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awordsmith · 4 days ago

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omitted thoughts 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which the tension between you and Spencer at work is almost too much to bare; lingering eyes and longing needs that are ignorant to the people around you, but all too easily perceived by the other.

who? spencer x bau!reader when? s8 category: smut content warnings: (maeve plotline does not exist, emily is still with the bau) munch spencer, tension here–tension there–tension everywhere, thorough foreplay (as in practically the entire fic), sexual acts, not too explicit, no dom/sub really mentioned–though spencer is a little more confident, proofed! reid with pleasure... word count: 11.4k a/n: munch spencer as per requested by an anon!! this one has been in my filing cabinet for a while, so i'm glad i've finally gotten to write it out... also, new format–hey! okay i'll stop rambling... enjoy!!

There is a moment in every person’s life when they just know something sinister is about to unfold. That feeling found its way to you the exact moment the mixup with the rooms happened. It was bound to occur, it wasn’t like it was inevitable–you of all people were accustomed. Though, to be particularly truthful, it wasn’t the mixup that strangled your thoughts, no, it wasn’t as trivial as that.

What had your heart racing–your mind running–was that you were paired with Spencer. You should have said something. You were sure Emily would switch with you in a heartbeat–she and Spencer got along well enough, that it wouldn’t be a favor at all. However, even with this knowledge, you kept your mouth shut.

It was something in your gut, something in the darkest parts of your mind that swayed the moral, logical side.

It was late and the dimly lit hall only had so much life. You noted the old, peeling, pee-colored wallpaper; red flowers straying to and fro–if you tried hard enough, you could almost picture how it must have looked like in its prime.

Spencer made no effort to talk and for this you were grateful. You hadn’t had the chance to get too close to him in the few months you’ve been with the team. You were new, but not unaccustomed–you had been transferred almost six months ago with the help of thorough recommendations and pure skill–though you never pulled rank.

Hotch seemed a nice enough dad-boss, Rossi gave the impression of a comedic uncle most of the time, Morgan took his role as the older brother, Emily and JJ were great mentors and you were thrilled to be working alongside them, and you found Penelope to be a strong aunt-like figure. Spencer, though, you weren’t too sure where he fell in the categories you had enlisted just yet.

He was a great mystery, one you were keen to unravel little by little.

“Do you have a preferred side?” Spencer asked after completing a skim with his bedbug flashlight.

“No,” you glanced around the room, two queen beds sat adjacent to each other only separated by a mediocre bedside table. A home phone sat close to the bed nearest the door and a lamp sat closest to the bed nearest the AC and window. The old, red velvet curtains were pulled back in what you thought was meant to be a kind gesture. Nevertheless, for an unknown reason, it left a bad taste in your mouth. “But, I do think we should close those,” you sighed, setting your duffle bag in the only chair in the room.

Spencer set his things on the bed near the window. You began untying the curtain closest to the bathroom. A shiver crawled up your spine as the air around you grew dry, you were seriously hoping for hot water. You meant to throw Spencer a hopeful glance, praying he’d let you take a shower first–but your eyes caught his hands instead. He was working his sleeves back, unbuttoning them as quickly as he could.

His sweater vest had been discarded and now lay in a bunched-up pile near his suitcase. You found yourself tracking his every move. He didn’t take notice of your stare until after he’d untied the curtain and met it with the one you had undid. You swiftly averted your eyes and swallowed, finding your throat had gone dry.

You cleared your throat and pushed your hair away, giving Spencer nothing but back, “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to shower first.”

Seconds ticked by and he said nothing, only when you heard a bed squeak did you turn back around. Spencer took up a space at the head of his bed, watching you with a look you were sure you’d never seen cross his face, it was almost smug, but not in the normal sense of the word–as indescribable as it was, it didn’t make you uncomfortable. You weren’t too sure what it made you feel.

“Is–is that a yes?” Your face felt hot, and you wanted to slap your hands to it, knowing it’d cool down somewhat, but you forced your hands to remain at your side.

“Yeah, sure,” he quipped, his voice the complete opposite of what his eyes conveyed.

You nodded and hurried over to your bag, leaving it at the foot of your bed when heading into the bathroom, which is where you found it upon exiting.

Spencer had pulled pajamas out, they were neatly folded beside him. “I’d wait a little before showering,” you frowned, “sorry, I must have been in there for ages,” your mouth lilted in a slight smile as you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and took up residence near the bedside table, “next time, just to tell me I’m taking too long, I won’t mind.”

He chuckled and you grinned, elated you finally were able to ease the unnecessary tension that had come over the two of you during your staring contest in the moments right before your shower.

“Seriously?” He sounded mirthful and when you looked up his eyes caught yours, your heart studded and you found your cheeks heating up again. He had an eyebrow raised slightly and the small smile that accompanied his expression gave off the impression he was teasing, “You’d be fine with me just walking into the bathroom while you’re in the shower?”

Your eyebrows scrunched together in slight confusion and you couldn’t help the awkward smile that wouldn’t leave your mouth, “I was just joking, Spencer, but–if I am taking too long you can bang on or yell through the door.

He nodded, looking away, “I–I know, I was just messing with you.”

“Oh, please,” you snorted and rolled your eyes, trying to crush the way your thoughts raced at the way you absolutely would not give a half a damn if he did. You pressed your hand to your cheeks for a few seconds before continuing to move things out of your bag, you were thinking about how to arrange them in the large chifforobe directly across from your bed. Did Spencer hav–you gasped and dropped an article of clothing as if it had burned you.

“That was not–” you scorned yourself, that was completely inappropriate. You blinked over a few times, thinking it would make the image disappear well from your mind, but it only served to intensify the phantasmagoria.

“Hey, are you okay?” Spencer was at your side after three blinks. Your eyes widened as he reached for your hands that were opening and closing, trying to grasp any control over yourself.

You stood abruptly, unable to be in any sort of vicinity he was near. “I’m fine–I just, I remembered, I forgot something in the lobby. It must have fallen.” You shrugged, forcing a horrid excuse for a smile onto your lips. You left the room, heading straight for the elevator. You needed the cold-biting air of December to slap some sense into you, it was almost January, thus winter should have been approaching its peak right about now.

You have never–okay, yes, you’ve had small torrent thoughts of coworkers in somewhat unprofessional manners, but none had ever been so vivid–not like the one you had just then. As the elevator opened, you tried assembling the course of thoughts that had led up to the–the Spencer one.

It only took a few minutes for you to understand thinking about it was useless. There was no coherent explanation for the thought you had, no indication of any type of build-up that might have prepared you for the fabrication.

“His eyes,” you heard yourself murmur as the elevator let you off onto the first floor. You ignored the receptionist whom you recognized from only a few hours ago. The glass door was as easily pushed open as it was to pull; the biting air hit your face and you sighed, relief allowing you to breathe once more.

His sleeves were rolled up, your arms laced around his neck as you pulled him against your flushed, exposed skin. You were nearly naked and all but begging him. You had it. His attention. Every single piece of it.

And you were relishing it as he fucked you against that damned chifforobe.

You were startled by the discovery of Spencer’s presence as he pushed open one of the glass doors of the hotel. The carpark was desolate save for the two of you and you felt more vulnerable than you had felt in the daydream.

“Hey,” Spencer lifted his hand slightly, sticking it back in his pocket right after as if he’d cringed at himself.

“Oh, hi,” you pressed your lips into a thin smile, squeezing your eyes so as not to give away the fact that you did not want him to be there.

“You–kind of ran off, I just wanted to make sure you were alright…” his eyes traced up and down your body as if in search of something. A slight smirk grazed his lips, but it was quickly replaced with a frown that felt a little too compelled, “did you find what you were looking for?”

“Nope,” you squeaked, rocking back and forth on your heels. You squeezed your hands together behind your back like you were in prayer or giving thanks, “sorry for bringing you out here, I thought I lost something important and overreacted.”

He didn’t acknowledge your answer immediately, though he did step forward and when he took another step forward, you were inclined to take a step back because you thought the proximity might prompt you to do or say something you definitely shouldn’t be doing or saying with a coworker. He raised his hand to your face, the back of his hand rested on one of your cheeks, your eyes shut on impact, your hands separated and were not fisted.

Your eyes opened when a few low chuckles escaped Spencer’s mouth, he huffed out a few more before pulling his hand back and using it to cover his mouth…watching you. His eyes held that same smug amusement that you’re sure you’ve never seen before this night.

You met his stare, noting that with the coverage of his hand, his expression was just a bit easier to read. Your lips settled into a thin line as you concluded he was messing with you. You cast an unbothered expression over your face, though you felt anything but. “I think the water should be hot enough now.”

Disregarding the moral obligation of waiting for a response, you headed for the hotel’s entrance.

The elevator ride-up wasn’t as tense as you would have thought it to be. You could feel a calm rest over each other’s company. It was almost like a mutual understanding that did not need voicing. Back in the hotel room, Spencer headed into the bathroom without a word, again, you found yourself grateful he decided to spare you.

Even so, you did find it just a bit peculiar because Spencer had never before taken on any particular interest in you, sure you shared conversations–that was to be expected though, as you worked with him. You shared meals and nights out, though only when it was a group thing.

To be sure he drew your curiosity, but you never once thought about indulging in your secret desire because it just never seemed right. This mixup had felt like a gift from God when it was first introduced, because now–you had thought–we’ll be forced to be around each other, no doubt we’ll grow somewhat accustomed to each other’s habits.

Perhaps the thought was a bit excessive, but it was simply the truth to you. How else were you to casually approach Dr. Spencer Reid? The youngest to be scouted in his field?

Well, you now thought grimly, scratch all that, he’s just a genius with an ego.

You approached the chifforobe hesitantly, then hastily sorted your clothing in a few drawers and on a few hangers that were already there. As you set your duffle bag at the bottom of the large space, you heard the shower squeak off and Spencer called your name.

You rolled your eyes but walked toward the bathroom, calling from your side of the closed door, “what?”

“I,” his voice cut off and just when you thought you had waited long enough, the bathroom door swung open halfway and Spencer leaned out.

The first thing you noticed–though unintentionally–was the steam that hit you in the face. You squinted and waved a hand before you, “Jeez, Spencer.”

