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writefightandflightclub · 9 months ago

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Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers��; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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piper-2244 · 21 days ago

Text

sophrosyne

how liaison intern!reader and spencer grapple with a recent case that's taken an individual toll on them

angst! eeek! word count: 1277 warnings & tags & stuff: lowkey sad, reader cries a little, mentions of schizophrenia (in an unsub), and correlations to spencer/diana are hinted at, it’s mentioned that that unsub gets shot, like the beginnings of a crush showing but otherwise no fluff, just gentle spence as always, social commentary & my personal thoughts on our justice system definitely peek through. very first attempt at some bigger sad scary feelings authors note: hi!!! im alive!!! and guess what!! its my birthday!! i'm 20 which is totally insane. anyway i missed you all and i HAVE been writing, just not posting. it just got like too much when it registered that THAT many people are reading my stuff, yk? i do appreciate all the love SO MUCH but its still a little scary. anyway. i hope you enjoy, i think this is an interesting one? not sure. i fear my intentions for it may have gotten lost in the writing so please let me know if it doesn't make any sense. okay have a superb day ily!!!

Spencer is spinning and he won’t stop and it’s hypnotic.

There’s a little squeak coming from the chair with each turn that sends goosebumps down your legs, filling the otherwise silent bullpen with noise.

You imagine it must be a little sickening, or at least uncomfortable, spinning in a chair for such a long amount of time. You're honestly a little concerned. His legs are crossed like a child’s.

The look on his face—one that you can't quite make out right now due to his motions—has been the same for the better part of the afternoon. That was concerning. It’s so contemplative and stoic. Like an old Greek statue, Odysseus? you think, carved from marble, weathered to the point of near crumbling.

But this case, this case, the one you got back from exactly four hours and twenty two minutes ago, wasn’t anything too bad, was it?

You blink at that thought, taken aback with yourself, the empathy hitting you like a wave. Of course it was bad. They’re all bad. People are dead. All those families are broken in ways that won’t ever heal.

Your second month as an intern under Agent Jareau, working to become a liaison just like her, proved to be almost everything that one grouchy ex-FBI-Agent-turned-guidance-counselor at your university said it would be.

Harsh. Sad. Cold. It will strip you of your sensitivity. Your gentleness.

But this case. It had a sharper edge to it than the rest, slicing the littlest bit deeper into your skin. A lingering heaviness weighed on your chest. Were you the only one who felt it? Clearly not, if this guy spinning in his chair was any indication.

Most of the bullpen had cleared out, leaving only the mess of the team’s half-finished mugs behind in the sink. You had stayed though, needing to shake this weight off before you brought it home with you. The last file of the day is spread out on your desk, but you’re far from it, standing across the room by the coffee machine. Hiding.

You pour two cups, unable to stop the methodical replay of the case in your mind. Not just the brutal MO, but the bigger picture. The circumstances. The diagnosis. The history.

Agent Jareau had made it your responsibility to take care of all the family-related files.

Male, aged 30, diagnosed with acute schizophrenia at age 22. Stabbed 6 women in the throat.

Family history of disorder? (Check one) : Y ☐ N ☐

The unsub, his father, his aunt, and his grandfather. They all had the same last name, bump on their nose, gap between their teeth, and identical diagnoses of schizophrenia. A twisted family tree. The branches, the unsub’s fate.

You turn toward the spinning blur of the chair, unsure if Spencer even knows you're there.

…

Ceramic scrapes against wood. Still warm, it leaves a condensation trail in its path. “I added a bunch of sugar,” you offer quietly, unsure if he’ll even acknowledge it.

Spencer slows. He doesn't reach for the mug like you’d hoped, but he stops spinning. Small victories.

He stares down at the file in front of him, and for a second you wonder if your interruption made things worse. That little groove between his eyebrows- today, there more often than not- shows up, a problem trying to become untangled in his mind.

You really should go. Leave him alone, Spencer clearly has his own things to sort out. But your legs are tethered to the ground. Maybe it's due to the fact that he just got a new haircut, and it’s nice. Really nice. Or maybe it’s because you, too, feel like getting lost in your own head right now.

You swallow. “You okay?” you ask, before you can help yourself, and you regret it instantly. It sounds too personal, too sudden, too much, like teeth clashing during a kiss. You're intruding on something that Spencer isn’t prepared to share, something unfinished.

His eyes finally land on you for a split second, and he gives you a nod, shallow and unconvincing. You know better than to push for the truth.

You lean on the edge of his desk, keeping your distance but not leaving. You stare into the swirls of your coffee, fingers drumming on the side of your mug. This moment is fragile, you know, and yet you’re unable to stop yourself from talking. A chronic weakness, on your part. “I don’t think this case was…” you pause, searching for the right words. “It wasn’t like the others, was it?”

Spencer looks at you again, for a beat longer than you expect. The tension in his face softens, just a little. You see it too.

“No,” he says finally, voice low. “It wasn’t.”

There's something in the way he looks at you that makes your heart pound. There’s a sense of openness to it. He’s not exactly confiding in you, not yet. But he’s also not completely shutting you out, either.

Strange. The total opposite of what you’d expect. You keep talking.

"Everything he did was just a clear demonstration of his schizophrenia, which is genetic and so prevalent in his family. I just keep feeling like… like it wasn’t his fault. Like it was predetermined. And he died for it,” you ramble quietly. “Morgan shot him.” Your voice breaks.

He stills, not saying anything for a beat.

“He wasn’t given much of a fighting chance, was he?” Spencer asks quietly, almost to himself. Like the question was a familiar one. His eyes drift over the file, the unsub’s family members listed front and center. There's something sad in his gaze. Resigned. Like he’s thought about this before.

You shake your head.

“I think,” Spencer starts softly, staring at a point on the floor, voice barely above a whisper. “You're the only one here who sees it. The way we villainize them.” The words sting in a way you didn’t expect.

Silence rings between you two. It’s thick, and nothing but sad. The weight of the case, of the pain, of the impossibility of it all hangs in the air like a dark cloud.

You dip your head, a sudden tear slipping down your cheek and falling into the fabric of your brand new dress pants. Your hands hold the edge of the table behind you and you inhale shakily.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this job,” you whisper after a long while, the words delicate.

Silence hangs between you two again. Then, his voice, thoughtful and deliberate and caring, breaks it up.

“I don’t think it’s about being cut out for it. It’s not about being tough. It’s about being able to hold that much emotion without letting it break you, because you recognize the alternative of not doing the job would be worse. And it’s hard. It’s so… hard. But you’re doing that. You're doing really well.”

You blink, surprised by the calmness in Spencer’s words. The logic is almost comforting in and of itself, in a way.

“Not everyone can hold that much empathy,” Spencer continues, his voice low. “We need more of that, the team does.”

Your throat tightens.

“I'm sorry,” you say, your voice small. “I didn't mean to put this all on you.” Spencer shakes his head, not minding.

“You should go home and get some sleep. Maybe it’ll be a little better in the morning. It usually is.”

You nod, but you don’t move right away. You feel like the moment you leave, you’ll slip from this edge you’ve been teetering on.

“You go,” you eventually say, quiet. “I’m gonna wash all those mugs people left in the sink.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader

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punkshort · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter warnings: language, descriptions of violence, death, graphic description of dead bodies, angst, smut (m masturbation), sexual tension x a million

A/N: please tell me if I should use any additional tags/warnings on this story. Also this is the longest chapter yet, I knew when I wanted it to end but I kept adding more detail and more scenes as I wrote and it just got away from me oops

Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

December 2003

Chicago, IL

The cold, bitter wind blew off the lake as you trudged through the snow. You had three layers underneath your thick jacket, but you were still freezing. You had forgotten just how cold it felt this close to the lake, but you kept eagerly pushing forward.

"I think I know where we are," you said excitedly to Joel, who had been unusually silent the past few miles. "There's this golf course a couple miles from my house, I think this is it."

"Can hardly see a thing out here," was all Joel said in response. You frowned, annoyed that he was bringing you down when you were finally starting to feel hopeful.

"What's wrong?" you asked, putting an arm out to stop him. He sighed and you watched as a puff of air leave his mouth then dance away on the wind before he turned to look at you.

"I'm just -" he stopped, rethinking his words. "I'm worried. If they ain't there, we need to go to the QZ, and I don't know if it'll be as easy to get out once we're in, like it was before." He paused before adding, "And I'm worried about you... if we don't find what you're expectin'."

"Don't be worried, I know it's a long shot. But I have to try. What else do I have?" You looked up at him through your eyelashes, dusted with snowflakes. You looked so beautiful that it took his breath away. He had to jam his fist into his pocket to keep himself from reaching out and cupping your face.

"You got me," he said, looking at you softly with his heart hammering in his chest. You inhaled sharply. He didn't mean it like it sounded. "We can go out west, see if we can find Tommy. It'll be warmer out there, too," he added nervously.

You could tell he was really trying, he looked anxious as he shifted his gaze to your surroundings, his hands fidgeting deeply in the pockets of his coat. You weren't even sure where you would even begin to look for Tommy, if that plan was even possible, but if he was willing to take you all this way to find your family, the least you could do is agree to try to find his.

"Yeah, okay," you said quietly. His fidgeting stopped, and he made eye contact with you again. "If I can't find my parents, that's a good plan. We can do that." You smiled reassuringly at him now, trying to ease his mind. He gave you a small smile in return and a quick nod, then looked back down at the snow, brushing his nose with the back of his gloved hand.

"Can we get moving, now? I'd like to get out of this cold soon," you said, stomping your feet lightly, trying to get more blood to circulate in your legs.

"Yeah, sure, let's get goin'," he said, and you headed across the golf course towards a wooded area in the distance. If this was the golf course you thought it was, then your neighborhood was just on the other side of those woods.

You made it to the outskirts of your neighborhood just before dusk. The familiar tree lined streets just a few blocks away from your house made your heart flutter in anticipation. You knew you shouldn’t get excited; you knew it was unlikely they would be there, or even leave any type of note telling you where they went, but you couldn’t help it. This was where you grew up, this was your home. Your memories were etched in these streets: learning how to ride a bike, falling out of the tree and breaking your arm in your best friend’s backyard, trolling the streets at night as teenagers thinking you were tough and cool. A part of you was excited to show your home to Joel, but you quickly stopped that line of thought. He was not your boyfriend you were bringing home to meet your parents. He was your boss who agreed to help keep each other safe these past few months.

You both approached your street as darkness wrapped around you. Joel insisted you survey the street for a while to see if there was any movement before giving away your position. You reluctantly agreed, ducking behind a house on the corner, until you saw light moving inside a house. Your house.

“Oh my god,” you said breathily, “that’s my house. Joel!” you latched onto his forearm, dragging his attention onto you, “My parents!” you gasped.

You lurched forward, but Joel’s hand yanked you back. You angrily spun around to face him.

“I know you’re excited,” he began, clenching both his hands on your shoulders, “but we don’t know if that’s them, it’s been a long time. I think we should wait- “

You cut him off, saying, “It’s got to be them, what are the chances? C’mon, Joel, please!” you begged, clutching his wrist. His gaze bore into yours as you held onto him, and again you whispered, “please,”.

He groaned, unable to deny you when you looked so sweet and adamant. “Alright, just give me a few minutes, let me think of a plan,” he replied, at which your face broke out in a huge smile, still grasping his hand in yours as you bounced on your heels.

“Sure, whatever, I just want to see them,” you replied, looking back at the lights moving around your living room. You couldn’t believe it; your parents were alive! Joel had tried to curb your expectations, but it wasn’t even necessary, they were there. They were right there!

You approached your house in the darkness, unable to keep the smile from your face as Joel led you quietly across the street. He rapped his knuckles three times on the door and pulled out his revolver as he stepped to the side, ready for hostility. When the door cracked open, it was not what either of you expected.

A man you didn't recognize peered out from around the corner. All you could see was his eye, but he looked terrified as he feverishly looked back and forth between you and Joel.

"Who are you?" he asked, the door still cracked.

"Who am I? Who are you?" you replied before thinking, "this is my house, what are you doing?"

The man faltered a moment and Joel stiffened on the other side of the door. "Are you armed?" the man asked nervously, unable to see Joel's revolver at his side.

"Goddamn right we are," Joel spoke up, his grip on the gun tightening, "you better start explain' yourself."

The man went to slam the door shut but Joel was anticipating it, shoving his boot in the doorway to stop him.

"Alright, alright, I don't mean any harm," the stranger said, opening the door up more and walking backwards with his hands in the air, "come in, I'm not armed, but please don't hurt us."

Us. You entered your living room. It looked the same, except some pieces of furniture were pushed closer together. You glanced up at the wall above the fireplace by habit, seeing your high school graduation photo still prominently displayed, then your eyes settled on a woman cowering in the corner of the room. She was taller than you and blonde, with wide blue eyes and bangs that brushed her eyebrows, and she was shaking with fear. You held your hand out to Joel and pushed his revolver gently towards the floor. He resisted until his gaze met the girl in the corner, and his arms went limp.

The man who answered the door stepped forward, and you noticed now he seemed much younger, maybe around you age. He kept his arms up in front of him as he stood in front of the woman, his eyes pleading.

"Please, we don't mean any harm, we are just looking for a safe place to stay." He repeated, his brown eyes anxiously shifting back and forth between you and Joel.

Joel met your eyeline, and you sighed. Obviously, your parents had moved on, which left you distraught, but these people were harmless.

"It's fine," Joel said, tucking the gun in the back of his jeans. "This is her house," he gestured towards you, "we're lookin' for her parents, you know anythin' about that?"

The man lowered his hands now that Joel put his gun away, and drifted backwards to stand next to the woman, who still looked shaken.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't know who used to live here. We just needed someplace safe to stay for the winter, and this neighborhood was abandoned. We just picked your house randomly, I'm so sorry." the man apologized again, truly looking upset he couldn't help you more. "I'm Tim, this is Lucy," Tim rubbed Lucy's back affectionately, trying to ease her nerves.

You both introduced yourselves and they relaxed a bit, sitting down on the sofa and chairs surrounding the crackling fireplace.

"You think havin' a fire is a good idea? What if someone sees the smoke?" Joel asked, rubbing his hands together.

"Hasn't been a problem yet," Tim replied, "until you two."

You shook your head. "We didn't notice the smoke, but we saw your flashlights."

Tim smacked his palm against his forehead. "The one day I forget to pull the curtains closed, dang it!"

Joel shook his head and learned toward to Tim, "You need to be more careful. You're lucky it was just us," he said, swinging his thumb between the two of you. "You need to be better prepared, you gotta protect her," now motioning towards the Lucy.

Tim's face paled and he gulped nervously, reaching out and clutching Lucy's hand. "Can you give us some pointers? We just left the QZ two weeks ago, we are doing our best out here but," Tim gave Lucy a tight smile, "we could use all the help we could get."

Joel's eyes shifted between Lucy and Tim, then back to you. He didn't want to waste his time helping some kids who clearly were in over their heads, but the look on your face when you turned to meet his gaze changed his mind. He was finding it impossible to say no to you.

"Yeah, alright. For starters, close the damn curtains and put out the fire," he told Tim gruffly.

"How will we stay warm?" Lucy spoke up for the first time, nervously casting her gaze between you and Joel.

"Blankets. Keep your bedroom door closed. Body heat. Set up tents to sleep in inside when the temperatures really drop," you replied curtly. "Only when absolutely necessary should you risk a fire. It's still November, there's a long winter ahead of you."

Joel smiled at you proudly as you spoke, Lucy catching his look. You had been picking up tidbits from him over the past few months, and he was happy to see you've been paying attention.

Tim got up to close the curtains as Joel began to put the fire out. Lucy turned to you, shooting you a nervous smile.

"Tim and I are already in the master bedroom, do you and your boyfriend mind taking the other one?"

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend," you replied quickly. Too quickly. Joel's shoulders tensed over the fireplace. "But no, that's fine, we're used to sharing a bed, and that's my old room anyway."

Lucy smiled at you politely before shifting her eyes between you and Joel curiously, her eyebrows scrunched together as if she was trying to figure something out, then relaxed her brow when Tim returned to her side.

"Alright then, we're going to get some sleep. Obviously, help yourselves to whatever's in the cupboards. It is your house, after all." Tim said, glancing at you with a quick smile.

You nodded and wished them good night as they headed towards your parents’ room. It was just as well: it would have been weird to sleep with Joel in their bed.

The door shut behind them and you got to work rummaging through the familiar cupboards, pulling out some canned food you could eat and without having to think, pulled open the drawer that housed the can opener, and then the silverware. Joel eyed you warily as he sat down at the kitchen table. He knew he wasn't your boyfriend, but the way you quickly corrected Lucy still bothered him.

You ate in silence, leaving one flashlight on between you. Joel looked around your kitchen, trying to imagine you growing up here. His eyes landed on the fridge that had some pictures stuck to it with magnets. Once you were finished eating, he picked up the flashlight and went to take a closer look.

"Oh, those were taken so long ago, I hardly even look the same," you said, noticing where his attention was drawn.

Joel tsk'ed, zeroing in on a picture of you when you were little and drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, then another where you were on a field trip with your 8th grade class, and a third picture where you were in a sparkly red dress for a homecoming dance with some boy's arm around your waist.

"As I said, those were taken a long time ago," you whispered, suddenly appearing beside him. He turned to look at you, really look at you: he could still see the similarities from the pictures in the way you smiled, the shape of your eyes, and the curve of your mouth.

You yawned and reached out to grab your backpack. "Follow me," you said quietly, not wanting to disturb Tim and Lucy.

