#i know i should feel better i know this is not a rational line of thought

[granbu11]

"the phone works both ways"

>doesnt respond to messages in the gc for 2 days

[hyperfixiation-station]

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.1

CW: Torture, Canon-typical violence, talk of derealization, disassociation Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life. A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. idea part 2

You fought back, at first. Way back when you first got captured, taken from your base camp and dragged through miles and miles of harsh terrain, blindfolded and bound. A medic you were, yes. But your team had trained you with the best of them. You spent the whole time trying to escape, kicking and screaming until they bound your legs and gagged you. You spent the first month of captivity refusing to talk to them, hissing and spitting and pretending their punches didn’t hurt. But it didn't take you long to realize it was better to cooperate, or to at least be civil. Civility got you less broken bones, less pain, more rations, more sleep. Cooperation didn’t come till later, when you finally realized your team wasn't coming for youthey were dead but you didn't know that.

Surprisingly, the whole mouth-getting-sewn-shut didn't happen till a couple years in... they were torturing someone, a man who said he had kids and a wife at home, whose only wish was that they left something recognizable of him so they could get some closure. You begged them to stop. Begged them to stop when his wounds became too numerous to count, too much for you to handle. Begged because you started to care for him as he told you about his son and daughter, how they want him home for Christmas(You didn't have the heart to tell him Christmas was 6 days ago) Told them that he would die no matter what you did if they continued. Well, they didn't stop, and he did die... and you found yourself ringing in the new year by being strapped to a table.

“We warned you to stop talking with him.” They said as they clamped the metal shut over your forehead and chin, holding you in place. “We told you to not get attached, but since you can’t seem to do it on your own, we’ll help you.” The feeding tube came 2 weeks later, shoved up your nose when they realized you were starving...they couldn't lose their favorite medic of course.

You stopped paying attention to the passage of time after that, spent most of your days drifting in and out of reality, moving through the motions with a practiced ease. And it would have remained that way, if it wasn’t for a man in a skull mask with a team- a family- looking for him. 

Your first introduction to him ended up with you getting a broken nose. Per usual, you were shoved into the cell, medical kit in hand, ready to fix up whatever damage your captors had done the their poor prisoner.

The mask he had been wearing when you saw him dragged in was gone, and he had a gash that went all the way through his cheek that would need stitching up. You pull out your equipment, moving slowly towards his bleeding face. 

he headbutted you the moment you got close enough for him to reach, and the crunch of bone and the gush of warm blood followed, not that you noticed. You were still in that dreamlike state, not quite tether to reality in the way you should be. You barely noticed when they tranqued him, and the only reason you didn't finish his stitches is because you passed out too(it’s hard to breathe through a bloody, broken nose)

The next time you approach more carefully, but he’s no trouble. Mostly because they left him completely strapped to the table this time. Today was a rare day, a time when you  could actually feel your feet on the ground rather than just see them. You feel bad as you wipe him down, your eyes flicking over the myriad of scars on his body. What’s one more you think to yourself as you get to work stitching a stab wound to his thigh. Just barely missed the artery here…that could have been bad news. Okay tie it off and- there we go. I think the only other thing that need to- oh, is he…talking to me? I should probably pay attention to that.

“-here?” His voice is gravely, though you suppose yours would be too after being tortured. He stares at you expectantly, and you shrug. You don’t know what he said, and even if you did, you couldn’t answer. You just move to his wrist, snapping the bone back in place. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t make an actual sound, which surprises you. But you don’t dwell on it, wrapping a bandage around his arm and moving to exit the room. 

“Y’ no’ g’nna lemme off?” His voice sounds, “they said y’ would.” You spin around, staring at him. You're not stupid. And even if your…bosses had said that, you still wouldn’t do it. Being trapped in a room with a man who is at least a foot taller than you and looks like he could kill a man with his glare? No thank you. 

You take a step back, heading towards the door. The man lets out a sound you would barely qualify as a laugh. “Sm’rt then.” He says to himself, “No’ gonna be that easy.” 

The next time you go in, you can't help but wonder what they want from this man. By now they usually would have killed him off. Oh well, not your job to wonder. You clean him up, splinting the fingers they had broke when he talks to you again.

"why don't y' let me die?" He says, voice just as gravely as before, "Put me outa m' misery?" You don't respond, just keep taping his hand. IT's something you ad asked yourself, right at the beginning. It would be kinder for you to just let your patients die. But you couldn't do it. Partially because you were punished anytime someone died before your captors wanted them to, but also because you were a medic. YOu were there to heal. You couldn't stomach letting someone die by your hand.

"Answer me!" The man snarls, bringing you back to the present, "For god's sake y' never talk, fuckin' mute." You don't respond, of course. Just finish your task and leave him to his thoughts.

He’s angrier after that time, you’ve noticed. The few times you're actually present, he’s fighting you. Usually not with words, but he bucks and doesn’t hold still. He’s tried to grab your medical supplies countless times, and one time you actually had to be pulled out because he jerked his arm while you were stitching him and somehow managed to drive the needle into your own hand. The few times he does actually yell at you, you’re usually not paying attention. You can catch words like “Dishonorable”  and “Disgraceful”. You aren’t entirely sure of the context of the words, but you can guess. You’ve treated enough prisoners who think that you are the world's worst human being, a blight to the medical field, to guess what he's trying to tell you. 

It's funny though, this man so full of hate. Because, for the first time in goodness knows how long, your feet are on the ground, and your head is level. Something about this man, his angry, uncrushed demeanor, even after weeks of torture, stirs emotion in you that you can’t quite identify. And maybe you should be grateful, thankful your head is on right, but you're not. You so desperately want to go back to that place of apathy and detachment, where your emotions weren’t so strong, were the pains of mishealed bones and poorly healed scars didn’t plague your waking moments. 

Or maybe it wasn’t the man- The Ghost, as you found out he was called. Maybe it was the fact that something in the air had changed. The air was electric, charged with tension so thick you could feel it even alone in your cot. They were watching you, you could tell. Could feel their eyes tracking your movements in a way they hadn’t since first giving you freedom to move around. 

You're not sure why. It’s not like you have anyone to go home to. You were an only child, and your parents had died long before you reached 18. All you had was your team, a team that had seemingly abandoned you. So why would you leave? There was nowhere to go. And yet they watched you. Was it because you were becoming more aware, more grounded then you had been in a long while? Was it the man, Ghost, who had them on edge? 

The answer came two days later. You were in Ghost's cell again, desperately packing gauze into a gaping hole on his side. You don’t know what had happened, but for the first time in years you were dragged from your cell, your captors muttering under their breath in a language you still didn’t understand as they thrust you into his cell. Blood was everywhere. Your best guess was that Ghost had been struggling and an instrument had slipped and gouged out a hole in his side. So here you are, packing gauze into the wound as you try to figure out what to do to keep him alive with your rudimentary supplies. 

You pack another piece of gauze in just as the door goes flying open. Men, dressed in black, wearing the same mask Ghost was, come bursting in. 

“Get back!” The one in the front yells at you, gun pointed in your face. You shake your head, hands pressed against Ghost’s wound. 

“Now!” You make a protesting noise, trying to gesture with your chin. The man looks down, eyes widening. 

“Aw shit- are you the medic?” You nod almost desperately. The man looks at you again, staring at your hands. They are shaking, pressed against the wound as you try to keep Ghost from bleeding out. 

“Fix him.” The man snaps. You shake your head and look up at the man, trying to communicate that you need more supplies. 

“Use your words.” The man gabs the gun at you, indicating he wants you to get on with it. You stomp your foot, shaking your head again. 

“What, what's that supposed..…you can’t speak, can you?” You nod, glad he finally got it. The man groans, lowering his gun.

“You’re coming with us, but you make one wrong move, and I mean one, I will put a bullet through your brain before you can even speak. Got it?” He gestures to the other two men with him, and together you lift Ghost up, carrying him out to safety.

A/N- anyways, here's part one. Sorry if it disappoints anyone

tags, sorry if i missed any:

@redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05  @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz  @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho

[goldsbitch]

That one night stranded

There is good sex...and then there is good sex. And when you know and love someone, it's very easy to tell when they fall into an anxiety trap and try to fuck it out.

Lando is determined to have good sex only for the rest of his life.

Or - Lando and Y/N get stranded in between flights. accidental 7k epilogue p.2 to That one Christmas flight, but can be read as a stand-alone

warning: angst, shit family, smut, p in v, oral, minors DNI, typos, couple therapists - please leave, i'm not ready for your judgement

//

There were two very different text message chains happening in the hotel lobby, where the young couple stood, waiting for the receptionist who was coding they key card.

Lando's phone was bursting up with family photos, taken the day before. Lots of smiley faces, tables overflowing with food and pictures blurred up, because the person taking the photo was most likely laughing too hard to stay still. And even better - most of the messages were words of praise his family had for his no-so-new girlfriend. He knew well enough his family was proud of him nevertheless. Somehow, bringing home someone who fit in right easily, laughed at the same jokes and earned a sincere approval, filled up a hole he had no idea was present in his heart.

This one night they'd "earned" by the delayed flight felt like a reward. They'd done great together. Alone time was a rare luxury, especially when it was unexpected and not planned out for weeks. He glanced over to her, glued to her phone in a similar way that he was. Only difference being the furrowed brows.

The other text chain was Y/N and her mother. Right when the reality sank in - the fact that no plane would be able to fly to Japan with these weather conditions - her heart did too. She'd somehow hoped it would be different. That her mother would save the snarky comments. Yet she found a way to make this all seem like Y/N's fault.

You should have taken an earlier flight.

She knew it was irrational. But yes, if they had opted for the earlier flight, they'd be in the air by now. Funny, how only parents know the exact formula to make one’s brain switch off the rational part. It was the hidden undertone in the text messages. Her mom would usually save those for phone calls. The last thing Y/N wanted to do at the moment. You're too reckless. Not organized enough. Being late is your fault. Bad planning. Do you even care about seeing me? I took a day off from work to spend time with you. Are you sure about bringing the racer boy over here?

Guilt filled up her stomach and her eyes were glued to the phone, hoping for more letters to appear. Something along the lines like "have a safe flight". Or "I'm looking forward to finally meeting Lando". Words she knew would never appear. She felt her boyfriend's arm embrace her as he exchanged few final words with the receptionist. The specific info got lost on her, but the tone spoke on it's own. Even a stranger could pick up on his unmasked joy and comfort. He didn't mind they were stranded for few hours. She wished for that kind of peace of mind. His family had been incredibly lovely to her. Accepted her the way she was and gave her enough space to express herself. She was ready for "double checking" or some sort of acceptance tests. Expected to have to prove herself to them more. None of that came. Part of her was secretly infuriated by that. There was no way in hell Lando would get the same treatment. Y/N wished she could provide that comfort for him too. It resembled the same feeling she had when he came to her apartment for the first time and she forgot to put away all the mugs overflowing the nightstand. Like something that was her responsibility to fix, clean up before he even knew this was a thing.

"Look at me, honey," he said in the elevator, his finger pulling her chin up. His eyes scanned her with a look she grew to love. Pure, unfiltered adoration. "Feels like we got gifted a night only for ourselves. I can't think of anything better to receive." She smiled as best as she could, trying to get on his level of ease. But one thought sat in her brain, unwilling to make space for anything else. Today's bliss for tomorrow's misery.

"You're right, as always," she replied, trying to convince herself maybe more than him. The kiss she gave him afterwards was to divert his attention from looking at her, because she knew from experience, he'd soon see right through her.

"Have you texted your mom that we'll be late?" he asked, unaware of her bubbling anxiety.

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, trying to dismiss the situation.

//

Who cares that mom thinks he's just a reckless celebrity. Would an immature asshole who "can't possibly care about me in the longterm" be say things like that? It was pure fire running through her veins. Maybe it really was a gift, these few hours they got extra. The reality was that even if they'd arrived on time, fresh and dressed up as a cookie cutter loved up couple, her mom would still find something wrong to drill about later. Screw that. Last few moments of solitude.

She was standing in a hotel room bathroom, looking into the mirror, trying to calm herself down.

This worked perfectly into Lando's favor, him still being completely high on the good Christmas vibes. The minute she excused herself, he got on the phone with the hotel concierge and offered to throw any amount of money at them if they'd manage to follow up on his impromptu request. By some miracle, the trail with cold champagne, strawberries and few roses arrived before she returned from the bathroom. When his lovely girlfriend entered the room again, he greeted her with a dramatic spin, rose in one, a tall glass in the other hand. His interpretation of an angelic smile plastered on his face. The plan of catching her off guard worked. She stood there for a moment, taking the scenery in.

"Lando..." she said, speechless enough to muster anything more.

He winked at her and stepped closer. "It is technically our anniversary..." he said, like an open invitation.

Y/N stared at the loved up guy standing in front of her. Mother's voice still ringing in her head. All composure she managed to gain by staring at herself in the mirror gone in a second. How can anyone, ever and anywhere think that Lando, her Lando, is anything but a perfect boyfriend. How can her mother feed her with words like reckless, immature, wild and careless...without ever even meeting him in person. Her phone dinged with the sound a text message and she just knew it was her mom again. She didn't even bother looking at the notification.

"You're perfect, you know that?" she blurbed slowly. Once again, as if more to herself than to him.

His smile grew wider. "I try my best," he noted with a tone that could only be described as playful.

"Many people forget anniversaries..."

"To be fair, it is easier if it's pinned to annoyingly recognized holiday..." he joked and handed her the glass. "Do not ask me when we actually got together, because I don't think there is enough champagne around here for me to apologize for not knowing that date."

She smirked and accepted the glass.

"You did kind of just admit that yourself, you know..."

"I know, but, you didn't ask, so it doesn't count."

He knew her well enough to know that she was about to ask exactly that just to tease him, so interrupted her before she had a chance to even breathe in.

"Toast! To us! To the best outcome a desperate secret meeting at Honda could ever have!"

Giving up on teasing him, she clinked her glass with his. "To the Christmas champagne tradition."

He leaned in and kissed her before tasting the champagne. If it weren't for the symbolic gesture, he'd order anything else. Champagne had a weird undertone of podiums and that was something he hated to get reminded of during off season. But that was not something he needed to tell her.

She gulped the whole glass, happy have something to take the edge off.

"How bizarre, we managed to make it here," she remarked, courage building up.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, honey."

That's it. He was being the ultimate boyfriend, while she was there, barely participating. No more of that. She grabbed the glass from his hands and downed the liquid he barely touched anyway. Surprised Lando only raised his eyebrows and watched her put both of their glasses away.

"Bed. Now," she ordered him, changing the tone of the conversation.

Fascination overruled Lando's facial expression and he obeyed, without a single word. Usually, he was the more dominant one in their sex life. He couldn't help himself, forever horny teenager. But, sometimes, out of nowhere, she whipped up her bossy side. He often fantasized about that when he was alone, racing around the world.

She waited for him to absentmindedly kick his shoes to the corner only to sit at the edge of the bed. Shook her head and nodded toward the pillow. He obeyed and pushed himself further to the back. His eyes were literally inviting her, encouraging her to continue.

With full determination, she took her shirt off, following by swiftly removing her bra. Then she climbed over to him, never breaking eye contact.

Lando wanted to say something, anything, but he was worried that would somehow break the spell. He followed her every move, tuning in. They had spent few days in the family circus and they were about to enter another one. It's been the longest they'd gotten without sex while being in the same timezone. Even though he was not demanding or expecting anything, he was craving it like a starved man.

She wanted to feel hot. Determined to prove that she is a good girlfriend. Swung her leg over his, practically sitting on him. Their lips crashed together in a messy kiss, tongues fighting for dominance. Lando sighed when she parted them. But she was on a mission now. Knowing well enough Lando was a boobs man, she pulled his face towards her nipple and he didn't think twice about what to do next. She watched him suck and pure physical relief washed over her. All will be well soon.

She grabbed him over his jeans, pleased to find that he was already getting hard. Abandoning the kiss, she moved over to gain access to his crotch. Locked eyes with him while opening his zipper, almost violently.

"Take this off," she ordered and boy, did he do as he was told.

The air was heavy with anticipation on both parties.

With thick determination, she knelt over and took him into her mouth. He grew in her instantly, reaching full erection almost immediately.

Wasting no time, she started to move, up and down and suck him off. One hand called over to help at the bottom of his shaft, the other used as a support for her to lean on. She quickly got lost in the rhythm and continued, almost like someone dead set on completing a task. She had to prove herself. He was a great boyfriend and she needed to be the best girl he had. Because tomorrow, only ugly judgemental looks from her mother would await. No warm family welcome, this bliss they lived in for the past few days would be long gone. She could almost see it already happening, Lando desperately trying to impress her mother and her just dismissing him, because she had already made up her mind about him.

But he was perfect and Y/N was head-over-heels in love. With her eyes closed, she kept on moving, barely reaching for breath, ignoring the growing pain in her back, because the pit of despair growing in her stomach was louder anyway. It was all worth it for making her lover happy. Because who knows how it will all look tomorrow. If she could back down from the trip, she would. Her mom does not deserve to criticize someone so perfect like Lando.

Out of nowhere, felt his hand reaching over to her shoulder, somewhat bringing her back to Earth.

"Y/N," he moaned, with an unusual undertone. She took it as a sign to speed up her movements.

"Stop," he continued instantly. She froze, not quite sure what had happened.

"Ok, ugh," he pulled away unwillingly. "I can't believe I'm about to interrupt...Whatever amazing thing is happening right now."

She swallowed her own saliva. Got up a bit, slightly mortified. Why did he stop her. What has she done wrong? He never complained before? That's it - this connected with the treatment her mother had prepared instead of Christmas dinner would be the final straw ending their lovey-dovey period. Her thoughts were tripping one over another, making up an incoherent mess.

Once again, he pulled up his finger and arched her chin up.

"Is everything alright?"

Silence followed. He gave her a questioning, puzzled look.

"I thought you liked my blow jobs," she said with a stern look stripped of any emotion.

"Believe me, I do," he said with a heavy sigh. He couldn't believe himself, never expected himself to pause a perfect blow. "But something feels off about you."

She failed. She failed at going with Lando's flow and ruined what was suppose to be a nice romantic holiday evening. Giving up, she threw herself on her back, lying 90 degrees next to him, eyes glued to the ceiling. If they hadn't been so comfortable with each other, she'd feel very small, lying there like that, him with his dick out and her topless.

Lando had hoped his intuition was wrong. But sadly, he recognized the signs correctly. Without knowing this emotion had pained her ever since the plane got delayed, he felt his own anxiety pile up. Only years of mental preparation for his overly demanding job had helped him to avoid jumping into conclusions too quickly. Even though, deep down, he was terrified that her sudden mood change was due to the fact she didn't love him anymore. It was always the first thing he thought about, no matter how much he tried to work on it. But - years of mental training - he was going to cash that in.

He watched her, hoping she'd look back at him. When she didn't, he reached his fingertips towards hers. Her own hand responded instantly and their fingers tangled together.

"What happened...Did I do something wrong?" he opened with, reaching for any clues.

She kept her stare up the ceiling and chuckled. How cute it was, finding him so unaware.

"No. Lando, you're amazing. Annoyingly so, lately."

He took that as an invitation and shifted his body over so that they shared the same angle and joined her at the "staring at the ceiling" activity.

"I hope that is not the problem - I have hard time not being like that," he joked, hoping it would diffuse the tension a bit. The Lando she met a year ago would probably run away in a situation like this. Or maybe even ignored the obvious distress of his sex partner and let he blow him to his release. But not the Lando of today.

Her lips curled into a small smile.

"Oh, if only all of us were like you," she couldn't help but comment sarcastically.

"You know that you're more than perfect to me, right?" There was no lightness to be detected in his tone. She shifted, a wave of uncomfortableness washing her over.

I may be, but not my family.

"Yes, but I need you to know...I need you to understand, that I truly love you and I am totally mesmerized by you. To me, you are perfect. Even when you irritate me to heavens," she admited, making sure to highlight the words of praise. Scared that if she didn't build enough foundation today, there will be nothing to stand on once the challenge comes tomorrow. She'd tried to warm him about the meeting, but it always seemed to go through his ears.

It was like she was speaking in riddles. "Why do you need me to understand that now?" he asked, eyes now fully glued at his girlfriend, searching for some clues.

She felt his eyes on her and out of nowhere felt very naked. "Because...." ...Words were hard.

"Go on, I'm not backing away from this," Lando insisted, trying to get them both on the same page.

A loud sigh. "We had such a great time with your family..."

It was like she was speaking in a language he was not yet fluent in. "Don't divert the conversation," he hissed, eyes on her like she was some sort of target.

"I'm not!" she gasped, almost offended.

Lando was still not following. "My family is basically in love with you, I have messages if you need proof."

"Yeah. And that's the problem," Y/N smirked bitterly.

He leaned closer to her. "I think we should look up a definition of the word problem..." he joked.

She was still burning holes in the ceiling with her look. "We missed the flight. It's another bullet to my mother’s gun." Stupid, stupid mistake.

"Who is she planning on shooting?" Lando asked softly.

"Us, I'm afraid." She finally met his look and the only emotion he was able to read in her eyes was concern.

If this relationship had taught Lando anything, it was that the hard way is sometimes the only way. So, he finally allowed himself to ask the one thing that had been on his mind for a while now. "Does she not like me?"

Deep down he was suspecting this might be one of the reasons why his girlfriend is acting sketchy. He just hoped it was something more trivial. "She's never met you," she whispered, as if she was defending him for something he hadn't yet committed. So far, there had been only one moment when her mom Facetimed her when he was right next to her. One greeting, awkward wave and a smile that was not reciprocated. He made up some excuse to leave them alone promptly after that, feeling like he was intruding on a private conversation.

"I wondered when you were going to tell me that," he remarked, ready to go full on. He was just now allowing the thought that his lover's parent might have been feeding her bitter doubts for some time now enter his brain.