His face–his hair was wet and water dripped down his head–looked a bit painted, “I left my towel in my bag, get it for me?”

He sounded genuinely displeased at the situation, which is why you huffed and replied, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” he yelled, shutting the door again. You ignored the flip your stomach did and shivered.

He had left his suitcase open, his things in a bit of disarray across the bed. You wavered only a moment before letting your hands fly up and down his things. His towel was quite easily discovered, though your eyes lingered on the rest of his things.

You stood and headed back toward the bathroom, knocking. Spencer appeared instantly, a smile spreading to his face. The steam had cooled somewhat, but the bathroom–you could tell–was still very much sauna-like. “Thank you.”

“You said that already.”

He raised a brow, his smile quirking, “thank you, again.”

He stole the towel and shut the door, leaving you standing there. You felt impulsive and thought there would be no way you could get through this entire trip by sharing a room with him. And yet, it was your job, and it would no doubt be questioned, you’d probably–by accident–allude to something that did not occur, and you’d both be in trouble for something so ridiculous: it shouldn’t even be a thought that crossed your mind when you looked at your coworker and yet–the bathroom door opened and Spencer walked out in only a towel–it did.

“What do you think you're doing?” You called from your bed, standing.

“It’s too moist in there, I won’t dry.” He replied as if it were a fact and not an atrocity.

“Yeah–but–” you bit your lip, eyes tracking up and down his torso, something you should most unquestionably not be doing.

He was bent over his things on the bed near the window, you turned your gaze on the floor when his eyes flickered to yours. “But what?” He paused, probably noting your expression, your pursed lips, and your unstill gaze. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable I can go back in. I don’t want to–I’m sorry.” You swore you could hear a lilt in his voice when he began, but it quickly turned into something more…appropriate–like he just realized the embarrassment of what he was doing. He gathered his clothes again and headed for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later in damp garments.

And though his frown said ‘I’m sorry,’ his eyes said, ‘I’m going to give you hell’. And hell it was. For the rest of the trip, you could swear Spencer did…things purposefully. Such as lifting his shirt slightly to wipe his face when he got out of the shower, turning his neck just barely so that your gaze would catch on the exposed collarbone. You swore up and down that these were being done on purpose just to make you squirm because–because–well you didn’t really know why Spencer was doing all that.

But you knew it was for you, that was about the only thing you knew to be fact. Your nose scrunched as you recalled the looks he’d given you after every purposeful act–in such a way that it seemed like he wanted to see your reaction–as if he gets off on it.

The jet ride home was no exception to Spencer’s antics, but by this time you had decided for yourself you’d had enough of falling victim to him. You concluded that there could only be one reason Spencer was acting the way he was: because he was attracted to you. You didn’t know why–hell you couldn’t even explain why you were attracted to him in that way–but it piqued your curiosity. If he had the ability to get you to react in such distinct and significant ways, what power did you have over him? That was the dispute you set out to ascertain.

At first, it was harmless, quiet jokes told only loud enough for the two of you to hear. When the jet landed again, you ran a hand through your hair and threw your head back, as if trying to stretch. Your eyes popped open just a few minutes later to find Spencer’s eyes eating up everything from your neck to your collarbone. When he met your eyes, they weren’t amused but rather accusing. He had fallen into your trap and he had just now realised. Some genius, you found yourself regarding him with an internal snort.

“We get the day off tomorrow, right?” Emily’s tone was mirthful, full of sarcasm.

“Yeah, right.” Morgan groaned.

Hotch grimaced, “See you all tomorrow.”

“At nine?” Rossi sounded hopeful.

Your boss sighed, eyes: rolling, but a smile etching itself onto his face, “At nine.”

Small victories, a sigh escaped you under your breath, small victories.

You headed for your car, rummaging through your purse for your keys. A presence loomed over you and you froze, Spencer’s hand lightly pressed against your back as he leaned over you and tilted his head downward, “See you tomorrow —…”

Your breath caught and you tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry. Was this real? Was this not the nerdy little geek you were told you’d be working with? The guy who kept getting kidnapped? The one who could barely hold a gun four years into working in the BAU?

He walked away, down the row of cars, looking for the one he owned.

Despite yourself, your lips curled into a sinful grin. You already loved this game.

The next morning, you caught Spencer stepping into the elevator, “hold the door!” You threw your hand out, as you rushed your footsteps.

The elevator wasn’t crowded, but there were five others you did not know, and they were all men, so naturally you moved closer to Spencer. It wasn’t on purpose, but nor was it an accident, more of an instinct. His presence gave you peace of mind as you calmed yourself down.

“Rough morning?” He asked, appearing nonchalant.

You looked up at him as he took a sip of his coffee. The elevator came to a halt and two people shuffled into the elevator after three others left. Your floor was approaching and you felt easier–especially with the extra space–but when you stepped away, a hand caught your waist.

You followed the arm all the way to Spencer’s gaze, the expression there looked to be a mix of contemplation and confusion. His hand dropped when the elevator dinged and the doors opened. He was the first to step out of the elevator, you were the fourth.

Penelope found you on her way to the roundtable, stating the others were already there. You followed her and took the only available seat in between Morgan and JJ. Spencer sat right across from you, between Emily and Rossi. When you caught his eyes, his head tilted slightly and a small smirk danced across his lips in the bright light.

Your eyes rolled and you shifted one leg over the other under the table.

Penelope read off the new case and while many questions were thrown out, you and Spencer kept playing the game of ��who could make who more embarrassed’; though you both were incredibly refined at your job and were able to keep it from the insight of the others.

Hotch stood and said, “jet’s up in 15,” before rushing out of the room.

You stood as well, needing to collect all the things you might have left on your desk and turn in your report to Hotch you forgot. Rossi had followed your boss–it was probably something about Strauss, it always was whenever they acted like that. Emily, Morgan, and Penelope were having a conversation while JJ said something to Spencer and began a small exchanges. Your eyes were laser focused on her, you felt a sort of conviction fall over you. You didn’t think you were jealous, no–it was anything like that because you knew Spencer was only trying to get under your skin. Instead, you felt a sense of thrill and couldn’t help the smirk that edged its way onto your face as you floated right past them without batting an eye.

You heard his chair squeak as he leaned back, eyes trailing your figure as you exited the roundtable room. Upon approaching your desk you smacked your hands to your cheeks, helping them cool off while ignoring the chatter of the office. You searched your bag a bit until you found the documents you had been looking for.

You froze, you could feel his stare, but when you glanced around, you couldn’t find him anywhere. Your eyes narrowed as you sifted through each and every face, there–in the breakroom behind the glass… Spencer had one hand in his pocket and one holding a mug of coffee, his eyes anything but innocent. He mouthed something, but only when you noted the absense of your other team members were you able to put together his words. We’re leaving.

You met each other in the stairwell of the rooftop, you ignored the simmering in your chest as he veered over you and pushed open the door. He smelled good– god he smelled good. You forced yourself not the make it obvious you were trying to drink in and savor his scent when he let out a shuddering breath. Your eyes popped open–which is when you realized you had shut them. What is wrong with me? You allowed your eyes to track up his face, starting from his shoulders.

He was so close you could see him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared you donw, mouth slightly ajar. His eyes were hazy and he wasn’t staring at you, but your throat. It was only for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. When he found your gaze again his jaw yet and he pulled himself together. His eyes were no longer dangerous, but they still set some kind of fear in you.

“We should go,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond until you began moving. He called your name only once, but when you looked back, a grin–small, but fucking there–destroyed his firm calmness from only moments ago, and replaced it with egotistical destruction.

There were so much said in that single expression and yet nothing at all that would have been picked up by a team of profilers, let alone a stranger–it was as if this look was designed specifically for you–designed just to become your undoing. You fucking hated Spencer Reid and his big ass ego, but you wanted him–by all hell you wanted him.

Though you’d soon find that wanting him was nothing compared to needing him.

The rest of the case came and went in a similar manner you had dreamt about the night before. You and Spencer shared lingering looks, murmured things in front of the team that, though made sense in the moment, his the underlying meaning only the two of you could pick up. You honestly found it surprising no one had caught on to what was transpiring between you and Spencer, although to be perfectly honest, you, yourself, had no idea what was transpiring between you and Spencer.

You didn’t seek each other out, but whenever you were together–alone or with others–there was this spark of craving you couldn’t quite explain out loud, and even when you thought about it, you didn’t know the right term for it other than a game. What else could it be? You couldn’t relly put togehter the events that had started it, but you knew it began sometimes on the 3-day case–maybe even that first night in the hotel. A shiver crawled up your spine, you watched Spencer out of the corner of your eye, reading. He could normally be found in the front of the jet, lying down and napping or reading.

When you were alone, all your thoughts revolved if not around the case at hand, Spencer. You didn’t want to compare it to an obsession, because what it really was was a little less of that and a little more of a desire to learn him. His body, his mind, his cravings and and fantasies. It was everything you had never felt and it scared you. There was no logical explanation to Spencer being the onset to these emotions, and yet if you’d never met Spencer, who was to say these feelings would have ever been unleashed?

It was late, but you were glad you were going to get to sleep in your bed two nights in a row. It felt like a blessing from the heavens, but then your realzied you’d have to see Spencer again tomorrow and go through the fervency all over again. Now, it felt more like irony.

Weeks of the same longing, the same wandering eyes, the same muttered whispers, the same damn game. Though you’d gotten used to your little gambit of brash actions, you weren’t tired in the least. It was–as sad as you had to admit–the most fun you’d ever had with a person.

It was fun until it became real. The team hadn’t caught on, but that was particularly due to the fact your efforts always occurred out of pure chance. You never made it obvious and he was especially good at hiding his feats, it seemed to you he was consistently able to accomplish his devious acts right under the nose of his superiors.

You reasoned that it was perhaps because none of them would ever suspect him of any of the things he was taking up in his pastime. Not even yourself would have guessed he was like this if he hadn’t shown you, or if you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes always seemed to look the opposite of whatever his face was saying in the moment.

