#i could barely get through the episode yesterday

[withahappyrefrain]

Unraveled- Bob Floyd

Summary: Bob Floyd likes to think he can keep it cool. Then along comes a sundress.

Warnings: friends to lovers, smut, so much pining, language,

Bob Floyd didn't like to brag, but he considered himself pretty dang smart and sensible. 

He knew the ins and outs of every jet he has flown. Hell,  he could break it apart and put it back together again within a few hours, if that.  He was able to quickly assess a situation, weigh the pros and cons, and come to a sound decision. It’s why he was the top WSO for the mission in Miramar. 

So why has a piece of fabric thrown him for such a loop? 

All Bob was trying to do was be polite. You had mentioned taking an Uber to the Hard Deck tonight and Bob knew the polite thing to do was to offer a ride. After all, he wasn't going to drink. You would save money. It's what any good friend would do. It had absolutely nothing to do with the crush he had been harboring since your first debriefing. 

He was just trying to be courteous. The gentleman his Mama worked hard in raising. Getting to spend time with you, without the other members of your shared squadron around or loud music, wasn't even near the forefront of his mind when he made the offer. Bob was just trying to be a good friend. A good friend who just wanted to help. A good friend who was forcing himself to look at you through a platonic lens, not a romantic one. 

Bob liked to think he was doing pretty well at that. 

That is, until a dress came along and unraveled him. 

Perhaps you said hello when you opened the door.  You probably did, considering how polite you were. But all Bob could focus on was the way the fabric of your dress hugged your curves. 

And what little fabric there was. He had seen you in civilian clothes before. But never anything like this. His mind absolutely went blank when you hugged him and he could feel how much of your bare skin was exposed. Due to the halter style of the straps, nearly your whole upper back was now perfectly visible.

“Um you-you look um nice,” Bob barely got out. He was too busy trying to burn the feeling of your soft skin into his brain. You were warm, like a walking ray of sunshine. 

“Thanks! I got it yesterday and I figured with the weather being so nice, today was the perfect day to wear it!” you said, giving a little twirl. Bob tried to focus on the pattern of dress; how the green brought out your eyes. 

But all he could focus on was the curves of your body, now being highlighted. The way the halter style made your breasts swell and the lack of a bra very apparent. How the fabric stopped at the top of your thighs when you spun, giving Bob a peek of what he often thought about late at night. 

This was bad. 

“I take it you came early to watch an episode of Love Island before we leave?” You asked as he stumbled walked in.

The truth was, Bob wasn’t a fan of reality TV. But he watched because it gave the two of you a chance to talk to one another. Just as friends, nothing more. When watching the silly show, you two could make jokes, talk about things other than work. 

“Yeah! Ready to watch hot people make poor decisions again,” Bob said with a nervous laugh. The joke failed to put him at ease. If anything, it reminded him that he was about to spend at least forty minutes with you and that did not include the drive to the Hard Deck. 

“You���re using my tagline!” your smile lit up your whole face. Bob was certain it could light up the whole turmac. All he could do was nod, his heart fluttering when you grabbed his hand, leading him into the living room. 

"I have some kettle corn in the microwave for you! I also made cherry seltzer water!" Bob could feel heat rush to his face. You always remembered the little details that no one else seemed to pick up on; that he loved salt but had an even bigger sweet tooth. How in an attempt to cut back on soda, he switched to sparkling water. His favorite flavor was cherry because it reminded him of cherry coke. 

"Did you see the video I sent you?" You gently squeezed Bob's hand as you two sat down. 

"Y-yeah. You're absolutely right, having three otters would be my dream." Ever since learning about Bob's favorite animal, you had sent him every otter-related video you came across while scrolling the internet. You even got him a pair of Otter socks for his birthday.  It was the fact you paid attention to seemingly minor details that made Bob fall head over heels for you. 

But alas, you were a coworker. The problem at hand wasn't whether it was allowed, ‘incest’ (as Jake unfortunately called it) happened all the time in the Navy. After all, there were only so many things you could do on a ship before switching to people. No, it was the potential issues that came with dating. Rejection being the main one. Bob had no trouble believing you and he could be professional should you two date and it not work out. That happened all the time. What worried him was rejection. Having to go to work everyday and put on a facade, that things were fine. When deep down, he knew he'd be heartbroken. And even worse, he'd no longer have your friendship. 

So Bob settled, as he often did when it came to love. He took comfort knowing he'd still have you, albeit as a friend instead of a partner. That should be more than enough. For the last few months, he had convinced himself that it was enough. 

But God was it difficult when you bent over right to grab the remote. 

The hemline of your dress inched upwards, showing off the backs of your upper thighs and- 

he could see the swell of your ass. He could see the flash of red lace. Your skin looked so soft and supple and you were so close he could just reach out and- 

Oh God he was hard. Oh no. 

This was bad. Worse than that time he popped an erection during sex ed in middle school. There, he at least had a jacket and a desk to cover it. 

But here? He was a full grown adult and San Diego’s seventy degree weather didn't give him any additional layers. Bob looked around, desperate for something, anything, to hide his cock that was currently straining against his jeans. 

Thank fuck for your love of decorative pillows. 

He grabbed the closest one, shaped and designed like a pomegranate. You were so excited the day you picked it up from some Facebook Marketplace deal. He had driven you, partly out of wanting to spend time with you, partly because he wanted to ensure you were safe. It was adorable and definitely shouldn’t be used for nefarious purposes, such as hiding a boner. This was wrong, so fucking wrong.   

Bob was trying to think of anything and everything that would kill this boner. But his spot on the couch aligned perfectly with the entranceway of the kitchen, where you currently were, rummaging around to fix Bob a drink. 

What ever happened to doors? Why were people so opposed to doors? Doors were lovely. You could close doors. Every time he tried to think of something, you were right in his line of view, turning every thought into something more devious. 

His family? His family would love you. If you two got married you could make  your own family. 

Work? You worked with him, in that damn flight suit that clung to your every curve. No one else could make that god forsaken green fabric look good.  

School? God, you were so smart. The top of your class. And witty, always ready with a clever, underhanded comeback. It’s how you two originally bonded, both having muttered something about Jake under your breath. 

Bob Floyd was screwed. Thoroughly. 

He tried to comfort himself with the fact that soon you two would be watching people in their early twenties making the dumbest decisions over dating. If anything were to be a boner killer, that had to be it. He just needed to make it through then. 

“Bob?” Your lithe voice broke him out of his thoughts. Not that it was much of a reprieve, with the way you were standing at the kitchen entranceway with a glass of sparkling water in each hand, “You good?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m great!” He said with an all too eager nod, desperate to convince you this was truly the case. Fuck, you were so beautiful. And you were showing so much skin. He had seen you on the beach before, adorned in athletic shorts and a sports bra. But this was different. 

The dress was far too nice for the Hard Deck. No, you deserved to be taken to a nice restaurant, one with a lovely outdoor patio. The image of you sitting on a lovely chair with a glass of wine in your hand came easily to Bob. It was also the perfect dress for a picnic, particularly at the nearby park, specifically in that little secluded area. God, the idea of you laying down on a red and white checkered blanket, the hem of your dress pushed up your thighs as he leaned over you, ready to take you-

Bob leaned forward, clutching the pillow as he tried to will himself the strength to get it together. 

“Bob? Are-are you okay?” You quickly placed the drinks down on the coffee table, rushing over to kneel in front of him on the couch. 

Oh what a sight that was, you looking up at him with big eyes, full of concern. Your hands were on his biceps, and Bob knew if he looked down he would have the perfect view of your breasts. 

 It was so hot and also the very last thing Bob fucking needed. 

“I’m good. Stomach doesn’t agree with what we had for lunch, that’s all.” Lying was never good, his mother instilled that in him at an early age. But in this scenario, Bob was certain the truth was much worse. 

“I’ll go get you a ginger ale!” Bob opened his mouth to protest, though no words came out due to seeing not only the tops of your thighs, but a flash of your ass as you spun around to go back into the kitchen. 

For a few seconds, the  supple, plump flesh was so close to him. Practically within arm’s reach. 

Maybe he should just leave while you were in the kitchen. 

But that would be rude. Not only rude, but it would raise your suspicions if they weren’t high already. Plus, he had already promised you a ride to the Hard Deck. He couldn’t just leave you hanging, not after you brought a dress for the occasion. He may be in dire need of a cold shower, but the last thing Bob Floyd was going to do was hurt you. He squeezed the pillow, knuckles turning white as he tried to find strength. For once, he couldn’t wait to start an episode of Love Island. Hell, he would even take an episode of The Bachelor at this point. 

“Here ya go,” You sat down on the couch next to him, glass of ginger ale in hand. You even remembered how much ice he preferred in his cold beverages. You were perfect. 

“Thanks,” Bob slowly took one hand off the pillow, the other still holding onto it for dear life. 

“You uh, like that pillow?” You chuckled, though your nerves still shined through. 

“Huh? Oh yeah,” Bob looked down, ensuring his big problem was still covered, “It uh, helps my stomach!”

You raised an eyebrow, though you didn’t further question it. Instead, much to Bob’s delight, you reached for the remote, clicking through until you finally landed on the desired episode. With a shaking hand, Bob gulped down the ginger ale, promptly placing it on the coffee table so he could have both hands on the pillow. 

The room was silent, saved for the ridiculous conversations happening on the TV screen. Normally you and Bob would be shoulder to shoulder, laughing as you both narrated your opinions on the contestants. But today Bob was rigid, his fingers still clutching to the pillow on his lap. He hadn’t even touched the bowl of popcorn. 

"Do you like my dress?" It took everything in Bob not to groan at your question. The last thing he needed was a reason to look at you. But how could he deny himself such a chance? So he put on his best smile as he turned to face you.    

"Uh yeah it's lovely. I'm sure everyone will love it-" 

"I got it for you.” Your voice was soft as you hit the pause button on your remote, eyes remaining on the screen. 

The words hit Bob like a freight train. 

"What? Why would you-"

You shrugged, fingers toying with the short hem of your dress, "I thought maybe, if you saw me in something different, something that wasn't my flight suit or a tee shirt, that maybe you would finally notice me?” 

You finally looked him in the eyes, “Maybe you'd finally notice that I've been trying to flirt with you for the last few months?" 

Bob opened his mouth just to promptly close it. He thought back to the last few months, now analyzing every seemingly ordinary interaction he had with you. 

The way you insisted on sitting next to each other during lunch. As well as during briefings. And when you went to the Hard Deck. Whenever a guy tried to flirt with you there, you turned them down, focusing your attention back on him, continuing your conversation about his latest D&D campaign or a Lego set you had found that reminded you of him. The way you always touched his arm, your hand lingering on his skin as you bore your eyes into his. How you always texted him. How you baked a cake for his birthday. The little trinkets you’d bring him. 

Oh god, he was a fucking idiot. 

The tension in the room was thick. You, sitting restlessly as you waited for Bob to acknowledge what you had said. Bob, processing your words and what they meant. 

“How long?” Bob asked, his voice soft yet firm.

You chuckled as you shook your head, “Honestly? First day. We hadn’t even spoken yet. I saw you walk in and you just were….not only handsome but also looked so kind? Then you offered me a spare pencil, made that comment about Jake’s driving and I….was a goner.”

“I saw you talking to Halo before the briefing room was open,” He confessed, “She said something that made you laugh and it….it was the prettiest sight I had ever seen.”

“We’ve wasted a lot of time, huh?” You both stared ahead at the TV, still too fearful to face each other. 

Bob dryly chuckled, “Yeah….a lot of time. Months, if we’re being more exact.” 

The two of you remained in silence, your words sinking in. Neither sure what should be said, if anything should be said. Until finally, you spoke up. 

“Bob? What’s underneath the pillow?” 

His hips shifted, involuntary, “What?” For a moment, he forgot about the darn pillow and the erection he was covering with it. 

The cluelessness in his voice brought a giggle, “The pillow? Why are you using it to cover your lap?”

Bob sighed, “Can I at least kiss you first?” 

You nodded, moving to close the gap between you and Bob. Pillow be damned, his hands cupped your jawline, giving you a sweet smile before leaning in, closing the gap between your lips and his. 

Bob Floyd’s lips were soft, no doubt due to the sweet mint chapstick you'd watch him apply countless of times. You didn't want to admit how often you'd wondered about the taste, what his hands would feel like on your body. God, they were huge. His thumbs rested comfortably on your jawline, but you could feel his other fingers spanning your neck, down to your collarbone. 

The first kiss was gentle, practically modest. Your lips were only apart for several seconds, if that, before connecting again. 

You easily found his shoulders, grasping them for purchase. The gap between your bodies was too much, Bob wanted to be as close as possible. So his hands trailed down your body, skimming along until they found the back of your thighs. Using his strength, he moved your body, situating you onto his lap. 

A high pitched gasp fell from your lips upon feeling the bulge that was straining against his jeans. Good god, he was thick. You had heard whispers, chalking it up to typical locker room talk. 

Nope, those rumors were one hundred percent true. 

“I’m sorry,” Bob groaned, hands exploring your soft curves. Worst of all, he sounded earnest, only making you want to touch him more. 

“I-I wore this on purpose ah-after all,” you confessed, finding it difficult to speak as he pressed open mouthed kisses along your exposed chest. 

Right. You wore this on purpose. To entice him. To see if perhaps he felt the same burning desire. Once realization hit him again, Bob’s hands moved along your back, just stopping above your ass. 

Wait, he was about to touch your ass. 

“We-we shouldn’t,” Bob mumbled, retracting his hands from your body. You stilled, a crestfallen look painting your face. 

“We shouldn’t?” Repeating the words felt like driving a knife through your heart. Had regret finally emerged, beating the rush of adrenaline? Was he going to regret this, ask that you two never speak about it ever again, pretend it never happened?

“I…” Bob sighed, “I need to take you on a date first.”

Bless his heart. 

Sighing, you relaxed your body into his, resting your head in the crook of his neck, “You’re too sweet, y’know that?”

Bob chuckled, “That's supposed to be my line.” 

His hands gave your hips a loving squeeze, causing you to nestle further into him, until your bodies were nearly molded as one. Your lips searched for his, trailing up his neck, his jawline, along the side of his button nose until finally reaching his soft lips. Bob shifted in his seat, causing you to do the same. As a result, you could feel his erection, despite the layers of clothes. 

“Good lord Bobby, you've just been walking around with all that?” Bob groaned, but not due to your words. No, it was because you had started moving your hips in circles, his erection now pressed against your covered core. 

“I’m- I’m trying to be a gentleman.” Bob couldn't even look at you. He didn't want to stop. He should stop. Maybe you two could skip the Hard Deck and go out to dinner. Then he could take you home and not feel as guilty. 

“You can be a gentleman later,” by throwing your arms over his shoulder you finally had access to his neck. His skin was so soft, so delicate. How could you not sink your teeth into his neck? 

Normally you'd have better self control than this. But you were ovulating and had six months of sexual frustrations and wet dreams- 

“You had dreams about me?” Uh-oh. That wasn't meant to be said out loud. Granted, maybe it was for the best to get everything out in the open. 

Timidly nodding, you explained, “Yeah. The days I didn't sit next to you were because….I had a dream about ya the night before.” 

A band had snapped within Bob, no doubt due to the numerous times you didn't sit next to him during briefings. 

Within seconds, you found yourself on your back against the couch, the bespectacled WSO hovering over you. There was a fire flickering in his blue eyes as he remained laser focused on your face. 

“After this, you're putting this dress back on and I'm taking ya out to dinner, is that clear?” his voice was gruff and deep, similar to when he did a hundred pushes that one day (that you definitely didn't think about while masturbating). 

Chest heaving, dress pushed up to your upper thighs, lips kiss bitten, God, you looked like an angel to Bob. He remembered learning about angels in church growing up. How pious they were, that seeing them was a sign of comfort, that they would guide one to safety, to a holy life. 

There was nothing holy about what he wanted to do to you. 

His mouth was hot, searing kisses along your skin. Your back arched into him, desperate for me. But he always seemed to pull away before you could get enough. Would you? Ever get enough of Bob Floyd? 

Finding an answer would have to wait, for now you wanted to relish in the feeling of Bob’s hands kneading your breasts. It was obvious you weren't wearing a bra, a fact Bob ob had spent forty minutes trying not to think about. He still felt a smidge of guilt, as though the newly drawn line between friends and more hadn’t quite sunk in yet. Was he even supposed to be doing this?

“You can keep going. I want you to.” You sensed his hesitation. In all the time you knew Bob, he had never taken someone home for a one night stand. He wasn’t like that. He needed time to build a connection, to feel comfortable enough to be himself. That’s why he loved spending time with you. With you, there was no need to put up a front, no need to be fearful of judgement. 

“And then afterwards, we can order some Thai food and continue watching the episode, if you want. Or we can just do that now,” your hands cradled his jaw, gently forcing him to look at you. He found a sweet, reassuring smile, similar to the one that made him smitten six months ago. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Bob could be blunt, and often was when it came to his colleague’s shenanigans. But with his own feelings? He always chose his words carefully. 

Hence why his admission took you some time to process. Bob could see it on your face; first your eyes widened, lips slightly parting as if driven by the need to respond immediately. But then your lips closed, your brain quickly gaining back self control. 

“I’m falling in love with you too Robby.” You were the only one who could call him that. It was that familiarity, that intimacy, that gave him the courage to move his hands to your hemline up to your hips, revealing the thin, lacy red fabric underneath. 

You were breathtaking. Always were. But this? This solidified things for Bob. You two had made a step forward in your relationship. Many things would still be the same. But there were now new things to experience. Simply another layer of intimacy had been added.

His long fingers skimmed over the fabric of your panties, every touch sending a spark of electricity along your spine. Every stroke caused a small gasp to fall from your lips, music to Bob’s ears. Lowering himself, Bob decorated your hips with opened mouth kisses. Finally, gaining enough courage, his fingers pushed your panties to the side. 

Fuck, you were wet. 

If there was any hesitation left in Bob, it died upon seeing how visibly aroused you were. He had done that. No one else. Lowering himself even more, he was now at eye level with your wet cunt. This wasn’t some vivid wet dream. 

When his touch licked a broad stripe up your slit, a broken moan fell from your lips, echoing off the walls. It was the prettiest sound Bob had heard. He wanted to hear it again. All the time. 

With more confidence, Bob begins lapping up your arousal, determined to taste every inch of you. His fingers dig into your thighs, pulling you closer. Looking down, you see his glasses are now crooked, though you highly doubt Bob cares, given how his eyes are half closed in pleasure. 

Wait, was he grinding against the couch? 

The discovery caused your thighs to clamp over Bob’s ears, your hips thrusting upwards to get more of his talented tongue. Bob wasn't reserved around you, never had been. But this was a new side to him that you had wondered if it ever existed. Animalistic. Devouring. Loud. 

His groans vibrate against your core, only heightening the pleasure. Slowly, his right hand goes from your hips to your core, mouth moving to your clit as the long digits trace your opening. 

��Oh my God, please,” you all but beg, not quite ready to admit how often you thought about his fingers and how they would feel inside of you.

Always thinking about your comfort, Bob started off with just one finger. You tried to fuck yourself with it, your own fingers gripping the soft strands of his hair for better leverage. The thought of making you beg crossed Bob’s mind. Would you like that? Would you be open to that? There were so many new topics to discuss, so many new boundaries to explore now. 

You happily welcomed the stretch of two, three fingers. Bob found the little moans you let out to be quite adorable. He could feel his cock throb against his jeans, but pleasing you took priority. 

“C’mon honey. Wanna feel you come on my fingers.” His voice was low, husky even. 

“C-can you be inside me? Like your…your cock?” A broken groan fell from Bob’s lips at the very thought of being inside of you. 

“I don't….I don't think I'll last long,” he admitted sheepishly. Hell, he could probably come just from eating you out. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it sounded pretty good- bringing himself to the height of pleasure just from ravishing you. 

“I don't think I will either,” you giggled, “But we’ll….we have lots of other times to go slow.” 

Bob helped you sit up on the couch. “You wanna go to the bedroom?” He asked, thinking about how this could be more comfortable for you. 

Instead, you shook your head, hands moving to his jeans, hastily undoing the buttons. 

Now it was your turn to explore, to discover. There was a dark trail of hair that went past the waistband of his jeans. He wore boxer briefs. And Bob Floyd had the prettiest cock. 

His face turned bright red at the compliment, “Oh it's…I mean it's like fine, but it's not-” 

“Take the damn compliment Robert,” you all but scolded, eliciting a laugh from him, your favorite. The high pitch, near giggle one. The one that made your heart flutter. 

Feeling at ease, you moved so that you were hovering over Bob’s lap. Your fingers moved to the base of his cock, making you realize you would have to ease yourself into it. 

“I gotcha,” his hands found your hips, slowly easing you down. His sapphire eyes never left your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. He went slow, waiting until you made it vocally known you were ready for more. 

By the time you reached the base of Bob’s cock, you were a mess. You wanted him to move, to fuck you within an inch of your life. But he was also so big. The stretch was nothing you had experienced before. 

“Hey, we can take our time, okay? I know it's, that it's a lot,” he assured you, as though he could sense your internal conflict. His lips found yours, and in that kiss you found comfort. Bob grounded you, always had, whether it was up in the air or right here on your couch. 

How much time had passed, who was to say? You could recall both your phones vibrating a few times, no doubt messages from the rest of your squad. Those messages could wait. 

“I think I'm ready,” you whispered against Bob’s lips. He needed, digging his fingers into your hips to gain a better grip. With his help, you lifted yourself no more than a couple of inches off his cock, returning to the base. 

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” Bob moaned. You just made Bob Floyd curse. Something not even a bird strike could do. That four letter word gave you the confidence to lift your hips up on your own accord, returning swiftly. Slowly, just an inch or two, which became several inches. Up and down motions turned to swiveling your hips in a circular rhythm. What was once a quiet living room, saved for a few small gasps and the static from the TV, had now become a symphony of melodic pants and groans. 

Bob could tell you were close. Your pussy was tightening around his cock more and more, your fingers dug into his broad shoulders, as if trying to anchor yourself. You practically whined at the sight of Bob taking two fingers into his mouth, wetting them with his tongue. He lowered them to where your bodies connected. 

Upon first contact with your clit, your head dropped to the crook of his neck, unabashedly moaning his name, hips moving in a now frantic motion. 

“That's it, I gotcha.” Fuck, we he going to talk you through it? Was Bob Floyd a talker? Ironic, considering at work he was known as a man of few words. 

“Feels s’good, being inside ya.” Fuck, he was a talker. You were doomed, “Wanna, wanna make us cum. Bet ya gonna feel even better when ya soak- fuck- soak my cock.” 

Your brain was hazy. Was this real? If it was a vivid wet dream, you never wanted to wake up. Was it wrong to hope that you were in a medically induced coma, so that if this  was indeed a dream, you wouldn’t have to wake up so soon? Surely, your friends and family would understand upon meeting Bob. 

Then he pointedly thrusted his hips upwards, reminding you that no, this wasn’t a dream. No, you wouldn’t wake up feeling frustrated and unable to look him in the eye. After this, you two could go out to eat, on a real date. Not some hey let’s get dinner that feels like a date in everything except in name. You could also order delivery and cuddle up on the couch. Maybe you could even shower with him beforehand, and see his bare body, find out what was truly hiding underneath that flight suit. Oh, he was deceptively strong, you always knew that. But to see it, to feel the hard planes of his muscles? Oh, that would be quite the joy to experience. 

“Sweet girl,” you clenched at that nickname, you wanted him to continue calling you that for eternity, “Let go. Know ya want it.”

“I-I do,” you all but whined. Bob found the noise cute. What other sounds did you make? What would you sound like if he kept fucking you after you came? What about if he ate you out for hours? Or teased you until you were teetering on the edge?

There were so many questions, so many areas to explore. But for now, Bob was satisfied with experiencing how tightly you clenched his cock, how you practically sang his name as you came. Your release triggered his, pulling your hips down until they were flushed against his. His lips smashed against yours, swallowing your moans. 

Then there was silence. No words spoken. Only the sounds of panting, you both clearly trying to catch your breath, and kisses exchanged, ones that neither of you could resist giving. 

Realization hits you like a freight train. “I’m on birth control.”

Bob’s eyes widened, “Oh thank God.” He was usually so good about asking, about pulling out. But you….you made his brain feel like cotton. 

“You saying you don’t want to have kids with me?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek to let him know you were only saying it in jest. 

“Not yet.” You sat up to find he had an earnest smile on his face, cheeks rosy and eyes shining in adornment. 

Bob Floyd was going to be the death of you. 

So you brushed several strands of sandy brown hair off of his forehead, replacing them with a kiss, "Gotta get me a ring first."

Luckily, you were going to be the death of Bob Floyd.