The obvious change of Lando's expression made her stomach turn, kind of like drinking milk that's gone off does. But, they'd vowed to be fully honest with each other after their first big fight. Deep breath. "She um...It's not like you can say she is exactly on board with all of this,“ she gestured between them. 

And there it was. The confirmation he feared. He did his best to remain as calm as possible. "Don't worry, I figured, you sort of hinted at that few times before. And I'm planning on charming the hell out of her. After all, you do share genes. Some of my tricks gotta work on her." It was more of a plea, lacking his general playful confidence. When she studied his look, it reminded her of the times when he was hiding his real emotions in front of hungry reporters.

He told her once he wanted her to be blunt, rather than deceptive in difficult times. The words started to leave her mouth without much of a filter. "But, what if it does not work. She has this habit of making her mind up before I have any chance to affect it."

Somehow, the fact she voiced it, made it easier for him to react. "Honey, don't take this the wrong way. But, I only care about your opinion. It would be great to have your mom on our side...However, I'd like to believe it's not the base of our relationship."

"No, it's not," she said quickly, silently hoping it was going to be enough for them to survive this challenge.

"So, tell me. What does she think about me?" he asked, suddenly craving to know it all.

She bit her lip. "Lando, don't make me say things like that."

Wow. That bad. "I'm used to getting hate from thousands of people who don't know me. I can cope. The more specifics I know, the better I can prepare...Come on, spill it," he countered, trying to convince her that he can handle it. However, it wasn't like he himself was completely sure of that. Her face was expressionless and he nodded to confirm it nonverbally.

"She thinks you're reckless," she spoke slowly, skipping few heartbeats. She was used to being on the other side, praising Lando when he doubted himself. This place, where she found herself at, was not one she liked.

He analysed it for a moment. "Well, I do get into a car every week to purposefully drive it as fast as possible, so I can she from which angle she might be coming from. Nothing new."

"You're a party boy," she shot back faster than she could think.

And he shot right back at her. "You're a party girl, but I assume your mom has no idea, huh."

"No...," she admitted. For some reason, this calmed her down a bit. She finally took another breath.

"What else," Lando's stared at her, following his internal feeling they hadn't arrived to the end yet.

No point in holding back now, she figured. There was a weird ball of tension in her chest, almost asking daring her to push him to the limit. "She googled you. A lot. And she made sure to tell me names of all your model exes. Then proceeded to tell me I look nothing like that," Y/N deadpanned.

Lando knew this was probably the one thing that stung her the most. But, the thought of someone she held so dearly voicing it her was making him extremely angry. "That's just fucked up-"

She continued, before he had any chance to react more.

"And, she thinks you'll affect my school. That the lifestyle around you is shallow and only attracts bonehead people."

Now, this was finally getting to Lando. Of course, he could not let Y/N know that, not in this moment.

"Do you think that too?" he asked, because he craved to know the truth. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the world around felt silent and his mind had time to roam freely, he found himself thinking about this. He never really studied and was never going to. His life was based on different approach. He loved it. But that didn't stop him from feeling a bit inferior from time to time.

He expected anything, but a laugh. For a moment he figured she was mocking him. Only once she reached to touch his face he realized just how still and stiff he became throuout out their conversation.

"I think it's shallow and bonehead to assume that. I've met some amazing people in your team, smart people who have dedicated their lives into the sport I'd grown to love while watching get so passionate about it."

There was an unspoken question hanging in the air. Lando dared not to say it outloud.

"And, no. I don't think you deserve to be called any of those words. Only when you're looking in the mirror, because that smug face deserves to be punched one day."

He chuckled. It would take him few moment to truly let her words sink in. "You didn't seem to think that one time in Abu Dhabi." That time when he fucked over a bathroom sink and made sure that she watched them the whole time. Lando watched with joy as her face started getting some color again. He couldn't fight his urge to get closer to his partner, break the tension even further. So, he rolled over to bury his nose in her neck. It was almost automatic at this point. None of his previous girlfriends were this understanding of his overly touchy needs. Words were important, but they grew more on meaning when he could feel her skin, explore her light shiver, watch how her body reacted. When he felt her pushing towards his touch, he swung his arm over her, with the notion of providing some heat to her naked chest.

A more comfortable silence fell upon the hotel room. Both of them lost in their own thoughts. Lando was taking in all of the newly found information. It was a heavy burden, not because of the substance, but because it was coming from someone Y/N held dearly. It was hard not to feel a little injustice of it all. But more than that, he was grateful that she was able to avoid internalizing all of that what was fed to her from her mom. He approached all of this as he would any strategy meeting before a difficult race. Find the strengths, capitalize on them and try to minimize the advantage "the opponent" might have. But truth be told, he'd rather not have to have this sort of competition.

"Thank you," he whispered into the crease of her neck. "Thank you for not giving into it all." He hoped, prayed, that was he as saying was true. It was not just about her mom. It was the press, some of the overbearing fans and anyone who dared to challenge them without having any real insight in their relationship. "I know it must be really hard and not exactly what you might have signed up for."

What did I sign up for? 

She reached over to embrace him, mindlessly drawing circles on his back. The pit inside her stomach was growing smaller. Without really intending to, signed up for a partnership, exciting love affair that got out of hand. Anyone who came before him was redundant. He outshined everyone. 

"I’m pretty sure I must have bribed faith in my past life to have you thrown in my life." 

"Aren’t you my little smart poetic girl," he murmured approvingly and started to cover her skin with kisses. Few moments flew by. "We could order some food, put on the show you like and drift away. How does that sound?" 

She understood his intention. It had been a long day and another one was coming. Her emotions were clashing from one end to another and as much as she tried to hide it all, Lando was proving to be hard to fool. And no - she did not want to chill in. Burning all of it out sounded more fun. To be held for a moment, stuck in the timelessness only lightheaded orgasm created. 

He was still trailing her neck with small pecks, arm locking her in. The untamed curls almost tickling like small feathers. Everything was heightened, as if his skin was loudly calling her in. His words of initiating a calm wind down not matching his action. 

"Please, no more of this PG fun. It’s been days."

He stopped all of his movements. "Well then, pray tell, what do you have on mind?"

The next words flew out of her mouth before she could filter them. "Are you in the mood to fuck me?"

"Am I in the mood to fuck you," he repeated, in his signature sarcasm dripping style. He was having trouble processing how his sexual partner could ever arrive to this question. Unsure whether to address her clumsy dirty talk first instead of the absurdity of the question, he arrived at a simple "Charming…".  Of course he was in the mood. Always, anytime and quite literally anywhere.

"Well it's just, it's been quite a tense talk..." she hinted back carefully. To her surprise, his face went into smirk mode. 

"I will ask you the same thing next time you're hyperventilating about school and you come in begging for stress release," he jested, once again making her eyebrows shooting up. 

"I am never begging," she defended, unwilling to give into his narrative. 

And then he shot back, with his signature you-don’t-have-any-chance-to-resist look. "I said what I said."

Blood ran boiling in her veins. If oil had been in such abundance as his audacity, the world would be able to run cars freely for centuries. "Tell me one example of me begging for sex with you."

Lando turned his head slowly. Oh. Oh, it was on.

Very quickly she realized her own mistake. She ran into that one like a fool. "No, Lando, don't-"

"You know, it has been indeed quite a long day, I think I'm gonna hop in the shower and get a healthy dose of beauty sleep," he declared dramatically, sat up and removed his t-shirt. She rolled her eyes as high as humanly possible. No way would follow through with this premise. "Fine, Lando. I’ll be here, munching on strawberries, naked and horny, all by myself," she tried to tease and leaned over to grab one of the bright red fruits from the trail. Eyes locked in with him as she shamelessly sucked on it. There was a glitch and a twinkle in his look. Almost got her thinking she had this one in the bag. He stepped closer, noses almost touching as he whispered: "Have fun, honey," gave her a little peck on the cheeks while having the nerve to grab her exposed breast. His tone was teasing, daring her to dare a little more. It was annoying in a typical Lando fashion.

"Lando, you gotta be kidding me right now," she sighed, impatience getting the better of her. 

"Few magic words and you get exactly what you want from your reckless racer fuck boy,“ he mocked everyone who ever doubted them. "Oh, sorry, forgot to add, very good at taking your edge off. Am I right?"

His presence was more intoxicating than usual. As if he radiated some hormones making her feral. All the complicated emotions leaving the conversation one by one. Nothing but the two of them left in the room. His hot breath on her cheek, fingers circling over her nipple and his body heat reminding her of each time she wrapped her arms around him as he pushed into her. 

"Yes, that you are," she responded mindlessly and searched for his lips with her own. He allowed her a small peck, like a chef would at a tasting menu. Enough to hook, but not enough to fill up. And with that thought in mind he broke their kiss. "Come on, say it. I want to hear it."

Few moments of silence, her breathing heavy and his almost undetectable. Two ego’s fighting a battle so pointless it was almost amusing. She couldn’t just give in like that, no matter how dizzy her head was getting. 

"Fine by me, honey. Your choice," he danced away, letting her hanging. There was something infuriating about how nonchalantly and elegantly he smiled, knowing well enough her was winning this battle. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as to prevent herself from watching his tone back. 

This. This was her Lando. Always pushing her into a direction she had no idea she wanted or needed to go. Never the same thing twice, somehow, he always dug up something new. 

She sat on the bed, dumbfounded, playful anger replacing all the anxiety she had felt just moments ago. Was this his plan all along, or did he just have a natural talent at steering her mood into a place where she’d happily go and give into anything he’d suggest her to do?

He was grinning all the way coming to the shower. It was a statement, a game and something to ease the tension. Once the water started, he’d allowed himself do a light check-in with his own feelings. It wasn’t easy to hear all those things. In fact, some of them hit a little close to home. Lando made sure to separate what he had heard from Y/N as a person. She wasn’t the author of these thoughts. Someone else was. A person who he had not yet even met. There wasn’t a single cell in him that would doubt that everything she stared had been said by her mother at some point. 

He closed his eyes and aimed his face directly under the shower head. Images of him and Y/N all coupled up at his family house started to come in, like a set of developed photos. So natural, calming and most of all - honest. Comfort memories he knew he’d be reaching for once the new season and it’s challenges catch up, when the distance and loneliness hit. But at that moment, there she was, right next door and probably still a bit fired up by his uncharacteristic postponing of sex. His hand slid over to his crotch, squeezing himself casually and switching up the mental images to less family-friendly moments. He was sort of expecting her to come and join him in the shower. But no, of course not. Not when he set her up like that. They were all too similar for their own good.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, towel purposefully hanging dangerously low, he couldn’t stop himself from simpering. Once he got a look at her, sitting under the covers, phone in her hand and too stingy to pass him more than two looks. But, she did come for the second one and that betrayed her, aiming directly to where his tower barely covered his waist. 

To prove his point, he shuffled his wet hair, sudden movement making her glance once again. It felt really addictive to know he was the centre of her attention, despite how much she tried to hide it. 

Smugness and water dripping from him, he landed shamelessly on the bed, towel giving up on trying to participate. Her reaction was to frown, making her pet peeve of people getting into the bed wet known, once again. Something Lando became aware very early on. He used this information only when the situation required it. No words were said, as he leaned over her, making sure to leave some remaining water drops on her, and grabbed a moisturizer. 

Then he proceeded to slowly plump it and rub it on his body. The unreasonably loud sounds of him doing that were cutting the silence of the room like a knife. 

His partner sitting next to him hummed quietly. "Whatever this is, it’s not working."

He replied, elegant as ever. "I don’t know what you’re insinuating." He pretended to be as focused on his activity, the same way as he did when doing PR bullshit. "Ah, honey. Would you be so kind and help me reach to my back?" Lando asked overly nicely. Y/N watched him, almost admiring just how bad his acting skills were and how he proceeded with his act without any remorse. He was reaching over to his back, unable to do so, and making it look like the biggest tragedy human kind has ever experienced. And with puppy eyes, he decided to go for a low blow. 

"Please, baby," he said in a tone so insincere it wouldn’t fool a child. This was yet another provocation. 

"You know it irks me when you’re wet in the bed."

He let out a chuckle. She was so bad at keeping herself in check. It was adorable. She just sat there, pretending to be scrolling Instagram, little lines around her eyes forming from how tense her eyebrows frowned. "I do. And we seriously have to get your accidental innuendos under control. Can’t have you walking in public saying these things." He wiggled the moisturizer in front of her face. 

Finally, she snapped. "You are the most annoying and immature guy I’ve ever met. You’re impossible." Lando looked at her, like one would at an angry puppy that’s trying to jump a little too high. 

"One would almost say a miracle, huh."

Once again, he shook his bottle of moisturizer. Having had enough, she snatched it from his hands and put it back on the nightstand.  "It’s a miracle I haven’t killed you yet."

Without missing a beat, he shot back. "And how will we celebrate?"

She let out a sigh so loud the people in the next room must have heard it. Sitting there, not knowing what do with her hands anymore. He wished they were pulling his hair. 

"Are you seriously gonna make me say it."

He simply nodded, arching himself up. If her mind had been clouded before, it was now full on can't-see-further-than-my-nose type of situation.

He leaned over even closer, getting up all over in her personal space. As if that was even a thing anymore. 

Somehow, for some reason he would have yet unpack, his heart was beating like crazy. Say it. 

Accepting that he won what ever this was, she gulped and finally whispered. "Please."

He gave her a questioning look, as if he didn’t hear her. "Hm? Sorry?"

Still debating whether she should smack him or not, she repeated herself. "Please."

"What, do you want me to put the cream on you too? Hydration is important for the skin,“ he teased, enjoying himself immensely. 

"Lando."

"Y/N."

If he were to be completely honest, he was extremely proud of himself to withholding this long. Also, not sure how longer he could go on, given the fact his erection has entered the chat. 

To make it more complicated, she sat up and put her mouth almost onto his. He could smell her aroused energy. Almost taste her on his mouth. And that as even before she licked his lips lightly with her tongue.

"Say it," he mumbled, unable to make it not sound like a plea. 

It was different than what they’d usually do. Many couples dabbled in talking during sex, they never really did. Then something hit her. Like a secret wavelength he was sending her way. Maybe he needed her to talk today. So, finally, she broke in. 

"Lando, please, fuck me.“ 

All those times, he waited for the five red lights to go out only for him to smash the pedal, paid off. Like opening windows in a stale room, he let the fresh air in. Ripped the duvet covering her off, he grabbed her legs to pull her into a laying down position, not even giving her time to gasp. His moves were quick and oh-so-sure of himself. 

"Tell me what you need, love,“ he ordered, while he traced the line of her neck with his tongue. 

He wasn’t certain if she was finding the idea of talking as hot as he did. But he sure as hell hoped. It wasn’t like he needed any guidance at that point. Had every inch of her body mapped out already. But he longed to hear it from her mouth. Towering over her, he nibbled on her neck, one hand running through her hair and the other squeezing her hips, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. 

He noticed she stopped her breathing and locked him with her arms, holding on for dear life. 

"You, I need you, Lando,“ she let out, suddenly all uncertain and shy. It was the vulnerability in her tone that got him. He moved his lips a little lower, so that he could leave a mark on her collarbone, without fearing she’d regret it tomorrow. 

His body was moving on its own. Brushing on her upper thigh, opening her legs up and positioning himself between her. All the blood left his brain. 

"I want you to touch me. I want to walk with marks made from you in public, a secret only you will know.“ 

He was only now realizing how good of a fuel this was for him. Lightheaded, he folded her legs and pushed them to her stomach, making as small as possible. So that she would be completely in his control. 

To grand her wished, he left one mark just below he collarbone and moved to leave a second one on her breast. She let out a heavy breath. 

"Lando, please. I need you inside.“ 

He was almost getting too dizzy not to comply immediately. His erection throbbing into her leg. 

Then, out of nowhere, he flipped them both. 

"Get over me, baby,“ he hummed and positioned himself on his back. She gave him a questioning look and knelt above his dick. 

But he shook his head and grabbed her hips once again. "Up here.“ 

His hungry look must have encouraged her, so she moved until he stopped her, ending up directly above his mouth. "Sit down.“ 

His statement was followed by his strong hands literally pushing her down on his mouth. 

Eyes finally locked again, he smirked for the last time, before he buried his mouth in her. 

Lando wished he knew what he looked like from her perspective. Squished between her, licking and sucking, letting her move in the exact way how she wished. He felt her legs tense up with each move his tongue made. This all got even more intense when he squeezed her nipple between his fingers. 

He twirled his tongue through her folds, circled around the clit, which had her melt. 

"More,“ she demanded and positioned herself so that he could only access. 

Saliva and her juices were mixing in his mouth, the smell of her arousal hitting his nose and making him high. 

He upped his pace and went for the moves he already knew from the past would work. Watching her crumble, barely being able to keep herself up, to the point where she had to balance herself against the wall, was probably becoming his definition of heaven. His tongue moved in a fixed rhythm, exploring every possible place she had to offer. 

"Lando..." she moaned, completely lost due to the moves his tongue was making. 

He felt the urge to stop and take a breath, because judging by the slight movements of her thighs, she was getting close. 

And only moments later, her first release came. Wetter than ever, she held on dearly and with one high pitched sigh, she collapsed almost completely. He had to stop her from crushing his face. 

"Sorry," she let out mindlessly, unable to give him more reaction. 

Amused, he helped her back down and rolled her over on her back. 

Wasting no time, Lando pushed two fingers in her immediately, not giving her any time to calm down or rest. 

Wondering in which dimension he managed to send her off to, he watched, as she squeezed her eyes shut with every little twist her made. As her moans target to get intense again, he shut her off with a kiss. His tongue matching the movements of his fingers. He waited patiently, before he felt like she was getting lost in the same haze as bare minutes ago, only to remove his fingers and stop kissing her out of a sudden. 

Confusion and mild anger washed over her. 

"What-"

"I can’t hear you, baby," he teased and hovered his wet fingers above her mouth. "What was it that you wanted from me? Must have slipped my mind."

The look of pure desperation she gave him was the hottest shit he’d ever seen. 

"Lando…"

"Let’s made a deal, sunshine," he proclaimed and slowly shoved his wet fingers into her mouth. Like the good girl she was, she sucked on them without hesitation. „I’ll stop anything we’re doing, the moment you shut up. Ok?“

They were so close to each other with every possible body part. But it was not enough. It would never be enough. She nodded and he pulled his fingers out, slowly. 

"Deal, Norris."

A lightning shot through his body and nearly split him in half. She never used his last name before, ever. Why was that, out of all the things, doing it for him. She must have picked up on his momentary relapse and gained more confidence with that. "Stop fucking around, I want you inside. Now.“ 

He was already almost touching her entrance with his dick. Eye locked, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. 

"Please,“ she said, loud and proud, making it sound like a demand.

When he finally pushed into her, it was like anything else stopped existing. He belonged there and nothing else mattered. 

"Oh my God, yes,“ she whined, keeping up at her promise. "This is the best shit ever.“ 

Lando’s autopilot kicked in as the last braincell was truly gone. He started to move in a steady beat, finding it incredibly hard to keep himself from literally pounding into her immediately. 

„Faster,“ she encouraged as she held his shoulder with her other hand, to help her find balance. 

Lando was lost, in the best way possible. In her body, in his mind, in the fact that having sex was something completely different when you absolutely adored the person you’d be lying on top of. The built up energy finally finding its release, after days of dancing around. With each thrust, he lost touch with reality more. Only pure pleasure and reminiscence of her voice finding their way in. 

"Oh, God, baby." "Yes." "I need you." "It’s only you." "Shit, you’re so good."

Lando figured a long time ago that, for the lack of better comparison, their bodies must have been made for each other. Different shapes fitting perfectly into each other. They shared their sense of rhythm. It was never too short or too long. She scratched the itch before he got the chance to mention he had one. Lando felt almost sad for anyone who did not get to experience that. 

Somehow, their sex got better every time. 

He missed when she came for the second time, as he was too lost in his own release. His thrusts got more uneven, his body completely arched and then finally - like the slap in the face, pure bliss washed over him. He felt it in what seemed like every muscle, every strain of hair and in every inch of his lower stomach, spreading like nice hot drink in the middle of winter. All was good. There were no problems, only good things. She was perfect. 

He had a hard time recalling what were the exact words they’d share right after he came. The haze started to clear few moments after, when he found himself next to her, puddle of his cum in the middle of her stomach, noses touching each other and light kisses being left like little presents. 

As the heavy breaths grew lighter, he returned back to Earth.

"All good, baby?“ he asked, the sweetness in his tone coming naturally. Searched for any sign of discomfort in her face. He had hoped that she got exactly the kind of release she deserved. 

And many signs pointed towards that. The smile of her disbelief, red flushed face, sensitive skin that reacted to each light touch as if it was a strong grip. 

"I, um. Yes. More than good. Thank you.“ Most people would barely understand with they way she mumbled.

He chuckled. "You don’t have to thank me, ever.“ 

"I was taught that after every please comes a thank you, so pick you battle. All or nothing," she shot back, teasing as ever.

He didn't have to think much before replying. "Well, all of that then.“ 

She nudged him with her nose. "You seemed to enjoy me begging. Though begging might be a strong word. I would never do that." 

Even though she said it in a light tone, he knew it was intended seriously. "Maybe I just really needed to hear it today. That you want me. Need me.“ 

"What I love about this all is that we need each other. Both for different reasons, but that just makes it work even more.“ 

There was comfort in her answer. A realization, an answer to a question they never asked before. 

"I’ll be there for you tomorrow. We’ll crush it, as a team.“

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 5; ghoap x reader) masterlist

-

Give him blood and he’ll give you something new to chew on.

Except that isn’t the way it goes. Not this time at least.

He tries to talk Ghost out of it, but it falls on deaf ears. Blatantly ignored. The car barrels down the motorway under the cloak of night, a swell of stars overhead as the city falls farther behind. Radio shut off. Johnny thinks if Ghost had his way, the radio would’ve been pulled out entirely, just wires and an empty, black cavity in the dashboard, but it’s a rental. 

And no one wants to deal with the paperwork involved in damaging military property. Not even Ghost.