Despite all of this, however, you hadn’t touched–at all, no brush of the hands, no accidental shoulder bumping, nor anything on purpose; not since he’d grabbed your waist in the elevator that first day back at Quantico. The contemplation in his eyes then occurred to you at night. You tried to make out what it meant–to him at least, but never could. It was one of those thoughts that kept you up, staring at the ceiling, hoping exhaustion would so its job and prevent the misery that inveitable came without it.

Tonight, though, you didn’t know how you were going to fare against pretending to be with him. It was for the case–you kept reminding yourself as you changed into a little black dress. Everyone looked good in black, it was a color that also hid a person well enough in a club–perfect for an undercover agent.

The decision to have you go in with Spencer instead of JJ was his idea. Of course it was his. He’d proposed the switchup at the roundtable meeting that morning–and as soon as he had, you’d jolted in your seat. He’d continued talking, glancing at you now and then as if he’d actually believed the difference between you and JJ would matter.

Regardless, because you were closer in age–by only a few years, you’d wanted to remind everyone–it’d be more believable that you were together, he’d also dropped an “it’d be more comfortable that way”, which swayed Morgan and Emily, JJ kept silent during the entire tirade–though not angry, was incredibly, almost blatantly long.

You couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but at the time you weren’t too much focussed on her, the looming fact that you’d have to touch him in ways you’d only thought about touching him to do your job? It terrified you. Not because you were afraid of acting out your fantasy–but because you weren’t sure if you could control yourself enoug to where it was just acting.

You slipped the dainty dress on and hid your gun and badge in your boots. You let your natural hair fall loose, but kept a hair tie on your wrist. Stepping out of the only bathroom in the police station you were currently residing in, holding your work clothes against your chest , you noted the imminent stares. Instinctively using your clothing to cover your thighs as you met the others in the front. Spencer kept his eyes in check–smart boy, you bit back a smirk–but the rest of the team complimented you, Hotch and Rossi having almost completely different ways of doing so, you snorted at the contrast.

Spencer took the driver seat of a vehicle you were borrowing, the dark of a December night threatening to conceal the thing entirely. You gazed out the window, “they’re following us right?”

“Everyone will be outside and prepared.”

“I can’t believe this,” you sighed, throwing your head back.

“The fact that we’re going undercover or the fact that you have to wear that piece of cloth?” Spencer asked, though his manner was light, there was a rough undertone that heated your insides.

“I was wondering when you were going to bring it up,” you sighed carelessly, waving a hand, “I just thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“Everyone noticed.” The mask of his facade was slowly slipping away, revealing a much colder side to Spencer–one you had the pleasure of seeing more and more of the past three weeks than in all of the six months you’d been in the BAU.

“Yeah,” you smooth down the dress, “I wouldn’t normally wear this type of thing out unless I was looking to bring someone home.”

“Oh really?” You could practically hear his eyebrows raise. “You never wear things like that when we go out for drinks.”

“Precisely my point,” you quipped.

Spencer pulled into the club’s parkinglot. It took you less than five minutes to get inside. At first, you were sitting at the bar, but then, Spencer, with the earpiece attached to him, relayed the message from Hotch. Penelope had given everyone access to the inside of the club, they were watching you two through the cameras. You forced yourself not to glance at them–even the tiniest slipup could reveal you to the unsub, and you wanted them to target, not avoid you.

“They want us to dance.” Spencer sighed loud enough to where you could hear it over the noise.

“Right,” you rolled your eyes, because that’s exactly how the unsubs target their victims–didn’t we go over this in the profile? Your smile tightened as you spun and headed for the floor, crowded by so many–oh that’s not hygienic.

“Yeah, okay, maybe we skip this part,” Spencer grimaced from his palace beside you.

“You think?” You raised an unimpressed brow at the blurred figures in front of you.

He murmured something Hotch and they went back and forth a little, though you couldn’t hear exactly what was said, Spencer’s face of triumph was all you needed to breathe a sigh of relief.

You found yourselves hiding in the corner at the back, there weren’t many people crowding around you which made you perfect for the unsubs, though the appearance of them at this club tonight was purely based on instinct, gut feelings, and careful, calculated guessing, there was still a chance they wouldn’t show themselves.

You didn’t mean for it to happen like this, you were doing everything in your power to stay composed and in control, but some part of you–the defiant, terrible side of you–wanted so badly to see his reaction when you touched him.

His frame leaned over you, holding you against the probably dirty wall, the sensual music that played a heavy beat around you felt like an instigator. Sweat slipped down his neck and it drew your attention, all of a sudden Spencer tensed, then he relaxed slightly but it felt forced, “They have eyes on the unsubs.”

“How many,” You compelled your eyes to stay on his though they wanted to scour the area around you and find just exactly who he was talking about–which would be idiotic, of course.

“That’s right,” he swallowed–ignoring your question, your eyes caught his throat bobbing–he noticed. “Keep your eyes on me,” you nodded at his words, feeling your throat drying as you neglected the need to trace his collarbone with both your fingers and gaze.

His hair was a mess of damp curls and his face was barely visible in the bright, flashing lights, but you had a job to do–and yet here you were, gripping the collar of his shirt, brushing back the hair that fell in his face as he looked at you with those eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, “but if you aren’t up for this just tell me now.” His voice lilted at a challenge, but you heard the mumble ordered in the earpiece–by hell he could yank you hair almost completely out and you wouldn’t give a damn.

You held his regard with one of your own, eyes narrowed, “Just do it.”

And he did. But he also didn’t. His smirk narrowed ere leaning in. He gripped your face with an elephants strength and a swan’s gracefulness. You closed your eyes, waiting for his lips, but he swerved at the last moment and kissed the skin below your ear. He trailed a few kisses down your neck but stayed close to your hearing range, evidently, he was teasing–you wanted to scoff but couldn’t find it in you to make him stop.

“How’s this?” He murmured.

“You’re an ass,” you replied huffed, trying to mask a groan.

He grinned against your neck, “I know.”

The club case was the reason you and Spencer now ensured you were always together. From then on, you seemed to not want to be anywhere else the other wasn’t–or rather, you felt more comfortable with each other and couldn’t bring yourselves to leave the other alone.

Not that either of you minded and you still did your jobs perfectly fine–though there was more intensity when the other was in any sort of danger, it only propelled the one that wasn’t to learn how to do their job quicker. It was both a fast track to understanding how to adapt to constant situations that warped your idea of what was really going on. When he got something wrong–which was rare but not absolute. After about a month of this, you were starting to question what you were to him–what he was to you.

Though you still weren’t sure how to properly ask that question. You hadn’t slept together, though you thought about it all the time you weren’t at work…and perhaps sometimes when you were… Those thoughts slipped through on occasion–but it wasn't anything that hadn’t been transpiring before the club case.

It was as if the ‘who can make the other person more embarrassed’ game had been turned into the ‘what can I do to make you squirm this time’ game. Like the rules of the game had somehow intensified and touching was now allowed and despite all of the things that ensued upon the new rule instatement, you still had not taken it further than work.

It kept you up most nights, and you wondered when this cycle of what are we would end–if it would take one of you getting into a relationship–though you were sure Spencer didn’t have to worry about you in that department–and although you hated it, the fact was that Spencer was the only one you could think about. It was as if the man had ruined sex for you altogether.

You fucking hated Spencer Reid–and that fucking chifforobe.

Your heart dropped in your chest. You refused to give Spencer the satisfaction of looking over at him–though he seemed just as surprised as you. At this point anything could happen–and by anything you mean anything. Because anything would be better than having to share a room with him again. You were so tired you could barely recall what that even meant.

But then again, a small part of you whispered, this could be your chance. My chance? You scoffed, my chance at what? Making a fool of myself? Because confronting him means admitting I can’t stop–thinking about him. And that, to you, would feel like admitting defeat. It’d feel like losing the game–oh and you really felt like you were winning! Winning at what again? God, you needed sleep.

“Are you planning on getting in the shower first?,” he asked as soon as you were behind the door, away from prying ears and nosy coworkers.

You let out a heavy sigh and held your arms up to stretch, yawning–“honestly, I might just head to bed, it’s late and I could really use the sleep.”

“Have you not been able to sleep at night?” He set his things on the bed near the window as you claimed the one near the door.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, although a bit more to yourself than to him.

“Do you know why?” He seemed genuinely curious–but as you faced him, all you could think was, if only you knew.

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’ and grimaced as you laid your back against the bed, arms spread like a starfish, your duffle bag discarded near your feet at the end of the bed.

You felt Spencer watching you, but for the first time in a while, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You quite literally had been running on nothing but coffee for the past day and a half–and you were in desperate need of some sleep–especially if you wanted to be at your best tomorrow.

“Here,” you hadn't heard Spencer approach you–you blamed his Hotch training. You cracked open an eye as he pushed you on your side. Your back burned at where he’d touched you, but it was quickly overshadowed when you heard him yank the bedspread down as hard as he could. “Come, on,” he huffed, pulling your shoes off and setting them beside your bag.

You forced yourself under the cover and snuggled, “the light?” you grumbled.

“First, your blazer,” he held out a hand. You whined but made quick work of ridding yourself of the fabric. “You sure you don’t want to change into something more comfortable–”

“Spencer.” You warned.

“Yeah, I hear you,” he reached for the lamp atop the bedside table–smaller than the one from the last hotel room you’d shared–the chifforobe near the window was smaller as well. He hummed as the thoughts faded in and passed through his mind.

Spencer found himself forgetting everything else as he sat in the bed opposite yours and leaned his arms on his thighs, watching you. A few minutes passed, but only when a knock sounded on the door did he realize he maybe shouldn’t be watching his coworker like a creep. Though, you weren’t really a coworker, were you?

Well–he meant you were–but you were also more than that, though he didn’t exactly know if your relationship had a name, he knew that it entailed things normal coworkers did not have. He knew what he wanted–but to outright say it felt like disrupting the sort of balance you’d gotten accustomed to–as if going out and actually attempting to take what he wanted would break the trance that had set over the two of you–it’d be throwing all the rule’s to the game away, and then what did either of you have left? Rules were important, if not necessary. He couldn’t chance it–not yet at least.

“Hey, oh,” Morgan tried looking around the room.

