways glance, clearly holding back a grin at how thick you were pouring it on - how much intense, feigned passion you said these words with. 

“Well, I can assure you that a lack of prayer and God’s light is certainly not an issue for the children here.” Cyrus said, giving you a clever little grin. He thought that you would simply interview the children, praise him for what a good job he had done, and then leave. “You can go and see the children whenever you like. They are up at the school, as I indicated in our phone call.” 

Nancy walked toward the school, and you paused before you followed. 

Before you walked off, you looked to Spencer. In a completely silent conversation that only worked so well because the two of you had been in so many tense situations before, thinking around UnSubs and planning miles around them before they could even know it, he gave you a small nod and you instantly knew what it meant. He had established a small bit of trust with Cyrus, so he would stick back and see what else he could get out of the man. 

You nodded back, and then - completely surprising yourself, you leaned in and kissed Spencer on the cheek. You were just playing the part, you told yourself. It’s not that it felt entirely instinctive to say goodbye to him with some kind of affection, like the many hugs you had given him before. It’s not that you felt so entirely scrutinized with Cryus’ piercing eyes on you, and you needed the anchor of Spencer’s touch. 

You were just playing the part. 

Spencer tried not to get caught on being kissed on the cheek like he was some blushing virgin, and instead, focused his attention back on Cyrus instead of watching you walk away. (Even though every single one of his instincts told him that he needed to keep a more careful eye on you because you both had to leave your guns in the car.) 

He took a step closer to where Cyrus was leaning on the concrete, and easily picked a topic of conversation. 

“Solar panels.” Reid said, motioning to the large devices sitting behind Cyrus on the grass. 

“Yes.” Cyrus nodded. “We’re completely self-sufficient here. Food, electricity, water. Benjamin Franklin said ‘God helps those who help themselves’.” He explained. “You look surprised.” 

“No, uh, impressed, actually.” Reid easily lied, trying to appeal to his ego. 

“Thank you.” Cyrus said. “Most men wouldn’t admit that.” 

“Well, I suppose that I’m not like most men.” Reid shrugged in return. 

“How long have you been married?” Cyrus asked, motioning toward Reid’s ‘wedding ring’. 

Reid panicked slightly, knowing that the two of you likely should have coordinated this story during the plane ride to Colorado so that your answers to these simple questions wouldn’t be different. But he just made up an answer and hoped that nobody else would ask you the same question and find out the deception. 

“Three years.” He said. “I’ve been very blessed.” 

He used the language purposefully, knowing that the simple phrase could get him on Cyrus’ good side. That, and he hoped it would draw the attention away from any possible signs of his blatant lie. 

“Your wife is very beautiful.” Cyrus commented. 

He gave a wicked smirk as he said this. It was a simple, fairly ‘innocent’ comment, but it was immediately off-putting to Spencer. It took everything in his body not to glare daggers at Cyrus or throw out some protective comment in return. He could only imagine what was going through Cyrus’ mind as he thought about you, and he hated even imagining it. 

Reid knew that it was a basic logical good, the instinct to protect you because you were his partner on this case and he was supposed to have your back. But it was also something more. Something in every fiber of his being that screamed you were his and no man should ever be thinking of you that way except for him. 

“Has it been a godly union?” 

He was lucky when Cyrus spoke again and distracted him from his mounting rage. 

“We try to be as godly as we can be.” Spencer took the simple, diplomatic answer. 

“Your wife didn’t take your last name.” Cyrus pointed out. 

Nancy had used your name on your false credentials because Hotch had only come up with the fake marriage idea the day before. There hadn’t been time to inform her about it and have ‘Reid’ put on your ID as your ‘married’ name. So he had introduced you by your name to keep everything consistent with the reuse. 

It did make Spencer wonder if you would keep your last name if the two of you ever did get married. It made him almost dizzy, thinking about you as ‘Mrs Reid’. Thinking about your kids having his name. Or your name, if that’s what you wanted. 

But naturally, he pushed past all those thoughts and formed an excuse. 

“Typically, married women aren’t very well perceived in our line of work.” He quickly excused. “She doesn’t even get to wear her ring that often. She couldn’t change her name on paperwork at our office because a working married woman… it’s heavily frowned upon.” 

“Well, I’d have to agree.” Cyrus grunted. “A woman shouldn’t be out working. A woman should be at home raising a family.” 

“I - I suppose you’re right.” Reid agreed through gritted teeth. 

He walked away toward the school before he got too angry again. 

… 

A few hours later, everything had gone to hell. 

Some authority - the police, the military, you didn’t even know - had charged into the Ranch shooting. In response, Cyrus and his followers had come into the school toting large semi-automatics asking you and Spencer if you knew about a raid. 

You didn’t. You wish you had known about a raid. You would have warned Hotch and gotten them to call it off. You certainly would not have been there while it was happening. 

When they had pointed those guns in your face and forced you into the tunnels - it wasn’t very difficult to pretend to be Spencer’s wife then. Cowering in the bunker, confused and scared, you flung your arms around his waist almost instinctively, and he buried his nose in the top of your hair as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders like a shield, promising you that everything was going to be okay. 

Whispered to you like that, coming from him - it was almost easier to believe. Even with the chaos going on around you and the fear pumping through you in response. 

Nancy had run off trying to get them to surrender and did not come back. You had a feeling that you knew what that meant. 

And now, with the kids from the school ‘evacuated’ into the church, you were being held in the cellar at gunpoint. They had forcefully separated you and Spencer, making you sit in chairs at opposite sides of the room.

Spencer was fidgeting. His eyes kept flickering from the door, to you, to the man standing beside you holding the very large gun. 

You knew that you had ugly tear tracks down your face, and oddly enough - you wanted nothing more than to be back in his arms. As you were forced to sit there, just a few feet across the room away from him - you ached for it. 

There was a very large possibility that you were going to die today. And you selfishly needed the comfort of being in the arms of someone familiar - someone safe. Someone you knew would never hurt you. Someone who had made you laugh with dumb science jokes and puns for the last five years that you had worked together with him. 

When Cyrus charged back into the room with two men flanking his sides, you and Spencer stiffened up once again. 

“God will forgive me for what I’m about to do.” Cyrus announced to the room, presenting a handgun from his belt. 

Your insides quaked, and Spencer’s eyes grew wide. 

You couldn’t contain the fearful whimper that erupted from the back of your throat when he raised that gun and placed it near the middle of Spencer’s forehead. You clasped a hand tightly over your mouth to keep yourself from crying out in protest, knowing that would only make things worse. 

“Which one of you is the FBI Agent?” Cyrus asked firmly. 

Which ‘one’? 

So he knew that you were undercover, that you had lied about your job titles - but he thought that only one of you had done so. Where the hell was he getting his information? 

“I - I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Spencer told him quietly, looking him in the eye the entire time. 

You hoped that his stutter could be passed off as nervousness from the gun being pointed in his face, and wouldn’t be pointed to as deception. 

“Which one of you is it?” Cyrus pressed. 

“We are not FBI Agents.” Spencer said, more confidently this time. “We are Child Victim Interview Experts. We were only sent here to ensure the wellbeing of the children. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Well, that last part wasn’t a lie. 

“You’re lying.” Cyrus told him, entirely confident in this. “God expells those who lie, devils in sheep’s clothing.” 

There was a tense moment, and then Cyrus cocked the gun. 

Spencer didn’t flinch. You resisted the urge to scream. 

“Proverbs 12:22 says: ‘The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in those who tell the truth.’” Cyrus said, actually citing scripture this time. 

He was giving Spencer one last chance to tell the truth. As if using the bible verse to say that his punishment would be lesser if he simply told the truth now. 

Spencer didn’t take the bait. 

“I’m not lying.” Spencer said firmly. “What? You think I wouldn’t know if - if my wife was an FBI Agent? This is the woman I wake up next to every single morning, the woman I go to sleep next to every single night, we work together every single day, we-” 

Cyrus interrupted Spencer’s ranting with a sharp hit to the face, pistol whipping him across the cheek. 

This caused Spencer to go flying off the chair, and you couldn’t help when you let out a wounded cry. It took everything in you not to jump out of your own chair and rush to Spencer where he had collapsed onto the ground, clutching his cheek. 

“Someone is going to tell me the truth.” Cyrus said gruffly. 

“It must have been Nancy!” You said, the idea finally popping into your head. 

You seemed to be more clever with the pressure of Spencer’s life being threatened. Cyrus stared you down, turning his attention fully toward you now. You caught Spencer’s eye for a moment and he gave you a small nod - as if to say ‘yes, keep going with that’. 

“The woman we came in with! Nancy!” You reasoned, continuing to point the finger at the woman you had to assume was dead. “We - we just met her today. Our boss introduced us to her, but we had never met before that. If she was FBI, we had no clue. We swear.” 

Cyrus turned to you then, and tightly pressed the barrel of his gun into your forehead. You could feel the imprint of it so tight in your skin that it hurt, and you could only lean away so far before threatening to knock the chair backwards. 

“It’s very convenient to pin this crime on someone who isn’t here.” He grunted at you. 

“It’s the truth.” You sniffled out quietly. 

“Hmm.” Cyrus hummed thoughtfully, and then, much to your surprise, he removed the gun barrel from your forehead. 

You barely had a moment to breathe in relief before he began skimming the gun down your neck, touching the metal whisper-gentle across your bare skin - clearly taunting you. It was something that made your whole body stiff with alarm, and caused Spencer’s eyes to go wide once again.

“Perhaps I should strip you naked to ensure that you’re not wearing a wire.” Cyrus said, teasing the gun along the buttons at the front of your cardigan. 

You held back a sob at the thought of it - at the idea that he could make you do almost anything for the fear of you being shot. Truthfully, you were more afraid of what he might do to Spencer if you didn’t comply, but it was all the same in your mind now. His life was just as valuable as yours, and you would do whatever it took to protect him.

Before Cyrus could take these threats any further, a heroic voice intervened. 

“That’s enough!” Spencer yelled. 

He gathered himself off the floor and oddly enough, none of the men moved to stop him as he came to stand beside Cyrus. Perhaps they didn’t see him as a threat. Perhaps it was because Cyrus didn’t bark any orders at them to stop him. He was entirely unflinching, keeping his focus on you and keeping his gun held between your breasts as Spencer crowded into his personal space, trying to press himself between you and the awful man. 

“We’ve told you everything that we know.” Spencer told him lowly, his voice heaving with well controlled anger. It was something that you had rarely ever heard from him. 

Cyrus kept his eyes locked on you, so Spencer continued. 

“We don’t know anything about the FBI - we have a simple job advocating for children who have been abused. That is it. We came here to investigate a most likely false claim against someone in your community and we truly didn’t mean to get caught up in all of this.” He said firmly, clearly trying to appeal to Cyrus. “So I suggest you get that gun away from my wife before you and I truly have a problem.” 

Spencer’s voice was dark, so thick with rage. More pent up rage than you had ever heard from him when he was talking to any suspect, people who had done the worst of the worst. Something about Cyrus threatening you had truly boiled his insides. 

The way he said the words ‘my wife’ - growling it out like he was a feral animal and this threat to you had activated every single one of his protective instincts. Hearing it made something inside of you yearn for him on such a deep level that you didn’t know was possible. You wanted to feel that kind of protection cast over you every single day. It made you feel invincible, having Spencer watch over you like that. 

Cyrus lowered the gun then, and Spencer grabbed your arm as you dissolved into hysterical tears. Instinctively, he lifted you up into his arms. You thought that you heard Cyrus mumble out ‘my apologies’ as he left the room - but he was barely on your radar. Your entire world became narrowed down to nothing but Spencer, your safety net as he built a wall of protection around you. 

He used his height to block you from seeing anything but him, letting you push your face into his chest as you cried. He wrapped you in his arms once again, letting you feel truly safe for a few moments as you sobbed into the fabric of his sweater. Your arms clutched desperately at his waist, needing to keep a hold on him - needing to ensure that he didn’t leave you. 

“Hey, shh. Shh. It’s okay.” He said, leaving gentle kisses on the top of your forehead and your hair, rubbing across your back with one hand, comforting you in the only way he could in those moments. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Of course, he wanted to break down too. But he had to be strong for you. 

“Spencer,” You called his name in an utterly wounded voice, pulling away from his chest to look up at him. 

When you saw his injury up close - a sharp, purple-red bruise that was blooming across his cheek, it looked so utterly painful. Your insides ached at the thought that he had taken a blow for you. You hated to imagine what more they could have done to him if they had not believed your lies. 

You instinctively reached a hand up to touch it and he caught your fingers halfway, instead, gently grasping your hand and laying it on his chest. The intimacy felt so oddly rehearsed - so worn in, so ‘normal’. It felt like you had been married to Spencer for years. Like it wasn’t a play at all. 

Your two souls had been calling out to each other for years, just waiting for the dam to break. But you couldn’t quite put it into words - not like that. 

“It’s okay.” He said quietly, knowing you were horrified by the injury. 

He was so gentle, so comforting, so calm. Everything the men pointing guns at you were not. Unlike Cyrus - Spencer Reid was a true blessing from God. 

You couldn’t hold yourself back then. 