Ghost won’t so much as glance over at him. Unaffected as ever, as if they didn’t just fuck. Johnny’s stomach hurts when he thinks about it. Even without her knowing, he’s broken his girl’s trust. Not for the first time; maybe not even the last. His guilt echoes not only that he let Ghost make him come, but that he liked it—that the buzz in his bones says do it again, please god, again, please let me come, I need to come, touch me, please—

He thinks about his girl, then turns to Ghost again.

In the pit of his stomach, Johnny knows this is wrong. In his rational mind, he knows it. If he were in a better place, he wants to think that he’d make a real attempt to change Ghost’s mind, maybe get him to turn around at the next gas station, but he can’t deny the excitement bubbling in his belly at the prospect of seeing his girl again after a week of nothing. 

The silence has been eating away at him. Bits of his brain flaking away, moth-eaten. Checking his phone again and again to no new messages, getting the same voicemail message whenever he calls. Something flutters high in his chest, an itch he can’t scratch; it tells him to take off in the middle of the night, drive all the way back home and pound on her door until she’s forced to answer it, forced to talk to him face to face.

Again and again, he tries looking at it from her perspective—tries to empathize with her. What he would’ve done in her shoes had she allowed a coworker to grab his dick in front of a crowd of strangers. It’s more than fair, he thinks. His own shame leaks out of his pores in the middle of the night, sleeping on top of the covers because he sweats right through the sheets. 

And yet, he keeps butting up against his own anger. Talk it out with me, yell at me, he growls into her voicemail, anger growing as the days pass one by one. 

It’s the road that alerts him to their arrival into the city more than anything. More cracks in the asphalt, the car rattling over sewer depressions and potholes in a way that says home sweet home. Usually it’s a source of comfort, like seeing the silver lining on grey clouds or the iridescence in an oil spill, purples and greens catching the light. Not now. Now the road winds like descending into the underworld, each turn coming with a sinking feeling. 

They park down the road from the flower shop, tucked just out of sight. A cool breeze wafts over his hot face when he steps out of the car. It nearly rocks him back. When he glances up, his heart stutters at the sight of her bedroom window, sealed tight now. Only cracked open during their sleepovers, when Johnny runs a bit too hot at night for them to sleep comfortably with the window closed. 

“Should I…do ye want me to give her a call to wake her up?” Johnny asks tentatively, shutting the car door softly so as not to make a noise. 

Ghost shakes his head. “We’ll let ourselves in.”

Johnny’s picked hundreds of locks in his time; he’s jimmied open doors with crowbars, set up explosive charges, used a good old fashioned ram from time to time—no stranger to the trade—but it feels decidedly uncomfortable with Ghost at his back, staring down at him as he breaks into his own girlfriend’s apartment. 

“This is a bad idea,” he grumbles, turning the pick in the lock until he hears a familiar click inside. 

Ghost doesn’t answer, just raps his knuckles against the back of Johnny’s head. A silent get a move on. 

Her apartment looks the same but different when they enter it. His muscles remember the layout though. The pink couch in the living room with two dimpled pillows on either side, the footstool by the door, the stand with her shoes all piled in neat little rows, the vase on her kitchen island with a fresh new bundle of flowers, fragrant when he dips his head to take a whiff. He’s loved flowers ever since meeting his girl. 

Ghost doesn’t try to muffle his footsteps for once. He rummages through her cabinets and drawers with all the finesse of a first time burglar looking to get caught. It smacks of intentionality. Johnny’s worked with him too many times in the field to know that if Ghost wanted to disappear into the darkness, he would. He’d be the thing creeping silently through the shadows, tread lighter than air, close enough to touch but never see. 

So it’s more than deliberate when he noisily shuts a drawer. Baiting her out. 

It’s no surprise when Johnny hears her creep around the corner from out of her bedroom. He’s tucked in the shadows of the living room, just out of the light, so he sees her first when she comes silently down the hall, whole body trembling with fear, the bat she keeps beside her bed drawn over a shoulder. Even her hands shake around the grip.

Of course she yelps when Johnny says her name, stepping out of the shadows, swinging wild. He winces when the bat smashes into a lamp, shattering it on impact. 

“Fuck!” she screams, scurrying backwards into the wall behind her. Several framed pictures rattle against the wall, nearly knocked off their hooks. 

“Noisy, isn’t she?” Ghost grumbles from the kitchen, tossing a bored glance over, unbothered by the commotion. He undoubtedly heard her creeping down the hall as well. 

“What the fuck?” she gasps, chest heaving when she breathes. Her eyes dart from Johnny to Ghost’s massive form in the other room. Poor nervous thing. She must recognize Johnny’s voice saying her name even through the panic because her lips droop in a frown, more confused than petrified.

“Hen, it’s jus’ us—nothing to worry about,” Johnny coos, hands stretched out in front of him to show he means no harm. 

It gets her to lower the bat, but only just, the slightest dip that has him darting forward to pry it gently from her hands. The ceramic shards on the floor will have to be swept up later, but he’s relieved that at least she didn’t step on any of them. 

Up close, she’s just as pretty as he remembers. Pretty as pie. How could she not be? In the glow of youth still, not like it's been a decade since they last spoke face to face—only a little over a week. A sight for sore eyes, even though Johnny’s narrow when he stares down at her and thinks about the week of his texts and calls going unanswered. His jaw undulates, rage held back by the thin thread of her scent that wafts under his nose, making him lean into her. 

Breathe in and out. 

“Us?” she repeats, brow furrowing.

She glances over at Ghost again, the man still ambling around the kitchen, at home in her little one bedroom apartment like he visits her frequently. Like it’s his as well. 

“Aye…Ghost wanted to come—Simon wanted to apologize…for the other day,” Johnny explains. 

“You broke into my apartment in the middle of the night…so Simon could apologize for sexually harassing me?” she says, the disbelief smacking in her words. 

“Hen, it's no' nice to say it like that—” 

“No time like the present,” Ghost says, not ashamed in the slightest. “Heard you weren’t taking Johnny’s calls. Might not’ve had to do this if you’d picked up.” 

Johnny doesn’t believe a word of that, but there’s no reason to call him out on it now. 

He can see her wrestle with a trifecta of emotions competing for first place. Anger, embarrassment, and then, a smidge of worry holding up the rear. Aware of the fact that she woke up to two grown men, one practically a stranger, breaking into her apartment under the guise of having a conversation. His heart aches at the thought. The lion’s share of the blame rests with him, but still it’s her that suffers for it. 

“You…you shouldn’t be here,” she rasps, flinching when Johnny lays a hand on her waist, towering over where she’s still cowered against the wall. Bat gone now, defenceless. Her pupils narrow to a pinprick. He almost tuts, poor thing. Scared out of her wits. 

It feels so good to touch her though. Soft and yielding. 

“‘Was Simon’s idea, hen, but, ah—” his breathing picks up when his fingers tighten on her waist and she squirms “—I was goin’ crazy thinkin’ ye were pissed for what happened last week. Couldnae get a wink of sleep—kept closin’ my eyes and seein’ your face. Nearly broke me.”

“I am pissed at you,” she snaps, temper getting the better of her.

“I ken, I ken,” Johnny coos, ducking his head until his lips graze her temple. “Simon’s sorry—we came all the way here so he could tell ye to your face, but fuck, hen, I’m sorry too—shoulda said something instead of standin’ there like a fuckin’ dolt—”

“You should’ve,” she interrupts, still fuming mad, an iceberg melting right in front of them. It makes his cock pulse.

“—Aye, hen, I’ve no excuse, none at all. Shoulda told Simon to fuck off and keep his hands to himself—”

“Careful, Johnny,” Ghost says warningly, finally stepping into the living room. He fills out the archway imposingly, almost forced to twist his body on an angle to step in. 

Her eyes cut over to Ghost, narrowing, lips pursing. Johnny’s heart jumps in his chest. It’s one thing to see his girl again in the flesh, but to see her all righteous and on the verge of an argument—he could bend her over the back of the couch now, sink into the plush, delicate folds of her pussy, reacquaint himself with deep, languid thrusts. Heaven after not getting his cock wet in a week.

He flinches when he thinks about the last person to touch his dick. 

“So you’re sorry?” she says to Ghost, her disbelief clear. Difficult to see why she wouldn’t find it hard to believe that the man that shamelessly grabbed her ass in broad daylight in front of a group of his colleagues and her boyfriend would now choose to apologize. 

Johnny knows the answer is no when he sees the way Ghost’s eyes rove over her body, taking stock of her little cotton pajamas and her bare feet curling against the cold floor. Ghost tilts his head to the side, eyes travelling back up to meet hers. “Sure I am, bird. Don’t I look sorry?”

Neither of them answer that. Arguing with Ghost feels different, like inviting in danger. Moving too suddenly in front of a hungry dog, jowls loose and salivating for a bite. 

He takes a step closer. “Complete pillock, wasn’t I? And now Johnny’s getting the silent treatment ‘cause of it. Just couldn’t bear another second of him moping around base on the verge of tears.” 

Johnny frowns at that. His girl frowns too, but there’s something more to it. He wouldn’t blame her for not accepting Simon’s apology, if he could even call it that—nothing about it rings sincere, more like words spoken softly to call a kitty over—but questioning it feels worse somehow. Like detonating a bomb at two thousand feet above ground. 

“…Okay,” she says instead, voice trembling a little. “Apology accepted. You guys can go home now.”

“Bird’s forgiving, huh, Johnny?” 

Johnny preens despite himself. “Aye. She’s a good girl, Lt. Told ye so.”

Ghost nods. “That’s right. A good girl who’s gonna let us make it up to her ‘til we have to report back in forty-eight hours.”

“Wait, you can’t—” she starts, then cuts herself off when Ghost’s eyes flash.

He can’t help the way he shudders at the helpless look on her face. Downturned eyebrows, pretty lips slack with disbelief, just the slightest hint of a whine building in her throat that dies when it dawns on her that nothing short of calling the cops will make the two of them leave. 

And she’s a good girl—would never call the cops on him. His perfect girl. Sweet as pie. 

Johnny falls in love a little bit more when she presses her squeezed fists against her eyes and exhales. “Fine. I’m too—I’m going back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Ghost doesn’t react to her acceptance. It’s taken as a simple fact of nature—he says something and it happens. He speaks the world into being. 

“I’ll take the couch,” he grunts, finally sitting down to unlace his boots. He looks comically large on her little couch—it’s more than likely that his feet will hang off the end, if not everything from the knee down. 

Johnny already figured as much. No point in them driving all the way back to base when they both have the next two days off duty and there’s a perfectly serviceable couch for Ghost and the other half of her bed for him. He thought they’d have to convince her a bit more or strong arm her into it (a putrid thought; he’d rather have sweet talked her into the idea), but his girl always manages to surprise him in the best way. 

On that thought, he looks over his shoulder towards the bedroom door, cock throbbing again at the thought of getting to hold his girl’s body against his. Touch starved dog. Mangy mutt, tongue lolling out at even the possibility of a pet. 

Ghost must notice the object of his gaze because he sets him straight. “You can take the floor, Johnny.” 

His tone brooks no argument. When Johnny whirls around, the words already on his tongue, she’s my girl, I’ve already slept in that bed ten times over, the sight of Ghost’s bare face, the mask now off, dangling in his hand like some scrap of fabric, makes him lose his train of thought. It’s not often he’s granted the luxury of seeing Ghost’s face—wide, clean shaven jaw, buzzed blond hair, old burn marks like a half-moon around his eye, nasty old scar slicing through his lips—and to see it now, here, makes something in him give. 

Saturnine man with a wolf’s appetite. Ravenous. 

It burns him that his girl looks slightly relieved at having the bed to herself. Irks him. Makes his jaw clench on a mean remark, half tempted to spit out something cross. Just because things have gotten complicated, now he’s not welcome in her bed? After the week he’s spent toiling, trying to make amends? Pleading desperately over the phone, stewing in guilt and heartache—Johnny knows she’s a good girl, but if he finds out that she’s replaced him with someone else in the week since they last saw each other—

Even the thought makes him see red.

He watches her as she turns around to retreat back to bed, more than a little displeased. 

“Give Johnny a little kiss before bed, why don’t you, bird?” Ghost lightly suggests. Not a suggestion. 

She freezes mid-turn. His expression dares her to put up a fuss. Johnny again nearly clucks his tongue, troubled on her behalf. Her spitfire nature is snuffed out easily under that stare. Grown men with experience in the field wither under Ghost’s stare. It’s no weakness of hers that she acquiesces time and again to his demands, glancing up at Johnny from under her eyelashes before shuffling over, pressing the lightest of kisses to his cheek. 

“Better than that,” Ghost grunts, unimpressed. 

His poor darling. Humiliated now. No skin off his back though. Johnny’s heart pumps double time when she presses her lips to his; soft petals that spread when he slips his tongue into her mouth, too eager after a week of nothing. Touch starved. Desperate to sink into her, lap his tongue over her lips and the roof of her mouth and press her jaw open to spit messily in her mouth. Take it, hen, every piece of me.

She rips her lips from his and dances away when he tries to get his hands on her, eyes wide, casting one last glance over at Ghost before hightailing it back to her room. 

He barely resists going after her. Only Ghost’s stare roots him in place; his voice in Johnny’s head that rumbles, heel. I’ll tell you when to go.

He still doesn’t know what it says about him that he angles himself towards it. Bows his head to it. Moth to a flame that shocks him to the bone when he touches it.

Ghost tosses him the second pillow from the other end of the couch and takes the only blanket for himself. No matter. Johnny’s bivouacked on snowy cliff sides, chilblains blistering his toes for weeks; nights spent camped in torrential downpours, his tent on the verge of collapsing; windswept baysides chilling him to the bone. He can handle a pillow on a hardwood floor. 

The ebb and flux of an ocean in his ear, and then Ghost’s voice from the couch: “I’ll take first watch.”

Whole body falling loose as if snipping a cord tethering him to the world. 

“I’ll clean up the lamp in the morning,” he mumbles, vision already blurring. Ghost hums low in his throat.

He falls asleep with Ghost’s voice in his head, his girl’s taste still in his mouth.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Captured.

A Continuation of This Piece.

Pairing: Yandere!Geto x Reader x Yandere!Gojo (JJK).

Word Count: 3.3k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Dub/Con -> Non/Con, Implied Kidnapping, Oral Sex, Threesomes, The Pervasive Aire of Homoerotica, Slight Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Violence, Intimidation, and Biting. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

He let you wait outside while he booked a room. It was a test, obviously – to see if you’d try and run as soon as he let you out of his sight. You didn’t. You kept your back pressed against the peeling cement wall and your hands in your pockets as the man at the front desk screamed, as you listened to the slick sounds of carnage and Geto’s muffled laughter. By the time he came out, his clothes dotted with dark stains and his hands lathered in the same dripping scarlet, you thought you might’ve been too sick for whatever he wanted to do with you.

He held up a hand, two keys and their accompanying plastic tags hanging from each finger. “Pick a number, one through ten.”

You just wanted to get this over with. Then, you wouldn’t have to worry about monsters or mysterious men or any of this ever again. “Eight.”

“Oh, the honeymoon suite.” Your eyes widened, and he cocked his head to the side. “Kidding, kidding. That’ll have to wait, for now.”

The room was nicer than you’d expected. Not quite the oppressively beige monstrosity you’d feared, but not as far from the eye-bleedingly pink love hotel that’d be the permanent backdrop in your worst nightmares as you would’ve liked. Currently, you were sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed with faux-velvet sheets, staring at your feet as Geto washed his hands in the in-suite bathroom. So lost in your own spiraling thoughts, you didn’t notice the water shutting off, didn’t hear him approaching you until the mattress dipped at your side and a pair of hands came to rest on either side of your waist. In one smooth, effortless motion, you were hauled into his lap, left to balance on his thigh as his eyes raked over you unabashedly. “You should try to relax. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were afraid of me.” His hand fell to the hem of your sweater. You’d gotten dressed in a blind panic after waking up to an apartment crawling with those awful things, but now, you regretted not throwing on as many layers as you could, not putting as many barriers as you could between yourself and the feeling of his calloused fingers skirting over your skin. “I can help take the edge off, if you’d like.”

For the first time that day, you felt a spark of relief. “Do you have anything? I’m alright with pills.”

“I was thinking something more along the lines of…” His hand splayed over your stomach, his tone laced with a dark edge. “Choking you until you black-out, then having my way with your helpless body?”

“Oh.” Just as quickly, that spark was extinguished – crushed under an unforgiving heel and stamped into total nonexistence. “I… I think I’d rather be awake, thank you.”

He hummed, tapping two fingers against your hip. “Have it your way, little one.”

Without warning, you were thrown onto the center of the bed. Before you could haul yourself up, before you could fully realize what was going on, Geto was between your open legs, mouth latched onto the inside of your thigh and his hands tearing at your shorts. The flimsy material gave away easily, and your panties didn’t last much longer. You took back what you’d said about wearing less revealing clothes; making this take any longer than it already did would’ve been torture. As deftly as he worked, the knot of dread forming in your chest was faster, quickly overshadowing every rational thought you might’ve had in favor of telling you that you weren’t supposed to be here, that this was dangerous, that you didn’t know what was going on, that you—

His broad tongue laved over your now-exposed slit, and your panicked mind went completely blank. His mouth was hot, and he didn’t waste time, latching onto your clit and sucking before you could think to push him away. Your body, nerves fried by adrenaline and senses dialed up to the point of hypersensitivity, responded immediately, your back arching as you struggled to swallow back a fractured moan. He encouraged your reactions, laving over your clit as two of his fingers found their way to your now-dripping entrance.

His digits slipped into you without resistance, scissoring apart and splitting you open as your own hands balled around the sheets, as you locked your jaw into place and did what little you could swallow back any sounds that’d make you seem more pathetic than you already were. Your pitiful attempts at resistance earned a throaty chuckle that reverberated against your clit and made your thighs clench together. Vaguely, in the distance, you felt his hand curl around your ankle, then you were being bent in half, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he ate you out like a man starved. It was all you could do to keep your eyes shut, the tears that would’ve escaped otherwise safely locked away, to make sure you didn’t kick or thrash or do anything that’d make him decide you’d be more entertaining after you’d been half-mauled by one of his monsters. It was all you could do to keep your mind blank, to block out the terrible, wet noises rising up from between your thighs, to—

The door creaked as it swung open, and you scrambled to pull away from Geto, to cover yourself before someone saw you being brought to the brink of climax by a murderer. He held you in place, though, his grip turning vice-like as he kept you splayed-open and on-display for the familiar, white-haired stranger now standing in the doorway. “Satoru,” Geto started, still idly pumping his fingers into you. “How kind of you to join—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. You closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, Gojo had him pinned to the far wall, a small crater blown into the cement where the point of collision would’ve been. You could see an orb of blinding, blue light forming in his other hand, but Geto only clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Keep your dick in your pants, pervert,” he purred, eyes flitting to you. “There are innocents nearby.”

The orb of light disappeared, but Gojo didn’t move. “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”

You watched a first form at Geto’s side, watched in a daze as his knuckles collided with Gojo’s cheek with enough force to send him flying across the room and into the side of the bed, fracturing the steel frame. “Me neither, ‘toru.”

Letting out a ragged exhale, Gojo pushed himself to his feet and their conversation devolved into a rush of blows and kicks and insults half-finished before Gojo’s fist collided with Geto’s chin or Geto caught Gojo’s throat in his teeth. Clothes were torn, blood spilled across cheap carpeting, and you blinked once, twice, before shaking your head and hauling yourself up and taking stock of the situation.

They were fighting. Eventually, one of them would probably win, and that winner would probably want to fuck you. Maybe, after that, one of them would also help you. Maybe.

Gojo caught Geto’s hair in his fist and pulled. You could’ve sworn you heard Geto moan.

Okay. Alright. Yeah. No. Fuck this, actually.

Slowly, careful not to make a sound, you stood up and pulled your sweater down to cover your still dripping cunt before inching towards the door which was, surprisingly, still in one piece (it would dawn on you later that Geto must’ve left it unlatched, if not open, much to your delayed mortification). You could figure something else out. There were two other people who knew about your monsters, which meant there must’ve been at least one more. Gojo had been wearing a uniform, when you first met him, running for your life from the mangled mess of teeth and claws that’d managed to sink its talons into you, and you thought you’d heard him mention a school. You could find someone else, someone who wouldn’t ask for sex, someone who wouldn’t know your name before you introduced yourself, someone who’d give you a protective charm or a talisman and then demand for money or unpaid labor in return. You could—

It felt like vertigo, like the surface of the Earth had shifted underneath you. Your body tilted, collapsed, and then Gojo’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his chest pressed into your back and his fingers burrowed into the flesh of your side. “Trying to get away?” His voice was raspy. Geto must’ve gotten his throat. “That’s not very nice.”

“You were the one who burst in uninvited and distracted me,” Geto muttered. His lip was busted, and he cracked his nose back into place as he hauled himself up from the floor. “If you hadn’t interrupted us, they’d still be cumming on my tongue so adorably.”

Gojo didn’t seem to pay him any mind. His attention remained fixed on you, his free hand drifting to your vulnerable pussy. Using his thumb, he gathered some of the slick staining your inner thighs, toying with it as he spoke. “I thought the first time I touched you like this would be more romantic.” He paused, his ears ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Or, the first time I touched you while you were awake, at least. It… it got harder to control myself, toward the end.”

You snapped to Geto, teeth bared. “This wasn’t what we agreed to. I don’t want to—”

“Don’t talk to him.” His fingers slipped into you, curling against the walls of your cunt. Your breath hitched in your chest, and Gojo pressed a fleeting kiss into your cheek. “Don’t look at him. He’s not supposed to be here.”

“I could say the same thing about you, Satoru.” Stretching his back, he made his way back to the bed and collapsed onto it, letting out a strained groan. “If I hadn’t been so kind as to donate all of those very valuable, very hard-to-come-by curses to your pitiful cause, you would’ve waited… how long? Another year before so much as breathing the same air as your little crush?” His half-lidded stare met yours, and he smirked. “You should have a taste. The poor thing is heavenly when they’re scared.”