Spencer felt his eyes roll as he stepped into the hall and shut the door slightly behind him, careful not to shut it completely as he didn’t have the key card and he didn’t want to wake you up. “Yes?”

Morgan nodded behind him, “she’s asleep?”

“She’s really tired,” Spencer affirmed.

“Right,” his eyes fell back on Spencer, and for a second, he thought Morgan might be analyzing his form.

“Was there something you needed?” Spencer pressed, eager to head back into the room, unpack his suitcase, and head to bed himself.

“Ah, no, we were just going to order food–but I guess you don’t want anything either?”

“Uh, no, but thanks for asking.”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan once again glanced behind Spencer, whose irritation at the suspicion was steadily increasing.

“She’d not dead,” Spencer stated, though he meant it as a joke it came out rather harsh.

“Alright, pretty boy, I didn’t say she was.” Morgan chuckled, patting Spencer on the shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

Spencer made quick work of unloading his things, he thought about getting in the shower but feared it’d wake you. Instead, he debated on whether or not he should leave your things in you bag or do you a favor and put them away. He didn’t want you to consider him a snoop, especially with how you’d been looking at each other the past few weeks–and that undercover case.

His heartbeat picked up, and he couldn't stop thinking about it–it was the thing he fell asleep to at night; it was gradually eating away at him, and he couldn’t deny the way his body tensed whenever he recalled the image of you under the flashing array of lights–how you’d looked so…submissive.

He hastily shoved that thought to the furthest corner he could find in his mind and headed for your bag. He didn’t want to be brash with the way he put your clothing away, but he also didn’t you to wake up while he was holding your underwear–then he’d truly feel like a creep.

He was halfway done when you mumbled something; he froze and he could feel the thump of his heart in his chest. Though it was still winter, he’d begun to sweat and had set his glasses aside because they kept sliding off the bridge of his nose. He’d been wearing them more often than not for the past few months as he’d found them to be a particular fascination of yours. It was now that he squinted and moved his hand around for them.

His footsteps carried him quietly across the room, near your bedside. “—?” He whispered and when you failed to respond, lifted a tentative hand to your cheek–though just before the pads of his fingertips met your skin, you mumbled something again–and this time, he could hear it. He fisted his hand and used the bedside table to hold himself up, and although he couldn’t see them, he knew his hands were turning white with how hard he was squeezing them.

Again. He wanted to hear it again–his prayers were answered as you shifted slightly, tugging the cover up to your neck. Skimming down your person, he bit his fist and tried to calm himself down. Again. He needed to sit down, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He felt it twitch–he needed to walk away right now. And he did, but instead of picking up where he’d left off with your clothing, he headed for the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on as he shut himself in complete darkness.

Images of you, your stolen glances, and desperate touches filled his mind. He was particularly focused on the tired way you slurred his name in your sleep. He wondered what kind of dreams you were having, what you were picturing as you said his name like that. He muffled his groans as he stroked himself, using his fist to bite back anything that might escape the small confines of the washroom. His thoughts of you were possibly the only thing he allowed himself to go to extensive lengths with. His mouth watered at the mere concept of you and your twisting legs. He’d done this a considerable amount of times before–but this was the first time you were so close– a hairsbreadth away.

It felt both right and wrong, and yet the lines began fading into oblivion as he came closer to climax.

He whimpered into his hand just as he came. It was odd, he didn’t too much feel like a creep after he cleaned himself up, but upon washing his hands profusely and returning to put your garments away, he was once more–afraid of what you’d think if you caught him messing with your things.

Although a part of him felt it might have been because he wanted you to find him in that state, he tried rationalizing–but the more he thought about it–even as he now rested his head against a pillow–the more he found that ‘might’ to be absolute truth.

You woke up to the smell of coffee. You stretched, yawned, and pried your eyes open. Rolling onto your side, you found Spencer devouring a book, his glasses at the tip of his nose. You smiled, thinking you were dreaming–but then his eyes shifted over to yours and your smile fell, you quickly understood this Spencer was real–oh no–your cheeks burned from last night's delusions. “Good morning,” he smiled. You groaned and sat up, your hands finding your cheeks, “what time is it?”

“It’s around six, you have,” he checked his watch, “an hour and thirty minutes, Hotch wants us ready before eight.”

You huffed and threw yourself back against the pillows. New Years had come and gone and you hadn't even celebrated...though, your mind with all the ways you could make up for it–you shook the thoughts away, now was not the time.

Five minutes later you were searching for your clothing, but your bag was practically empty, “did you move my things?”

Spencer choked on his coffee, “ah–yeah,” he motioned toward the chifforobe. You glared at it as he said, “It’s small, so some of our things are mixed, but you should be able to find whatever you’re looking for easily.”

“Thank you” You appreciated his simple act of affection, it made your chest ache.

“Yeah, sure.” Despite going back to reading his book, Spencer snuck small glimpses of you from the corners of his eyes.

As the hot water ran down your back, you found yourself thinking of Spencer, just a few feet away, you were practically naked and he could walk in at any moment, you felt an ache between your thighs, but you shrugged it off–or at least you tried to.

You hadn’t had sex since that incident with Spencer a few weeks ago. You tried–by all God did you try–but you just couldn’t It led to a few arguments with the guys you’d taken home–and your credit, you did feel just a little bad. All the same, you simply couldn’t seem to get him out of your mind. It was like he was mocking or watching you every time you attempted it–he was that tiny, little voice in the back of your head feigning disappointment, saying you wouldn’t purge the sexual frustration unless it were him. Though you were a saint at keeping it hidden, your agitation only built.

The day was more or less: “Spencer, what do you see?” from Hotch and “—, if you were the unsub…” from Morgan. Penelope was on call a few times and you were so close, but it had grown late and you needed sufficient unwinding. After a group dinner in the hotel lobby that primarily consisted of takeout and the small meal provided by the hotel staff, you headed up to your room. Spencer stayed to grab one last cup of coffee before the staff closed the mailroom for good. Thus, with your alone time, you decided to wash off all the griminess of the day.

You were drying yourself with a towel when you heard him enter, “I’m almost done,” you shouted, “I think there’s still some hot water left.”

His lack of response piqued your curiosity. You threw your clothing on once you were mostly just damp and yanked the door open. You were pulling your hair back into a ponytail when he looked up. He’d just set his cup of coffee on the table near the lamp, which now that you noticed, was the only light that lit up the room, he had turned the big llight off.

“You okay?” You rubbed your face, dropping your hands to your side right after, “did you hear me?”

“No, sorry,” he frowned, “I wasn’t paying attention.” He stood.

“Oh, I just said–if you wanted to get in, there’s still hot water left.” You thrust a your thumb behind you.

“Ah, thanks.” You nodded and pursed your lips. “So, what book were you reading this morning?” You took up the spot Spencer had just abandoned.

He turned and watched you–filling the area. He caught the way your legs pressed together as you crossed them to sit more comfortably against the pillows, attention to the book he’d been reading that morning.

“I’m going to get in the shower,” he cursed himself as he felt desire pool in his throat. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss you, to touch you–to taste you. His mouth watered at the prospect and he felt himself harden just like the night before. His shower was quick as the water had gotten cold and had quickly ruined his mood.

“You lied to be,” he glared at you from the threshold of the bathroom door.

You bit your lip, but still, a smile graced your mouth, “sorry, I thought it would last.” He shook his wet hair around around, mimicking the actions a puppy would.

“What?” His eyes widened slightly and his eyebrows raised, “what did you call me?”

A hand flew to your mouth, your own surprise showing, “I–” of bloody course, you said it out loud.

He stepped forward, dropping his towel on the bed, “say it again.” It was odd, the way he said it–like it was both a question and a demand–or rather, a demand he questioned your willingness to obey.

“…puppy?” you tried laughing it off, “Sorry, it just came out–I didn’t mean t–”

“Didn’t you, though?” Came a mirthful reply. Spencer stepped forward, towering over you as he leaned down, bringing his face near yours, one hand on the bed near your hips, the other on the bedside table. “Is that what you’ve thought of me this entire time?”

And what the hell were you supposed to say to that? Game on is what Spencer saw in your eyes as you set the book on the table, your hand purposely roaming over his as you pulled it back. “No,” you stated, a nonchalant expression crossing your features as your eyes turned away from his, the move calculated, “only sometimes.”

Spencer didn’t think the table would be able to withstand him much longer, but it did as he thought of ways he might proceed. Eventually, he let go and instead wrapped his firm fingers around your nape, forcing your attention to his. “And do you think that now?”

He watched a Chesire grin take its place upon your mouth. “If I said yes, would that anger you, Dr. Reid?” The mocking was unnecessary, but it sure as hell was a lot more fun than if you simply addressed him as ‘Spencer’ or ‘Reid’.

The parental-like tone you took up furthered his new-growing erection. His hair still dripped with water and as a water droplet streaked down his face, you lifted your hand to wipe it with your thumb. His hand let your your neck go to snatch your wrist–God you wanted him so badly. This witty banter–you were already starting to find–just wasn’t enough anymore.

Your eyes reapproached his, they seemed to meet with the same level of desire, completely forgetting that there was a serial killer on the loose, your eyes dipped to his lips only once before you leaned forward–but while you did he pushed you back, your back hitting the bedframe and just as you caught your breath, you found yourself being deprived of air once more.

Spencer was hungry, he tasted like coffee and something minty. Your hands tangled through his hair and while he suffocated you in the only way you’d ever want to be suffocated, you tugged. It barely stopped him the first time, but the second and third had his eyes rolling.

When they found you again, noting the playful glint in your eyes, he vowed he would go as far as you’d let him tonight–and perhaps the night after that, he hadn’t quite thought it through, and at this time, he neither had the strength nor the want to do so.

He began tugging at your t-shirt, but you grabbed his hand, “ah-ah,” you clicked your tongue, “you have to earn that.”

He paused and took a step back, watching you now, your knees digging into the softness of the mattress; your mouth darkened with the visceral kisses he’d forced on you. Your eyes sparked with something he knew he’d never be able to find in any other woman. His lips quirked, his eyes were hooded, and his voice thick when he asked, “What do I have to do?”