You led Joel down the hall towards your bedroom and pushed the door open. You were pleasantly surprised that your parents left it exactly the same. You still had posters hung on your wall of the Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, and Destiny's Child. The pictures that decorated your dresser mirror were the same ones you shoved in the frame from high school: pictures of you and your friends at dances, at a restaurant, the mall, and a couple with the same boy who was on the fridge.

"Who's the guy?" Joel couldn't help but ask.

"Oh, that's Matt. He was my first boyfriend. We broke up right before college," you said coolly as you pulled out some more comfortable clothes from your backpack and left to go change in the bathroom down the hall.

Joel took the opportunity to look casually through the items on your dresser, sniffing a few different half used perfume bottles and flipping through some CDs. It was strange to be here in your bedroom. He had never considered actually being here before, too focused on the journey and not really thinking about the destination. You returned to the bedroom with a couple of extra blankets in your arms.

"My parents kept these in the hall closet, I already made sure Tim and Lucy had enough," you explained, spreading the blankets over your twin bed. You swallowed nervously, realizing this bed was smaller than the beds you've previously shared. Joel excused himself to go clean up and change as you slid into the sheets, your eyes closing in relief at the familiarity of the room. You didn't realize you had nearly fallen asleep until the mattress shifted, and your eyes snapped open. Joel's leg and arm brushed up against yours as you tried to keep your body from going rigid at the contact. It was unavoidable, your bed was too small, so you forced your body to relax and tried not to overthink it.

"Tomorrow, I'll ask ‘em about the QZ. If they can share any details about the place, then I think we can go there lookin' for your folks," he whispered in the dark.

"Mhmm, sounds good," you whispered back, still struggling to control your reaction from being so close to him. Your whole body felt hot. You told yourself it was just the extra blankets, but you knew better. Whenever he had been this close before, it was in your sleep, your mind was unable to process his touch until he was already pulling away from you. You squirmed a little, trying to get more comfortable.

"You need more room?" he asked, about to move before you stopped him.

"No, I'm fine, thanks," you said quickly, and turned to your side, finally getting a few more inches between you.

Joel stared at your back longingly. It seemed like every day something reminded him of what he would never have. The way you shirked away from his touch and how you made it perfectly clear you were nothing more than companions to Lucy felt like a punch in the gut. It's been months, and he still couldn't get his mind off you. You were becoming a burning need and it was driving him crazy. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing sleep to come so he could find some peace.

You woke up the next morning feeling well rested and warm. Really warm. With your eyes still shut, you burrowed into your bedsheets deeper to enjoy the warmth a little longer before having to wake up and face the frigid Midwest. You nuzzled your face forward and froze when your nose and lips met skin instead of a blanket. You slowly opened your eyes and found yourself face to face with Joel’s chest. You must have shifted around and ended up facing him at some point overnight. You stared at the exposed skin of his neck, taking in the little details of his tanned and pebbled skin, examining every birthmark you could lay your eyes on, then leisurely allowed your gaze to travel upwards where his prickly beard scattered over his neck, jaw, and upper lip. You inspected the patchy spots in his beard, seeing a few grey hairs sprouting up on the corners of his jaw. You noticed one bald spot resembled a heart, making you ache with the desire to press your lips there. His lips looked soft and plush, and you remembered how good they felt pushed against your own as they maneuvered your mouth open. His nose was sharp and angular, your favorite feature after his eyes. You were caught up in examining the wrinkles developing around his face when he woke up suddenly and his gaze immediately fixated on you.

You now realized you had your arms tangled around each other. Even your leg was wedged in between his under the blankets. You both lay on your sides, faces inches away, as you continued to stare at one another silently. Joel's eyes flicked down your face, examining you the same way you had just done to him. You felt your cheeks flush under the scrutiny, and you parted your lips to take in more air as your heart thumped wildly in your chest. Joel noticed the movement, his gaze fixed on your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. He exhaled softly through his nose, the puff of air blowing gently over your face. The air around you was thick with tension, causing you to shiver involuntarily. Joel lifted his hand from your hip to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your lips. You sighed and your eyes fluttered shut, unable to resist leaning into his touch this time. He took a moment to appreciate the gentle features of your face while your eyes were closed. He ran his thumb over your lips again, marveling at how soft they were. He swallowed nervously, moving his thumb from your lips to rest on your cheek, then leaned forward, closing his eyes when his nose tenderly nudged your own.

A sharp knock on the door made you gasp and jump away. You sat up in bed, clutching the blanket to your chest and Joel laid back with a frustrated groan, roughly running his hands up and down his face.

"Yes!" you yelped; your voice high pitched. Lucy's quiet voice on the other side of the door answered.

"Just checking on you, we have breakfast and coffee whenever you're ready!"

"Be right out!" you replied, voice still too high, no doubt the result of your nerves short circuiting. You stared down at your hands, unsure what to say.

"Did you sleep alright?" you finally asked, a question he usually was asking you. You fidgeted with the edge of the blanket and turned to look at him, anxiously waiting for his answer. He dragged his hands down from his face and let them rest on his stomach, then shot you a grin.

"Slept fuckin' great," he said, grinning wider as he watched your face heat up from embarrassment, and you bit your lip to hold back a smile of your own. It took everything he had to not grab you and pull you back into his arms as you stood up and walked to the door.

"I'll see you in a minute," you said shyly, and closed the door behind you. You headed to the bathroom first, giving yourself a moment to catch your breath. You hovered over the sink and stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a mess, and your face was flushed. You looked completely wrecked. What were you thinking? The tension was beginning to be too much, and maybe if you just had sex and got it out of your system, just one time, it would help clear your head. It doesn't have to mean anything. If that was all he was willing to offer you, would that be so bad? You could separate the physical from the emotional, right? You sighed, raking your fingers through your hair to tame it, and went to meet Tim and Lucy in the kitchen.

"Fuck," Joel whispered out loud to himself after you left. He palmed his erection over his sweatpants, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. It had been so long since he last jerked off. It was risky, you could come back in here at any moment, but he was convinced he would be hard half the day if he didn't take care of himself.

He pushed his sweatpants down just enough to pull out his cock, squeezing his eyes shut as he gripped himself firmly, setting a fast pace right away, knowing it wouldn't take him long. He let out short, quick gasps as he replayed the events from that morning: the way he caught you looking at him when he woke up, the sound you made when you sighed into his hand, your soft lips. "Shit," he groaned through clenched teeth, his hips thrusting into his fist as he imagined those lips wrapped around his cock, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your face all flushed as you brought him into your mouth as far as you could before stifling a gag.

He frantically reached out to the bedside table where he saw a few scarves piled near the lamp, snatching one and catching his release just in time before he made a mess all over your bed. He laid there for a few minutes catching his breath and then tucked himself back into his pants, shoving the scarf deep under your bed. He reluctantly stood up to change his clothes and ran his fingers through his hair before heading towards the kitchen.

"Oh my goodness, that sounds awful!" Joel heard you saying as he walked into the room. The three of you sat around the table with mugs of coffee, some oatmeal and pop-tarts. He sat down in a chair next to you and poured himself coffee before digging into the food.

"It got really bad there, we just couldn't risk sticking around. From what others were saying, it was just as bad in any other city," Tim had finished saying. You turned to Joel, faltering for a split second when your eyes met, before explaining.

"They just told me the QZ is a shitshow. People are having their food rationed, they're doing grunt work for hardly anything in return, and some people are being attacked for their supplies and the soldiers don't do anything to stop it," you said, listing each item off on your fingers as you spoke.

"Well, it could have been worse. We heard stories about soldiers going to neighborhoods and filling up trucks with people, telling them they'll go to the QZ, but the trucks never arrived," said Lucy, eyes wide. "Rumor has it, there wasn't enough room, so the soldiers shot everyone and left them on the side of the road."

"Why would they do that?" you gasped, a hand over your mouth.

"Dead people can't turn into infected," said Tim sadly, "that's why we stuck it out in the QZ as long as we could."

"How long were you there for?" Joel asked, pausing to take a sip of the piping hot coffee. He looked around, frowning, wondering for the first time how they heated up food, and then he saw the fireplace roaring. His eyes flicked back to Tim angrily.

"I know, I know, we're gonna put it out, we just wanted to warm up a bit and make something to eat," he waved off Joel's glare with a chuckle, "besides, you couldn't even see the smoke last night."

"We were distracted, anyone else walkin' up this street will see it. I'm warnin' you right now," Joel scowled and pointed his finger menacingly at Tim, "if you get her hurt 'cause you ain't listenin' to me, I'm gonna make the QZ look like a fuckin' playground." The whole table was silent while Joel stared daggers into Tim's paling face. You were confused why Joel was so protective over Lucy, a stranger by all accounts, until the coffee kicked in and it clicked: Joel wasn't referring to Lucy. He was talking about you. You could feel the tips of your ears getting red.

You cleared your throat, trying to break the tension at the table. Then a thought occurred to you. You got up quickly and snatched a picture off the mantle over the fireplace, bringing it back to the table and slid it between Lucy and Tim.

"Did you ever see those two people in the QZ?" you asked desperately, your gaze bouncing between them as they examined the photo carefully. They frowned as they stared into the faces of your smiling parents, then slowly shook their heads.

"I'm sorry, I don't think so. But it was a big place," said Lucy, "it's possible they could be there, and we just never saw or noticed them!"

You sighed, thanking them anyway, and pulled the picture back towards you. Joel could see the disappointment in your eyes, and he wanted to take your mind off it. His gaze traveled to a corner of the kitchen where he saw a bow leaning up against the wall with a quiver of arrows. He nodded towards it.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked, standing up to inspect it. You looked up and gasped.

"That's mine! Oh my god, I had no idea my parents kept it."

"Yeah, we found it in the basement. We didn't have any weapons, so we figured it was better than nothing. I've never even used a bow before," Tim said. Joel picked it up and pulled on the strings a few times, then picked up a couple arrows and flicked the tips to test their sharpness.

"You mind if we borrow it? I wanna try to get us something substantial to eat. Looks like it's gonna be a nice day," Joel said, peeking out the window up at the sun, watching the icicles on the gutters drip.

Tim agreed, since it wasn't really his to begin with. You insisted on leaving your pistol on the counter with them, in case of an emergency. Lucy shuddered when she saw the gun, and Tim picked it up to put it in the cupboard next to the sink.

"She hates guns," he explained quietly to you as you and Joel got ready to head out to hunt. "After seeing so much brutality in the QZ, she can't stand them. I'm just trying to keep her calm and happy, so I do as she says." He smiled at you both as you walked through the front door. Before you walked away, Joel turned back to Tim and just simply said "Fire," in a forceful tone, to which Tim nodded and gave a thumbs up, closing the door behind you.

The two of you walked silently down the street back towards the woods you came from, your heads swiveling every so often to make sure no one else was around. The sun was bright, and it was bouncing off the white snow, making you wince. You could tell as you walked that the few inches of snow that was on the ground was breaking up under the warmth. It would probably mostly be gone by nighttime, leaving muddy and dead grass to admire.

Once you reached the woods, Joel did his best to track any animal prints that looked fresh. He wasn't exactly an expert, but he knew enough. You followed closely behind him and kept your eyes on the trees for any movement. You had been walking around the woods for almost an hour before you stopped to rest. You found a fallen tree trunk elevated a bit from the ground that you could both comfortably sit on. You took a sip from your canteen as you glanced around. The forest was so still and quiet, it felt peaceful. You closed your eyes for a moment to savor it, unaware Joel was watching you closely.

Neither of you had mentioned anything about this morning. Joel felt a glimmer of hope inside him that maybe not all was lost, that maybe you could feel the same way he did. He wanted to talk about it, but he didn't want to scare you off and ruin the progress he had made. He cleared his throat, the noise grabbing your attention and making you open your eyes to look at him.

"So," he began, fiddling with the bow in his hands, his eyes cast downward, "I guess when we get back, we oughta ask 'em how they escaped from the QZ, then we can make a plan, get in and see if we can find your folks."

"Mhm, that sounds good," you said, watching him pick at the bow. "Maybe we should stay one more night, then leave early tomorrow."

He looked up at you now, unable to hide the shock from his face. He expected you would want to leave right away, eager to find your family. He scanned your face, seeing a small, playful smile, and he swallowed roughly. You wanted to stay another night for a reason.

His breath caught in his throat, and he could feel the warmth spreading across his cheeks. He hoped you would think the cold air was to blame as he shifted his weight on the log, dragging his gaze from you and onto the trees.

"Yeah," he finally squeezed out, "that's fine, we can leave tomorrow."

You bit your lip and turned your head away from him so he wouldn't see the smile that threatened to spill across your face.

You heard a snap of a twig nearby, drawing both of your attention as you fixated on the location of the noise. You froze when you saw a fat rabbit about 10 yards away, happily munching on some grass that had been exposed by the sun. Joel slowly reached down for the bow, but without looking you reached your hand out to place on top of his, stopping him. You motioned with your fingers to hand over the bow. You were more familiar with it, but it had been a long time. It was like riding a bike, right?

You loaded an arrow slowly into the bow, and drew back the string silently, closing one eye and aiming straight ahead. You let out a slow breath, then held it for half a second before letting go of the string. You cried out in happiness when the arrow made contact, killing the rabbit instantly. Joel swiveled his head towards you with a huge grin plastered on his face, beaming with pride.

You held the rabbit by the feet as you made your way back to the house, explaining you used to shoot archery in middle school but lost interest. The adrenaline from the kill combined with the excitement of what lied ahead for you and Joel was making you dizzy with happiness. You should have known something was going to ruin it.

You were a few doors down from your house, still smiling and teasing Joel about how much of a better hunter you were when his eyes fell on the front door of your house, and he froze. You stopped automatically, following his gaze to the front door of the house that was wide open. You both stood there for a minute, waiting to see if Tim was going to appear walking back inside with a bucket of snow to melt, but he never did. You turned to Joel, your eyes filled with worry.

"Did he leave the door open?" you asked shakily, hoping there was a reasonable explanation. Joel slowly shook his head, eyes still trained on the house. You looked around you now, trying to make out any footprints in the snow that may have been foreign, and Joel looked around at the houses on the street for movement. When it appeared to be quiet and still, you both begrudgingly approached your home, afraid of what you would find.

Joel stepped through the door first, his face immediately contorting in a grimace. He held his arm out to keep you back, but you refused, dropping the rabbit and pushing past him, gasping at the sight before you. Tim and Lucy were slaughtered, laying lifeless on your living room floor. Blood seeped into the beige carpet, making it spongy and red. Their eyes were open and staring up at the ceiling, their mouths agape as blood slowly trickled from their multiple stab wounds.

You bit back a sob, turning away to focus on literally anything except them. Joel desperately wanted to comfort you, but he first needed to know the bandits were gone, so he advanced into the small house, clearing each room before returning to find you standing in the kitchen, tears streaming down your face.

He briefly noticed the cupboards were left wide open, all the food taken, as well as the pistol you left for Tim, before he reached out to envelop you in his arms. You sank into his embrace, sobbing quietly into his shoulder. His eyes flicked back to the scene in the living room.

“That fuckin’ fire, I told him to put it out,” he said, staring at the small flames still licking at the embers.

You tried to argue with Joel about burying them, but he didn’t want to risk it. He wanted to get back into the forest behind the shelter of the pine trees. You had packed up your things quickly while Joel draped a couple sheets over their bodies. He made sure to grab the rabbit you killed before hurrying you out the front door and back towards the forest, not stopping until you were miles away and you begged him to take a break. He relented only when he found a secluded spot where he felt safe making a small fire to cook the rabbit. As you ate, he examined his map, trying to figure out where you were in relation to the QZ. He was fairly certain you were heading in the right direction, his eyes lifting up towards the sun and then turned the map around in his hands.

“I think we’re here,” he told you, pointing to a green area on the map. “If we hook up with this road here,” he dragged his finger over to a thick line on the page, “then that will take us right into the city, and we can find the QZ.” You nodded, cleaning off your plates in what little snow remained on the ground. “You doin’ ok?” he asked you hesitantly. You stopped cleaning the plates to look up at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him, “just… that could’ve been us. It scared me.” You held his gaze for a moment, trying to express how much he meant to you with a look. Joel shook his head and leaned forward to grip your hand.

“It ain’t gonna be us, we don’t make stupid mistakes like that, you understand me?” You nodded, your eyes raking over his face, wondering if your luck will eventually run out. He gave your hand one more squeeze before standing up, urging you to pack up so you could make it to the QZ before nightfall.

The road Joel had pointed out to you on the map was deserted, surrounded only by thick forests and a few abandoned cars as you made your way slowly towards the city. You kept your gaze on the ground in front of you, absentmindedly kicking a stone here or there as you walked beside Joel, who was on high alert for raiders and gripping his rifle tightly in his hands. The road curved and steered you towards an open field, where you could now see buildings not too far off in the distance. Suddenly, Joel stretched his arm out across your chest, stopping you both. You looked up at him, confused, then followed his gaze. Not far ahead, you could see a pile of bodies on the side of the road, just like Lucy had warned. You held your breath, unable to fathom how evil those soldiers must be to execute all those innocent people. He looked down at you, and you nodded to him, telling him you were ok, to keep walking.

You continued down the road, both of you unable to keep your eyes off the bodies as you got closer. You couldn’t tell how long they had been there, the harsh winter had likely preserved their bodies, but with the snow melting today, you could make out most of their exposed faces and clothes. Your eyes scanned over a few of the bodies on top and that’s when you saw them: their bodies twisted and lifeless, laid next to one another on the side of the pile.