“He’s always been this bossy. I’m sorry you had to deal with him on your own.” Gojo drew back, but didn’t let you go. Rather, he looped an arm under your knees and pulled you off your feet, carrying you back to that fucking bed. He laid you out with more care than Geto had, but his expression remained uncannily blank. He’d been blindfolded the first time you’d met, and whatever eyewear he’d come with had been either removed or torn away, revealing eyes that were almost painfully blue. The only mercy was his hair – long enough to fall over his face and obscure his empty gaze, his parted lips. His hand drifted to your injured leg, still bandaged from the knee down, and his lips quirked downward. “I’m sorry you had to get hurt, too. But…” He smiled, leaned in until his forehead rested against yours. “It’s good that we’ll get to be together, right?”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell him to stop touching you, to let you go home, but you couldn’t go home, so you said nothing.

Geto let out an exaggerated yawn. “I didn’t put this little reunion together because I wanted to hear you talk, ‘toru.”

“See what I mean? So fucking bossy.” And yet, one of his hands fell away from you. You heard fabric rustle, metal clink, and then his cock was free, prodding against the inside of your thigh. You could feel your heart drop into your stomach as your eyes broke away from his and raked over his pale shaft, his flushed head, already leaking beads of ivory precum. He was tall. They were both massive, but nothing attached to a human being should’ve been that big. “You’re lucky I’m letting you watch.”

“Who said I’d be watching?” So preoccupied by your own terror, you didn’t notice Geto shifting until you felt his hands on your sides, then at the hem of your sweater, pulling your only remaining protection over your head. You scrambled to stop him, but there wouldn’t have been much you could to do fend him off at your best, let alone in the state you’d been reduced to tonight. With a breathy chuckle, he finished stripping you down, his attention immediately falling to your chest. “You wouldn’t want me leaving you alone with him, would you, little one?” He bowed his head, catching your nipple with his teeth and pulling harshly. A pained whine slipped past your lips before you could choke it back, and he turned towards Gojo, grinning. “See? They like me.”

Whatever rage Gojo felt, he managed to bury it beneath a soft smile, a pulse of pure electricity in his eyes as he took his cock in his hand, dragging the tip over your entrance. You thrashed, kicked, fought, but he only cooed as he thrust into you, like he was trying to comfort you. Like you would need to be comforted if he just stopped.

He bottomed out, his hips pressing into yours with a blissful sigh, and you lurched forward, moving to claw at his eyes, to wrap your hands around his throat, to do something. Geto caught your wrists before you could so much as touch him, though – laughing as he forced your arms flush against the mattress. As Gojo started to move in earnest, Geto slotted his lips against yours, taking advantage of your distress to force his tongue into your mouth while Gojo fucked you open, whatever gentleness he’d been attempting to show you falling away in favor of burying himself that much deeper in your tight heat. As soon as Geto pulled away, Gojo took his place, his kiss not quite as aggressive but no less invasive, no less unwelcome. You should’ve never left your apartment. You should’ve never run from your monsters. At least they might’ve been kind enough to kill you quickly.

By the time he broke away from you, your vision was spotted with black, your lungs aching from a lack of oxygen. Jerkily, he straightened his back and raised a hand, his fingers soon tangled in Geto’s hair. You watched in a daze as teeth clashed against teeth and lips collided with a bruising force, and considered the terrifying possibility that you might’ve been the first person either of them had ever kissed.

Gojo’s pace turned erratic, his hold on your hip crushing. His pelvic bone caught on your clit every time he thrust into you. You’d been able to control yourself when faced with Geto’s teasing, but now, every little cracked moan and pained whimper slid past your lips, barely audible above the sound of slick squelching and skin slapping against skin. Unwillingly, you clenched around him, and Gojo doubled over with a throaty groan, burying his face in the side of your neck. You felt his mouth on your throat, then his teeth, sinking into your skin deep enough to draw blood. You clenched your eyes shut, willing your body to go numb to the pain, to ignore the coil of pure agony winding tighter in your core, but Geto caught your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back and stare up at him. “Trying to run away again so soon?”

“S-stop,” you half-sobbed, trying to pry his hand away from your face. “Don’t touch me—”

“We’ll have to bring a gag along, next time. That is, unless you learn to be more appreciative.” He shrugged his sweatpants below his waist, wrapping his fist around his cock and guiding it to your lips. “Open up, little one.”

You grit your teeth, keeping your mouth shut as tightly as you could, but Gojo bit down on your collarbone and you screamed, jerking against him. Geto took advantage of your misery, slipping a thumb into your mouth and prying your teeth apart, forcing his cock down your throat. “Bite down,” he muttered, voice low and tone sharpened, “and I’ll make sure he knocks you up.”

A wave of cold dread washed over you, but you didn’t have time to linger on your newly realized fear. Geto was already fucking your skull, already leaving you struggling not to choke as you tried to remember how to breathe around him. Where Gojo was uncontrolled, Geto almost seemed… unaffected, holding your head in place while he rolled his hips with the idle pace of a man determined to milk every second he could out of you. It was unbearable; the burning in your throat, the heat in your core, the feeling of Gojo battering into your cunt until you couldn’t stop your legs from twitching, your back from arching, your pussy from clenching around Gojo’s length and drawing a sinful noise from somewhere deep in his chest. You let out a ragged moan half-suffocated by Geto’s cock, and then you were coming undone around him, your body convulsing underneath his. Gojo wasn’t far behind. With a hitched groan, he pressed his hips into yours and pushed another open-mouthed kiss into your neck, making no attempt to pull out before flooding your pussy with something thick and awful.

Geto wasn’t far behind, his eyes falling shut as he came down your throat. For the longest time, neither of them moved, Geto forcing you to choke down every last drop of his cum while Gojo stare down at you, eyes blank and lips parted, his expression caught somewhere between tender and awe-struck.

Finally, he glanced away from you, looking to Geto instead. “Let’s switch. I want to feel their mouth.”

Geto let out a breath of a chuckle. With your body limp, your jaw slack, he pulled away from you, leaning just close enough to let his lips brush against your temple before straightening his back and moving to take Gojo’s place between your legs. “Whatever you say, lover boy.”

~

Hours later, when your skin was little more than a patchwork of hickeys and bruises and you couldn’t feel anything save for a constant, excruciating ache in your cunt, Geto had fallen asleep with his arm around your waist and Gojo laid next to you, head propped on his fist and a soft smile painted across his lips. You could see the sun starting to rise from behind the thin motel curtains, feel the dread that accompanied being in a strange place with strange men at a strange time, but it all seemed secondary, pushed to a distance by your exhaustion, your devastation. When Gojo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you out of Geto’s hold, all you could summon was a whine of protest, and even that was quickly glazed over with an airy laugh, a quiet hush.

Geto’s shirt (discarded three hours in, when he stepped aside for a shower while Gojo made you cum on his tongue for the fourth time) was pulled over your head, Gojo’s glasses (lost in the initial fight, found briefly while Geto was bouncing you on his cock with one hand and jerking Gojo off with the other, then lost again) snagged off the floor and pocketed. As he slipped out of the beaten motel door, you shut your eyes against the dim light, burying your face in his chest, and he encouraged you to, cupping the back of your neck as he pressed a kiss into your forehead. With his lips still lingering against your skin, he spoke, his voice muffled by his proximity. “It’s alright. You can sleep, if you need to.”

It might’ve been sweeter, if you hadn’t been able to feel every inch of his smile cutting into your skin.

“I promised I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?”

[choas232]

G/N Chatty reader x Steb 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Summary: In which you grapple with feelings you don’t yet understand by talking a certain enforcer’s ears off. Forced proximity makes everything worse, as it tends to.

CWs: Profanity. Canon typical violence. Reader has some bias about Zaunites they probably need to work on. I wrote most of this at 10pm at night, so be warned.

No use of Y/N, neutral terms and they/them are used to refer the reader. Set in episode three, season 2.

Word count: 2.9

Part two

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝

“God. I’m starving. And tired. I barely slept at allllll last night. Do you think the Grey’s keeping us awake? Our glorious leader Kiramman sure wants it to, dragging us along at this cracking speed. It’s been a whole week, too. I’m gonna drop dead, at this rate.” You lament. Your fellow enforcer does not comment from his place behind you, his footsteps echoing around the pipe.

Graffiti crowds the metal surface, amateur artworks, declarations of love, violence, and scripts you don’t recognise cramming themselves over one another, space sparse and sought after. It’s not Jinx’s work. Still, there’s a chill on your back you choose to attribute to the profanities.

The people of the underground sure know how to decorate, that’s for sure.

You two have been chosen to scout out a fairly low-danger area in search of a Zuanite’s sighting of Jinx. He did say it after a hefty heaping of Grey was funnelled into his lungs and a gun was held to his head, but Caitlyn is paranoid enough to bark at shadows, and you will oblige, if only to keep her happy.

It’s not like any of you are much better. Loris is quieter than ever, Maddie jumps at the smallest sounds and of your companion… you have no idea. You never have. Steb’s inner workings remain a mystery to you.

You turn. “Are we there yet? We should be there soon, right?” Steb nods distantly, more focused on the setting around you.

This part of the pipes is yet to be flooded with grey, so you can see him clearly without the obscuring mask.

His light teal skin, thin lips, nose, sharp, angular features. His neat uniform. His polished posture. He is distinctly and utterly out of place amongst the chaos that surrounds you. His eyes are so blue. So opalescent, shining like pearls in his eye sockets. Is that weird to notice? How much detail is it normal to notice about someone? You should probably stop looking.

His ribbed ears flick back, ever so slightly, eyes flicking to meet yours for a brief moment.

You look away. “Uh.” His eyes. His blue eyes. Blue. “God. I’m sooo hungry. Hah. I haven’t eaten since this morning. The rations are running out, and all the Zaunite stuff Vi is bringing in is uhm, questionable.”

You don’t look behind you again, your mouth moving quicker. Your breath is tight, probably because of the steady stream of words flowing from your mouth. You think. “I would kill for a good sandwich. Or two. I might have to resort to cannibalism—”

Hands enclose around your collar and yank you back with force.

Below you, a human sized-hole lined with rusted, broken metal grating, a slowly, ever spinning fan—

Your heart staggers in your chest like a drunkard. Images of your empaled, scraped, body twisted and pressed beyond recognition cram into your skull, rattle and scream.

“Fuck.” You mumble, quietly. Steb’s hand releases your collar. “C-close one. Thanks. Fish-sticks. How didn’t I see that?” You laugh. He doesn’t. It isn’t funny.

He brushes the shoulder pads of your uniform off, carefully but hastily looking you up and down. He keeps a respectable distance between you, but you can still see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. You mimic him. Your mouth feels dry.

He fixes you with a look as his hands drop to his sides, and although his face usually retains some semblance of ambiguity on it, you know exactly what he’s thinking. Watch where you’re going.

“Sorry doc. I…” You trail off. You should stop talking. You probably talk so much around him because he makes you nervous. Why does he make you nervous? Your usual slamming of thoughts trickles dry. You have no idea.

Carefully, you two traverse over the great gaping hole in the pipework. How did you miss it? You don’t sure don’t miss how Steb watches you hawk-like though, and the following guilt is low and prickling in your gut. He goes first, and every small unprompted movement of yours has him stiffening, arm moving to steady you.

“Jeez. Don’t mother hen me, I’m all grown-up, I assure you.” You bat him away, landing with a clang! of the metal against your boots as you leap across the last segment. His frown is resounding.

A corner stretches before you, now. You let him go first with a swing of your arm just in case the metal of the pipe opens up to attempt to swallow you yet again. “All yours,” He obliges.

It’s an open space. Milky green light filters through the roofing, painting the graffiti stained flooring monochromatic and hazy. Two other pipes adjoin to the room, and a mural of Janna clad in white laced with metallic armour bounds over the walls. It looks exactly like what was described, which is worrying, because hey, Jinx!

The sniffling child is even more worrying, though. Looking up, she brushes away dark locks  from her face and bursts into prompt tears. “Please, m-my-my… my leg. it really hurts.” She wails.

Sure enough, one of her legs is crushed under a slab of tin, making itself known as the cause of the light filtering through the roof. “Please. Please.” Snot dribbles down onto her ragged shirt, her big brown eyes blown wide.

Steb is already gone before you can access the situation, bounding over.

Poor kid. You wince, tapping your fingers against your lips. Probably just playing with the ball you see perched nearby when shoddy craftmanship led to tragedy. Still… “Jeez. Think to consider a trap? No? Just me.” You mutter.

“Just you.” The voice from behind you amusedly whispers, and then you feel the cool rim of the gun pressed against your skull.

Fear makes a mockery out of you. Your thoughts accelerate, snapping at each others heels, but you cannot think. You aren’t really the brawlers of the team. He’s the field medic, for fuck’s sake, and while you can handle yourself in a fight this is more of a Vi job. You regret mocking her cuisine choices. This is probably some kind of sick karma. Sick? You feel sick. God, your stomach is writhing, your insides eating each other up.

Steb, still blinded by his tunnel vision, hauls the tin off of the girl. His ears flick down as he peers down at the clean space beneath, clean of blood and gore. Her leg, unblemished and by all means healthy looking, curls back into her body, and then she bursts outwards like a spring, down the nearest tunnel.

Too late, he looks back at you.

“I’m sure they require you topsiders to rattle a few braincells together to wear that fancy uniform. They don’t need allll of them, do they?” The man holding the gun to your head calls out to him. Flesh drips from his arms, lanky and lean, pressing against your neck as he holds you into him. You smell the shimmer on his breath before you see his blood lined eyes.

Steb jerks forwards. Bruisingly, the gun slams into your skull. “Move and their brains go BOOM! Hands in the air. Now.” He snarls, and Steb freezes in place, slowly raising his hands. You can see him breathing, hard, heaving breaths.

More people clamour their way out of vents, behind slabs of wood. You count at least four. Shit.

Shit.

This is bad.

“Woah! Talk about dramatics, huh?” You start, and almost in shock, the man holding you to himself grip loosens. From Steb’s place, you can see the wrinkle that lines his mouth when he gets stressed creep into existence. (That’s normal to remember. You should know when your coworkers get stressed. Part of the job, and all.) He slowly shakes his head. You mouth, trust me. He shakes his head harder. “Maybe we should talk this out? Civilly, tea and biscuits? …No?”

“It stopped being civil when you went for one of mine.”

Of course that guy you beat the shit out of gave you the location of an ambush. He was all too eager to speak, and when you go poking your hand down foxholes, it’s going to get bitten off. You feel both incredibly stupid and incredibly self-satisfied, you knew it, and you went here anyways.

“One of yours? I mean, we probably didn’t mean to? It was probably a mistake—” he shoves the gun down your throat. Spittle drips down the barrel. You taste dirt and gunpowder. You taste the blood leaking from your tongue.

You taste fear.

“Well? Your bag.” He gestures loosely to Steb.

Steb locks eyes with you as he gently tugs the straps off of his back, letting the hefty bag land to the floor with a thump. Carefully, he steps back, raising his hands in the air once again.

One of the hovering goons quickly snatches it, tugging it open. Medical supplies, bottles, all-the-like clatter the ground, but she continues shifting through hastily, eyes slowly narrowing. The last of our food supplies…, you mournfully think, quickly followed by Caitlyn is going to kill us, and she’s probably right to.

“You told us there would be hex tech, you fucking liar.” She drops the bag carelessly, starting towards the man holding you. “Well, do you think I’m some sort of prophet? You knew that it was an estimate.” He snaps back, grip on you loosening, the gun shifting out of your mouth to point towards the soft flesh of your cheek, spreading out your blood clouded spit as it does.

“I think you set us the hell up. You promised we’d split the money, but where’s the money now, huh? I gotta family to feed, hired work is dropping like flies with the chem barons at each other’s throats, which means I missed on any number of begging clients for this shit.”

You get an idea.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

It’s a terrible idea.

Steb tears his gaze from the arguing pair to meet your eyes, perhaps on some precognition of the mistake you are about to make.

You wink, grab the gun pressed to your cheek and then you yank.

It comes as cleanly as expected, the man’s adrenaline rattled, drug loosened reflexes nothing for the shock you give him when you take the gun from his hands, and than run. Surprise gives you the upper hand, yells clouding your soundscape. You still manage to pick out Steb’s footsteps, clean and even behind you as you barrel down the nearest pipe.

You run harder than you’ve ever run, past graffiti, with only your breath, the calls behind you, your heartbeat and the echoes of his and your boots slamming against metal to guide you.

You turn the corner so hard you slam your side against it, feeling your already bruised cheek cry out in pain in time with your yelp, and you stumble. Steb catches your shirt and yanks you right back up, and then you’re in another wide-open space.

Your head swings around, fear hammering around your ribcage like a desperate songbird.

Steb grabs your shoulder, gesturing with his head. You follow his gaze. There’s a smaller pipe in the wall, covered by a draping of torn fabric, and you rush towards it before you have any time to think, the fabric draping over your hair, the surface cool under your fingers.

He follows, your pursuer yells barrelling into your ears as the curtain draws shut.

The space is tight, circular, not even big enough for you to stretch out an arm and not brush the opposite end. Your back is pressed flush against the concrete and plaster. Your legs cage Steb, as do his, looping over one each other, his knee bent at an angle that’s for sure going to hurt later. His arms clutch the walls of the tube, yours resting bent in your lap.

He leans down, and his fingers gently grasp that stupid beret of his and tug it down onto his lap, before he pulls his head back up, his head scraping the roof. He’s a least a head taller than Maddie, and although you’d like to think of yourself as average, you are now grateful for the height you lack.

“OVER HERE!” Did they see you? Is this it? What can you do, two against at least five or so. You mean, counting has never really been your strong suit under pressure, and who’s to tell? Are you going to die? Are you going to die, your legs pressed into his midriff?

The gold smattering across Steb’s undereyes and nose adjoins with the darker turquoise scales lining the cavities his eyeballs are strung into, carving out little gold, blue, orange stripes, like the ones on the fish you and your parents used to gawk at the aquariums had.

Are they going to cart out your body to your parents, after your fellow enforcers find you, crammed into a hole in the underground? What would you had died for?

His eyes are so blue.

He blinks, smooth, deep lapis overtaking the gleaming surface of his eyes before his eyelids do. He has a second eyelid. How did you never notice?

His lips, perpetually downturned as they are, his steady line his eyebrows carve themselves into, his perfect posture, even as you are cramped within the pipe, the smooth, angular frame of his cheekbones all of it make him look like one of those forever uninconvenienced paintings the councillors hang from their mansion walls. He looks calm. His stupid snooty resting face cannot fool you. You know he isn’t.

His lips are parted, the gap between his front teeth visible as he stares down the opening of the tunnel like a loyal family dog. His little giveaway.

Maybe his inner workings aren’t such a mystery, after all.

He makes you nervous. He makes you so nervous. He makes you into a wreck.

You think you might be in love with him.

—and your pursuers are rushing past you, all until you can’t hear their voices and you’re alive. You’re alive and you’ve never been so happy to tomorrow eat shitty Zaunite food and have Caitlyn yell at you for loosing supplies and talk and talk and talk until your throat is raw.

You don’t. Talk. You don’t talk.

He’s looking at you.

You feel like a fool.

You sit there, just looking at him too. His eyelids slip halfway, letting you count the short lashes that frame them. His expression relaxes, loosens, ever so slightly, his arms moving from the wall of the tunnel to his lap.

You could sit here with him for hours, death inches from you both, and you could be happy. You could be suspended in disbelief and plausible deniability; you could allow yourself to lie. Your heart is pounding from the adrenaline, of course. Your face is pink because of overexertion, and you kind of want to kiss him because you’ve never kissed anybody and you may as well as get it over with before you die, right?

He points to his face. You blink, and then he points to yours. You brush your finger cheeks against the flesh and feel the sting of injury, spittle and blood on your fingers. Right.

Right. He’s looking at you because you’re injured right?

Of course he is. (Disappoint is still food, and you swallow it.)

Gently, he reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. Instead of sparring you and handing it to you, he merely carefully holds your head, one hand on your jaw and the other gently patting down the mess on your cheek. His head is tilted. You feel your heart slam up your throat, a throbbing, horrible pain that lets you part your lips to let the breath escape you before it can choke you.

The hand cradling your jaw moves a careful finger up to brush your lower lip.

Accident, of course. He’s not even looking at them, rather, the mess, taking his sweet time as he does, so very gentle.

You think he might be the danger, not the hell that is the pipework, nor the Grey, nor not the man with the gun

He pulls back, tucking the handkerchief back into the pocket and shallowly inclining his head towards the opening.

With a long look back at you, he crawls out of the hole first. You follow, dizzily. Ever the gentlemen, he offers you a hand as you push your way out of the hell that made you. You take it and feel incredibly guilty for doing so, stumbling to your feet.

He fastens his beret, usually a sign from you to inwardly (or outwardly) mock his silly hat, still watching you. You do not, in fact, mock him. You might be shaking, in fact, and that thought makes you hate yourself more than you could ever despise that ugly navy piece of fabric.

He frowns, and then he gestures to your mouth. You flinch without meaning too. “Huh?”

He mimes speaking, shallowly opening and then hastily closing his mouth

He's right to be concerned.