[jacksabbotts]

✧ off the clock — ❪ part one ❫

pairings - jack abbot ( the pitt ) x fem!robinavitch!reader summary - in which you ( the reader ) have the roughest shift of your career and in your attempt to numb the guilt, you get drunk in the hospital parking garage. jack finds you and patches you up after you cut your hand on a piece of broken glass. trigger warnings - lowercase intended!!! | fluff | angst | eventual smut but NONE in this part ( srry not srry ) | a little suggestive | language | alcohol misuse | driving under the influence of drugs ( small mention ) | blood/cut from broken glass ( on the reader ) | motor vehicle accident ( small mention ) | elder abuse/neglect ( small mention ) | death of a child ( small mentions ) | child abuse ( shaken baby syndrome/small mention ) | death | probably some incorrect medical jargon ( i am not a medical profession so i did my best ) | a lot of guilt over losing patients ( no fault on the reader by anyone except herself ) | self destructive tendencies | pet names ( sweetheart, darling, angel ) | NO USE OF Y/N | reader goes by dr. robin and or dr. robinavitch notes - the literal brain rot this old man gives me, shoulda seen the disappointment on my face when i realized after episode one that i would have to wait until episode twelve to see my husband again. i am not responsible for your media consumption so read at your own discretion. ( mdi 18+ ) this is unbeta’d bc i dont have any beta readers :,(

masterlist | series masterlist | dividers by @cafekitsune | join the taglist

5:57am

the parking garage was quiet, especially considering that the sun was barely rising and most of the rotating shift was already clocked in or finally leaving. you were part of the latter. although in the past twenty three minutes the only move you had made was to reach into the glove box of your 2011 toyota corolla for the unopened bottle of tequila.

tonight has been one of the hardest shifts you've encountered since transferring to the pittsburg medical trauma center, informally known as the pitt to the staff, to be closer to your older brother.

the tire of your corolla was digging uncomfortably into your back through the thin scrubs that adorned your body. though you made no move to aleve yourself of the pain. it was your sick and twisted way of punishing yourself for the events that transpired during your shift.

no one in the pitt had blamed you for the patients that you had lost today and in the beginning, you hadn't blamed yourself. but the more the deaths had piled up on your roster the more you began to ask yourself, 'could i have done more'.

yesterday, or more accurately last night, you had lost a record number of five patients in one shift. your first was an elderly woman from a group home, who had arrived after experiencing cerebrovascular accident, most commonly known as a stroke. she had been helping another resident of her group home with a crossword when she just slumped over in her chair.

it was hours before they had called emergency services and the blood clot in her brain damaged her brainstem before she entered the ed doors. she was dead for hours before you ever even got your hands on her. but still you blamed yourself. it was a habit you knew better than to indulge.

the next three patients were from a motor vehicle accident. it was three teenagers. a midsize sedan had run a red light at seventy miles per hour and was t-boned by a semi-truck. you hadn't found out until later that all three of the teenager had been under the influence of drugs but by the time you did find out they had all already died, one on your trauma table, one in the or, and one in the ambulance.

the last one, and the more recent reason for your drunken stupor in the parking lot of you employment, was a child. a little boy not even a year old. it hadn't been until you'd seen the the brain scans and seen the subdural and retinal hemorrhaging. the baby had been shaken so hard and for so long that his brain had swelled inside his own head.

the mother had been sad enough but the boyfriend acted like he had a million other places to be. after declaring the ten month little boy officially braindead, you had left it to the oncoming shift to inform the family and the police.

you had never clocked out so fast, skipping the 'goodbyes' and 'good nights' from your favorite nurses and fellow residents in favor of sitting on the dirty ground in the hospital staff parking garage downing your guilt into a now half empty tequila bottle.

said tequila bottle clinked against the pavement as you set it down, tiny splashes spilling out and on to your dark scrubs, scrubs you'd wished were dark enough to hide the blood stains on the cuff of your pants.

the tequila mixed with the blood as you tried to scrub it out. you stopped after the blood stain widened in size and opted for another large swig of the aforementioned alcohol before placing it once again in between your stretched out legs. the label had begun to peel at your habitual picking and turned sticky from the contents running down the side.

you lifted your right hands and drug it across your mouth catching the drops spilling out of the corners of your mouth with your jacket. for a moment you had mistaken the drop for tears, but it had hit you that you hadn't shed a single tear through this whole ordeal. and that only made you feel like more of a monster. we're you so good at compartmentalizing that you had lost all the feelings that had made you a real person?

you didn't have an answer for yourself, so instead, for what felt like the hundredth time in the last half hour, the tequlia bottle was back on your lips, pouring so much into your mouth you almost gagged at the burning sensation. but that is what you had deserved right?

after telling upward of four different family members that their loved ones, the ones that had come to her for healing, wouldn't ever open their eyes again. that they would never eat their favorite food again. or listen to their favorite music. you had throughly convinced yourself that you deserved every burning drop that slid down your throat and poisoned your liver.

if your patient couldn't count on you to save their organs, why did you get to keep yours healthy and functioning? it was backwards logic but you were far to wasted to argue with the darker part of your subconscious.

you sputtered out a cough and the bottle clanked against the concrete ground but that wasn't the sound that had completely over taken your nervous system. footsteps echoed across the parking garage and you almost felt guilty for losing your composure here instead of the confines of your own apartment.

the key word being almost, as the cruel part of your brain reminded you of the morbid tally of deaths you had wracked up today had far outweighed the lives you had been able to save.

you wanted to scream. if you had been alone, you might have. and if you were a least a little more sober you might have commended drunk for having enough sense to hold it in. you squeezed your eyes closed, tight enough you began to see stars dancing on your lids, although that might have been all the tequila talking.

'you planning to sleep it off on the pavement?'

you opened you eyes, albeit taking your time. the rising sun shined bright behind him, making him look almost ethereal. not that you need it to. in your eyes jack abbot was a angel sent form heaven. as much as he tried to portray himself as the gruff war veteran without a soft bone in his body, you had seen right though him.

perhaps that is why he had been trying to hard to avoid you, despite being your boss. if it hadn't been for his familiar voice, a voice that you had spent the last three weeks practically memorizing, you might not have realized it was him for the sun blinded your drunken eyes.

you tried not to be embarrassed that even drunken you held the same candle that sober you held for him. you hoped that he wrote off the flush in your cheeks to your inebriated state.

his voice was dry and flat, a voice he used with most everyone, but you especially. as if he was always trying extra hard to hide the uptick in his voice anytime you started talking to him. and he'd thought to himself, how foolish he felt. like a damn teenage, feeling things he was far too old and far too emotionally complicated to indulge in.

she squints at him from her position on the ground. he stood a few feet away, leaned on his dark black truck with an indifference he would swear was natural. as if he didn't have to practice at least once a day when he knew he'd be seeing you.

he still wore is black scrub top and dark wash cargo pants. you wondered if he usually came to work ready or changed in the locker rooms. not that you needed to know the inner workings of his routines. but a part of you felt yourself wanting to know.

you laugh bitterly. even your silly little school girl crush on your much older boss didn't lift your spirits. you stand, although you don't think what you did counts as standing as you nearly face plant into the concrete. the fact that your car is still so close to you is the only reason you were still on your own two feet, slouched agains your corolla. you hold on to the backseat door handle and you stumble and lean down to snatch the tequila bottle into your hand once again.

even those his arms are crossed over his chest, you clock the small twitch in his hands as you stumbled. if you weren't plastered beyond the point of no return you might have thought he wanted to steady you. once in your hand, you raise the bottle to your lips in attempt to curve the silence and maybe spare yourself any more embarrassing moments. though you know that he alcohol will not help in those terms.

'come on, lets not do that. i think you've had enough.'

'your not . . . my - my boss right now, dr. abbot,' you slurred, stretching out the syllables of his last name, 'im oooofff the clock.'

tequila bottle still in hand, you begin patting down your pockets for the keys to your corolla, huffing out triumphantly upon hearing the telltale jingle in your scrub pant pocket. you pull out the object and immediately he grunts in disapproval.

'you're not driving.'

he steps forwards a millimeter, intent on taking the keys from your hand but never actually making the move to do so. you scoff as your giddy feeling from his mere presence turns sour.

'i don't need a babysitter . . . and you can-can't tell me what to do.'

'you're right, but you're still not driving."

he takes another step forward and holds out his hand. 'give me the keys.'

you step back, defiantly, tugging both your car keys and the alcohol bottle close to your chest. and he doesn't miss the way the action pushes your breasts up. even in the most unsexy piece of clothing you own the action was creating the illusion that they were bigger than they actually were.

he thanks the heavens that your probably too drunk to notice the way he was ogling your chest. he should have known that you noticed everything about him, drunk or not. you feel your lips tugging into a slight smirk but then remember that your mad at him, however foolish the reason may be.

'or what?'

your statement must have surprised him, the shock written on his face was evidence of that.

'you gonna take them from me, dr. abbot?'

'if i have to.'

you laugh at that. this man, who makes it his priority to avoid you at all cost, he's gonna take them from you. now that is something you'd pay to see. he grunts at your defiance, because of course you were calling his bluff.

'if you think i'm just gonna walk away and let you drive like this, you are a lot drunker than i thought.'

his face is unreadable. but his stance isn't confrontational. there’s no righteousness. no judgment. just observation. cold, clinical, and just maybe a little tired, not that he'd ever admit that to you or anyone else for that matter.

but what ticks you off the most is the way he's looking at you. like you were a child. like you were a delinquent he's just caught stealing from their parents liquor. it pisses you off more than you'd like to admit because you weren't a child, no matter how much your older brother insists you still are.

and jack abbot is the one person you didn't want to see you like that.

'don't pretend you care.' you snarled, though it didn't sound as threatening as you had wished it did, as much as you had intended. he doesn't take your bait. he just tilts his head, the barest hints of annoyance in his eyes.

'don't paint me the asshole for doing the bare minimum, sweetheart.'

your breath hitched at the pet name. you were never 'sweetheart' to him. it was always 'dr. robin' and if you were lucky just 'robin'. the pet name was a slip up on his part, but he didn't feel too worried about as he knew you probably wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow morning anyway.

but for you , no pet name in this moment could curve your anger, your guilt. you glared at him as your breath hiccups. too sharp to be a laugh. too shallow to be a sob.

'you think this is the worst thing i've done tonight?"

you hadn't actually meant to ask that. and jack seems to of understood that because he didn't respond, at least not in words. his shoulder sag just a little as he remember to grueling shift the both of you just endured. you more so than him.

there was another long silence, fulled with nothing but your guilt and his bare look of sympathy that your refused to acknowledge. you next actions were purely in attempt to get him to stop looking at you in the way you had looked at yourself in the mirror just an hour prior.

despite your rash action of throwing your keys square at his chest, he still caught them. 'fine!' your yell echoed through the parking garage, 'you win! are you happy?'

though you refused to give up your tequila bottle even when he reached for it. you stumbled forward, probably in attempt to reach his truck, you weren't actually sure. your own feet tangle with themselves and you flailed around helplessly as you fell forward. the bottle fell to the ground and shattered with a sickening crack.

'woah there! come on.'

and if not for jack, you'd probably of hit the concrete with the same sickening crack. his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you into his chest. the grip was anything but professional. his fingers dug into her top as he tried to steady you. his touch made your head spin more than the alcohol did.

you, in turn, gripped his scrub top as if he was the only thing holding you up. and to be far that was probably true. he was warmer than you thought he'd be. the cold and nonchalant attending that you had come to know what acting like he was anything but. like nothing you'd experience from him.

you rested your cheek to his clothed shoulder and hummed as your eyes fell closed. if his face were half an inch closer to your head, it'd be resting against it. you could feel his steady breath on your ear, lightly swaying the fallen strands of your hair. for a second, you swore you heard his breath hitch much like yours did.

but your bliss was cruelly short lived. when you opened your eyes, you eye sight landed directly on the broken glass bottle to your right. you were upset for a number of reasons, rational and irrational. but the first one that came to your mind was that you would no longer be able to drown your sorrows from the inside out.

you mumbled out a quiet, almost to quiet to hear, 'no,' into his shirt. you pulled out of his grasp, despite his verbal and physical protests. you fall to your knees in front of the broken bottle. there was nothing to salvage but still you reached for the broken glass.

'hey, no, your gonna-' 'fuck!'

you groan as the sharp glass slices through the skin of your palm. its not deep enough to require stitched but it bled like it did. dripping blood on to the dirty concrete below.

'- cut yourself. christ, do you ever listen?' his jaw clenches. he's angry but not at you. its almost like he is angry at the cut itself, at the glass for harming you, even if it was you fault. because how dare anything cause you harm and get away with it.

he pulls his back pack off his back, not surprisingly fast or easy because it was only hanging off one shoulder to begin with. the back pack was green with a camo pattern and if you were so focused on the blood dripping down your wrist, you'd have probably noticed the personalization he had done to the front of it. in medium sized black bold lettering was his name. 'abbot'.

and of course he carried a first aid kit in it. he didn't say a word as he leaned down, groaning as he settled on his knees in front of you. he wasted no time at all reaching forwards and grabbing her wrist.

the reservations he had about getting too close flew right out the window the moment blood was drawn. you mumbled a drunken 'ow' as he applied the damp alcohol wipe to her already red skin, wiping the blood away.

'not gonna lecture me?'

'said it yourself, not your boss right now.' he tossed the now dark pink alcohol wipe in favor of grabbing a piece of gauze and medical tape. he wrapped the tape and you winced again. he glanced at you briefly.

'it's too tight.' you mumbled, reaching to loosen some of the tape, but jack grabbed your other hand in his, stopping you from doing anything. 'yeah, well, i'd rather you didn't bleed to death in my truck.'

you snorted, it was involuntary but you flushed with embarrassment anyway. it wasn't like he had just confessed his undying love for you but he had admitted that he didn't want you to bleed to death. that was an improvement, at least in your book.

'didn't know you cared, dr. abbot.'

'your my best resident, dr. robin. need you in tip top shape.'

and you were back to the professionalism. you weren't going to lie and say you didn't appreciate his sentiment. but was that all you wanted to be to him? his resident?

he must have noticed your shift in demeanor because not longer after and his touch left yours all together. his thumb that had been rubbing small circles on the inside of your wrist in an attempt to soothe, now left the space cold. the butterflies, no matter how cliche is sounded, that had taken up resident inside your stomach and under your ribcage had settled the moment his skin left yours.

you wanted to reach out and put his hand back in yours and to be honest, you almost did. you had the ultimate excuse and your drunken state gave you the perfect alibi.

THE END

[twohearts-hs]

Dove & Captain: 1 - Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader Series

Words in Total: 7.5k

Pairings: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Synopsis: She's his Dove. The ER nurse who is the definition of chaos, trauma and humour in scrubs. He's her Captain, gruff, emotionally guarded war veteran with a prosthetic leg and completely in love with her. Six years together, a mortgage, four dogs and the ability to conquer anything. This is a story of their life in one day. He is 49, she's 30. This is one day of their life based on the 15 episodes of 'The Pitt'. There will be little imagines of their relationship over the years.

Warnings: Swearing, Age Gap, Trauma, Medical Language/Procedure, Pregnancy, etc.

A/N: This is a complete series of ~60k. I will post a few snapshots of their relationship over the six+ years they've been together.

Hope you enjoy :)

Series Masterlist

-

0700

The bathroom tile was absolutely and utterly freezing against her bare knees, but Y/N did not move. She couldn’t. She couldn’t risk it, but she also, she couldn’t stop. Another wave of nausea crept up her spine and she leaned forward just in time to vomit into the toilet bowl again. Her hands gripped the rim of the toilet with white knuckles, her pulse loud in her ears. She stayed like this, motionless, forehead pressed to the cool porcelain, eyes watering and sweat along her brow.

            She knew now it was not food poisoning or stress. Yesterday, it confirmed it. She was indeed pregnant. Dana made her take a pregnancy test, and it came out clear. Then, they confirmed it with a blood test. Then again, with an ultrasound. Seven weeks along, she was, and she was completely terrified.

            Y/N had endometriosis, a very severe case which at nineteen she was told by doctors that the chance of her getting pregnant is very slim, but the chance of her being able to carry full term was even slimmer. Therefore, when she and Jack got serious, Y/N expressed to him that she was not able to have children,, and he supported her in that. He was older, forty-nine now and she just hit thirty, together for six years. Not married. But common law. Share a mortgage, a credit card and joint bank account as well as, four dogs while he helped raise her brother.

            Very serious, very committed, very much together, but just not legally binding to one another through a marriage contract. Though, they love one another with everything in themselves.

            However, he did not know she was pregnant. She found out yesterday during her day shift. He worked the nights. They have been barely passing one another, barely able to talk with their conflicting schedule. Y/N used to work nights, but she got pulled to day shifts lately due to a nurse leaving on maternity leave.

            She was planning on telling him tonight. He had the day off. His shift ended at seven in the morning, while she started hers at seven. When she got off at seven that evening prior, she had a whole speech prepared to tell him. However, only Dana knew at this moment.

            Y/N took a slow, ragged breath, blinking back tears. Not because she was sad. Not because she was happy. But because she didn’t know how to feel. Never had she thought she’d be able to get pregnant with him. Never had she thought she’d have to talk to Jack about what to do.

            He was forty-nine. He was older. To throw a child into their life would create chaos. She was younger, thirty and it could work. However, both were workaholics. Y/N never thought she’d be able to be a mother, so she never thought this through.

            Tonight. She would talk to him tonight. They would plan, discuss and come up with the solution moving forward. A nurse. A homeowner. A mother to four dogs. In a stable, quiet, loving partnership with a very nice man. A man who understood her more than anyone ever had. They owned dogs, shared a mortgage, grew herbs in the windowsill, argued about laundry and both fought over who would cook in the evenings,as that is one of their shared love languages. It was good. Peaceful. Calm. Lovely.

            However, morning sickness fucking sucks. And this? This was not part of the plan. Especially being told that this could never happen.

            Sleeping in a bed alone last night while Jack worked the evening shift was something she did not like. However, she had to go to work, talk to him and see him for a bit before he went home and she had to keep this a secret. She had twelve hours to work through before they could have a serious talk.

            Glancing at her watch, she groaned again.

            Late. She was utterly, completely and terribly late.

            Rounds were about to start soon. The handover from night shift to day shift was about to happen. Work was about to begin. Yet, Y/N was stuck on the ground of the ensuite, tears flowing down her face and nausea bubbling over.

            Dressed in a pair of sleep shorts and a bra, her hair was matted and bags covered under her eyes.

            She was fucked.

            Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself away from the toilet bowl. Guilty a little bit because she was leaving with a spoiled toilet, and normally she would clean it after puking. However, she was late to work and Robby would have a fit.

-

Jack was at the computer, filing in the last bits of his shift. Writing patient notes, talking to Robby for the handover. However, his eyes furrowed as he glanced at his watch to see that it was just past seven and Y/N was not here yet. Where was she? She was never late. Rather, she was constantly early.

            “Dr. Robinavitch?” a voice came from behind Robby as he leaned against the nurses’ station talking to Jack.

            “Yep,” he replied, turning to the voice.

            “Melissa King. I will be joining you today. I just came from two months at the VA,” Mel told Robby, voice pitched with excitement and a smile.

            “Hey, welcome to the Pitt,” Robby replied, shaking her hand. “This is Dr. Jack Abbot,” Robby introduced, glancing over to Jack, who was focused on the computer in front of him and didn’t glance over to the resident.

            “Nice to meet you,” Mel hummed before looking at Robby again. “I can’t tell you how excited I am to be here today, so…”

            “Talk to me at the end of the day,” Jack muttered, looking over to the resident, voice low and serious.

            Robby glanced at Jack. “Ignore him. He had a rough night,” he stated, “and is having an ongoing existential crisis.”

            Jack stood up, straightening as he looked a them. “Don’t worry, you’ll get there soon enough,” he joked, coldly, face serious. “Robby, have you seen Y/N?” he asked, looking over to his old revival and long time friend. “She’s never late and I haven’t seen her.”

            Robby’s brows drew together in concern. “No, not yet. She’s usually in by now.”

            Jack didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his gaze to the main hallway, like maybe she’d appear if he just stared long enough. But there was nothing – nothing…no rushed footsteps, no half-apologetic smile, no Y/N clutching a coffee cup and calling out something sarcastic to the team. Just a sterile corridor buzzing with too many lights and not enough soul.

            He tapped his fingers against the nurses’ station counter, the way he always did when he was trying not to overthink.

            “Maybe she overslept? Traffic? Maybe one of the dogs got out?” Robby offered casually, but Jack didn’t bite.

            “She doesn’t oversleep when she is supposed to work,” he muttered under his breath. Then, louder. “She never oversleeps. The dogs are trained. They don’t escape.”

            Robby shrugged. “Traffic then? You two are like in the woods. Text her. She’ll be here,” he replied with a smile before patting Jack’s back. “Don’t stress.”

            Jack nodded watching as Robby walked away with Mel, rounding up his interns, residents and med students for rounds. Pulling out his phone, he brought up his messages with Y/N, but she had sent nothing since last night.

            Y/N slammed the door shut to her Bronco with more force then intended, her hair still damp from the world’s fastest shower, pulled into a low messy bun. She hadn’t had time to do her usual minimal makeup, and her scrubs were slightly wrinkled. She felt gross. Heavy. Empty. Swollen. Her bag was slung over one shoulder, and a tangerine stuffed in her pocket that was her makeshift breakfast. She knew Jack would lecture her. However, the nausea was still there.

            Running across the hospital parking lot, her sneakers pounded against the concrete in rhythm. Each step sent a dull ache up her spine, her stomach still uneasy, her head spinning from the sudden movement and lack of food.

            She burst through the staff entrance, making her way through the triage to the back, scanning her badge on each door.

            It was 7:18.

            “Shit,” she hissed to herself, brushing past coworkers as she headed towards the nurses’ station after placing her belongings in a locker. Jack was still there. Robby too. And several new faces which she placed as the new intern, resident and medical students.

            Her gaze met Jack’s, and he raised a brow at her, but she just sent a small smile. He didn’t look angry. But his eyes were sharp, worried. That was worse.

            “As you can see, we have some new faces with us this morning,” Robby began. “Good morning. Good morning. Come on over.”

            Y/N stood behind the station, looking over the new faces. Jack was glancing at her, but she said nothing.

            “Starting with second-year resident, Dr. Melissa King, fresh from the VA,” Robby announced.

            “Everyone calls me Mel,” Mel said with a smile. “I’m so happy to be here.”

            “Trinity Santos, intern,” a new face said, pale skin and dark hair.

            Y/N crossed her arms as she glanced over to Dana who was on the phone. Y/N knew there was an incoming trauma.

            “We’ve got two traumas from the T,” Dana said, holding the phone to her ear. “Five minutes out.”

            “Ok, copy that,” Robby replied. “Actually, this is the most important person that you’re going to meet today. This is Dana. She’s our charge nurse. She is the ringleader of our circus,” he said before looking over to Y/N. “And this here is Y/N. Nurse as well. Nurses are your best friends. As you can see, our house is always packed, and our department is mostly clogged up with boarders. Those are admitted patients waiting for a room upstairs, sometimes for days. Beds are a very precious commodity around here, so please be quick and efficient with your workups. What else?” he paused for a moment to breathe, then nodded. “We treat the sicker patients back here, but please keep your eye on that waiting room. Make sure nobody’s gonna die out there. Your senior residents are Dr. Collins and Dr. Langdon. You report to them, and they report to me. Ok? Great.”

            As the last of the introductions faded into the background, Robby took his team to deal with the incoming trauma.

            Jack noticed she wasn’t listening. Not really. Her arms were crossed, fingers twitching like she was trying to ground herself, eyes glazed over just enough to make him uneasy. That wasn’t like her.

            Before she could slip away to get a shift change from the night shift, Jack reached out, a firm but gentle hand on her elbow. “Kid.”

            She looked up at him, startled.

            “Hi,” she whispered, a small smile gracing her face. “How are you? How was the shift?” she asked, sending him a small smile.

            He stared at her for a minute, whiskey eyes connecting with hers. “Fine. Rough, but fine. We can talk more later about it. Can I talk to you for a minute, though, in private?” he asked, his voice low. Not unkind. Just quieter than usual.

            Y/N hesitated for a moment, then gave a tiny nod, letting him guide her a few feet down the hallway near the med supply room, just out of earshot from others. It was private but not secluded enough to feel like a scene.

            Jack looked over her carefully now that they were face to face. Her skin was pale, tinged with that clammy undertone he only ever saw in patients who hadn’t eaten or had something deeper going on. The bags under her eyes were harsh against her face. No mascara, no usual faint blush or a neat bun. Her hair was tied back like she’d done it blind, and her face looked dry, bitten.

            “You were late. You’re never late,” he said quietly. Not accusatory. Just a fact. His eyes narrowed as he scanned her over. Then he tried to make eye contact with her.

            Y/N glanced down, crossing her arms over her chest. “I know. I’m sorry,” she whispered, shifting uncomfortably. “It won’t happen again.”

            “That’s not you.” He waited for a second, but she was still looking down. “What happened, Dove?”

            They were alone, and the nickname slipped his lips.

            “Nothing. I’m fine,” she replied a little too quickly, shaking her head.

            Jack frowned. “Dove, you don’t look fine,” he replied, trying to get her to look at him. “Look at me.”

            Y/N glanced up to see him, his eyes meeting her and all she could see what the complete care he had for her.

            “I’m just tired. It’s nothing,” she said, brushing her hand through her hair. “I went to bed late. I overslept. Forgot to set an alarm. Stayed up late talking to Beckett.” Beckett was her younger brother, half-brother.

            He tilted his head, raising a brow. Silence happened between them. “Y/N…”

            “Jack, just drop it,” she muttered, voice tight. “I’m here now. That’s what matters, right?”

            He stared at her for a moment, crossing his own arms now. Biceps bulging which usually makes her heart flutter, but she was glancing away. “I know you. You’re hiding something,” he whispered.

            Y/N glanced around. They were always professional at work. People never really questioned their relationship. Him being a trauma attending and her a trauma nurse. But now, with his voice so soft and eyes so concerned, it felt like a crack in their practised armour.

            “Jack,” she started, but the words faltered, her throat tight. “I didn’t sleep well. Ever since I’ve been put on days, it’s just weird sleeping alone when you are doing nights and–“

            “You’re deflecting,” he interrupted. He leaned in a little closer, not touching her, but lowering his voice so that no one would overhear. “Dove, I’m not mad. I just want to know what’s going on. Talk to me.”

            Her eyes flickered again, to the hallway beyond, to where voices were rising and monitors beeped from the trauma bay. She couldn’t do this here. Not now. She felt the weight of the morning crashing down on her all over again. The puke. The nausea. The fact that she was pregnant.

            “We can talk later. I need to work now,” she whispered, looking up to him. “I want to know how your shift went. I’m off at seven. I’ll be home and we can order in, watch one of those serious documentary movies thing you like and talk,” she proposed. Then she took a deep breath. “I’m ok,” she said confidently. “I’m ok,” Y/N said again.   

            Jack didn’t believe her.

            Not because he thought she was lying. But because he knew her. Knew the way her jaw clenched when she was holding back. The way her voice steadied was not out of calm, but control. A nurse who thrived in chaos. A woman who didn’t flinch in a code blue. But here she was – eyes too shiny, hands twitching like she was trying to hold her pieces together.

            Still, he nodded.

            “Alright,” he said quietly. “Later then.”

            She gave him the briefest nod. “I love you,” she whispered.

            He nodded. “I know,” he whispered back. Y/N reached out and squeezed his hand. “It’s ok,” she whispered again, a mantra for herself more than anything. “Go home, sleep, have a shower, think of me in the shower,” she hummed, tone light as she winked, “give the dogs a kiss. Then I’ll be home before you know it.”

            He chuckled lightly as he stared at her. “Did something happen with your brother?” he asked, raising a brow. She shook her head, and he narrowed his eyes. “Did something happen to your mom?” he asked. She shook her head. “Did something happen to you?” he asked, voice low now.

            “Go home, Captain,” she stated, tone sharp. “I’ll see you later.”

            He stared at her for a few more moments. “Have you eaten?” he eventually asked.

            “No. I have a tangerine in my pocket that I grabbed on my way out,” she replied.

            Jack rolled his eyes. “Christ, Y/N,” he whispered. “Let me go buy something from the cafeteria. I don’t want you to be running on nothing,” he muttered before walking off but squeezed her bicep as he left.

            Y/N sighed, watching him leave. She stayed there for a moment before walking back to the nurses’ station. Y/N settled down next to Dana who looked over.

            “You look like hell,” she muttered, chuckling and shaking her head.

            Y/N rolled her eyes and glanced over to her friend. “You sound like Jack,” she muttered as she grabbed a tablet to look over.

            “Jack said that. Doesn’t sound like Jack,” Dana replied.

            Y/N sighed. “More like ‘Dove, you don’t look fine’ is what he said,” Y/N muttered as she looked over the charts. “Give me a shift change.”

            Dana looked over at her, glasses perched on her nose, as she looked at the young nurse. “Have you told him?” she asked, hinting to the little secret she had.

            Y/N groaned. “No. However, he is sniffing out that I’m hiding something.”

            “He needs to know, sweetheart,” Dana replied.

            “I know,” Y/N whispered back. “Spent the morning puking my guts out. That is why I was late.”

Dana clicked her tongue, her voice lowering but still tinged with that no-nonsense edge only a seasoned trauma nurse could carry. “Morning sickness is not your friend, but hey, you get something out of it in the end.”

Y/N looked over as Dana read her tablet. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Y/N whispered. “Don’t know how Jack will react.”