You surged up and kissed him, fully embracing his mouth with yours in a kiss. Though it was so sudden, it was something he easily returned. The kiss so full of urgency, so needy, so passionate. Like he was trying to tell you that it was okay, that he would protect you no matter what. 

He would protect you because you belonged to him. 

In those moments, the two of you were basically alone. One of Cryus’ men was guarding the door, watching on boredly. But Cyrus was off in the church, funneling people in to prepare for his ‘loyalty’ test. It didn’t matter if he saw you kissing or not - it wouldn’t have sold the reuse of you being married any better. 

This was just for the two of you. This was comfort. 

When you pulled back from the kiss, Spencer looked stunned, almost as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. You didn’t give him time to question it. 

“Thank you.” You said quietly. 

It was twofold:

Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for giving me comfort. 

Spencer didn’t have too much time to marinate in the meaning of the kiss before Cyrus’ men came back and fetched the two of you, wanting you to observe the loyalty test. 

… 

After the mock poisoning (which Spencer figured out rather quickly, making you admire his cleverness once again), Cyrus kept you and Spencer in the church with a few of his closest, most loyal followers while all of the low level followers dispersed back to their homes. 

You and Spencer were lingering in the back quietly while Cyrus was on the other end of the room, talking to his men about how to proceed. The plans for their ‘final stand’. 

“We need to get some kind of signal to the others.” Spencer whispered quietly. “Maybe they’ll take pity on you and let you go if-” He swallowed sharply, cutting himself off abruptly. Oddly enough, he didn’t want to voice whatever was on his mind. 

“If what?” You probed. You wondered what the hell you could possibly be thinking. 

“If we tell them that you’re pregnant.” He said, whispering so lowly that you almost didn’t catch the words. 

You rolled your eyes sharply at this. 

You had gotten married and had kids all in one day. What a miracle. 

(In those moments, clouded by fear, you couldn’t see it for what it truly was - Spencer blatantly revealing his unconscious desires to have a baby with you.) 

“We could convince them to release you. As a show of good faith. A pregnancy would be good leverage in that. You know how religious people are about fetuses-” Spencer reasoned. 

“Yeah, and what if they give me a test?” You probed, punching a large hole in his logic. “We don’t know what kind of infirmary they have here. They obviously believe in modern technology. What if they want to give me an ultrasound to check on the fetus after the stress of the day? To prove that they did no harm to the precious unborn child,” 

Spencer was easily caught on this point. If they examined you and found that you weren’t pregnant, all the lies would fall apart. 

“Well… what if we tell them that you have a baby at home that you need to get back to?” Spencer reasoned, jumping to the next logical conclusion in his mind. “It’ll likely garner the same level of pity.” 

“Your imaginary sperm is powerful, isn’t it?” You whispered back sharply. Spencer rolled his eyes this time. But he didn’t redact the plan as unreasonable, so you continued on. “Okay, what do I even do when I get out there? I’m not gonna be of any use to the tactical team. We don’t know what Cyrus’ final play is yet.” 

Truthfully, you couldn’t bear to be separated from Spencer. Knowing that he was inside, potentially being beaten up more, potentially being shot and bleeding out from a wound without you knowing - it would kill you with stress. You need to be by his side. You needed to know that he was okay. 

“Has God blessed your union with any children?” Cyrus appeared behind you suddenly. 

You wondered if he had heard you say the word ‘pregnancy’ or if this was just a random topic that had come up in his mind. 

His sudden appearance behind you caused you to whip around and crowd into the comfort of Spencer’s arms again because you were frightened. Naturally, Spencer wrapped his sheltering touch around your shoulders. Your back was gently pressed into Spencer’s front, his arm shielding you protectively as it was wrapped around your chest, holding you with his hand on one of your shoulders, unconsciously stroking his thumb across the fabric of your cardigan. The position had you both facing Cyrus, watching the fan in an offensive way. 

And of course, Spencer didn’t miss a beat. 

“Yes.” Spencer answered easily. “We have two kids at home. A boy and a girl. Iris and Hugo. Iris is almost three years old and Hugo is eleven months. His first birthday is coming up in June.” 

You knew that Spencer could be very good at talking off a suspect’s ear under pressure, but when you heard him rattle off these ‘facts’ so easily, it hit you. 

This wasn’t simply statistics or physiological knowledge - this was a very elaborate backstory for your supposedly real marriage. Perhaps he had thought about all of it on the car ride up (which was odd not to share it with you, in case Cyrus asked you a similar question and your answer didn’t match up with Spencer’s). 

But if you weren’t mistaken, this wasn’t simply a backstory for your fake marriage during the undercover mission. This was a fantasy of his. Those were names he had lovingly chosen for your imaginary children - kids he had dreamed up in his head and wanted to be real. 

Your heart ached at the thought of it. You found yourself missing a set of children that weren’t even real. (And distantly, wanting to jump his bones to make it a reality.)

“Tell me, Mr. Reid, would you find it so shameful for your daughter to marry young?” Cyrus asked. 

You found it odd to hear Cyrus call Spencer ‘Mr. Reid’, but you realized that he hadn’t introduced himself as ‘Doctor’ in this setting. You held your tongue when you felt the need to correct him as you had so many other people, wanting Spencer to receive his proper title. 

Your mind almost couldn’t focus on the question that Cyrus had asked. Of course, he was trying to get Spencer to stroke his ego once again. Basically admitting that the whole reason the two of you had come here was true - he was being vastly inappropriate with a young member of the church, and getting away with it. And he saw nothing wrong with it. 

And he was trying to get an outsider to admit that he saw nothing wrong with it too. 

When there was a moment of silence - Reid obviously torn on how to answer the question, Cyrus continued. 

“Is there really something so wrong with a blooming young woman marrying a man who will protect her under God’s laws?” He probed, his voice so entirely confident. Clearly confident that he was right. 

“Well, I’m not sure if I would let my daughter get married so young.” Reid said, finally speaking up. “I just know that I would want her to marry a man that would protect her, and be the best possible fit for her. Someone who would cherish her and be good to her no matter what.” 

His answer made you swoon. You reached up and gently gripped his forearm in response, giving a light squeeze to show your approval. He leaned in and kissed the back of your head - dizzyingly, you were imagining him walking your imaginary daughter down the aisle before you had even gotten married yourself. 

Maybe it was being so close to death, being threatened in such dangerous territory that was causing your life to accelerate at light speed in your mind. If you were going to lose everything, you might as well enjoy the escapism of a fake life with a beautiful man in your mind instead of being stuck on the heart pounding terror of being held hostage, right? 

Surprisingly, his words drew a smile from Cyrus. 

“You’re a protective father, aren’t you?” Cyrus asked. 

“Of course.” Reid confirmed. 

“I can always admire that in a man.” Cyrus nodded. “A man should always pride himself on protecting his family.” 

There was another moment of pause, and you were hoping that the topic had been dropped completely. 

“Do you have a picture of your children with you?” Cyrus asked. 

You wondered if - in a different version of reality, where you and Spencer really were married, where Hugo and Iris really did exist - if you had a picture of them in your pocket, would Cyrus only be asking this so he could use the picture to taunt the two of you? What other purpose would he have for knowing what your children looked like? 

“Unfortunately, no.” You answered. “I keep my family pictures on my desk. In my office. We - we’ve just been praying to get back to them safely.” 

Cyrus seemed perturbed at you mentioning that you had an office. Something dark flickered over his features for a moment and then disappeared. 

“Well… if it is right, God will grant you that safe passage.” Cyrus said. 

Just when you truly thought the conversation was done, he said something to you that entirely grinded under your skin. 

“I find it entirely odd that a mother of two young children spends her days working a job where she takes care of other people’s children, rather than staying at home with her own youngins where she belongs.” 

He said, using that same entirely confident, righteous tone that he always did. Even though you were not really a working mother, you had a hard time not boiling with anger at the sexism ripe in his statement. 

“How much must you be missing of your sweet angels lives to instead partake in the horrors of devils you shouldn’t have to witness.” 

Of course. 

You had a hard time not rolling your eyes at this or saying something harsh that would set him off. Instead, you reached up to Spencer’s arm around your shoulder, squeezing his fingers, trying to keep your patience.

“I’ll have you know that Y/N is an amazing mother.” Spencer piped up, knowing that Cyrus respected him enough as a man that he wouldn’t beat him simply for speaking up. “Her nurturing and caring makes her infinitely better at her job.” 

Again, you knew that there was so much personal truth in Spencer’s words. He thought that you would make an amazing mother to his children - at least theoretically. He was entirely firm in that conviction. And he thought that your natural caring made you amazing at the job you did as a Profiler. He knew this from the quality of work he witnessed you doing every single day. 

You didn’t know it - but it was just one of the many things that had caused him to fall in love with you. 

Oddly enough, Cyrus’ words prodded at something deep inside of you. It made you imagine a life for yourself where you weren’t spending your days witnessing horrors from unspeakable devils - but instead, at home, looking out for Spencer’s imaginary children. 

You would have said it was the fear of the day, clouding your mind. But maybe it was the clarity of being so close to death that made you realize what - and who - you truly wanted out of life. 

… 

Hours later, after some of the hostages had been released (the ‘non-believers’ who had failed the loyalty test), Cyrus had requested that some food be sent up. Spencer gave you a sharp look when he saw the message written on one of the takeout lids. 

The team would be storming in to end the hold-out at 3am. You had to somehow ensure the safety of the hostages by then. 

Obviously, the fake pregnancy idea was still warping through Spencer’s mind, but you had come up with some much better. 

“Cyrus,” You called out his name gently, getting his attention. “You said that you have a nursery here?” 

It had come up, during his long winded bragging about how perfect the Ranch was. Something about how mothers didn’t have to raise their children alone. The children were raised as more of a ‘group effort’ and women took ‘shifts’ in the nursery, allowing the women to rest or get chores done in the interim. 

“Yes, we do.” He nodded. 

Spencer stared at you with his jaw set, wondering what you were doing but not daring to speak. 

“I - I’ve been missing my children dearly. I was wondering if I could go to your nursery and see if they need any help? It would do my soul good to be around young ones right now. After all the commotion of these days.” You spoke meekly, trying to play the part of the shaken up, dainty woman well. 

Which was too difficult, seeing as you were playing up the fear you had already experienced. 

He grinned. It was a rather menacing smile, and you tried your hardest not to show any further fear, or disgust. 

“That sounds like a splendid idea.” He nodded. “Christopher, why don’t you escort her down to the nursery and then come back? We need you here for our final preparations.” 

You were finally falling to those gender roles that he had been pushing on you since you had arrived. He didn’t suspect a thing. He simply thought that you were a God fearing woman falling to your natural womanly instincts, needing to care for children lest your womb shrivel up and you die. 

Spencer rose from his seat and Cyrus stopped him. 

“Just your wife.” He said, putting a hand in front of Spencer’s chest to stop him. “There are still some things you and I need to discuss. Man to man.” 

You went over to Spencer and didn’t hesitate to plant a kiss firmly on his mouth, which he returned with vigor. This one lasted only a moment - it was something precious for the two of you. You didn’t need to put on some pointed show for the men in the room. 

“It’s okay.” You told Spencer quietly, brushing your fingers gently over his uninjured cheek. 

You could tell that he was dying to ask you what your plan was. But he kept the words trapped in his throat, unable to speak in front of the many temperamental villains lurking about. 

“Come on.” Christopher grunted. 

Spencer gave you a longing look as you left. He didn’t want to think it, but as he watched your figure retreat out the door, he feared that it would be the last time he ever saw you. 

… 

Your plan worked flawlessly. 

Getting to the nursery meant that you had unsupervised access to the women and children, especially away from Cyrus’ prying ears. Because you were a ‘delicate’ woman, nobody suspected you of having ulterior motives. You easily found a crack in Kathy, Jessica’s mother. You spotted her as the one who had made the original 9-1-1 call, wanting to get her daughter away from Cyrus. You convinced her to help you get everyone out, and you felt intense relief when you were met with a familiar face in the cellar as everyone escaped through the tunnels. 

“Where’s Reid?” Morgan easily asked you, glancing behind your shoulder as if waiting for him to appear. 

“He’s still up at the church.” You told him. “I had to separate off to help get the women and children out-” 

“Go on, we have to get you out!” Morgan urged, trying to gently usher you along. 

“We have to go get Reid!” You argued, trying to turn around. 

“Go, go on, I’ll go get Reid!” He told you. 

You were about to argue back, but you were cut off by a scuffle behind you. 

Jessica was yelling about Cyrus - how her mother had betrayed her, tricked her. 

Morgan pushed Kathy toward you and ran off screaming for Jessica. You took Kathy’s arm, gently convincing her that everything was going to be okay as you guided her the rest of the way out. You had to focus on this, convincing yourself that everything was going to be okay. You had to tell yourself that Derek was going to get Spencer out - that they were both going to be okay. 

When you got outside, you were hyper focused on marching away, taking a path away from the church as directed by the officers in charge. You froze in your tracks when you heard it - an earth shattering boom. The ground beneath your feet shook. You felt a puff of hot air swell to touch your back. 