You dropped to your knees in the middle of the street, not even registering the pain from the impact. Then your vision went blurry before blackness creeped along the edges. You forced out a choked cry, unable to control the volume of your voice as sobs shook your body. Joel’s arms were around you instantly, cutting off your view from your parents, and kneeled down in the street with you, holding you to his chest to muffle your screams, rocking you back and forth until your breathing slowed and you ran out of tears.

Chapter Twelve

Taglist: @chiogarza, sparklejumpropequeen-777

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us game #the way we were joel miller fic

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lil-annonie · 4 months ago

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I WANNA BE YOUR BOYFIREND! —INO TAKUMA

SYNOPSIS. poor Ino, having to deal with the most blind and oblivious crush... Maybe think abiut getting your eyes n heart checked...

CONTENT. NB!reader. (sorry if it sounds closer to f!) Childhood friends to lovers. Cheesy. Got the photographer! Ino idea from @colonelarr0w ! I asked the anon question on may 4.. Wowzers

WC. 2222! That's so kewl! Ah! Finally reached 2k words and I'm stopping cause this has been in my drafts for too long and I can't seem to add any more words. A/N. Oh boy. I wanted to use his first name (takuma/) but I'm too tired to edit. So I just added tags and posted it.

Ino Takuma was and is your bestest friend.

And you were the person Ino Takuma was hopelessly in love with.

meeting him when you were six and was picked on by a group of boys calling you names. Poor you couldn't do anything but to sniff and feel the tears pooling in your eyes.

2003.

you remember when he rushed to help you, his two small hands occupied with a handful of pebbles, and with those pebbles he threw them as hard as a six year old could, aimed right at the back of the mean group of kids who were tormenting you.

you remember the shocked looked plastered on their faces before screeching and running away from the playground and back to their non-existant parents, too frightened to look back.

you remember your now-best friend walking up to you, acting as cool as he can while he helps you stand up, adding in an " 'r you okay?".

He remembers when you held his hand and asked for him to help you stand up. when you did, you rubbed the tears pricking on your eyes off with your forearm, and with your free arm, you used it to hug him. thanking him while suppressing your hiccups.

He remembers cheekily smiling as his pretty crushmate thanks him like he was their knight in shining armour.

He remembers offering ice cream while pointing at a nearby ice cream stand in order to cheer you up, as his mind believed, "ice cream would solve all problems!" even exclaiming it to you.

He remembers the way your eyes lit up when he did what he did and you nodded in agreement to all of them.

He remembers holding hands with you as you guys walk to the stand to buy twin pops, opening the popsicle and letting you pick what side you want first.

He remembers the two of you counting from one to three before pulling the side of your popsicles towards yourselves. unfortunately for you, your popsicle broke and you had the smaller side.

He remembers offering to switch popsicle sticks instead, sticking the hand holding the bigger popsicle out for you to get.

he remembers when you nodded happily, taking the offered popsicle and giving the smaller one to him, which he accepts as happily.

He remembers the two of you, holding hands once more, walking back to the playground and resting on the playground stairs, starting up a random conversation, exchanging names, then quickly changing topics every two minutes or so.

(he remembers starting a war with you the next day, the enemies being the said bullies.)

He smiles, in his own world— no, in the shared world you and him made, talking about the past with you was always the best.

You sigh and sit up, leaning on his bed's headboard, your eyes darting around his soft bed you both were laying on in search for the remote, but your eyes seem to scan around his room. oops. "enough talking, we should continue watchi— hey!" you shout a little too loudly and ino looks at you with a raised brow.

"what is it?" he calls your name when you don't answer. After another call of your name and you still don't, he decides to look at where you were looking at. and behold, it was his first camera. it was weirdly placed in the front and center of all his other cameras, placed so that it would be the center of attention.) that was placed on his wall shelf.

2007.

It was finally his birthday! he could barely get himself to sleep the night before, too excited for the upcoming event. but in honesty, he was excited on what you would do with him to celebrate! maybe have a food fight? go to the arcade? he doesn't care, as long as you were celebrating with him!

He rushes down the stairs and loudly pushes the door open to run to your meet up spot with him. the playground stairs, the one off-placed stairs that was hidden below the big green slide.

And there you were, sitting on the stairs, holding something behind your back, when you saw him, you waved at him, shouting for him to come quick.

"Happy Birthday, Takuma!" you excitedly clap, but his attention isn't really on you. "Whatcha hidin'?" he asks, not bothering to hide his excited expression. "oh! nothing!" you respond with the same look on your face, only more cruel. "C'mon! Is that a gift? maybe a gift for… you know, somebody's birthday?"

you nod your head up and down before grabbing the gift from your back and placing it on your lap. "I was planning to give this to you a little later, but you can open it now, if you want!" you give the signal for him to get the nicely wrapped gift.

In a flash, Ino sits next to you and grabs the gift, placing it on his lap. "I wrapped it for you! so you better not tear it apart." you warn when his hands start to open the gift. he only scoffs and continues opening the ribbon first. "Of course, madam. i'd never!" he jokes, though true.

After he opens the gift, he exhales out a "woah..". "do you like it, takuma?" you nervously ask as he now holds the small camera you saved up for him.

When he finishes admiring the camera, he wraps one arm around you. "I love it! I promise I'll always take pictures of you using this!"

"You still have this camera?!" all of the sudden you were jumping to reach the old camera. "Surprising how you still remember." Ino thinks aloud before walking over and getting the camera for you.

When he hands it to you, you take it in your hands. "Does it still work?" you ask, your finger hovering over the button that turns on the digital camera, and he only nods.

For an old camera, it barely took any time to load. You stop when it does, clueless. and he realizes that. "need a little help?" you hum, "..How do I see the gallery?"

after he tells you and you figure it out, you run back to his bed to sit and he follows before sitting beside you.

Starting from the first ever photo the camera took, you couldn't help but smile in nostalgia. and your smile infecting him.

The pictures dated from when it was his tenth birthday till the first year of senior high school. one by one you and him skim over the hundred photos.

Majority of the saved pictures were you, it seemed like Ino had a liking in taking stolen pictures of you, too. Whether you were going down the green slide or studying for senior exams.

You notice there were barely any pictures of him saved in the gallery. The few images that you found of him was when he was with you. You either taking the picture yourself and pulling him in the cameras view, or the secretly taken photos you had managed to take of him when he didn't catch you.

He really did take his old promise to heart.

While he and you enjoyed the feeling of thinking about the memories you had made together, the sudden ringing of your phone alarm disrupted you both.

"Ah, shit.. Completely forgot about that." You murmur. You reach for your phone and turn the alarm off as you stand up and take you bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

"Oh? Where 'r you going?" He asks out of curiosity, "sorry, that's a secret!.. Well, sorry Ino. I got to go, I swear we'll finish our movie marathon tomorr ow!" He only nods, and you rush out of his apartment, shouting a "bye!" Out the way.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. . . . 　　˚　　 *　

Ino was no idiot. He knew you were going back to your oh-so lucky partner. The alarm was probably a reminder for an upcoming date.

Talking about your partner..

when your relationship with your significant other went public back in your second year of senior high, you dropped the largest bombshell on everybody you knew or knew you.

on him.

If it wasn't crystal clear, Ino was sooo in love with you… it started from a "crushmate" years ago and is still going on as "one and only". heck, everybody knew! it was that crystal clear!

but you, sweet you, was sooo blind! sooo oblivious it even hurt for everyone to watch!

he blames it on himself somebody else confessed to you and took your heart away from his. maybe he didn't show what he felt for you enough. As much as he loved to talk the truth, he was petrified of telling you what he feels, petrified you'd reject him— possibly leave him, even. he knows you would never do that, but the thought that you might makes it that he doesn't want to take his chance.

This doesn't mean he didn't actually show his love to you, he did! he showed his love to you like a photographer would. If there was something people knew, photographers wouldn't waste their effort and time on taking pictures for somebody just for nothing! even if said person was a close friend or family member. but he, he gave his effort and time into taking pictures of you! he even has three cameras devoted to you!

He knows he should've stopped loving you after you were now taken, he knows he should drop the "best friend" title, as as people say, "your lover is your best friend.", that the fact you had a best friend and a partner sounded weird.. he knows he should have tried to kill his feelings off, but he couldn't. he just can't. after all, he was hopelessly in love with you, and when you're hopelessly in love with someone, said someone was the only one you would care about.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. . . . 　　˚　　　　*　　

What Ino expected the next morning when he had just walked out of his bathroom after a morning shower was the continuation of your's and his movie marathon, like you had swore. He definitely did not expect for you to call him, and when he heard your cracked voice silently asking— almost sounding like a plead— if he could come over, he was already going as fast as he could put on clothes while asking you to wait. his mind could only hope to believe thee sound of your voice was due to his or your's phone speaker.

After ten minutes, you hear a knock on your door. so you open your phone and message Ino to "come in, the door is open." the mental exhaustion infecting your body too much so that you don't have the energy to get up from sitting on your living room couch.

You hear him call your name. And there he was, concern clear on his face, his hand holding a plastic bag filled with your favorite snacks. "M' sorry for being late… jus' wanted to buy you a little somethi—oh." before you know it, he was sitting beside you.

When he asked what was wrong, you tried, really tried to tell him the story of it, but with the side effect of your cries, your throat would close, and when it didn't, it stung when you talked. Your best friend noticed and instead told you to tell him after you calmed down, but you 'calming down' didn't seem close. Even when you tried to stop the flowing tears, it was like a broken faucet that wouldn't close.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. . . . 　　˚　　　　*

twirling around your full-body mirror, you smile in confidence as you managed to dress and doll yourself up in just an hour, it was one of your biggest accomplishments, really. now all you had to do was to go to their apartment to meet up and go to the date they made for the both of you!

You walk out of your apartment and lock the door. the thought of you and your lover finally on a date after months made you happily walk like red riding hood to the elevator with the happiest aura people could feel and see. it was probably infectious, too.

Walking in the secluded park where your partner had texted you to go to, you were met with surprise when you saw them sitting on a patterned picnic blanket. with somebody else.

You call their name out with a wavering voice.

your "lover" looks behind when they hear their name, and to their own surprise their eyes meet yours. when they quickly stand up, the person besides them look to where they were looking at.

The stranger's face expression changes when your partner shouts out a pet name to call you and now said stranger was the one to shout, pulling and turning your partner to face them before spouting out curses.

you hear your partner exclaim they had texted the wrong number and "It must've had sent it to the both of you!" before everything blurs out.

you were thankful they were fighting instead of looking at you because you ran. you ran as fast as you possibly could, your mind panicking, only thinking of getting back to your apartment as soon as possible. too ashamed to let anyone see you in whatever state you were in.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. . . . 　　˚　　　　*

This was the note I put in.. I was stressinh

Not proof read

#jjk x reader #ino takuma x reader #ino x reader #ino takuma #i love him #ukininam

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daisies-daydreams · 4 months ago

Note

Alright, on to the actual song request.

I can’t actually link the song anonymously so here’s the name: Those Eyes by New West. It’s just super cute and soft and I have a craving for domestic fluff and awkward, goofy, lanky punk boy.

-🪶 (also I’m 19)

Those Eyes (Hobie Brown x GN!Reader)

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN!Reader Category: Fluff (Slight Angst) Tags: Mentions of Drinking/Smoking Weed, Depictions of Post-Sex (No Smut), Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Reminiscing, Depictions of Injuries/Trauma (Brief) Word Count: 1k+ A/N: Omg I listened to this song for the first time because of this request and it's literally so sweet. 🥹 Flashbacks/Reminiscing scenes are in italics. Also I'm so so sorry it's taken me this long to finish your request, but I hope you enjoy! Song: Those Eyes by New West

You smiled up at Hobie as the two of you were tucked away beneath one of his bedsheets. He grinned warmly and pecked your lips, his mouth lingering against yours as he sweetly cupped your face.

"You got such gorgeous eyes, y'know that?" Hobie rumbled quietly. You felt your cheeks grow warm as your heart skipped a beat.

"H-Hobie," you flushed. Hobie chuckled as he peppered your face with kisses.

"It's true. It's the first thing I noticed when we first met," he sighed.

༺♥༻

Hobie blinked when his hand slipped against someone else's in the back of the cab.

"Whoops. Sorry 'bout that, love. Didn't know this cab was taken," he shrugged before glancing up. Hobie felt his heart stop as he gazed upon your face. To anyone else, you were a mess: your hair was tousled, your lips parted and breath pungent with alcohol (granted, he probably looked the same way after just stumbling out of the pub a minute ago).

But to him, you were a divine being shining before him.

Your hiccup drew him out of his trance.

"D-Do you come here often?" you slurred. Hobie cracked a smile as he chuckled.

"Not this particular cab, no," he hummed. "Where you headin'?" Hobie added with a concerned look. You gave him your address, your eyelids fluttering as your head rolled towards him. He smiled as he let you rest your cheek against his arm.

"That's not too far from my place," he murmured.

It really was, but he couldn't let you travel alone in this state.

༺♥༻

You grinned that sweet grin of yours, your eyes sparkling like two pristine diamonds. Hobie chuckled as you leaned up and captured his lips in a tender kiss, your fingers playing with his dark wicks. A smirk crossed his face as he heard you squeal when he playfully flicked his tongue along your bottom lip. He sighed as the two of you parted for air, your chests rising and falling in unison.

"I swear, I could get high off of your kisses," he cooed while cupping his sharp cheek. You smiled before giggling. Hobie chuckled. "What?" he asked before pecking your lips again. You bit your lip.

"Nothing," you shrugged. Hobie raised his brows as he shot you a lopsided grin.

"You sure? Doesn't sound like nothin'," he said as he playfully kissed along his jaw. He grinned as he heard you squeak, knowing his feather-light kisses were tickling your skin.

"O-Okay, you win," you yielded with a laugh, holding your hands against his taut chest. Hobie smirked and pulled back, his brows raised as he expectantly waited for your answer. You took a deep breath.

"My comment just made me think about...well, that time I called you from the phone boxes," you muttered sheepishly. Hobie furrowed his brows before his face softened, a chuckle escaping him as he remembered that time.

༺♥༻

"Babe?" Hobie asked, his face scrunched with worry. It's been hours since you went out with your friends, the dead of night having already crept over Camden town. He heard you gasp on the other end.

"Oh my God, Hobie! Hi! It's you!" you squealed. Hobie's expression shifted as he cracked a smile. He heard your friends laughing and snorting in the background.

"Guys, stop! I'm talking to my super-duper hot boyfriend," you drawled. Hobie huffed out a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, it's me. What's goin' on, sweetheart?" he asked as he shifted his phone to his other ear. He heard you giggle.

"D'aww, you called me sweetheart!" you cooed. He heard you gasp before a scraping noise was heard. Your friends cackled in the background like a murder of crows.

"(Y/N), you alright?" he asked, worry quickly rushing back in. You huffed and nodded.

"Yeahhhh, I'm great babe. Baby, baby babe," you babbled. "My friends and I are just hanging out by the river, smoking...stuff," you added. Before Hobie could offer a witty remark, he heard you groan. "Oh shit. Why's Kool-Aid coming out of my knees?" you said. Hobie sighed and shook his head.

"I'll come pick you up, yeah?" he said. He heard you make a strange noise on the other end.

"Mmmm'kay. Love you," you said in a sing-song voice. His heart skipped a beat at your words. Despite the two of you being together for about a month, it was the first time those words left your lips. A warm smile grew over his features as he nodded.

"Love ya, too, babe. See you soon"

༺♥༻

Both of you laughed as you two recalled that night.

"I've never seen you that out of it. Though I have to admit, you were pretty adorable," he said and playfully poked the tip of your nose. You rolled your eyes and snickered.

"Being high is 'adorable'?" you asked. Hobie grinned and tilted his head side to side.

"Well, not really the 'high' part. More like the part when you refused to let go of me once we got home," he smirked. Your eyes widened as you looked away.

"Don't remind me," you whined. Hobie smirked.

"'I'm never lettin' you go, Hobie. Never never never'," he recited your words teasingly. You groaned and hid your face in your hands.

"Seriously, how much pot did I smoke that night?" you asked. Hobie pursed his lips as he hummed.

"Enough for the police to not find any evidence," he smirked. You groaned again and shook your head. Hobie chuckled and leaned his face closer.

"Lemme see you again, sweetheart," he murmured. You made a small crack between your fingers as you looked up at him. He caught a small sliver of a glint in your eyes. "C'mon. Lemme see that beautiful face I love so much," Hobie said in a low, husky drawl. He felt you relax beneath him before you fully withdrew your hands from your face. He smiled. "There you are," he said and gently pushed some hair from your face.

That soft expression you were giving him, it was the same one he'd always remember whenever he was on a long mission.

༺♥༻

Hobie panted as he crawled through a cracked window on his canal boat. He grunted as he gripped his side, the previous battle with Doc Ock taking a larger toll on his body that any other villains he fought. He took several deep breaths as he pulled off his mask. His nostrils flared as he could still feel his heartbeat inside of his ears, his blood pumping rapidly.

Images of the battle flashed in his mind: every dip of Ock's tentacles, every punch thrown, the metallic taste filling his mouth.

His heart began to race as he tried to steady his breath, his ribs aching with a sharp pain as he pinched his brows together.

But then, in the midst of the images of fists flying and bodies being thrown...your face appeared. Hobie's eyes shot open as he saw you in his mind cupping his face, your smile warming him from head to toe. He saw you dancing to a song playing while the two of you strolled the city streets. His heartbeat began to slow as he sucked in a shaky breath.