Dana’s eyes met with Y/N’s. “I’ve known you since you were a small, new graduate nurse. Well, met your briefly when you did your last practicum. What I know about you is that you already know what you’re going to do,” Dana replied. “However, Jack needs to know. He’s a lot of things – gruff, grumpy, allergic to small talk – but he loves you. If he finds out you didn’t tell him? Especially over something like this? He’s going to be very hurt.”

Y/N nodded. “I will tell him. Tonight. I won’t keep this from him, but,” Y/N sighed and looked around, “I’m scared.”

Dana reached out and gently touched Y/N’s wrists, grounding her. “Of course you are. You’d be crazy not to be. But you’re not alone, ok? You’re not doing this alone.”

Y/N swallowed thickly and gave her a small nod, eyes glassy. “It’s just…I was told I couldn’t. I couldn’t have kids. Couldn’t get pregnant. Therefore, Jack and I just didn’t care. We just went along with the ride. We didn’t think that I could get pregnant, and here I am. And now it’s like I’m holding a secret I never thought I’d have. Now I have the impossible and it’s terrifying,” she whispered, voice cracking, barely audible now.

Dana squeezed her wrist once before pulling away, sensing how raw Y/N was. “That’s a lot to carry, hon. And you’ve been doing this all alone. Let someone in,” she whispered, giving her a look.

“I let you in,” Y/N replied.

Dana raised a brow. “Let him in. How long have you two been together? Six years or something.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah. No ring though,” Y/N replied, trying to make a joke as she let out a low chuckle. “No, we aren’t planning on getting married.”

Dana rose another brow. “How many dogs do you have?”

“Four. Two rescues, then I have my dachshund from when I was twenty-two and Granny, Jack’s rescue from aeons ago,” Y/N replied, lowly.

Dana nodded. “Four dogs. You bought a house together a year ago. A beautiful house with a big yard. He’s your emergency contact. You go on camping trips with him even though you hate camping. He bought you a car when you were together for what, six months? Because he didn’t want you walking home in the dark. He’s basically like Beckett’s dad. You share everything. You two are serious. Practically married. Talk about everything together. He’s your best friend, your other half, though I would say you’re the better half and you deal with his trauma, and he deals with yours. Tell him. What are you scared of?”

Y/N was silent for a moment and the words were on the tip of her tongue, I haven’t told him the truth.

However, just when she was about to respond Jack appeared in front of them. Coffee in one hand and a wrapped sandwich in the other. His eyes narrowed between the two of them, trying to calculate what was happening.

“Eat, Kid,” he said, placing the sandwich down in front of her. “It’s a breakfast sandwich,” he told her. “And a coffee. Two sugars and a splash of milk.” He didn’t look smug about it, rather just quietly concerned.

Y/N stared at him. “Thank you,” she said. However, the sandwich stayed still.

He stared at her. “Eat.”

“I will,” Y/N whispered. “I just need to get a shift change.”

“Eat while you’re getting a shift change,” he replied. His eyes were bouncing now between Dana and Y/N, sensing the tension, the way Dana was sitting just a little too straight, and how Y/N was avoiding his gaze.

He looked at Dana. “You know something.” Jack raised a brow at Dana. “Tell me what’s happening.”

Dana gave him her best nurse face. Calm, unreadable, efficient, while Y/N said nothing. “Nothing. All good. We’re good. Just girl talk,” she said smoothly, tapping her table. “Thanks for feeding our girl, though. She needs it.”

Jack glanced at Y/n, raising a brow. He lingered for a moment, arms crossing over his chest again. “Girl talk, huh?” he asked, tilting his head.

She forced a smile, pulling up the coffee and bringing it to her lips. “Thanks for the coffee and food,” she whispered, then smirked. “Just girl talk. You hate girl talk. You know Dana,” Y/N said, looking over to the older woman, “probably telling me to eat better and stop dating emotionally unavailable men.”

Jack raised a brow, letting out a scoff. “I’m very emotionally available…now, aren’t I?”

Y/N huffed a small laugh, grateful for the reprieve, even if her hands were shaking slightly around the cup. “You’re evolving. Better than when I first met you.”

He studied her for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing just a better. “Talk to me tonight, ok?”

Y/N nodded. “I will. Just tired.”

He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked like he was filing the entire interaction away in that steel-trap brain of his. The secrecy. The whispered tones. The way Dana had looked at Y/N.

Something was going on. And he didn’t like being left in the dark.

“You can tell me everything…anything. You know that, right?”

Her heart clenched. “I know,” she whispered. “And I do. You know too much about me.”

Jack gave a slight nod. “I’ll head out. Dogs are probably plotting a mutiny without me. Especially Delta. Barely a year, but pure chaos.” He sent her a small smile. “Text me if it gets too crazy here or if you get a really good case,” he finished.

Y/N nodded. “I will. Can you give Granny her medicine? I wasn’t able to when I left,” she told him, naming their oldest dog, a female named Alaska, but they call her Granny. She was Jack’s dog when they got together, which he got when he came back from his last tour.

He nodded. “Yeah, I can. Did you feed them?”

“I did. I let them out too before I came. Normal routine. However, Winston didn’t want to move from the bed so can you please let him out again?” she asked, sending him a smile. Winston was Y/N’s wire-haired dachshund, which she got when she was twenty-two after nursing school.

He nodded. “Yeah, can do. I’ll see you later, ok? Text me, ok?” he said, and Y/N nodded, agreeing.

Then Jack was gone, turning to leave, but he glanced back one more time, his brows furrowed, eyes sharp. Watching her like he was solving a puzzle.

As soon as he was gone, Y/N slumped back in her chair, sandwich untouched.

Dana glanced over; brow raised. “He totally knows something is up.”

Y/N groaned. “I know. He’s going to dig until he finds out.”

“Well, let’s make sure he hears it from you and not from putting two and two together.” Dana tapped her temple. “Smart man, that one. Scary smart.”

“I’ll tell him tonight,” Y/N muttered, more to herself than anything else. “Tonight.”

Dana gave her a look. “Promise?”

Y/N nodded, slower this time. “Promise.”

“Good. Let me get you something for the nausea,” Dana replied, getting up. She pointed to the sandwich that Jack bought. “But eat, you’re growing a baby,” she lectured.

“Dana, shush!”

            Dana gave her medication to help with the nausea. They were going over their shift change when Robby appeared. Y/N was munching on the sandwich when Robby called their names.

            “Abbot’s told me that he’s got a pregnant teen coming back today for mifepristone. Let me know when she gets here,” Robby said, looking at the two women.

            “Sure,” Y/N replied.

            “Yep,” Dana stated before turning back to the computer.

            “Bowel obstruction still waiting on surgery consult. What about Garcia? She was just here for the traumas,” Robby rambled of the board.

            “I think she was waiting for her attending to sign off,” Y/N muttered, looking over to Robby.

            Robby and her met eyes. Then he shook his head. “Ok…” he walked towards a computer to file patient charting. “Oh, and one of the med students took a header,” he chuckled. “I parked her in the lounge under the guise of a work comp report. Will one of you go in there, eyeball her, and make sure she’s alright?” Robby asked, glancing over his shoulder to look at the nurses.

            “Last time I checked, I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 178,” Y/N replied, typing on the computer. “I don’t babysit med students.”

            Robby turned to look at her. “Jack said you’re hiding something,” he said casually. “What are you hiding, Ace?” Then he raised a brow.

            Y/N glanced at Dana. “My kinky sex life,” Y/N said with a smirk.

            Dana snorted but didn’t miss a beat. “Yup. That’s exactly what she’s hiding. She’s got Jack handcuffed to the bed every other night. You should see the bruises.”

            Y/N chuckled as Robby stared at them for a moment. “I’m kidding!” Y/N expressed. “Maybe on the handcuffing, but not on the kinky sex,” she added with a smirk. “Men with trauma, freakiest in town,” she replied with a smirk and a wink.

            Robby just stared at her. “You deflecting adds to my hypothesis,” Robby muttered. “Abbot knows something’s up. I know some things up. Dana definitely knows what’s up.” Then his eyes landed on her. “You’re not planning on breaking up, right?”

            Y/N’s eyes widened. “No!” she exclaimed. “God, if anyone would leave anyone, it’d be him. I am a whole wagon of problems,” she muttered.

            Robby hummed. “Well, you deflecting is a sign. Secondly, Jack gave me this look this morning like he was ready to gut me with trauma shears, so whatever you’re hiding…he knows you’re hiding it, and he’s two seconds from losing his mind or figuring it out,” Robby muttered as he typed things into the computer. “Intelligent man.”

            Dana hummed. “That’s what I said.”

            Y/N turned in her chair to give them both an unimpressed look. “Do you know how exhausting it is to be this emotionally intelligent and book smart, responsible for lives, and handling interns, med students and residents who know less than me?” she poked.

            Robby glanced over his shoulder and pointed a finger to her. “Deflection.”

            Y/N rolled her eyes.

            “I’m just saying. You were late. In the eight years you’ve been working here, you’ve never been late. You look pale, there are bags under your eyes, you’re quieter than usual, you didn’t jump into this morning’s trauma, and Jack is acting like some keyed his fancy truck.” He glanced at her and he chuckled. “I know…” he whispered, shaking his head. “Jack will either not forgive you or will…” Y/N raised a brow. “You’ve adopted another dog.”

            Y/N stared at him and raised a brow. For a minute, it was silent as eyes were on her. “Yes. How’d you know?” she hummed.

            “Knew it,” Robby muttered before going back to the computer.

            “No. I didn’t adopt another dog,” Y/N said moments later.

            “Delta chewed through the seaming of the couch?” Dana asked, looking over to the nurse. “She’s a menace.”

            “That pup has the soul of a raccoon,” Robby added, clicking through patient charts. “Chaos and cuteness in the same package.”

            “Keeps us on our toes. Never had I ever had to kennel train a dog as she is not worth trusting,” Y/N replied.

            “Anyway,” Dana muttered, changing the subject, “med student is going to miss the arrival of the living dead.”

            Robby glanced over at them again. “How many are we expecting?” he asked, voice serious now.

            “We are getting three, but one died en route. Don’t know who’s luckier, us or them.”

            “What’s open?” Robby asked.

            “14,” Dana replied.

            Y/N got up. “Good luck. I have patients to see,” she muttered, leaving the nurses’ station after Dana gave her a shift change.

-

Y/N was talking to Langdon about a patient, writing down notes as they talked about what she needed to do to care for them, when Robby showed up.

            “Y/N, triathlete, Otis?”

            Y/N glanced up. “He’s stable. Repeat potassium is 6.1. Renal wrote the dialysis order. Tech should be down soon…maybe fifteen minutes,” she told him.

            Robby nodded, looking at her. “Good. Thank you.” Then he glanced over to Langdon. “Language mystery solved yet?”

            Langdon shook his head. “No,” then he sighed before looking up. “Hey, what’s your take on dogs?”

            “In what context?” Robby asked.

            “For kids,” Langdon added.

            “Kids and puppies go together like fish and chips. Man’s best friend, you know?” Robby said, walking around the station to go to one computer.

            “Well, you don’t have a dog.”

            “I don’t have a best friend,” Robby added.

            “What am I?” Langdon hummed.

            “You’re my best resident,” Robby replied. “Big difference.”

            “Yeah, but we’re still friends,” Langdon poked.

            Robby glanced over. “Not if this conversation goes on much longer. Talk to Y/N, she has dogs.”

            Y/N’s head perked up from where she was sitting, looking over to Langdon and Robby. “What?” she asked.

            “You have a dog?” Langdon asked, raising a brow.

            “I have four,” she said with a chuckle.

            “Four?” Langdon gasped, raising a brow. “Four dogs?” he asked again, shocked by her comment.

            “Uh, yeah,” Y/N said with a chuckle.

            “How can you have four dogs?” he asked, raising a brow.

            Y/N glanced around for a moment, then turned slightly in her chair to face Langdon fully, amused. “Easy,” she said. “I don’t have kids. I don’t sleep much. And I live with a man who’s just as much of a softie for strays as I am. We also have a giant piece of land for them to run around and we enjoy being outside.”

            Langdon blinked. “Jack’s a dog guy?”

            Robby snorted but before they could respond, Mel came over asking for Langdon to check in with a four-year-old.

            Y/N continued to type, but she could feel Robby’s eyes on her. “You’re staring,” she stated as she continued to type. “It’s creepy. Stop staring.” Then she glanced at him. Robby said nothing, and Y/N scoffed. “Robby,” she whispered, raising a brow.

            He threw his hands up. “Good work, Ace,” he said with a smile as he went back to work.

-

Y/N was doing her job within the hour, checking on her patients when Otis began to crash. She ran back out to the nurses’ station, catching the eyes of Collins, Robby and Dana.

            “Otis’ BP is crashing. 70 over 50. Still waiting for dialysis,” she announced, nodding to the room that her patient was in.          

            They entered and instantly got to work.

            “How are you doing there, Otis?” Robby asked.

            “Not so good,” he replied.

            A series of beeping was heard from the machine as the patient crashed. Y/N began setting him up.

            “50 litres. Non-rebreather, please,” Robby called out.

            Y/N listened, working alongside them. An ultrasound was done.

            “Fuck,” Y/N muttered, looking over at the ultrasound. “Diastolic collapse of the right atrium and right ventricle,” she muttered before Collins could say anything on the screen.

            “Tamponade from uremic effusion,” Robby muttered.

            “That is why his BP is low?” Santos asked, glancing over to the monitors.

            “Yup, indeed,” Y/N replied. “Too much fluid and pressure around the heart, chambers can’t fill.”

            “Otis, you’ve got some fluid around your heart,” Robby told the patient as Y/N grabbed gloves. “We need to get it off.”

            Y/N lowered the bed, making him flat lying down.

            “25 of Propofol, 10 cc’s of lidocaine with epi, pericardiocentesis tray,” Collins said to Y/N, who nodded.

            “I have to get that from central,” Y/N replied, looking over to Robby.

            “No, no. Just open a central line kit. Dr. Santos takes the head of the bed and bags him if he stops breathing, compressions if we lose the carotid. Prep and drape the subxiphoid, please. 10 cc’s of 1% with,” Robby ordered.

            Y/N nodded, grabbing supplies.

            “Chlorhexidine here.”

            “Injecting lidocaine,” Robby announced before following suite.

            “Pressure down. 60 over 40,” Santos explained.

            Robby grabbed the ultrasound from Collins.

            “Wait, you can’t ultrasound and place,” Collins barked to him.

            “I know, that’s why I’m taking the probe,” Robby replied. “18-gauge thin wall on a 60 cc syringe, please, Dr. Collins. Let’s go,” Robby muttered, looking over to the resident. “You’re going in right over the centre of my probe…” The doctors continued to work as Robby explained the procedure to Collins. Y/N watched.

            Eventually, the patient stabilised.

            However, just before they were stabilised, Y/N ran to the bathroom. Robby watched her cover her mouth and instantly ran out of the trauma room, running across the bay to the bathroom. Dana watched her run as well, dodging co-workers before making her way to the bathroom.

            Opening the door to the bathroom, she kneeled down to the toilet, puking her guts out. Breakfast sandwich and coffee coming back up as she clutched the toilet bowl.  

            The fluorescent lights buzzed softly above her as Y/N stayed crouched, one hand gripping the edge of the toilet, the other holding her hair out of her face as wave after wave of nausea rolled through her.

            The bathroom door opened gently behind her. Soft footsteps. Not rushed. Familiar.

            Dana.

            Without saying a word, Dana stepped in and crouched down beside her, pulling a handful of paper towels, wetting them and placing them gently on Y/N’s back of her neck.

            “Nausea meds didn’t help?” she asked, rubbing her back.

            “Guess not,” Y/N muttered, coughing and wiping her mouth before leaning back against the wall. She took a deep breath, rubbing her eyes.

            “Are you ok?” Dana asked, looking at her.

            “I don’t know,” she whispered back. “I don’t know what set it off, as I was fine.”

            Dana chuckled lowly. “It’s morning sickness, sweetheart, you can’t control when it hits. It’ll be fine. You’ll stop being sick soon at the end of this trimester,” she responded.

            “If this baby stays within me,” Y/N mumbled, not thinking. “If I decide to keep it too.”

            Dana rose a brow. “What does that mean, sweetheart?” she asked, looking at the young nurse.

            Y/N sighed. “It’s not my first time getting pregnant. The other times, I’ve lost it early on,” then she groaned. “I think it’ll be better if I just get an abortion so I can’t go through losing it again.”

            Dana’s expression softened, the sharp edges of her no-nonsense persona melting into something gentler. She reached over and cupped Y/N’s cheek for just a moment, grounding her.

            “Sweetheart,” she said softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

            Tears began to brew in her ducts as she looked at the older woman, blinking them away, trying to hold herself together. “No one knows. No ex-partner. Not even Jack knows. Not even Beckett,” she whispered. Then she sighed. “I don’t know what will happen or not. I just…maybe it’s for the best to just get this dealt with and never tell him. But what if I do tell him and he gets so excited then I lose it. I don’t want to go through that again,” she continued to ramble. “I don’t want Jack to go through loss again.”

            Dana sat beside her now, fully next to her, knees cracking slightly as she adjusted on the tile floor. “I get it. I do. But this isn’t something you should carry alone. Not this time.”

            “I don’t want to see that look in his eyes,” Y/N whispered. “The quiet heartbreak. I know he would like kids. He says he’s too old, and he’s ok with my endo, but like I see the way he looks at his sister’s kids or like kids in general. Like he’s wondering what it would’ve been like if he hadn’t missed his shot.” She closed her eyes for a moment to breathe.

            Dana was quiet for a moment before she said, “He loves you. Everything about you. Mess, chaos and all. Hope and heartbreak included. He’s your partner. Your other half. Talk to him. He deserves to know…not the decision, but the truth,” she told Y/N. “Go home. We will be fine without you today,” she suggested.

            Y/N scoffed. “That’s the last place I want to be,” she replied.

            “Let me cover for you for the next hour. Go lie down in on-call. I’ll say you’re charting or looking up labs.”

            “Dana,” Y/N tried.

            “Y/N,” Dana cut her off. “You just ran out of a trauma room and vomited into a toilet. You’re not fine. You’re a damn supernova most days with that brilliant brain of yours, but even stars burn out if they don’t rest,” she replied.

            Before Y/N could reply, there was a sharp knock on the bathroom door.

            “Y/N?”

            Robby’s voice. Low. Concerned and filled with love.

            She closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath, silence happening between them.

            “She’s fine, Robby,” Dana called out.

            A pause happened, then Robby replied, “I’m not leaving until I see that with my own eyes, Dana.”

            Dana turned to Y/N. “You ok if I let him in?” she asked.     

            Y/N wiped her eyes quickly with the sleeve of her scrub top. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Might as well. He’ll probably come in–“

            The door opened, and Robby walked in.

            “My point exactly,” Y/N muttered, looking up to see the older male attending.

            His eyes fell on Y/N instantly, crouched on the floor, pale and sweaty, but clearly alive. His concern deepened.

            “Jesus, Y/N,” he whispered, crouching down beside her, not too close, scanning her face like he was memorising it for changes. “Scared the hell out of me.”

            “Sorry,” she whispered. “Just a rough morning.”

            His brows furrowed. “You ran out on a code. That’s not like you,” he muttered. “What’s happening? You sick?”

            Y/N shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

            “Do you want me to call Jack?” he asked, voice dropping a little bit. A sympathy tone.

            “No,” she said a little too bluntly. “I’m not fucking broken if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m fine. I can work. I just needed to puke. That’s all. I will take an anti-nausea and I’ll be fine. Do not call Jack,” she barked. “Do not even mention this to Jack. I’m not in the mood to deal with this,” she muttered, getting up.

            Robby rose with her, slowly, watching every movement like he expected her to collapse again. “Y/N,” he said, carefully. “I didn’t mean–“

            “I know what you meant,” she snapped, her tone sharp but her body trembling. She leaned against the sink for a moment, catching her breath. “But I don’t need saving.”

            “No one said you did, sweetheart,” Dana replied gently, standing now, smoothing her hands down her scrubs. “We’re just worried.”

            “Well, don’t be. I’ll be right,” Y/N responded as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection betrayed her – pale skin, red-rimmed eyes, hair clinging to her damp forehead. “I’m not your patient. I’m your colleague. I’ll handle it.”

            Robby raised a brow, stepping just a little closer. “If this is just a stomach bug or food poisoning, you’re really overreacting to the offer of help.”

            Y/N glared at him through the mirror. “What are you saying?”

            “I’m saying,” he replied, crossing his arms, and tilting his head, “I’ve known you for far too long. Eight years. You don’t run from a code. You don’t puke in your shift. I have never heard you take a sick day. You don’t bark at people who offer to call your partner unless something is really wrong.”

            Silence.

            Dana cleared her throat. “Robby,” she tried.

            “No, it’s fine,” Y/N interrupted, voice strained. “There is something. But let me deal with it on my own.”

            Robby sighed. “Y/N,” he tried.

            “No. I’ll be right,” Y/N muttered. “I’m ok. I can work. I want to work. Honestly, the next trauma I’m jumping in as I haven’t gotten any blood on my hands yet today.” Robby and Dana slowly nodded. However, they stayed quiet. Y/N turned. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she responded. “Not with you. Or you,” she said, pointing to each of them, “definitely not Jack and definitely not even with myself.”

            “Can you talk to Kiara?” Robby tried, raising a brow.

            “Definitely not her,” Y/N barked. Both of them stayed quiet. “I love you all. I thank you for helping me. I thank you for your care. I thank you for your worry. I just need to deal with this on my own, and Jack will know eventually,” she said, voice softer now. Y/N’s eyes shifted between them. “Do not tell Jack, and if you do, I will make all your lives a personal hell,” she barked before turning to the door and walking out.

            Robby glanced over to Dana once the door clicked shut behind her. “You know what this is, don’t you?” he asked, looking at his nurse.

            Dana crossed her arms and levelled him with a look. “Not my secret to share.”

            Robby sighed, running a hand down his face. “Dana,” he tried.

            Dana snorted. “Do not try to get it out of me?” she warned, shaking her finger. “But she is going through something hard. Something she didn’t think was possible. And the fact that she’s still standing, still showing up, should tell you exactly the kind of woman she is.”

            Robby leaned back against the bathroom wall, arms crossed tightly, staring at the door Y/N had just exited like it might swing back open and explain everything.

            “She said Jack doesn’t even know,” he murmured.

            Dana said nothing.

            “She’s scared,” he added, quieter now. “Not panicked. Not sick. Not spiralling. Just…scared. Jack mentioned something was up with her this morning. He knows something is up.”

            Dana looked over at him, rose a brow.

            “Let me work the problem,” he muttered.

            “She’s not your patient, Michael,” she said sternly.

            He shook his head. “Just hear me out…humour me,” he said, holding his hand up as he began ticking off on his fingers. “Sudden nausea. She was late this morning. No fever. No reported GI outbreak in the hospital. She said she’s not sick. Ran out of trauma. Pale, lightheaded. Avoiding food. And her mood? All over the place.”

            Dana was quiet, arms still crossed.

            Robby held up both hands now. “And don’t even try to say stress, because Y/N thrives under pressure. She doesn’t run. She charges.”

            Silence stretched between them like a wire pulled tight.

            Then, he went softer. “Morning sickness. Hormonal shifts. Emotional volatility.” Robby looked over at Dana now, his voice lower. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

            Dana didn’t even flinch. “That’s not mine to confirm or deny,” she replied.

            “But I’m right,” Robby replied.

            “I did not say that,” Dana warned.

            “You didn’t have to,” his voice wasn’t triumphant; it was heavy. Like the realisation carried more weight than he expected. “Excellent doctor, I am,” he hummed with a smile, winking.

            “Don’t tell Jack,” Dana whispered, voice blunt.

            “Lips are sealed,” he replied, giving her a salute before going back to the outside world of the emergency room. “I am correct, aren’t I?”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Aemond x brothel reader 👀

So what if instead of Aemond visiting the older woman in yesterday’s episode - he goes to the brothel and immediately regrets it and is about to leave until he sees reader and is mesmerized by her beauty. They have their little moment and she gives him comfort. Definitely feel free to add more or change anything! This is just a thought that I’d like to see created. Thank you!

Request: Aemond and a brothel girl (maybe a dancer idk) like the scene in the episode. Except they are more intimate and not weird age gap like the madam. It gave me the ick… He truly feels for her.

Warnings: mention of (past) character death, mommy issues,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The mysterious customer under a cloak all piqued your curiosity. You never had the chance of properly seeing him, always immediately escorted to a private bed. Some girls said he was disfigured, and that it was the reason he covered himself with a cloak. Some said it was Aegon Targaryen, but you knew the newly crowned King favored Flea Bottom’s whores. 

As you danced, your eyes would try to see through the veils he hid behind. To get a glimpse of him. But you never saw anything other than his bare feet. All you knew was that he was with Madam Sylvi and that he requested hot milk.

One late evening, you saw him leaving the veils. His cloak was on, but he saw you. He saw you dancing and moving your naked body to the rhythm of the music, entertaining the customers. 

The next time he came by, he asked for you. 

Madam Sylvi was not pleased, but he was the paying customer. 

You reminded him of his mother — physically —, but more caring and nurturing. He found your voice soothing and loved to rub himself against the fullness of your breasts, making your nipples harden to the stimulation, until he came to rest his cheek on top of it, humming in satisfaction. His mother let him do this as a child, when she was still comforting him, and he missed it. 

Every night, he would curl against you, or in your lap, and stay here for hours as you gently caressed his pale skin. Unlike the other customers, Aemond was not there for sexual satisfaction. He just wanted comfort.

‘’Daemon sent them to kill me,’’ he said, his naked body shielded by the veils circling the large bed. ‘’It was my head they wanted, not my innocent little nephew’s.’’

Your heart was heavy as the prince mentioned the murder of Jaehaerys — a child. The barbarous act had everyone in tears. 

You rubbed his arm gently, the aroma of calming lavender wrapping around you. ‘’But you were with me.’’

‘’I feel sorry for my brother and sweet sister. She is traumatized.’’ Guilt filled his stomach as he remembered the suffering and painful grief in Helaena’s eyes. ‘’I should be grateful they did not find me, but a part of me wishes they had. Unlike my little nephew, I would have been able to defend myself.’’

‘’We cannot change the past, my prince.’’ 

‘’I know,’’ Aemond whispered, his cold, princely facade completely down in your company. He sighed deeply as your gentle caresses soothed his weary soul. His body relaxed as he buried his face into your covered chest, seeking solace in your warmth and tenderness. ‘’There’s a lot I would change about the past if I could. I…I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day, and I am sorry for it.’’

You stroked his hair gently, the soft, silvery locks running through your fingers. You could feel the tension in his body slowly melting away as he rested against you.

Aemond's eye closed at your touch, and a small sigh escaped his lips. ‘’They used to tease me, you know? Because I was different. One time, in the dragonpit, they…they said they found me a dragon. It was a pig. And my brother was part of the prank.’’

’'That was cruel of them,'’ you said softly, leaning to kiss his temple. He leaned into your touch as you wrapped your arms around him in a comforting embrace. ‘’They were cruel to you, my prince. You didn't deserve their taunts and mockery.'’ 

You felt his hand reaching up and palming your breasts through your clothing. Getting the hint of what he wanted, you untied the front of your dress and freed your breasts. Immediately, Aemond’s mouth started to press kisses over them before. His hot tongue swiped over your nipple. You let him do what he desired, knowing this was his way of finding comfort. The warmth of his hand and the wetness of his tongue sent a shiver down your spine, but you focused on his needs.