The need in his voice was enough to shed you of your clothing right then and there, but it seemed you had a lot more self-control than he did in the moment. You tugged your hair out of the loosened, droopy ponytail it had fallen into and brushed it back, smoothing it out to appear just how you wanted it to. You felt his eyes on you, patient, but every second he was, was a second his lust grew, and the moment you gave him the okay–well, he honestly couldn’t say just what he’d be capable of.

“You seem agitated, Spencer,” you pouted, shifting so that your legs fell in front of you over the edge of the bed. His eyes tracked your movements as he used your bed’s bedpost to steady himself, “just how many times have you pictured me like this?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” came his frivolity response. To be frank, he knew the exact answer to your question, but the first thing that flew into his head and out of his mouth was–to be sure–an edging reply. He watched how you interpreted it.

In a moment of unconsciousness, you glanced at the chifforobe across from you. Spencer caught that shit.

“Oh?” He raised a brow, finding the confidence to step forward.

“Don’t get any ideas, Reid.” You warned, but he could see the arguments going on between your eyes.

“No, see: I think it’s your idea.” He corrected, a deep, rumble of a laugh fell from his throat, “So, what exactly did you picture me doing with this thing.” He snorted and walked over to it, running a hand along the cupboard. You bit your lit, your dreams coming into clear view as if they were a film playing in front of you.

“Spencer,” you stood both embarrassed and a little annoyed.

You marched over to it at placed a hand on his shoulder–but then you were against the doors of the small chifforobe and Spencer was whispering just above your ear, “Was this it? Your sick fantasies of me? Did they include me having you against a wardrobe?”

Your breath caught and you wanted to hide your face because there was no doubt he’d be able to see the truth without you having to voice any sort of answer–but the jerk had his hand cupped around your jaw, and his grip was unimaginably strong for–well, him.

He smiled and tilted his head–and God only knew what that did to your resolve. Your knees weakened and you found yourself whimpering. “So, I guess that’s a yes.” You found just enough strength to narrow your eyes and look somewhat pissed. He nodded, “the shirt,” he tugged at the bottom.

You bit back a repost as he dropped his hands and stepped away, though he kept his distance close enough to where you felt his presence even after you’d lifted your shirt and he was out of sight. His eyes didn’t leave yours, you admired his stoicism; you’d already proved you weren’t any match when your eyes traced every line anytime you saw a sliver of his stomach, hips, neck, or forearms–okay maybe you had a bit of an obsession, but could it honestly be considered that when the look he was giving you screamed ‘wolf in sheep's clothing’?

“What other things have you thought up in that horny brain of yours, I wonder,” he spoke almost to himself, but his ever-focused gaze told you he was quite literally asking.

“That’s not how the game works,” a cheeky grin reformed your scowl.

“Right,” he paused, turning his eyes to the ceiling for effect, “remind me?”

Your eyes roved from one eye to the other, and back again, searching for any hint of hesitation, “this foreplay is kind of starting to get old.”

“Yes, I can agree–” you cut him off midsentence with a ravenous kiss. You could swear you bit him more than once, but he wasn’t complaining. Your head lulled to the side as he trailed kisses up and down your neck, finding a spot he particularly liked just below your ear.

Your hands twisted in his hair, yanking, tugging, and pulling–whatever got the most responses from him, you were doing. You threw his shirt to the side and pushed him toward the bed. He braced himself using his arms, though they were swiftly in motion again, wrapping around your waist as you stepped between his legs. “What do you want?” You asked, attempting to catch your breath.

He laughed, but when he realized you were serious he almost snorted, “What do I–what do I want?”

“It’s a simple question,” you shrugged, “what do you want from me?”

Now–now his eyes dipped, “I want a lot of things.”

You bit back another grin. Somehow in the few minutes, you’d been running around the room talking about how horny you both were, you’d ended up on the bed, your head behind a pillow. Spencer was between your legs, mouth-watering. He’s waited so long, he honestly didn’t think this foretold moment would ever actually occur, but God, was he glad he’d been wrong. Heavy, sinful eyes skimmed your lower body as he fumbled with the top of your shorts. His hands were warm despite the dreary weather outside, likely due to his recent shower. They pressed into your thighs as he brought his face just above your lower stomach, his name fell from your mouth in a whine, leading him to push aside the cover of your shorts. He drug a few fingers over your center.

Your moans sliced through the rough tension that had fallen over the hotel room. “What?” His snort was low and sloppy, “Oh, is–,” one of his fingers gently slid over you and your eyes shut, “–is this what you want?” His eyes traced the arch of your neck that was most exposed, the one lined with the red marks he’d left. The twitching beneath his sweatpants pulled a groan from his lips.

He swirled his finger around, feeling your wetness was more than inviting. “Spencer,” you cried, eyes flying open at the loss of contact.

“Be still,” he said, his voice wavering as he tugged everything off and discarded them on the floor. You watched him watch you–it wasn’t until you noted the way his eyes narrowed that you understood he was outlining your form–so that he could vividly paint it in his mind for a later purpose.

“I asked first,” you frowned up at him.

“You’re right,” he sighed, “here: let me show you what I want.”

Your breath caught as he lowered himself, his face coming right up to you, and with the way he was drooling at the sight, you could tell he’d been thinking about this for a while–it made you wonder if his desire had begun a lot sooner than yours had.

His mouth was warm, his tongue stroked up and down as far as they could go, and even when you thought he’d reached that point, he proved you wrong. Your hands knotted in his hair as you guided his head. His mouth was warm as he lapped up everything. You tried keeping your moan to a minimum, but when he stopped, your eyes popped open–had you done something wrong? But no, he was looking up at you with those desperate, puppy-like eyes, “please,” his whisper was grating, “I want to hear you.”

You swallowed, the ache building in you, “if that’s what you want,” you nodded.

And a few moments later, you were calling out his name in a way you’d never called anyone name. This was so new, you’d never had a guy worship you like this and you couldn’t fathom the fact that Spencer wanted to do it for your pleasure as well as his own.

You tried to hold it in, but your body had been desolate of attention for so long that you just couldn’t anymore. You could hear him slurp, and God did it do something to your brain chemistry– He considered you with clouded eyes. “Are you okay?” He frowned, pushing his body over yours.

Without giving him time to settle, you yanked his jaw toward your face with firm hands, he tasted like you and smelled of his shampoo–and yet, there was still the unknown Spencer scent that seemed only his skin could produce. You lined his jaw with kisses, your heart pounding in your chest with every new groan that escaped him.

My turn,” you huffed, definitely the cause of the lopsided grin that spread across his mouth. Though his hair was a mousy brown, in the dim yellow lamplight, it was as dark as the wood that made up the vintage furniture. It looked windswept or like he had just woken up–and perhaps he had. It was no longer a deniable fact that he’d never feel this good with anyone else, and he didn’t know how long this relationship with you would last, so he would milk everything he could out of it–and in exchange, surrender everything he had of himself.

It was only a few seconds later that you had him on his back, hands roving up and down his chest. You rubbed yourself against him, eliciting sweet sounds from his throat and friction from where you were just barely connected. You made sure to hold his gaze as you slid onto him. His jaw tightened and you could feel relief leave him as his chest fell. You tightened around him, trying to get used to him, you had to pause for a second–you couldn’t believe you were doing this–and in a moment of incompetence, you laughed.

“Sorry,” you lowered your chest onto his and began chuckling into his neck, “it’s just–what would the other think if they knew?”

Spencer pushed your shoulder away and held you above him, “I guess it’s a good thing they don’t, right?”

You nodded, but a small part of you wondered about what that meant for the after. Spencer groaned as you sat back up, you started slowly, hissing as you let him fill you. Spencer gave out his fair share of whimpers, but you wanted more, you wanted to make him cry.

You gripped his hair with one hand and the pillow beside him with another, you rolled your hips and wiggled every time you sat back down. Squeezing your thighs seemed to make him shudder the most, and when you added sucking to the mix, you knew you had him.

“There it is,” your grin was devilish as you swiped at his cheek. He opened his eyes just in time to see you licking his tears off your thumb.

“I might ask what we are now,” you huffed a laugh as Spencer shut the bathroom door. He had been a complete gentleman about everything, cleaning you, massaging your shoulders. You’d never had such an experience, you’d never thought there could be more to having sex if you only had the right partner; now that you did, there was…but you were unsure about yourself.

You found your mind questioning all you knew about Spencer and what this all meant to you. You had asked him what he wanted from you, but did you even know what you wanted from him? Before, the question might have thrown you off–though Spencer had asked it, you weren’t taking him all too seriously. Now that you had more time to contemplate your roving thoughts, you knew the answer as if it had been written in your DNA.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed as he sat beside you, you were facing the window and the chifforobe.

“Well, what else would we be?” He paused, almost hesitatingly. You jerked your head toward his, eyes searching, and as the seconds of silence ticked by, he seemed to fade more and more into himself. When he turned his head and averted his eyes, saying, “I mean–if that’s not what you want–” you cut him off.

“No, I just–” you stopped yourself, unsure of how to explain the complications running through your mind, “I’m just not exactly sure what that means…”

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. You opened your mouth to clarify–probably more than necessary–but your words caught in your throat as Spencer stood and lowered to his knees in front of you. He was between your thighs, but there was nothing sexual about it–if anything it felt like the complete opposite kind of intimacy you had grown accustomed to with him.

His hands reached for yours, pulling them into your lap. He looked up at you with possibly the one look Spencer Reid had never given anyone. His eyes couldn’t decide which one of yours to focus on for the longest time, but when he did, his tone was guttural and almost choking, trusting.

“The more time I spend with you, the more I feel I’ve always known you. These past few weeks–they weren’t the beginning for me.” Your mouth suddenly went dry, though you still tried to swallow. “I–I honestly don’t know when it started, but the more I felt drawn to you, the more I forced myself away. It–I don’t–I didn’t think I deserved to feel that way–I guess…”

You waited a few moments to ensure he was finished, your mind ran to look for the best possible response–but given the one-in-a-million situation you were in, your mind went blank. Instead, you rambled the first words that rolled into your mind just as you whispered the last, “I want you in every way, Spencer. It’s like–like you’ve bewitched me–”

“...body and soul,” he finished, “it’s…Jane Austen–sorry.” He cringed.