Hobie smiled as he remembered the way you looked wearing his t-shirt during a lazy Sunday afternoon, or all decked out in punk gear at one of his shows. He sighed and closed his eyes as he sat back on his couch.

His expression relaxed as he remembered all the little things you did... and how each one made him fall completely for you.

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Taglist: @yuhhtricki999 @lavenderbabu @thedevax @famouscattale @spktrgantenk @zombieblogx @mrswhitethornbelikov @migueloharastruelove @galaxy-dusk @samanthashadowriley @theloneshadow24 @xxkay15xx @inspace1 @manlikemilesmyguy @ghostslynx @synamonthy @oharasfilipinawife @scaleniusrm @jotarossshark @acotarobbsessed @8xbygirl @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @lyrasdrawer @mcmiracles @genma-support-group @rattybimbo @rinyukaa

Want to be a part of my taglist? Comment down below! (MUST BE 18 OR OLDER)

#hobie brown #hobie brown spider punk #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x gn!reader #spider punk #spider punk x you #spider punk x y/n #spider punk x gn!reader #spiderman atsv #spider man atsv #atsv #atsv hobie #across the spider verse #spider man across the spider verse #across the spiderverse hobie #spiderverse #atsv fanfiction

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hms-tardimpala · 3 months ago

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Ficbinding: The Bone Eater by CluckU

(Listen, taking pics is not my talent. Just ignore the Wrestlemania tier list in the background.)

The fic: SPN, Castiel/Dean Winchester, E, 119.3k This fic is amazing. It's dark as I like and breathtaking, and it's a fantastic exploration of my favorite character, Dean Winchester. He's completely believable as CluckU writes him, there's not a doubt in my mind that that's how he would react if kidnapped and fed on by a minotaur, even at the times in the story when I wished he'd go against his instincts to protect himself. Also, the monster in this fic is so cool. He's well written, menacing, pathetic in a way, and so terrifying because of the way he feeds and how implacable he is. Special mention to the whole Misery vibe of this fic and especially chapter 15, that was so well done. Read the tags.

The bind: This is one of my most complex works to date, for several reasons. Let's start with the palette. White for te very bare cell Dean lives in and to contrast with other colors; red on the endbands and ribbon for blood (and there's a lot of it here); silver on the edges and endpapers for the medical instruments and table; black because I don't have grey cloth and I thought it'd contrast better with white to make the prison bars pattern.

The first difficulty was trimming and sanding the textblock. It was too thick for my ream cutter and as I said before, I'm losing my faith in it. So I trimmed each one of the 18 signatures by hand, then sanded the block with my new power sander. It took a long time and made a lot of noise, and the heat made it hard to work for long, but I'm loving this new tool. The smoothness of the edges was so satisfying.

Then I spray-painted edges for the first time. And it didn't go so well. It seemed okay, but for some reason paint still rubs off my fingers even though it's dry, so I have to be very careful when handling the book. I'm thinking of giving up acrylic paint in favor of laque spray next time.

Another thing I was apprehensive about was the straight spine. I'm a round spine guy, I have very little experience with straight ones, but it went alright! It's good! I don't think I'll make it a regular occurrence, though, I find it nerve-racking.

The last tricky thing was the cover pattern. (You can see it well in the sun if you click on the picture above.) It wasn't hard to think up or to figure out, mathematically speaking, but it was long, hard work in the July heat to cut the strips and glue them on the cover in a regular fashion. Took me hours. But it came out looking great! I did make a little mistake, though: I prepared the casing last night and I was so tired I glued the book in it by automatism, but I should have added the stripes before putting the book together.

Now, the typesetting!

I could have used a Greek theme throughout, but the minotaur myth is too modernized in this story for that, so I confined these references to the front page. A non-serif font because this is mostly Dean's POV and if you've read my previous ficbinding post, you know my feelings on that. And then bones! For the chapter headings, I used a pelvic bone that cradles the chapter number. The only chapter with a different heading is chapter 15, with the hand, for reasons obvious to those who have read the fic. And a nice femur as a divider. Really, the pelvis, hand and femur are the most important bones in The Bone Eater. The all look crisp, I'm happy with that.

Any reservations?

I wrestled with my printer a while and couldn't get it to print the right shade of red, I'll have to look into that next time.

Wow, I had a lot to say this time! It was a very interesting one, craft-wise.

Fonts: title and chapter numbers: Lethal Craze Demo, author name: Hey August, text: TT Fors Trial. All free on Dafont.

Materials: Black and white cloth from Schmedt, 2mm grey board, 70g/m² white copy paper, synthetic bookmark and headbands. Silver endpaper bought in store.

Feel free to ask me more about materials and fonts (or whatever), it won’t bother me at all to tell you what I used, I just can't think of anything else right now.

#bookbinding #ficbinding #my bookbinding #spn #spn fic rec #fanbinding

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ominous-feychild · 3 months ago

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✦ OC DEEP DIVE ✦

Thanks for the tag, @the-letterbox-archives! This looks really fun!

Otherwise it would get added to my ever-building "answer this tag eventually" list... 😭

I'm going to answer these for: Sun and Shadow: Freya and Crow The Arcane Rifts: Gene and Tazin Rising From the Ashes: Sammy and Kieva

Warning: long post!

What uncommon/common fear do they have?

After the start of Sun and Shadow? A fear of the ocean, easily.

However, she's also afraid of being vulnerable, being lost, feeling alone, and not being able to trust her own senses.

Abandonment and failure.

It'd be easier listing the fears he doesn't have...

He's afraid of: the forest, being lost, not being able to trust his own senses, being deceived, anything anywhere near the uncanny valley, being/feeling trapped, saying the wrong thing (aka social anxiety literally always), authority figures, angry people, not angry people, people--

Okay, I'll stop now. I think you get it.

Is and has almost always been haunted by the fear of being abandoned. It's his greatest fear, and he constantly pushes people away or abandons them first, before they can do it to him.

Besides that, he's afraid of responsibility and ghosts (which are provably real in-universe... and he's met plenty).

Fear of losing control. Is a major control freak social manipulator who panics (internally) the moment he feels like he's lost control of a situation. Is also terrified of being/feeling trapped and being "physically constricted" (read: shackles, handcuffs, and the sort).

Terrified of feeling trapped--both physically and situationally. Particularly hates small spaces and constricting clothing. Afraid of abandonment, failure, and disappointing the people he cares about.

Instead of angsting about his fears (besides the claustro- and cleithrophobia), he uses them as a motivation to do better.

Do they have any pet peeves?

Rich people. I'm only slightly kidding. She hates fake people and nobility/the wealthy elite have always been fake in her experience. She also hates small talk, people not taking her seriously, asking her about her family, and people calling her by her full name, "Freya", instead of Frey. ... whoops.

A curse they've brought upon themself--people not taking them seriously when they want people to, haha. It's a backfiring from their acting silly to get people to underestimate them.

Similarly, people getting distracted in conversations. Their job would be SO much easier if people didn't deviate from subjects Crow wanted them on. (Though, the distractedness also makes it easier for them to happen onto subjects Crow wants to investigate, so...)

People assuming he's dumb, or asking him how he figured things out when they're super obvious? Like, c'mon. Also he's sensitive to a lot of sounds and gets annoyed by repetitive noises.

People asking him questions, hilariously enough. (Makes for a horrible and yet perfect combination with Gene...)

Similarly, hates people asking about his background, family, and nationality. Also hates repetitive noises!

Discrimination, people obsessing about/over his magic, the "elite" class in general, the shallowness of society, and people assuming things about him. He grew up on the streets and faced a lot of discrimination focused on his apparent poverty and age--though it's especially worse because he looks even younger than he is. Despite his distaste for it, he's learned to use it to his advantage.

People.

I was only slightly kidding--he's incredibly asocial, hates people trying to bother him, and mostly minds to himself. However, has a particular distaste for people asking prying questions--and especially those about his biological family.

Also, fake people, fake compliments, and people interrupting him in the middle of him doing other things (aka, literally always)--and, fuck, I've made HIM autistic, too???

(Not saying those things make him autistic. However, seeing him in my mind, as a fellow autistic... I've done it again.)

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Books, tea, and various kinds of writing utensils.

Newspapers, hidden knives, and even-better hidden art collages from newspaper and magazine cutouts!

An endless amount of books, writing utensils, Mislav and papers. Blank, filled with drawings, filled with writing--papers of all kinds!

Anything and everything fun and/or "different" for him to set on fire. Also, knives/daggers, his Svarog masks, and each of Gene's old Volos masks--up until the last version, which is still in Gene's possession.

You're assuming he has a bedroom? /hj

More seriously, haha--although he grew up on the streets, he does have a few possessions that he's kept with him at all times. One is a damaged and rusty photo locket. The other is an expensive-looking dagger and sheath given to him by someone in his past. He's never sold either, regardless of the struggles he's gone through.

After getting a bedroom upon joining the knight's college, it's perpetually full of endless potted plants, books about medical subjects (primarily composed of photos or doodles he's added to help him understand the contents), and the aforementioned dagger... though it's hidden very well.

Several sketchbooks, some filled out and others blank or half-filled out; a VERY well-hidden collection of notes from his adoptive dad, Caron, addressed to him when Kieva was younger and he's kept for all these years; and tons of hidden weapons.

Don't worry!--he got that habit from his dad, Caron. As the saying goes--a man who sleeps with a knife under his pillow is a fool every night but one. (Except there's way more than just a knife under his pillow.)

What do they notice first in a person?

How they're dressed, almost tied with how they hold themselves.

How the person holds themself. Then, their face. They are very good at memorizing faces.

Spoilers! 😁 In other words... their magical energy. But that's not very helpful here, is it? Haha, so beyond that, I'd say how they're dressed.

Their skin tone. (Because he expects white people to be immediately / especially racist toward him. Glavnran ain't a great place for a Jhandan kid to grow up.)

Their emotional state. He's always prepared to maneuver around a difficult social situation, and needs to be ready to manipulate someone into reacting more positively to him if necessary.

Simultaneously notices their face and posture. He's good at memorizing faces--partially because of how much he draws them--and uses their posture to gauge a lot of things, as taught to by his dad. You can use someone's posture to help figure out: confidence level, if they're experienced in a fight, their social class (nobility often exaggerates certain behaviors), and many other things.

(He also goes out of his way to look at their hands. One's hands can tell of their profession.)

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance? (I'm doing this assuming 5 is "average")

Emotional? 7. Physical? 3.

Physically? 9. Emotionally? 9.

Depends how you define "pain tolerance"--if it's "doesn't notice it" or "is able to ignore it".

If it's "doesn't notice": Physically, 5. Emotionally, 8. (But later books see "emotionally" drop wayyyy down to 3)

"Is able to ignore": Physically, 10. Emotionally? 9.

Physically? 6. Emotionally? 2.

Depends on a lot of factors. He's able to magically shut off his ability to feel physical pain, for one (though he only realizes/learns to do so on command to later in the series)! Otherwise, he's similar to Gene in having a variable "feels it" vs "is able to ignore it anyways" level of "tolerance".

If it's "doesn't notice": Physically, 6. Emotionally, 7.

If it's "is able to ignore it/doesn't show any signs of feeling it": Physically, 8. Emotionally, 9 or 10 depending on the emotion and situation.

Another case of "can ignore what he can feel".

Threshold until he feels it? Physically, 7. Emotionally? 8.

Threshold until he can't ignore it anymore? Physically, 10 (aka, only the worst pains imaginable). Emotionally? 10. (Aka mental breakdown territory.)

(Kieva is very bad at noticing his own emotions until he gets overwhelmed by them. His stress builds to very high levels before he actually notices them and can account for them. He's alexithymic and has to use therapeutic methods to figure out what he's feeling before he gets overwhelmed and snaps.)

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? (I'm also including freeze and fawn)

Fight!!! She's an incredibly angry person (that thinks she doesn't have anger issues, lmao), and goes on the aggressive very easily. However, it's usually verbal. She doesn't have any experience in actual fights.

Technically freeze, technically flight, but actually fight. They'll either turn into or hide in their own shadow with their magic to orient themselves to the situation before acting if surprised with combat. Their "freezing/flight" is only a defensive measure to gather more information before proceeding.

However, they're also a fantastic actor and tend to be playing a persona. While their reflex is defensive/fight, they can and will fake having a different "reflex" under pressure.

It depends on when/where in the books and in his life, haha.

Early books? Freeze or fawn depending on the situation. If it's something dangerous or more than one person, freeze. If it's a single person, fawn.

In the middle of the series? Fawn 7 times out of 10. Fight the other three.

Late in the series? Fight.

FIGHTTTTTTTTTTT!!! (both verbally and physically, though he tends to more adapt a threatening posture or imply he's ready to get violent rather than immediately getting violent. Not that he hates violence, though--he just doesn't like getting hurt.)

Before the beginning of Rising From the Ashes, his reactions are tied between flight and fawn, depending on the situation. He's used to running away from his problems to the point that Caron--the head of the knight's college--silently notices it and pegs him as a flight risk. However, he also very commonly fawns over people who would otherwise be his enemies.

As the story progresses, Sammy's reaction shifts to tied between fight and fawn. He'll still pretend to be on his enemies' side, but is a lot more prepared to fight instead of run away.

Defensive fight/freeze. He'll jump into action to defend himself and/or others, but he's not the aggressive type except for when he's angry (and oh, boy, when he's angry...)

While he's usually defensive, he'll switch to hyper-offense (minus potentially protecting others in danger) when he's decided on a course of action. He will single-mindedly work toward his goal, his own well-being be damned.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

I mean, technically the closest thing she had to a family was a magical zombie version of her dad...

More seriously, though--technically a small family. It was just her and her dad for her growing up. He was next to never around, though.

Tiny family. It was just them, their dad, and {SPOILER}. Their dad was next to never around because of his work and not wanting to tie Crow into it. Looks like it happened anyway, ey? 😏😉

He doesn't remember his family besides the fact that "Abi" existed and was probably his brother. During his short time in the orphanage, there was a lot of them. Then it was just him and Tazin (who he saw like a brother). Then it was the khonitva. Then it was the yuertel. The closest thing he can really remember adjacent to "family" is Tazin.

He wishes he had positive experiences with "family". Instead, he had none and a toxic friend.

Oh, buddy, would he hate this question. He comes from a small family, but was kicked out (and then later refused to return when they were willing to take him back). Because of this, he grew up either living with gangs (the khonitva/yuertel) or with it just being him and Gene. He thinks he hates "family", but it's only because he desperately wishes his was better.

This answer is a spoiler, haha! However, he is not a family person.

The only family he can remember is his adoptive one: his adoptive dad, Caron, and brother, Varik. He cares more about them than he cares about himself. Conveniently, the feeling is mutual between the three of them. (It wouldn't even be a question. They'd all sacrifice themselves for each other in less than a heartbeat. Something tells me this family is just a lil fucked-up/self-sacrificing.)

What animal represents them best?

Gryphon!!! Either that, or a feral kitten, haha.

I know this might be hard to believe... but Crow is best represented by a crow. Otherwise, a falcon, haha.

Deer. Easily.

Salamander! For probably obvious reasons if you have the context, haha. A simple explanation for those without the context? He's a fire mage. (But there's a lot more to it than just that, so.)

A possum!!! No debate about it, haha, and I'm sure I don't have to explain why.

A bull and/or buffalo. For their individual associations with bravery, fierceness, stubbornness, sacrifice, and survival. Also, because they all have horns!

What is a smell that they dislike?

City stink. If you know, you know.

Blood. Except, they also love the smell. They're mixed up about how they should feel about that.

Mustiness. Also the smell of various things burning. Midway through the story, the smell of cigarette smoke.

Sweat and herbs. It's even worse that burning herbs just makes the smells stronger.

Blood and chemicals.

Any strong smell. Especially hates the smell of chemicals and smoke.

Have they broken any bones?

When she was very young, yes. She doesn't remember it, though. Except for in her nightmares.

Depends on if you mean theirs or other people's!

Yes! A lot, actually.

Yes, a few times.

Yes, while practicing parkour. Conveniently, he has healing magic. Besides that? No.

His own, or other peoples'?

Yes.

His own, or other peoples'? x3

Yes. x6 (Whoops. Traumatic action-fantasy am I right?)

How would a stranger likely describe them?

"Yeah, that woman with the messy red hair and anger issues?--HOW DO YOU KNOW ANOTHER ONE!?--okay, no, she was looked like she wanted to be anywhere else?--Seriously?--okay, fine, she was wearing a ring on a necklace?--YEAH, that one!"

"Remember that guy wearing that long cloak as though it hid their giant wings and tail?"

"You know that creepy guy who's always staring? Like, barely talks, just watches everyone all the time? He's got a cane and just acts weird in general?"

"That angry Jhandan kid?" (or, alternatively:) "That Jhandan guy, either looks ready to pick a fight at a moment's notice or does his absolute best to piss everyone else off with while 'joking' around? Yeah, the overly-touchy guy--that one."

It would depend on who/what/when/where/why/how he met the person, considering how much he's almost always playing up one act or another! Here's one possible way of over a thousand:

"I think he was a Cirranian kid? About ye tall, really timid--OH! His eyes were two different colors, one blue and the other dark brown! He had curly hair and had a dirty, oversized jacket on?"

"Yeah, Kieran Caron's son? No--that's the other one, I think. Kieva's the one who's super pale, like he's never even been outside, and looks dead inside half the time?--what do you mean Varik's like that, too??? Okay, fine, silvery hair and eyes? YEAH! That guy!"