You haven’t spoken since you two trapped yourselves in the tunnel, after all.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝

Notes: Thank you for reading!! :)))) STUPID. IDIOTS IN LOVE. Him under the guise of medical assistance letting himself touch you... bro isn't slick whatsoever. If you have any ideas, be sure to drop them in my ask box, there is lack of fic on him holy hell. As a side note, we all need the comfort after season two part two holy cow…

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Nightvisions - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: This is part 2 to Dead of Night, Reader and Spencer face the fallout of an intense first sexual encounter, which leads to a second one.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: i’m overjoyed by the positive response to ‘dead of night’ and i’m a woman of the people so despite my lack of plan to do a part 2, i wrote one anyway, and this is it! tbh i’m not too sure how i feel about this but i had fun writing it anyway ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: pervert!spencer, dom!spencer, angst, established relationships, confession of feelings, semi-public sex, noise control, hair pulling, spit, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it), penetration, creampie, panty stealing, references to knifeplay, slight biting, hickey (kinda?) pet names (angel), fem + afab reader, happy ending

Rating: R, 18+

——

As the work day dragged on you could feel your initial shock and intrigue twist into an anger that burned in the pit of your stomach. Every glance Spencer took at you from his desk across the bullpen made your blood pressure spike, unable to properly focus on the paperwork you had been working through for the better half of the day. Your mind kept drifting, trying to rationalize his potential motives, but the more the thought stirred in your mind the less you could justify it to yourself. You had to hear it directly from him, as soon as possible.

“Spencer, can I get your input on something?” You called him over to your desk, masking the frustration in your voice. He scrambled to his feet, eager to be close to you again for the first time since this morning. He leaned over your desk, glancing at the paperwork in front of you.

“How can I help?”

You pointed to an insignificant line of text as you leaned forward, bringing your mouth inches from his ear.

“Meet me in the conference room in 5 minutes.” You whispered, watching as he gulped and nodded.

“That should be good.” He said as a cover, hoping not to draw suspicion to the two of you before returning to his desk.

You grabbed a file for show and walked to the conference room, checking that the blinds were pulled down over the windows overlooking the bullpen. The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow, starting to pace to keep yourself occupied as you waited for him.

Moments later there came a gentle knock at the door before Spencer slowly opened it, dipping quickly in and locking the door behind him. A short silence hung in the air until your emotions got the better of you, his soft expression causing tears to well up in your eyes.

“How? Why?” You blurted out, a mix of confusion, exhaustion, and desperation playing out in your features. He took a step toward you and you took a step back, keeping distance between you. If he touched you, you might break, shatter into a million pieces and never be put back together.

“Please just let me explain.” His tone held such strong desperation that you almost forgot how betrayed you felt. You wiped a tear from your cheek, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the wall, waiting.

“You left your profile up on your computer one night and I couldn’t help myself, I wanted to give you everything you’ve ever wanted, I always have.” He took a deep breath, for once careful to articulate his words as he watched your expression carefully, searching for any sign of forgiveness.

“I know it was wrong, but I never thought I’d stand a chance with a woman like you if I went about it the traditional way. I never intended on hurting you, but I clearly have, and doing so is the biggest regret of my life.” You wanted to believe him, he seemed so earnest, but the doubt was eating you alive by the second. What if it was all an act? Was the connection you felt that night built on lies?

“Was everything you said in our chats a lie just to sleep with me?” You kept a straight face, fighting back more tears to keep your composure. You couldn’t let him know how badly you were hurt, not if he didn’t mean it.

“Oh god no, angel, everything I said was the truth.” He grew more frantic, nervously stretching his fingers as he fought the urge to step toward you again. He just wanted to hold you, to comfort you in the simplest way he knew how, but he couldn’t do anything that might make you more uncomfortable.

“Don’t call me that.” You snapped, still too frustrated with him at the moment to deal with your feelings for him. He nodded, keeping his mouth shut to resist the urge to ramble on and on about what he felt for you.

“I’m not sure I believe you Spencer, I just don’t know if I can trust you anymore.” Your voice cracked, biting the inside of your lip as you watched his face drop.

“You can.” He weighed the risk and took a step closer to you again, and you didn’t move away from him this time.

“How do I know that?”

“I’m in love with you.”

It was the most confident he’d been all day, his voice unwavering with every word.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” Tears threatened your waterline once more, hanging on his every movement as you tried to read him.

“I do mean it, I’ve known from the first time we spent 2 hours talking nonstop on the jet. No one has ever seen me the way that you do.” His eyes were glassy with tears and your heart began to melt, dropping your arms to your sides and finally closing the gap between you.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” You took his hand in yours, your thumb swiping over the veins on the back of his hand.

“I didn’t know if you felt the same.” He sighed, averting his gaze from yours.

“I do.” You confirmed, squeezing his hand. He looked at you once more, the tension between you practically suffocating.

He leaned into you, his face dangerously close to yours as he searched your eyes for any lingering apprehension, but there was none to be found. He took a leap of faith, hoping he was reading you right as his lips met yours, his hand cupping the side of your face. You melted into the kiss, allowing him to guide your mouth against his. Your skin grew hot, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as his actions grew more intense, his lips pushing almost bruisingly hard against yours.

His hands moved lower, ghosting down your sides, the slight pressure against your healing cuts from the night before making you shiver. He finally reached the hem of your skirt, slowly hiking the fabric up your thighs. You pulled your mouth away from his, panting for a moment in hopes of catching your breath once more.

“Spencer, we can’t.” You sighed, meeting his hungry gaze.

“We can if we’re careful.” He countered, pushing you gently back until your hips bumped against the large circular table in the center of the room.

“What if someone hears? If we get caught we could lose our jobs.” The rational part of your brain seemed to be dueling with your primal urges, your body betraying your mind as the thought of getting caught only made the wetness between your thighs grow more intense.

“Then you better be quiet.” He whispered, his large hands gripping your hips as he spun you around, bending you over the edge of the conference table. He dropped to his knees, pushing your skirt up the rest of the way to bunch around your hips, humming to himself as he admired your perfect ass. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, slowly sliding them over the curve of your hips and down your legs before pocketing the lacy fabric.

You whined, wiggling your hips back to urge him on.

“Be patient.” He laughed, his voice low. You didn’t have to wait long, his head dipping between your thighs to find your waiting pussy. His strong grip kept your thighs spread as his tongue delved between your folds, quickly giving ample attention to your swollen clit. He was hungry, plush lips drinking in your arousal with every extended lap of his tongue, practically suffocating himself as his nose brushed against your weeping entrance.

You brought your hand to your mouth, biting your wrist to stifle your whimpers as you rocked back against him, indulging in the way he devoured you. He moaned against you, muffled vibrations sending shockwaves through your body, your clit growing more and more sensitive by the second. You were starting to get desperate, riding his face until the table underneath you began to squeak with every rock of your hips. Spencer suddenly pulled away, sitting back on his calves.

“Your desperation is going to get us caught.” He brought his hand between your legs, fingers massaging your clit for a split second before rearing back and slapping against it, causing you to jolt forward. You yelped, a bit louder than you intended from the shock of it, and you swallowed nervously, anticipating his next move.

He rose to his feet, his clothed hips pushing against your bare ass as he gripped your hair in his fist, firmly pulling you upright. You bit your lip to hide your moan, letting him guide your every step as he pulled you across the room, finally pressing your back against the wall.

“Spencer, please.” You sounded more pathetic than you intended but the way his mouth felt on you got you beyond worked up, and in that moment you felt like you needed him inside you more than you needed air.

“Are you going to be quiet?” He questioned, his hand resting on his belt buckle as he waited for an answer.

“Yes, I’ll be good, I promise.” You looked up at him, giving your best doe-eyed look as you began unbuttoning your blouse. He began to undo his belt, letting his pants and briefs fall to his ankles as he held out his hand in front of you.

“Spit.” He commanded, the dominant side of him coming out more with every sweet sound that left your lips. You did as you were told, spitting in his hand to provide a bit of lubricant for him to stroke his cock, fully preparing himself to enter you.

You were mesmerized, unable to look away from the way his shirt rode up his torso, toned but slender stomach flexing with each movement of his hand, his hair falling messily in his flushed face, a thin layer of sweat forming on his skin. You pulled the cups of your bra down, toying with your nipples as you enjoyed the show, feeling like you were watching the most intimate sex tape you’d ever seen.

“Are you ready?” His voice snapped you out of your trance, blood rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment over how desperate you were for him. You nodded frantically, draping your arms behind his neck, pulling him to you. You raised your leg, wrapping it around his waist, looking down between your chests to watch him lineup his cock with your cunt. He pushed the head in, cutting off the gasp that threatened to rip from your throat as he pulled you into another intense kiss.

He sank fully into your tight walls, the soreness you felt from the night before melting away with every stroke he laid into you. You moaned into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut as you allowed him to take the reins, his controlling grip digging soft bruises into the flesh of your breasts, then your hip, electricity flowing between the two of you. You pulled away from the kiss, coming up for air, so lost in the feeling that you couldn’t make out any coherent sounds, only gentle whimpers and whines.

“You feel so good.” He moaned quietly, quickening his pace, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit, the rough pad of his thumb pressing firm swipes up and down over the swollen bundle of nerves. Your whimpers grew louder, and despite your hazy state, you knew you had to quiet yourself quickly. You pulled him closer, burying your face in the side of his neck, your lips latching onto the soft skin behind his ear.

A groan rose from the back of his throat, your mouth sucking against his pressure point pulling him dangerously close to his release. You swore you were seeing stars, supernovas erupting between your thighs as you started to contract around him, your senses overwhelmed with his touch, crying out against his neck. Your knee began to buckle, your leg almost giving out if it wasn’t for his firm hold on your hip. He continued to pump in and out, helping you ride out your orgasm until you had gained a bit more of your composure, able to support yourself again despite how fucked out you felt.

Spencer felt himself falter and anchored his hips against yours, keeping himself seated within your warm walls as they coaxed him to completion. He quietly moaned your name, his head hung to observe the view of himself pulling out of you. You dropped your leg, still in a daze as you began righting your clothing. After you redid the last button of your top and yanked your skirt back down over your ass, you realized you couldn’t find your underwear.

“Looking for something?” He questioned, that familiar dorky smile plastered across his face. You turned to face him, seeing the lace dangling from his fingertip, but as you grabbed for it he pulled it out of reach.

“These are mine now.” He shoved the fabric back in his back pocket before you could attempt to steal them back again.

“Spencer, your cum is dripping down my leg, I kind of need those.” You took a stride toward him to close the gap between you, hoping to wrap your arm around his waist and take them out of his pocket. Your plan was quickly foiled as he grabbed your wrist, pinning it behind your back.

“You better keep your legs closed then, I’m not giving them back.” He whispered in your ear, his tone low but hinted with mischief.

“Whatever, pervert.” You pulled out of his grip, starting to walk toward the door. Your slight annoyance with his teasing quickly faded, unable to deny that walking back out into the bullpen full of Spencer’s cum was an incredibly hot concept.

“What does that make you, then?” He laughed, running his hand through his hair to make it somewhat presentable.

“An angel, according to you.” You turned back to him momentarily to wink in his direction, giving him a comfortable resolution to your slight outburst earlier.

“Can I see you again? Outside of work, I-I mean.” He slightly stumbled over his words, his dominant demeanor fading back into his signature awkward cadence, clearly a bit flustered by your tongue-in-cheek show of affection. You almost laughed, the question feeling a bit absurd given that you’d both just confessed your feelings for one another in more ways than one.

“Take me out to dinner tonight, I’ll be ready by 6. You have my address.” You smiled, watching a blush rise over his cheeks in response to your callback before unlocking the conference room door and returning to your desk to finish out the workday, eagerly awaiting your first real date with Spencer.

——

tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea @theoraekenslover @placidus

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my spencer reid taglist :)

also tagging those who requested a part 2, thank you for the inspo!: @silver138 @espressoparis @futuremrsreid @charmedkim @lilcuutiee @cryxbabyxxx @c1rcus-baby

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Lessons

Summary: Joel Miller, the smuggler of the Boston QZ, does not want your money when he gets you the medication you need, he asks for your body. Something you happily agree to. But one night he catches you touching yourself after you just had sex and leaves you to finally admit to him that you almost never finish with him. Something Joel can't and won't let stand.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 3k

Warnings: Boston QZ Joel, sex as a business transaction, mentions of period pains and medication, mentions of alcohol. smut (unprotected sex, semi public sex, oral sex) Joel is bad at feelings but he's trying, little bit of oblivious idiots cause why the hell not

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

It started because you needed pills.

FEDRA had again increased the prices for the medication you and many other people needed, you, to get through you period every month and you had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that there might be another way to get it. 

It was back then that you met Joel Miller. 

You were at the speakeasy after a long day of pretending to love getting to cook meals at the FEDRA base on the other side of the QZ. 

You hated the job, but it paid well and left you being able to sometimes steal shit so you put a fake smile on while the FEDRA officers lined up to get their food at the make shift cafeteria you were working in, ignoring their lingering stares and attempts to flirt with you. 

It had been a long and exhausting day and you wanted a drink when your friend Carl told you that Joel Miller was here. You followed the way he was pointing at, being met with dark eyes already looking at you. 

He was not what you expected. 

Smugglers you had met before usually were younger and making you uncomfortable for various reasons. 

But Joel Miller was attractive in a dangerous way. 

He was sitting at the far end of the underground speakeasy, his jeans clad legs spread widely. He had a drink in his hand, that was resting on his thigh, the sleeves of the dark shirt he was wearing pushed over his elbows, showing his strong arms. 

But it was the way he was looking at you that made you realise that Joel Miller could become a problem for you. 

It was the first night he had fucked you. 

In a dark corner outside of the speakeasy, his hand wrapped over your mouth to keep you quiet as he railed you against the cold stone wall, spilling his cum over your still clothed back before you could cum, leaving you to clean up by yourself while he made his way back inside. 

You had to finish yourself off the moment you got home.

A pattern that you didn’t know would continue for the next years. 

It was easy. 

You let him fuck you and he would get you the drugs you needed. 

Yes, you could afford to pay him with ration cards. It would probably even better for you. But over the years this arrangement you had was now going, you started craving the way he was using you. 

It was the only human connection you allowed yourself to have, even though it only rarely ended with you getting to climax. Something that you realise should bother you more. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t make you feel good. He did. He was big and rough and just what you craved. 

He just wasn’t in it for you, but for him and him only. 

Joel came, every single time. 

Be it on your ass, on your tits or in your mouth. He always finished. 

It was always the same procedure. 

Every three months you’d meet up at the speakeasy. He would fuck you from behind either there or at your home, never his, and you would wake up to a three month supply of the drugs you needed on your kitchen table. 

You asked him once how he did get inside of your apartment and he said that you should learn how to lock your door.

But tonight something was different. 

You had run into him on the street after your shift. Another thing that seemed to happen more often. 

In the last couple of months Joel seemed to always be where you were. Something that had not happened in all the years before. 

It had only been three weeks since you met up and he asked if he could come over later. 

Confused you had agreed. 

If you were honest with yourself you had been looking forward to spending the rest of your day with the bottle of wine you had stolen from the FEDRA kitchen some weeks ago. 

There would be memorial services all over the QZ tonight, the curfew being lifted for the day before and for Outbreak day. 

You couldn’t believe it already had been ten years. 

You were already a glass of wine in when you heard a knock on your door. Event though you knew who it would be (you never got visitors) you checked before you opened the door for Joel. 

He nodded at you as he entered and you leaned with your back against the closed door, watching him in your space. 

You came to the realisation that you only ever spend time with him when it was dark outside. Like he was a monster that was hiding under your bed. 

He awkwardly turned around to look at you and you tilted your head to the side as you looked at him, waiting for what would happen next. 

„The supplier for your drugs got killed last week. I don’t have someone new yet, but I have these,“ he reached into this back pocket and showed you a small tube of pills. 

„These should last you for four months more. I’ll try to figure something out for after,“ he said. You nodded, taking a step towards him. He held out the tube of pills and you took it from him, reading over the faded out ink on the label that read the name of a woman that was probably long dead. 

„Thank you,“ you said quietly. 

„Take a seat, I’ll just put them away,“ you said. He nodded and you turned around, walking towards your little bathroom. You put the pills away, before you looked at yourself in the small mirror above the sink. 

You asked yourself why he chose today to come over and give you the pills. He could have waited  until the next time you were due since he had a full supply for the next time. 

Not that you were complaining. 

More than once you had tried to come up with a plan to have sex with Joel more often than you did, but for some reason you felt silly with every idea that you had. 

You could ask, but you didn’t think you could handle if he said no, so you made your peace with the arrangement you had. 

You just wanted to spend more time with him, feeling yourself drawn to him. 

Taking a deep breath you made your way back towards your kitchen area, where Joel was now sitting at your small table. You were overwhelmed with the urge to climb into his lap. 

Instead you picked up your glass of wine to take a sip. 

„You want a glass too?“ You asked him. 

„Sure,“ he nodded. You picked up a mug. 

„Only have that one glass, sorry,“ you said sheepishly as you filled the mug with some wine and brought it over to him. 

„Where did you get that from anyway?“ He asked, his fingers brushing over yours as he took the mug from you. 

You sat down on the chair next to him. 

„Stole it from the FEDRA pantry,“ you shrugged and he looked at you with a raised eyebrow  before he shook his head, his mouth twitching into a small grin. 

„Unbelievable,“ he said looking at you with warm eyes before he brought the mug up to his lips. 

„They have so much shit they don’t need. Makes me angry to see everyone suffer while they get to eat first class meals. So I sometimes take things,“ you shrugged. 

„Anything else you took?“ He asked, leaning towards you. 

You sucked your bottom lip in, before you got up. 

„I usually take small stuff. Spices, herbs and shit. But,“ you bend down, opening the cabinet under the sink and reaching to the very end, searching for the two bottles you hid there some time ago, grinning when you picked them up and turned around, missing him staring at your ass.

His eyes widened when he noticed what you held. 

„Shut the fuck up," he said in awe and you chuckled. 

„You want some Jack and Coke, Miller?“ You winked and he shook his hand with a grin. 

„If you’re offerin’“ he winked.

„Please,“ you moaned, letting your head fall down against your pillow as Joel fucked you into you mattress. You were so close. He had one of his hands on our back, pinning you against the mattress while he pumped his cock into you in deep hard thrusts. 

He had gotten you naked not long after you offered him the first glass of whiskey, asking you if you’d like to suck his cock while he emptied his glass. 

You did, keeping him on the edge for almost an hour before he pulled you up and told you to kneel on the bed. 

You were surprised to find him pulling you up against his chest moments later, his skin against yours as he played with your tits. 

Usually these fucks were quick, leaving no time to really get out of either of your clothes. And if you had the time, it was always you who got naked. 

„Always so fucking good,“ he moaned behind you and you gasped. You reached one hand between your legs to play with your clit when Joel groaned and pulled out of you. Whining as he turned you around you looked up at him as he jerked himself off before he moaned and spilled his cum all over your body. 

You were annoyed for a moment, having been so close yourself but that disappeared the moment you saw how relaxed Joel looked. He was mumbling something you couldn’t make out before his eyes opened, taking you in as you laid on your back with his cum all over your stomach and chest. 

„So pretty,“ he mumbled before he let himself lay down next to you. He stretched his arms to the side and you sighed, slipping your fingers through his cum on your chest, bringing it up to taste it. With a grin you turned your head towards the side to look at Joel only to find him asleep.

Disappointed you sat yourself up before you made your way back to your bathroom to clean yourself up. 

After taking care of your business and brushing your teeth you grabbed a glass of water and made your way back to your bed. Joel was still sleeping, laying completely naked in your bed, his flaccid cock still glistening in your juices. 

Shaking your head you grabbed your spare blanket and put it over him before you snuggled under your blanket. You switched the small lamp on your bedside table off.

Usually he would be gone by now. 

He never stayed, let alone fell asleep next to you. It made you think back to the last time you had shared a bed with someone. Ten years ago.

The last time your life had been normal. The last time you had been truly happy. The last time you had slept in the arms of the man you thought you would grow old with only to wake up to him trying to kill you. 

Closing your eyes you shook your head, trying to get rid of the memory that haunted you every single day. You turned your head to look at Joel.

He looked so much younger when he was asleep. The lines around his eyes almost gone, his lips resting in a pout. Adorable. 

You spend more time thinking about Joel Miller than you would ever admit. 

Of course you heard the stories around the QZ about him. How he took no shit from anyone. He had the reputation to be brutal and cold. 

But he never was with you. 

You hummed, letting your hands ran down your body, before you brought one hand between your legs while your other hand played with your tits. 

You moved your fingers over your clit, your pussy still wet from Joel fucking you. 

Thinking about how he felt when he fucked you you pushed two fingers inside of you, humming quietly. It wasn’t his cock, but it would do the job. Moving your fingers inside of you, the palm of your hand massaging your clit. 

„Fuck,“ you whispered, moving your hips slowly. You pulled your fingers out, focusing on your clit instead and you smiled when you felt the familiar feeling of your orgasm approaching. Arching your back your blanket slipped down, revealing your tits to the cold air. 

Your lips parted as you took deep breaths, your orgasm so close you could almost taste it. 

You released a long and happy sigh when you finally came, biting your lip as you rode it out. Relaxing back into your bed you closed your eyes, smiling to yourself. 

„Can’t get enough, huh?“ Joel’s sleepy voice startled you and your eyes opened wide, finding him looking at you as he laid on the side.

Caught, you felt your cheeks burning before you turned your head away from him, hiding. 

„Uh. Yeah. I just… needed to cum again….“ You mumbled awkwardly, intending to get out of the bed to flee into the bathroom, before you felt his fingers wrap around one of your writs, holding you back. 

Nervously sucking your bottom lip in you turned back to him, finding him already looking at you with narrowed eyes.

„You did cum earlier, right? I felt it,“ he said.

You just looked at him, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation when you slowly shook your head. He blinked once, twice at you before his eyes widened. 

„You didn’t cum?“ He asked, confused. 

Suddenly feeling too naked for this conversation you pulled your blanket up and over your breasts as you turned on the bed towards him. 

You took a deep breath. 

„No. I did not,“ you finally said and if this situation wouldn’t be so awkward you would laugh at his horrified expression. 

„But… You… You… I felt it? I did, didn’t I….“ He was speaking to himself and you took his hand. 

„It’s not a big deal. Maybe it’s me. It’s always been hard to finish and…“ You were stopped as he squeezed your hand. 

„You did finish before with me, right?“ He asked slowly. 

You nodded. „Of course!“ You said quickly. 

He narrowed his eyes again. 