As Aemond continued his sweet assault on your breasts, you noticed his cock was getting hard against his thigh, but didn’t mention it. Madam Sylvi never touched him there...or kissed him. Only you — when he asked for it. 

The music outside the curtains changed, and he shifted, letting go of your breasts to curl up with his head on your lap instead. You continued to rub his shoulder down to his back, then along his thigh and leg. 

‘’When I claimed Vhagar, I felt powerful.’’ 

His pride and confidence had swelled to an almost unmanageable extent when he returned to Driftmark. He was excited to tell Aegon, and his mother about Vhagar. But his cousins and nephews found him first. They got into a fight over the dragon…and Lucerys Velaryon took out his eyes. 

As if you read his thoughts, your finger brushed the scar going through his eyebrow. You couldn’t imagine the pain he went through. 

‘’Was it why you went after Luke that day? Because you wanted him to be afraid of you and your superior dragon?’’ 

Aemond grew still at the mention of Lucerys, the memory of that fateful day on Storm’s End, the catalyst of the brewing war, still fresh in his mind. 

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded slowly. ‘’Yes... In a way, I suppose so.’’ 

You hummed, brushing your fingertips along his cheekbone softly. 

Aemond wished he could take you to the Keep. To his chambers. It would be nice to not have to hide under a cloak at night and risk getting seen by anyone who shouldn’t. He wished you would be there, in his bed, when he would return from small council meetings, training or even just supper, to take care of him and hold him.

But that was impossible. His mother would never allow it.  

—

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[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 3: A very bad idea, part 1

Find yesterday's entry here

CWs: usual gratuitous sex scene; demon summoning; serious dubcon, probably noncon when you think about it; heavy cumflation; horror themes; hyper-genitals; it's a lot today, folks

Author's note: Jesus H Christ this one got away from me. It gets good after about halfway but I feel like I spent too long setting up. Ah well, live and learn. I'm also trying something a little new where I'm linking the next few episodes together, so this one, episode 4, and episode 5 will follow on from one another.

There's basically no plot, so do what you want with that, but it's a fun thought.

With that aside, enjoy!

##########################################

It was a bit of a tradition now, whenever Heather was in town you'd get the lowest-rated book on a topic from the internet and take the piss out of it over a few bottles of your favourite red wine. Well, this week the wheel had spun, and landed on Demonology as a topic.

You thought about just saying screw it, and choosing another, but as you browsed the web for a terrible book, you saw it: "My First Book of Shadows" by Creedle and Crabnuts. The store listing alone was comical, from the pictures it looked like it had been printed out at home, badly trimmed to size and haphazardly stapled together. It was perfect. Two minutes later, and £5 lighter, it was on its way, predicted to arrive a couple of nights before her.

You leafed through the book when it arrived, barely a magazine really, and saw it contained what purported to be step-by-step directions to call forth a denizen of Hell, including a list of materials and guides to pronounce the chants.

Something about it... It called to you.

You don't know what came over you, but before you knew it you were walking around the high street, gathering incense sticks, candles, chalk, and a razor-sharp knife.

Heather arrived at your door on Friday evening, you had the house to yourself until at least Sunday afternoon and so we're busy in the living room. Your hands were covered in chalk dust in shades of white, blue, purple and red. The incense smoke was already filling the whole house with heady aromas of bergamot, cloves, camphor and myrrh.

She knocked again, snapping you out of your reverie. Still dressed in your dressing gown (robes are expensive, it turns out) you flung open the door and hugged your friend tight. "I have a surprise for you!"

"What? You've had the place fumigated?" Heather laughed, her voice lilting and sweet in the chill of the fading light.

"Better, come and see" you grabbed her by the hand and took her into the room where your circle lay, half finished, on the laminate floor

"Taken up a cult?" Heather's laughter hadn't stopped yet, then she saw the book open on the floor "Or started without me?" Mock-pouting now as she opened a bottle and started to pour the wine

You lent Heather your other bathrobe and as she pulled it on you couldn't help but see a small pile of her other clothes in the corner. Was she wearing anything under there? You guessed it fits the theme, and you'd been half hoping tonight would take that turn anyway, so you didn't say anything.

Together, you worked on the circle, both on hands and knees to trace the delicate runes and lines onto the ground. A few times Heather's gown rode up and the sight of her pink lower lips told you that, yes, she was completely naked under there.

You finished up, and knelt at opposite sides of the floor, gazing into the circle you'd drawn. Maybe a little smudged in places, but you weren't expecting anything to really happen as you recited the chants. The unfamiliar words felt strange to get your mouth around. As you came to the last few syllables you could have sworn the candles flickered, the incense grew more intense, the chalk lines began to smoulder. You raised the knife in your right hand and drew the point across your left.

That's when you realised your mistake.

The first drops of blood began to boil on your palm. The room became hot, and dry, like a desert wind blowing in your face. Gone were the scents of the incense, replaced with the smell of hot metal, searing meat, ozone, blood.

A noise, somehow the opposite of a bang. A dazzling flash. The guttering candles now ablaze and belching thick, black smoke that billowed down their sides like tar. You could see the fear in Heather's eyes, but neither of you could move. You were transfixed by what had appeared in the centre of the circle.

Too tall, too skinny, it hovered 6 inches off the ground. Spindly legs, 4 spindly arms, pencil-necked and sharp faced. Bald and with curved metal shards forming a shattered halo above its head. It blinked its four angular eyes and spoke with a voice that somehow echoed before you heard it

"Hail! I am Simizel! Viscount of the pit of Ashen Despair, Lord Commander of the seventeenth regiment of the Damned. Who are you to call me?"

You struggled to make any noise, throat dry and gasping for air. Simizel looked around at both of you, then down at the circle below him. "Wait, that's not right" he mused, "That's nonsense, that's spelled wrong, that's right, but in the wrong place, and..."

He looked at you

"It's a little irregular to ask, but what binding spell did you two use?" He was still looking at the ground quizzically as you rose to your feet

"Binding spell?" You croaked, eyes streaming

"Yes, to bind me, you know, so I don't just kill you both and go home?"

His eyes widened and his mouth grew into a wide smirk as he realised what had happened. He reached for the crumpled and charring pamphlet on the floor and skimmed it.

His smirk turned to a chuckle, then a laugh, then a cackle

"By my name! Someone thought they were very clever, didn't they?" He either couldn't disguise his mirth, or wasn't trying very hard "You just copied out any old rubbish and slit yourself open!"

A wave of his hand. You and Heather were floating in front of him now. "I haven't been amused like this in centuries. For being such fun, I'll give you girls some gifts"

He flicked his wrist and both of your gowns burned away, leaving you naked and glistening with sweat and fear

"First, if you want to try this again in the future, do it properly." He gestures at the book and it burns away, replaced with a wax-sealed scroll "That will summon an old friend of mine, just break the seal, read the words, and out he will come"

"Next, I'll make sure I don't leave behind any cambions" His clawed fingers etched patterns into your and Heather's skin. You tried to struggle against the pain, but your body was under his spell. In a few moments of etching, he had carved glowing sigils into the flesh just above each of your pubic bones.

He smiled, almost warmly, "Knowledge, and a boon, normally gifts like these would cost a soul, but I feel generous tonight, so I will simply take my fill of your bodies."

The spell keeping you aloft broke, and you dropped to the floor in a heap. You looked up at him and wondered how you could have missed it: between his pale thighs hung a pendulous, rapidly hardening cock. Your belly began to ache and your mouth water. What had come over you?

You started to crawl over to him, dimly aware Heather was doing the same next to you. Reaching up for this amazing rod as it grew longer and thicker than any human would have, flared at the head like a horse's and knotted at the base. You weren't sure how it was going to fit inside you

You knew you were going to make it.

You started kissing the end, as Heather began sucking on his gravid balls, each one the size of a grapefruit. Simizel cradled your face in his hand, fingers still bloody from marking you, then lifted you up with a gesture.

Upside-down now, you could see a rope of glittering precum hanging from his cock as it pulsed against your lips. You held out your tongue to try and taste it.

As soon as your lips parted it was in your mouth. You felt like your jaw would break. You didn't care. His tongue was at your pussy, licking your clit furiously and making you shake. You tensed up as you came, hips bucking against his face.

He pushed you down. The too-thick cock forcing its way down your throat and making you gag. You couldn't breathe. You still didn't care. You didn't care as you felt somehow even more tongues at your clit, invading your pussy, pushing into your asshole

He started thrusting. You felt as though you could split in half. Some dark power was keeping you conscious as you felt the end of his cock moving up and down in your belly. The thrusting got harder and faster until the knot was driven past your lips and started swelling in your mouth.

His tongues were still at your cunt. Your body squeezing against him as repeated orgasms rocked you. You could feel yourself squirting fluid into his face as he fucked your mouth open even wider

His cock must have been in your stomach now, bottoming out and stuck in you. You could feel it pulsing and could see his balls pumping in front of your face as your belly began to swell with the volume of fluid gushing into you. You tried to scream, in pain, in ecstasy, you're not sure, but the vast mass stuffed inside you prevented any sound escaping.

Heather was still cradling his balls in her hands as she kissed you, licking the base of his cock where it was jammed into your face, tasting where his fluids were leaking out of the sides of your mouth. Her eyes were empty but for lust as she rubbed her hands over her clit, her hips bucking erratically

The knot began to loosen and pull away from you. You felt hands on your hips lifting you from the demonic shaft as it pumped ever more into you, until it slipped free. You saw it hang, still pumping potent demon-seed and painting your friend's naked body in sticky, viscous white as she screamed her way to another full-body orgasm.

The world came back into relief and you realised you were panting and moaning, the tongues bringing you to your peak again and again. Pain rocked your body in between waves of pleasure as you came over and over, cum leaking from your mouth and throat as Heather stood below.

The demon wasted no time, repositioning himself under the two of you on the floor, one pair of impossibly strong hands on your hips as you rode his face, the other positioning your friend's ass over his impossible cock, still leaking and pulsing.

You heard her gasp and call out as it entered her ass, stretching her out and filling her immediately. Again and again he pushed in, her belly growing larger and larger with the size of him and the fluids he emitted. Your orgasmic cried mingled as your mind blanked and you passed out.

You don't know how long it was having its way with Heather, but when you came to you were lay on the floor watching it pull out of her pussy, her ass and throat leaking fluids and her gurgling moans of pleasure filling your ears.

Simizel looked at you and you wordlessly rolled onto your back, legs opened for him. He strode over to you, leaving your friend lying on her side in a pool of his semen and her own squirt.

He loomed over you and pressed himself against your aching hole. You gasped as it pushed in, stretching you around its immense girth. He was at your cervix already, and showed no signs of stopping. You screamed out as it pushed deeper in, lubricating its movement with a neverending stream of thick cum. Your eyes rolling as your orgasm rocked you again and again until he was again at the hilt. You weren't sure how much longer you could take it as he pumped litre after litre into you, the fluids spraying out of you even despite the knot holding him into you.

You passed out again.

This time you woke up and he was gone. Heather was where he left her. Sunlight was starting to eke in through the drawn curtains. You felt your belly, round and full, it sloshed around as you moved towards the bathroom to expel as much of the spunk left in your ass and your cramping womb as you could.

As you stood you felt the mark he left on your skin, it wasn't glowing now but still remained, red and cauterised by the heat of his claws.

You heard movement, Heather was awake and groaning. Her eyes met yours. They were still empty, there wasn't anything there but lurid desire. Your heart dropped as you lamented what he had done to her, before you realised where she was moving to

The scroll

She broke the wax and opened the paper before you could reach her on your shaking legs. She read the words and the walls began to shift.

A purple light suffused the room

You weren't done yet.

[willyoubemycherryy]

𝑆𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑆𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 (𝐹. 𝑇𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑎𝑟)

Unfortunately this is my life right now. I needed my family gone YESTERDAY.

Contains: stressed, stress, stressing, tangible irritation, dysfunctional oblivious family, kissing, hiding, cameo appearance based on my older sister

There wasn’t a breath deep enough you could take to calm yourself down.

Fiyero seemed to be acutely aware of this so he stayed silent as his chest was pressed to yours where you both were glued together, currently hiding from the everlasting season of irritation that was your family and the holidays. There honestly weren’t any words.

The lack of space, the way they stayed glued to your side during most of their stay, the snoring, endless noise, whining, complaining, the way all your brothers seemed to speak in surround sound, all the mess, how nothing was ever good enough for your mother, toppled over with all your unfairly assigned “sister responsibilities”.…you exhale heavily through your mouth as you run your hands down your face. If all the general inconvenience wasn’t enough, you barely got to spend any alone time with the one person who didn’t constantly stress or annoy you. The most you got to do was a peck- maybe kiss- and you had to sneak to do that because if they knew you had a boyfriend after being socially averse your whole life, you know how badly they’d blow it out of proportion- before one of your family members was off wanting to do something or another. Another heavy sigh and with this one, you’re fighting tears. You just want your apartment back, no mess and no noise with no loud family that wears out every welcome you’ve ever given. Peace and quiet. That’s all you wanted.

So, here you were; hiding with your secret boyfriend in the bathroom with the lights off to escape the noise and be alone with the solace you give each other for just a few minutes. You’ve had a headache for days and Fiyero’s been going with everything assumingely unbothered but you know better. He likes the space you two have. He also knows that you truly didn’t want to do anything this year so the look on your face when all your close relatives and siblings literally appeared at your place on Friday for a surprise stay at your place for Christmas week gave him a hint on why you wanted to stay out of the drama for this year. Plus…Fiyero misses you. Yeah, you were there but you weren’t happy. He misses you happy and the flow you both had before it got disrupted. Your folks were nice enough but he couldn’t overlook how…inconsiderate…they also were. Just dropping in without checking in on how you felt about it or if you had any prior plans and then expecting you to accommodate them, didn’t feel right. He can only imagine how over it you really are so that’s why if in this moment all he can give you is silence, he will. Smoothing a hand down your hair, he resigns himself to wait in the darkness along with you until you’re ready but you speak first.

“I want our apartment back.”

“I know. Me too, miss having you all to myself.”

You smile a little at that because it really was lovely with just the two of you. Quiet, calm, and a sweet atmosphere that came with coexisting with the love of your life.

“Don’t get me wrong- i did miss them just-”,

“Not all at once for an impromptu 7 day stay?” You pinch your lips in as a frown overtakes your features, the picture of unhappiness and Fiyero pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you and rests his chin on top of your head while you pout.

“Exactly.”

You both sigh in tandem, soaking in the one break you’ve had in 5 whole days.

“What else is it? You’ve been more…” Fiyero trails off as he cups your face, peering down into yours. He doesn’t really have to elaborate because you know what he means and you know he won’t judge your answer.

“…they’re just so…needy. They want everything. You should’ve seen the episode yesterday in the shopping center.” You groan remembering how much a season you didn’t plan on participating in has cost you. You didn’t even want to celebrate in the first place. You just wanted to relax, have sex with your boyfriend, and enjoy holiday themed stuff and occasional outings with your friends but nooo you couldn’t even do that.

Sensing your rapidly overwhelming frustration, Fiyero presses a slow, firm, kiss on your lips. Humming when you kiss him back before pulling away.

“Just 2 more days”, he says, squishing your cheeks so your mouth opens then leaning back down to kiss you again but deeper. He swallows your moans as you drag your hand up his back, feeling the muscles there as he takes your breath away. You feel his tongue lave hotly across the inside of your cheek and you almost lose your balance from the jolt of pleasure that shoots through you, other hand gripping his forearm. However, Fiyero pulls away before you can make a scene, resting his forehead against yours as you gasp against his mouth, trying to catch your breath. You barely hear him when he talks through the blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding.

“Two more days. Okay?”

The rasp in his voice hypnotizes you and you nod belatedly, movements slow and jerky as you repeat dumbly after him.

Mmhm, yeah, two more days.”

Fiyero smiles at how eager you are to forget the past 5 days of disaster through his touch but it’s only 4:11 pm and you have company waiting. You slip your hands underneath his ugly Christmas sweater, feeling the hard ridges of his muscles, tilting your head up with a pleased hum when he meets your lips again within seconds. It’s honestly the best you’ve felt in days, held and being kissed breathless. The only noise being your panting and Fiyero’s low groans. You drag your fingertips down his happy trail- not to start anything, of course but just because his skin is nice- feeling giddy at the way his hands hold you tighter.

“Honey! Are you almost done? We have awkward posed pictures to take!” Rapid knocks accompanied by your older sisters voice make you two spring apart and you fight not to scream in frustration.

“Yeah I’ll be out in a few minutes!” You yell back, craving an empty space more than ever. Huffing one more time, you feel Fiyero nose along your temple before whispering in your ear.

“Two more days?”

“Two more days and not a hour longer.” You hear the footsteps walk away from the door but of course it’s not the end the end of it.

“You should invite your friend! The one that’s been hanging around the last couple of days! He’s ridiculously hot and he’s got an ass that could cause traffic!!” She yells across the distance she walks from the door and your mouth drops in sheer mortification, face hot while you pointedly ignore the shake of Fiyero’s chest as he laughs; clearly very much enjoying your sisters praise.

“I really am all that, huh?

This won’t be the longest two days of your life at all..

[lu-dao-writes]

The Sound Of Your Voice (Geo Oogami)

Warning(s): Geo being emotionally constipated, gn!reader, can be read as platonic or romantic.

A/N: Geo has taken over my brain and it’s all thanks to @vibelladonna lol. Seriously, I love how she writes Geo, and it’s hilarious how his little gag game came out yesterday after I finished writing this. This is also me trying to see if I can write him well enough. Anyways, enjoy! REMEMBER THAT THIS GAME IS 18+ ONLY. RESPECT THE CREATOR’S WISHES.

That tell-tale ringtone cuts through the calming silence Geo was basking in, those aquamarine eyes slowly sliding open and a rush of air surging out from his nostrils.

Geo knows fully well who it is that was calling him, and he knows that his two hour meditation session is now promptly over with. He’s in no hurry to get his phone, knowing that if he does miss it, you’ll just call him back anyways.

“Hey, Geo!” comes your exuberant voice and energy slamming into him with full force.

“What is it now?” he asks flatly, beginning to clean up his setup as you begin to describe every little big and small detail about your day.

“Classes were so boring and the day was so long!” you whine.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. I was also given two projects that are both due next week! Ugh, I swear these professors have it out for us!”

“You can say that again,” Geo mutters, prepping the tea kettle for his after meditation tea.

“We missed you today at lunch, by the way. Oh! You missed Britt scaring the absolute shit outta Deryl! Poor guy’s soda shot straight outta his nose!”

“Gross,” he mutters with a barely there chuckle.

“Yeah, pretty gross,” you snicker. “But also hilarious. Just disappointed it wasn’t captured on video for memories.”

“Wouldn’t want to see it anyways.”

The phone call goes well into the late evening with Geo still willing to entertain you, even though he had many other productive things he could be doing. Your conversation drifted from events on campus to other topics that appeared in that head of yours.

Somehow you managed to even rope him into watching some silly drama show you were currently obsessed over.

Geo isn’t one to do phone calls; it’s just not his thing, and he doesn’t ever like wasting his precious time or breath on useless things. But he makes an exception for you because he’s found that he oddly… Enjoys it.

Not that he’d admit that, or venture into why he does. Hell no.

Geo tells himself it’s because he’s bored and he tolerates you, or that you pitifully couldn’t find anyone else to hang out with and used him as a last resort.

He shouldn’t care.

He doesn’t care.

“Why do you constantly call me?” he asks bluntly, his words cutting through your ramblings.

You sputter and Geo finds himself waiting without a word, his patience slowly burning away like a candle wick.

“I… Well…!”

“Well, what?” he asks, his tone sharper than he wanted it.

You then sigh and Geo listens as you swallow down the liquid left in your can from your beverage of choice. “I just like the sound of your voice,” is your answer. It’s genuine with only a hint of vulnerability. “And of course I just like talking to you.”

Geo, to his embarrassment, doesn’t know how to respond, as if his train of thought ran into a brick wall and shattered into millions of pieces.

“I know you’re pretty unsociable,” you start with a tease, and his lips pucker into a small pout, eyes narrowed into a mostly harmless glare. “But I’m surprised you’re even indulging me with this. I thought you’d just ignore my calls.”

His Adam’s apple bobs slowly, his swallow slightly audible. “I’m bored and I tolerate you and your nonsense,” he finally replies, cool as a cucumber.

Geo hears you giggle and the urge to scowl and bitch at you begins to rise.

“Alright, Geo,” you continue to chuckle. “You down for one more episode?”

He sighs with faux annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against his pillows. “I guess…”

“Yes!!” you cheer, and Geo can’t stop his lips from twitching at your excitement.

decor credits to:@/dragonscale-lunaris, velaazuretail, necroangelz

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[3:22 pm] 

(cw: f!reader, pregnant reader)

3 months. That's it. 3 months or about 91 days until dad!Jaehyun would meet his baby girl and time was flying by so quickly. It felt like yesterday he was staring at the two lines on a pregnancy test and feeling faint. It felt like just yesterday he was looking at an ultrasound with a tiny smudge and being told it was the baby.

All these firsts flew by so fast and he was taking it in stride, barely registering how much could change in just a few weeks. Just a few months ago he was crying listening to his baby girl's first heart beat. Just a few months ago he was twirling you around after cutting into a pink cake, surrounded by your loved ones.

He rarely got time to reflect on how fast everything had been changing, but today was one of those days where the hours ticked by slowly. A day where you had both been too lazy to even get dressed fully, too lazy to be out of bed for longer than 10 minutes, and lazy enough to sleep the whole day. Okay, maybe that last one was just you, but Jaehyun wasn't going to argue since you were growing another life inside you.

The TV was playing some random episode of a random show you had put on a couple hours ago. His eyes moved from the screen to your curled up form and he smiled.

Your hair was pulled up into a messy bun, mussed from sleep and laying around. The shirt you were wearing was one of his from years ago, a thin cotton material with holes on the hem that he'd been wanting to throw away for years, but became one of your go to shirts around the house. It was "so soft and comfy" you had claimed, "the baby likes it." It made Jaehyun chuckle every time. Your legs were bare and underwear you had once claimed he would never seen because he "would lose all attraction for you" covered you.

Marriage had changed a lot for the both of you in the best ways. The shirt he hated had become your favorite, a source of comfort. The underwear you hated, had strangely become his favorites on you. Something about you being comfortable enough to share something that once brought you shame warmed his heart.

On any other lazy day 7 months ago, or even longer he knows he'd say and think the same thing, but something about looking at you now felt different, almost majestic. The sun was streaming through the sheer white curtains and illuminating you like you were some kind of goddess. It couldn't be just the sunlight, there was something else about you. Maybe it was a new vibrancy in your skin or the rosiness that had become a permanent fixture on your face.

Jaehyun looked at you and felt his eyes turn into hearts. You were breathtaking without even doing anything. He must have done something really great in his past life, like saving an orphanage from a fire to be blessed with the sight of such a divine being. A goddess just inches away from him and his wife.

Love wasn't even an emotion strong enough to describe how he was feeling. Yes, of course he loved you, but if you mixed love with cherishing you, adoration, besotted you, infatuation, and being enamored by you, maybe that would get closer to how he let for you.

You stirred and he stilled, his breath caught in his throat. You blinked your eyes open with the most adorable groggy face ever and in that moment he prayed that your daughter would come out looking just like you. Another human that looked like you for him to dedicate his life to.

You stretched your arms up, your bump arching into the air, before you settled with a sigh, "why are you staring at me?"

"Because I love you."

You snorted, pushing his face away with a gentle hand, "weirdo."

Jaehyun laughed, turning his face to press a kiss to your palm, "you love it."

"Something more than that," you hum, turning your attention back to the screen with your free hand resting on your bump.

[musubi05]

Oooooh I really like the last one…could you please do an actress sister reader where she’s filming a scene with Jar and Jen where a piece of the set breaks and falls on top of her-leaving her stuck under it freaking out and injuring her to where she passes out

Yeah, of course! Glad you liked the last one!

╰┈➤ Accidents Do Happen

Jensen Ackles x actress!reader (platonic) Jared Padalecki x actress!reader (platonic) Summary: Maybe one of the walls weren't strapped down so it wouldn't fall. Someone forgot to check it and that leads to your getting your foot broken. Warnings: Passing out, hospitals, detail on a broken bone

The early morning mist still clung to the edges of Vancouver, a damp, pervasive chill that seeped into everything, even the warmth of the studio lot. It was early - too early, if you were being honest - and the day had started like any other on set, a familiar rhythm of organized chaos. You were halfway through filming the back half of the season, and the entire cast and crew were running on a dangerous mix of adrenaline, instant coffee, and the sheer will to push through.

You sat in your designated director's chair, your worn hoodie zipped up tight over your costume, as a thin shield against the Vancouver chill. The final touches of dried blood were being carefully applied near your temple by the makeup artist. Maggie Winchester, your character, the stubborn, scrappy younger sister of the legendary Sam and Dean - was made to be thoroughly roughed up in today's episode, having just barely escaped a nasty encounter after getting separated during a hunt.

A familiar shadow fell over you, followed by the deep yet sweet voice of Jared, who had been sipping from an oversized thermos that looked more like a small pitcher. "You ready, short stack?" he teased with a playful glint in his eyes.

You lifted your head, giving him a glare that, despite its intention, lacked any real heat. "Ready to out-act you? Always," you retorted, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Before Jared could respond, Jensen leaned in from behind your chair, a characteristic smirk playing on his lips. "She's spicy today," he commented, his voice a low rumble.

"I think I'm still mad about yesterday's prank," you muttered, not even hiding the annoyance as you adjusted the strap of your worn prop boot.

Jared let out a loud laugh. "Come on, you only screamed for ten seconds when the fake snake fell out of your locker!"

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but the smile widened. Being with them on set, even during slow 16-hour days, never felt like work. It felt like hanging out with family, the kind that constantly teased you but always had your back. Even on the roughest days, their easy friendship and shared humor made everything better.

The set, a maze of damaging equipment, rusting metal, and unstable catwalks, was constructed for the abandoned house.  You were blocking the scene with Jared and Jensen, your characters having just stumbled upon the monster’s lair. With the tension evident in the air, the brothers were supposed to be guiding her through a perilous course of falling support beams and other debris.

"We'll move slow," Jensen said, his voice dropping into Dean's protective, gruff tone as he got into character, scanning the mock wreckage around them. "Watch your step, Maggie."

The cameras rolled. The director called "Action!" You were mid-line, your prop flashlight shaking slightly in your hand, its beam cutting through the artificial gloom as you ducked under a leaning beam.

"I don't like this," you muttered in character, your voice low and laced with unease. "It's too quiet."

"Stay close," Jared said, his deep Sam voice laced with a quiet, unwavering concern, glancing back at you as he stepped over a pile of debris.

Then came the cue - a sharp, almost imperceptible hand signal from the special effects coordinator. A small, timed burst of compressed air and smoke instantly filled the immediate space around you, designed to simulate a localized structural collapse.

You flinched instinctively, just as you’d rehearsed. You covered your head with your arms and stumbled a little for effect, a convincing portrayal of someone caught off guard. Jared, still in character, reached out, his hand firm on your arm, steadying you.