Are they a night owl or an early bird?

Early bird, haha. She loves the smell of the morning dew and just never preferred the night. Not even as an angsty teen!

Night owl (almost literally). They dislike the day, haha.

Night owl who's often forced to wake up early, haha. He's a sad, sleepy birdie who has to function on way too little sleep half the time.

Night owl, but his sleep schedule ends up even worse as an adult. It goes from "night owl" into "whenever I damn want/am not doing something else".

Really depends, his sleep schedule's all over the place. Most often, he's an early bird. He likes being awake when others aren't regardless.

You have to sleep in order to be a night owl or early bird, and Kieva doesn't sleep.

Okay, that was only kinda a joke--he has a hard time sleeping due to nightmares that he can't really remember. Usually, he just naps whenever he's able to. Otherwise, technically an early bird. He always wakes up early to stay on top of classes and his personal projects.

What is a flavour they hate and a flavour they love?

Loves spicy food! Hates most vegetables (like a child), but eats them anyway--like an adult!

Uhhhhh... so they're lowkey a vampire half the time so... both cases? Blood! 😁

Gene hates, hates, HATES sweet food and it's absolutely hilarious! He has the absolute opposite of a sweet tooth! On the other hand, he loves meat and most kinds of savory foods. Meat was rare for him growing up, and he really appreciates being able to eat it whenever he wants as an adult.

Both loves and hates Jhandan (Fantasy!Indian) food. His Jhandan parent would cook it when he was young, and uh--yeah. Mixed feelings about that whole mess. Same thing applies to spicy food--the only "spicy" food he had was cooked by the same parent, and while he loves spicy food, it reminds him of them.

For things he just straight-up dislikes, Tazin also isn't a fan of sweet food in general, haha. There's a few he does like, but they're few and far between.

Love: food. Hate: nothing. Literally can't afford to be picky.

Later on, when he is able to be picky, he strongly dislikes spicy food and likes "spiced" (aka spices, not spicy) and savory foods. Anything super flavorful!... except for fish. Hates fish. (Yes, white fish have plainer flavors. He hates those, too.)

Loves basically anything his dad cooks, but prefers salty and umami tastes. Hates bitter stuff, but is basically obsessed with coffee (like the rest of his family tbf).

Do they have any hobbies?

Yes! She loves reading and has a hobby of translating books from a foreign-to-that-world language into her own! She does so utilizing books in the library and has lowkey become a language scholar, haha. (She'll just never admit it.)

They secretly like drawing and creating collages out of things cut out of newspapers and magazines. They have not admitted this fact to a single person in their life, and won't for a long time.

Two! Reading non-fiction books (aka just learning in general, haha) and drawing! He loves drawing, though does it a lot less than reading. Drawing hasn't really helped him (besides with the maps he used to draw for the yuertel), while his obsessive need to always be learning has.

Not really? He likes reading stories, primarily folklore, stories about the gods, and fiction, but he doesn't allow himself to do it often because he's embarrassed to like them. Similarly, he likes to sing, but next to never does so because he's insecure about it.

I like to say that, if Tazin grew up in our world, he would've absolutely been a huge fan of rock and tried starting a band in high school. (He would've put enough time into it that he'd even be good at the guitar. Except... he's not in our world.)

No, he never had the time, money, or mental energy for hobbies. The closest thing he has to one is "people-watching", but he did it more out of necessity than because he enjoyed it.

If he could have one, I think he'd most enjoy creating textiles and listening to music.

Yes! Drawing, easily. Prefers life-drawing and drawing people in general. Sometimes enjoys people-watching, but only if he can tolerate their personalities (or otherwise, if they aren't speaking). Even before he started attending the knight's college, he had a minor hobby of invading active classes to watch the lessons, teachers, and students. It made it much easier for him to pick up fighting when he officially started, and it's helped him have a heightened magical awareness.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises?

Apprehension and shock. She wouldn't have told anyone her birthday and wouldn't have expected anyone to celebrate it on top of that. She'd be half-expecting things to go wrong and not know how to deal with it all, but would probably ultimately enjoy it.

Cry. They didn't expect anyone to know/care besides their dad. Their dad celebrates with them, but it's always been disappointing (not that they'd admit that though). They'd absolutely love it, though. Just... cry. A lot.

Panic. Hates surprises, hates social gatherings, hates having people expect things from him (ie: appreciate the party/their efforts), and hates that he'll be "the bad guy" for not appreciating the party.

Besides, he doesn't have a "real" birthday (he didn't know the day and was given a "fake" one to be celebrated during his time in the orphanage) and even though he and Tazin privately celebrated the day they met in its place, it was just that--privately. They would have a quiet celebration with food, a few gifts exchanged between them, and just acting normal otherwise.

Rage. Wouldn't have shared his birthday with anyone, not even Gene (though Gene would've figured it out anyway because of Reasons). Similarly, definitely not a fan of surprises. Likes receiving gifts, but otherwise? Fuck off (his words, not mine--).

(Assuming friends threw it for him--) Confusion and would break down crying. Hasn't really had a birthday party for a long time, doesn't know how to react to it, and certainly didn't tell anyone when his birthday was because he doesn't even know. (So, y'know, whoever threw the party would've had to make one up for him.) Wouldn't know how to take people celebrating his existence--or him in general--and would be overwhelmed by the positive attention directed toward him.

So, yeah. Would cry a LOT. And only might hide it.

Doesn't like surprises, wouldn't show it. Would just--

Considering his adoption and the way it initially happened--let's just say it wasn't traditional in any sort of way--his actual birthday is unknown. Instead the family celebrates the day of his official adoption. Regardless, those celebrations are obviously known of in advance. Kieva would not accept a party being thrust upon him, haha.

Do they like to wear jewelry?

She grew up always wearing a magical amulet her dad gave her that helped her with an unknown illness. When she loses it early into the book, she puts an otherwise-enchanted ring on a necklace to cope with the loss of the feeling of wearing something at her neck. Besides that, she's not a jewelry person, haha.

They don't like jewelry, but wear it. They have two earrings that absorb the magic of their curse--allowing them to appear human and removing its antimagic effects--and quite often wear various other kinds of jewelry while posing as one identity or another.

No, absolutely not. He'd hate the sensory input. He's just fine with no jewelry, having his hair tied back, and fidgeting with his cane--thank you very much.

As a kid, wouldn't have. As an adult, likes basic "jewelry" that's just metal rather than stuff with actual jewels.

Not at all. However, keeps a half-destroyed photo locket in his pocket at all times. But that's different, y'know?

Alternates between loving and hating jewelry. Sometimes enjoys wearing it for something to fidget with. Other times, hates the sensation and will take it off (potentially aggressively if he realized after already getting overwhelmed). Rarely wears it because of the "risk" associated with it.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

Neat! She's filled out a lot of paperwork in her time and has actually dabbled in sketching stuff, but isn't the greatest artist.

Halfway between! Very messy handwriting, but it's always legible.

Depends on how fast he's writing and if he intends on having anyone else read it. It's incredibly messy to the point of illegibility if he's writing quickly, and especially more so if it's just for himself. However, he's capable of writing very neatly if he's planning on having others read it--it just takes him a lot longer to write.

Messy, messy, messy! Doesn't write often, haha. But is capable of making it neater if he must.

(Also, would probably go out of his way to make his handwriting messier if someone forced him to write stuff down for them--)

Even worse than Tazin's. Messy af, everything is horribly misspelled. He's dyslexic and barely learned how to read even beyond that. Hates even attempting to read, much less write, so his time in the knight's college is the first time he really gets into it since he was really young.

Either incredibly neat or messy. Sometimes doesn't have the patience to bother making things legible, but needs to write stuff down--and so scribbles doctor handwriting style. Otherwise, goes out of his way to make his handwriting neater. It's an ego thing.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Frustration and exhaustion. She doesn't sleep well--though she doesn't remember her dreams anymore--and has anger issues.

Annoyance and amusement. They don't

Exhaustion and sadness. He doesn't get the greatest sleep--whether it's because of nightmares or a terrible sleep schedule--and he's constantly experiencing and/or witnessing things that are unfair. It's not like he's never happy, though--he just constantly carries that sense of tragedy.

Anger and amusement. He has SEVERE anger issues, but considers himself a jokester. Unfortunately, a lot of his "humor" is at the detriment of others, especially as he gets older.

Resignation and caution. Is constantly on-guard for people who could potentially pose a threat to him--regardless of how--and is used to people treating him poorly. His feeding into it by pretending to be young and clueless has always been a way to cope with it and run with its few advantages.

Who knows what he's running from? Me. Obviously I know. But-- But he's constantly prepared to run away from a situation where he's in danger... or people are close to figuring out things he doesn't want them to.

Stubbornness and indifference, with exhaustion being a close third. Mostly floats through life, following a strict schedule with the school's classes. Finds the strict schedule convenient, because it allows him to plan things ahead of time and then stop having to think as he follows through with what he decided. However, is still an incredibly stubborn person--he wants to make his dad proud by becoming a powerful mage, fighter, and knight. That, and he genuinely wants to make the world a better place! And maybe, one day, to find out where he's actually from.

Only problem is, he just wants to sleep half the time!

Do they have a favourite fabric? (This is assuming I know the fabrics...)

Does yarn count? Knitted stuff of all kinds and textures! She's made a lot of her own clothes. She's very self-sufficient.

Anything their feathers don't get caught on. So, mostly smoother textures.

Anything and everything soft. He loves soft things and stimming with them.

Slippery stuff. Aka, stuff that's harder for people to grip. Tazin explicitly wears skintight clothing and has Gene cut his hair down to his scalp so people can't easily grab him. Besides that, doesn't care.

Anything soft. Has a particular fondness for the texture of "was formerly rough due to being made from poor-quality materials, but has softened from age and use" stuff. Granted, that's also the texture of his hole-y jacket.

He's indifferent. As long as it's not itchy!

What kind of accent do they have?

Irish! She's from a fantasy country with lots of early Norse and Celtic influence.

Belgian! They were born and raised in Lynsmouth, which has a lot of misc influences from Western Europe, but it's primarily Netherlands and France!

Polish. Who knows where he was from before ending up in Glavnran (Fantasy!Slavic), but after spending most of his life there, his accent has changed and adjusted to sound much more Glavni than whatever it was before.

Kyrgyz. He's mixed, Glavni and Jhandan (Fantasy!Indian), and was raised primarily by his Jhandan parent before ending up on the streets. Fittingly, his accent is from a country between Russia and India, haha.

Spanish. Not Mexican, Spanish. Like from Spain. Who knows where his family is from, but he looks Cirranian (Fantasy!CentralAmerica) and has spent as much of his life as he can remember in Kihroin (the country RFtA takes place in).

Algerian. Like Sammy, he's grown up in Kihroin, which has North African inspiration! (Which is another reason I want to wait to publish anything on it, I want to do an insane amount of more research first, haha.)

(I literally pulled up a video with people speaking English with various accents just to answer this question. Somehow, my imagined languages for them aligned really well with the regions/accents they should have!? I say "somehow", as though I haven't actually done an immense amount of research on languages and listened to them in order to say my made-up words "correctly", haha...)

Me, before starting this: "this should be relatively easy!"

Me, getting to the accent question: "wait, actually, what would Crow sound like? And omg, Sammy? Considering their backgrounds--"

Me: *spends half an hour debating the accents of each of the characters*

Me, a day after starting this and coming back to see ^^^^ that: "goddamn, I thought this would be easy?"

PSA: doing this for one character is fine. Doing it for six--two of which you're not as certain with--is less fine!

Tagging (gently!): @honeybewrites @yourpenpaldee @paeliae-occasionally @mysticstarlightduck @illarian-rambling

@darkandstormydolls @the-golden-comet @ath3alin @wyked-ao3 @mk-writes-stuff

@huewrite + open tags!

Divider from @saradika!

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ayelbee · 2 years ago

Text

MORE THAN LOVE | K. MBAPPÉ | 2

previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: Sometimes even love is not enough for relationships. But it's fine because you are over it. But getting again in a contact with his younger brother wasn't smart.

TW: shitty english grammer, poor writing skills and few swear words

Notes: Hey, firstly i want to thank all of you for the activity on my previous post, i didn't expect that! It means the world to me, so thank you very much <3 ! Also if you want to be added to the tag list let me know. And lastly, i know that today's part isn't really entertaining but i promise that the next chapter will be better.

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You loved fridays, not just because you knew that weekend was ahead, but also because on friday nights new exhibitions were opening. This friday was the opening of the exhibition that you were working on since October, the author of the paintings herself was attending to it which made everything even more special. You were so excited.

It was a week after Ethan's birthday and in a meantime, you both decided that the two of you will meet tomorrow for your movie marathon. That was also the reason why you spent the whole yesterday cleaning your apartment and why you also spent three hours grocery shopping so you could have all the snacks you both love so much.

Now you were just getting ready for the opening. You weren't able to decide if you should wear a long-sleeved dress or wide-leg jeans with a backless top and a blazer over it. You were more into the dress, but your best friend on the other hand was begging you to choose your second option.

"Y/n if you are going to go with that dress no one will pay attention to those paintings there." she laughed, you could also hear a door opening in the background.

"You are ridiculous." if you two weren't face timing each other you would probably poke her in the shoulder for not really helping you.

"Look, even Lukas thinks that you should go with the jeans, right Lukas?" now you saw her boyfriend's face on your screen who was almost aggressively nodding his head. In the end, you decided to stick with their option as you started to grow more nervous about running out of time.

"Okay, thank you, guys. See you next week." you waved your hand to say goodbye and then just hung up.

You finished your look with a purse and nice pair of heels, catching a quick glance into the mirror before rushing from your flat to catch the cab that was already waiting for you outside of your apartment building. In the cab you noticed a notification from Ethan on your phone, he was asking for your address so his mum could drop him off at your place tomorrow. You answered with your address attached.

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"You really did a good job with this." your colleague Maria told you as you were both looking at the painting in front of you.

"Thank you, but all I was doing was really listening to the painter herself and how she feels about her paintings and how she thinks that they should be displayed." you shot her a smile as she rubbed your back.

"Oh Y/n if I could be humble as you are." she laughed and you joined her. It was almost midnight, most people were already gone just a few people stayed. You were getting more and more tired and Maria noticed that. "You should go home, you already left here your body and soul." she smiled at you.

"You are probably right, I will just go to say goodbye to the rest." you hugged her as she said goodbye too.

"And Y/n," she called as you were getting more distant from her. You turned your head her direction as she continued "don't forget to be proud on yourself." you shot her one last smile before heading to the last group of people.

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The cold air was hugging your body as you were waiting for your cab, but you didn't care, because you were happy. Happy about yourself, happy about tonight, and happy about the fact that six months ago you never thought that you will be able to smile without him.

You were looking on your instagram on the post you made earlier tonight. Scrolling thru the comments your smile growing just bigger and bigger.

@y/n: Thanks to everyone who came to the opening tonight, it was great! And to the people who weren't able to make it the exhibition is on display till February 15th! Also big thanks to @anxt herself for attending tonight and sharing with us her stories about creating these master pieces!

liked by @hiba_abouk_ and 6 553 others

A familiar voice pulled you away from scrolling thru the comments. Your head automatically snapped upwards just so you could meet with well known sight.

Kylian was walking on the pavement a few meters from you with Achraf on his side. You froze, you didn't see him since August and now you weren't even ready for it now.

Achraf, who was talking to him noticed that Kylian wasn't listening to him. He looked at his face, trying to notice what was he so focused on, and after he saw you, he knew why Kylian was drafted into his own world. Getting closer to you, Achraf slightly pushed into Kylian trying to make him stop staring at you so hard. Which he did.

You on the other hand were praying for your cab to be here as soon as possible. Your wish came true. At that moment Kylian with Achraf were two meters away from you. Achraf saw how awkward this situation already was, so he just said hi to you. You returned his greeting, now saying simple hello two both of them. You couldn't hear Kylian's answer as you jumped into the taxi as soon as it stopped. The driver pushed on the gas as he started to drive away. You exchanged one last look with Kylian who was looking like he just saw a ghost, which he also was in your mind.

"What the fuck was that Kylian?" Achraf pushed again into Kylian as he was still staring at the cab leaving in the dark.

------------

That night you ended up falling asleep with tears on your cheeks. Making you more than confused. Your breathing getting heavier as you were thinking about seeing Ethan tomorrow. You didn't know why you reacted that way, you know that you couldn't avoid Kylian forever. Paris was a giant city, but Kylian was everywhere.

Because Kylian was Paris and Paris was Kylian.

"What are we going to do today love?" Kylian looked at you as you were lying on his chest.

"I would lie all day in bed and maybe order pasta from that small restaurant you like so much." You answer as you were drawing small circles on his bare chest. Today you both had the day off. No work, no plans, no training or game. Days like this were your favorite days.

"Or we could do something more fun." Kylian was playing with your other hand. Making your fingers tangled up with each other.

"Are you trying to tell me that cuddling with my isn't fun?" you furrowed your brows, making not a nice face at him.

"No, cuddling with you is my favorite thing. But if we are gonna be just lying all day i'm gonna be all stiff tomorrow." He placed a kiss on your head.

"Okay, so what is Mr. I'm gonna be stiff tomorrow suggesting that we should do today?" you let out a simple giggle.