You let go of Kathy’s arm and whipped around, and you couldn’t even pay attention to where she went. You almost thought you heard her weeping, but your mind couldn’t process it as your eyes were glossed in bright orange flame. 

It was the church. 

“Spencer?” You gasped quietly. “Spencer!” 

You couldn’t help it, but you began to run toward it. Your feet carried you faster than you could think, and before you got more than a few feet across the ground, you felt a sharp grip on your upper arm. 

“L/N!” 

Hotch’s voice, sounding far too distant for the position he held right behind you, viciously gripping onto you as you fought against him, trying to get toward the fire - trying to get to Spencer. 

“Hey! Hey! Stop it!” Hotch tried to order you around, tried to get you to stand down. 

He got a hand around your waist, and you continued to kick like a wild horse, fighting against his grip as hot tears poured down your face. 

“He’s in there!” You sobbed. “Spencer is still in there.” 

“Calm. Down.” Hotch ordered sharply. 

You collapsed back into him sobbing, all of the fight leaving your muscles at once. You couldn’t fake the reality in front of you. 

“You running in there and getting hurt isn’t going to change anything.” Hotch told you quietly, a somehow distant murmur into your ear. 

Through the blur of your tears and the sharp orange glow, you saw the shape of two bodies. You heard coughing as someone emerged from the blast, hobbling down the stairs at the front of the church. You forced your eyes open wider, trying to see who it was, and then: 

“Y/N!” Spencer called out your name gruffly through the smoke he had inhaled, and you easily shucked off Hotch’s grip to race up the stairs to get to him. 

He was leaning on Morgan for support and you were worried that he was hurt. But the moment you were close enough, he tore himself away from Morgan and the two of you met in the middle. In a pattern that was easily developing, you fell into the safety of his arms, holding him tight enough to bruise him - never wanting to let go. 

“You’re so stupid, you’re so stupid! Why would you do that to me?” 

You sobbed out, gripping both sides of his face, staring into his eyes, needing the recognition that he was right there, right in front of you. 

He stared back with glassiness - intense fear, adrenaline, and something small that told you he was thankful for you, and needed you now more than ever. 

Of course, your words were simple anger at the situation, not at Spencer himself. The terror of thinking that he was dead still pumping through your veins, causing you to shake. 

“I know.” He said quietly. “I love you.” 

His voice wrapped around the words so tenderly - it was the most sincere declaration you had ever heard from him. As if to say ‘I know how much that scared you. I know what this ordeal has done to us and I only meant it more because of how scared I am’. 

“I love you too.” The words flew from your lips so naturally it hurt. You took a moment to recover, entirely shocked by your own lips. And then, you only found the need to say it growing more inside of you. “Spencer, I love you.” 

You pulled him toward you with the grip you had on his face, and he easily met you in one of the most earth shattering kisses you had ever experienced. 

It was no longer a show, it was no longer about displaying the fake marriage for someone else’s benefit - if it had ever been about that in the first place. It was about the two of you. It was about feeling that comfort, that safety. It was about the fact that your two souls were drawn together since the day you had met. The fact that you had always felt safe with each other. You had always been the other person’s shelter from the storm. 

And you poured every ounce of those feelings into that kiss. 

You combed your fingers through Spencer’s hair, taking a harsh grip on the back of it, holding him there so he couldn’t pull away from your lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist, fisting the back of your sweater. Both of you entirely refused to come up for oxygen, not even caring who saw the epically passionate, public display of your love for each other. 

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan and Hotch exchanged a look with raised brows as it happened. You and Spencer didn’t care. You were barely perceiving the world around you as the two of you kissed. 

“You know if you’re not careful, people are actually gonna think you two are married.” Morgan said, being his usual sarcastic self. 

Rather than pulling away from Spencer’s lips to sass him back - you simply flipped Derek off over Spencer’s shoulder. 

On the ride home, JJ handed Derek five dollars. He had the over/under that the two of you would get together before the end of the year. JJ said that it wouldn’t happen for another five years, at least. Derek handed the fiver to Emily when she reminded him that the ‘fake marriage’ bit had actually been her idea. 

When Emily and JJ relayed the story to Penelope, she squealed so loudly into the phone that JJ dropped it. 

Hotch pulled you aside later and warned you that the fake rings were just cheap costume jewelry that Garcia had gotten and they would tarnish soon if you kept wearing them. He also recommended that you and Spencer put in the paperwork with HR if you were ‘serious’ about the relationship. You knew that it was him wishing the two of you his best. 

A few days later when you came into work and found the HR request for an update of relationship status sitting on your desk, already signed by Spencer, you couldn’t help but to smile.

...

A/N: This is a oneshot, so there will not be a continuation or a sequel to it. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that I have written, rather than asking me to write 'more'. If you want to see more things that I have written about Spencer, feel free to check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist.

[basil-does-arttt]

uh uh hi signalis fandom??? i bring you... a storch and kolibri pairing...

my sweethearts <3 some infodumping about them below:

they are both stationed in a correctional facility on Rotfront. Maus is the commanding officer of the base (aside from the Falke and Adler units of course) and Rin acts as her right-hand woman pretty much. Maus denies it but Rin definitely gets some special treatment and/or exceptions which does piss off the other Storchs but uh we don't have to worry about that right now :3 as the blurbs next to them state, they each have their own manufacturing issues but one is certainly a lot more severe than the other... ill start with Rin: Her heating system is defective, as in it doesn't work at all. Especially unhelpful considering they're on Rotfront, yknow, the ice moon?? She still manages to keep her productivity at an all-time high though, despite her defect. On more than one occaision, she's gotten a warning from Adler about her water usage, since she takes so many boiling hot showers to warm up... Being a Storch she's unsurprisingly quite short-tempered and has noticable violent tendancies that probably could be better reigned in but Maus is into it so Rin gets a pass to be mean. "Interrogations" with Gestalts involving Rin as the punisher more often than not end in a bloodbath. And Rin snagging a couple of new shiny trinkets to keep for herself or share between her and Rin (maybe the other Protektor units if she's feeling generous.) She tends to get quite protective over Maus, and when the two can find a quiet moment alone together, Rin has a bit of a soft spot for her little rodent <3 now, Maus: Her Bioresenance module is defective, as in Maus can't really "regulate" the intensity of it properly. Its way too strong for any normal Kolibri unit, let alone an entire group of them at once, so Maus has intentionally cut herself off from the hive-mind in an effort to protect her fellow hummingbirds. She still works with them and communicates with them of course, she just refuses to do it through bioresenance. Does this mean more paperwork? Yes... but she thinks the tradeoff is worth it. It does have its downsides though. Without the safety net the hivemind provides to her persona, Maus has already begun to degrade in irreversable ways (no matter how many pots of tea she downs or books she finishes a day) Despite this she remains dedicated and loyal to her work, if not for herself then so she doesn't everyone else around her down. (also, after some vauge threats of decomission from Adler, she's only thrown herself further into her work to try and convince him she doesn't need replacing. Maus isn't scared of many things, but if theres one thing she's terrified of, its death.) She suffers a lot from migranes and nosebleeds a lot as a side effect of her faulty bioresenance module, and has landed herself in the facility's medical ward too many times to count because of it. the Eule nurses have even dedicated an entire room solely to Maus due to how often she's in there for Something, be it a headache, or fainting entirely while on the job. If it weren't for Falke, Adler would have had her decomissioned many cycles ago. Falke however trusts her charm of hummingbirds implicitly and keeps a close eye on Maus especially, making sure she doesn't stray too far off the deep end. Maus also has violent tendancies of her own, and works well with Rin because of it. Rin interrogating Gestalts is bad enough, but Rin AND Maus together? yeah that Gestalt isn't coming out of that room alive. or in one piece for that matter.. Maus and Rin sorta bounce off eachother in ways that i don't think are entirely healthy but hey, they're happy, so who am i to get in the way of two lesbian robot's toxic bloodbath yuri :3

[thoughfullovercreator]

Sorry not sorry. But some people need to read this.

Tw: when I am employing the word « delusional » I am not referring to the medical definition of it.

What I am going to be saying is going to be disliked by some. But I don’t care.

I am going to be talking right now about a phenomenon that I’ve been seeing ever since I started reading mangas and watching animes and it has always bothered me.

And guess what ? I am not the only one being bothered by that, which reassures me.

The problem is the following:

Each time there’s a genuine friendship between two male characters or even two females in a manga/anime, people dirty it by gluing on it, their own fantasies and making it somewhat romantic/sexual, by inventing a « sexual tension » between these protagonists.

Always happens in the anime/manga universe.

…and I am going to tell you why it’s a problem/bothersome situation for many :

The problem is that it renders the story less deep and genuine and more people are influenced in thinking that, a male character, by being nice to another male (same for females), is romantic or whatever.

Like some of y’all are sexualising everything. Get it together.

This is, most of the time (actually 99% of the time but okay), LITTERALY delusion because the authors have never, ever meant for their characters to be viewed as anything but genuine friends/acquaintances..

It distorts the story for nothing and, in my opinion, it is disrespectful to the creators of the manga, to just take their characters and create a quiproquo on it. Sorry not sorry to say it.

As an example, let me take the « Dazai x Chuuya » fans.

The readers go as far as totally disregarding the fact that, Dazai, since literally the first episode, has implied that he was not attracted to guys. On top of that, he’s kinda depicted as the guy who likes women (/is low-key a womaniser). Never, ever was there anything that would make him attracted to Chuuya as a male.

(It also happens for JJK and others… )

Therefore, you’re disregarding the genuine and complex aspects of a potential friendship and understanding between the characters, to glue on it what you would have wished it to be : a romantic or sexual attraction. It’s a projection of what YOU would have WANTED it to be.

Simple example for BSD: Asagiri himself has said that there is nothing between Chuuya and Dazai, that they really don’t appreciate each other.

Now for all those who think that they like each other: it’s fine but that means that there’s something you´ve misunderstood in the story. Go back to it and try to analyse better the interactions and contexts. It’s fine really cuz, it could happen to anyone to misunderstand something, I am not criticising. Just signaling a risk.

It is actually immoral to distort a character’s sexuality like what ?! It becomes a habit and people do it also for celebrities. It’s kinda going too far.

It’s not for you to decide.

When it’s « not a big deal » for some, it could actually represent a big deal for many. And make many people uncomfortable.

Respectfully :

You wanna do your fanfics ? NO PROBLEM really ! be our guests ! but do it in the context of a fanfic, after putting on a disclaimer, as a respectful gesture for the creators of mangas !

(On the other hand, when people write « character x reader », it doesn’t distorts the original story cuz Y/N just doesn’t exist).

BUT rubbing it down our throats without any context as if it was a general truth provided by the creators, that « these characters are in love/sexually attracted to one another » NO. Keep it for yourself or your group of friends if y’all agree on it.

Again, many many people feel as uncomfortable as I, regarding this. It’s kinda also getting out of hand.

It’s getting out of hand especially when I see fandoms like the Black butler fandom where they imagine a « sexual tension » between Sebastian that is an adult and Ciel that is 13 !

Like it or not. I am not sorry for being respectful and realistic.

And I am encouraging everyone to talk and expose that, because this is not fine.

Some decency is needed :

Not everything is okay with what people are doing on the internet. You can have your « dirty thoughts » but don’t expose them, not everyone wishes to hear about it. Some things have to stay between you and yourself.

Kids/ teens :

And kids/teens (all those below 18) y’all need to get off your phones a little and go play outside or meet your friends (for teens ig) if you don’t wanna end up in depression at an early age or with extremely poor social skills.

At least take a real book like ones at the school library and learn things. Instead of learning how to .. by reading explicit content cuz you never listen when we tell you that a certain one shot is +18.

Again, I am not sorry. I am pissed.

[ab-yssmal]

what it isn’t that old it’s only been - TEN YEARS?????? I remember when this was released….

but in all seriousness, as cheesy as it sounds, this series is probably one of the best things that could’ve happened to me. It was my first concrete fandom that I joined! My first ocs were for this series! My closest and oldest friends were made because of this fandom (shoutout @nineteen-rats)! It really formed me into the person I am today and it definitely shows in my work lol.

Although I’m not into Aph anymore, she still holds that special place in my heart <3

So thank you Minecraft Diaries, you’re such a wonderful if not strange series…

This piece is not only is a homage to this series (that I dedicated FAR too much time to) but a redraw of some of the first fanart I’ve ever done (proof under the cut 💀💀)

Also including some sketches from the past few days since the official anniversary date 🫶 (I am trapped in a rewatch I cannot escape)

MY GOD

This is actually the most accurate scale of my art style changing over the years… I unfortunately either misplaced or straight up didn’t make one in 2015 (which would make sense because a lot of my “redraws” started in 2016) but still the fact that this particular fanart has been attempted so many times.. unbelievable

It just blows me away that this series pushed little 11 year old me to draw so much that I’m a junior in art college now, still drawing this fanart!

and ofc the sketch from this year v

I kept drawing on lined paper (paper from around 2016 actually) in order to keep with the accuracy and theme lmao

final sketch to show how Garroth himself crawled into my brain so deep that my favorite oc I have made in the past 2 years is LITERALLY JUST HIM 😭😭

[the-monkeies-girl]

I SO badly need a part 2 to Customary with Noa x reader 😭 pretty please!!!