And then, unscripted - a loud, sickening crack shattered the controlled chaos.

Everything happened too fast for anyone to truly react. The crew's eyes, visible even in the dim light of the set, went wide with a mixture of confusion and dawning horror. A real piece of set - a massive, thick beam from the rigged structure overhead, meant to hold a suspended prop - had snapped loose. It was plummeting down toward you with terrifying speed before anyone could even scream a warning.

You turned, startled by the unexpected sound, a question forming on your lips and that was the last movement you made before it hit.

The immense weight knocked you flat, sending a jarring shockwave through your body. The air rushed out of your lungs in a ragged gasp, and you cried out sharply, a sound of pure agony, as you were pinned beneath it. Pain exploded up your left leg, sharp and hot and blinding, a searing fire that consumed everything else.

You couldn't breathe.

You couldn't move.

"CUT! CUT!!" someone screamed, their voice shrill with panic, cutting through the sudden, horrifying silence that had fallen over the set.

Jensen and Jared's instincts, from the years of on-screen heroics and a genuine care for you, kicked in instantly. Jared dropped to his knees beside you, his face draining of color, panic flooding his usually calm features. "Y/N?! Y/N, talk to me!" he demanded, his voice thick with fear.

"I- I can't-" you gasped, your voice tight and broken, the words catching in your throat. "My foot- Jared, I can't feel my foot-"

"Don't move, don't move," Jensen commanded, his own face suddenly pale and etched with terror as he crouched by your side, his hand reaching for yours. "Just breathe, okay? You're okay. We've got you."

But you weren't okay. The pain was an overwhelming like someone had driven a red-hot spike through your leg and left it there to burn. You could feel yourself slipping, your vision narrowing to a tunnel, your hands growing cold and clammy. You tried desperately to stay with them, to hold onto consciousness, to fight the encroaching darkness.

"Jen…" you whispered, your voice barely audible, a fragile plea. "Hurts…" And then everything went dark.

"Y/n?! Open your eyes for me, sweetie!" Jensen yelled. "Shit, shit, shit."

"Jensen! Grab her on three." Jared ordered. Him and other guys in the crew gathered around the beam with their hands under it. Right when the guys got the beam lifted, Jensen dragged you out from under there.

"Hospital. Now!" Jared immediately scooped you into his arms, carrying you out of the building, and Jensen tailing right behind.

⛧

You came to slowly, your head heavy and a dull, persistent ache throbbing behind your eyes. The sterile hospital lights above you hummed softly, an indifferent buzz in the quiet room. Your mouth was parched, and a new, pervasive ache throbbed all along your side, a dull counterpoint to the sharper, more focused pain. But your foot…

God, your foot.

You turned your head slightly, a small movement that sent a wave of dizziness through you, and saw the bulky white cast encasing it. It was propped up on a pillow, a thin, scratchy hospital blanket draped carefully over it.

"Hey, hun." Jensen's voice, gruff with concern, broke through the lingering fog in your mind. "You're awake."

You blinked, forcing your eyes to focus, and saw both Jared and Jensen sitting vigil beside your hospital bed. Jared had his hoodie pulled tight around his face, looking utterly exhausted, like he hadn't moved since you were wheeled into the ER. Jensen leaned forward, his face etched with worry, gripping your hand tightly.

"You passed out," Jared said, his voice soft and hoarse, a stark contrast to his usual light tone. "That thing broke your foot in two places. You scared the hell out of us."

Jensen let a scoff slip as he looked down to the cast. "We're lucky it was just the foot. The doctors said that accidents like this happen all the time and it leads to worse things than a broken foot."

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat, your eyes tearing up despite yourself. The reality of what had happened crashed over you. "Did they… did they catch it on camera?" you whispered, a strange, almost detached curiosity in your voice.

Jensen managed a weak, almost breathless laugh. "They stopped rolling the second it fell. No one cared about footage after that."

"The crew said you tried to stand back up," Jared added, his own eyes glassy with unshed tears, the memory clearly vivid and painful for him. "Even while you were crying out."

You looked between them, truly taking in how shaken they were. Their faces were pale, their expressions raw with relief and lingering fear. These were your brothers and not just on screen, but in every sense that mattered. They had been there, and they clearly weren’t going anywhere.

"I'm okay," you murmured, the words feeling fragile, but true in a way that mattered. "I'm okay now."

Jensen shook his head, a faint, weary smile touching his lips. "You're not allowed to say that for a while."

"We're getting you a wheelchair. One with flames on the side," Jared grinned, a flash of his usual humor finally breaking through. "Speed racer edition."

You let out a soft laugh, wincing slightly as the movement sent a small jolt of pain through your side. "Only if I can run over your foot with it," you retorted, the familiar banter a comforting balm.

"Deal," Jared said, leaning back in his chair, a genuine smile finally reaching his eyes.

And despite the throbbing pain in your foot, the lingering fear from the accident, and the knowledge of a long recovery ahead - you felt safe. Plus this would make a hell of a good story for conventions.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #03 死

† breakfast and training †

"His eyes are the kind of dark that makes you forget there was ever light in the world. And you hate that you're starting to notice details about him."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 5.4k

rating: mature

content: training violence, weapons, strong language, sexual tension

☠ author's note ☠

HELLO MY FELLOW SLEEP-DEPRIVED CREATURES. Welcome back to another episode of "Kiki makes questionable life choices and writes fanfiction instead of sleeping"!

Can we talk about how I wrote like three different versions of the gun scene before my perfectionist brain was satisfied? And by satisfied I mean "fine whatever just post it I guess." Don't @ me about gun accuracy, I play Call of Duty sometimes that's research enough (ㆆᴗㆆ)

Also yes, I am absolutely living for the whole "oh no they're training together" trope. Sue me. Or don't, I'm broke. All I have is caffeine and the ability to make my characters suffer. Speaking of which - Jeon in combat mode? chef's kiss My boy is out there being all professional and grumpy while Y/N is just trying her best not to get shot. We love that for them.

PSA: The whole "Cookie" thing was totally self-indulgent and I regret nothing. V is here to cause chaos and honestly? Goals.

Special shoutout to my cat who watched me write this at 3 AM and judged me silently. You're the best beta reader a girl could ask for, even if your only feedback is knocking my coffee over.

See you next Tuesday, you beautiful disasters! Remember: sleep is for the weak and fanfiction is for life.

crawls back into writing cave while mainlining espresso

Kiki

⚔ socials ⚔

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Mornings in the castle hit different. Through your window, the sky's doing that thing where it can't decide if it's still night or already dawn—all soft blues mixing with hints of gold. Everything's quiet, like the world's holding its breath.

Then your alarm goes off.

"Why did we agree to this again?" Yunjin whines from her bed, fumbling to shut up the annoying buzz. Her pink hair is a mess, splayed across her pillow like cotton candy gone wrong.

"Croissants," you remind her, stretching until your joints pop. "Fresh, buttery, heavenly croissants."

"Not hungry." She burrows deeper into her blanket cocoon. "Too early for hunger. Too early for existing."

You swing your legs off the bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor. "What happened to yesterday's 'new me, new goals' speech?"

"That was yesterday's Yunjin. Today's Yunjin chooses sleep."

With a snort, you pad over to her bed. It's literally two steps away—your shared room is cozy like that, with just enough space for two singles and matching bedside tables. You give her shoulder a gentle shake.

"And what's tomorrow's Yunjin gonna think about that?"

"Tomorrow's Yunjin's problem," she mumbles, death-gripping her blanket. Smart girl. She knows your next move would've been stealing it.

"Then it's tomorrow's me problem too!" You can't help but laugh, and it finally gets her to peek one eye open.

She lets out the longest, most dramatic sigh. "Fine. Fine. You win."

Your shared laughter is soft, comfortable. It's weird how quickly Yunjin became your person here. Maybe because she's as new to this as you are—no pressure to measure up to badasses like Chaewon or keep your guard up around intimidating figures like V and Jeon.

She joined two months before you did. For her, it meant saying goodbye to having her own room, but she says it was worth the trade-off. Girl's a mess when it comes to sleep schedules, but she keeps your shared space spotless and her determination is s̶c̶a̶r̶y̶ impressive. Like, you've seen her practice seduction techniques until 3 AM, and now here she is, dragging herself up at dawn for... well, croissants and self-improvement.

There's something genuinely good about Yunjin. She's always there—to help, to listen, to just be. Five months in and everyone in Seduction already adores her. Yeah, she's clumsy as hell during physical training, but her mind is sharp. Nothing gets past her—it's like she's got a built-in lie detector.

After yesterday morning's... incident, you're extra grateful for her company.

You both grab your digital cards from your bedside tables—can't go anywhere in this place without them. They're basically your whole identity here, determining which doors open for you and which stay firmly shut.

The castle corridors feel endless this early. Most members are probably still sleeping or doing whatever gang members do at dawn. Your footsteps echo softly as you and Yunjin make your way to the cafeteria, keeping the conversation light.

"Have you had breakfast here before?" you ask, watching her stifle another yawn.

"Once." She nods, her pink ponytail bouncing. "Got up at 10 though. Wasn't worth sacrificing sleep for."

You can't help but smile. "Early breakfast hits different. You'll see."

When you reach the cafeteria, Yunjin taps her digital card against the scanner. The light blinks green, and suddenly your nose is filled with the heavenly smell of fresh pastries. Inside, only a handful of early birds are scattered around the massive space. Makes sense—most people here prefer their beds at this hour.

Your eyes do their usual sweep of the room, casual and practiced. But then something pulls at you, like a magnet finding true north. Your gaze locks with dark, piercing ones.

Jeon.

"Oh, that's Jeon, right?" Yunjin's voice cuts through your thoughts. "Guess he likes mornings too."

You nod, still watching him from the safety of the doorway. Something about the distance makes you feel almost safe. He's got that thing about him—that unmistakable aura of authority that even 6 AM can't dim.

"Damn," Yunjin says after a beat, blunt as ever. "He's hot."

"Let's get food," you mutter, rolling your eyes and heading for the pastry section.

You and Yunjin load up your plates with a bit of everything, especially those famous croissants. Finding a quiet corner, you settle in to enjoy both the food and each other's company, pointedly not thinking about piercing dark eyes or brooding corners.

You try to look casual as your eyes drift back to Jeon for the hundredth time.

He's sitting there, both hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee like it's his lifeline to sanity this early in the morning. The sight of those tattooed fingers curled around plain white ceramic does something to your brain that you'd rather not examine too closely.

"You know, I heard something interesting about him." Yunjin's voice makes you jump. S̶h̶i̶t̶ Great, she caught you staring.

"Oh?" You tilt your head, hoping your voice sounds more curious than guilty.

Yunjin leans in conspiratorially, her pink hair falling forward as she drops her voice to barely above a whisper. It's kind of unnecessary given how far away Jeon is, but there's something about him that makes everyone speak in hushed tones.

"Apparently, he's got this whole... ritual thing going on. Every single morning, without fail, he makes sure he's the first one to get fresh coffee. Like, the first cup from a fresh pot."

Your eyes track back to that cup held between ink-covered fingers. Now that she mentions it, you've never seen him drink anything else in the mornings. The way he's savoring it, eyes closed and expression almost peaceful, makes you think Yunjin might be onto something.

"Every day? He's literally the first one here?" The mental image of Jeon lurking outside the cafeteria doors, waiting for them to unlock, is both hilarious and weirdly endearing.

"From what I've heard. Maybe it's a power move?" Yunjin suggests with a soft laugh. "You know, asserting dominance through caffeine consumption."

The idea of someone as intimidating as Jeon—co-leader of the Assassination Division, member of the Council of 9, literal professional killer—climbing the ranks of one of South Korea's most dangerous gangs just to secure his morning coffee makes something bubble up in your chest.. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing too loud.

"Imagine that being his master plan all along," you snort. "Join gang, become assassination chief, get first dibs on coffee."

You both dissolve into quiet giggles, but the moment shatters when something shifts in the air. It's like thorny vines suddenly wrapping around your lungs, making it hard to breathe. You don't need to look to know who it is.

"Mind if I join the fun?" V's voice slides over your skin like honey laced with poison, playful but with that edge that makes your hair stand on end.

His arms drape over your shoulders without warning, caging you and Yunjin in what should be a friendly gesture but feels more like being trapped. Your muscles tense automatically. There's something about V that keeps you perpetually on edge—like admiring a rose only to remember it's got thorns that could draw blood.

Yunjin manages a wobbly smile, but you can tell she's as unsettled as you are by his sudden appearance. "We were just... talking about coffee."

"Coffee?" V drawls the word like it personally offends him. He pulls back, throwing his arms behind his head in that carelessly graceful way of his, but stays close enough that you can smell cinnamon. "Boring. Now, this new training program? That's something worth discussing."

His eyes glint with mischief, reminding you of a cat playing with its food. "I'm keen to see what you girls bring to the table. Should be... intriguing, don't you think?"

The way he says it makes your skin crawl. There's nothing overtly threatening about his words, but the undercurrent is clear—the Assassination Division isn't known for playing nice, and V seems to view the upcoming cross-training as his personal playground.

"I'm sure it will be enlightening," you say carefully.

V's energy is infectious, but not in a good way. More like a disease you're trying not to catch.

He chuckles, and those thorny vines around your lungs squeeze tighter. "Oh, I'm sure it will be. And don't worry, yours truly will be there to add a little spice to the mix. Can't let things get too dull, can we?"

Before you can respond, his attention snaps to something—or someone—across the cafeteria. With a dismissive wave that somehow manages to feel both elegant and insulting, he strides off as suddenly as he appeared.

You exchange looks with Yunjin, both of you sagging with relief once he's gone. She looks as drained as you feel, like V's presence alone sucked all the energy from the room.

"Well, that was... something," Yunjin says, and you could write a whole essay about everything packed into that single word. Her pink hair is still slightly disheveled from where V's dramatic entrance messed it up.

"That's one way to put it." You try to shake off the phantom feeling of thorny vines around your lungs. V's presence leaves you feeling like you've been through some kind of emotional washing machine—tumbled around and wrung out.

"But oh my god." Yunjin's whole face suddenly lights up like she's remembered something amazing. The whiplash from her mood shift almost gives you vertigo.

"What?" You ask, though part of you already knows where this is going. Yunjin might be shy and perceptive, but she's also a total simp when it comes to pretty faces.

"He is SO handsome?" Her voice rises with genuine awe. "Everyone kept saying he looks like a prince, but I thought they were exaggerating. They were not."

You raise an eyebrow, wondering if you were even in the same conversation just now. Sure, V's gorgeous—that's kind of his whole thing. The dangerous beauty, the dripping poison. But after feeling his aura wrap around you like a boa constrictor, 'handsome' isn't exactly the first word that comes to mind.

"Did you miss the whole creepy vibe?" You keep your voice low, even though V's long gone. Some habits die hard in this place. "He talked about the training program like he's planning to turn it into his personal episode of Squid Game. With popcorn."

"Yeah, but like..." Yunjin waves her hand dismissively, "have you seen his face? Those cheekbones? That jawline?"

"The way he's probably plotting our deaths as we speak?" You counter, but you can't help the smile tugging at your lips. Trust Yunjin to focus on the aesthetics while completely ignoring the red flags. It's kind of adorable, in a concerning way.

"Doesn't change the fact that he's eye candy," she says with zero shame, stabbing her fork into her breakfast. "Like, premium, expensive, imported chocolate level of eye candy."

"True," you admit, finally taking a proper bite of your croissant.

And it is true—V's got that whole ethereal beauty thing going on, like a masterpiece painting that happens to be slightly cursed. The kind of face that belongs in museums but also probably comes alive at night to terrorize security guards.

But even as you acknowledge V's obvious appeal, your eyes betray you, drifting back to that other corner of the cafeteria. Back to dark eyes and hurricanes.

Back to Jeon.

It's not like you mean to look.

It just... happens.

Like your gaze has some kind of magnetic programming that keeps pulling it in his direction.

Which is s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ inconvenient because the last thing you need is to get caught staring at one of the most dangerous men in Kkangpae while you've got croissant crumbs on your face.

The rest of your morning slips by without V popping up again to make your skin crawl. You try to focus on getting ready for what's coming, but your mind keeps drifting to the upcoming training.

Working with Jeon and V's division? Yeah, that's not anxiety-inducing at all.

When you step onto the training field outside the castle, the change of scenery hits different. After being cooped up in the gang's concrete maze, the open space and towering trees feel almost surreal. The cold morning air bites at your lungs—a wake-up call you didn't ask for but probably need.

Today's not just another training day. It's your first cross-training with the Assassination Division, and the tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with one of V's knives.

Your stomach does this weird flip-flop thing as you walk towards the gathering crowd. Working with Jeon after... that incident? Not exactly on your bucket list. The memory of your last encounter sits heavy in your chest, making each step feel like you're walking through mud.

The Assassination Division is already there when you arrive, looking like they stepped out of some action movie poster. Some look ready to murder, others look ready for a nap. But it's Jeon who catches your eye—impossible not to, really. It's like the air itself is swirling around him like a storm about to break.

He's got that look on his face—you know the one. All business, no bullshit, could probably kill you with his pinky finger.

No sign of V though.

Makes sense, when you think about it. Those two aren't exactly besties—more like two wolves forced to share the same territory. Their whole approach to killing is different as night and day.

Jeon's all about precision. Clean shots, minimal mess, maximum efficiency. He's the type to plan every detail, calculate every variable. Need someone taken out from two buildings away without anyone even knowing what happened? That's his specialty. The human equivalent of a surgical strike.

V though? He's chaos incarnate. Gets up close and personal with his kills, leaves a message written in blood if he feels like it. He's the guy you call when you want someone dead and don't care how messy it gets. Planning? Fuck planning—V works on pure instinct and improvisation.

The crowd goes quiet as Jeon steps forward. The atmosphere shifts, less like a raging storm now and more like the heavy air before thunder breaks. When he speaks, his voice does that thing where it demands attention without actually raising in volume. And despite everything—despite knowing better—you find yourself leaning in slightly to catch every word.

"Your state of mind is everything in this line of work," he says, dark eyes scanning the crowd like he's reading everyone's potential in real time. "A calm, collected mind can mean the difference between life and death."

The task he lays out seems simple enough: shoot the cardboard target, hit the center, don't mess it up. But as you watch others take their turns, that knot in your stomach keeps getting tighter.

The gun feels wrong in your hand. Not that you haven't held one before—basic training covers that—but this is different. This is him watching, and somehow that makes your palms extra sweaty.

Then your turn's up.

Walking to the mark feels like crossing a minefield, every step measured and tense. Your heart's going so hard you can barely hear anything else.

Focus. You need to focus.

But Jeon's standing right there, making the air thick and hard to breathe. Your finger hovers over the trigger, but doubt creeps in like poison.

The target blurs in and out. You can feel Jeon watching, that heavy gaze picking apart every flaw in your stance. The pressure builds in your chest until you're sure something's gonna snap.

Just a bit longer. You need to be absolutely sure before taking the shot.

It's not like Seduction gets much practice with actual weapons—your arsenal usually involves batting eyelashes and strategic flirting, not bullets and gunpowder. So it's no wonder the gun starts slipping through your sweaty fingers.

You tighten your grip. A surge of determination hits you like a shot of adrenaline. Come on. It's just cardboard. You've handled way worse situations than this. You can do this.

Your finger starts to squeeze the trigger—

BANG.

That... wasn't your gun.

You flinch, turning toward the sound before you can stop yourself. Through the corner of your eye, you catch smoke curling from Jeon's pistol.

He's standing there looking bored, arm extended like this is just another one of his daily mornings. The gun fits his hand like it was molded for him, an extension of his body rather than a weapon.

When your eyes snap to the target, there it is—perfect shot, dead center, because of course it is.

A̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶ Show-off.

You lower your gun, lips pressed tight. His gaze sits heavy on your shoulders, hurricane pressure bearing down until you want to scream. His face gives nothing away, but those dark eyes say plenty—and none of it's good.

"If you're not quick enough, you'll get killed." His voice cuts like ice. "Let that be a reminder for everyone else."

The words hit like a slap. Heat rushes to your face—anger, embarrassment, frustration, all mixing together into something that makes you want to either punch something or crawl into a hole. Preferably punch him, but you're very aware of everyone watching this little show he's putting on.

Both divisions are staring, and you've never felt more like a fish in a very small, very exposed bowl.

Your eyes meet Jeon's, and suddenly breathing gets hard. His stare hits different—those dark eyes boring into yours like he's trying to read your soul, pupils blown wide in a way that makes your stomach do weird flips.

That silver lip ring catches the light when his mouth twists into something s̶e̶x̶y̶ condescending. He opens his mouth—probably to tear into you some more—but then—

BANG.

Everyone drops like puppets with cut strings. Pure instinct.

It's instant chaos. Voices rise into a crescendo of shouts and commands, bodies moving with practiced urgency.

It's kind of beautiful, in a messed-up way—how quickly personal beef gets shelved when shit hits the fan. One minute Jeon's looking at you like you're dirt on his boot, next second he's barking orders to keep everyone safe.

Your heart's in your throat as you scan the crowd for a flash of pink hair.

Yunjin.

But Yunjin's nowhere.

The sea of faces blurs together—no Kazuha, no Eunchae, not even Sakura. Even Chaewon's vanished, which is weird because she's usually got this sixth sense about danger.

Another shot cracks through the air. Your fingers tighten around your gun until your knuckles go white. Your eyes keep drifting to the treeline, where shadows dance between patches of dark green.

A calm, collected mind can mean the difference between life and death.

His words echo in your head, which is ironic considering how not calm you feel right now.

Fuck it.

You're moving before you can second-guess yourself, legs carrying you toward the forest. Maybe it's stupid, but you need space to think. To be calm, like he said.

Plus, the trees might give you cover—an advantage you desperately need right now.

The forest swallows you up. Sunlight filters through leaves overhead, painting everything in shifting patterns of light and shadow. Every step crunches on dead leaves, making you wince. So much for stealth.

V wouldn't be happy.

The chaos from the training ground fades the deeper you go, replaced by normal forest sounds—birds chattering overhead, small animals rustling in the bushes. It's almost peaceful, if you ignore the whole possible death situation.

You spot it then—a ridge overlooking the training ground, hidden behind thick bushes. Perfect vantage point, if you can reach it. The climb makes your muscles burn, but you manage. Up here, you force yourself to breathe slow and steady, trying to quiet your racing heart. Your fingers trace the gun's cold metal like a lifeline.

Your back hits the tree with a thud. The bark scrapes against your spine through your shirt, but you barely notice. Every nerve in your body is focused on that rustling sound behind you.

Footsteps.

Your breath catches. They're quiet—too quiet to be some random person stumbling through the woods.

No, these are the steps of someone who knows how to move silently. Someone trained.

Adrenaline floods your system as you press yourself flatter against the tree. Your fingers tighten around the gun until your knuckles go white. Through a gap in the leaves, you try to catch a glimpse of whoever's approaching, but the foliage is too thick.

Friend or foe?

The question pounds in your head with each careful footstep drawing closer. Your mind races, too many possibilities—it could be an enemy, could be another member searching the area.

Could be death or salvation walking your way.

The steps are almost upon you now. Your breathing goes shallow, controlled. You might be exposed up here, but they don't know that. Surprise is your only advantage right now.

Shoot or strike?

The dilemma tears at you. A gunshot would alert everyone to your location. And if it turns out to be an ally... F̶u̶c̶k̶ No. Hand-to-hand is safer. Quieter. Less explaining to do if you're wrong.

Your muscles coil tight as a spring. When the footsteps are close enough, you launch yourself from behind the tree in one fluid motion, aiming to take them down hard and fast.

Instead, you slam into what feels like a brick wall.

Oh.

It's Jeon.

His reflexes are insane—before you can even process who he is, he's already moving. The air sweeps around you as he twists, disarming you with embarrassing ease. Your gun hits the ground with a clatter that seems to echo through the whole forest.

Recognition hits you both at the same moment. That flicker of shock in his eyes quickly turns to his usual look of disdain, because of course it does.

Then—a misstep.

Your ankle rolls, sending white-hot pain shooting up your leg. You stumble, sucking in a sharp breath. His grip on you loosens just slightly, and something that might be concern flashes across his face before his usual cold mask slips back into place.

"You okay?" His voice is gruff, like the words are being dragged out of him against his will.

"Just perfect," you snap back, because fuck his concern when your ankle feels like it's on fire and your pride hurts even worse.

He just stands there, staring at you with those dark eyes that see too much.

"What the hell were you thinking?" A pause, one eyebrow lifting. "You have a gun, don't you?"

You almost laugh. Because of course. If you'd shot at him, he'd be lecturing you about trigger discipline. Attack hand-to-hand, and suddenly you're an idiot for not using your weapon.

You seriously can't win with this man.

"Well, good thing I didn't use it on you then." The words come out lighter than you feel, dancing between playful and pissed. "And what are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be back there playing commander?"

"That's what deputies are for." The casual way he says it makes your teeth grind. "Besides, I dispatched a team to check the gunfire. Just my luck, running into you instead."

"Pleasure's all mine, chief." You load the title with all the sarcasm you can muster.

"And you?" His dark eyes study you like you're a particularly puzzling target he can't quite line up. "Any reason you're out here instead of following orders?"

"Didn't get any orders to follow." You cross your arms, ignoring how his presence makes your skin prickle. "And that ridge over there?" You jab a finger toward the overlook. "Perfect vantage point. I was trying to be strategic before you showed up."

He actually grimaces at that, like your logic physically pains him. But before he can open his mouth to deliver what's surely another lecture, you add:

"Just my luck, running into you instead."

The words—his own words turned back on him—hit their mark. His eyebrow twitches just slightly, and satisfaction blooms warm in your chest.

Score one for you.

But before you can inwardly celebrate, he grimaces. He actually grimaces before he opens his stupid mouth again.

"That?" His voice drips with condescension. "You think that's prime real estate for observation?" The asshole holds back a laughter. "Alright." He says, and you ponder the merits of hitting him with a rock.

But then he begins walking, and you trail after him, partly because s̶c̶r̶e̶w̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ he's wrong and partly because... well, where else are you gonna go?

"Remind me again—which one of us specializes in persuasion and observation?" You can't keep the annoyance from your voice. His arrogance is starting to give you a headache.

"And which one of us is known for sniping?" He tilts his head just enough for you to catch the silver flash of his eyebrow piercing. "You think I don't know a thing or two about picking vantage points?"

"Just because you can shoot from far away doesn't mean you know the best places to shoot from." The words come out sharper than intended. "What works for a sniper might not work for surveillance. They're different skill sets."

"How so?" He doesn't even bother looking back now. "A lookout's a lookout, smartass."

Your hands find your hips. "You know what? Ask me that again when you sit in on our cross-training. Might learn something useful."

"Learn from an ensign?" His tilt is mocking. "No—learn from you?" He lets out a low chuckle that makes your teeth grind. "Pretty sure it works the other way around."

"Forgot about Flower?" You can't help the snark in your voice. "She's a chief too, and I'm sure she'd love to put you in your place."

The exhale he lets out is so exaggerated it has to be for dramatic effect. "You're insufferable."

"Feeling's mutual, chief."