"I think that we should go for a walk as tourists, you know? Getting dressed up so nobody will notice us, going to see the places everybody loves, eating street food and watching the sunset along the Seine." he looked into your eyes, making butterflies in your stomach. But a quick realization came after.

"Well, I'm still a tourist that doesn't belong here." your smile getting smaller now as you referred to a comment that was made under your instagram post today, which made Kylian angry.

"That's not true Y/n. You belong here" You pulled out from him, leaving him confused about why are you standing now.

"Get out of bed Mbappé, we should get dressed." you told him as a way to light up the mood again.

Later that day you were walking thru the city center of Paris hand in hand. Letting out small giggles as you both find entraining the fact that nobody noticed the two of you.

"Hey look there, do you see that hot guy?" you pointed to the flat screen TV in the storefront. Now playing some AD with Kylian in it. "He's everywhere, don't you think?" you laughed.

"It's because he's Paris." he looked deeply into your eyes.

"And Paris is him." you added to it.

"That's also the reason why you belong to Paris Y/n."

"What?" you didn't understand.

"You belong to Paris because Kylian Mbappé loves you so much Mon amour"

------------

Tag list: @nightlockcornucopia, @she-lives-in-her-dreams, @sorceresski @m4k444

#kylian x reader #kylian imagines #mbappe psg #mbappe imagine #light angst #pov #ethan mbappe #football imagine #kylian mbappe x reader #more then love

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diodellet · 2 years ago

Text

the kindest place to place a kiss (jamil viper x gn!reader)

@mochimiyaas tagged me in this post and now i am double-buried under these Gushy Gooey Feelings and thought of uno reversing jamil (ignore that last tag...life came up and hit me in the face with a metal bat that's my only reason for posting this late *punts my impostor syndrome across the ocean*) content warnings: light descriptions of kitchen injuries ++lots of loving and physical affection, established relationship shenaniganery. mildly unbeta'd all mistakes are mine. word count: 1.06k words

Jamil Viper was indifferent to pain. Getting splattered by cooking oil, handling hot pans and plates, getting nicked by knives, these were only the usual occurrences that came with working in the kitchen. A fraction of what constituted his daily life.

It could be said he was indifferent to anything and everything less than pain. The life he led had no room for such.

Not to say that he held pride for his position in life, but he was (unwillingly) secure in the knowledge of what he had.

That was what he thought, before you tumbled into his life.

It started slowly, with little gestures of concern: helping out here and there with chores, stealing Kalim away when Jamil’s patience was about to boil over, offering a pack of medicated pain-relief patches. Little things that he wasn’t expecting to receive.

(Maybe it was the way that you were attuned to him—the things he would brush over in favor of his other obligations—that these feelings started developing.)

One good turn deserves another, doesn’t it?

He made sure to return these gestures, under the guise of offering a helping hand. (Jamil doesn’t mention aloud how it almost felt natural to work side-by-side with you.)

People just sort of…assumed you were already together. So it wasn’t really a surprise when the both of you decided to make the relationship official.

Which was good, the both of you were already left to your own discretion. Save for the initial embarrassment that came with breaking the news, it was good.

Nothing much changed, outwardly. You saw each other whenever your schedules allowed for it (usually at Scarabia).

The most important thing was being able to spend time together. To share in these brief idle moments where the both of you weren’t busy with your responsibilities for the day.

That doesn’t mean he was free of those—little insecurities—worming their way into his thoughts.

He asks you, “doesn’t it get boring, being with me?” Waiting for Jamil to finish cleaning up, to finish making his final checks around the dorm.

“No, not at all.” You shake your head, before adding, “I’d be fine as long as I get to see you.”

Jamil ignores how that simple admission makes his heart skip a beat. Playing off his fluster with a roll of his eyes. “So you’d be fine with exchanging greetings and moving on for the rest of your day? That’s nice to know.”

Your expression doesn’t change. Though you take a few seconds to formulate a response. “I suppose I’d be fine, I mean—I don’t want to get in the way of your work,” you say.

“Though I would… miss you terribly,” you add as an afterthought. And you have the audacity to sound bashful.

The only reaction you would notice is the brief moment his eyes widen in surprise and the reflexive twitch of his hand itching to tug on the drawstrings of his hoodie.

Okay, maybe that was his cue to stop fussing over work for today.

Quality time together was different in the privacy of Jamil’s room. At least, in here, he felt free enough to be less guarded. To hold you close and to return your affections in full.

(For just a moment, he was free to shed his facade as a retainer.)

One thing to know about Jamil Viper: he is touch-starved.

Grown up too fast, taught to care for another over himself, resigned to his fate—no matter how much he rationalized it, these long-ingrained thoughts would reach a point where it became overwhelming.

So when you welcome him into your arms, whenever you sit close together, or when he lets you undo his braids, it all melts away with your touch.

When you ask him for help with a difficult problem in your coursework, he is absolutely draping himself over you and leaning against your shoulder.

When there’s soft music playing in the background, he is absolutely resting his hands on your waist as you sway in time with the beat.

And when you’re staying over for the night (an increasing occurrence), he’s absolutely trapping hugging you in his arms.

(Or just hug him instead. He won’t admit it aloud, but he likes the feeling of security that being the little spoon brings.)

It’s almost… strange how calm his thoughts run when you’re cuddled against him, resting your head against the top of his chest.

Tentatively, Jamil reaches a hand out. The tips of his fingers grazing against the curve of your cheek. At the contact, you meet his eyes. Wide, anticipating, trusting.

He lightly pinches the skin in between his fingers. It's irritatingly endearing how you watch him with that look.

The gesture elicits a short laugh from you and you lean into his palm. The action reminds him of an affectionate cat.

But it’s this—the gentle press of your lips against his skin, a gesture so light and faint—that it sets his nerves alight, that it makes his heart somersault.

“What are you doing?” Code for: why are you suddenly being this bold?

“Nothing, I just…love your hands,” you reply without missing a beat.

Your next kiss is pressed against the back of Jamil’s fingers, atop another faint scar. “They’re pretty. Like you,” you say, while cradling his hand in your palms.

“Flatterer.” But he makes no move to pull away from you.

Instead of growing shy, you press another kiss to his inner wrist. “It’s true though. Every part of you is pretty.”

Jamil doesn’t know what to say in response. He’s watching you, trying not to shiver as you tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear.

A gentle kiss to his neck, the side of his jaw, atop his nose, against his cheek, the corner of his mouth—

Is this what you’re holding yourself back from, whenever you saw each other during the day?

You never ran out of heartfelt praises, but hearing them—whispered softly into his skin, accompanied with your earnest gaze—was a different matter altogether.

(It’s nice to have someone put away his doubts.)

But don’t think that Jamil would take all of this lying down.

The moment you meet his lips, he’s cupping the back of your head, savoring the surprised noise you make and drawing out the kiss for longer.

After all, it’s only fair that he gets to be affectionate with you too, right?

A/N: lowkey got a bit paranoid to throw this ramble in a reblog so i decided to improv a bit and make this its own post HUHUHUHU NE WAY the key takeaway here is that jamil viper should be the little spoon more!! he deserves to be held!!!!! aaagh!!!! i have one more draft to chip away at.... let's hope i get to post it during this month....(or next month knowing how my uni sched is getting a bit more busy) 🥴🥴title is from this song, hahaha help i have too many feelings. tagging my fellow jamil simp hi lods hihi😇😇: @merotwst

#dellet-writings #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #g/n reader

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bimrsadler · 2 years ago

Text

In Hot Water

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader/bounty hunter reader

Summary: You let Arthur go once but second guess your generosity when you find him in the saloon after a jail break. As he heads to the bath, you find that it might be the perfect opportunity to bring him in — or see where the night leads

Word count: 2,500

Warnings/tags: smut, mild fluff, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), d/s undertones, sub arthur, praise kink, dirty talk, language, enemies to lovers if you squint, arthur is a little shit but not for long wink wink

Notes: okay second time trying to post this, sorry it took so long but the format kept breaking when I added the read more, hopefully that’s fixed now. Anyway, my mind has a hard time not going to smut with this prompt lol so that's what I went for, tiny bit of fluff too. Thank you though! Fandom content has died down a bit but there's still some amazing creators around ❤️

The laughter and tall tales of boisterous men filled your ears, surrounded by a perpetual haze of smoke as you sipped your drink. You would recognize him anywhere, and all of the saloon became background noise as you did.

The outlaw stood tall at the end of the bar, stoic and minding his business, you watched as he kindly turned down the working girls to nurse the whiskey in front of him.

He left you with a “yes ma’am,” and a boyish grin on your last meeting after informing you’d let him go, but didn’t want to hear about any more chaos from the Van der Linde gang.

It was uncharacteristic of you to find sympathy for a bounty. The world was filled with bad people and those who hurt others — and Arthur Morgan had most certainly hurt others. But as you approached from the cover of trees and observed him putting bait on the line for the small boy beside him, your judgment clouded.

The world wasn’t black and white; you also knew this. There was tell of the gang operating with standards and you found enough reason to consider that perhaps some of them were only trying to get by. The scene witnessed at the lake certainly seemed to indicate that. Maybe it was better to give people a chance to change.

Jack (as you discovered was his name) was clearly enjoying his fishing trip with “Uncle Arthur,” and the only thing that could ruin that was you. Arthur ruffled his hair and complimented the necklace the boy had made for his mother before turning to see you. His approach was cautious — but polite.

He knew you were a bounty hunter and told Jack to keep playing while he spoke with you. You weren’t about to haul him in in front of the boy and maybe Arthur guessed this, but something told you it wasn’t right. Heavy emphasis was put on not being as kind if you heard of any more robberies however; Arthur indicating he understood.

Yet there he was, mere days after his cohorts sprung him from jail for “disturbing the peace.”

The bartender approached Arthur with the beer you ordered him and gestured your way. You winked and reveled in the faint “ah shit,” expression that came over his face with the realization of who you were.

“This you, Mr. Morgan?” The thud of your hand slapping his wanted poster on the wood of the bar caught a side-eye from customers nearby.

Arthur quickly grabbed and folded it in his satchel without saying a word.

“Thought we talked about this?” You placed a hand on your hip and raised your eyebrows while waiting for a reply.

“If I recall Miss, you said no robbin’,” a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t tell me no fightin’.”

Cocky sonuvabitch.

“I don’t like being made a fool, cowboy.” You ran your hand along the rope at your side.

“Never said ya were.” Arthur savored a drink before facing you with his hands on his gunbelt. “But that weren’t me,” he leaned in close enough that you could smell the beer on his breath, “it was Arthur Callahan.”

“Now,” he tipped his hat and grinned smugly, “if you’ll excuse me ma’am.”

Watching in disbelief, Arthur sauntered upstairs toward the bath, not once looking back at you.

A fool. You certainly felt it. In your two short meetings Arthur had made you feel a million things, all of them confusing. Enamored, curious, angry, and worst of all — flustered.

He was strikingly attractive and surprisingly gentle when he thought no one was watching. Even as he whispered sarcastic remarks in your ear, your heart raced with the thrill of a man like him being that close to you.

Whether or not he intended to, he charmed you. It was infuriating.

Marching up the stairs, you ignored the whistles of drunk men you’d normally put in their place. No plan had occurred to you but all you could think was Arthur had the upper hand and that just wouldn’t do.

A slight steam crept past the cracks of the wooden door as you knocked. “Need some assistance in there?”

Arthur took a moment to reply — from being caught off guard you hoped, “sure, sounds good.”

Hesitating, your hand hovering over the doorknob, mind racing with nerves. What happens next? He’s playing along, still not taking things seriously…

You clasped the doorknob and opened with as much confidence as you could muster, hoping he wouldn’t notice the hitch in your breath when you saw him. His broad shoulders rested against the back of the tub, well-toned arms gently grabbing the sides. You felt a warmth spread in your belly as you admired the water dripping down the curves of his chest.

You never expected to be alone with him unless it was while putting him in a jail cell.

Pushing down the unexpected desire, you crossed your arms and leaned against the door.

“Thought you was a bounty hunter Miss?” He cocked his head while running his bright eyes up and down your body, the drawl in his voice equally maddening and arousing.

The more he pushed, the more you wanted to bring him in. This back and forth was something you’d never experienced though, and much to your shame and surprise, it was fun.

You walked slowly towards him with authority. “Oh I am a hunter and you Mr. Morgan, Callahan, whatever you’re calling yourself — are the bounty. Seems you’re forgetting that.”

“Right now I’m just a man tryna enjoy a wash,” he asserted, but the nervous adjustment he made to the bubbles as you came closer did not go unnoticed.

Taking a knee beside him you leaned in and locked onto his icy eyes, “I could bring you in right now.”

“You could,” Arthur lowered his husky voice and taunted, “but I don’t think you want to.”

“Oh? That so?”

“Mmhmm. I’m as vulnerable as I ever been right now. You coulda drawn that gun on me the second you close the door,” Arthur adjusted to a sitting position, the heat of his face reaching yours. “But ya didn’t.”

Working quickly, your nimble fingers showcased one of your talents as you wrapped the rope at your side around his wrists in an intricate knot before cutting the excess.

“You’re right, you are vulnerable right now and let’s be honest; you coulda stopped me from putting this rope around your wrists…but you didn’t.”

Arthur was still now, save for his chest rising with heavier breaths. “Pretty good with that rope, Miss.”

“Oh I’m good at a lotta things.”

Before you could comprehend it, your lips were together and the massage of his tongue on yours sent your hips forward with carnal urgency. Patience was necessary though — your urge to frustrate and tease Arthur was just as strong.

Standing up you stripped slowly, showing each inch of you with drawn-out intent. He watched patiently, a dreamy and almost innocent look on his face.

His gaze turned hungry as you stepped into the tub, straddling his thighs so that you were just out of reach of where he wanted you most. Placing lights kisses accentuated with flicks of your tongue against the hot skin of his neck, you ran your hand down his chest, playing with the hair as you did.

His throat fluttered as he let out a soft groan, “you like that huh?” He nodded with his eyes closed in concentration as you continued. Your fingers danced tantalizingly between his bellybutton and manhood, teasing circles in the curls there.

“Bet you’ve thought about me a lot since the day we met,” you paused before wrapping your fingers around his base, stroking once to the tip. “Bet you thought about this.”

Your movement drew an unrestrained moan out of Arthur, making you wonder how pent up he was. “And what if I did?”

“Well I’d say that was pretty bad Arthur.”

“I…goddamn.” Arthur thrust into your hand with your quickening pace. “I am bad man sweetheart, you knew this,” he said with a breathy chuckle.

In your firm grasp Arthur was already twitching and fighting back expletives with each stroke, somehow forgetting that you were still in control.

“Well in my line of work bad men get punished,” you remarked before pulling your hand away and leaning back with a devilish grin.

Arthur’s chest heaved as he gasped at the sudden removal of pleasure, “guess that’s only fair…”

Leaning over him you ran your fingers through the darkened locks of his wet hair, breasts above his flushed face. “I think deep down you wanna be a good boy though, don’t you?”

He licked as lips as he stared up at you, “yes ma’am.” There was no hint of snark or sarcasm in his voice now, if anything the hushed tone of his voice came across as dutiful.

He leaned closer slowly, waiting for any protest as he hesitated. Receiving none, he took the mound of your breast in his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue. The ache in your core was unbearable and composure crumbling away.

“Wanna use that smart mouth of yours somewhere else?”

“Oh I’d like that,” the water splashed lightly as Arthur lazily pumped his cock.

Standing above him, you placed your thumb and forefinger on his strong chin and tilted it upward. “No touching yourself. Understand?”

He nodded in agreement before inquiring, “can I touch you?”

You pulled him by the rope between his wrists to a sitting position as you placed your leg open on the side of the bath. “We’ll see…”

Arthur smiled up at you as he placed a tender kiss on your clit. His movements started slowly, testing the waters of what felt good and finding his confidence when you let him know.

He worked his warm and wet tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves, moaning into your folds as you tugged his hair roughly. “Is that good darlin’?”

“Yes you’re doing so good — don’t stop.” He pushed his tongue in further as you writhed against his face, rolling bliss moving through your core as you fluttered around nothing.

Arthur pulled away enough to plead breathily, “let me touch you sweetheart.”

You stepped into the circle of his bound hands and moved them up to the swell of your backside before pushing his head back to your pussy. Arthur massaged your ass with needy squeezes as he lapped at you, his hips rutting in the water.

Letting out quiet gasps, you attempted to keep your sounds between to the two of you with trembling legs. “You’re gonna make me come…”

Arthur gazed up as your climax ripped through you, riding against his tongue until the last pulse of pleasure subsided.

Laying back lust drunk and spent, Arthur let out a satisfied exhale. “Have I… been forgiven yet Miss?” He licked his lips slowly with a sly grin.

Stepping outside of Arthur’s restraints, you once again straddled him; this time with the lips of your heat on the underside of his aching length. Dragging yourself unhurriedly along him you teased, “I think you’re closer…”

Arthur stiffened beneath you and let out an amused huff, “I’ll say I’m close…”

The joking and almost sense of comfort that Arthur had in your presence otherwise should have bothered you, but instead it brought your guard down. Here he wasn’t intimidating or angry and you couldn’t help but give him an unhurried kiss, smiling and stroking his short beard.

Arthur let out small moans as he instinctively rutted against your already swollen and over sensitive folds, gliding with your slick.

Kissing below his ear you whispered, “want me to take you inside me?”

“God yes…”

You rose to observe the disheveled and desperate man underneath you, face flushed red despite the heat of the bath being long gone. “Can you beg for me Mr. Morgan?”