I'M ON THE WAY DEARIE. I am so sorry it's so long but pls enjoy! Reblogs/Likes always appreciated. Maybe I make part three if anyone is interested! Thanks!

Title: Gone Hunting. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Rating: T. ( Mentions of blood, hunting game animals, animal mating. ) Words: 5.9K+ Pairing: Implied - Noa x Human! Reader. Summary: A week has subsided since you told Noa about the nature of romantic love. You wanted to avoid it, avoid him, but you had previously promised to go with him on a hunting trip. Was it a rouse for him to get you alone? READ THE SERIES HERE.

** Does Contain Mild Spoilers for Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes.

-- -- --

It had been a week since your last in-depth conversation and you still found that you were unable to look him in the eye. Noa seemed to not notice, or maybe he did and just didn't care enough to do anything about it. After all, the seriousness of the conversation, the floating vibration that still cramped your fingertips when you thought about touching him, the hardness that found its way to your throat when you attempted any sort of conversation with him… It was disheartening to think, but you figured he just didn't care enough personally to pressure.

-- -- --

“Love doesn’t need to be understood,” You were talking to him in such a hushed tone of voice, something that wasn’t frequent with you and Noa turned his head to the side ever so slightly at the sound of it. Breathy, he would say it was… And very, very different from the self-assurance you often carried yourself with. Wavering around the corner of words as if you were unsure of what you were saying. You were avoiding eye contact again, Noa mused, half tempted to look over his shoulder at what you had locked your gaze on. Probably something off in the distance, a tree fluttering with the slight breeze that shuffled the fur on his body and the hair on your head. An Eagle maybe? Noa was consciously aware that his own feathery friend was sitting behind the two of you, unwavering in their loyalty to him. He wanted to be jealous of something you were looking at, but Noa found himself locked on to you, baited anticipation to hear that voice again, the way it was speaking to him. So soft, so gentle, so… so… Personal.

“Love just needs to be embraced.”

Noa had his hand up to sign but you had turned to the side already, shuffling as quietly as you could. Quiet, but it was deafening to Noa. Every fall of your foot, every breath you were taking deep into your lungs and releasing quickly, tucking your hair behind your ear, the mere friction of that… All sounds were beating down on him like the fists of another Ape. Had he… Done something wrong? Asked something wrong? It was now very obvious that you were done talking, pushed against the wall metaphorically and had nothing else to say to him.

He’d encountered this countless times in the few months that you had been here. But, your inability to go on and explain further left Noa understandably frustrated this time around. Not at you, never at you… He curled his fingers at his side and sat back on his legs, almost burning a hole into the back of your head with his eyes. You were now moving to get the horse you came on prepped for the small journey back to the village. Not that you needed to, it was just something to keep yourself occupied, away from the thought that he was perceiving your words in the way he wanted to. You left it vague enough to leave it up to interpretation, by all means.

Turning his head to the side, he looked at his Eagle and pressed a curled pointer finger to their beak. It was not too far of a trek back, you didn't need to adjust anything with the horse…But it was far enough away that you felt comfortable to talk to him openly. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t with others around, he figured that Echo’s arrogance would run wild and you would want to boast to the Apes about how things were. How things were better for Echo’s than Apes but you never did that. He also heard another concept about Echo’s and that was privacy. And out of all things, Noa knew that privacy in conversations was important. He never understood why; Apes were social creatures and most likely knew everything ( or close to everything ) about their neighbors without plight.

Maybe that was why Noa was so drawn to… He stopped his thought process there and shook his head. He was quick to rationalize. No, there was no reason to be drawn to any of this, but he didn't want it to stop. Noa was even quicker to give into selfish ideology. He was holding his hand out there in the deep dark, hoping to the highest heavens that your hand would reach his.

-- -- --

Tilting your head to the side, a deep sigh left your parted lips. That wasn’t like Noa, though… He wouldn’t adversely reach out to you unless you were willing to reach out first. That’s how it’s been since the beginning and that’s how it remained, you never wanted to change it because it made you feel wanted… Wanted by him…

Your legs felt like they were going to fall off and that derailed your train of previous melancholy. There was a nice river he knew about, about three clicks away and Noa used the excuse of going hunting to drag you with him. You didn't necessarily want to go, you feared being alone with him for prolonged periods of time but surprisingly… It was a pleasant enough ride there on the back of your loaned horse. You believed it to be Soona’s, and you were fortunate that she let you use it occasionally. Not much was spoken, a few phrases here and there spotted between actually talking and Noa signing at you one handed as he kept another hand on the reins of his horse.

The sun was high in the sky, almost midday you figured, peering up at it through the thick branches of the trees. There was a thick smell of condensation clinging to the leaves of said trees; it had rained the night before and deliciously drenched everything. Ironically though, as that thought escaped your brain, your mouth went slightly dry as you looked ahead, only a few feet away from the rider in front of you. He seemed to enjoy the wistful silence that fell around the two of you, his eyes shutting for a brief second as he enjoyed the sensation of the sun peaking through the trees, blotching his body. You noted that his fur seemingly changed color at that. From a dark brown to an almost honey brown. What you would have given in that moment to see him fully bathe in the sun.

Grasping the reins tightly, you beckoned your horse a bit faster. There was a subconscious desire to be near him despite what happened. Hell, you thought to yourself and let a small blush take over your cheeks, you’d have ridden on the back of his horse if he had asked you. Of course, if he turned to face you and noticed your expression, you had a quick response. It was chillier than most days, and that was the smoking gun. You’d blame it on the cold hitting your cheeks. Simple.

But, with yourself already tangled in the thoughts, you proceeded on. You imagined that idea… Sitting so close to him, your chest to his back, heart beating quicker than you cared to admit. Your face resting against his shoulder to look forward, almost the same perspective as Noa himself… You desperately found yourself clinging to that aspect. To see what he saw, to know what he knew, to… To feel what he felt. Now, as you had gotten closer, you could see the evident water droplets lining along his broad shoulders. He must have bumped into a low sitting tree, maybe a bush, that distributed its lovely rain water against him. You could smell in your vivid imagination, how he must smell… Deeply ingrained dirt under fingernails, the Earth below your feet, toes curling into the sand, the brisk whisk of a hazy morning standing in a field of wheat by yourself, the allotment of sun brushing against delicate skin… That prospect alone left you feeling incredibly heady.

‘Here,’ He signed quickly, simultaneously slipping off his horse as he communicated. You were jealous of his ability to multitask like that, it was never your forte. But, Noa must have been doing it his entire life. He was taught to do that, taught from those around him… Observation was a good thing, you learned that from him. You knew that he liked to fidget things in his hands, but he was seamlessly able to sign in between that and not lose track of what his hands were doing before. You swallowed softly, being snapped viciously out of your fantasy.

Giving him a slight nod, you intently watched as he rounded his own horse and glanced up at you with those soft green eyes. Your interest was raised surely, but it was haltered when you got a full glance at him. He had his usual garb on; the cross-body sack, a few empty walnut shells tied near his shoulder with twine that would tickle his cheek if he looked over that twine encasing what appeared to be a leather band, worn from frequent use. He had it just in case he found something of interest to take back to the village, the band on his arm, yellow and orange in nature with a soft accent of tan, with adjacent and colorfully complementing feathers to show his status. They were strikingly blue and vibrant against the brown fur on his bicep, tightening anytime he would move his arm.

The band alone caused you to pause. Noa was large, larger than you by far. Not necessarily taller than any other Ape, but broad and encapsulating, and you found your eyes following him if you were in the company of others. He was the leader, and that band on his arm was more than a slap in the face at times. You remembered in most Ape clans it would be considered a luxury that he was the one personally taking you to go hunt. From the throes of hierarchy itself it was a privilege.

Noa’s eyes momentarily caught the sunlight, appearing more gold around his pupil before shifting back to their regular green as he pushed himself up to stand bi-pedal. They were gorgeous, even without the light hitting them.

‘Been here many times, with Soona and Anaya.’ Noa smiled fondly at that, letting his eyes shift away from yours to take in his surroundings. Wishing to do the same, you found yourself staring at him a moment too long before catching on that you needed to dismount your horse, needed to get your things together from the sack on the back of your horse. There was an assortment of berry bushes to your side, some appearing much more ripe than others. Black berries were sorely abundant and your eyes traced the light shapes of them against the green leaves that they were almost camouflage in. It was just now the beginning of spring, it made sense that some were ready and some were not. But, by your powers of deduction, you gathered that you were not berry hunting. ‘Easy hunting for an Echo.’

His silent words made you feel a swell in your chest. He was being… You didn't dare say considerate, but that’s what it felt like. Perhaps, more accommodating than anything else. After all, you were just a human to him, and he had nothing to gain from being considerate, but had much to gain by gaining your trust so he was more accommodating by nature. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you rested your hands on the base of the horse's shoulders, giving a sharp breath in as you hiked your legs over the side. If you were paying any attention to your surroundings instead of intensely focusing on not slipping, on not looking like a fool, you would feel a set of burning eyes watching. Observing… Obsessing…

Noa tilted his head with a gruff sound, too deep in his throat for it to be caught by your ears from the distance he held himself. Specked, almost amber-like gaze caught hold of your hands, how dainty they appeared to be compared to his own, your legs, how agile you were being, surprising for an Echo, he chuffed to himself. You were usually not like this, not balanced. He had once seen you slip on ice, which replaying inside of his mind was mildly amusing. He didn't help you up that time, and simply watched as you stumbled, trying to sign in between your slips. You could have asked for help, but you didn't. He wondered why from time to time until you explained to him embarrassment. Then it made more sense.

And ever since, he tried to keep a more mindful eye on you, on your movements; Of course, to make sure you didn't fall. He heard that Echo’s were not durable, not strong like Apes and a fall in the wrong way could cause intense problems. That’s just what he told himself though. If he were being more transparent, which he was not being, he’d have to succumb to the act that he needed to keep you protected out of his selfishness.

“Need help?” He verbalized, your feet dangling for a split second before you finally landed on the ground. A grunt left your lips with the action, your knees burning ever so slightly as weight was put back on them. Brushing your fingers along the side of the horse to calm them, you glanced over your shoulder at Noa, triumphant enough to gloat that you didn't need any assistance. “Just like Ape.” His signing was languid as if he were truly unsure if he was okay to make a comment like that towards you.

You grinned to yourself as you turned back towards the horse, shuffling to the side to get to your bag which was easy enough. Trying to ignore that sufficient pride that hit you like a moving horse due to Noa’s simple words, you dallied for a second longer than you really needed to, painting your fingers along the rough sew of your bag. He was just trying to get you to feel comfortable, it was nothing more than that. I mean… You thought to yourself with a snide chuckle. Was… Was flirting even a concept he was familiar with? Surely, they had to have some sort of form. You knew that grooming had to be a heavy part, it was a personal and intimate detail that often got overlooked when human’s thought about Apes and their threshold to be incredibly social with each other. You had seen it first hand, along with those tender moments of foreheads touching one another. Brow to brow, usually hands on the heads to keep each other near as possible, eyes closing as two slowly became one and---

You tucked your shoulders into your bag, more aggressive than you needed to and allowed the added weight to anchor you as you twisted to follow whichever way Noa deemed worthy. You also knew that they were quite sarcastic when they wanted to be, and you found it endearing at times. Especially when it was Anaya. In your head, you had dubbed him as the sarcastic one, Soona as the caring one, Dar as the motherly one, and Noa… was just Noa. No immediate words came to your mind when you tried to think about it. Maybe that was a good thing! Maybe, what was happening, what had been said, was just a crush and you were finally trying to blow past it.

He was staying on his legs for you, not wanting to move onto all fours as his pace would be too fast. Another accommodation, not a consideration. There was his heavy spear splayed across his back, being held by the strap of his bag. It swayed with his movement. Subtle, his shoulders would move ever so slightly as he walked. Following suit, it felt like you were playing a game as you grasped your own spear from your horse. It was smaller than Noa’s but just as effective and hunched it over your shoulder, holding it loosely as you took pace to match his speed. Noa was only a meter or two in front of you, leading, but you wanted to be right by his side. He looked back at you and you found your feet coming to a small stop before picking back up, a silent agreement being made there at that moment. You wouldn’t use words. You would only sign as to not scare away any potential kills.

-- -- --

“I don’t understand,” You muttered to him, your shoulders fraught with confusion. Noa’s green eyes swept from his hands over to you and longed to have it reciprocated. There was nothing though, you were pretty focused on the kill. He was holding a small rabbit who had no idea their demise had come at the hands of the Ape in front of you. It was roughly tied at the feet, binding it so he could keep it stored properly for the ride back to the Village. It was ignorant bliss that the rabbit truly lived in and now it was gone. You were envious of that - the ignorant part. Swallowing softly, you shifted your gaze to the side and pretended to be amused by the fire. He had been studying you, trying to gauge what your words were going to be. Hard, mean? Assuming something you shouldn’t have? You liked to do that and Noa liked to prove you wrong just as much. But, without any eye contact, Noa could not read you. Could not see your face, and could not make any judgments towards you as you asked him, “You--- you hunt?”