You threw your head back and laughed, then huffed, wiping a few tears from your eyes, “No, oh, no don’t worry. See this is why I love you,” Your heart came to an abrupt halt, and you felt as if you were dead, “no–I mean, I don’t–I mean, I–well, I do, but I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you followed his face as he stood and leaned down, his palm brushing across your face as he tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and leaned forward, “It’s okay, know what you meant,” the end of his sentence was muffled by another kiss.

“So, do you think they’ve caught on yet?” JJ asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Uhh, I’d say probably not.” Emily nodded.

“Would you like the share with the class?” Morgan raised a brow.

“Oh, I know this one,” Penelope hand shot up, her jewelry clinking against one another, “because — and Reid still think we don’t know.”

“I mean how could we not, though?” JJ huffed a laugh, setting her mug on the table in front of her.

“Know what?” Rossi smacked his lips, startling the group of four.

“Know…the complexities of…nail polish?” Penelope tried and failed to save the group.

All four members winced as Hotch appeared seemingly out of thin air and stated, “they think we don’t know about Spencer and —.” “What?” Rossi shook his head, following Hotch, “how could we not know? They’re so obvious.”

a/n: sorry for the wait, but i do proofread my fics because i just can't stand things not being as good as they could be–i'm a bit of a perfectionist lol irregardless, happy late new year !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody

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kiwriteswords · 16 days ago

Note

Could I request an Aaron Hotchner x Reader story where Reader is sunshine reader in a way like she is a hugger. She loves hugs and is very affectionate and in tune with her emotions. Hotch is taken back by it at first and begins to get used to it—needing her hugs at the end of the day!

Every touch is a redefining phrase [Aaron Hotchner x Affectionate!Fem!Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 5k|| AN: I loved writing this one!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, canon-typical themes, bau!reader, Aaron Hotchner's POV, touch deprived Hotch, Affectionate Reader, 5 + 1 trope

Summary: 5 times an affectionate reader showed a touch-starved Aaron Hotchner affection, plus 1 time Aaron Hotchner shows reader affection....with a bonus scene!

In the dimly lit corridors of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, Aaron Hotchner paced slowly, his brow furrowed deep in thought after a particularly grueling day. The team had just closed a tough case, one that had stretched their mental and emotional fibers to their limits. It had been his job, as always, to remain the stoic anchor, the unflappable leader who guided his team through the storm. But some days, the weight was heavier, and the cracks in his armor felt wider.

As he passed by the bullpen, his eyes inadvertently caught the lively interaction around one of the desks. There you were, seamlessly woven into the fabric of his team. Hotch noticed how effortlessly you lifted spirits; with a kind word to Reid, a gentle pat on Rossi's back, or a knowing smile towards JJ that seemed to wash away the shadows of the day. To Penelope, you offered a bright laugh that echoed warmth, and with Derek or Emily, a light-hearted tease that brought out their best grins. It was as if you had always been there, a missing piece that had finally clicked into place, completing the intricate puzzle that was his team.

Hotch had always prided himself on his observational skills, but it wasn’t until recently, observing your interactions, that he realized just how integral you had become. Not just in the professional sense, but in a way that breathed a softer edge into the hardened facade of the BAU.

He continued to watch, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his usually stern mouth. It was then, perhaps by fate or fortunate timing, that you looked up and caught his gaze. The smile you offered him then was different—deeper, more personal. It acknowledged his silent presence and the unspoken hardships of his role.

Without a moment's hesitation, you excused yourself from the group and approached him. Hotch straightened, preparing to retreat behind his usual formalities, but the earnest concern in your eyes halted him.

"You look like you could use this more than anyone today," you said softly, stepping into his personal space with a cautious, but undeniably affectionate, energy.

Before he could protest or construct a wall of professional detachment, you wrapped your arms around him in a gentle, yet firm hug. It was an affectionate gesture, simple in its intent but profound in its impact. Hotch stiffened momentarily, unaccustomed to such displays at work, especially directed towards him. But then, slowly, the rigid lines of his posture softened, and he found himself returning the embrace. It was a rare acceptance of comfort, a silent admission of his own vulnerability.

In that quiet corridor, with the soft hum of the distant city filtering through the windows, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself a moment of human frailty. The warmth of your hug seeped into him, loosening the tight bands of tension that had wound around his chest. It was unexpected, this simple human connection, and he didn't realize how starved he had been for such affection—how touch, a basic human need, had been so scarce in his life lately.

When you finally stepped back, there was a mutual understanding in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the strength and solace found in simple human touch. Your smile was reassuring, not pitying, empowering him rather than making him feel exposed.

"Thank you," he managed to say, his voice lower than usual, touched with a rare warmth. "I... didn't realize how much I needed that."

You nodded, your expression filled with a gentle kindness that didn't need words. Hotch watched as you returned to the team, seamlessly resuming your role as their uplifting force. As he turned to head back to his office, a subtle shift in his stride, there was a lightness in his steps that hadn’t been there before.

In the solitude of his office, Aaron Hotchner sat behind his desk, allowing himself a moment to reflect. The day had been hard, yes, but the evening brought a revelation wrapped in a simple gesture of affection. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, this was what his team had been missing. And perhaps, he had been missing it too.

II.

Weeks passed since the incident in the hallway, and the relentless wheel of cases continued to turn. Each case brought its own challenges, its own darkness that the BAU team diligently worked to dispel. Yet, even as victories were won and communities restored, the emotional toll on each member, especially Hotch, mounted imperceptibly.

One late evening, after a particularly draining case involving a child victim—cases that always hit too close to home for Hotch—he found himself last in the office, paperwork strewn across his desk as he attempted to finalize reports. The clock ticked past midnight, a silent testament to the loneliness of leadership. Hotch’s office was dimly lit, the soft glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the room.

You had noticed his prolonged hours, the way his shoulders seemed to bear an ever-increasing weight. That night, instead of heading home with the rest of the team, you lingered. With a gentle knock on his open office door, you broke the stillness of his concentration.

“You’re burning the midnight oil again, Hotch,” you observed, leaning against the doorframe, your voice carrying a lilt of concern mixed with a gentle chiding.

Hotch looked up, slightly surprised to see you still there. He offered a tired smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just finishing up,” he replied, his voice a low rumble in the quiet.

You didn’t move to leave; instead, you stepped inside, your presence filling the room with a comforting warmth. “You need to take a break, even if it’s just for a few minutes. Come on, walk with me to the break room. I promise the coffee is terrible, but the company isn’t.”

Reluctantly, Hotch rose from his chair, his movements stiff from hours of sitting. The two of you walked down the quiet hallway, the sound of your footsteps a soft echo in the empty building. Reaching the break room, you poured two pitiful excuses for coffee, handing one over with a sympathetic grimace.

Hotch accepted it with a grateful nod, the steam from the cup warming his face. You both leaned against the counter, sipping the bitter brew in companionable silence. Then, almost hesitantly, you placed your hand lightly on his arm, a silent offer of support.

“It’s tough, isn’t it? Being the one everyone looks up to, carrying all this weight alone?” you asked softly, your eyes meeting his with an understanding that went beyond mere words.

Hotch’s arm under your hand tensed initially, but as he met your gaze, something in him relaxed. It was as if your touch reassured him that it was okay to not always be the rock, to not always have to stand alone against the tide.

“Yes, it can be… overwhelming at times,” he admitted. The honesty in his voice more for himself than for you. He paused, considering his next words carefully. “And thank you, for… this,” he gestured slightly with his coffee cup, encompassing the late-night walk, the coffee, your comforting touch.

You smiled, your hand squeezing his arm gently before letting go. “You’re not alone, Hotch. We’re a team, remember? And sometimes, the team carries the leader just as much as the leader carries the team.”

The simplicity of your statement the sincerity in your voice, struck a chord within him. It was a reminder of the mutual support that formed the foundation of their team, a foundation that you had become an integral part of.

As you both returned to the quiet of the office, Hotch felt a subtle shift within him. The weight he carried seemed a little lighter, the path a little less solitary. And as he watched you walk back to your desk with a lightness in your step, he realized how much your presence had begun to mean to him—not just as a supportive colleague but as someone who could see through the armor he wore every day.

Maybe, Hotch thought as he settled back into his work with a newfound ease, maybe what he needed was right here all along, and perhaps, just perhaps, it was time to let that support in a little more.

III.

After a physically intense confrontation on a case that ended with Aaron Hotchner being thrown against a wall, the BAU team returned to Quantico wearied but victorious. Hotch, his usual composed self, dismissed his throbbing headache as a minor inconvenience, focusing instead on the paperwork that needed his attention. But you noticed. You always noticed when something was off, especially with him.

Late in the evening, as the office grew quiet with the departure of the team, you walked into Hotch’s office. He was hunched over a report, the dim light accentuating the strain in his eyes.

"Hotch, you need to take a break," you said, your tone firm yet filled with a gentle concern that he found harder to deflect than usual.

"I’m fine, just need to finish this up," Hotch replied without looking up, his voice a low grumble.

You didn’t buy his dismissal. Moving closer, you leaned against his desk, your presence unavoidable. "You’re not fine. I saw you hit your head. Let me at least check your pupils," you insisted, reaching for the small flashlight you’d started carrying after joining the BAU.

With a resigned sigh, Hotch finally leaned back in his chair and allowed you to hold his gaze as you shone the light briefly in each eye. His pupils responded normally, but the concern in your eyes didn’t wane. You reached out, your hand brushing against his forehead to check for any signs of swelling or deeper injury. Your touch was light, but to Hotch, it felt like a balm to the harshness of his day.

"You don’t have to always be the strongest one in the room, you know," you murmured as you withdrew your hand, your eyes searching his.

There was something about your words, softly spoken with an earnest warmth, that caught Hotch off-guard. He was used to being the pillar for others to lean on, not the other way around. Yet, as he sat there under your careful scrutiny, he couldn’t deny the comfort that your concern brought.

"Why don’t you let me drive you home tonight? Just to be safe," you suggested, already gathering some of his belongings as if it was decided.