Arthur stuttered as his deep voice cracked, “ca…call me Arthur, please?”

“Can you beg for me…Arthur?”

“Please take me darlin’, need ya so bad,” Arthur whined.

Hovering above him you teased the head of his cock with your opening, “yeah? You want this pussy Arthur?”

“Jesus…yes, please?”

You took Arthur deep inside of you in one swift movement before stilling yourself to enjoy the fullness. You both expelled gasps of needed relief, Arthur’s cock flexing inside of you with each word of praise you purred.

One hand grasping the side of the tub and the other planted on Arthur’s sturdy chest, you rode hard, Arthur sloppily trying to keep pace while bucking upwards.

With each slam of your ass against his thighs the sound of splashing water and skin on skin filled the small room, Arthur’s grunts growing louder and louder.

You noticed his wrists writhing and straining against the ropes, forearms flexing forcefully. “Shit…slow…slow down girl, I’m gonna…”

Halting your movements altogether, you kept Arthur from his release. He held his breath and shivered, control barely in his grasp.

“You did say to slow down,” you stated with feigned innocence.

“Said to slow down, not stop.”

“If I recall…what was it you said earlier? ‘you said no robbin’. Didn’t tell me no fightin’.’”

“Isn’t that right…,” you paused and squeezed around the hard length inside you, “…Arthur?”

“’m sorry sweetheart, promise I’ll be good for ya.”

Unable to keep yourself away, your lips crashed into his, gently nipping while you rushed to untie his binds. When they were loose enough, Arthur finished the job for you; pulling himself free with a growl as he wrapped his strong arms around you.

He didn’t feel like your bounty nor you like a hunter any longer. Whether you would ever see each other again or engage in your game of cat and mouse wasn’t of concern. In that moment all that mattered was the fingernails digging into your skin, the hot breaths panting against your neck, the pleasure and the closeness. In that moment you were just partners, lovers.

Arthur bucked into you with an iron embrace as you gasped into each others mouths, his breaths uneven and sharp. “Fuck…’m close…” He was a whimpering mess, volume increasing with each urgent thrust.

Cooing in his ear you clasped your hand over the gunslingers mouth, “come for me Arthur.”

Pulling his throbbing cock out, you brought his release in the same way you previewed it before, rubbing your slick heat along the sensitive skin until hot ropes spilled onto his stomach and dispersed into the water.

The teasing and taunting culminated into the wanted man shuddering beneath you; his neck exposed to you as his head tilted backwards, lips quivering into your palm with primal groans. His intimate noises were muffled but powerful — all yours.

The moments passed with a gentler embrace than you expected and the feeling of tender fingertips scratching your back. Anxiety washed over you in the realization that you wanted to see him again, to know him better and enjoy his company. You found yourself wishing he would just be cold to make it easier, but instead he joked that he might get himself in trouble more often if it meant seeing you.

Eventually the two of you quietly got dressed, occasionally exchanging flustered glances.

“Just so y’know, I am grateful bout what ya did,” Arthur spoke with sincerity. “Jack’s a good kid…and we do ride with good people,” he paused before adding, “…well some more’n others.”

“I’m just trying to make a living Arthur, same as anyone. But I try to be fair.” An ache was growing in your chest at the thought of what would come next.

Arthur moved closer to you, shirt unbuttoned and hat in one hand as he brought the other to stroke your cheek with his thumb. “Y‘know, the way ya carry yerself? You might make a good outlaw.”

"And you might be good as an honest man, Arthur Morgan."

#nsft #pls let me know if the format is weird or anything is cut off #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x bounty hunter #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic

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broken-glowsticks · 10 months ago

Text

What Once Was Mine

Chapter 9 - A little spoiling

Genre: Childhood friends, Eventual Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Love corner/love triangle, love rivals, Series. Not all chapters will be proofread!!

Warnings: 18+, mdni, mentions of sex and alcohol consumption, additional warnings will be added to individual chapters as needed.

Additional tags: Chapter not proofread, establish relationship, oral sex (m recieving), implied f receiving fingering

Previous • Main • Next

“You're awake already, bunny?” Changbins question rang off tile when he entered the bathroom to shower, stopping when he saw you leaning against the bathroom counter, scrolling through your phone.

“Mhmm, you left me to eat breakfast all by myself. What a meanie.” You pouted, turning from your boyfriend and crossing your arms despite wanting a kiss from him. He knew you well, though, and wrapped you up in a hug, pressing kisses to your cheek and temple.

“I'm sorry, Princess, I thought I'd be back before you woke up.”

“We forgot to shut the blinds last night,” was all you said as you let Changbin pepper you in more kisses.

“That damn sun,” he murmured, trailing his kisses downward.

“Oh, no, no, no. No, you don't mister,” you protested, stopping him and turning to face him. “Don't think you can just kiss your way out of this so easily!”

“Awwww, but bunny-”

“Don't ‘but bunny’ me, how dare you leave me to work out. You can do that any day,” you whined, causing Changbin to chuckle. He knew you weren't really mad at him. “I barely get to see you anymore Binnie, you've gotten so busy lately. So you can't be leaving me whenever I finally get to see you, not even for a second, okay?”

“Yes ma'am,” Changbin grinned, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Whatever can I do to make it up to you, hmm?”

Before you could answer, he was once again peppering kisses all over your face, lingering just a moment longer every time his lips pressed against yours, causing you to giggle. You and Changbin hadn't been dating long, only a few weeks, so you weren't sure if it was the fact that you were in the honeymoon phase or if it was your genuine compatibility, but you were so happy being with him. It felt refreshing being with someone who wanted to be with you just as much as you wanted to be with them. Changbin not only made you feel like the only one you knew you were.

Before you knew it, Changbin had lifted you onto the bathroom counter, his strong arms circling your waist tightly as he continued his kisses down to your neck and chest. You bit your lip and tried your best to steel your nerves, not wanting to let him off the hook so easily, but that was hard to do with his hands slipping under the hem of your sleep shirt.

“Am I still not forgiven yet, Princess?” Changbin asked, his voice a low hum against your pulse. You almost caved right then and there, but you were too cheeky to give in.

“Not yet, I wanted us to make breakfast together, I was going to cook us a special meal for you to say congratulations.” This wasn't a lie.

Lately, the recording studio had been getting more and more clients, all of this stemming from some SoundCloud demos that the guys posted going viral. When aspiring musicians learned that the guys created those beats on their own, in a recording studio that Chan, Changbin, and Jisung all co-owned - something you only learned after you and Changbin had started dating - it caused many flock to the studio, all wanting to work with the viral trio. This sudden spike happened only a week ago, catching the newly dubbed 3racha trio completely by surprise and swamping them with work and unexpected popularity. It was exciting for everyone, of course, but it also was a cause for a lot of exhaustion - particularly for Changbin who was still trying to divide his time between work, himself, and his brand new relationship with you.

You didn't want him to feel bad, but you missed him, and he knew it. The two of you had only started dating and you liked him so much, but it was hard to pin him down for any kind of date, so Changbin did his best to be present despite being so tired. You, however, decided you were going to be supportive.

The three had yet to find a moment to celebrate your success, so you had taken it upon yourself to do something small for each 3racha member individually. You had already done something for your Jisung, him being your roommate making it easy to do so, and today, you planned on spoiling Changbin. Even if he did miss your special breakfast plans to go work out.

“I'm here now. We can still make it together,” Changbin offered, lazily trailing circular patterns along your spine with his fingers, his lips continuing to cover you in kisses.

“Mmh… we can, but I made plans for the whole day, meals included.”

“The whole day?” Changbin asked, pausing his sweet assault to your skin and abruptly straightening himself to meet your eyes. “Princess, did you really plan the whole day just for me?”

“Well, yeah,” you admitted bashfully, draping your arms over his shoulders as your cheeks reddened under his bewildered expression. “3racha has been working really hard, so hard that you guys haven't been able to take a step back and be proud about what you've been accomplishing. So, I decided to set something up for you… which is why I've been so pouty this morning ”

Changbins' face broke into a sweet, shy, happy smile before he buried his face into the crook of your neck, releasing a slew of giddy giggles. You couldn’t help but join in his giggles due to how cute he was being. Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, you melted into his touch as he held you tightly against him, deciding to relish into his touch for a moment. Your plans could wait a little bit longer.

○●☆♡☆●○

Changbin couldn't remember the last time he felt so spoiled. As per your insistence, you turned your breakfast plans into brunch and condensed the picnic you had planned to snacks, sweets, and drinks. You didn’t let Changbin lift a finger, cooking the meal and cleaning up as he showered and dressed for whatever was next up on your list of things to do today. You had laid out Changbins' clothes as he showered, making sure to prioritize that he would be comfortable and take him to an outdoor farmers market that was absolutely filled with vendor stalls. Luckily, it wasn't terribly cold. The season was beginning to turn, and the heat from crowds kept you warm. While there weren't a lot of people there, there were enough that made it so Changbin felt he had to keep a hand on you at all times for fear of losing you. Not that either of you would complain.

Despite feeling tired from all his work, Changbin was completely enjoying himself. There were so many people busking and selling music related paraphernalia, art, trinkets, jewelry, soaps, and food that Changbin couldn't help but leave with a few bags of goodies - some of them you bought for him yourself when he wasn't looking.

When you two got tired and hungry, you found a grassy knoll to lay out a blanket to rest, cuddled in close, placed an extra blanket on your laps and began digging into your picnic basket enjoying the fresh air. It had been a while since Changbin felt like he could just relax, not having to worry about the next moment that may need his attention - not that he could anyway, you had taken his phone and texted Chan and Jisung not to bug the two of you on your date. You refused to let Changbin even think of work today.

“Hmmm, maybe I should have brought the lunch I had planned. I'm still kinda hungry,” you mused as you rifled through your picnic basket.

“We did a lot of walking, so it makes sense. Should we get something to eat from one of the food stalls?” Changbin asked as he polished off the rest of his bungeoppang, an arm snaked comfortably around your waste and head on your shoulder. You checked the time as your free hand scratched gently at his hair, making Changbin let out a small, appreciative hum.

“If you're good, we can head home. It's getting late and we need to pick up dinner.”

“You also have dinner planned?”

“I told you, I have the whole day planned,” you said with pride, pressing a kiss to Changbins’ head before cleaning your trash. “So? Ready to go?”

“Yeah, a meal sounds great.”

You didn't have anything super intricate planned for the food. The real pampering came after.

“A massage?” Changbin's excited tone made you giggle. If he had a tail, it would be wagging.

“Yes, I also have a face mask and some soju for later.”

“Oh my god, bunny, I could die happy right now.”

“Please don't. You haven't even gotten your massage yet. Now go get changed into your PJs, but no shirt.”

Changbins heart leapt to his throat, he wasn't insecure about his body but this would be the first time he's been shirtless in front of you and the idea of you rubbing his bare back made him both nervous and excited. However, he complied, lifting himself from the couch to change as you went to fetch one of the face masks you packed in a large gift bag along with a bottle of soju and a bottle of lotion. Your hands were ever so slightly trembling, but you did your best to swallow your nerves. You were also feeling butterflies at seeing Changbin shirtless, but you also knew he deserved this. He deserved to relax. So, you swallowed down your jitters and made yourself comfortable on the couch as you waited for your boyfriend to come out of the bedroom.

It took him a few minutes of calming himself down, but soon Changbin made his way from his room. The sound of his door opening made you jolt, but you were able to press a smile to your face and pretend all was well.

“I plan on doing your neck and shoulders first, so do you want to go ahead and put on the face mask?”

“Ah, yeah, sure,” Changbin squeaked out as he made his way over to the couch and slotted himself between your knees. Immediately, he had to tamp down salacious thoughts of burying his face between those knees, burying himself instead with applying his face mask.

‘No! we haven't even had sex yet. Now is not the time for horny thoughts!’

“You okay, Binnie? You seem tense.”

“Hmm- what?” Changbin asked with a startled jump. “Oh, yeah, uhm, I'm just… I'm just a little nervous. We - we haven't done anything like, uhm, this before.” He felt so stupid. What was that supposed to even mean? It was just a massage, and even if he was just deflecting from his dirty thoughts, it was still dumb as hell. At least to him. But to you, it was adorable. It made sense and made you feel happy to know you weren't the only one feeling nervous.

“Just relax,” you chuckle, squeezing a dollop of lotion into your hands and warming it up.

“Right. Relax.” Taking a deep breath, Changbin settled between your knees again, trying his best to keep his mind out of the gutter.

In an attempt to help ease his nerves, you leaned down to press a few gentle kisses from his cheek to his temple, grinning at the small chuckle this little action earned you before starting to work on his shoulders. You immediately noticed how stiff he was, the muscles likening stone with how tightly wound the fibers were. The only indication you were being even remotely effective was the grunts coming from Changbin as he tipped his head for you to have better access.

“I'm not hurting you, am I?”

“No baby, I'm okay,” he reassured, wrapping an arm around one of your legs and stroking your leg lightly with his thumb. With this small gesture of comfort, you continued on, working from his shoulder, up one side of his neck, down the other, and finishing with his other shoulder. By the time you were done, your hands were sore, and you needed a break.

“Jesus Christ, Binnie, you were so freaking stiff!” You whined as you shook out your aching hands. “Uhg, I'm glad I decided to do this. You so needed it, " you added with a small chuckle, “feel any better?”

“Tons,” Changbin said with relief, rolling his head around to stretch out the muscles, testing the pliability. “Oh god, I haven't felt this loose in a while. Seriously bunny, thank you,” he said as he took off his face mask, flashing you a sweet smile once it was off. You instantly melted.

“Anything for you Bin, let me just rest my hands a bit, and I can do your back next. Or maybe your chest?”

“My chest?” Repeated, his voice coming out higher than intended.

“O-oh, uh, we don't have to if-”

“No, no, no. We can - it's fine,” he interjected before then clearing his throat. “My chest is fine. We can start there.” Changbin immediately regretted this decision, his nerves lighting on fire the instant he resumed himself between your knees and felt your hands begin to glide over his pectorals, his mind honing in every time your nails happened to scratch against his skin. He could feel the heat from your legs pressing against his sides, and he began to grind his teeth to maintain focus.

A moment of respite came when your hands trailed away from his chest to glide over his deltoids and down his triceps. Your hands repeated this motion a few times before you moved your hands upwards to scratch at the back of Changbins head. He groaned loudly, his eyes fluttering closed as he tipped his head back, relishing the sensation in his scalp while he mindlessly rubbed your legs. But suddenly, the sensation was gone, your hands pausing in his hair. He whined.

“Binnie…” your voice was barely above a whisper when you called his name, causing him to open his eyes to look at you. He expected to lock his gaze with yours, but your eyes weren't on his. Instead, your gaze was trained at the tent in his pants. When he peeked to see what you were looking at, he immediately sat up, swearing as he tried to hide himself.

“I- I'm sorry about that bunny, I didn't mean - I mean - it's - it's just that…” Changbin floundered, unsure of what to say, unsure of anything but his sheer embarrassment. He'd been fighting his libido since the massage started, but he couldn't believe he didn't notice himself growing hard right in front of you. Hiding his face in his hands, he felt like a total ass. He hoped he didn't ruin this.

“Binnie,” you cooed gently, running your hands over his shoulders in an attempt to draw him out, but he didn't budge, so you tried again. “Changbin,” nothing. Slipping off the couch, you wrapped your arms around him, leaning in to whisper into his ear, your heartbeat pounding in your own.

“Would my dweakki like some help with that?” Changbins' spine suddenly straightened, his head whipping from resting in his hands to look at you over his shoulder.

“S-say that again,” his voice was soft, but his voice held a mix of commandment and desperation, making you eager to comply.

“Do you want me to help with-” before you could even finish, Changbins lips crashed against yours, his hand instantly digging your hair to keep you close.

He broke the kiss for only an instant to drag you onto his lap, his arms circling your waist to press you flush against him. His erection rubbed roughly against you, making you mewl into his mouth. Something about this spurred Changbin on to buck his hips upward, grinding deliciously against you.

It was now your turn to tangle a hand in his hair, scratching at his head like you did moments earlier as a sudden sense of boldness caused you to slip your free hand up his abs and over his pecs. The sensation caused Changbin to jolt, breaking this kiss just long enough for you to dive in on his neck. Even now, you still intended on spoiling him.

You kissed up his neck, nipping now and then as you trailed your kisses over his jaw, up to his ear and nibbling at the shell. A shaky breath tore out of Changbin, and he slid one hand over your ass, gripping it hard as he adjusted you on his lap. It took you a moment to understand what he was doing, but soon, you felt him beginning to tug your pants off. In a sudden motion, you pulled away from him, standing swiftly, and began to slip your pants slowly down your legs. Your breaths were coming out heavy and uneven as you once again swallowed your nerves, yanking off your shirt while you were at it. Changbin stared at you in awe, unmistakably lust behind his eyes, but he didn't move. He wanted to see what you would do next.

He was glad he waited. You had paused only for a moment once you had stripped off your shirt and pants, but soon you had dropped back to your knees and were crawling towards him. Or better yet, you were crawling towards his hips. Changbin watched with bated breath as you hooked your fingers into the hem of his pajama pants, tugging the fabric down ever so slightly.

“Binnie, can i…?” Your voice was hoarse, your eyes glazed over with need when you brought your gaze up to his. Changbin reached out to cup your cheek in his hand, his thumb running over your lips.

“Tell me you're okay with this. I'm yours Princess, only yours, do anything you want with me. I just need to know you really want this, that you're not just doing this because you think it's what I want.”