You trail behind Jeon through the darkness, trying to ignore how his mere presence makes the night air feel electric against your skin. The silence wraps around you both, broken only by your footsteps until—

A rustle in the underbrush.

Before you can react, his hand clamps around your wrist. No warning, no words—just the firm press of tattooed fingers against your pulse point as he yanks you behind a massive rock. You crash against him, bodies colliding in a mess of limbs and s̶h̶i̶t̶ startled breath.

You open your mouth to tell him exactly what you think about being manhandled, but his finger presses against his lips. Shut up. His eyes scan the darkness beyond your hiding spot, focused and lethal.

And suddenly you're way too aware of him.

The moonlight paints him in silver and shadow, highlighting things you've never noticed before. Like how his eyebrow piercing catches the light—two tiny beads of silver that draw attention to the way his brow furrows in concentration. Or how that lip ring glints when his mouth sets in that stern line you know too well.

There's a scar on his left cheek—barely there, really. Just a whisper of a mark that makes you wonder what story it tells. Your eyes drift lower, catching on the small mole decorating the left side of his neck. It's such a delicate detail on someone who radiates danger, like finding a flower growing through concrete.

But it's his eyes that f̶u̶c̶k̶ y̶o̶u̶ u̶p̶ catch you off guard. Dark and deep, framed by stupidly long lashes that flutter when he blinks. They're beautiful in a way that makes your chest tight—and isn't that just f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ fantastic? You didn't need to know that about him.

This close, you can see the tiny lines at the corners of those eyes. They speak of sleepless nights and heavy choices, of burdens carried too long alone. Watching him like this—he feels different now, less like a storm trying to drown you and more like standing in summer rain.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut: you're seeing Jeon. Not the cold-as-ice division chief or the intimidating Council member. Just... him. Human.

Complex.

His fingers are still wrapped around your wrist like an iron band. If anything, his grip's gotten tighter, and you're caught between wanting to yank free and being weirdly aware of how warm his hand is against your skin in the cool night air. It's hard to tell if you're feeling trapped or protected.

The footsteps draw closer—deliberate, confident. Not someone trying to hide.

You watch a muscle tick in Jeon's jaw, the kind of tiny detail you wouldn't normally notice if you weren't pressed so close to him. It's fascinating, in an annoying way, how he can look so calm while radiating such intense energy.

His eyes flick to yours for just a second, but it feels loaded with... something. Like you're suddenly partners in this mess, whether you like it or not. It's more communication than you've had in all your previous conversations combined.

The rustling gets louder. You hold your breath. Jeon's gone statue-still beside you, but you can feel the coiled tension in him. His dark eyes snap to a spot in the trees, then back to you with unnerving intensity.

"Shoot there."

You stare at him like he's lost his mind. "What?"

"There." His voice is barely a whisper, rough with urgency. He jerks his chin toward whatever he's seeing that you're apparently missing.

"You want me to shoot a tree branch?" The skepticism in your whisper could cut glass. "Seriously?"

"Just do what you're told." The words rumble out of him like distant thunder, crackling with impatience.

You give Jeon a look, but arguing isn't an option right now.

The gun feels heavy as you line up the shot. Your finger finds the trigger, and for a split second, everything goes quiet. The bang echoes through the trees, making your ears ring. You watch as the bullet hits exactly where Jeon wanted—that innocent-looking branch that apparently wasn't so innocent after all.

A net explodes from the darkness like some kind of ninja trap, shooting toward the approaching figure. But whoever it is moves like water—fluid, impossible, beautiful in a terrifying way. The net hits empty ground with a sad little flutter while your brain tries to process what just happened.

Beside you, Jeon goes still. If you weren't pressed so close, you might have missed that tiny hitch in his breath—the only sign that this wasn't part of his plan. His eyes narrow just slightly, that crack in his perfect mask making your stomach do weird flips.

He pushes you back against the rock, putting himself between you and whatever's coming. The stone digs into your spine, cold and rough through your clothes.

Then everything happens at once.

A shadow vaults over your hiding spot, moving with deadly grace. Gunshots crack through the night, and suddenly Jeon's shoving you down, his body covering yours. The world spins into a blur of motion and sound, your pulse drumming so loud you can barely think.

When reality settles back into focus, you watch the figure reach for their mask. Your fingers tighten on your gun, waiting to see what kind of threat managed to dodge one of Jeon's traps.

The mask comes off.

Oh for fuck's sake.

V's grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Paintball night!" he announces with way too much glee for someone who just scared the shit out of you.

Relief and irritation war in your chest. Of course it's V. Who else would turn a simple training exercise into their personal dramatic performance?

You watch Jeon's shoulders drop, but the annoyance is written all over his face. His jaw's so tight you can practically hear all the curses he's not saying.

Always the professional, even when he's irritated.

V's eyes dances with delight as he watches Jeon simmer. "Don't look at me like that, Kookie," he coos, lips curling into that signature smirk that makes you want to take a step back.

Cookie?

You blink, trying to process that nickname. Looking at Jeon—all dark clothes, silver piercings, and intimidating tattoos—the last thing that comes to mind is anything remotely cute or sweet. The mental image of him buying cookies from some terrified boy scouts makes you bite back a laugh.

Now that's a story you'd pay to hear.

Jeon's eyebrow shoots up in that way that somehow manages to say f̶u̶c̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ more effectively than actual words. His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, jaw working like he's physically holding back whatever he wants to say. He's irritated.

"I'll give you some advantage," V sighs dramatically, thorny vines wrapping around your lungs even from this distance. "No fun beating you when you're unarmed." The words drip with amusement, like this whole thing is his favorite game. "See ya."

With one last unsettling grin, he melts into the darkness. Because of course he does. Dramatic asshole.

You're still sprawled on the ground, processing what just happened. Leave it to V to turn a regular night into some twisted paintball training session. The man's idea of "improving stealth skills" is giving everyone heart attacks.

Beside you, Jeon's muscles finally uncoil from their battle-ready stance. He looms over you, and you can't tell if the expression on his face is more annoyed or relieved.

"You gonna get up or what?" The words come out gruff, but there's something else there. Something that might be concern if you squint.

Then his hand appears in front of your face. You stare at it for a second, surprised. It's weirdly bare compared to his tattooed arms, and you hesitate before taking it. His grip is firm but careful as he helps you up.

The whole night feels surreal —one weird training session bleeding into another. You glance at Jeon as he stretches, working out the tension in his shoulders.

The mystery of "Cookie" tugs at your curiosity, but one look at his face tells you now's not the time to ask.

Some mysteries are probably better left unsolved.

next | index

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[pathologicalreid]

Ok, first of all, I'm OBSESSED. You understand Spencer as a character SO well!

Second of all, could I maybe request a part 2 to neophyte? Maybe where reader wakes up in the middle of the night from nightmares (seeing all the faces of those she killed, all the faces of those she couldn't save, or whatever else tickles your fancy) and reaches our to Spencer?

sympathy for the devil | S.R.

previously

Following your previous talk, a bad case leads to you taking Reid up on his offer to help.

who? spencer reid x platonic!BAU!reader category: angst content warnings: anxiety, exhaustion, nightmares, gore (cm), general cm violence, suicide word count: 1.71k a/n: do you remember that episode after m*eve dies where spencer tried to talk that guy out of offing himself? that's where i got the idea for this from. thank you for requesting! i hope you enjoy it!

At the shot of the gun, you launched into a sitting position. Placing your hand over your heart as if it would slow the pounding, you inhaled deeply through your nose.

Using the heels of your palms, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and groaned. That nightmare made three tonight alone, always the same, always Josh Quinn. Sighing, you pulled your loose t-shirt off of where it stuck to your clammy skin and got out of bed, walking into the kitchen to acquire a glass of water.

The team had started to notice your exhaustion. Just yesterday, Rossi had taken you for a coffee trip and tried to talk to you about it, but you just told him you were figuring it out. JJ tried to get you to go to a boxing class with her, but you could barely drag yourself out of bed for work, let alone to get your ass kicked.

You tried flipping through your scrapbook. When Spencer told you he hung the photos of people he had saved and victims above his bed, you decided to make a scrapbook.

But you didn’t save Josh Quinn, he killed himself. Blew his brains out right in front of you because you failed. You failed to talk him down off of that metaphorical ledge, and he killed himself.

Months ago, you talked to Spencer about how you had begun doubting your ability to do the job, and he convinced you otherwise. You wondered if he still thought the same. He was the only member of the team who hadn’t reached out to you, so you doubted that.

You swirled your water in the glass and sighed, it was three in the morning, and you had gotten approximately two hours of sleep. Assuming the team didn’t get called out to a case, you should be able to make it through the workday, but it had been almost two weeks since you traveled. You were pushing your luck.

Grabbing your phone off of the charger, you wandered to sit down on the couch. You scrolled through texts. Your mother, whom you had been neglecting to call back, was concerned. She threatened to call your boss, but she didn’t have Emily’s number.

For a split second, your thumb hovered over Spencer’s contact. You remembered what he had told you, ‘If you ever need help processing the job, or anything else, you can call.’

People said things all the time that they didn’t mean, but you were desperate, so you pressed the call button. On the first ring, you panicked and hung up. What were you thinking? It was three in the morning; you’d wake him up.

Dropping your phone in your lap, you set your face in your hands. You felt like you were finally losing it.

And then your phone started buzzing. Furrowing your brows, you looked at the screen to see that Reid was calling you back. Now it would be rude for you to not answer, so you swiped your thumb across the screen and brought your phone to your ear. “Hi,” you said meekly.

“Hey,” he responded, “What’s wrong?”

Your shoulders drooped, “There’s nothing wrong, I’m fine.”

He cleared his throat on the other end of the line, “You’re calling me at three fifteen in the morning. There’s something wrong, Y/N.”

Scowling, you pulled your feet up so that they were tucked underneath yourself. “I’m really sorry for waking you, Reid.”

“I wasn’t asleep. I was reading, had no idea what time it was,” he said to you. You weren’t sure if he was telling you the truth, or if he was just trying to make you feel better. “Are you alright?”

You closed your eyes tightly, “Yes,” you choked out the lie. “I’m fine.”

The other end of the call was quiet for so long that you checked to see if the call had dropped. “Hang on, I’m coming over,” he said.

“Uh, no, please don’t do that,” You spoke urgently.

There was a jingling that came through the phone, probably car keys, “Something is blatantly wrong, and you aren’t telling me what it is. If I’m there in person, you might be more willing to talk to me.”

Or maybe you’d feel forced to talk to him. You bit your tongue, “Okay, Spencer.”

Fifteen minutes later, there was a gentle knock on your door. You coaxed yourself off of the couch and to the door, opening it and crossing your arms in front of your chest self-consciously.

Wordlessly, you opened the door wider, effectively inviting Spencer in. He was dressed similarly to you, in a plain t-shirt and pajama pants. His glasses were donned upon his nose, you had forgotten he even wore glasses. Once he was inside, you shut the door behind him, and he set his things on the entryway table.

Matching your closed-off stance, he looked at you suspiciously, “What is going on with you?” He asked.

You had wholly expected his tone to be accusatory, but instead, it dripped with concern. Concern for you. Your face fell, “I don’t know,” you whispered. “I don’t know,” you said a little louder that time.

“When did it start?” He asked, gently ushering you over to your couch, he had you sit down before sitting in the armchair across from you.

Shrugging, you absentmindedly picked at the skin surrounding your nails. “Josh Quinn,” you muttered.

Slowly, realization dawned on Spencer’s features. “That wasn’t your fault,” he told you sincerely. “Are you listening to me?”

You nodded softly, “I couldn’t save him,” you rasped, your face crumpling as you did. The last thing you wanted to do was cry in front of Reid, and yet, there you were. “I tried; I thought that if I could just make him see what I saw that… He was only seventeen.” He had killed three of his classmates, but he didn’t need prison or to die. He was a kid, he needed someone to hug him and tell him it would be okay.

“Do you trust me?” Spencer asked.

The question threw you for a moment. “Of course,” you trusted Spencer. You trusted the entire team with your life. You couldn’t be a team without that kind of trust.

His mouth tightened for a moment, “Then trust me when I tell you that no one could have talked him out of killing himself.” You weren’t sure you had ever seen Spencer so serious.

You leaned back, letting your body meld into your couch cushions, “You could have.”

Spencer shook his head, “No, Y/N. I heard everything you told him. You did everything right; I would’ve said the exact same things.” His eyes studied your body language for a moment, “Once a person makes that decision, there is a point of no return. Quinn made that decision, and there was nothing you could’ve done or said to change his mind.”

Trying to understand what he was telling you, you nodded softly. “I killed him,” you murmured.

“No, you didn’t,” Spencer corrected you immediately, leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees.

Your brows narrowed, “I might as well have. He might still be alive if I had done something different.” Pulling your knees to your chest, you took a shaky breath.

Following him with your eyes as he moved, Spencer sat next to you on the couch. “Did you pull the trigger?”

“No, but-“ you started.

“Then there’s nothing else to it. You didn’t kill him. His blood is not on your hands, do you understand me?” He said sternly.

Begrudgingly, you nodded in response. “I don’t know what to do,” you whispered helplessly. “I see him when I sleep, his brain all over the walls. It’s…” you faltered, “it’s haunting me.”

Spencer gave you a moment before responding, “Your ability to feel so much sympathy toward people like Quinn is what makes you such a great agent – a great profiler” He told you earnestly.

You shrugged, “The firearm’s instructor at the academy told me that my sympathy would get me killed in the field.”

“Well, if the firearm’s instructor at the academy hasn’t changed in the last fourteen years, then he’s an ass,” he told you.

A small laugh escaped your lips, surprising you as much as it did Spencer. “I’m glad that’s a universal experience,” you responded as the silence between you shifted from awkward to comfortable. “Thanks for coming,” you whispered.

Spencer smiled at you, “You’re welcome, but why did you take so long to call?” He inquired.

“What do you mean?” You asked, leaning forward, and resting your chin on your knees.

He sighed, “That case was almost two weeks ago, Y/N. If you haven’t been sleeping for two weeks, that’s a problem. Why didn’t you call?” He repeated quizzically.

Shrinking back into yourself, you frowned, “I was embarrassed and tired. I wanted to try to figure it out on my own before I went to someone else.”

“You’re not alone, you know?” Spencer said, his voice was gentle like you were a wild animal that he was trying not to spook. “Wait, you do know we’re friends, right?” He asked, “We aren’t just coworkers, we’re friends. Everyone in the BAU is your friend, whether you like it or not.”

Turning to face him, “I know we’re friends, Spencer. Coworkers don’t just show up at each other’s apartments because one of them is having a hard time.” Maybe you didn’t realize how good of friends, but it certainly brought you some semblance of comfort to know that you had people in your corner.

You watched as Spencer pulled out his phone, his fingers nimbly typing on the keypad of his artifact of a phone.

“What are you doing?” You asked, being nosy and trying to read what he was typing out.

He kept typing, tilting the screen away from your view, “I’m telling Emily that you’re sick and taking the day off.”

Your lips parted in surprise, “Spencer!” You reached out for his phone, but he lifted it over his head, having already sent the text. “Do you have younger siblings?” You asked.

Spencer shook his head, “No, only child. Why?”

“Because you act a lot like an older brother,” you grumbled.

previously

please remember to like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

[kennahjune]

Part 2 of my s3 Steddie :D

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Holy shit!! I’ve never made a tag list before?? Thank you guys sm for being so into it!! And without further ado;

…

Steve woke up with the initial thought of “what the fuck”. So he could automatically assume his day was going to go great.

Out of his room, down the hall, down the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen is where he finds Jonathan and— oddly enough— Robin.

Steve was used to finding Jonathan with him after one of his “episodes”. Usually he or Nancy will help him through it the best they can, laying with him or sitting with him wherever he is.

The idea of Robin in his house doesn’t even occur to Steve as weird until Robin says, “Sorry for the intrusion, uh… you really freaking worried me, man.”

Steve blinked— then, without taking his eyes off of Robin, asked Jonathan “Where did I have my episode at last night?”

Jonathan had the decency to look sheepish about it. “Uh— pfsshh, you had it at work, Steve.”

“And how bad was it?” He looked at Jonathan.

“You collapsed and had to be carried to the break room to rest. And the fact that you don’t seem to remember much of anything is also saying a lot.”

Steve stood there, thinking long and hard about yesterdays events.

“I remember Billy coming in and saying something about Max. Then he said something about Dustin that pissed me off. I don’t know. After that… who the hell?..”

Munson.

Holy shit.

Jonathan must’ve clocked the moment of realization cause he walked over and patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah, man.”

Steve groaned and hurried his face in his hands. “That’s so embarrassing!” Was his muffled complaint. Robin— the asshole— had the nerve to snort at him.

“Hush, Buckley! Ugh I hate this.”

Jonathan was rubbing his back now, barely hiding his own snickers and laughs. “Come on—“

“I have to go,” Steve said quickly and went to turn around to leave.

“Where are you going? This is your house!” Robin retorted.

“I have to go apologize!”

Jonathan snagged Steve’s wrist and prevented him from going any further. “Go sit down, Steve. You can apologize later.”

Steve begrudgingly obliged, sitting at the small kitchen table that was usually used for his dads drinking. He crossed his arms and put his head down. He’d fucked up his vision again when he spun around too fast to leave. Jonathan sighed and came up to rub his back again. Physical touch helped Steve a lot during times like these. Especially during the vertigo.

Robin took the seat next to him. “So, two concussions? If you were having such a bad time why didn’t you just call in?”

“Cause I’m constantly late to work and the only reason I haven’t been fired and kicked on my ass is because you keep covering for me so I figured I had to return the favor,” he replied in one breath.

They were silent for a couple of minutes, just basking the each others presence. Until Jonathan stopped rubbing Steve’s back, let his hand rest there, and then patted between his shoulder blades twice before going over to the pantry.

“You need to eat something before you do anything. Robin can you get him a cup of water, please?”

Robin nodded and stood to get it. Steve groaned. “I can get my own water, Jon.” but he’d made no attempts to move from his seat. Jonathan muttered something about toast.

“Considering the fact that yesterday you just about passed out on your feet and how a few minutes ago you nearly fell over just by turning too fast, I’d like to differ.”

Steve huffed, knowing he was right. He heard the toaster start and glass was set down gently in front of him. He lifted his head and eyed the water.

“I didn’t poison the damn thing, dingus.” Robin tapped her fingers on the table.

Steve snorted and finally took the glass. He was done with it in seconds.

“Christ,” Robin muttered while refilling it for him.

When Steve was just about done eating his toast and downing another cup of water his house phone went off.

“I’ve got it.” Jonathan stood.

Steve shrugged and stood himself— slowly this time— to put his dishes away. Robin remained seated and watched him.

Jonathan huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Steve furrowed his eyebrows and walked over, trying to hear the conversation.

“Yeah— no I’ve got it, don’t worry. I love you to. Bye.” Jonathan hung up and sighed heavily.

“You alright?” Steve leaned on the wall next to him.

“Yep. Great. That was my mom, by the way. And apparently the kids are all on the loose in Forest Hills, looking for Eddie.”

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah.”

“So…” Robin stood. “I’m going with Steve?”

…

Max was curious. They all were. Just who the hell was Eddie Munson? Steve had never mentioned him before, but from the looks of it both Jonathan and Steve knew him.

Will had wanted to ask Nancy about him, saying how Jonathan said they all went to school together, but Mike refused to ask Nancy about any of this other than asking about migraines.

So they were on their own.

Max took her skateboard and the boys took their bikes (Will riding with Mike) and the four of them made their way to the trailer park.

Max was running on borrowed time, telling Billy that she was going over to the Byers’. And if that’s not where she is in the next 2-3 hours when he comes to pick her up then she’s done for.

But it’s fine. They figure out where Eddie Munson lives in no time. It’s not a very big trailer park, and “Eddie Munson” seems to be a pretty recognizable name. A nice old lady named Miss. Bottomette pointed them right down the street from her own trailer.

The four of them made their way over, dumping their bikes (and skateboard) in the yard— not bothering with kickstands. Max and Mike shoved their way in front of the other two, both going to knock at the same time.

Mike gently shoved Max to the side when the door opened, now all three of them being behind him. Standing at the door wasn’t Eddie Munson, unless he’d aged 50 years in past 24 hours. The new man was a lot older, and was just a bit taller than Mike. He looked the four of them up and down before leaning on the doorway and crossing his arms.

“What can I help you kids with?”

Will gulped. He didn’t like adults and especially not ones with heavy western accents that look like they’d kill him if he so much as breathed wrong.

“Um— we’re just looking for an uh, an Eddie Munson, sir,” Max tagged on from behind Mike. Will reached over subtly and grabbed someone’s hand, he thinks it’s was Lucas’. Why the hell was this guy so scary?

The man had a gleam in his— something like amusement. It kind of pissed Mike off but he knew better than to get pissy with an adult he’d just met. Especially with how Will was reacting to him.

“Well,” the man chuckled, “I’m not sure what you kids need with ‘im, but he’s not here right now. So why don’t you go back home, huh?”

He went to close the door but Mike spoke up. “Wait! Please— we uh— we really, really need to talk to him. Even if it’s just for a couple of seconds!”

“If he’s not here do you know where he is?” asked Lucas.

The man studied them all closely, his eyes raking over them each individually. As if they were threats. Mike nearly scoffed to himself.

Finally the man gave in and sighed. “Why do you wanna see Ed so bad?”

Max tapped her foot really hard on the wooden porch. When everyone jumped and looked at her she put her hands up. “Sorry! Got excited.”

Lucas spoke up this time. “We, um— wanna thank him? And ask him a few questions I guess. He helped out one of our friends yesterday and we really really just want to talk to him, please. Sir.” he tagged on the “sir” like an after thought.

In the next few moments, they found themselves piling into the very small, very cramped trailer living room.

“I’m Wayne, by the way. Wayne Munson, Eddie’s uncle.” he finally introduced himself. He raised his eyebrow at them. Oh yeah, they have to introduce themselves as well.

“Oh! Um— I’m Lucas. Lucas Sinclair.”

“Er— Max Mayfield.” she crossed her arms.

“Mike Wheeler.”

“Um, uh—“ Will grabbed Mikes hand “—Will Byers.”

Mr. Munson’s eyes seemed to study Will extra hard. Mike gripped his hand and squeezed to let him know he was there. Even Max and Lucas moved in slightly closer to Will. They didn’t understand why this guy seemed to come off so mean.

“Hey Uncle Wayne! What’s taking you so long at the door, man?” The man of the hour showed his face at the end of a small hallway. His brain seemed to short circuit at the sight of all the kids in his very small and very cramped living room.

“Um, hi?” Lucas greeted awkwardly.

Eddie leisurely made his way into the room with him. “Aren’t you Harrington’s kids from last night?”

“We’re not his kids,” Mike grumbled under his breath. But he couldn’t deny the spike of joy that came with the title.

Mr. Munson looked at Eddie like he’d lost his mind. “Harrington’s kids?” he put extra emphasis on “Harrington”, as if it was actually so weird.

Max rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Harrington’s kids,” she said under her breath with heavy sarcasm.

Lucas shot her a glare and she grunted.

“Well—“ Eddie clapped his hands “—what can I help you kids with?”

Mike and Max eyed each other, trying to decide who was going to start. Turns out; it was Will.

“We wanted to talk to you about yesterday,” he spoke up timidly. Mike squeezed his hand.

“Ok,” Eddie accepted. “Hit me. What’s up?”

Lucas was the first this time. “Why were you so willing to help Steve?”

…

When Wayne went to get the door Eddie didn’t think it’d take 20 minutes. And he also didn’t think that going out to check on him would lead him to finding four little kids in his living room. More specifically Steve Harrington’s kids.

He should’ve known it was to be bombarded with questions.

“Why were you so willing to help Steve?”

Well shit.

“Cause I’ve had an undying crush on him since he first came to the high school in his freshman year and I wasn’t going to turn up a chance to help him out and maybe talk to him and then I realized it was actually a lot worse than I thought so I stuck around to make sure he was ok.”

Yeah absolutely not.

“Because he needed help. The guy couldn’t even stand on his own.”

Lucas eyed him but handed it over to Max.

“Why were you so chill about his migraine? I mean you said it yourself: he could barely stand on his own. Most people would’ve left the moment someone else got there if not before.”

Little Red held a strong point.

“Cause I knew he needed help. Simple as that.”

No. Not “simple as that”.

“Did you know him in high school? Back when he was dating Nancy?” Little Wheeler asked.

Now this; this was a conversation he really didn’t want to have. He sighed, maybe a little harsher than intended, and answered “Yes. I knew him in high school and when he was dating your sister.”

At this point Wayne had left to the kitchen. But Eddie knew he was listening in, making sure they didn’t cross any lines.

“So if you knew him in high school, when he was an asshole— don’t kick me he was!— then why were you so nice? Cause most people he talks to from high school seem to hate his guts.”

“Jonathan doesn’t hate his guts!”

“I said “most people”, Will!”

Well golly damn they hold a lot of good points today. Before he got to answering the question there was another knock on the door. Max flinched and moved closer to Lucas.

“I got it,” Wayne said as he made his way over.

When he opened the door Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and Jonathan Byers were all there on the porch. Wayne looked back and forth between the two groups before sighing and saying, “Why don’t we all step outside? Trailer ain’t big enough for all of ya.”

So that’s where they all went, outside on the front yard. Wayne sat on the porch steps while Eddie hung back.

“What the hell was the point in this?” Asked Steve, scolding the kids.

“We just wanted to ask him some questions!” defended Lucas. Will hung back by Jonathan but nodded his head.

“Questions.” Steve deadpanned.

Max huffed and Steve’s glare turned on her. She crossed her arms and looked away, seeming to close in on herself.

Steve sighed and pinched his nose, turning around and grunting before turning back around. “Ok, here’s the game plan.” he clapped his hands. “You four—“ he pointed at each of the kids “— are going to apologize to Mr. Munson and Eddie.”

The kids all started to grumble and protest.

“AND THEN—“ he continued loudly over them, making them shut up “—you are going to all go home to your own houses. We will talk about this tomorrow when I don’t want to fucking strangle you.”

“I can’t.” Max huffed.

“Cant what?” Steve asked.

“Go home. Especially not with you. I told Billy I’d be at the Byers’ and he’s expecting me to be there in the next half hour.”

Steve’s entire face dropped and he rubbed a hand over his face. “Max.”

She folded her arms and looked down. Steve sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “Ok, it’s fine. Change of plans; we’re all going to the Byers’! You four go apologize now and then load your bikes and board into my car as best you can.”

Eddie stood through their half-assed apologies while Steve stood back conversing with Jonathan. When the kids made their move to get their bikes and skateboard Eddie moved over to stand next to Steve. While the kids loitered around for a moment. Steve turned on him when he noticed his approach.

“What were they bothering you about that was so important Max lied to Billy?”

Eddie smirked and answered “oh you know; questions.”

Steve groaned.

They stood in silence while Steve watched Jonathan quietly scold Mike and Max for something.

“You can use my van.”

“What?”

“My van. To bring their bikes? There’s no way in hell they’re all fitting into your’s or Byers’s car.”

Steve watched as Mike and Lucas argued about the bikes while Max and Will talked behind them. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face in agitation. Steve placed his hands on his hips again and hit the inside of his cheek. Eddie watched him closely, finally noticing the ruffled hair and the plain gray t-shirt and way to short basketball shorts.