Hotch wanted to protest—to insist that he was capable of taking care of himself—but the fatigue was gnawing at him, and the ease of your offer was too tempting to resist. "Alright," he conceded, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips, acknowledging the small victory in your eyes.

The drive to his place was quiet, the silence comfortable. When you arrived, you didn’t immediately leave as he expected. Instead, you followed him to the door, hesitating as he unlocked it.

"Would you like to come in for coffee? It’s the least I can do after making you drive all the way here," Hotch found himself saying, the invitation surprising even himself.

You nodded, stepping inside his home—a place few from work had ever entered. The domestic setting shifted something between you. In his kitchen, as you both moved to prepare the coffee, the space closed in, filled with a new, unspoken acknowledgment of the care between you.

Sitting across from him at his small kitchen table, you handed him a mug, your fingers brushing against his with a deliberate tenderness. "You know, it’s okay to rely on others sometimes, even for us who are used to being strong," you said, your voice low and comforting.

Hotch looked at you then, really looked at you. The soft lighting of the kitchen illuminated features filled with genuine affection and concern. He realized how natural it felt to have you here, in his personal space, offering care he was so unaccustomed to receiving.

"Thank you, for everything tonight," he said sincerely, the weight of his roles—unit chief, father, protector—temporarily lifted by your presence.

As you smiled, something in Hotch’s tightly controlled heart shifted. Maybe it was the warmth of the kitchen, or the way you looked sitting there across from him, but he felt a pull, a desire for something more than the solitude he’d so long accepted as part of his life.

And in that moment, with the simple act of sharing a late-night coffee, the distance between professional and personal began to blur, hinting at a potential future neither of you had yet voiced, but which suddenly seemed within reach.

IV.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit had seen its fair share of tense days, fraught with the grim realities of their work, but today was different. Today was a good day—a successful resolution to a complicated case, with the team working like a well-oiled machine. Spirits were high as they returned to the office, a rare buzz of laughter and light chatter filling the air. Yet, amidst the camaraderie and shared relief, Aaron Hotchner found himself anticipating something else, something more personal: the simple, affectionate gestures you offered so freely.

As unit chief, Hotch had always maintained a careful, composed demeanor, but lately, he found himself increasingly aware of how much he looked forward to those moments of kindness from you. He wasn’t naturally inclined towards affection; his career, his past, and his role as a father to Jack had demanded a more stoic approach to life. But your presence had subtly begun to alter the landscape of his daily experiences.

Standing by his office window, he watched as you interacted with the team, your laughter mingling with theirs, your hand resting briefly on Morgan’s shoulder in congratulations, your high-five with Garcia, and the gentle way you listened to Reid’s excited ramble about the statistical probabilities they had overcome. Each gesture seemed to weave you deeper into the fabric of the team, and Hotch couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through him—a warmth he hadn’t known he’d been missing until you had started to fill that void.

When you finally turned towards his office, your smile bright and eyes shining with the success of the day, Hotch felt a pull in his chest. As you approached, his heart unconsciously beat a fraction faster, a reaction he was still coming to terms with.

“Hotch, we did it!” you exclaimed, stepping into his office with an energy that seemed to light up the dimly lit room. Without hesitation, and perhaps because the day's mood lifted all semblance of the usual barriers, you wrapped your arms around him in a celebratory hug.

Hotch stiffened for a mere second, old habits dying hard, but almost immediately relaxed into the embrace. Your hug was warm and sincere, and he found himself not wanting to step back too quickly. As you pulled away, your hands lingered on his arms, ensuring he was truly sharing in the moment with you.

“It was a team effort, but you played a crucial part,” Hotch found himself saying, his voice softer than usual. He was learning, slowly, how to return the warmth you so effortlessly gave.

“I just keep everyone on track,” you replied modestly, your hands finally dropping to your sides, but your smile remaining. “But seeing you smile like that? It’s definitely a highlight.”

Hotch was momentarily caught off guard. He hadn’t realized his expression had softened so visibly, nor that you were so attuned to his usually restrained emotions. “Well,” he started, clearing his throat slightly, “your positivity—it’s infectious.”

You chuckled, a sound that seemed to resonate in the quiet after the day’s chaos. “I’m glad it helps. But honestly, it’s days like today that remind me why we do what we do. And having a leader who keeps us grounded and focused—it makes all the difference, Hotch.”

The way you said his name, with a respect and a hint of something deeper, stirred something in him. It was a connection, palpable and growing stronger with each shared experience, each moment of exchanged comfort. Hotch was usually a man of few words, but as he stood there with you, he realized that your affection, once something he hadn’t known he needed, had become something he deeply valued.

As you turned to leave, ready to rejoin the celebrations outside, Hotch found himself speaking almost without thinking. “Thank you, for everything.”

You paused, then looked over your shoulder, your smile softening. “Anytime, Hotch.”

Watching you walk away, Hotch felt a sense of gratitude. Not just for the successful case, but for the unexpected gift of your presence in his life—something that had become as vital to him as the very work they did together. And as he stepped out to join the rest of his team, Aaron Hotchner felt a lightness in his step, a readiness to embrace whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that with you by his side, even the tough days might feel a little less daunting.

The intensity of the field operation had escalated unexpectedly, with the BAU team working to apprehend a highly volatile unsub. Aaron Hotchner, ever the leader, had taken point, his focus as sharp as it was relentless. Yet, in a split-second decision that had more to do with instinct than analysis, he found himself entering the building first, with minimal backup—a move that was dangerously close to reckless.

The operation concluded successfully, the unsub in custody and no injuries on their team, but the aftermath brought its own storm. Back at the BAU, the air was thick with adrenaline and relief, yet there was an undercurrent of tension, particularly from you.

Hotch could feel your eyes on him long before you approached. When you finally did, your steps were quick, your posture rigid with a kind of restrained energy. He braced himself, anticipating a debrief or perhaps a tactical critique, but what came was neither.

"Hotch, what were you thinking?" Your voice was low, charged with an emotion he hadn't often heard directed at him. It was anger, yes, but there was something more—something deeper, more personal.

"I made a judgment call," Hotch replied, his tone even, trying to maintain professional detachment. "It was necessary to—"

"Necessary?" you interrupted, stepping closer, your voice rising slightly with frustration. "You could have been killed, Aaron. What then?"

The use of his first name in such a tone caught him off guard, its impact silencing him for a moment. It wasn't just anger for a perceived tactical error; it was fear, raw and unmasked, the fear of losing him.

"You know the risks, we all do. I did what I thought best at the moment," Hotch tried to explain, his voice firmer, attempting to steer the conversation back to professional grounds.

But you shook your head, the movement sharp, dismissive of his justification. "I know the risks. I know we all face them every day but watching you... You didn't have to be the first one through that door, not without backup."

Hotch watched as you struggled for composure, your breaths deep as you worked to calm yourself. It was then he realized how deeply woven his safety was with your emotions, how much you cared—not just as a colleague but as someone who might bear deeper feelings for him.

"I don't know whether to yell at you or just..." Your voice trailed off, and suddenly, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you with a few brisk steps, and wrapped your arms around him in a firm hug.

Hotch stiffened, surprise overtaking him for a fraction of a second before he slowly returned the embrace. His arms around you felt both foreign and utterly right. He could feel your heart beating fast against his chest, your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt.

When you finally stepped back, there was a vulnerability in your eyes that mirrored his own internal conflict. "I'm sorry," you said, your voice softer now, "I just... I couldn't stand the thought of losing you."

Hotch took a deep breath, his usual composure tempered by the emotional intensity of the moment. "I understand," he said quietly. "And I'm sorry for causing you that fear."

As you nodded, a silent agreement passed between you, a mutual recognition of something more than just professional concern—a deep, personal connection that neither of you could deny.

That night, as Hotch lay awake, replaying the day's events, your words echoed in his mind. The fear in your voice, the relief in your hug—it all painted a picture he hadn't allowed himself to see fully until now. It wasn't just about duty or protecting others; it was about protecting what was growing between you two, something fragile yet potent.

Perhaps, Hotch thought, it was time to explore this new, uncharted territory, not as a leader or an agent, but simply as Aaron, a man who might just need someone as much as they needed him.

In the quiet aftermath of a routine day at the BAU, Aaron Hotchner found himself lingering in the bullpen longer than usual. The files were all processed, the team had largely dispersed, and the soft hum of the office equipment filled the space with a gentle, familiar buzz. But tonight, he wasn’t drawn to the solitude of his office or the call of the paperwork that always awaited him. Instead, his gaze kept drifting towards your desk, where you were methodically organizing your case notes.

The past weeks had subtly shifted the dynamics of your interactions. Each shared glance, every quiet conversation had slowly woven a deeper connection between you two—a connection Hotch had grown to rely on more than he'd anticipated. He realized, with a clarity that was both thrilling and daunting, that he was no longer merely receiving your affectionate gestures out of happenstance or your innate kindness. Now, he found himself seeking them out, craving the warmth and solace they offered.

"Staying late again, Hotch?" Your voice broke through his reverie as you stood up, stretching slightly after hours of sitting.

"Just wrapping up," Hotch replied, his voice steady, though his heart beat slightly faster with the decision he was about to make. "Actually, could we talk for a minute?"

Your brow furrowed lightly with concern, but you nodded, walking over to where he stood. "Of course. Everything okay?"

He led the way to his office, holding the door open for you before closing it gently behind him. The privacy of the office felt suddenly significant, the space between them charged with all the unspoken words of the past months.

Hotch took a deep breath, his usual composure battling with the need to express feelings that were far from professional. "I wanted to thank you," he began, watching your reaction closely. "For everything these past weeks... for your support."

You smiled, a soft, genuine expression that made his heart skip. "I’m always here for the team," you replied, then added more softly, "for you."

"It’s more than that," Hotch said, stepping closer. His voice was low, each word measured but heavy with emotion. "I find myself looking forward to our interactions. Not just because of the comfort you bring, but because I... I value you. Greatly."

The air seemed to shift as he spoke, the room growing quieter, the distance between you more profound yet somehow closer. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, and in them, he saw a reflection of his own uncertainty mingled with hope.