Your thoughts cleared for a moment, and you couldn't help but stare at him. In that moment everything was safe, and you wanted to smother him in kisses, to show him how much what he said meant to you, but you also realized that, no, you weren't ready. Not for everything. Not yet. You hated to admit this to yourself, but you hadn't fully let go of Hyunjin, of all your nights together, of his kisses, his touch, his body against you and his soft breathing as he slept beside you. You still needed time to heal from your love for your Hwang Hyunjin. But that didn't mean you didn't want to give your all for Changbin and this new relationship with him. So leaning up you kissed your boyfriend hard, pouring as much of your emotions into that one kiss as you could before slipping his hard cock from his pants.

“I'm okay with doing this much “ you admitted as you rubbed your thumb gently at the tip of his angry red head.

Changbin choked out a moan, his head tipping back, allowing you to plant more lingering nips and kisses to his neck. He wanted you. He wanted you so badly he had to grip the carpet beneath him to keep himself from lunging at you. But with a few steadying breaths he managed to center himself and enjoy the sensation of your hands on his cock and your downward trailing kisses. If this was all he got for the rest of the night, he could sleep happily with you in his arms, but you had more in mind.

Taking one more peek up at him, you drank in Changbins figure. His tipped back head, his broad, shirtless chest, his abs, his hands that continued to grip at the carpet below, and his thick dick standing proudly at attention. The sight made your mouth water, and before you knew it, you were swirling your tongue over the slit at his tip.

Changbins head snapped up the second he felt the wetness of your tongue and the two of you locked eyes as you slowly filled your mouth with his length.

“Fuck, Princess,” he hissed out, his chest heaving as you pushed him in as far he could go. Changbin fought the urge to buck up into your throat, opting instead to rest a hand on your head as you began to bob your head.

Changbin felt his head spin, your eyes never leaving his as you slid him out and took him in again. Over and over, agonizingly slow. His hand began to grip at your roots the longer you aged him on, especially when you began to run your tongue over his tip every time you pulled him out.

“If you don't stop teasing, I'll hold you down and fuck your throat raw,” he growled through grit teeth. You slowed your pace even more in response, a mischievous glint in your eye. That was it.

Planting his feet firmly flat on the carpet, Changbin gripped your head with both hands and rut upwards. You gagged at the sudden intrusion to your throat, but Changbin didn't stop, continuing to fuck himself into your mouth.

“you asked for this baby, I told you to stop teasing, but you just couldn't leave it alone.” Changbins voice sounded rough, but his hands were gentle in your hair, and his focus was kept squarely on you, looking out for any signs that you may want him to stop. But that grew harder to do as his tip essentially plowed down your throat, your hands gripping his thighs so hard he knew there would be scratches left behind.

You couldn't help yourself though, the sensation of his cock gliding over your tongue making you feel hot. You could feel yourself soaking through your panties as Changbin used you as he pleased. It hurt, it was hard to breathe, but it also felt so good, your body buzzing with excitement. He was getting closer to the edge, you could feel it and so could he.

“I'm so close bunny, fuck, your mouth feels so good. I'm gonna cum in your mouth, drink it all up okay? Don't spill a drop,” he all but commanded through ragged moans. As his grip in your hair finally began to tighten, the pain caused tears to well in your eyes, but you took it all. You didn't want to pull away, you wanted to do good, to swallow him up and live off the sounds of his ragged breathing and erotic moaning. You wanted this and soon you felt Changbins hips beginning to stutter as he filled your mouth with his cum, which you swallowed for him gladly.

Instantly, Changbins' hands dropped from your head, his body slumping against the couch as he basked in the high if his orgasm, shuttering when you popped off and pressed a kiss to the tip of his dick.

“Oh my god, I hope you know how hard it was not to be so much rougher with you,” he breathed out, running a hand through his thick locks. You simply stared at him, your cheeks flushed as you took in how hot he looked. If this is how he looked after some head, how would he look with that after sex glow?

“Bunny? Still with me?” Changbins question pulled you from your daze, and you wordlessly nodded. He couldn't help but smile at the glazed over look in your eye. He knew you weren't new to sex, but a part of him wondered if this is always how you looked after taking a cock to the throat?

“Come here, Princess,” Changbin said, patting his lap. Instantly, you scrambled over to straddle him, but he stopped you. Silently, he guided you to sit between his legs, your back to his chest. “Spread your legs,” your breath hitched, and you whipped your head to look at him.

“Tonight was about spoiling you,” you rasped you but immediately regretted, he really did fuck your throat raw.

“You spoil someone by giving them everything they want,” Changbin murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple and spreading your legs for you, hooking your knees over his. “And I want this,” without another warning, he delved his fingers into your sopping panties.

---------------------------------------

Oooooh I almost missed my self imposed deadline! We actually caught up with my buffer last chapter. But I got a teeeeeeny tiny one going now and hopefully that will compound as I add to it. Idk, we'll see.

Anyway, Binnie lovers, Seolars, come get your fill! Don't worry, Honeys/Hyunjin stans, we'll be circling back to our Hyunnie next week ❤️

@groovygroovyhyunjin @hhwangsmoon @luvyblossom @doggezz@kayleefriedchicken

#changbin x reader #han jisung #bang chan #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #seo changbin x reader #skz stay #slow burn #stray kids fanfic #skz smut #established relationship #love triangle #love rivals #love corner #what once was mine #Glows ✨�� Fics

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evan4ever · 2 years ago

Text

Vegas, baby

Part 9 — part 8 here

Warnings: pregnancy/delivery, NICU, post op, talk of internal bleeding/c section

a/n: please comment/let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

—

Evan’s POV

As soon as they had entered the ER doors and y/n was placed in a bed and wheeled away, Evan was directed to a waiting area reassured that someone would come to him with an update soon. He did as he was told, sitting down on a chair against a wall where he sat and thought about what was going on. He hadn’t even had a full 24 hours with you before this happened. You hadn’t even had time to really settle in before things decided to go wrong. How so fast?

His mind wandered through every possibility. He didn’t know much about pregnancy but he knew complications happened. He thought about the stories he read of mother dying during birth. Then he thought about the stories he read about a child being born still. Both thoughts were enough to bring him to tears.

He understood he didn’t know you well and that you both had a long way to go so you could coparent healthily, but he cared about you. It shattered him into pieces to think that anything might take you away from him and your guys’ baby.

And he couldn’t even put into words what thinking about losing his child made him feel. It was a pain like no other.

How could this be happening? Why now? Your pregnancy had been so smooth the last almost 9 months and a day after you move in with him, complications happen? Did he make the wrong choice to suggest you move to him? Was it the flight or the packing and lugging items around? Was it too much on your frail, pregnant body?

He couldn’t help but blame himself.

“Mr. Peters?” Evan’s head snapped up at the sound of his last name. He saw a man in a white coat with dark blue scrubs on standing before him looking between him and the few others in the hallway waiting room, quickly wiping the stray tears and standing to his feet.

“That’s me.” The doctor pressed his lips into a tight smile and nodded his head to follow him, which Evan obliged quickly, desperate for answers.

“Is she alright? Is our baby okay?” He flooded the man with questions before the man stopped after rounding a corner so they were away from eyes and other ears. Evan blinked a few times with furrowed, confused eyebrows while watching the man intensely.

“Mr. Peters-“

“Evan.” He corrected the doctor.

“Evan.” the man nodded, “Evan y/n has suffered from what is called a placental abruption.”

Evan quickly shook his head indicating he wasn’t quite sure what that was, needing more information.

“The cause can be unknown and in this case, we don’t have a positive answer. Many reasons include you know, car accidents or falls, but there’s no reason to believe either happened. Can you confirm?”

“She hasn’t fell or been in any accident. She never mentioned before having one.” He admitted, wondering if you may have before you both got together for the first time in all those months. “Are they okay, sir?”

The doctor only gazed at Evan with an apologetic look causing Evan’s heartbeat to speed up. “She’s been in surgery for some time now. Your child was removed via C-section and is recovering from what’s known as a traumatic birth in the NICU. He’s healthy, Mr. Peters. Your son will be just fine. With the placental abruption comes lack of nutrients and oxygen and in this case it was 2 days of not receiving the essentials he needed from the placenta. But he is okay and will recover quick.”

Evan let out a relieved sigh, his eyes closing as he nods to the doctor appreciatively. However, he realizes that the doctor wasn’t giving him the bad news first.

“And y/n?” His eyes pleaded with worry.

“She has some stray bleeding that we are trying to locate. She’s still under and being operated on. I will come with another update as soon as I get one.” He rested his hand on Evan’s shoulder sincerely as Evan’s head spun over the fact that you had unknown internal bleeding. He was smart enough to know the severity of it and he couldn’t bring himself to ask anymore questions, simply nodding to the doctor who have his shoulder a squeeze before turning to walk back.

“Wait” Evan took a big step to catch up to the doctor, stopping him. “Can I see our son? Am I able to see him?”

The doctor sighed and stood silent for a minute before turning to a nurse standing at the desk and whispering something in her ear. Evan only watched with hope.

“Come with me sir.” The nurse gave Evan a friendly smile motioning him with her hand to follow. Evan looked at the doctor who nodded approvingly and Evan wasted no time in turning to follow the woman down the hallway.

Moments later, Evan was gowned up in the NICU wear and letting the woman show him to his child. His eyes immediately landed on the small child in a NICU crib, and there was no doubt in his mind that that was his baby. And sure enough, she stopped them at his station and turned to him with a smile. Evan glanced at her with a wide smile and bright eyes before looking back down at the baby. They had him in a cute hat and a simple onesie in which allowed the cords to be attached to him comfortably. He was sleeping so peacefully that Evan almost didn’t want to disturb him, but so badly yearned to hold his child.

“You can pick him up,” she encouraged, her own eyes filled with the happiness in seeing Evan in awe, “he’s your baby, Mr. Peters.”

He glanced at her again very quick before looking back at the small being and walking closer, carefully scooping the fragile boy up into his arms. He didn’t even care about the tears that welded in his eyes while he gazed down at his boy, taking in his every small feature. His lips pursed so perfectly, his small hands, his closed eyes and the dark hair that could be seen just barely underneath the hat. He was perfect.

Evan blinked to allow the tears to fall before raising the baby up to his face, feeling his soft skin against his own. It was like electricity through his body, a feeling he’s never had before. This was his baby and it was the most amazing thing in this world.

Evan stayed like this, holding and taking in everything he could about his child. All other thoughts disappeared, just focusing on being in this moment. It hurt to think he’d ever have to put him down, knowing that eventually he’d have to.

It was hours that passed, but only felt like minutes. He was still waiting on news about you, but trusted the doctors and nurses that were helping you to do their job. He knew he was waiting on an update, but didn’t realize the time that had passed without getting one. When finally pulled himself from his gaze on the small child’s face, he looked over at the clock on the wall behind him seeing the time. 3 hours had passed, and suddenly he grasped that it had, in fact, been hours.

He looked around in search of a NICU nurse and managed to wave her over while standing from his seat and laying the boy carefully back down into his crib, watching his only stir a moment before falling back into his comfortable sleep. He stared a moment more before feeling the nurses presence beside him.

“Did you need something sir?” She asked kindly while checking the baby’s monitors.

Evans eyebrows were pressed together tightly while he took a step back and tried to find the right words to ask about you.

“I.. yeah. My uh.. my child’s mother,” he motioned to the baby, “she’s been in surgery for awhile now. I’ve been waiting on an update but haven’t got one. Do you know anything?” He asked in high hopes but her face fell as she shook her head.

“I don’t, unfortunately. I can call someone to come give you an update. What’s her name?” She asked as she made her way back to the nurses station, Evan following closely behind.

“Y/n y/l/n”

She typed in each letter, the sound making his already nervously beating head beat harder as he waited in anticipation. She dialed a number and called and began talking to someone but Evan couldn’t quite make out what was being said. She thanked them a moment later and hung up, glancing at Evan.

“She’s in post op.” The nurse nodded. Evan sighed loudly as he knew that you were at least alive. “Her nurse will be here soon.”

Evan thanked the woman and slowly walked back to his child, peaking over the crib and smiling to himself seeing the boy still sleeping silently. Knowing he was well, he stepped outside of the NICU and paced around while waiting for a nurse, who showed up some minutes later.

“Mr. Peters?” He turned to face the new face and nodded. “Y/n is still under the anesthetic but should be coming to soon. You can follow me so you can wait for her, if you’d like?”

Evan only nodded and followed her back down the hallway he had been through before and turning down a new, much colder hallway. It was uncomfortably cold and made goosebumps rise on his arms. Soon, they turned into a corner room and his eyes instantly landed on your body laying on the bed. You were gowned up and had tubes coming from both IVs in either arm. It was a hard picture to look at, but he found himself approaching your still body, looking over your face that had oxygen tubes around it and your hair laying perfectly around your shoulders on the pillow. Your eyes were closed and the constant beeping of the heart monitor was heard loud and clear.

“She suffered from an internal tear, but after some deep searching, we found it and repaired it. She does need a few blood transfusions but, she should be just fine Mr. Peters.” Evan heard the nurse fill him in and nodded all while his eyes remained on you. This wasn’t how the birth was supposed to go and it made him hurt for you.

“Thank you” he said quietly to the nurse before taking a seat next to your bed, his hands finding yours and holding them tightly. He was insistent on being right there next to you when you woke up, wanting to be the one to assure you that your guys baby was okay and that you were okay too. He wanted you to hear it from him.

This wasn’t something he was used to. He’d only been in a hospital a handful of times, mostly for himself an once for him mother and sister. It was odd and he didn’t like it, nor did he like seeing you in such a state. It made him physically sick to think about all that’s happened so quickly in such a short amount of time, and to think about how different and how bad it could’ve been.

Honestly, it made him uncomfortable. He was a good guy, but he didn’t know how to show emotion all that well or how to be deeply sincere. It felt weird and made him more nervous if that was possible. The feeling of complete vulnerability with someone was pretty rare but right now that’s all he felt. He was a new dad and his child and the mother of his child were in the hospital and it was uncomfortable for him. He hated it. But he vowed then and there to be sincere with you and to be there for you through all of this.

—

Basic POV

Another 45 or so minutes passed, Evan remaining by your side with your hands in his. He was patient of your waking but was desperate for it. He had laid his forehead against the side of the bed, his eyes closed while waiting.

Soon, he felt you stir a bit before your once limp hand took ahold of his. His head instantly lifted and looked at you, your eyes still closed but seeing your head moving from side to side as you finally came to. His eyes were fixed on your closed ones before you opened them, blinking a few times before meeting his. His were wide as he stared with his mouth agape waiting for the words that weren’t coming. You only looked between his eyes, your head spinning and your waist down noticeably numb. You finally groaned lightly as you readjusted yourself the best you could, your hand still gripped tightly between Evan’s. You glanced down at the contact and softened your confused face before looking back up at him. You took notice of his obvious concerned and worried face and quickly felt a sudden tug at your heart when you thought about your child.

“Where is he?” You whispered out as your eyebrows furrowed in your own feeling of concern.

“He’s okay” Evan stated quickly, hoping to calm you a bit, “he’s in the NICU being monitored. He was without nutrients and oxygen for awhile so they’re just observing him for awhile. He’s okay.” When he felt your hand relax in his and your body loosen up in the bed, he let out a small sigh and gazed up at you with a dorky smile. “He’s perfect.”

You could’ve cried at his words, a mixture of feeling like you failed him all while feeling a sense of relief wash over you. But you could only manage a weak smile while your eyes stayed glue to Evan’s.

“Can I see him?” You asked slightly louder this time but still just above a whisper. Evans eyebrows shot up as he stood from his seat nodding.

“Let me get a nurse” he looked around before exiting the room, your eyes watching the door waiting for him to return with a nurse. The minutes seemed to go by slow and you wondered what was going on or taking them so long, but your questions were answered moments later when you saw a crib belong wheeled into your room.

You say hi straight in the hospital bed, throwing the blankets off you eager to go to your baby but a nurse quickly held onto your arms preventing you from attempting to stand. You flared up at her with confusion and annoyance, only wanting to see your child.

“You can’t stand. You just had two major surgeries and you have a nerve block on your spine to help the pain. Lay back down, we’ll bring him to you okay?”

You sucked in a sharp breath realizing again that you can’t feel your legs and hugged silently as you allowed her to help you lay back in bed. She used to remote to sit the bed up so you could sit in a comfortable sitting position and sat the remote next to your for your convenience, but your eyes were only fixated on Evan who was now holding the small boy, Evan smiling down at him while making his way to you.

It was a picture perfect moment, seeing Evan so happy and the small figure of your baby in his arms. It was beautiful. And you could hardly wait to feel him for yourself, a moment later reaching out when Evan carefully extended him towards you. You bundled him up in the blanket more and as soon as your eyes meet his beautiful small face, your heart fluttered. He was ridiculously perfect, nothing you’ve ever seen before. You couldn’t believe the amount of love you suddenly felt now holding what you made and grew all these months. He was finally here.

Evan came next to the bed, taking his previous sets in the chair. You allowed him to wrap one arm around you so he could be closer to you both, his head barely brushing against yours while you both gazed down at your perfect baby. You couldn’t help yourself, letting your head rest against his now and feeling him instantly rest his against yours. It was a comfortable feeling, one you never wanted to end. In this moment, you felt like you had a family, something you’ve never had before. It was everything you could ever want, and you simply couldn’t break yourself from the feeling to let the rational facts come back to play; that this was in fact going to end and soon, you and Evan would be co-parenting.

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