Noa knew you knew the answer to that but he obliged it anyway, “Small prey. Rabbit, usually.”

Simple enough answer, and you left it at that. And deep down, Noa’s accusation was correct. You’ve eaten fish frequently enough with the Clan. And as the sun began setting and dinner time rose, you sat quietly perched between Anaya and Soona, both talking over each other about mindless chatter and watched Noa eating a fish, dissecting it almost like he were a scientist of some sort, navigating around the small bones with ease and some sickening form of elegance. He had caught eyes with you then, a piece of fish sliding between his lips as he chewed it tentatively. The beam of the firelight in front of you was able to mask the disappointed look on your face as you realized that he was only looking at you because he sat across from you. Nothing more. Looking away quickly, you put much focus on your own fish, roasted to a tender crisp. Suddenly, Noa’s eyes were watching your moves instead of sinking into your gaze.

The way your fingers swept along the length of the fish, the way you muttered under your breath trying to get a mouthful of fish instead of bone, you felt too self-conscious to eat. You sat it down on a leaf in front of you. Another set of eyes were on you and before you could open your mouth to say something to the Ape leader in front of you, Anaya was signing, asking if he could have your remaining fish. You said yes, hastily looking away from Anaya after the confirmation but Noa was not looking at you anymore, preoccupying himself in conversation with his mother.

That same night as everyone was preparing to return to their own nests, Noa had found you. If he was seeking, you often left yourself open like a book if he wanted to come see you. It was very rarely at night though, and you took it in. Eyes glazed from the sky above, littered with all its tiny self-sufficient lights, boasted tonight by the moonlight, into green eyes that were almost too dark for their own good. You could have sworn there was something mischievous there but-- You pinned it on it being almost pitch black, a trick of the eyes. Of course, his pupils were dilated, there was no denying yours weren’t as well but you weren’t sure if you could justify yours being from the lack of light. He was on all fours as he approached you, your hands setting down the soft pelt that you had dubbed your favorite to use in your make-shift nest.

Nothing to write home about, a tanglement of tightly sprung together branches, padded by a few animal pelts. Off to the side,and tucked away safely, were your clothes. Only enough sets to keep you going. Two pairs of pants, three shirts, some undergarments… You could hear Noa and Anaya in your head at that thought. The day you were caught washing your clothes in the river, the curiosity they both had at that as Noa observed you wringing out the cloth between your hands. ‘Echo weird.’ Anaya signed to Noa as they let you be, turning to go down the river and fish. If you were observant enough, you’d have seen Noa turn back towards you, only for a split second before deciding to leave you to your duty. Which, Noa still didn't understand.

It was enough of a bed that it was comfortable and didn't leave you feeling like a wilted flower the next day. You wondered for a brief time what Noa’s must have been like and felt your shoulders dip in. You were ashamed of how yours must have looked compared to what was the norm. Was Noa’s nest comfortable? Was it warm? Could he look out and see the sky when he wanted to? You knew vaguely that his nest was perched above the rest, a right of passage that was torn between his mother and himself at the moment of his fathers death, at least until he found a mate and then it would ultimately become just theirs. You didn't even realize you were clenching your fists so tightly that your knuckles were turning mildly white.

“You want to go?” He asked, not putting in any context. He must have realized that, picking the conversation apart from earlier, before dinner. “Hunting with me.” He gestured towards himself with a hand in the natural form of a ‘C’. It pressed against his chest gently. He was gesturing to himself which made sense as he continued, “Usually go with Anaya and Soona but can take you alone. The season change, rabbits are more---”

He was murmuring which came to a slow stop, deep in his chest, it faded to the sound of an animalistic growl when you finally turned fully towards him. He was coming up with some way to get you to go with him, to be alone with him, you hadn’t given him barely the light of day since your conversation only a few days ago. Some pathetic attempt it was, Noa shouted in his head and dipped his head when you looked away from him. You knew how to hunt--- You wondered if Noa knew that. There were many times, especially recently as you had gotten disconnected from your fellow group of Humans, that you were forced to hunt. It was needed but not really your favorite thing. You learned quickly though with the Apes that often Females were left to forage for berries, vegetables, seeds and roots and Males were left to hunt actual game. Fishing was done communally, including the young as it was often their introduction to the world and concepts of hunting.

‘I’d just be in the way.’ You signed to him quietly, not wanting to wake anyone up with your tone. Noa huffed at that and tilted his head upwards towards you again. He was still on all fours, it looked like an almost defensive position like he wasn’t opening up to you completely. Bringing you bottom lip in, Noa once again as he so often enjoyed doing, watched. You nibbled once, then again this time harder than before. ‘Not very good.’

‘Better than Anaya, got scared of butterflies once.’ Noa joked, shifting towards you slightly. He looked at the pelt you had so delicately placed in front of you and for less than a split second, he lost control. Pull you towards him, push you down on that pelt and absolutely---

‘Maybe,’ You finally caved, snapping Noa back into reality with your hand moving. Hard. He kept himself grounded, hands resting roughly into the dirt below him. ‘When?’

He had just been hunting today. There was no logical way for him to explain that he wanted to go again to anyone around him. ‘Few days from now.’ He signed slowly.

-- -- --

A few days ended up being closer to eight, and you were left stuck. You had already promised to go hunting, but then the dreaded conversation seven days ago left you dispelled and not as eager to go. Crouched rather uncomfortably next to Noa, you watched him idly tie a knot around his spear. You could tell it got much use and that it was his favorite, though there were many other weapons the Clan could provide. As if he were controlled by another, he raised his arm without looking up. The eagle appeared without a sound, looking at Noa with small beady eyes that you couldn’t read anything from. But, from his reaction as he nodded to himself, raising his arm once again to dispatch his eagle brethren, he must have gotten information. It never ceased to cause you amazement that he was able to do that.

‘Close.’ He signed, drawing you back out of your almost hypnotic state. ‘Den nearby. Finished mating season,’ Noa didn't look at you with that sign, but it was different than his usual language. He was mildly stiff, shoulders drawing in together. You dared to say it was rigid, like he was unsure that it was the phrase he wanted to use. ‘Now many rabbits.’

Lips parting at that, you moved your feet to sort them away from turning numb. The crouching position was more comfortable for Noa, you decided. His spine was curved to sit like this for more extended periods of time, eyes gently grazing over his posture at that moment. He was surely comfortable as could be, shoulders hunching inwards ever so gently. There was a meager temptation from your part to move so you could be face to face with him but you doubted that he wanted that. You were fine next to him, you reassured yourself and swallowed hard. It was a sound that Noa noticed but didn't turn his attention to. Unwanted attention on you, in the past, has caused you to only run or flee from him. He figured he’d bid his time, patiently waiting for you. Your knees felt like they were on fire, calves were absolutely going to cause problems for you tomorrow. from sitting in the squat position for too long. You only lingered on that for a second though as his words finally hit you. ‘Babies?’

‘No,’ He was quick to respond, somehow knowing that his answer was going to calm you down. ‘Mature now, born few months ago. Fast development. Best age to hunt for them. Good meat.’

You nodded and processed what he was telling you. He was incredibly knowledgeable about this, showing off his skills at hunting with just words. How else would he know these things without actively doing it on a habitual basis? You swelled at that thought. That Noa was indeed a provider, a show off at times, but a provider none-the-less. Whomever he ended up with was going to be lucky to have that unwavering dedication which spurred your next inquiry. ‘Mate for life?’

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him when you signed that. Last time the conversation about mating happened, you ended up not speaking to each other for seven days. He was piqued in it regardless. Were you asking just to converse with him, or did you truly not know the answer? Either way, he considered himself invested and shut his eyes in thought. Tilting his head to the side, he sat his spear in front of him quietly, only cluttering as it shifted against the rock you two were perched on. You were just making a light conversation piece, Noa decided and he wanted to provide an honest answer.

‘No, many partners over time.’ He was using both hands to sign before he dropped his green orbs to rest on you. Not just on you, but it felt like he was crawling inside of your skin with his next set of words. ‘Not like Ape or Echo.’ Obviously, he meant it in the broadened terms. All Apes and all Echo’s. Not just the two of you. Shaking that idea out of your head, you nodded your head in understanding.

‘Mating is fast for them,’ Noa went on, just desperate at this point to continue on the path of conversing. He knew it was making you nervous, he could hear your heart beating, he could smell the sweat build up on your forehead, on your palms. One part of him deceivingly liked it, the knowledge that he could get you like this, but then there was the other oblivious side of him that didn't counteract his thoughts and he found himself continuing. ‘Have seen it. Only seconds. Female…’ Noa only spared you a slight glance.

Just as quickly as his eyes met yours, they were gone and he was looking out into the dense forest. Not at anything in particular, but he was surely searching. If you didn't know Noa already, know the nature of his personality, you would almost wager that he finally picked up on the validity of the conversation and he was turning back into his usually reserved self. This was not a topic he’d have chosen to talk about with you. The mating rituals of a… rabbit. He couldn’t stop himself though. He wanted this, wanted you to know this. Maybe if he kept going, you’d ask another question and he’d give you another answer. It was rare when the conversations took a turn and Noa got to tell you about his own knowledge, he thoroughly enjoyed listening to you. But… This moment you found yourself in, you were carefully processing what he was telling you like you life depended on it. Like… You depended on him.

‘Female will sit and take it. Many times to ensure conception.’ You nodded again and felt a tingle run down your spine. You attributed it to being crouched still. ‘Male will fall off after. Anaya thinks from being tired.’

Biting your tongue to keep yourself from snorting, you found it comfortable enough to joke around a bit, ‘Male humans are the same way. One, two maybe three good thrusts then,’ You paused and weren’t sure how to conclude. ‘We don’t mate for life anymore.’

‘For what then?’

It was a legitimate question and it left you wondering if Noa would understand the reason, if he would be accepting of the reason. As a whole, he was still incredibly on the fence about humans and you knew that. You were careful in your answers when he wanted to know something, a meager fear that saying something too outlandish would cause him to go quiet without understanding the human element and he never pressed your answers when they were not something he wanted to hear. He’d sit, reflect and come back if he had any remaining questions. He deserved your honesty though, he would brashly give you the same without any hesitation. You sighed and flexed your back, trying to figure out a delicate way to put your answer.

‘Pleasure?’ Noa’s fingers moved fast. Your mouth popped open at his absolute audacity. You had to remind yourself that he had no clue that this was a very deeply private thing to talk about. You had explained to him privacy here and there, and while he accommodated it in most aspects like giving you your own small nest, giving you space to bathe, giving you space with him to talk, there were just some things that pushed the boundaries of what you wanted to tell him. And surely sex, mating like that, like he was implying, was pushing that and you were right up against it. Noa must have recognized that he fumbled asking you that, or at least, phrasing it so… so primally. He raised his hand to sign an apology, but you were faster than him.

‘Hardly,’ You signed that hastily, hands now resting on your kneecaps. You rubbed there, almost relishing in the way it felt. ‘Not many can have children. We do it out of survival.’

Noa’s face dropped at that, eyes flicking between the side of your face and your body language, trying to read the expression you had but he was having a hard time. Has he… Has he seen you make this face before? He racked his brain but nothing came immediately to mind. You looked like someone just told you terrible news. Your face was long with something Noa didn't understand. Your eyes were hooded, looking at the ground. Pressing your arms around your body, Noa recognized that as a defensive tactic. He pushed it. Foolishly. You weren’t going to talk to him anymore about it, about how it was for you before he found you, if you had… Had ever mated.

But, maybe that was for the best! Quash it before he knew the answer, before his curiosity got the best of him. It was for the best, he kept repeating inside of his head, that he didn't know. That you didn't tell him someone else laid claim to you already. Running his teeth along his sharp canines, Noa turned with thought. He had done it without care. Asking you such a stupid, pointless, meaningless question as if he himself knew pleasure like that. He didn't even know what he was talking about when he asked! He didn't…Even…. Know… Would he ever? He had to wonder. Know what he was talking about, the implications of what he suggested?

His stare rested on you, the side of your face as you were trying to process everything that just transpired. You were avoiding eye contact, a tell-tale sign to the Ape that you were done chatting. A soft breeze hit the air around you, Noa diving almost face first into the smell that wafted off you, the bouncing of the small baby hairs on the top of your head, not as long as the rest but trying to get there and the picking of your fingers at the fabric that had bunched around your knees. It was asinine to think that he would ever know with you. And he was even more so to think about asking let alone actually doing it.

What was he expecting? An answer? You so flatteringly telling him you had never been with anyone, that you opened your arms to him to lay claim? An Ape of all creatures. He chuffed at that and broadened his shoulders. But, the thought of you with another, any other, made him feel a surge of aggression, resting too uncomfortably at the back of his head like he had been crouching his head down to look at something for too long. Quicker than lightning, Noa bared his teeth and picked up his spear. With a free hand, he gave you only one command.

‘Let’s go hunting.’