“Did you come over here straight from bed?” he asked.

Steve looked at him, squinting in the sun. “Yeah? What of it?”

“Dude it’s like 2pm.”

“Migraines knock me out.” he shrugged.

Another moment of silence went by until Steve sighed. “If you really don’t mind, letting us use your van would be great.”

Eddie watched Mike’s bike fall out for the fourth time and nodded. Just in time for Mike and Max to both call out in a whiny tone “STEEEEVEEEE!!”

Steve huffed and whined back “WHAAAAAT?” Eddie snickered.

“The bikes aren’t going to fit!” Lucas yelled, throwing his bike on the yard.

“Yeah I realized that. Thankfully, Eddie’s very nice and has offered to let us use his van.”

Mike and Lucas’ eyes lit up. “Can we—“

“Absolutely not.” Steve shut them down. “You four are going to ride with Jonathan and Robin back to the Byers’ while I run around with Eddie to drop off your bikes.”

Eddie nodded, not knowing what else to do.

Mike huffed.

“Steve,” Max called out quietly. “You’re not dropping mine off, right?”

Steve’s face softened and he smiled at her exasperatedly. “No, Max, you can toss your board in Jon’s trunk.”

She nodded and looked hesitant to walk away. The boys had already gotten in the car, and with one look around Max gave in and quickly hugged Steve. He patted her back and ruffled her hair and then she ran off to the car.

With final goodbyes and a promise to Robin to just call in sick next time, Steve and Eddie were left alone, Wayne going inside to take a nap.

Steve clapped Eddie on the shoulder. “Looks like it’s just me and you now, Munson.”

Oh boy.

…

Guess I am gonna need that part three 😭😭

I’ll take tags for part 3 if you guys want :)

Part 3 :)

[loves-n-kisses]

Could you do an depressive episode comfort? Tamaki comforting Y/N (I get the feeling he would understand)

Ofc my love!

Slow It Down - Tamaki x Depressed!Reader

A story where Tamaki helps you through a depressive episode.

TW: Implied depression and anxiety

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The room felt heavy, like the air itself was pressing down on you. Curled up on the couch, you stared blankly at the wall, the world muffled and distant. The weight of your thoughts was suffocating, each one spiraling into the next, leaving you trapped in a fog you couldn’t shake.

A soft knock at the door barely registered, but the familiar, hesitant voice that followed cut through the haze. “Y/N? I-It’s me… Tamaki. Can I… come in?”

You didn’t respond right away, but the door creaked open, and Tamaki stepped inside, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he fidgeted nervously. He held a small bag, his fingers twisting the handle anxiously. His eyes met yours for a brief moment before darting away, but there was no judgment in them—only quiet understanding.

“I… I heard you weren’t feeling great,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. “I-I didn’t know if you wanted company, but… I thought… maybe you shouldn’t be alone.” He glanced at you again, his cheeks faintly pink, but his expression was earnest, almost pleading.

You managed a small nod, and he shuffled closer, sitting on the edge of the couch like he was afraid to take up too much space. “I… I get it,” he said softly, his voice trembling but sincere. “Sometimes it feels like… like everything’s too much. Like you’re drowning, and no one can see it. I-I feel that way a lot, too.”

His words hit deeper than you expected, and your throat tightened. Tamaki’s hands fidgeted in his lap, but he kept going, his voice steadying just a little. “I know it’s hard to believe right now, but… you’re not weak for feeling like this. It’s just… your heart’s carrying a lot, you know? And that’s okay. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He reached into the bag and pulled out a small, wrapped package—a favorite snack of yours, something he must’ve remembered from a passing conversation. “I-I thought this might help. A little. And, um…” He hesitated, then pulled out a tiny plush octopus, its round eyes almost comically serious. “I… I have one like this. It helps when I’m… overwhelmed. I thought maybe you’d like it.”

A faint warmth stirred in your chest, the smallest crack in the fog. Tamaki’s nervous kindness, his quiet presence, felt like an anchor in the storm. He wasn’t pushing you to talk or forcing positivity—he was just there, sharing the weight of the moment.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly, his ears red. “But… I’m here. As long as you need me to be. And… you’re enough, Y/N. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.”

He stayed, his quiet breathing a steady rhythm in the silence, and for the first time that day, you didn’t feel quite so alone.

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note: I wrote this before i got out of bed yesterday morning. like, I woke up, and the gods of creativity possessed my brain and this flowed out of my fingertips and and onto my keyboard.

-made with loves n' kisses! 💋✨

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part 7: Me and You In Eternity

|Part 6: Radio's Last Broadcast| |Part 8: The Calm Before the Fall| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Pairings: Alastor x Wife!Reader Series Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Tags: fem!Reader, AFAB, Established Relationship, Asexual! Alastor, Alastor is in hell for a reason, Reader is in hell for a reason, dishes, being a simp for your partner, Asexual! Alastor, husband! Alastor. My classes started already. That's why it took a while to pop this out. Have fun with this. I'm pleased to announce that there will be two chapters left. So a part 8 and 9. (Hopefully). It will finally cover the last episode of the season

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Four Weeks Before The Extermination

Someone swipes a thumb over your cheek. The strokes are hesitant, but filled with a gentle purpose.

Your eyes flutter open. It’s all blurry.

There’s a figure standing above you. Some small part of your soul wants to give in. It wants to believe it’s Alastor who stares down at you, capturing your gaze with the reddest of eyes. That it’s him who caresses your face with a softness that has you leaning into his touch. How cruel of your mind to play a trick on the flickers of your soul—the very same soul that continues to yearn for the missing.

What a cruel, yet old trick. It can’t fool you, not anymore.

You reach out for Alastor, poking your fingers on the edges of his lips to force a smile. This Alastor shows you the widest smile as he takes his thumb and runs it over your eyelids.

It’s wet.

Another lonely tear threatens to fall out. He brushes it away before it could get too far. The warmth of his thumb transfers to your skin.

You scramble backwards, distancing yourself. The questions thread through your mind. It distracts you, pulling your focus on the important facts. Here’s a fact: The bed doesn’t span as wide as you think it does. The edge looms closer. Still, you persevere with the quest to stumble backwards, far away from Alastor and the tears he’s been wiping away.

The chance to fall never arrives.

Alastor slithers out of the shadows, catching you in his arms with ease. “Hi.”

The back of your fingers trails down the skin of his cheek. It’s very real and very solid. There’s nothing else to say except, “Hi.”

“Terrible shift at work?” Alastor asks you with a smile the displays the yellow staining his teeth. “You weren’t in such a state when I left yesterday.”

You don’t know how to respond to him.

Alastor carries you to the vanity table, moving his thumb up and down the bare skin of your knees. It’s the smallest of acts.  Sometimes, you wonder if he’s aware of such an action. The topic never gets mentioned in feat he would stop.

Alastor waves his hands, opening them wide to drop you with an annoying flare. There’s an audible ‘thump’ when your ass connects to the cushioned but hardwood chair. It earns Alastor a glare, which he immediately responds to with that smug and self-satisfied smile of his.

It seems there’s a stray feather clinging on your scalp. It’s made aware to you when Alastor picks it out for you.

His eyes turn to the radio playing on the vanity table. It’s kept playing during the night. “Are you just playing static on this one?” Alastor asks, twisting the knob to switch it off. “It isn’t tuned to any registered stations.”

The hand smoothening your feathers isn’t a cruel trick. It’s as solid and as real as it should be.

“Playing static for extended periods of time will damage the speakers,” he says, lips twisting. Alastor and his radios—always so particular, even in death. “What do you have to say for yourself? I’m worried about how you’ve been caring for all our other radios.”

“I play the static as a white noise,” you say, and it’s the only thing your pride allows you to comment on the topic. “It helps me sleep.”

Alastor takes the brush next to the radio. The soft bristles run through your scalp. He untangles the twisted feathers, smoothening the ones that poke out. Alastor’s much gentler on your feather than you ever would be. It’s quite the sight to see how careful the Radio Demon is not to tug on his wife’s scalp.

Alastor runs the feather between his fingers, untangling the harsher knots.

“When did you…,” you start and trail off when you notice how hoarse you sound. Does Alastor notice it as well? “When did you get home? I didn’t hear you come in.”

Alastor catches your gaze from the reflection of the mirror. “I used my keys,” he says. “You said not to knock. It’s quite nice to know you haven’t changed our locks.”

There’s a small box on the vanity table. The paint on the wood faded decades ago, only leaving streaks of dull colors. You grab it, twirling it around your fingers. “What brings you by?”

“Was it not you who told me it’s not a visit when it’s your own home?” Alastor wags his fingers, shaking his head with such vigor it’s almost mocking. It probably is meant to be mocking.

The box goes back on the table.

Alastor allows you to intertwine your fingers on his free hand. This definitely isn’t some trick.

“Good morning, my deer,” you say, pressing your face into his very real hand. “I’m happy to see you, more than you know, but I have this feeling you aren’t here to tell me all about how you’re going to be living with me again.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says, studying your face. There’s nothing much to pick apart when only a simple smile paints your face. “I’m here to take you to the hotel with me. It would be convenient to do all the preparations there.”

You shake your head, trying to release your hold on his hand.

Alastor refuses to release his hold on you, even as you give it a slight tug. It forces you to intertwine your fingers once more.

“I have work.”

Alastor drops the brush rather than releasing his hold on you.

He snaps his fingers, and a piece of paper pops into his hand. “How convenient then that I happen to have a signed and official letter from the Princess of Hell granting you one month off from work,” he says. “I’ve taken the liberties of sending a copy to Management.”

Alastor takes a step back when you reach for the letter. He doesn’t get far, considering how tightly your hands are linked together.

He inches his face closer, the paper still far away from your grasps. “Are you not forgetting something?”

You press a kiss on the edge of his lips, letting it linger longer than it should, and grab the paper from Alastor when his ears perk up.

It’s a proper and formal letter. It’s free from any squiggles or smiley faces. There’s only one type of ink instead of a barrage of crayons and markers. You read through the lines of paragraphs then study Charlie’s signature.

Alastor grabs the brush to continue his work. “I was referring to a ‘thank you, deerest’ or a ‘How absolutely wonderful of you. You’re such an amazing husband, my deer’ as basic manners dictate, but I guess a kiss shall do.”

You roll your eyes, but press another kiss on his cheek.

It’s easy to push off Alastor’s hand from your scalp. It’s even easier to jump back into bed, and tug the blanket over your head. Doing so undoes all of Alastor’s careful brushing. There are wet patches staining your pillow. It’s something you ignore immediately in favor of pretending its existence isn’t real.

“Come on, now.” The bed dips from Alastor’s weight. “We have a full morning ahead of us! There’s breakfast, then the matter of packing presentable clothes, and getting you settled.”

Presentable clothes? All your clothes are presentable! They’re more than presentable! It’s him who wears the tacky bow ties and striped coats. Alastor saw how red his eyes and hair became and decided to lean into the whole thing.

“We can nap as much as you want once you’ve gotten your things sorted.”

“I’m going to sleep in,” you say, ignoring the wobble in your voice. Every single fiber you own wants Alastor to ignore it as well. “Go away. I’ll just meet you at the hotel on my own time. I’m sure there’s work for you to keep you busy there.”

A single tear drips to the pillow. He shouldn’t be here, not when control threatens to slip from your grasps. Alastor isn’t allowed to see the cracks. You shouldn’t let him see them, not when he wouldn’t like it.

“Look at me,” he says, tugging on the blanket. “My love, come on, look at me. There’s no point in being stubborn.”

You shake your head, bringing out your arm to show him how beautiful your middle finger is.

It’s easy to see his annoyance, even from underneath the blanket. Alastor’s lips will close into a strained smile. This one will replace his usual unsettling smile. His eyes will squint and twitch as he furrows his brows with controlled tolerance. And there it is, right on cue—the faint static.

Alastor rips the blanket off you.

There’s a neutral expression forced onto your face, even as your eyes remain shut. It’s a simple act to pretend there isn’t a lonely tear leaving your eyes. Maybe if you ignore the tear trailing down your skin, Alastor won’t see it drip to the pillow.

He brushes the next one away, and secures the blanket around your shoulders. It’s such a simple detail that can be ignored, but Alastor adjusts the blanket, tugging on the ends to cover everything…except your face.

There’s nowhere to hide anymore. It doesn’t stop you from keeping your eyes snapped shut, and ignoring the single tear sliding down your cheek with a blank expression. You’re not supposed to show him the cracks. What are you doing?

“Look at me?” Alastor asks you, running his thumb over your eyelids.

These eyes of yours heed to him. Denying Alastor is an ability that you do not possess. Not in life, and surely, not in death.

Alastor holds your face with both his hands, still intent on wiping away the wet streaking your cheek. “We can stay here for a minute,” he says. “Don’t turn me away.”

It’s as much of a command as it is a plea.

“Will it cost me?” you ask him, leaning into the warmth of his hold. “I think I have a spare soul lying around.”

He brushes a stray feather away from your face. “Just a smile will suffice.”

“Only a minute?”

“We can stay here for a lifetime if you wish.” The bed dips further when he inches closer to press a kiss on your forehead. “Smile for me.”

You show Alastor a smile that could rival the very stars themselves.

The coat slides off his shoulders, and he tosses the thing over the back of a chair. Alastor peels the blanket off your shoulder to slot himself underneath, pressing himself oh so close to you.

There’s no need to question the tears, not when you’ve had decades to ponder on the answer. It’s an event that’s been inscribed to the story of you and him, and its existence demands your very soul to mourn.

What is grief if not the time that never was—the time that was never allowed to be?

All the time spent washing the dishes alone. All the time spent cooking a meal for one. All the time spent sleeping in a bed made for two, but houses one. It’s that very same unspent time that gathers up in the corner of your eyes, and trails down your cheek only for Alastor to wipe it away.

Alastor intertwines his fingers with yours, thumbing your ring finger. “Did you lose your wedding ring?” he asks. “Ha! I always knew you would be the first one to do so.”

“It’s on the nightstand,” you say, giving him a kick. Alastor uses this opportunity to hook your legs, trapping it to tangle them with his own.

He releases his hold on your hand to slip the cool metal around your finger. The ring slots back to where it belongs. Alastor traces it, feeling how the ring fits into your fingers.

Alastor pulls on your shoulder, hoisting you until your head lays directly on top of his chest. Every breath he takes raises your head up and down. Up and down and up and down and up and down—as it should be.

You ball your fist and smack his chest lightly. “Alastor.”

“Yes?”

“Alastor.” You smack his chest once more. Still, it goes up and down and up and down and up and down.

“What is it, my dear?” he asks you in a voice that is oh so soft and very, very, alive.

“Alastor…,” you call out to him, letting his name leave your lips like a prayer. “Alastor.”

“Yes?” His thumb brushes over a tear that refuses to be hidden.

Alastor smiles at you, his yellow teeth displayed as he stares into you. It’s no longer brown, but red. That’s not important. The color will never be important. His eyes are here and they’re looking at you. Nothing’s changed—nothing important at least. To you, these red eyes still shine brighter than starlight.

“You keep answering me.” You squeeze his hand.

Alastor squeezes back. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Alastor.”

“Yes?”

“Will you keep answering me?”

He takes a moment to think, letting the silence ring as he draws out his answer. “It’s quite compelling to stop,” he says. “I can practically see it. Your brows will furrow, and these lips of your will twist in a laughable attempt to conceal a frown. It would ruffle all your feathers right off your scalp!”

“Alastor?” you ask.

“Yes,” he answers.

There’s work to be done. It forces you to have to pull yourself away from the lifetime that should have been, and start the day. Alastor has to re-brush the tangled feathers. If he has any complaints, he doesn’t voice them. It takes a few minutes more to pick up the feathers that fell to the floor, and throw them in the trash.

He takes your hand, and brings you to the kitchen.

Breakfast is whatever’s left inside the refrigerator. Alastor, somehow, manages to create a proper and relatively healthy meal for you to consume. The first bite of scrambled eggs brings a smile. It’s the same eggs you’ve used for yourself, but somehow, this one is the best eggs you have ever tasted.

It’s been years since you’ve had a proper meal on this dinged up table. The turmeric stains have faded into a small yellow. The cracks on the table have rounded with dullness. Most meals were eaten at work or in front of the television.

“How was your day?”

Alastor leans on the palm of his hand, watching you eat. “That’s a question reserved for dinner.”

“It’s a question from when I wasn’t able to witness the happening of your day,” you say. “Will you not be next to me from now on? What’s there to ask when I will be there to see how the rest of your day will go?”

“There isn’t much to say,” Alastor says, tracing the dents on the table. “I awoke quite early, got dressed, dropped by your workplace, and then went straight to our home.”

There’s a smug smile on your lips. It’s not something you’re keen on hiding. “Were you that excited to bring me to the hotel?”

“Eat your eggs.”

You take a bite off your meal, doing as he says. It’s seasoned perfectly. When you cook, its either too salty or tasteless. You never did get around to figuring out the perfect amount, but it seems Alastor was able to solve the mystery of how much salt to add. “I’m not hearing a ‘no’.”

“Eat your eggs.”

You take another bite, and point the fork at him. “I’m still not hear—”

“And you never shall,” Alastor says, grabbing the fork to push another mouthful of eggs into your mouth. “So, just eat your eggs.”

He keeps the fork with him the whole meal, shoving food into your mouth to prevent further questioning.

Inside the sink, an assortment of bowls and tiny plates and pans are neatly arranged. There are ten dishes neatly piled, minus the pot and the pan (of course). It’s twelve with the pot and pan. All this for a simple plate of scrambled eggs.

Alastor presents his work to you with a wave of his hands and a proud smile.

This has you barking out a laugh.

Your eyes shut once more, because despite the laughter, it seems this tear is determined to fall. “How absolutely dumb of me. I don’t know what’s gotten over me this morning,” you tell him, even if you do know. “I guess work was a bit much yesterday.”

“There’s nothing stupid about you,” he says, wiping the next tear. “I’ll go wash this mess.”

“So, you do admit it!” you say, sticking your tongue out. “Are you finally going to admit that you made a mess?”

“I never have and I never will. Go to the living-room,” he says, and his ears flicker with the smallest of movements. It would be an easy miss had you been any other Sinner. “…I’ll handle this for you.”

You show Alastor the brightest smile when you press your lips on his cheek. “I think you’re mistaken, my deer. I’m incredibly happy right now,” you say. “Can we finish the dishes together?”

Alastor’s shadow pokes your leg thrice.

It looks at you with a jagged smile, fiddling with its shadow fingers. The shadow waves you at you in a way that has you waving back. It points to its cheek and looks at you with as much expectancy as a shadow could produce.

“Oh dear,” you say, smiling at the shadow. “I keep forgetting about you. Would you forgive me if I made it up to you?”

The shadow crosses its arm, pointing its nose to the air with a frown.

It’s an easy thing to position your shadow. Just a step back and careful angling makes the shadow of your lips cross past its cheek and presses a kiss on its own shadowy lips. Look at you now—feather on your scalp, four fingers on your hand, and smooching the shadow of your husband.

“Have I earned your forgiveness?” you ask. “Or shall it take another?”

The shadow offers a thumbs up, its shadowy smile somehow becoming even wider.

Alastor summons his microphone with a distracting type of flare, and strikes the edge on his own shadow. The poor thing scampers back into him with lowered ears.

You raise your eyebrows at Alastor.

Alastor leans forward on his microphone, using it as a cane, and shows you’re his most innocent smile.

You press another kiss on the edge of his mouth. What an absolutely silly man to be married to.

Alastor grabs your hand, and all twelve dishes are cleaned with only one usable hand. It takes longer than it should. The inefficiency of having one functional hand slows the whole process.

The dishes get done. Even if the bowls and plates have to be held out and supported for Alastor to sponge, the dishes get done. No matter how long it will take, the dishes will be completed together.

The coffee mugs warm your hand.

There it is again, the ever present, ‘Two’. One for you and one for him. You and him. Him and you. It seems there won’t be any wasted coffee beans today.

Alastor’s outside, seated on the steps of the porch. The legs on this body are far longer than his old ones. It forces him to stretch them out to sit comfortably on the steps. There’s a smile directed at you when Alastor receives his coffee mug.  And if Alastor was a silly man, then you are a silly, silly woman. Even after decades, it makes you giggle like a bumbling school-girl.

You take the seat next to him, staring at the reddened morning sky. “My, most, deer,” you say, calling out for him. “Do you miss the sun or the moon or the stars?”

“It’s not something I think about.”

“Ask me if I miss it,” you say, bumping your shoulders with his and showing off your most innocent smile.

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Do you miss the sun or the moon or the stars?”

The coffee mug gets discarded to the steps in favor of grabbing his face with your hands. The pads of your thumb go up and down the skin of his cheeks. “I don’t, actually,” you say with a smile that could rival the sun. “I have all of it right here in the palm of my hands.”

The laughter from his microphone mixes with his own laughter. Even his shadow chuckles at your words. “You are the most ridiculous person to be able to sit next to,” he tells you. “Did you ask me just to be able to say all that?”

“I did, actually.”

“And how long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Hmmm,” you say, taking one long sip of coffee to delay your answer. “Five or six years, give or take.”

Alastor’s original voice bleeds into his words. “Years?” he says, wheezing as his eyes bulge out in different directions. “You’ve been waiting to say that for years?

You lean your head on the palm of your hand, watching Alastor take a sip of his coffee to calm himself. When was the last time you had a morning as lively as this one? “Well, it was only ever meant for you to hear.”

Alastor flicks your nose. “No flirting before coffee’s been finished,” he says. “You should already know this.”

“Then hurry up,” you start, rubbing your nose, “and finish it then.”

He takes a small but long sip.

It makes you think he’ll drag out finishing his coffee, but Alastor throws the rest of his obviously, very full, coffee behind his shoulder. The drink splatters to the plants. He smiles at you like there isn’t coffee dripping down the leaves and into the soil.

“Look who’s being ridiculous now,” you say. “My coffee isn’t finished yet. So, I guess you’re going to have to sit there and wait.”

You take small and drawn-out sips, showing off just… how…slow…you…will take to finish.

“Horrible dream earlier?” Alastor asks you with a smile that shows off all his teeth, staring at how he fiddles with the handles of his mug.

“Not one bit!” you exclaim, taking a gulp of coffee. “It was a good one.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” he says, bumping your knees with his. “What wonderful things did your mind dream about?”

“Well, this is a dream I’ve decided to keep to myself,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Although, I think it’s one of the best ones I’ve had in a very long time.”

Alastor brushes his thumb over your eyelids, even if the tears stopped slipping. “Then why?”

“Because,” you begin, leaning into how gently he caresses you, “the dream ended too soon.”

Alastor snatches the mug around your fingers, throwing the content behind his shoulders. The coffee splashes to the plants. “It seems you’ve finished your coffee.”

“That’s wasting!”

“I’ll brew you another cup at the hotel,” he says, smiling at you. “But as of now, you’ve officially finished your coffee.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips. “Can I be greedy?”

Alastor picks a feather out of your head. “As little or as much as you want,” he tells you. “Anything you could ever want and anything you could ever wish for—it will be yours.”

“You promised me a kiss when you came home,” you say. “I think I’d like to cash that in now.”

Alastor studies your face, holding you in the palms of his hands. “And when did I do such a silly thing?”

You place your hand on top of his own, nuzzling deeper into his hold. Home has never felt more like home until this very minute. “I guess it must have been something I dreamed up,” you say. “Are you still willing to fulfill your promise?”

Alastor presses a kiss on the crown on your feathers. “I was in this dream of yours?”

“You always are, especially when you have this special talent of finding my last nerve and tap dancing all over it,” you say with a snort. “So, are you going to fulfill your promise? A proper kiss this time, please.”

“A doting husband always does so.”

“I never said that.”

“You did.”

The wind blows as you sit on the steps. It pushes feathers to your face. Alastor tucks them away, letting the loose strands flow through his fingers. He holds your face, and you would like to believe that his fingers were carved to perfectly fit along the outline. It could also be the other way around.

Even in this lifetime, his lips are chapped. The cracks poke you when Alastor hover above, brushing his mouth ever so slightly on the skin of your cheek.

You pull on his monocle, discarding the thing to the plants. It gets in the way of how deep you press yourself into his skin. Soft exhales mix together. Alastor’s nose pokes you as he brushes his face across the outline of your face.

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek, allowing his lips to linger for what seems like a lifetime.

The next kiss lands on your other cheek.

Alastor torments you, demanding so much space in your soul that it’s become filled with him and only him. In life. In death. In the in betweens and the afters.

A kiss to the forehead.

A kiss on the edges of your lips.

Alastor runs his thumb over the soft skin of your mouth, and your eyes flutter to a close when he finally connects your lips. The pads of his thumb go up and down into a gentle caress as he presses kiss after kiss. Your arm snakes around his back, drawing spirals on his back as you pull him into a hug.

The kisses he blesses you with are slow. It’s like he savors each and every one. Alastor kisses you like there’s no place he would rather be than using the language of your rings to write you a poem.

It’s you who pulls away first. You’re being greedy, demanding too much affection from him.

You smile at him.

Alastor smiles back at you, and leans back into a kiss, pulling you closer by the neck.

There have been lifetimes of tomorrows and there will still be many more tomorrows to experience.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Two Weeks Before The Extermination.

There’s no television in this room. The lack of modern technology in Alastor’s room isn’t even the problem…you just…really miss that television.

Sure, soap operas are trash. So, what? Who cares if it doesn’t make sense that Mara and Clara are sisters? Or how a perfectly normal couple can suddenly birth a blue child that’s able to heal people with tears? Like yes, that’s not how holy water works. It’s the dumbest thing ever, but entertaining trash is still entertaining.

Alastor refuses to breathe the same air as a television, going as far as to avoid them even with you present in the room. No amount of begging or pouting convinced him to watch a single episode. You could just watch it alone, but that would mean you would be…alone.

The low dim of the fireplace and the soft music playing on the radio join to create this cozy morning atmosphere. The warm coffee around your fingers and the soft cushion of the armchair tit the whole scene together.

Something hoots from Alastor’s bayou.

That’s totally not creepy—not one bit. It does not bring a chill up your spine, and there’s totally no reason to dig yourself deeper into this plush cushion. You refused to step one foot into his bayou, preferring to stay in the part of the room that actually resembles a room. Not even the tempting offer of a picnic has you agreeing to go past the wooden floor. If Alastor refuses to watch television shows with you, then you won’t bring a single feather into his bayou.

Alastor smiles at you from the armchair across, drinking coffee like there aren’t trees and unknown animals spilling into his room.

A hesitant knock sounds from the door.

“Can I come in?” Char’s muffled voice calls from beyond the wood. “Wait, are you guys away? Oh gosh. Should I just come back later?”

You glance at the clock, checking the time then slide your eyes to Alastor. “If we stay silent, do you think Charlie will assume we’re sleeping?”

“That would be rude, my dear.”

Alastor stands from his chair, placing the coffee mug on the little table. There’s a smile on his face as he smoothens the lines of his dress pants. He walks towards the door, taking long strides. It’s as if he’s showing off just how determined he is to open the thing.

With a twist of the doorknob, Charlie comes into view.

She stills by the entrance, and gives Alastor a small wave. There’s a bright but hesitant smile on her lips. Charlie fiddles with her fingers, staring at Alastor as he blocks the opened door with his body. It keeps her from fully entering.