„How often. And don’t lie to me,“ he added. You looked down at your hands.

„Joel, can we please just… I don’t know. Sleep? This is… You make me feel so good. Really. And that’s….“

His fingers tilted your chin up so you had to look at him. 

„How often?“ He asked again and you sighed. 

„Once,“ you mumbled.

„Once?“ He asked with wide eyes. 

„Yeah. But Joel… I like the way you fuck me. It feels good and I don’t care if I cum or if I don’t cum. And I mean it’s a business transaction really so it doesn’t….JOEL!“ You cried out his name when he grabbed you to lay you down, throwing the blanked off your body, his body caging you in. 

„Do not say that it doesn’t matter. Just because it’s business does not mean that it doesn’t matter that you don’t cum. Why didn’t you say anything?“ He asked.

„Because this is fucking awkward,“ you whined. 

„Doesn’t matter. I don’t make you cum, you tell me. Or better yet,“ he said as he slowly slipped down your body. 

„We not gonna leave this bed until I know exactly how it feels when you cum,“ he said and you felt his beard lightly scratch over your stomach, before he settled between your legs. 

„But Joel. You don’t have to do this. It’s just sex,“ you said and you saw him close his eyes before he took a deep breath and looked at you again. 

„Hasn’t been just sex for me for a while. Why do you think I keep looking for reasons to run into you,“ he said and it was like something clicked inside your head. You had been seeing him fairly often these last weeks. But he never talked to you. He sometimes nodded at you when you saw him, but there was nothing else. 

„So please, let me learn how to make you cum so I don’t feel like a dick who has been using the woman he’s been crushing on like a fucking teenager?“ He said and you grinned. 

„You are crushing on me? That’s adorable,“ you teased and he chuckled with a shake of his head before he kissed your inner thigh. 

„Not a big talker. But I now how to use my mouth in other ways,“ he winked before he licked through your folds, making you gasp. 

„And I need you to guide me, so I know what to do the next time,“ he said.

„Next time?“ You asked. 

„Next time,“ he nodded, before he began to eat you out.

He started slowly, his tongue exploring your pussy, humming at your taste. You could not take your eyes off of him. 

His strong arms were wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs parted as wide as he needed while he nibbled and sucked and licked you, driving you positively insane.

Once he had you cumming on his tongue he used his fingers. Saving every single expression and sound you made to his memory so he would never forget what made you cum. 

In the early morning hours he had you coming on his cock, squeezing him so hard he almost spilled inside of you, yet he fucked you through your orgasm until he pulled out and spilled himself all over your pussy. 

You were almost asleep, exhausted and utterly satisfied from the five orgasms you had in the last hours, when you almost missed him pulling you against his chest and kissing your shoulder, mumbling a sleepy „Love you“ against your ear.

Making you fall asleep with a smile on your face. 

[zenokei]

blue lock manga chapter 271 spoilers, mentions, and analysis (this is an absolute word vomit)

my drabbles, understanding, and analysis on the itoshi family goes something like: when the itoshi parents didn’t know how to properly deal with rin’s behavior when he was little but sae seemed to be the only one that can ‘understand’ and ‘get along’ with rin—they unintentionally gave the responsibility to sae.

i suspect that their thinking is something along the lines of “sae seems like he’s got an understanding of rin that we don’t, maybe it’s better that way, he’s rin’s big brother, after all.”

and honestly, i think that’s why we as the readers find the itoshi parents “distant” from the brothers’ lives.

but do i think they’re bad parents? not necessarily, although i also do think that they could’ve done more. but given certain circumstances…it’s kind of subjective.

let’s talk about itoshi mom first

evidently, itoshi mom is a very concerned mother: she doubts herself, she worries for rin (and sae), and she’s generally lost.

and how could she not feel all those things?

i perceive this as she’s a mother who doesn’t distance herself from her children, but because she doesn’t know what to do at all, she seems hopeless and doesn’t have any solution to fix things. naturally, she has the instinct to do what a parent should in times like scolding, etc—however, this is blue lock, everyone has their own ‘ego’, yet some of those inner desires are just cultivated beyond rationality at this point.

(which strengthens my suspicion about the itoshi parents unconsciously putting the responsibility of rin’s behavior onto sae…)

now, itoshi dad

honestly, i don’t have much to say about him, he’s pretty hands off with what’s happening with their children.

as seen, he does seem more composed and lax about everything, and sae definitely got that from him. i wonder if it’s because of itoshi dad’s ‘talks’ (?) with sae that somewhat developed sae to be the big brother he was to rin back when they were little.

i believe the narrative is just implying that he doesn’t think much of the behavioral differences that rin and sae show, even when rin gets injured and gets in trouble, which is a little yikes on his end but that’s just what i understood.

most definitely, the siblings got the trait of being closed off from their dad, lol.

overall, i still don’t believe they’re bad parents whatsoever. however, i do want to talk about my recurring theory that the itoshi parents gradually placed the responsibility of rin’s behavior (and his whole development) onto sae.

let’s discuss the impact of itoshi sae

when sae was around 13-14, he went to spain, and during the pre-teen/teenage years of the itoshi brothers, their family seems rather peaceful.

the itoshi parents—aside from the pride and joy they felt about sae’s success as a rising soccer player—seem rather refreshed, anew, and just happier. they don’t carry the gloom of being worried for their children’s behavior anymore.

but why?

it’s because of rin and sae’s bond over soccer. from a young age, rin has joined his big brother’s soccer team as they both relished the games they could never play with anyone else aside from each other. basically, the itoshi brothers found what they were for. and they definitely got occupied over it.

though i’m only connecting the dots for my own analysis, i firmly believe that the moment rin played soccer with sae, he found a way for his destructive mindset to be utilized. through soccer—the only thing rin has been focusing on—rin was able to effectively let out his desire to break, destroy, and kill what’s “amazing/perfect”.

and who was the only one there by his side, every pass after pass and goal after goal? of course, it’s his big brother. the one to only truly understand and see rin from the very beginning.

honestly, it all makes me wonder if the itoshi parents ever talked to sae one-on-one about rin’s behavior. (which honestly makes sense, because sae seems like a pretty obedient kid). but at the same time, what are the chances it made sae extremely analytical, too?

i mean, sae was deemed a prodigy at what 7 years old? that’s seriously insane. so it shouldn’t be a surprise that all of what’s leading up to the ego of the itoshi siblings plays a big part. i’m leaning on the possibility that sae was somehow influenced by the itoshi parents to be more keen or observant on rin—that or sae was only doing what he did out of pure instinct, that’s entirely plausible.

however, whatever the course may be, the outcome that sae noticed something with rin (even before their ego in soccer) will not change.

from this point onwards is just my random babbles about the itoshi family’s relationship (kind of…)

“but when sae left for spain the itoshi parents didn’t appear to care about rin-” i am not hearing that. we should remember that blue lock is (honestly borderline but whatever) about SOCCER.

i believe the first ever backstory we got of the itoshi siblings was only soccer-centered, and in rin’s perspective/narration. why would his parents be included in his soccer career when they most definitely weren’t?

again, i don’t believe that they’re bad parents.

also, i doubt that itoshi mom would ever just stop worrying about rin, even when he’s grown up! in fact, i think that with sae leaving for spain, she probably felt even worried because their children are separated. yet at the same time, i do see her not knowing what to really do again. perhaps they had no cameo after the airport scene because rin found it irrelevant in regards to soccer and his ego.

but, then again, i’m very certain that the itoshi parents do care for their children, and are still connected to them somehow…just not when it comes to the field.

aside from the second backstory (the most recent one) they look out for them (i assume this goes for rin too). in the character book the egoist bible, sae mentioned how his parents send him salted kelp from home to go with his rice when he asks. additionally, we saw itoshi dad say in their first back story for sae to “take care of your health!” as he leaves for spain. the itoshi parents do seem to care for rin and sae as supportive parents of athletes, however, only in the sidelines, because i personally don’t think it goes deeper than that.

honestly, everything for me is pointing that the itoshi parents aren’t active and present in the itoshi brothers’ soccer careers. not necessarily implied, but in the ‘another blue lock: episode omotesando’, rin is the only one seen that has a ticket to sae’s japan triumphant match. a ticket sae sent—of which i assume—only to him.

although this is all still just my speculation, i am still leaning on that the itoshi parents aren’t really relevant in the itoshi siblings’ soccer life, but rather, they play a role in how they ended up developing.

that’s all!

again, this are just my own thoughts about this chapter. this is not canon by any means and i am not forcefully saying what i am discussing is right and should be deemed the only theory/ies out there.

i’d love to talk more about theories and analyses on blue lock, let’s chat!

[saeist]

SAEIST WE NEED AN AFTER ARGUMENT FLUFF FROM OUR LOVER SAE

you and sae rarely argued.

obviously there were a few misunderstandings here and there but given that you two were adults, misunderstandings would often be patched up by the end of the day as communication is something sae values a lot especially with how most of the time, you two are in a long distance relationship with his profession and all.

sae would rather have things said right on the dot than to beat around the bush

however, communicating with the soccer super star sometimes isn't enough. especially when his stubbornness kicks in. when times are in drastic measures and you two are not on the same boat even after talking it out rationally, sometimes all hell breaks loose.

all because sae has a bad habit of ignoring you when your little misunderstanding that turns into a full blown argument that blows out of proportion.

it's very on brand of him to do so if you say so yourself.

one could say it's a force of habit given this is the treatment he gives his own manager when things aren't going the way he envisions it. but some could also say that sae is just a blatant asshole for acting like this at his grown ass age

now you might be wondering, what could you two argue about that ended up with sae ignoring you? well it's because sae can't just bite back his own tongue

you were telling him that he should take it a little slow with his trainings because intense trainings usually bring home an irritated sae that would quite literally berate everything he sees including inanimate objects such as your shared pet cactus

and sae being sae, he most likely have said some not very nice things that may have escalated into whatever predicament you two are in right now instead of compromising and working things out like you two normally would

hours have passed and it's just been silence in your shared apartment. if you listened closely you could probably hear a pin drop with how eerie quiet it was

you've already grown past the issue. in retrospect it was kinda nonsensical now that you were off the intense emotional high. now that you think about it, the whole thing that went between you and sae just sounded stupid

amidst these past few hours, sae would occassionally come out of his office to get himself a glass of water to drink or some shit from the pantry. literally anything he can get his hands on in the kitchen where he needs to pass by the living room where you were currently in

you can feel his gaze boring holes onto the back of your head whenever he was at the kitchen for like 10 seconds. you know that he was itching to talk things out with you but you know better that his pride was on the line

talk about egotistical, right?

it was dinner time when sae breaks. he honestly looks and sounds like a stray cat who just got drenched in the rain and needed to take refuge in your care

"sorry" sae murmurs, looking up from his plate to give you the look of defeat evident in his eyes

sae was sure for a while that you would be the first one to break the ice in this little cold war you two currently have going on. boy, was he wrong.

you thought it'd be time for sae to have a taste of his own medicine for a change. how it would feel to be the receiving end of his silent treatment

noticing that you weren't saying anything and continued munching on your food, he initially thought you didn't hear him clearly. so he clears his throat in attempt to catch your attention.

"i said i'm sorry" he coughs, putting down his fork as he waits for you to lift your head up to look at him in the eye while he was talking to you

silence.

sae's eyes widened. usually you'd accept his apology right away. you can't resist him, and neither can he resist you so what's with the sudden switch?

he waits a little more in case you were just busy digesting your food properly but a beat of silence passes by and you were now getting up from the table to put your dishes on the sink.

"y/n" he calls out, running after you to the kitchen. you barely even spare him a glance, maneuvering your way around him to get to the kitchen sink so you could start washing your plate

sae debates with himself if he were to call your name again but quickly realizes that you aren't going to respond any time soon. he sighs, dropping his head. looks like he just lost in his own game

instead, he gets this idea to just follow you around like a lost puppy.

to be frank, you were lowkey enjoying tormenting sae like this. it was too good to be true that he would be the one to grovel and get on his knees to beg for your attention. the way he is literally attached to your hip as you carry on with your daily night routine which should've included doing the dishes together, cleaning up together and his favorite part of the night– doing skincare together

but alas, why isn't it the consequences of sae's actions.

you two were already in bed at this point but still, you have not uttered a word to sae, who was right next to you, eyes glued to your figure, watching you like a hawk.

sae couldn't take it anymore. he doesn't want to end the day like this where you two aren't talking. it was already a hassle for him that you two didn't talk at all for the rest of the day.

not that he's gonna admit it but he misses you. he misses the way you would talk til his ears fall off. he misses your daily reports to him about whatever you did throughout the day when he was out in training. he misses the laughter in the air as you come up with a (not so) funny joke,

sae just misses you. he's not used to your silence and it's killing him

swallowing his pride, sae slowly takes it upon himself to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest

"look, i shouldn't have yelled at you like that earlier. you were just looking out for me and i've been a little preoccupied with trainings that it's getting to me. i'm sorry for being an asshole recently" sae sincerely apologizes, a hand carefully reaching to caress your cheeks

with a smile, you finally look up at sae, "took you long enough" you tease, poking his nose

sae releases the air he was holding in, now that you were finally talking to him again

"never put me through that ever again. i'd rather walk through a thousand needles than you ignoring me" sae nags, wrapping his arms around you tighter.

"now you know how i feel when you ignore me!" you retaliate, snuggling closer to him

sae suddenly kisses the side of your face. "i mean what i said though, i'm sorry for saying all those words. i know that you're just looking out for me. let me make it up to you, y/n"

you look up at him, shaking your head

"no, i totally understand that you have to go to trainings. it's fine, sae. just ease up on trainings so i don't have to worry too much for your well being. can't have my super star all worn up" you joke, nudging him in the slightest

sae smiles. what did he ever do to deserve you

"whatever. i'm still gonna make it up to you for always dealing with me"

"if it's you sae, i don't mind dealing with you at all"

[lild00td00t]

Hi, I hope you are doing well! Can I request headcanons on how Crocodile, Buggy, Mihawk and Doflamingo would propose to their s/o or how they would react if their s/o was the one to propose to them? (Which ever you feel like is fine! :))

Have a great day!

One Piece War Lords: Proposing to their S/O

This was so adorable thank you for requesting the War Lords!! I’ll have to write a part 2. Buggy was honestly my favorite for a bit… 👉🏻👈🏻 but these are gonna be so HELLA friggin cheesy. I’m a hopeless romantic.. so please… COURT ME LIKE WE’RE IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE.

Buggy

• He’s so nervous, his hands are clammy, even on the inside of his gloves sweat is lining along the fabric of them. He’s talked it over to himself multiple times, rationalizing the best and worst case scenario.

• He can’t help but melt when he sees you with the promise ring he gifted. He sweats bullets when you tease him about getting married… at dinner he nearly choked, and poor Mr.3 nearly had a heart attack just trying to dislodge the food that got caught in his throat. But he felt like that a majority of the times you discussed it. Like something was lodged in his throat and cutting off his air.

• So when you’re watching the crew bring a haul back on the ship, hands on your hips in a relaxed stance, you barely notice when he slips a ring on your finger, and he discreetly prays you don’t say anything about it until you screech and throw your arms around him, his body probably splits in 2 out of shock- this poor man -

• “ How does it feel knowing you’re going to be married to the future pirate king ?! Flashy ?! As it should feel?! “ Then the second you romanticize over the idea he practically hemorrhages 🥲

Mihawk

• The most poetic. God - he probably leaves you little poems every where, and they’re all based on you <3

• Your dates are so adorable. Like picnics, or going on row boats. It’s so quiet on the water, so you don’t notice when he slips down on one knee, clasping your hands in his while presenting a ring.

• You nearly flip the boat when you finally comprehend what’s happening but luckily your better half is much more calm and collected.. he was prepared for this reaction.. atleast he thinks he was -

• He kisses your knuckles, then overlaps your hands with his and holds them to his heart

• “ It seems as though the love saga of my poems will continue until death do us part…“

Crocodile

• Posessive..

• He truly is materialistic and is telling the truth. You genuinely will get what you want. But he can see it in your eyes that you’re not after his money, or his valuables or even his status. He can see the way you adoringly look up to him when he talks. And he’s not used to such an innocent form of love you offer.

• He feels that you must be protected, for what you make him feel is vulnerability. Which scares him. Because no one has ever made him feel that way before. So when the time is right, most likely on a starry night when you’re on a walk he’ll stop, just long enough to kneel and pull out the box, just long enough for you to realize what he’s doing. And with that, he confesses his love

• “ With this ring, you are mine.. whatever you want you can have. You will always be treated with my respect and my love, nothing will ever be enough to satiate how I feel for you. No amount of gold compares to that ring on your finger, for it holds the greatest power in all the world.. my promise to you. “

Doflamingo

• Like crocodile he’s possessive.. but with a sweet?? Spin ?? To it ???

• The moment he slips the ring on your finger he brings your hand to his lips for a sweet kiss, giving you that bone chilling smile while keeping his lips pressed to your skin.

• He doesn’t make a big, fancy show out of it. Because he knows that you don’t need everyone to know. It’s obvious that you’re his

• You listen when he talks. You’re never put off by his nightmares or bad moods. You urge him to talk about his brother and family. You talk about starting a new one… as a second chance.

• “ A second chance for the Heavenly Demon.. “ he thinks to himself, lost in thought. You weren’t scared to say that he was flawed, but it didn’t matter, because you could work on it together

• “ As long as you are mine, you will be taken care of and no one, I mean no one, will ever mistreat you ever again, lest they want my wrath… “ And he means it. He means every word of it. He would wage wars in your name, bring cities to the ground, and split the ocean in two if he could, unlike crocodile, who is alittle more materialistic with his promises. <3

[dyaz-stories]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman || Park Chan-Young x f!Reader

summary: Yeong-Su breaks a window at the stadium, and Chan-Young takes the blame for it, resulting in severe consequences. Fortunately, you're here to pick up the pieces afterwards.

word count: 3.1k

warnings & tags: spoilers for season 2 of sweet home, violence, injuries, soldiers being assholes, coarse language, making out, the pronoun "she" is used in reference to the reader

A/N: couldn't find gifs for chan-young so I made this one, but I'm by no means a gif maker, so, yeah. Also, I don't know anything about baseball, so please pretend this makes sense if you know better. I'm not sure which team Chan-Young was supposed to be on, so I picked the Doosan Bears because Sweet Home takes place in Seoul. Finally, it's my first time writing for him, so I hope you'll enjoy my take on this character!

It’s another day at the stadium, which means it’s another day of boredom.

Oh, there are things to do around here, sure. If you don’t mind being ordered around by soldiers who stand behind you with a scowl on their face and remind you that the only reason you’re even there is because of their good will, you’ll find a job to do. Cleaning a corner of the stadium, probably, in hopes that someone will be able to live there — as if there were enough mattresses — or doing the inventory, again, while looking the other way when rations mysteriously go missing and everyone knows who’s doing the taking.

Thing is, you’ve never been one to grovel. In fact, back in the Before days, you were the one giving the orders. Youngest assistant coach for the Doosan bears, the Seoul baseball team, you were in line to become the youngest coach in the history of the country. And, yeah, you weren’t completely in charge, but you were trusted. You had responsibilities. People knew to take you seriously.

You’ve had ideas for how to run this place more efficiently, to avoid making the civilians feel like they’re second-rate citizens, but it’s been made clear to you that you weren’t welcome to make suggestions. So you haven’t bothered, lately, but you also won’t play in that stupid game, where people get to change the rules without telling you.

It means that you do a lot of aimless walking around in the stadium. Chief Ji implicitly lets you roam around, a testament to the fact that you knew each other well back in the days, when you used to bring her coffee before big games, but you mostly try to make yourself useful in the way soldiers haven’t bothered accounting for.

A lot of that means keeping an eye on kids that are left to themselves otherwise. Their parents are busy, and it’s not like there’s much to do for them, here, so you try to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, you’re no teacher, meaning that it’s a lot of physical activities, wherever you find enough place. Other days, people who are teachers take over for you. That is the case today, meaning you’d have the day ‘off’, if it weren’t for Yeong-Su not showing up for class.

You don’t personally think he should have to attend class. You know how mean the other kids can be to him, and though the teachers don’t do much in the name of keeping the peace, you don’t let that fly when you’re in charge. Which is probably why the kid never misses your classes, a small pride that you keep well tucked in your heart.

Still, the teachers insist that you make sure he’s okay, so you agree to go try and find him. He knows the stadium well, meaning it will be no easy task.

You end up finding him throwing a ball against a wall. It looks like he’s practicing his aim, you think when you notice that he’s drawn a square on it. You’re about to approach him, maybe give him a few pointers, when a particularly hard throw has the ball bouncing too high and it crashes through a window, finishing outside of the stadium.

You freeze. Monsters don’t approach the stadium much — it’s been months since there’s been a case of that happening.

But the mere thought of there being something open here still has your heart pounding with fear. It’s only a few seconds before you compose yourself, but that’s long enough for someone to come running. You rush towards Yeong-Su, prepared to fiercely defend him if you need to.

It’s Chan-Young, and you relax, even if your heart is now pounding for a whole other reason.

“What happened here?” he asks.

He may have been running with his whole equipment, but he shows no sign of being out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Yeong-Su mumbles. He’s hard to handle, especially these days, but he clearly respects Chan-Young a lot. “I didn’t mean to— I was just practicing and—"

Oh gosh, you realize, kid was practicing pitching, and it’s not lost on you that that’s the position Chan-Young mainly played as.

“…and now I’ve lost my ball,” Yeong-Su sniffs.

He’s trying to hold back tears, and it tears a little piece of your heart away. You know that Yeong-Su had found a ball autographed by Chan-Young, know that it’s one of his most prized possessions. It’s no surprise that Yeong-Su can’t stand the thought of losing anything more than what he already has.

Chan-Young glances at you, still standing a few steps behind Yeong-Su.

“He didn’t mean to,” you say. “I’ll help you fix the window.” Eun-Yu probably won’t mind giving you a hand, too.