[bluesunss]

Hairless cat Choi Su-bong x F!Reader

summary: you come home to a surprise you hadn’t expected for Valentine’s (I know it’s super late read a/n)

warnings: absolutely none pure fluff

a/n: this comes from my fanfiction The final act of love posted on wattpad, it was the Valentine Day’s special ♡ you can consider it a one-shot, and I admit it’s a month late for Valentine’s but the fandom needs some fluff so here it is :) Su-bong is a softie here because reader and he were past friends, a while before he even got into substances

anyways enjoy!

The moment you take off your shoes, you sense that something is off. "Su-bong?..."

Silence. You carefully place your heels by the entrance, step inside, and search for your husband and your cat.

"Su-bong!"

Still nothing. A silence far too deliberate. Feeling your way forward, you move toward the bathroom - ground zero for most domestic disasters. The door is slightly ajar, and a sliver of light escapes from within.

"Strawbie! Come here! Please, your mother is going to kill me if she finds out-"

"If I find out what?" You push the door open, and a small gasp escapes your lips.

In the bathtub, Strawberry is vigorously gnawing on Su-bong's frog-shaped wallet, and... she's nearly bald. Then, your gaze shifts to Su-bong. His hair is a vibrant shade of pink, wet, clinging to his forehead.

"My cat! Oh, heavens, what have you done!"

Pushing him aside, you leap toward Strawberry, only to notice the scattered paintbrushes, smears of dye, an overturned paint can, and loose coins spilling from the open wallet all in the messy bathtub.

Your husband sits on a small stool, looking utterly embarrassed, carefully avoiding your gaze.

"Su-bong?" You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for him to acknowledge you.

"Yes?" He grins sheepishly, finally lifting his head.

"What have you done?"

He fidgets with the ring on his left hand.

"Well... Since it's Valentine's Day, I thought I'd give Strawberry a little makeover. She really likes the neighbor's cat, so I figured if I dyed her pink, she'd look like a big, fluffy cotton candy, and he would immediately fall in love. I mean, she would be so cute! But... her fur is too fine, and..."

He gestures toward his own hair, then toward your now nearly furless cat.

"So, on human hair, it works fine. But on her... well, I might have shaved off a good three centimeters of fur. Ahem."

You try to hold back, but laughter wells up inside you. The memory of all his past antics rushes back.

"HAHAHAHA!" You burst out laughing, clutching your sides. "Oh Lord, you kill me."

Letting go of your handbag, you collapse onto the floor in fits of laughter. Curious, Strawberry hops out of the tub and into your arms.

"Oh, my sweet girl. Your father ruined you for your poor Valentine's date, didn't he? What am I going to do with him?"

You cradle her against your chest as she nibbles at your collar before hopping down and strutting into the living room. Standing up, you dust off your skirt, then sit cross-legged, smiling at your man.

"Pink suits you."

At that, Su-bong dramatically falls off his stool and pulls you into his arms.

"Argh. I think I might have a love attack," he faints jokingly. "You're too perfect."

Laughing, you try to push his face away, but he holds you tight.

"Oh, darling, this doesn't mean I'm not upset. Our cat is about to meet her suitor without her glorious coat."

His grip tightens, and he kisses you sloppily.

"I'd love you even if you were bald."

You push him away again, but he only kisses you harder.

"We need to get out of the bathroom!" you scold. "I just got home, and I want to shower."

"I have to help. You can't wash your shoulders without me."

"Ah, ah, ah. Hands off, mister. You'll have to make up for this tonight."

Feigning deep sorrow, he sighs dramatically, then gives up, leaving the bathroom with one last pitiful glance. But you shake your head.

"Nope. Out. And fix my beautiful cat before her date."

"Your wish is my command, señorita."

He vanishes, and you finally step into the shower. Once clean, you head to the bedroom, slipping into a short, flowing pink dress before drying your hair. Su-bong knocks, and when you let him in, he's holding Strawberry, who is desperately trying to claw her way free. She leaps to the floor, landing gracefully despite her extra weight, then proudly struts around in a tiny pink robe of questionable fabric, complete with a feathered scarf. You chuckle.

"She's adorable."

But Su-bong has completely forgotten about the cat. His eyes are fixed on you - your long, bare legs, the way pink complements your skin, the hairdryer still in your hand. He strides to the bed, already undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Hey, you- I just got home from work, I-"

He doesn't listen. He steps toward you, nudging you onto the plush burgundy bedspread, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist.

"May I claim my Valentine's gift early?"

"Impatient boy!" You attempt to push his face away but he grins and bites your fingers. "And what about my gift?"

"I have many for you. And the first one... needs to be given now."

Strawberry grimaces, lets out an indignant meow, and scurries away.

ʚɞ

Later, as you and Su-bong sit at the dinner table, wrapping paper strewn everywhere - a year-long nail salon voucher, a necklace and flowers for you - a hair salon voucher, new rings and a watch for him, you hear distant meowing. Curious, you both move to the terrace, the source of the sound.

And there, in the moonlit grass, is Strawberry, rolling playfully with the neighbor's cat. At one point, she purrs, and he curls around her, letting her snuggle into his embrace. You watch them drift off to sleep together.

But the funniest part? Strawberry's ridiculous outfit has vanished. The neighbor's cat loved her just the way she was.

Su-bong squeezes your hand, brings it to his mouth and presses a kiss on it, before resting his head on your shoulder.

"The moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

The moonlight casts a silver glow over the freshly cut grass. The air is crisp yet gentle.

"Really beautiful."

Hope you enjoyed ;)

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

Obstinately Pig-headed

Sherlock knows it’s the worst he can say to her, but he can’t help himself.

“You are just as obstinate as your father.”

“Am not!” Rosie Watson yells and stomps her feet.

“I beg to differ,” the consulting detective mutters.

“Sherlock,” his brother warns him.

The three of them are in Mycroft’s office of all places. Sherlock is still baffled about how his brother has embraced the uncle title Rosie has bestowed on him. He spoils her rotten with knowledge, presence, and gifts. The girl adores him, but to Sherlock’s utter relief, she still prefers him to comfort her, to confide in, to share secrets with.

“You are her Papa, remember.”

John’s voice fills Sherlock’s mind as if he was present in the room.

“Rosamund, come here.”

Mycroft’s voice is soft and patient. Sherlock remembers that tone from his own childhood. His heart aches and a lump form in his throat. He knows how much this means to Rosie, and he acknowledges that it will be wise to let his brother take the lead.

The girl approaches her uncle who has taken a seat on the sofa. He reaches out for her, and she willingly takes a place in his lap. The lump in Sherlock’s throat grows, and he blinks furiously.

“Do you think Sherlock was a virtuoso on the violin from the day my father placed it in his hands?” Mycroft asks his niece.

“No,” she answers petulantly, which brings a smile to the brother’s faces.

“Correct. He spent hours and hours making mistakes.”

A scoff from Sherlock makes Mycroft look up with an irritated look. Rosie smirks at him, her face completely changed now.

“Stop talking about me like that in front of my daughter, Mycroft,” Sherlock snaps, but they’re all aware that there’s no sting to his chastisement.

“That being said, I do appreciate your need for independence, but sometimes we are all in need of assistance,” Mycroft says. 

“Even you?” Rosie asks curiously.

Both brothers chuckle, and the eldest discloses that he too needs help occasionally.

***

“How did the rehearsal go, dear?” Mrs Hudson asks when they return to Baker Street.

“Difficult. I didn’t want any help, but Uncle Mycroft said that even Papa had made mistakes as a boy,” Rosie informs her Nana.

“Did he now?” 

Martha Hudson looks at Sherlock with questioning eyes, but he reassures her that everything is fine. They just need some minor adjustments before the big event.

“Practise makes perfect, you know,” the elderly lady tells her goddaughter.

A perfect sherlockian eyeroll is Rosie’s reply.

“Just don’t tell Daddy. It’s a surprise.”

“I heard you the first fifty times, dear,” Mrs Hudson replies. “I’m not senile.”

“Alright, ladies, that’s enough bickering for now,” Sherlock says amused. 

“Let’s head upstairs to call Daddy before bed.”

Rosie’s face lights up at this prospect and waves goodbye to her Nana, before hurrying up the stairs.

***

“Hello, my darlings,” John greets them from his hotel room in Edinburgh.

“Hello, John,” Sherlock says, eagerly taking in his beloved’s face.

“Hi, Daddy!” Rosie exclaims.

Sherlock squeezes her leg in warning. Her small hand pats his in acknowledgment.

“I know, Papa. I won’t spill our secret.”

They talk for the few minutes John is available, which is far too few in Sherlock’s opinion.

“I’ll call you later,” John promises, the love in his eyes evident.

Sherlock nods, unable to find his voice.

“Bye, Daddy. See you soon.”

“Sleep tight, sweetheart. I’ll be home tomorrow evening, alright.”

She leaves for the bathroom, and Sherlock exchanges words of love and longing with John.

“I miss you,” he tells John in a low voice.

“Me too, love. So much,” John whispers. “Talk to you in a couple of hours, yeah.”

“Please,” Sherlock chokes out, biting his bottom lip hard, and taking deep breathes.

“God, I hate seeing you like this,” John replies.

“Papa, can you help me?” Rosie calls from down the hall.

“Perfect timing,” Sherlock smiles, not wanting John to feel guilty about being far away from them.

“I love you,” John says. “Give her a goodnight kiss from me.”

“I will. Love you more,” Sherlock murmurs, and reluctantly ends the video call.

***

A week later, they’re all dressed to the nines, rings have been exchanged, vows have been made, tears have been shed, kisses have been bestowed in abundance, and it’s time for the big reveal.

“Are you ready, Rosamund Watson-Holmes?” Mycroft asks.

Sherlock’s eyes sting painfully, and he must use all his willpower to stay collected.

“I am. The last rehearsal went well enough, but it wasn’t perfect. That’s a good sign Nana says,” she answers.

She’s wearing a light green dress, white shoes, and in her hand is her piccolo flute.

“Papa?” she inquires, looking up at Sherlock with a confidence he wishes he’d had at her age.

“Ready. Let’s surprise Daddy with our duet. And remember what I said, don’t be surprised if he cries. Most likely, they will all cry,” he says calmly.

“I know. Sentiment,” she huffs and rolls her eyes.

A chuckle from Mycroft, makes Sherlock’s lips lift in a tiny smile.

“You are a terrible influence, brother mine,” he says fondly.

“So it seems,” Mycroft concurs and squeezes his brother’s shoulder.

***

It ended like this: The tiny stage was softly lit when Sherlock and his precious girl entered, both carrying their instruments, a murmur of surprise filling the room. Rosie didn’t need help with anything, and the duet was a tremendous success.

“How do you know that?” Rosie whispered in Sherlock’s ear when he crouched down beside her, reassuring her of that particular fact.

“Because even your uncle cried,” he whispered back.

“Oh. Do you think he want help to find some tissues?” Rosie asked seriously.

“Best not. Despite how eager he is to help others, he rarely accepts to be helped himself,” Sherlock said.

“Just like you, then,” Rosie said and smiled mischievously at him, and then John was there to hug them both.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

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[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Birthday Boy

Pairing :Seth Clearwater x Male reader fandom : Twilight Tags: Established relationship, Fluff. Softness Word count :1364

The old wooden porch swing creaked a gentle lullaby as Y/N nudged it with his Converse-clad foot, the rhythmic sound a comforting constant on the balmy summer evening. He leaned back against the faded floral cushions, the heady perfume of honeysuckle from his mother's rampant garden vines thick in the air. His birthday had been pleasant ,  But this… this quiet moment with Seth, as the sky bled from fiery orange to a deep indigo, felt like the best part of the day.

Y/N stole a glance at Seth, who was practically buzzing beside him, a human hummingbird. Seth's knee bounced with a restless energy only partially contained, his hands fidgeting in his lap, fingers tracing invisible patterns on his worn jeans. His usually tanned face was flushed with a sweet, endearing pink that Y/N found utterly Adorable. He couldn't help the teasing smile that tugged at his lips.

"You gonna vibrate right off the swing, Seth?" he drawled, his tone laced with affectionate amusement. "What's got you so jumpy? Did you have too much cake?"

Seth's head snapped up, his wide, chocolate-brown eyes, usually so open and guileless, met Y/N's with a startled blink. He visibly swallowed, the movement of his Adam's apple exaggerated in the dim light. "Uh, nothing! Just… enjoying the swing. Nice night, right?" He offered a smile, but it was a shaky, unconvincing thing, and his eyes darted away.

Y/N raised a skeptical eyebrow. He knew Seth far too well to buy that flimsy excuse. Ever since the… imprint. Ever since the world had shifted on its axis, and Seth had become irrevocably, undeniably *his*, there was a profound transparency to the younger wolf's emotions. Trying to hide something from Y/N was like trying to contain the tide with a sandcastle.

"Right," Y/N chuckled softly, turning his gaze back to the vista of darkening trees and firefly-dotted fields. He let the silence stretch, savoring Seth's internal struggle.

Seth shifted uncomfortably beside him. "Okay, okay, you got me. I have… something for you." He blurted out, his voice a little too loud in the stillness.

Y/N turned back, anticipation sparking inside him. "Oh? And what *might* that be?" He asked, his voice playful. He already felt a warmth bloom in his chest. Seth's thoughtfulness, his eagerness to please, was just one of the countless things he adored about him.