An awkward type of silence rises to the air.

“Al, stop messing with the poor girl, and bring her in,” you say after five painful minutes of awkward silence. It takes three long sips of coffee to kill the laughter that threatens to escape. “Good morning, Charlie.”

Alastor grabs Charlie by the shoulders, and her heels scrape the wood as she’s dragged deeper into the room. There’s this hilarious frown on Charlie’s lips. Basic manners demand you stifle all laughter. It’s simply not right to laugh at the owner of the establishment currently housing you.

Alastor offers Charlie the free arm chair. “Care to take a seat?”

“Sure…thanks,” she says, blinking, It takes her a moment to settle on the cushion. “Sooooo, how are you liking your stay here? If there’s anything bothering you, just mention it to me. I’ll be happy to try and work out a solution.”

“There’s no need to do such a thing. You’ve been so accommodating towards me,” you tell her, brushing a stray feather away. “I appreciate how silent it is here. Loud noises tend to strain my ears.”

“I’ll be sure to keep any noise down,” Charlie says. “But I’m glad to see you seem to be enjoying yourself. I really appreciate how you join our activities as well!”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Alastor decides to sit his ass on your chair. He buries himself next to you, squeezing into a chair meant for one. You bump his legs, shoving him away to gain more personal space. It’s taken as an invitation, instead. Alastor presses even closer and takes up more space.

You bump his legs once more.

 Again, Alastor squeezes closer.

There’s a strained smile on your lips when you turn back to Charlie. “I’ll tell you my secret as to why I’m enjoying myself,” you say, shoving him further away. “Any place tends to be nice when I wake up to Alastor’s snoring.”

He glares at you. “I do not snore.”

You cover your mouth as if whispering to Charlie. “He does,” you say with a lowered voice just to be infuriating. “It’s the faintest of static. It just comes out of him.”

“Whatever can we do for you?” Alastor tells Charlie, smiling as he places a hand on your shoulder. “My wife will be happy to fulfill each and every one of your requests! She’s quite handy with a sponge. Although, keep your bowls away.”

You dig your elbow into his side.

Alastor elbows you back.

“I’m actually here for the both of you. “There’s this questions that couples ask each other, and it’s supposed to deepen their relationship.” Charlie twiddles her thumbs. “I want to try them with Vaggie. Can I go through the questions with you guys first? Tell me if there are any stupid questions.”

Alastor’s smile widens to show off his teeth. “There are some bulk items we need—”

“Nonsense! I will be happy to fulfill each and every one of your requests, apparently,” you say, placing a hand on Alastor’s shoulder. “And my husband would agree to anything that makes me happy. We would love to help you.”

Alastor elbows your side.

You return just as much as he gives. Maybe a little more.

There’s an adorable type of shine in Charlie’s eyes. Thank you…so much,” she says. “I’m so glad you guys are here. We are going to have so much fun!

Alastor’s coffee awaits to be finished. It’s still discarded on the table between the arm chairs. You reach for it and return his mug to him with a smile. There have been so many wasted cups of coffee-several years’ worth of coffee down the drain. There’s no need to waste anymore—not where Alastor smiles back at you.

“I think it’s endearing how you want to do this with Vaggie,” you say. “You should have seen how furious I was with Alastor—”

“When I lied” Alastor finishes for you. “Are we ever going to move past that? It’s been decades.”

“Never.”

Charlie tilts her head, furrowing her eyebrows. “Wait…,” she says, slowly. “You know Vaggie was an exorcist. How? You weren’t there when we announced it.”

Your eyes flicker to Alastor for the briefest of moments.

Alastor makes it a point no to look your way.

“You told her?” Charlie exclaims, gaping at him. “I mean…I’m not mad or anything.  Vaggie thought it would be better to tell you afterwards or if you decided to stay permanently. We just didn’t want to scare you away.”

“I thought it was common knowledge already…?”

Alastor rolls his eyes, and the base of his ears flicker down with annoyance. “Dearest, when has anything I told you over morning coffee ever been ‘common knowledge’?”

“Well, I’ll tell you this ....It was common knowledge to everyone when Ally from neuro cheated on her girlfriend.”

“Do tell!” Alastor takes a sip of coffee. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“The room they were in? It happened to be one that had an intercom that connected to the whole building,” you say, laughing. “Every little sound was broadcasted to every floor!”

Charlie’s eyes bulge a little, and she leans ever so closer.

Alastor reaches over you, grabbing the coffee pot. A snap of his fingers, and a whole new coffee mug appears in his hand. There’s a filled mug being handed to Charlie. She takes it without thinking, leaning on the edge of her seat.

“That isn’t even the worst part,” you say, fiddling with the handle of the mug. “The person Ally was with? The father.”

“The father?” Charlie echoes with disbelief. “That’s horrible!”

“Oh, my dear, it was. Believe me…it was,” you say. “What a horrible day to have ears.”

“So how did the girlfriend react?”

You press your shoulder closer to Alastor, slightly leaning your weight on him. “The girlfriend works as an accountant for the hospital and heared the whole thing. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time her father’s done suc—”

“Shall we head to the questions?” Alastor grabs the coffee pot, taking it upon himself to refill all the mugs. “There are actually some deliveries that need to be arranged.”

Charlie blinks and leans back into the cushions of the arm chair. “Right…Yes, of course.” She brings out her phone, swiping down the screen. “I guess we should just jump right in?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay…The first question asks you what your most treasured possession could be.”

There’s a box on top of Alastor’s fireplace. It’s hidden in plain sight, blending with all the other stray items he likes to keep as decorations. The painted designs faded years ago. It should have been left at home, but you found yourself pocketing the box to take with you.

“It’s just this old box,” you say, studying the rim of the mug. “It’s quite expensive. It took at least forty-years to save up for it.”

“Oh, what’s inside?”

“That wasn’t the question.” You take a sip of coffee, letting the liquid slosh down your esophagus. “I believe it’s your turn now, deerest.”

Alastor loves his personal space. It’s something he makes perfectly clear. However, it seems he also loves your personal space. He places an arm around your shoulders, shaking your like a rattle “Why, it’s right here” he exclaims. “I couldn’t have asked for a better dishwasher despite the magnitude of broken bowls. It’s quite the attractive model.”

“Stop it.” You swat his hand when the coffee around your fingers threaten to spill. “Go finish your coffee.”

Alastor slides his eyes to Charlier, watching her reactions as he inches further into your personal space. “Should I change that rule?”

“It’s his microphone.” You push his face away, rolling your eyes at him. “He never goes anywhere without it, and hardly allows anyone to touch it.”

“I allow you to hold it all the time.”

The way you sip your coffee hides your smile. “I’m not just anyone, now, am I?”

Charlie groans in her palms, pushing strands of her hair behind her face. It’s funny to see how her lips twist into the adorable sort of frown.

“Oh, stop it.” Alastor flicks your nose. “Finish your coffee.”

The armchair squeezes the both of you into this small space. It’s much more comfortable to just press together. You lean closer into his personal space, allowing yours to mix with his, and wrap your arms around Alastor’s neck. The strands of his hair brush against your skin.

“Charlie…,” you begin, inching closer, “be a good girl and close your eyes.”

There’s a loud groan escaping her mouth. She sulks into the chair as if she was being deflated. “Seriously?”

“Go on,” Alastor says, urging her with a smile. He leans ever so slightly into you.

Charlie closes her eyes.

There’s a stray strand that slides down Alastor’s hair. You brush it away, letting the strands flow through your fingers. There’s a smile on your face when you press a kiss on the edge of his mouth. It lingers longer than it should.

The tips of Alastor’s ears flicker, and you snatch his mug. It gets tossed into the fireplace

Alastor grabs your chin with the tips of his fingers, and steals a kiss.

“Can I continue now, or should I just leave?” Charlie snorts, eyes firmly shut. “I swear, Mom and Dad were exactly like this—it’s kind of cute.”

Alastor presses one last kiss on your cheek. “Let’s continue!”

The mug around your fingers gets snatched. Alastor takes a sip of coffee. It seems this is a shared coffee mug now. “You can open your eyes now.”

Charlie stares at the both of you, taking one good look and sighs. The phone’s pulled out again as she reads the next question. “Is there a personality trait or skill that the other possesses that you wish you had.”

“I do wish I could be as proficient with words as you are.” You take the shared coffee mug from Alastor and take a mouthful. “The most horrible things come out of your mouth in such a poetic way.”

“That’s too sweet.”

“And quite the ridiculous question,” Alastor says, rolling his eyes. “If there’s a trait or skill I want, then I simply acquire them or someone who can. There’s no use wondering about such things”

You snort at him. “Well, humility certainly isn’t a trait you would wish to possess.”

“Charlie, close your eyes.” Alastor inches closer, pressing his weight into you. There isn’t enough space in the arm chair to lean away.

There’s that hilarious frown on Charlie’s lips again, but she does as she’s told. “Again? Will you be doing this every time?”

Alastor leans away, and drinks a mouthful of coffee. A delighted hum escapes him as he savors the taste.

It’s quite peaceful. There’s this type of silence that takes over. One meant to be enjoyed during the early mornings. The crackle of the fireplace and the soft tunes of the radio blend into the background of the scene. You chuckle at Alastor and drink from the mug when he offers it to you. The morning becomes peaceful once more. You and Alastor squeeze into an armchair made for one, drinking coffee in silence.

Charlie squirms in her seat with closed eyes. 

It takes five minutes of silence for her to summon the courage to speak up

“Uh…” Charlie plays with the ends of her ponytail, twirling the loose strands of her hair around her fingers. “I hope you’re aware that I’m…you know…still here?”

You bark a laugh, leaning your head on Alastor’s biceps. “You can open your eyes now.”

Her eyes peek open, slow and hesitant.

Loud laughter echoes around the room and into the bayou. “I apologize, sweetheart. We’re just pulling your leg,” you say. “Let’s continue on to the next question?”

Charlie rolls her eyes and brings out her phone once more. “Alright then…Is there something you’ve been keeping from each other?” she asks. “Oh, I guess it’s like a secret or a confession you haven’t mentioned before.”

An answer pops into your mind. It demands to be said out loud. That demand is ignored. Who does it think it is to ask you to heed against its requests?

“I think you own too many radios,” you tell Alastor instead. It’s a safe answer. “There certainly doesn’t need to be three in the bathroom.”

Charlie tilts her head. “Why would you need three?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for the last few decades of our marriage,” you say. “Sometimes, I think he can hear me through the speakers.”

“Alastor can’t actually do that, right?” Charlie glances at him. “…Right?”

Alastor grabs your face, squishing your cheeks. His eyes flicker all over your face, studying your every reaction. “You thought of something.”

The sound of your heartbeat echoes in your ears. “I thought of the radios in the bathroom.”

“What did you think about?” Alastor says, shaking your cheeks. “I know when you lie to me, dearest.”

Charlie gives you a thumbs up with a bright smile.

“Answer the question, my love.”

The sound of your heartbeat echoes louder. The answer refuses to be held back, coerced by Alastor’s demand. You pull Alastor’s hand off your cheeks. “I broke your piano.”

The confession lifts a weight off your chest.

“I was just at home.” Alastor squints at you. “Our piano is fine.”

You sulk into the cushion of the arm chair. “I meant the piano at the old house.”

“How did you even manage to break one of those?” Charlie asks. “Those things are quite large.”

It’s somehow possible to hide yourself deeper into the chair cushion. “I used Alastor’s bat and just…swung.”

“Oh! Oh! This would be a great opportunity,” she says, eyes shining. “Would you like to say anything to Alastor?”

There’s quite a lot you would like to say. “I apologize for breaking your piano.”

“And how did that feel?”

“Great, actually. I’ve been keeping this for decades.” It’s impossible to keep the lid of secrets now that it’s open. “Is this the wrong time to say I used the bat to smash your radios?”

The mug shatters from Alastor’s grip. The shards fall to the wooden floor.

Alastor pulls out a handkerchief. It has his name neatly embroidered. He wipes his hands, drying the drips of coffee. There’s a pleasant smile on his face. That’s totally not worrying.

Alastor stands and suddenly, the armchair sits one. He places a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Can you give me and my wife a moment?”

Charlie’s eyes slide to you as she rises to her feet.

The way you shake your head with vigor strains your neck. You try to send Charlie a message. Please don’t leave. Charlie, stay here! Please stay.

Alastor doesn’t allow Charlie the opportunity to respond.

He grabs her by the shoulders. Once more, her heels scrap the floor as she’s dragged to the door. It would be funny if you aren’t calculating how much scolding you were to receive.

You fucked up. Oh, you fucked up big time.

The door locks, and your sentence seals.

Alastor’s fingers linger at the doorknob. The base of his antlers grows…then it shrinks. The pattern continues for one long minute. It grows and shrinks as if Alastor doesn’t fully know what to do with them.

Symbols glitch into the air. It disappears just as quickly as it manifested.

The sound of cracking bones catches your ears. It has you sulking into the cushions of your chair, a pout on your lips.

The expansion of limbs and the slow growth of antlers forces you to press your hands into your face. You peek at Alastor through the slits of your fingers.  His antlers are so long now, growing like tree branches. Faint stitching outlines the edges of his cheek as he smiles with sharpened teeth. The lines around his body sharpen with an edge to it

Static buzzes around the room. It emanates from the radios, and from Alastor himself. Tingles run down your skin.  Alastor takes wide steps as his body continues to crack with expansion. “Let’s have a talk.”

The lights flicker all around, and a faint green glows into the room.

You shake your head, still peeking at him through your fingers.

His left eye morphs into radio dials. Alastor blinks and his pupils return to their original form. Another blink, and the full force of the radio dials gaze into your soul.

“…Deerest,” you mumble into your palms. “If you continue to look like that, talking will be the last thing I would want to do with you.”

Alastor’s neck snaps as he tilts his head. “Look at me

Once more, you shake your head and press deeper into your palms.

It takes a moment for his bones to snap back into place. The lights stop flickering, and his shadow pulls back into his body. Gone are the growing antlers, and the glowing radio dials to look into your soul.

Alastor takes your wrist, peeling it off your face. “Can we talk now?”

“I’m sorry about your stuff,” you say, quickly. “It wasn’t right of me to do so.”

There it is again. Alastor’s thumb goes up and down the bare skin of your wrists. It’s such a small act. Does he do this on purpose? Is he even aware of such a motion?

You give Alastor the most innocent smile you could produce. “I think this is an even worse time to mention that I burned down—”

“What, my house?” The tips of Alastor’s ears sharpen. “You burned down my house?”

Your lips twist as you sulk deeper into yourself. “Yes…?”

Alastor runs a hand over his hair and turns his back to you. The air glitches once more. It appears and disappears as if it’s unwanted. He runs another hand over his hair, and turns back to you with a sharp glare.

“You know what?” you say, and you can’t help but glare back. “No, I’m not sorry.”

“I hardly care if you feel sorry or if you don’t.” Alastor’s smile wobbles. “I could care less. Just stop saying it like that.”

“Like how?” you say, grumbling. “I’m confused right now. Do you want me to apologize or not?”

Alastor reaches for your hand, pulling it closer to him. He traces the cool metal of your ring.  “Your piano. Your Radio. My house,” he says, and his smile strains ever so slightly. “You speak as if those weren’t all yours as well. As if it was only me in that house.”

Your thumb moves up and down to caress him. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

Alastor pulls away from you. The smile on his face becomes one thin line as he squints with annoyance. His ears flick down. Alastor looks at everything except you. You have to hide your face into the palms of your hands. The heat of your face spreads all over. It seems Alastor’s correct—you are ridiculous.

Alastor begins to walk away, but you grab his hand to keep him in place.

Just a moment. That’s all you need.

You intertwine your fingers around his, refusing to release your hold. Just a moment. That’s all you need. The clock ticks, and you stay like this, hands intertwined for what seems like a lifetime.

Up and down. Up and down. Alastor’s thumb brushes you. Part of you hopes he never stops.

“It wasn’t…,” you begin, searching for the courage to continue. “It wasn’t right of me to destroy our piano, and our radios, and our bookshelves, and burn down…our home.”

Alastor kneels to search your eyes, tilting your chin to look at you. It’s still red, and still brighter than starlight. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”

You take his hand, playing with the tips of his fingers. There’s a ring on his finger that matches yours. You plant the gentlest of kisses on his ring. “It’s because of this.”

Alastor tilts his head, raising his eyebrows at you.

“It’s alright if you don’t understand. That was something I hope you will never have to find you,” you tell him, brushing your thumb on his face. “My love, I hope you will never understand.”

Alastor brushes a feather away from your face with a smile. The things you would do to keep him smiling. It doesn’t even have to be towards you. Just keep him smiling.

Please…Please never let him find out.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

|Part 8: The Calm Before the Fall| Alastor’s love language is just being the biggest nuisance, and we love him for that. Taglist: @mybrainsautocorrect @ray-rook @valentique @qardasngan @valentique @teavibesaf @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @reikamasama @slaggylemon @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @littledolly2345 @b-o-n-e-daddy @infinitefox @ayyyyyy-vase @kny-kween @amoraneuro @obessivlyonline @@@@soohaneul @@stelen-sweethearts

[neohoestechnology]

I absolutely love your moodboards and headcanons! Could you do one for Draco? 🥰🫶🏻

Thank you so much!!💗💗

I'm SO sorry it took so long (mainly because I saw the request yesterday 🫠 my university is KILLING me sorry😭). This is LONG so bare with me + my English is rusty af so I apologize for any grammar mistake

☆ Draco Malfoy Headcanons & Moodboard ☆

Okay, so, a quick disclaimer here before we get started -----> now, I really believe that Draco is one the most tricky character to "get right" (speaking of his behavior and thoughts), so I just wanted to say that this is my personal interpretation and could be 100% different from yours so please be kind🥹

Oh boy, it took A LOT for you two to finally get together; a lot of time, a lot of effort, a lot of sacrifice and arguments between both of you and your friends. Just a lot.

I think we can all agree that our beloved boy couldn't care less about girls before during his first years at Hogwarts. Some things changed as time passed by, a lot, actually. He changed in the first place, becoming old enough to finally understand his family affairs and secrets. He HAD to change. He wanted to gain strength to be able to carry this new burden on his shoulders and to show his worth, but it all developed into a self-destruction, never-ending cycle that made him feel left out and alone. You, on the other hand, always seemed to have all figured out, and always looked so calm and caring. Truth is that you also felt like you were missing something, like you didn't really fit in for some reason.

It's not really clear how or why you two got together, but somehow, it happened.

Your caring nature always irritated him. How naive, he thought, but that time you found him crying on the bathroom floor, all alone and desperate, he thanked God that you came.

From this episode, bit by bit, your relationship started to form.

You two are VERY good at keeping it private, very discreet.

At the end of the day, you just have one another to stay with, and you are more than okay with that. People started to get suspicious, though; your friends started to notice your frequent excuses and distance, wondering WHAT ON EARTH they did to make you feel this way. Little did they know about your secret midnight meetings with a boy whose reputation speaks for himself.

Even though you two never show up together as a couple, you actually never feel lonely during the day. It's all about those secretly exchanged gazes, the typical side eye thing from across the room when someone is talking bs, him softly brushing his hand against yours when you are leaving a class and no one can see.

BUT, when you two are ACTUALLY ALONE... Soft touches, hushed words and pleading eyes.

You like to share silence together, there's nothing left to share after your first bathroom rendezvous.

I feel like he smells like wood, like deep forest or something like that, but his smell is kinda comforting (my scent-describing skills are nonexistent sorry😭)

I mean, you can feel his presence even without seeing him.

He has this thing about his eyes, like the way he looks at you. Everyone who played close attention to his gaze could tell it was love and admiration.

LOVES when you run your hands through his hair (sometimes you could swear to hear him purring).

Likes to make flowers appear between the pages of your potion book while taking classes, only to give you a subtle smile and turn his head to read his instructions immediately after.

Your first time together was during the Christmas break, when there were just the two of you in the entire Slytherin dorm. It was the first time he said "I love you" (it's fucking cheesy but I love it eheh). Everything was so slow and sensual. Lips, hands and kisses everywhere. Slow thrusts with your hands intertwined and his head buried in your neck.

His hands are always so cold that he has to keep them in your sleeves (he loves it though)

Likes watching you sleep (not in a creepy way don't worry lol). He'd brush your hair out of your face and caress your face softly.

Would fidget a lot while talking to you, mostly to distract himself from the fact that he gets weak in the knees every time he looks in your eyes, even after all this time. He'd 100% play with your hands or hair just because.

You'd literally yank his hand from his mouth every time he bit his nails or picked at his skin.

He's the type of person who would do hot things without even realizing. He would undo a few buttons of your shirt just to button them up right away just because he thought they looked weirdly asymmetrical, causing you to blush and stutter. And this mf would just tell you to go on and finish what you were saying (okay, maybe he does this on purpose).

You know that the way he behaves around others is just a facade. He is so broken and hopeless that he HAS to act that way around them, but when he's with you, his safe place, he feels so grateful that he gets to get loose from his worries and reveal the real person he is that it scares him how attracted he is to you, how primal his need for you is.

When your friends found out that you were dating Mr Bully Malfoy, they just couldn't wrap their heads around the reason that spurred you to do so. Let's just say that you are not friends anymore. You tried to explain yourself countless times, but they didn't seem to understand nor were willing to do so, and you thought you were better off without them anyway.

He got the same treatment from his friends ngl. It was better this way, honestly. In the end, you just needed one another to feel complete and fulfilled.

He thought about running away with you almost once a day during his 6th year. He knew what, better say who, was coming. He was sure that the death eaters wouldn't spare anyone, maybe himself included. When he first told you, he was sure you would laugh it off and call him paranoid, but instead, you listened to him carefully and decided to plan your escape with him without even flinching.

It was a gloomy night in the middle of the winter. Rushed footsteps were echoing in a corridor, then in the hall, down the stairs. Restless eyes were wandering around the path, occasionally looking back to check no one was tagging after them. A subtle creaking of a rusty gate opening was heard, and then nothing else.

OKAY SO I got WAY MORE carried away than I should and I know this is longer and more serious and dark than what I usually do but I tried my best. Actually, I'm not 100% satisfied with how it turned out and maybe the person who asked it expected something different and more light-hearted, and I apologize for it. Again, writing this character is difficult af.

I do not possess any of these photos, all credits go to the owners.

Love you, B. 🌱🤍

[kabr0ztrousers]

Can you do a part 2 to "Duke of the Iron Forest” please? The reader has been down in the dungeons for so long that two things happen:

Her body becomes more used to the duke's cock

Her will starts to break down

With that she finally, finally accepts his marriage proposal.

Kabr0z Writes episode 153: Duke of the Iron Forest, part 2

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here! Including part 1

Ao3!

CWs: restraints; noncon; physical pain; tongues; excessive cum; size difference;

A/N: I shouldn't say such things as "normal service resumes" because it always hexes it 🤣

This was meant to be yesterday's. Enjoy!

############################################

Your eyes drifted open. The chains on your wrists held as strong as ever, the sounds of someone screaming drifting down the hall. You're glad you're not him. Your chin rested against your breastbone. Your wrists held in manacles, suspended behind you and twisting your shoulders back. The result was you dangled on an angle, bare breasts thrust out. The familiar bar kept your legs spread, ends shackled to your ankles. You'd stopped bothering to struggle against them ages ago.

Was it years you'd been down here? You weren't sure. You couldn't remember how you got here. Your captor was the Duke of the Iron Forest, so presumably that must be nearby at least, but you don't remember it. All you knew for sure was your daily schedule. The only thing by which you could mark time.

You could feel those familiar wings again. The Duke, coming down the hallway. The shadow loomed before he hoved into view, wings lazily batting at the air, too small and too slow for purpose yet still holding him aloft. Round and ungainly, short limbs hanging from his bulk. The only part of him that seemed suitable for its purpose was his cock, almost the length of his legs swinging low beneath him, an unending trickle of fluid oozing from it, leaving a trail of brassy-golden droplets in his wake.

You lifted your head in wordless greeting to the only method you had of keeping time.

He grinned that familiar, toothy grin, thousands of gilt blades flashing in the flickering light of the dungeon “How are you today? Ready to reconsider?”

You allowed your head to droop again, wordless. Every day was the same routine, he’d ask you to marry him, you’d refuse, he’d take what he wanted and you’d be left alone for another day.

“Why do you bother?”

Jewelry jangled as his bellowing laughter filled the room. He paused,

“Because I want to. You are mine, the choice is simply a formality. Submit, and this can all become more… comfortable”

You could hear his smile widening. One gout-ridden hand gripped your face as he pulled you to look at him

“One day, you will accept. A gilded cage is far more comfortable than an iron one”

He drew in close, pushing his tongue down your throat. You gagged on it, the taste of rotting meat and fresh blood filling your senses. It writhed in your gullet, sliding down beyond what any reasonable tongue could reach. Your eyes bulged as your body struggled to breathe through the fleshy appendage invading it. Your lungs burned. You felt pressure in your head, as though you were about to pass out from lack of air, but down here you knew you’d get no such mercy. Nobody needs to breathe in Hell, just like nobody needs to eat. It didn’t matter what he did to you, you wouldn’t get the relief of a moment’s respite.

That obscene cock was pressing up against you. Every strangled sound you made caused it to swell and squirt its metallic sludge onto you, slicking your lower body in a film of semi-transparent slime. You knew you couldn’t stop him pushing it inside, he was just prolonging the anticipation. The head pressed against your slit, painting your cunt with precum, every so often a powerful spurt would drive the fluid up inside you.

Every thrust made you squirm against your chains, every movement drove him on.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you still as the flapping of wings drove his hips into yours. You felt yourself sinking onto his cock. It wasn’t any smaller inside you, driving upwards until it hit your limit. Your body twisted, trying to get away, held in place by the chains suspending you. The cock didn’t hurt like it used to. Daily abuse had left its mark, stretching you out, never giving you a chance to recover fully until it slid in with ease. The tip butted up against your cervix, bruising your back wall with every flap of his wings.

Tears welled in your eyes, the repeated hammering of your body driving bolts of pain through you. You could feel yourself clenching against him, the stimulation coming from the obscenely huge member pounding you bringing you to a climax. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you screamed into his mouth, legs twitching and cunt gripping hard against the cock barely halfway into your body.

You felt him pulsing inside you. The strokes shortening to just a couple of inches of motion. Thick cum squirted out of him, filling you in moments. Pulse after pulse flooded your womb, dribbling down the sides of his cock to run in steaming rivulets along your thighs. He kept you held against him, the throbbing, spurting head of his cock buried as deep into you as he could get it, tongue still halfway down your throat, drooling into your mouth as your eyes rolled and your limbs spasmed in their chains.

He pulled out. The built-up pressure of his cum pushing the flanged head of his cock from you as he softened, still dripping as he beheld his handiwork. You panted as you hung there, leaking a slow stream of thick brassy-gold onto yourself and the spreader bar beneath you.

“All this can be made far more enjoyable if you only accept it. Why make things harder, when you could just be a good pet for me?”

His tone was mocking, but he had a point. You were already at rock-bottom. Fuck it

“All right then.”

You heard him pause “What?”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. You weren’t sure how much the hatred in your eyes was visible in the dim light

“You heard me”