Chan-Young nods, and you watch as he puts a knee to the floor, so he’s at eye-level with Yeong-Su. If he was any other soldier, you’d be more cautious, but you know him. Worked with him, when he was on your team, lost him when he enlisted, and now you’re in this strange limbo, where he doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you, even though there is this obvious familiarity between the two of you, every time you do speak.

“You need to be more careful,” he tells Yeong-Su, putting on his Serious voice. “If a monster heard that and came in, it could be very dangerous for everyone. And if you’re in front of the window when it happens, it would attack you first. So don’t let that happen again, okay?”

Then he gives Yeong-Su a small, comforting smile.

“If you want to practice again, come ask me next time, okay?” He glances up at you, and there’s such softness in his eyes when he does. “Or ask the coach. She knows her stuff.”

You’d never become coach, not officially, but his use of the word makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” Yeong-Su mumbles, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, it looks like everything will resolve itself just like that, and you’re already putting a hand on Yeong-Su’s shoulders to pull him away with you, when you hear the familiar stomping of military boots coming towards you.

Chan-Young’s expression changes immediately.

“Go,” he orders.

“But…”

He spins around to grab your shoulders, lowering himself to look straight into your eyes.

“Go,” he repeats. “Please.”

There’s such urgency in his voice that you can’t deny him, even if you’re not sure what is going on exactly. You grab Yeong-Su’s hand and pull him with you until you’re both behind a corner, just in time. You keep an eye on the scene, confused. The soldiers behave like assholes, you know that, but surely—

“What happened here?” the Sergeant bellows in Chan-Young’s face. “You’re lucky it was us, who were standing outside the window, and not something else! You better have an explanation, soldier.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chan-Young says, shoulders straight, from what you can see. “I was just practicing and—”

Before you can wonder why he’d lie, the punch catches him in the stomach, and he doubles over in pain. You catch yourself before you can gasp out loud, and instinctively cover Yeong-Su’s mouth, which is probably a smart move, because he starts thrashing to run towards Chan-Young. You don’t blame him, but you also absolutely cannot let him do that, not right now.

“Yeong-Su,” you whisper, mimicking Chan-Young’s attitude with you just a minute ago. “You need to go back to Ms. Cha. Okay?”

“But they’re…”

You wince, because they’re still berating Chan-Young, and one of them has just given him a hard kick to the ribs. All the more reason for you to intervene.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise, but I can’t do that if you’re here. So go back to her, and I’ll come see you when everything is okay again, alright?”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes to hide the tears, then turns around and runs. At least he’s got a good survival instinct, you think, even if it hurts to remember where it comes from. The second you’re sure he’s not coming back, it’s your turn to run, but towards the soldiers this time, with a confidence that you now worry is wholly unwarranted.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?” you interject, maneuvering so you can get between them and Chan-Young.

There’s a scoff and they roll their eyes. One of them puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes, but you barely take a step back. You’re used to men trying to intimidate you.

“I thought we’d made it clear that your opinions weren’t welcome,” Seo-Jin snaps at you, getting too close to your face for comfort — like that would make you budge.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you beat up someone because he broke a fucking window, when if you’d gotten to work, that hole would be closed by now,” you reply on the same tone.

He opens his mouth to yell at you once more, a vein bulging on his forehead, when Chan-Young comes to stand in front of you. He’s barely just gotten on his feet, has one hand pressed against his rib cage, and still, he’s already coming to stop you from taking any risk. You want to scream at him and hug him all at the same time.

“Please, sir, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Neither does he!

“That’s enough, Seo-Jin,” sergeant Kim finally intervenes, and the man immediately takes a step back. “Don’t let it happen again,” he tells Chan-Young. “And fix the hole,” he tells you, as an afterthought, before leaving and taking his team with him.

Your blood is boiling. He might try to be the voice of reason now, but you saw him doing nothing while his men got blood on their hands so he wouldn’t have to.

You don’t have time to think about it, though, because next to you, Chan-Young has slowly let himself slide to the floor.

“Are you okay?” you ask, panicked, while he grimaces and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says, an obvious lie. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You took responsibility for something you had nothing to do with, but I’m the one who shouldn’t have said anything?”

He sighs, shakes his head.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. He looks at you with warm eyes, and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

There’s something about Chan-Young, there always has been. You always have to remind yourself that he’s nice to everyone, because he’s such a kind person. Even that didn’t stop you from falling for him — and it’s the second time that it happens, damn him.

“I’ll go get medical supplies,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Please, do you want to die from an infection after surviving all these monsters? Stay. Here.”

You ignore any further protests as you rush to get the supplies.

It doesn’t take you long. Chief Ji provides you with what you need without questions, and apologizes for not being able to give you painkillers — they’re reserved for emergencies, she explains. You know the other supplies are, too, but you understand her reasoning, and just thank her with a quick nod and a promise to help out for the next few shifts outside the stadium, if she needs it.

When you come back, Chan-Young’s moved to sit on one of the boxes that are always laying around in here, and you grab another one to sit across from him.

“Open your jacket,” you say as you take the disinfectant.

“I— I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with an eyeroll, because the guys on the team weren’t exactly shy about taking their shirt off in front of you and he should remember that.

He clears his throat and glances away, and you notice his ears turning red.

“Um, right. Yeah. Just a second.”

Under the jacket, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, and he lifts it up so you can see for yourself.

And it’s not looking good. The area is red and swollen already, and you worry it will be worse soon. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about that, so you disinfect the scratches caused by the boots, and gesture for him to put it back down. You’d normally advise to put something cold on it, to calm the swelling, but that’s not really an option here, not when the little electricity you have is mostly used to keep the lights on.

“Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a brief laugh. It’s a silly recommendation, and you both know it, but you still felt the need to say something.

“Now give me your hand, I’ll see what I can do.”

He does, and you carefully turn it to check the palm. You’re not sure if he hurt himself when he fell earlier, or if it’s just that there’s constantly manual work to be done and it’s hard not to injure your hand. Either way, you start cleaning it and disinfecting it as well.

“Do you think they would have been as hard on a kid?” you ask.

“No!” he protests immediately, maybe a tad too strongly. “They’re humans. I’m sure they wouldn’t have—” He interrupts himself, and you suspect that he knows they still could have hit him, a thought that makes your stomach turn. “But… Yeong-Su’s had a hard enough life as it is. People here are not… kind to him.”

“I’m not blaming you, especially after that,” you sigh, “I just— You do realize that it’s not your responsibility, right? I’d have helped the kid, and it could have ended better than…”

You gesture vaguely at him, and he closes his eyes for a second. He closes his fingers over yours where you’re holding his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin, which sends a wave of heat through your body. It only lasts a moment, though, before he catches himself and lets go.

“I’m— I was in charge, when his sister— I was supposed to be helping them. And I failed him.”

“What?” Ms. Cha told you that story, in hushed whispers, to explain why Yeong-Su was such a complicated child these days. It had been clear that there was nothing Chan-Young could have done. “You can’t blame yourself for someone turning into a monster and going on a rampage.”

“It happened on my watch,” he insists. “If I’d been more careful— If I hadn’t left the bus—”

You stop yourself to look at him straight in the eye. He’s close, but you don’t feel uncomfortable, not with him.

“That could have happened to anyone. You couldn’t have planned for it.” He exhales, long and slow.

“Thank you for saying that,” he says, but you can tell that your words haven’t sunk in. It breaks your heart, and yet you have no idea what more you can say. After all, you weren’t there. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe you.

“You still shouldn’t put yourself in the line of danger to—” to what, anyway? Expiate his sins? What does he have to prove? Does he have a death wish or something? “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have to.”

“Better me than Yeong-Su,” he insists. “He’s just a kid, and he has his mom — well, Ms. Cha. And he has you.” You set the disinfectant back down, hands almost trembling as you realize where he’s going with this. “Better me than him,” he just concludes sadly.

“Park Chan-Young,” you say, “you don’t seriously think that, right?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he replies.

“He has a family here. I— don’t really have anyone—”

You’re not sure what goes through your head when you put your hand on his cheek and kiss him. If you had to rationalize it — which you’re not really in any position to do when it happens — you’d say that you just wanted to prove him how wrong he was. Truth is, though, that you also couldn’t bear the idea that you were letting him believe that when it was so entirely untrue.

His lips are warm against yours, and you think you feel him leaning into you, but you pull away too soon to know.

“There,” you say as you gather your things. “Now you know you do have someone, so don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily, alright?”

Then you’re on your feet, hell-bent on fleeing the scene.

Of course, Chan-Young catches up with you in an instant. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you back against him. His eyes are wide as he searches yours.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice catching in his throat.

“Mean what?” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re… not sure where he is going with this.

“It wasn’t pity, right? You— I have you?”

The words almost send a shiver down your spine.

“Of course you do. I don’t exactly go around kissing people—”

Next thing you know, his hands are cupping your face and his mouth is on yours. He kisses you feverishly, like he desperately needs you to prove your words to him. You kiss back without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck. It isn’t long before your back hits the wall and you let out a brief groan.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from you to check on you. “Are you—”

You don’t let him finish, pulling him back down against you. His hands move down to your waist, one of them slipping under your t-shirt to feel your bare skin. He’s kissing you slower now, more sensual, and he abandons your mouth to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, before he comes back to your lips.

“I shouldn’t—” he mumbles against you. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” you reply, but it doesn’t surprise you when he tears himself away from you. He’s a sight to behold, flushed and out of breath — and is it odd that you enjoy seeing him panting from kissing you when you know he can run for hours without struggling? He’s always been one to stick to the rules closely. It says a lot that he broke one right now, but you won’t push him any further, not until he’s ready.

You take a step back towards him, take his hand in yours, and press your lips to his cheek for one last, soft kiss.

“Don’t forget now,” you say. “You have me. Don’t risk your life without thinking.”

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he leans in to press his forehead against yours, squeezing your hand in his.

“I have you,” he repeats, as if to convince himself. “I have you.”

I hope you liked it! as always, if you did, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought! feedback is really motivating and is what keep us authors going, so leaving a comment or sending an ask or anything really helps to keep me writing!

more writing for sweet home

[thebearer]

i'll be so happy loving you |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: a two for one special- the proposal and the elopement :) or how you and carmen get married.

contains: language, alludes to sexual references, some smut at the end but not super graphic. mainly just lovey dovey fluff!!!

Six Weeks Earlier 

“Looks pretty in here, bear.” You hum, looking around the newly renovated restaurant. “I love that painting.”  Now that The Bear was bringing in some revenue, Carmen and Sydney could decorate more how they envisioned, tiny touches that made the place dazzle- look and feel more like how they dreamed it would be. 

“Yeah? Like it better than the old one?” Carmen grinned, arms looping around your waist, cheek pressed lazily to your own. 

You melted into his touch, nodding gently. “Yeah. Much better.” You turn so your noses are nearly touching. “A lot better than that watercolor piece.” 

Carmen snorted. “Yeah, I told Sugar it looked weird. Told her we needed fuckin’ abstract or somethin’.” 

You looked at the painting, a configuration of muted lines and colors that somehow fit the aesthetic of the restaurant perfectly. “Yeah, I think everyone will like it. Looks perfect.” You mutter, lips brushing against Carmen’s cheek for a sweet kiss. He shouldn’t have flustered so easily, but how could he not? When you kissed him, looked at him, loved him this way. 

“So what’s on the menu for tonight?” You asked, turning in Carmen’s arms, lazily looping your own around his neck. 

“We’re closed tonight.” Carmen hoped you couldn’t feel the pounding in his heart, running his clammy hands down your waist while your brows knitted together. “Got a private event.” 

“Private event? Ooh, very fancy, chef.” You quipped. “How did I miss that? I swear it wasn’t on the calendar-” 

“-It wasn’t.” Carmen said quickly, far too quickly to be cool and unsuspecting like he’d hoped. You pulled back, a little shocked at his tone, his hands pulling you back to him, running soothingly down your spine. “I mean… It's a private party. A sort of celebration just for all of us. For the staff. Since we’ve been, uh, doin’ so good.” 

You paused for a moment, eyes darting all over his face, trying desperately to read his expression. Carmen hoped you couldn’t see through him, hoped that the lie Richie made him rehearse would work on you. Hoped he wouldn’t ruin this like he ruined everything else. 

“That’s sweet.” Your pursed lips melted into a smile. “I think that’ll be really nice, Carm. That’s very sweet. They deserved it. You deserve it, Carm.” 

Carmen blushed, letting his eyes fall down between the two of you. He was still getting used to that, after all this time, the sweet compliments you gave him freely. Not as an apology or to get something out of him- use it to control him like others had. 

“You deserve it too, y’know.” Carmen could feel his chest beating, rising and stomach turning the way it did when his heat rate picked up. The rational voice in his head was telling him there was nothing to be worried about, but it was a hushed whisper compared to the roar of “what if’s” and self doubting screams that took over. 

Your lips curled in a little smile. You didn’t agree, but you didn’t argue either. Carmen could feel the lurch of his heart flutter back down into his chest. “So, I’ll pick you up at seven?” 

You laughed, brows lifting in amusement. “Oh? It’s a date? Thought this was staff appreciation.” 

“More like a fancy kinda family.” Carmen schmoozed you easily. “But one where you should maybe wear that dress? Or really, whatever you want, but ya know… I’ll be dressed up and so will everyone else. It’s stupid, but-but I wanted it to be nice like the real experience sorta thing-” 

“-Carm,” You cut off his rambling with a hand cradling his jaw, thumb gliding over the stubble on his chin. “I think it’s really sweet. I’ll dress up. Thanks for giving me a heads up. I don’t want to be a jack off in jeans.” 

“A what?” Carmen barked out a laugh. “A jack off?” You frowned, nodding slightly. Carmen bit back his laugh, lips pulling in a wide smile. “It's a jag-off, baby. Gotta let it roll off the tongue.” 

You blushed, rolling your eyes at him to hide your own embarrassment. “You’re a jagoff, Berzatto.” You jammed your finger into his chest, leaving him laughing. 

Present 

“This is it.” Carmen muttered, pushing the creaking door of the house open. You looked around the room, dimly lit with creaking planks of wood for floors. House plants everywhere and the sound of the waves rolling gently on the water outside when the boats cruised by. 

“This is it, hm?” You grinned, looking around while Carmen set the bags down by the door, nervously tracking you. 

“Yeah. It-It’s not a lot, baby, I told you it wouldn’t be. But I-I just… Wait until you see the view in the morning or-or at sunset, when it goes down over the water it’s so clear, you won’t believe it-” 

“-Carmen,” You laughed lightly, a grin so wide your cheeks were hurting. “It’s perfect. Cute, I love it.” You giggled, pushing the blinds open to let the light in. Carmen’s chest aches with the release of tension from hearing that- that you liked it. 

“So where’s this cat?” You hum, ducking under the table and couch to look, eyes scanning the small space of the boat house. 

“The cat that doesn’t exist?” Carmen snorted lightly. 

“You and Marcus say that but I know it’s here.” You hum, scanning the room for a cat door, anyway that the animal might come in and out. “Probably just scared of the two of you.” 

“Kinda the charm of this place, honey. You don’t see the cat. Just feed the invisible cat and water the plants.” Carmen was beaming, watching your frame illuminated by the bright Denmark sun shining in through the windows. 

“Hm, I’m gonna see this cat before I leave.” You declared, checking the cabinets, the hall closets- all the places your own cat liked to hide. Anchovy, you and Carmen’s precious boy, found in the dumpster outside of The Bear. 

Carmen’s lips quipped in a smirk. “I wanna see your cat. How about that, hm?” It was corny, cheesy, made you cringe and laugh and gag exaggeratedly all at the same time; which is exactly why he said it. Arms wrapping around your waist, he pulled you close, lips hovering over yours. 

“Carm,” You sighed gently, a trace of a giggle following with the breathy moan that hitched in your throat when his hands kneaded the fat of your ass. “Thought we had to meet your friend later? I still have to get ready and shower-” 

“-We got two hours, baby.” Carmen purred, tongue running over your bottom lip teasingly, feeling you tense under his touch. “C’mon, we got time. I’ll take a shower with you, too. Save time.” 

You snorted lightly, rolling your eyes. He was insatiable, and you couldn’t blame him. The two of you here, back at the “most beautiful fuckin’ place on Earth” according to Carmen. He looked so good, so pretty. The way the sunlight would catch in his eyes. They were brighter here, bluer. You didn’t know how that was possible, but it was, and it left you clinging to his hand while you strolled down the street, gazing into his eyes positively dopey and love drunk. 

“You gotta be quick.” You pointed at him with an exaggerated glare, already giving in. “Not like last night. We almost missed our flight, bear.” 

“But we didn’t.” Carmen grinned, his breath hot when it trailed down your cheek to your jaw, leaving wet, sloppy kisses in its wake, hands tilting your head back gently to get to your neck. 

Carmen walked you back towards the kitchen table, hands gripping and sliding down your waist up to your neck. “You just look s’pretty. My pretty girl.” 

You blushed, enveloping his lips fully, letting yourself melt into him, maybe he was melting into you- the two of you molding into each other, fusing together like it was your only purpose in life. Your legs around his waist, lying back on the rickety oak table that Carmen assured “It’ll be fine, just relax, baby. I got ya.” His hand in yours while he rolled deeply inside of you, skin to skin, a chorus of whines and mewls mixing in harmony in the kitchen. 

Six Weeks Earlier 

“Oh, looks like we’re early.” You look around the restaurant. The tables were set and lights dim, but only you and Carmen seemed to be the ones in it. 

“Uh, they-they finished late, but, uh, they’ll be here.” Carmen stuttered, hands running down the front of his pants again, eyes darting around the room. 

Your eyes narrowed lightly, but shook it off. Carmen was nervous, he had been for weeks. You thought it was because of the restaurant’s new Michelin star holder status, or maybe because of the countless interviews and press that came with it. Still, that had been weeks ago, the press had died down slightly, and Carmen was still anxious. 

“Ah, good evening, folks.” Richie beamed, sliding behind the hostess stand. “How are the two of you this fine night?” 

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Great, Richie. How are you?” You played along. 

“I am having a lovely night, even better not that you are here.” Richie schmoozed, leaving you snorting lightly at his dramatics. “Right this way.” 

“So what time does everyone get here?” You ask, sliding into the booth. 

“Oh, they’ll be here soon.” Richie said easily, calming your suspicions. “I'll go ahead and get you two started while you wait.” 

“So you didn’t get the night off?” You laugh gently. 

“Someone’s gotta take care of everything, sweetheart.” Richie shrugged. “Champagne? Or is that too early?” 

Carmen’s eyes flashed at Richie. “I just want water, Cousin.” 

If there was any hostility, Richie didn’t seem to notice, simply turning to you. “And for the lovely lady?” 

“Uh, I’m good with water for now too.” You nodded. “I’ll wait until everyone else gets here.” 

“Wonderful.” Richie grinned, eyes cutting in a glare towards Carmen’s. “I’ll be back with that for the two of you.” 

You waited until Richie was gone, turning to Carmen carefully. “Hey, what was that?” You asked. 

“What?” Carmen tried to appear calm and chill, his body tensing beside you. “What-What was what?” 

Your brows furrowed. “Carmen… Are you ok?” You asked, reaching out to grab his hand lightly. His hands were clammy, tensing in yours, and pulling away quickly to wipe the perspiration on his jeans. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“No.” Carmen shook his head furiously. He felt like he might throw up and sob at the same time. Felt like his own heart might just give out entirely. “I’m fine, baby, I promise. I’m just… I’m still trying to figure out the summer menu. Make sure it’s good because we’ve never done that before. That’s what we’re trying tonight, and-and I just hope it’s good, ya know?” It wasn’t a total lie, Carmen was worried about the menu and you were testing it tonight. 

You seemed to believe him, his chest loosening when you scooched closer to him, cuddled together in the booth. “It’ll be good. You know it will, bear.” You hummed, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek, laughing when you pulled apart. “Shit, I’m sorry I forgot I have lipstick on.” You giggle, wiping the imprint away lightly off his blushing cheeks. 

“Sorry for the wait.” Richie hummed, dropping the two waters off easily with the new starter for you to try. A classic Mediterranean salad and pita spruced up “Sydney style” as you would say. The term had caught on in the kitchen, finding its way into the names and actions done there. Carmen loved it. Loved the way you said it, the way the staff said it, that it came from you. 

“I’ll leave this here, and I’ll be back with the first course.” Richie smiled. 

“Richie, why don’t you sit with us and try it until the others get here?” You nodded to the spot beside you. 

Carmen froze and so did Richie, the two of them looking at each other for only a moment- but it was a moment too long. Your suspicions rose again, eyes flickering between the two of them. “Ya know, I would love to, but I gotta help the newbies in the kitchen.” Richie said easily. “Gotta make sure they got everything covered. I’m head chef tonight.” 

You didn’t laugh or roll your eyes like you normally would. Instead, you glared at him lightly. Richie’s eyes flashed to Carmen’s. “Alright, well, uh, if the two of you need anything? I’m your guy, alright?”

You waited until he was back in the kitchen, Carmen’s eyes focused on the food, knee bouncing furiously under the table. “Carmen, look at me.” You demanded, turning to him fully. His eyes lifted hesitant towards yours, wide and round like a child caught coloring on the walls. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Nothin’, baby, I promise.” Carmen said quickly, trying to soothe you but his rigid, frantic tone didn’t help. 

“Carmen-” 

“-It’s nothing.” Carmen said, matching your firm tone. “Just Richie bein’... I dunno what the fuck he’s doin’. Pissin’ me off.” Carmen grumbled, shaking his head. 

“Did you two get in a fight or something?” You pressed. “Is that why you’re being weird?” 

Carmen blinked. “Yes.” He blurted. That wasn’t true, not even remotely. He and Richie had been getting along great, actually, for once. But if it would throw off your suspicions, then he’d gladly throw Richie under the bus- this once. 

“Oh.” You frowned lightly. “Why? I thought you guys were getting along?” 