Seth plunged his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small, intricately woven bracelet. It was crafted from supple, dark brown leather, braided with thin, shimmering strands of silver. Dangling from the braid was a single, detailed wolf charm, its miniature silver fur catching the fading light and making it gleam. 

Y/N's breath hitched in his throat. It was beautiful

"Wow, Seth," he breathed, reaching out to gently take it. "This is… incredible. Did *you* make this?" He ran a finger over the smooth, cool leather.

Seth's blush deepened, spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He nodded, his gaze fixed on the bracelet as Y/N turned it over in his hands, admiring the intricate details. "Yeah. I… I spent a while on it. Leah helped me with the braiding, she's way better at that kind of stuff than I am." He added, almost defensively. "I wanted it to be… special."

"Special" didn't even begin to cover it. Y/N ran his thumb over the smooth curve of the wolf charm. "This is…amazing." He looked up at Seth, his heart swelling with a tenderness that almost overwhelmed him. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Seth's nervous energy seemed to abate slightly, replaced by a shy, hopeful expression. "Here," he said, his voice softer now, almost hesitant, as he reached out and gently took the bracelet from Y/N. "Let me." He carefully took Y/N's wrist and fastened the bracelet, his fingers brushing against Y/N's skin and sending a pleasant shiver dancing up his arm. His touch was surprisingly delicate, a stark contrast to his usual boisterous energy.

As he secured the tie, his brow furrowed in concentration, Seth explained, "The wolf… it's kind of a stand-in for me," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. "It's… it's a reminder."

Y/N swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling tight. He reached out and gently cupped Seth's cheek, his thumb caressing the soft, smooth skin. "Seth," he said, his voice soft and full of emotion, "you didn't have to do this. Buying me some gas station candy would have been a great gift too. But… thank you. I'll think all you whenever I look at it."

A beat of silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken feelings. Seth's eyes widened slightly, his breath catching in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, closing it again with a nervous click of his teeth. His internal battle was palpable, almost radiating off him in waves.

Y/N knew what was coming. He'd felt it brewing between them for months, a slow, steady grow of affection.

He leaned closer, his forehead lightly touching Seth's. "It's okay, Seth," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "You can say it. It won't bite."

Seth's hand came up to cover Y/N's, his fingers intertwining with his. 

"Y/N," he began, his voice trembling slightly as he finally gave voice to the emotions churning within him, "I… I think… No. I *know* I… I love you."

Y/N smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes , He squeezed Seth's hand, his heart overflowing with a love he hadn't even dared to imagine before Seth had crashed into his life like a furry, over-enthusiastic tidal wave.

"I love you too, Seth," he whispered,

The relief that washed over Seth's face was almost tangible. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He leaned in closer, closing the remaining distance between them, and pressed his lips to Y/N's in a soft, tentative kiss.

When they finally broke apart, they were both smiling, their eyes shining with happiness. The porch swing continued its gentle creak, a soothing soundtrack to their shared intimacy.

"Happy birthday," Seth murmured, his voice still slightly shaky with residual nerves.

"Best birthday ever," Y/N replied, leaning his head comfortably against Seth's shoulder. 

Seth spoke up quietly after a peaceful moment of silence, " I'm glad that you like the bracelet." His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

Y/N answered with a playful squeeze of Seth's hand, "It's the best gift that anyone has ever given me, hands down. You got good taste, Seth." Before he snuggled more into Seth's side, pretending to be a cat, and let out a theatrical yawn.

Seth noticed his sleepy state and asked, his voice laced with concern, "Tired?."

Y/N hummed in response

Seth responded, "I should probably get going then, it's getting late. You need to get some sleep, birthday boy."

Y/N mumbled out a sleepy, "Stay." 

"I can't stay here all night", Seth responded, with a nervous laugh. "I will see you tomorrow though, I promise."

Y/N made a pouty face, and gave Seth a sad look. It worked every time.

Seth gave in quickly, "Fine, I will stay for five more minutes, and then leave. Okay?"

Y/N perked up instantly at the concession, his previously drooping face now radiant with mischief. "Okay, five minutes" Before Seth could protest, Y/N grabbed him and snuggled up more tightly against him, burying his face in the crook of his neck, a giant, triumphant smile plastered on his face.

The five minutes flew by in a blur of comfortable silence and shared warmth, before Seth reluctantly announced, "Okay, I *really* need to go now. Seriously."

Y/N whined in protest, a low, drawn-out "Noooo" that vibrated against Seth's skin.

"I promise, I will see you tomorrow, okay? First thing." Seth tried to reassure him, running a hand through Y/N's hair.

Y/N let out a dramatic sigh, feigning exhaustion. "Okay, I will see you tomorrow."

Seth leaned down and gave Y/N a lingering goodnight kiss before pulling away “ see you tomorrow”

[juniperhillpatient]

I have talked about this a lot before but it’s on my mind & also it’s something that really should be discussed more in Buffy fandom -

People are constantly talking about how Spike defies all the rules Buffy was taught about demons & vampires & rightfully so. A vampire falling in love with a slayer & fighting for his soul for her is such a romantic notion & I do love it but the nuance of Spike’s arc is even more interesting than that! He does love Buffy but not only that he befriends the Scoobies too. He brings flowers for Joyce after she dies. He helps prove that Tara is not a demon when her family tries to gaslight her & isolate her. He becomes a pseudo big brother to Dawn.

And yet none of that is even what I’m here to talk about! Spike IS a hero & he does have a long spanning redemption arc before the soul (& we’re NOT here to talk about Seeing Red right now, as usual that topic is too expansive & requires its own post) that should be acknowledged & his character is rightfully praised but he is NOT the only exception to vampires having nuance & it drives me crazy that we act like he is. The Judge isn’t just talking to Spike when he says this:

“You TWO.” He’s talking about Drusilla too! He says that they share affection & jealousy. That Angelus in his total sociopathic lack of human emotion is the odd one here.

Then you have things like this -

Conversations with Dead People has Buffy sharing a very long & deep conversation with an old acquaintance turned vampire. And it’s far from the only example in universe of a vampire retaining some sense of camaraderie with people from their life!

That’s right this entire rant has been a lead up to talk about my best girly Harmony Kendall. You’ve fallen for my ruse if you’ve read this far muahaha! Admittedly Harmony’s strongest moments are mostly unfortunately on Angel but even in season four of Buffy when she dates Spike she is clearly intended at times to be sympathetic. Season 4 is also interesting because we see a lot interactions between various gangs of vampires like Harmony’s so-called minions & even Sundays gang where they’re very much evil but also sharing in living (existing?) space & acting like bickering roommates or siblings. Like creatures with bonds & personalities & intricacies.

The point I’m trying to make is that the show never truly wants to grapple with the existence of Spike in all his nuance but it’s also not just about him! In general there is so much to grapple with in the idea that vampires can change & be redeemed & I’m not saying I’m anti scary evil vampires I’m just saying the universe gave us these hints of nuance & then the characters never grappled with it & that’s lame. For Buffy killing things that have a shot at redemption however small would be a major emotional blow if she ever addressed it! Especially in her season 5 “am I just a killer 🥺” arc. Let’s deal with the implications!

Let’s deal with Xander’s trauma about killing Jessie & just how much it would/should hurt for him to see Spike increasingly choose good & work with the Scoobies. I would LOVE to know Xander’s reaction to Harmony’s arc on Angel or Cordelia befriending her & letting her go ina world where the writing acknowledges that he drove a stake through his best friends heart!

It’s just that the writers accidentally complicated their own lore & then totally refused to ever let their characters address what the cracks in the stories they tell themselves mean. Giles says that a vampire is no longer the person but instead the thing that killed them. What’s scarier: the idea that your loved one was killed & something wears their face like a mask OR much more insane (to me) the idea that your loved one came back very wrong but it’s still them? Your brother eats people now but he still remembers how you like your eggs & can quote every episode of the cartoon you watched as kids. Your mom murdered that woman from the PTA who always talked too much in cold blood but she still remembers the recipe for your favorite pancakes. The show wanted scary vampires but it got so caught up in never addressing the infinitely more complex & scarier vampires it accidentally created & sticking to the more simplistic initial idea that it did both the characters & lore very dirty. And I’ll never shut up about it!!!

[multi-fandom-imagine]

how have we as a fandom collectively not discussed lucifer corruption kink. because idk about anyone else but GODDDD FUCK

i was raised christian and that shit is so hot. like.. god DAMN

it's the "you used to be so devout when you were alive, what would they think of you now with the devil's cock in your mouth?" of it all for me.

A/n: this is just 🤌

You shouldn't be doing this, you were an Angel, one of the highest ranking members but looking up at the King of hell, the very man that Adam warned you about. Even when you were alive you knew better than to mess with him.

And yet, you found yourself unable to care at all.

You were on your knees, the man grasping your chin as he gave you a smirk but his eyes held something completely different.

"you used to be so devout when you were alive, what would they think of you now with the devil's cock in your mouth?" Lucifer then let his fingers glide down your cheek as you arched into his touch.

He couldn't explain why he wanted you so badly, he may have wanted to corrupt you but he also wanted to as his, he wanted you to be his and his alone.

Swallowing thickly, you could feel your heart race as you nodded your head and with a snap of your fingers you were lying in his bed. His dark eyes looking you over, wings wide and those horns. You wanted nothing more than to touch them.

"Sir....please..." you wanted something that Adam would never give you. "Please fuck me."

Lucifer grins, a mischievous glint in his red eyes as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. His voice was low and husky as he spoke, his words dripping with desire.

"Such a dirty mouth for such a pure girl." He stated hovering above you, his hands slipping under your dress. "Please...call me Lucifer and trust me Angel. I've been waiting for this moment for far too long," he whispered, his voice laced with a mixture of excitement and possessiveness. "I'm going to show you just how much better I am than Adam will ever be." His voice was thick with desire as he continued, his words a blend of dominance and longing.

"You're mine. Only mine," he growled. "I'm going to make you forget about him completely. I'll make you scream my name, beg for me to take you. I'll give you pleasure like you've never experienced before."

His lips then crashed against yours, a surge of passion and hunger fueling the kiss. His tongue danced with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth as if he were claiming it as his own. His hands roamed over your body, his touch igniting sparks of desire within you.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured against your lips, his voice raw with emotion. "Now that you're mine, I'm never letting you go."

With each word, Lucifers confidence grew, his grip on you tightening. He was determined to make you forget heaven,forget about Adam and to show you just how much better he could be. And in that moment, as his lips trailed down your neck and his hands explored your body, you couldn't deny the overwhelming desire that burned within you. You were his, and he was going to make damn sure you knew it.

Whimpering against his lips, you rubbed yourself against his groin as your breaths came out in shallow pants.

Lucifer's desire intensified as he felt your body pressing against his, your movements igniting a fire within him. His hands gripped your hips firmly, pulling you closer as he ground against you, the bulge in his pants growing harder with each passing moment.

"Mmm, you're so eager, aren't you, Angel?" he purred, his voice thick with need. "You want me to fuck you, don't you? To feel me deep inside you, claiming every inch of you?"

His hands now roaming over your body as he slowly undressed you, his touch gentle yet possessive. His eyes drank in the sight of your exposed skin, his breathing growing heavier with each passing second.

"I want you too spread those pretty legs for me."

As you complied, he quickly shed his own clothes, his cock springing free, hard and throbbing with need. He crawled onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he gazed down at you with hunger in his eyes.

"You're mine, Angel. And I'm going to make you feel so good," he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of possessiveness and adoration.

Without further hesitation, he plunged into you, filling you completely with one swift thrust. A moan escaped his lips as he felt your warmth enveloping him, a perfect fit that sent waves of pleasure through his body.

He began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful, each one driving you closer to the edge. His hands held onto you tightly, his hips meeting yours in a rhythm that was both primal and passionate. His eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with a mixture of possessiveness and aching desire.

"You're so fucking tight, Angel," he groaned, his voice laced with pleasure. "You feel so good wrapped around my cock."

He quickened his pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he chased his own release. His lips found yours once again, claiming them in a passionate kiss as he poured all his desire and need into you.

"Come for me, Angel," he whispered against your lips. "Let me feel you clench around me. Let me make you mine in every way."

As you both reached the peak of pleasure, Lucifer's own release washed over him, his body shuddering with the intensity of it. He spilled himself inside you, his moans mingling with yours as you both rode out the waves of ecstasy.

Lucifer collapsed beside you, his breathing heavy yet satisfied. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his lips pressing gentle kisses against your forehead.

"You're mine, Angel," he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of possessiveness and tenderness. "And I'll do everything in my power to make you happy."

[python333]

your writing is literally the best in the cod fandom. we need more injured reader angst. it's too good

don't breathe — python333

— — — —

synopsis [reader] gets buried alive after refusing to give intel to enemy soldiers and *slips up and writes reader almost dying again* oops how did that happen haha

relationships platonic!price & gn!reader.

characters cap. john price.

word count 2.7k

warnings suffocation [reader], just generally really depressing thoughts, near death??, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note aww tysm :(( dont say its the best im gonna get a complex LMAO but i appreciate it!! and yes i agree injured reader angst ftw :3 i present to you: reader gets very injured and theres a lot of angst and its basically just you suffering for a good 3/4 of the fic while the last quarter has the actual comfort!