“You know how Richie is.” Carmen rolled his eyes for emphasis. “He just… He can’t keep his fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

“What did he say?” You asked, reaching for the pita, scooping it in the blended dip of sorts. 

“Just… It was stupid and gross. I really don’t want to talk about it.” Carmen shook his head. “I don’t wanna talk about him. Wanna talk to you. How is it?” 

You hummed, chewing lightly. “Amazing. As always.” You beamed proudly at Carmen. “I told you it would be. You’re the best, bear.” 

Carmen blushed, chewing on his own piece. It was good. Sydney had found the perfect balance, she always did. “Well, this is Syd, not me. Can’t take the credit for this one.” 

“Mm, I thought it tasted very Sydney style.” You giggled. 

“Yeah,” Carmen nodded, hoping you didn’t see the way his hands shook when he took a sip of water. He could barely eat, barely drink around the lump in his throat. “She did most of this, but, uh, I did the dessert.” 

“You did?” You gawked gently. “Not Marcus?” 

“No.” Carmen nudged you lightly. “Well, he helped a little. But it was mostly me. He said I could take the credit on this one” 

“That bad, huh?” You laughed. “Marcus doesn’t even want to put his name on it? Yikes.” 

Carmen rolled his eyes, grinning fondly at you. “I think you’ll like it.” 

You eyed him playfully. “Well, I have high hopes, Berzatto.” 

Me too. Carmen thought, shoving another torn piece of pita in his mouth, hand rubbing anxiously over his pocket again. 

Present 

“So the two of you met in school?” You ask, hand on Carmen’s knee under the table, lightly rubbing over his slacks soothingly. 

“Yes. And he was so much better than me, I thought about dropping out every single day.” Luca grinned playfully at Carmen. “You know, that’s why I went to pastry? Because I knew I’d never compete with Carmen in the other areas, but making a tart? I could outdo him on a tart.” 

“I could never get the crust right.” Carmen shrugged. “Could never figure out how to get it flaky enough. Used to drive me fuckin’ insane.” 

Luca grinned smugly, refilling his own glass of wine. “Well, your chef, Marcus, has got it. Might have it even better than me. Real talent on that one.” 

“Yeah.” Carmen beamed. “He’s good. Real good.” 

“He is.” Luca nodded, before looking over at you. “I’m sorry, darling, I don’t want to be rude, talking about all this cooking nonsense. I’m sure you’ve had enough of that back home.” 

“Oh, no. I love to hear about it.” You beamed, reassuringly. “I wish I could cook like that. You can ask Carm, I’m a hopeless cook. Horrible at it.” 

“No, you’re not, c’mon.” Carmen shook his head lightly at you. “She’s good. Can make a better grilled cheese than any of us.” 

Luca grinned at your blush, the way Carmen pulled you into his side lovingly. It was good to see Carmen like this. The last time, right after Mikey’s death, Carmen was dull. It worried Luca. Carmen had always been tightly wound, anxious, meticulous to a fault, but it seemed to get more extreme- damaging. It was refreshing to see him now. Luca could hardly recognize him, the relaxed, cool man in front of him. No ounce of competition in his tone, his guard down for once. Here with you; happy with you. 

“So, I hope I’m not overstepping, but I have to ask.” Luca said, leaning forward on the table gently. “Why here? Why not at home for the two of you? Not that I mind, at all, of course. I’m honored, but I have to know why here?” 

You looked at Carmen, lashes batting lightly. “Well, Carmen always said it was the most beautiful place he’d ever been. Marcus, too. And… I dunno, I’d always wanted to come, so we figured why not?” 

“This place has always been good for me, ya know?” Carmen muttered, his knee bouncing lightly. “I-I… nothin’ bad has ever happened here like it has other places.” He didn’t need to say it, you both knew. “It’s always been good, and-and I wanna keep the good. We’re already good, I just wanna do it somewhere good, too.” 

Luca nodded slowly, lifting his own wine glass up to the two of you. “Well, then; to keeping the good.” He grinned, his glass clinking against your own when they touched. “And I’m honored to be a part of this, really.” 

“Thank you for bein’ a part of it.” Carmen said, jaw clenched with emotion. “Means a lot, Luca. I, uh, I-I really-” 

“Don’t mention it, friend. I’m happy to. Excited, really, for the two of you.” Luca nodded warmly. 

“We are too.” You grin, beaming up at Carmen lovingly. 

“Yeah… yeah we are.” Carmen hummed, hand sliding down your hip and squeezing it gently. 

Six Weeks Earlier 

“I think it’s great, but you know me, bear. I’d eat chicken tenders every day if I could.” You giggled. 

“Still?” Carmen beamed, eyes dazzling in amusement, huddled into you in the booth like you two were the only two in the restaurant- and well, you were. You hadn’t seemed to notice, thankfully. 

“Thought I finally got you outta that?” Carmen teased. 

“Nuh-uh, no way, bear. I’m still a tender defender-” 

“-Tender defender?” Carmen howled in laughter. 

“Yes! I love chicken tenders, and frankly, your disdain for them is off putting, Berzatto. You should love and appreciate all foods, Mr. Michelin star Chef of the year.” You tickled his side lightly, making him squirm gently, a little blushy under your praise. 

“Yeah, maybe not tenders. Nuggets? I can get behind nuggets.” Carmen hummed, his smile falling gently when he saw Richie come out, holding the small covered tray. His heart hammered, feeling his stomach turn while you still giggled beside him. 

“And dessert is here.” Richie said smoothly, eyes cutting to Carmen’s. 

“Ooh, what is it?” You asked, reaching over to pull the cloche off. 

“Eh, eh, hold on.” Richie pulled it away gently. “The Chef,” His eyes cut dramatically to Carmen’s. “Wants it to be a surprise. Wants to surprise you himself.” 

You looked at Carmen, an amused grin on your lips. “Oh, does he?” You quip. 

Richie winked at Carmen, backing away. “Enjoy, you two.” 

Carmen waited until the doors shut to look at you, sure his heart was going to stop entirely. “So?” You lifted a brow, a finger tracing the bottom plate lightly. “What’s the big surprise?” 

Carmen’s heart fluttered in his chest at your smile, wiping his hands one more time on his pants before he grasped the lid, a white knuckled grip so his shaking would still. “You, uh, you remember how Marcus was talking that one time about the cake he had in Copenhagen? And how-how it was the best thing he’d ever had?” Fuck, he was stuttering, his mind racing, and his hands were clamming all over again. 

“Yeah, the sponge one, right?” You asked, nodding gently. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s the one.” Carmen nodded. “So, uh, I was thinking… You should try it.” 

“Oh?” You grinned, eyes flashing to him excitedly. “Is that what this is? Carmen, that’s so sweet-” 

“-No.” Carmen shook his head, watching your face fall in confusion. “Fuck, I mean, yeah, it is- it’s- I’m just-” Carmen took a deep breath, trying to still his nerves, stop his ramblings. “I think you should try it for yourself,” His hands shook when he pulled the lid off, revealing the plate. 

You gawked, looking at the tiny sponge cake, covered in a thin layer of chocolate separating the many layers, a dollop of cream of some sorts on top. But that wasn’t what caught your eye. No, it was the two tickets sticking out of the top, plane tickets to Copenhagen. 

“Carmen…” You gasped lightly, looking at him with bright eyes that made his heat leap. 

“I think you should get to try it for yourself, there.” Carmen grinned. “I-I want us to go together and try it.” 

“Carmen, oh my god, this is-this is just… You’re so fuckin’ sweet.” You grin, hands grabbing his cheeks, pulling him into you in a hard kiss. One that had his mind stilling, body melting to yours. Kissing you always made him feel like that. Like he had no other purpose than to just kiss you, and to him, maybe he didn’t. 

“This is so sweet. I-I can’t wait!” You squealed, hugging him tightly. “Oh, I want to go to that restaurant your friend works at! And maybe we could go to those gardens? I saw them on TikTok and I’ve wanted to go so badly since then.” 

Carmen nodded, your head on his chest, he was sure now that you could hear his heart still hammering. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that. Whatever you want to do.” His eyes closed, taking a cleansing breath. Carmen looked at you, the excitement in your eyes. It’s now or never, Berzatto. Let it rip. 

“There’s, uh, o-one more thing I’d like to do.” Carmen shuddered, sliding away from you gently, his hand slipping in his pocket as casually as he could. 

You were bubbly, positively giddy with excitement, you didn’t even notice it. “Yeah? What else? Anything, baby.” 

Carmen fought back a tiny laugh, his sweaty hand clasped in front of you, free one taking your hand. “I, uh, I-I… I wanna marry you?” 

Your breath hitched, body stilling. You were sure you’d heard him wrong, grip tightening in his. “W-What?” 

Carmen’s hand opened slowly, revealing the ring, dazzling even in the low light of the restaurant. Your breath hitched, falling out of your lungs sharply at the sight. 

“I wanna marry you.” Carmen repeated, steadier this time even of the rapid fire beats of his heart. “I mean, I want to marry you even if it’s not there, but-but we talked about a destination wedding if we ever did… And-And I… I can’t imagine living another day without you. I have never loved anything- anyone the way I loved you. Never been loved the way you love me, and… I want to do it every single day for the rest of my life.” 

Your lip wobbled, tears pricking your eyes as Carmen picked up the ring, holding it between his pointer and thumb. Your eyes flickered back to his. “You're the best person I’ve ever met; I ever will meet, baby. You’re-you’re fun, and you’re caring and sweet, and you always are so good to me. Even when I don’t deserve it.” 

“Carm-” 

“-No, I mean it. You are. You are the best. And I love you so much, it-it makes my fuckin’ chest hurt sometimes how much I love you.” Carmen let out a breathy laugh. Your own watery laugh bubbled out of your chest, making your lip wobble, tears streaming down your face. 

“I want to go to Copenhagen with you, and-and I want to go to France with you, and- fuck, I wanna go everywhere and do everything with you for the rest of my life.” Carmen rambled, his own eyes glassy when they looked into yours. 

He said your name, letting each syllable roll off his tongue, your own heart squeezing with joy. “Will you marry me?” 

Your throat felt strangled with emotions, a wet sniffle and a tiny squeak of a cry falling from your lips. “Yes.” You nodded, your own hand shaking in his. “Yes, Carm, yes. I’ll marry you, yes.” 

“Yes?” Carmen was sure he was hallucinating; dreaming, maybe. Had to be. But yet, there you were, wiping your eyes, nodding and giving a watery laugh that had his heart aching in the best way. 

“Yes, Carmen, are you kidding me? Yes. Of course, I’ll marry you.” You muttered, your hands finding his jaw easily, pulling him for another kiss that had his head reeling, a small sob passing through his lips onto yours. 

Carmen fumbled through his own teary sniffles, hands shaking with adrenaline when he slipped the ring on, your foreheads pressed together. “Holy shit, it’s… it’s beautiful, Carmen.” You gawked, pulling the ring up to see it. The design, the cuts, it screamed Carmen in the best way- made your lip quiver all over again. 

“Yeah? I-I designed it, and I just… It looked like something you’d like.” Carmen muttered, turning to wipe his eyes. 

“I love it.” You beam. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” Carmen whispered, hands cradling your wet cheeks, moving sweetly back to you. 

“So,” Richie’s voice interrupted, halting the two of you. You turned, seeing the staff standing excitedly behind him. “Do you want the champagne now?” 

Present 

The ceremony was a whirlwind. The two of you, standing hand in hand in the Copenhagen City Hall. Carmen in a suit, sans tie, a blue gray sort of jacket that made his eyes pop even more, if that was possible. You,  in your wedding dress, casual and short but still so pretty. You knew when you saw it that it was the one. A tiny veil and a bouquet of flowers, Carmen had surprised you with this morning, your ring dazzling. 

Luca passed you the ring, a warm smile when you took it, repeating the vows to Carmen before you slipped it on his inked finger. A couple signatures and a kiss later, and the two of you were married- married. The photographer you’d hired snapped photos in the garden out front, Luca gifted you a bottle of Jouet and well wishes. 

Carmen carried you through the threshold, insisted on it, scooping you up and kicking the door open while you squealed and giggled. The two of you were giddy, climbing on a high of adrenaline and oxytocin. 

Carmen kissed you in the kitchen, his wife. His hand cradled your cheeks, your hand slipping over his, rings scratching lightly- metal on metal. A reminder that it was real- this was real. 

For the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Berzatto. 

For the first time tangled in the sheets with his wife. Feeling your lips against his, your fingers in his hair, diamond scratching his scalp when your fists curled. His ring left an imprint on your thighs when he gripped them. 

Carmen’s head was buried between your thighs, lapping at your dripping heat like his heart might give out if he didn’t. “Oh! Carm, right there, right there…” You hummed, eyes fluttering, and back arching off the creaking bed. You didn’t care that it shook, part of you hoped you'd break it. 

Carmen could barely hear, your thighs clamped around his head like earmuffs. He was in his own ecstasy driven state, high off the day's events and his love for you, mindlessly lapping at you until he felt your hands push him away. 

“What?” Carmen panted, your slickness coating his mouth, pupils blown with lust. “What’s wrong?” 

“Look,” You whispered, pointing to the corner of the room. 

Carmen turned, hands still gripping your thighs, neck craning to see. There at the edge of the door, two blinking eyes gazed back at him. An orange tabby, perched and clicking back at the two of you curiously. 

“No fuckin’ way.” Carmen muttered, cheek resting against your thigh lightly. 

You giggled, running a hand through his hair. “Told you! He’s probably just scared of you.” You hummed. 

Carmen snorted lightly, standing to coax the cat out gently before he shut the door. He didn’t need you distracted or worse; the cat jumping up on the bed while you two were going at it. 

“Can’t believe that fuckin’ cat’s real.” Carmen grinned, shaking his head lightly. 

“He’s just scared of you and Marcus. I must have good energy.” You beamed playfully. 

Carmen rolled his eyes, pushing you back lightly on the bed. “Just lay back f’me, alright? Let me take care of you, baby.” 

You purred, hips grinding into his touch. “Yes, Mr. Berzatto.” You giggled, back arching when he licked a long, flat tongue stripe through your drenched folds. Copenhagen was better than you could have imagined, even better now. Weeks later, you’d frame the photo of the two of you in the garden, grinning fondly at the memory. At your husband. At your life together with him now and forever.

[aheathen-conceivably]

The soft ticking of a clock kept time in the corner of the room. For Antoine it seemed almost like a metronome, a steady beat to offset the rhythm of the fifth song he’d played for Zelda tonight. Or was it the sixth? The passage of time here just didn’t feel the same as it did on the road. It was softer, welcome even, the way the wrinkles on his hands made him smile now, or the laugh lines growing around Zelda’s eyes only made them sparkle more. It was safe. Like the loving embrace of home that only grows better with time. 

He didn't need to look at the lyrics or the notes to play the songs anymore. Weeks of practice had ensured that. So his compositions sat in a pile next to Zelda's feet as she read and reread everything he had put to paper, spilled out before her like the contents of his soul laid bare. “Did you really write all of these in so little time?”

His coy smile told her yes, and his pride emanated through the room like afternoon sunbeams. It was hard not to smile back at him when she spoke. “It’s amazing. Truly.” Her thumb rustled back and forth over the paper, as though trying to pull what she wanted to ask from the words written there. “So you’re happy when you’re out there?”

A brief, pregnant pause filled the air, as though it were the last question he had expected her to ask, especially not when he had already said so much with every lyric at her feet. “I’m happy to be home.”

She set the paper in her hand down gently atop the jumble of other songs. She traced her finger along the messy script running from left to right, most of it filled with nothing but love and longing for her and their home. It should have made her happy, but it was hard to read them without remembering that those were the very things he had agreed to leave again so soon.

A less rational fear would have told her that he had written them as some sort of apology, a balm for the rhythm that was to become their lives now; but she knew better than to think he would ever be so dishonest. No, the rustling presence at her fingertips and the fear clouding her mind was more nefarious than that.

The soft sound of wood hitting the rug reverberated through the room as he set the guitar down between his legs and extended his hand. “Come here.”

She moved toward him, nestling herself where the guitar had been moments before. His arms wrapped around her as he spoke, "This isn't about the next tour, is it? You know what I said, Zelda. You say the word and I won't go. I mean it."

Yet the crinkle of paper at her feet continued to tell her that he meant it less than before.

She leaned her weight onto the hand running along her hair as she shook her head no, it wasn't about the next tour. He looked down straight into her eyes, which were filled with worry. “You don’t have to worry about me, my love. All I do is worry about you and Violette when I'm there. I don't want you here doing the same."

Her feet ever so gently pushed the pile of papers further away, taking with them the question he had never really answered. Are you happy when you’re out there? She tried to nudge away the thoughts they had spurred too.

But they clung to her like wisps of fabric trapped in the breeze, wanting so desperately to be let free but unable to do so. She had promised herself that wouldn't hold him back, and if nothing else, she was wise enough to understand that her own anxieties were unwanted thoughts from the depths of her mind sent to lead her astray. She wouldn't let them lead him away from his destiny too. “Its my job to worry. I always will. But this...”

She stopped, gesturing toward the song lyrics before she rolled her head onto him and transformed her mouth into a smile. Only as soon as her eyes met his, it spread across her face, and finally, the ragged edges of her worry flew away on the wind, “this makes me feel like it’s worth it. All of that time away. All of the moments of longing, that at least all of this came out of it. That you're happy."

He kept his hand on her chin and gently angled her face closer toward his own, as though to ensure her eyes stayed trained on his when she answered his question. "You promise me, Zelda? You promise that you're okay?"

Her answer came breathlessly, and with no memory that he was the one who had never answered her question in the first place. “I’m sure, I promise.”

Even if the papers rustling below my feet make me worried you are happy. Too happy. More happy than you are here. Or at least more inspired. More alive. And sooner or later they mean you'll stop coming home, because this is what you were made for, and I'm nothing but a line in a song about a woman you used to love.

Previous / Next

[imagine-darksiders]

Tired dad Ulthane and his adventures with the Human Distribution System makes me smile so hard

Whoever was on the Darksiders dev team missed a great opportunity to record ambient voice lines between the humans and Ulthane that play whenever you go to the tree.

Some examples off the top of my head.

"Hey. It's... Ulthane, right? I-I'm Mary."

"Pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Lass."

"Ha... Likewise. Um... Listen, I don't think I ever thanked you... for bringing me to this place. And for, you know, saving my life."

[Suddenly bashful] "Ah, no need to thank me. Just... [clears throat] glad I got to you in time..."

"Yeah... Yeah, me too."

------

"Get out of the way, Ulthane."

"Can't do that, younglin'."

"Bullshit. You can't stop me. I have to go, I can't just sit in this tree while he might still be out there somewhere!"

"If I let you leave this tree, you'll die."

"You don't know that!"

"... And what if he turns up while you're gone? Hm? You think he'd want to find you missin'?"

"Don't do that. Don't use him to make me stay. You don't know what he'd want."

"Would he want you riskin' your life tryin' to find him? Or would he want you to be safe?"

".... I... I.... Oh, Sam."

------

"Hey, how did you get on with that list I gave you?"

"Got most of the stuff on it. The pictures were a nice touch, by the way. Made findin' things a wee bit easier."

"Oh! Well... Happy to help.... So. Um..."

[knowing chuckle] "The supplies are with the other rations, up in the hollow."

"Thanks, Ulthane. You're the best."

"Ach, I don't know 'bout that."

"Literally. The. Best."

------

"Hey you! Giant."

"Tiny."

"Oh, very funny. Say, how come you're not out there searching for more survivors?"

"Just got back. Elanya's goin' out in a bit. Someone's gotta stay behind and protect the tree."

"Some of us can stay and watch it! You should be out there looking for people!"

".... We're doin' everything we can, lad."

"I know!... I.... [muffled sob] I know... I just... I miss her."

"... If she's alive out there, we'll find her."

"Yeah.... sure."

-------

"Hey, big guy? You know there's a demon hanging around right outside the door."

"Aye, I'm keepin' an eye on him. But... if you see him causin' any trouble, you come tell me, got it?"

"Heh. Sure."

-----

"Oi, what's that you've got there?"

"Oh! Um... It's... just a radio... I've been tinkering with it... trying to get it to work. Maybe see if there's anyone else out there... Look. I-I know it's silly, but-"

"No, no, it's not, it's... [deep sigh] Listen, if you... need any help with it, makers are pretty handy. Just have to ask, okay?"

"Oh... Okay. Thanks, Ulthane."

-------

"Still no luck with that... wassit called? A radio?"

"Hmm? Oh... Hi Ulthane. No, no luck yet but... that might just be because they're only able to broadcast on a certain frequency for, like, a few minutes at a time right? Saving power or... something? I-I just need to keep searching."

"Well... All right... But don't stay up too late listen' to it again. You look like you didn't catch a wink o' sleep last night."

"Okay, Dad."

-------

"Say, what happened to your radio?"

"... I tossed it."

"Now why'd you do that?"

"I dunno. Figured it'd be more useful to strip it for spare parts.... I wasn't gonna hear anything on there anyway."

"...Y'know, just 'cause you didn't hear anythin', don't mean nobody's out there."

"..... Hey... Ulthane? Do you think we're gonna be okay?"

"Course you're gonna be okay. You've got me at the helm, don't ya? Old Ulthane's got a plan to set you humans back on track... Just have to trust me, eh?"

"We do trust you. And... thanks. I feel better."

"S'what I'm here for."

-------

[If you find 10 survivors]

"Getting a bit busy in here now, isn't it? A lot of new faces."

"Busy? Hmm. If you need me to carve out another chamber for extra space, I can-"

"-No! Ulthane, that's not... It's okay. I wasn't complaining. Busy is good. I prefer busy."

"... Aye, I'm with you there."

-------

[If you find all the survivors]

"I can't believe there's so many of us now! I didn't think this many people would have survived!"

"Mmhm, the Horseman's been busy. S'nice to have a lot of wee ones knockin' about the tree."

"You make us sound like a bunch of children."

[Gentle laugh] "If you knew how old I was, Lad, you'd feel like a bunch of children."