“Hello?” You try again, your voice cracking and your tone as desperate as it can get, “Please, God, say someone can hear me.” 

You’ve been trapped in a casket for about five minutes now—at least, you woke up five minutes ago. God knows how long you’ve been stuck in the stupid thing, but realistically, it’s probably been much longer than five minutes.

The last thing you remember from before you were buried is being in the interrogation room of some small terrorist group’s facility, one you and the others were led to believe was abandoned weeks ago. 

Unfortunately, whoever gave you the information must’ve either had incredibly outdated information or was setting you all up for failure, because the facility was very much not abandoned and was instead full of enemy soldiers.

You all had already gotten into the building before you knew that, because of course you all had to be in the same spot at the same time—practically sitting ducks for the enemy—and of course you all had to be clueless about the possibly hundreds of people in the facility until it was too late. 

As far as you know, everyone managed to escape. Everyone but you. They didn’t mean to leave you behind, of course they didn’t, they were more focused on just booking it out of the facility. However, because of that, you were now stuck—you assume—several feet underground in a casket that has a limited amount of oxygen that drops every time you take a breath. 

You let out the breath you’re currently holding and suck in another deep breath, holding it as you think. Your strategy of holding your breath until you no longer could mostly worked, but it wouldn’t for long, you knew that soon you’d suffocate in all of the carbon dioxide gathering in the enclosed casket.

You don’t know how long you’d been unconscious in the casket, breathing in oxygen carelessly in your slumber, which made the whole situation worse. You didn’t even know how much time you had left. 

You hate to waste your breath checking your comms, but the enemy soldiers had accidentally left your earpiece in your ear—the small device apparently going undetected under their radar—and you wanted to make the most of it. You move your arm from your side and press onto the PTT button on your earpiece, wincing a little at how cramped the casket was.

“Does anybody copy?” You ask again, staring up at the almost pitch black space above you, “I repeat, does anybody copy?” 

It’s a vain attempt at contacting your team, really. You don’t know if they’re thinking about you, if the signal is going through, if they even have their earpieces on—you know nothing, and that terrifies you because you really don’t want to die right now but there’s literally nothing else you can do besides helplessly talk into your earpiece, not knowing if anyone’s listening. 

Your lungs start to burn and you let out the breath you were holding, taking another deep breath and beginning to hold that one. The air feels… thick. It’s starting to get harder to breathe, and you know you shouldn’t panic but you can’t help the few worried thoughts that come to the forefront of your mind. 

What am I going to do when I run out of oxygen and the only thing left for me to breathe in are my own discarded breaths? What will I do when all there is to do is suffocate? Am I going to try, in one last desperate attempt, to break out of the casket, or am I going to just lay here and die? Will my team try to find me, or will they forget about me? Have they already forgotten about me? 

Before you can listen to any more of those depressing thoughts, a voice comes from your earpiece. 

“H—lo? [c/n]?” It’s hard to tell with the static and the cuts in between the words, but you think it’s Price talking. 

“Price?” You ask immediately, all thoughts of preserving your breath forgotten. “Holy shit, you can hear me?” 

“Je—s— whe—e—” He cuts out for a moment and your stomach drops when all you can hear is static for a moment. 

“You’re— You’re cutting out, Captain, what did you say?” 

“Wher— —re you?” It takes you a moment to realize what he’s saying, your mind working much slower than it usually does, but once you do you shake your head negatively despite him not being there to see you. 

“I don’t— I don’t know,” You respond, taking a deep breath before adding on, “I think I’m underground, I just know I’m in a casket and it’s getting harder to breathe and—” 

“Okay, o—y,” You hear Price’s voice crackle, his voice becoming more distant and sounding almost muffled to you, “Sa— —ur bre—th, I’ll try to g—t some—e to track your— —tion.” 

With the constant cutting out of his words and the distortion of his tone, you can barely register or process what he’s saying, and that only panics you more but you refuse to let your emotions get the better of you even in the state of disorientation you’re in, so you keep holding your breath. 

A minute later, Price’s voice crackles through your earpiece again. 

“Okay, we’ve got your loc—tion,” Price’s voice sounds… oddly far away, “We can—” 

His voice slowly becomes muffled, and you release the breath you were holding without realizing it, slowly blinking up at the ceiling of the casket. A sort of haze falls over your mind and you can barely even hear Price anymore before you suddenly snap back to reality and hear his now much clearer voice loud in your ear. 

“[c/n]? [c/n], are you still there?” You recognize his tone now, and you’re just a little shocked at the sheer amount of worry in it. 

“Haven’t moved an inch,” You breathe out, before lying, “You cut out for a second for me, sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, “I said we got your loc—tion and we’re hea—g out th— —w. It’s not t— far away from where —e alre—dy are, we’re ba—ely three clicks away.” 

“… Clicks?” You ask, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Yes, clicks,” Price replies, sounding concerned, before hesitantly asking, “… You know what those are, right?” 

“I don’t—” You struggle to find words for a moment before you speak again, your own voice starting to sound distant, “I don’t think so?”

“What do y—u mean you don’t thi— —o?” Price asks, his voice sounding freakishly close, “Are you okay?” 

“No, yeah, I’m fine,” You lie through your teeth, not wanting to worry Price further, “I just… how far away are you?” 

“Just ab—t two cli—ks now,” Price says, before pausing and clarifying, “Two kilometers.” 

Two kilometers… how far is that? “And that’s… is that far, or?” 

“No, it’s not too far. It’s just a mi—te away, we didn’t ge— —o far before Laswell got your loc—tion,” Price tells you, “We’ll be there soon, ok—y? We’ll get y— —ut of there.” 

“A minute—” You cough and feel tears pricking at your eyes from how hard it is to take another breath, “A minute?” 

“Yes, a minute— [c/n], are you okay?” Price asks again, before laughing nervously, “You know what a minute is, do— —ou?” 

“...” You struggle to answer the question, thinking long and hard for a few seconds before hesitantly answering, “… Yeah, I do, sorry. It’s sixty seconds.” 

“Why’d it take you so long to answer?” 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry, I—” You take a few shallow breaths, and feel a headache start to build up, “How far away are you guys?” 

“We’re alm—t there,” Price promises you, “The heli’s ab—t to l—nd, and we’ll dig you up, and—” 

Why is it so cold? Price’s voice cuts off and when he stops talking you realize that you’re shivering. You ball your fists up and can’t even feel your nails digging into your palms, your hands having gone numb from the cold, and realizing that makes you discover that your lips feel numb too. 

Your ears start to ring and you feel that uncomfortable pins and needles feeling in your hands, the sensation slowly traveling up your arms, making you both wanting to peel off your own skin and also grateful that you can at least feel something besides the cold.

In the midst of your thinking, you hear muffled thumping coming from above you—whoever buried you couldn’t have buried you anything below six feet. 

“—llo? [c/n]? Are you still there?” 

You bring your hand up, the movement slow and sluggish, and you try to search around the side of your face for your earpiece. You eventually find it and when you do you press against it until you feel the PTT button being pushed. 

“Still here,” You confirm breathlessly, coughing again as you take a few more shallow breaths, “I think I’m running out of— of… what’s the fuckin’ air that you can breath in, it starts with an o…” 

“… Oxygen?”

“Oxygen, yeah,” You slowly blink up at the ceiling of the casket, “There’s— I think— I don’t… I think… I think I’m gonna pass out, Captain.” 

“[c/n], don’t you fucking dare,” Price growls, “You stay awake, I swear to fucking god.” 

“I can’t—” You take a few more shallow breaths, before coughing, the tears escaping your eyes reaching the corners of your mouth. 

You can hear Price briefly talk with someone else, his voice the most serious you’ve ever heard it, before he talks directly to you again, “How much longer do you think you have before you run out of oxygen?” 

It takes you a moment to register the question, but when you do, you answer, “Uh… I don’t— I think… maybe a few more minutes? I can’t tell, it’s just hard to breathe, I can’t…” 

“Okay, okay,” Price softly says, gusts of wind blowing into his mic as he talks, “Give me a second, okay? We’re almost there, kid, we’ll— we’ll be there in just a minute, we just passed over you, I just need you to stay awake.” 

“In a minute,” You repeat to yourself, before taking a deep breath, hoping that you have enough oxygen to make it out of this casket because you really don’t want to die here, not when there’s help just a minute away. 

After what you assume is a minute or two, instead of thumping, you hear something cut into the dirt above you. The sound, however, is heavily muffled, so muffled to the point where you don’t know if you’re hallucinating or not.

Is that a symptom of CO2 poisoning? Hallucinations? You lay still in the casket and can’t help but release the breath you’d only just taken, the ringing in your ears starting up again and growing louder faster than they had before. 

Your entire body is numb, your chest is heavy, and you can feel a sort of fog fall over your mind. You can distantly hear Price yelling through your earpiece, but you can’t find it in yourself to respond, instead simply laying there, your blinking starting to slow down before it eventually stops, leaving your eyes closed. 

— 

For a moment, you think you died and went to heaven, which would be weird, considering all the things you’ve done in your life. Not saying you’d go to hell, just saying God would probably hesitate for a second before letting you in through the pearly gates. 

You blink awake, slowly but surely, and the first thing you realize is that you can feel things again. You tilt your head down to the bump under the white bed sheets laid on top of you, and squeeze your hand into a ball, watching the bump move and feeling your fingers dig into your oddly sore palms.

You let out a sigh of relief and pull your hand out from the sheets, bringing it up to your face and feeling the oxygen mask that’s been placed over your mouth and nose.

“Don’t mess with that,” You hear a voice say to your right. You turn your head and see a very tired Captain Price, dark eyebags hanging under his eyes and arms crossed, his hands having a white knuckle grip on either one of his elbows. 

“…” You don’t say anything, instead you simply stare at him until he sighs and gets up from his seat. You watch silently as he leans over your bed and bends down, before pausing, and then quickly snaking his hands under your back to pull you up just enough for him to properly hug you. 

You reach up with shaky hands and tentatively hug him back, not nearly as tightly—not that you don’t want to, but you physically can’t with how weak your arms are right now—but with just as much sincere affection. You can feel Price’s beard rubbing against your neck and hear his small sniffles as he embraces you tightly. 

Maybe it’s his sniffling, or the way you can finally feel warmth for the first time in what feels like forever, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s holding you with so much care and affection that it almost makes you burst at the seams, whatever it is, it causes you to tear up as well. 

Those tears quickly become sobs that bubble up in your throat and crawl their way out of it, forcing you to tuck your head into the crook of Price’s neck and muffle your sobs in it, muttering a small ‘sorry’ after each one. 

After each ‘sorry’, Price responds with, “It’s okay, let it out, sweetheart, you’re okay,” and those reassuring words only make you cry more because God, you didn’t even think he’d find you, yet here he is, letting you cry into his neck and is reassuring you after every apology that it’s okay. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” You mumble a litany of apologies into Price’s neck, your breath stuttering and hitching as you try to hold back your sobs. Price only shushes you and rubs his hand up and down your back in a comforting gesture, bringing his head up to kiss the top of your head. 

He tucks your head under his chin, “Don’t apologize, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

And fuck, you know it’s just words, but it only makes you cry more. 

Your sobs eventually stop, leaving you hiccuping against Price’s neck, silently crying as he continues to rub your back. 

“I thought you died,” He whispers, his hand stuttering on your back, “I thought you died and I was going to dig up your dead body, when you didn’t answer me.”

You stay silent, letting him continue, “I thought you were dead when we dug you up and needed to feel your heartbeat for myself to confirm that you were still alive.” 

He pauses for a moment before continuing, “I’ve been here ever since they put you in here. I haven’t slept, I’ve just stayed here, waiting for you to wake up so I could tell you that I—”

He chokes up for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I’m sorry for not even thinking to drag you out of the facility with me when we all ran out. You were— you were right there, and I couldn’t just grab your arm and take you with me, I just had to leave you behind and I—” 

“You watched me while I was asleep?” You ask quietly, your eyebrows drawing together. 

Price pauses and pulls his chin off of your head, and pulls you away from his neck so he can properly give you the most incredulous look he can pull, before saying, “I’m pouring my heart out to you and apologizing for practically leaving you for dead, and that’s what you’re worried about?” 

“Well, I’m not worried, I’m just—” You shrug, not knowing how to explain it. Price sighs and chuckles quietly before tucking your head back under his chin. 

“You’re insufferable,” He mumbles, sniffling a bit. 

“… I forgive you, by the way,” You say after a moment of silence, “I didn’t really blame you in the first place.” 

“You had the right to.” 

“Sure I did.” 

“But you didn’t blame me.”

“Right.” “…” Price stays silent for a moment before pressing another soft kiss to the top of your head and saying quietly, “You should blame me.” 

“Maybe,” You mumble back, “But I won’t.” 

Later, maybe an hour later, if the others see you asleep in Price’s arms while he keeps your head tucked under his chin and rubs your back affectionately—no they don’t.