"I’ve come to rely on your presence," Hotch continued, his usual restraint giving way to a vulnerability he seldom showed. "Not just as a teammate, but as someone very important to me. I’m not sure what that means for us, but I needed to be honest about my feelings."

Your response was soft, a whisper that filled the room with more warmth than the dim light could provide. "I’m glad you told me, Aaron. Because I feel the same way. I was just waiting for you to see it, too."

In that confession, a weight lifted from Hotch’s shoulders, a burden he hadn’t fully acknowledged he’d been carrying. Without another word, he stepped forward, closing the remaining space between you, his movements tentative but driven by a newfound courage. When he wrapped his arms around you, it was with a gentleness born of deep affection and respect.

You returned the embrace, your arms encircling him, offering not just comfort but a promise. Hotch held you closer, a sigh of relief and contentment escaping him. Here, in the quiet solidarity of his office, he allowed himself to simply feel—to embrace the affection and connection that had grown between you, no longer just his sanctuary from the demands of his job, but a central part of his life he no longer wished to be without.

As you both pulled away, the look you shared was one of mutual understanding and anticipation. No words were needed to affirm the change; it was as profound as it was silent, marking a new beginning that neither of you would have to face alone again.

+ bonus.

Weeks into their newfound relationship, Aaron Hotchner found himself navigating a world that felt both profoundly familiar and refreshingly new. Each day brought with it the usual challenges of leading the BAU, but now there was an undercurrent of anticipation for the quieter moments he could share with you—moments that, until recently, he hadn't allowed himself to fully acknowledge or embrace.

It was late on a Thursday evening when Hotch realized the day had gotten away from him. The caseload had been heavier than usual, the paperwork nearly endless, and he had spent hours in a tense negotiation during a standoff that had thankfully ended without incident. As the office slowly emptied, Hotch felt the weight of the day pressing down on him, a familiar exhaustion that now, thankfully, had a remedy he was no longer hesitant to seek.

He found you in your office, wrapping up your own day. The soft glow of your desk lamp illuminated your focused expression, a sight that now brought him an immense sense of peace. Hotch knocked lightly on the open door, his presence causing you to look up with a smile that instantly eased some of the tension in his shoulders.

"Hey," you greeted, your voice warm. "Everything okay?"

Hotch stepped inside, his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed yet revealing a hint of his need. "Could use a moment with you," he admitted, something he might have struggled to voice before, but now felt right, necessary.

You nodded, understanding immediately. You stood and approached him, your hands finding his in a gentle but firm grasp. "Let’s go for a walk," you suggested, and Hotch merely nodded in agreement, grateful.

The night was cool and clear as you both walked in silence to a nearby park, a route that had become a cherished routine. The quiet of the evening was a stark contrast to the day's chaos, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps together grounding him.

After a few minutes, you stopped at a secluded bench, turning to face him. "What’s on your mind, Aaron?" you asked, your concern evident.

"It’s nothing specific," Hotch began, his gaze meeting yours under the streetlights. "Today was just... long. And I found myself thinking about this moment—just being here with you." He paused, his voice softening. "I guess I’m still getting used to the fact that I can ask for this, for us."

You smiled, stepping closer, your hands reaching up to gently cradle his face. "You can always ask, Aaron. Whenever you need to feel connected, or just need to escape for a while. I’m here," you reassured him, your touch as soothing as your words.

Hotch leaned into your touch, a contented sigh escaping him. "I’m glad," he murmured, closing his eyes briefly to savor the warmth of your hands, the affection in your gesture. "I never knew how much I needed this... needed you."

Then, impulsively, perhaps driven by the depth of his emotions, Hotch wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace that spoke volumes. It was an embrace of gratitude, of recognition of the space you had come to occupy in his life—not just as a partner but as a source of strength and comfort.

You hugged him back just as tightly, your own sigh of contentment mingling with the night air. "I need you too, Aaron," you whispered, words that fortified the bond between you, sealing the promise of mutual support and affection.

As you both eventually pulled away, there was a shared smile, a silent acknowledgment of the journey ahead—of challenges to face and joys to embrace, together. Hotch realized then, with a clarity that filled him with a profound sense of peace, that this—this simple, beautiful exchange of affection—was now an integral part of his life, a part he cherished deeply and would safeguard with all he had.

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trashmoutth · 2 months ago

Text

You wanna keep arguing now?

Dean Winchester oneshot Summary: Reader and Charlie go on a hunt by themselves and it goes wrong. Now you're stuck in a motel with a pissed of Dean Winchester. Pairing: Dean x f!reader, implied Sam x f!reader (platonic) Warrning(s): NSFW, minors dni!, smut, angst, mentions of death, arguing, english is not my first language and I didn't write for awhile but my spn obsession is back and I felt the need.

„What the hell were you thinking?!“

He was furious with you, you knew that. But after two weeks of being cooped up in the bunker you were starting to go crazy. So, when Charlie called to ask for your help on a vampire case you did not think twice about it. You weren’t exactly a full-fledged hunter per se, but you’ve had some experience in the past couple of years. You’ve helped the boys fight demons, angels, even leviathans, so you believed you could handle yourself against some punk-ass vamps. Not to mention, Charlie was a friend, and you were bored out of your mind.

You left a note for Sam, took one of the cars from the bunker (well, borrowed) and drove off to meet with Charlie. What you did not expect was the case going downhill as quickly as it did. The vamps captured you, fed on you and were trying to decide weather to turn you or kill you, when he came barging in. He took the entire nest out in less than five minutes and set you free. Charlie broke her leg so he dropped her off in a hospital and was currently driving you back to the bunker.

You were grateful to him for saving you, of course, but you knew that he was fuming. He was driving for an hour without saying a word to you and you could sense the anger coming off of him. He didn’t even turn the music on so you sat there uncomfortably in complete silence, only accompanied by the sound of the car engine.

“Dean…”, you tried to begin a sentence, but he quickly cut you off.

“Shut the hell up! I don’t wanna hear it!”

You took a deep breath. You tried to keep your cool because you knew you were in the wrong here, but the way he spoke to you started to make you angry.

“Dean, I know I shouldn’t have left, but you and Sam were working your own case and Charlie needed help…”

“If Charlie needs help, she can always call me! Or Sam! Or Cas! What the hell were you thinking?! Just leaving the bunker like that?! No note, no anything…”

“I left a note!” you protested.

“Well, I didn’t get it!”

“I left it on Sam’s table…”

“Oh, I see! That’s nice! So now you and Sam are keeping stuff from me? That’s great…”

You rolled your eyes. He was so dramatic.

“It’s not like that…”

“No, no, no, you know what? That’s fine! You and Sammy have something going on, I don’t give a crap, but the next time your ass needs saving don’t call me!”

“Well, I’m not the one who called you, Charlie did”, you said calmly.

He shot you a dirty look and stepped on the gas pedal.

“Jesus Christ, man, slow down!”, you gasped.

“Oh, so you can walk into a vampire’s nest all by yourself, but my driving is too much for you?”

He did slow down though. You spent the next thirty minutes driving in silence and then he pulled over in front of a motel.

“Come on”, he said and opened your car door for you.

“We’re stopping here?”

“It’s a five-hour drive to the bunker and you’re still bleeding”.

“I’m not bleeding…”

“Just get out of the car!”

You let out an annoyed sigh, but you listened to him. Truthfully, you were feeling a little dizzy. He booked a room for the two of you and practically carried you inside. He placed you on the bed, took out the first-aid kit from his car and started patching you up in silence.

You could tell by the look on his face that he was still angry, but his hands were gentle and careful. You were trying to think of something to say, something that would make things better, but nothing came to mind. You just observed him. His jaw was clenched and his eyes gloomy, but there was something else in them. Like a trace of… fear? Maybe.

You weren’t unaccustomed to Dean being mad at you and it was so easy to forget why he was that way. He cared. He cared more than anyone you’ve ever met. As much as you bickered, you knew he loved you in a way, and that he was simply scared to lose you.

“Dean…”, you tried again, “I’m sorry”.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you. He just clenched his jaw harder. You took that as a sign he might actually let you speak now, so you kept going.

“I know I shouldn’t have left like that, and I know I screwed up. I thought I could help, you know? Charlie needed backup and you and Sam were busy… I just thought I shouldn’t let her go on a hunt by herself. I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted that either. I was just trying to do the right thing… Like you would’ve!”.

His eyes finally met yours. He wasn’t that angry anymore, but he was annoyed at your words.

“You are not me!”, he finally said.

Ouch.

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Well, maybe so, but any backup is better than no back up!”, you defended yourself, “And if it weren’t for me, Charlie would’ve gotten a lot worse than a broken leg!”

At your surprise, he chuckled. Now you were the one who was starting to get angry.

“Don’t laugh at me!”, you said firmly, “You are looking at me like I’m some kind of idiot! Or an amateur! I know I may not have been raised a hunter like you and Sam, but I’ve been through a lot worse than what happened today! I fought by your side against Lucifer and Lilith and Eve and Dick friggin’ Roman! I’ve saved your ass personally multiple times! I’ve been dead! I’ve been to hell! I’m not some stupid civilian, Dean! After everything that happened, I’m… I’m a hunter! Weather you like it or not! Weather I like it or not! I might not be your calibre of a hunter but…”

“Woah, woah, slow down, hunter!”, he raised his hands defensively, “That’s not what I meant!”

You blinked in a surprise.

“Then what exactly did you mean?”, you asked, still frustrated at his tone.

He let out a silent groan.

“Listen, I know you are good at the job. I know you are tough and can handle yourself. Even though today was a bust”, he added in accusatory tone.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he quickly interrupted you.

“But when I say you are not me…”, he shook his head, searching for the right words. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to collect himself and finally spoke again, in a calmer tone.

“Listen, I screw up too! Hell, I’ve screwed up more times than I can count! And you’re right, you’ve saved my ass a lot! So have Sam and dad and Bobby… but if something happens to me, then that’s on me! That’s my own friggin’ fault! But it’s my job to protect you! And if something happens to you… I just couldn’t live with that!”

You listened to him in silence, trying to figure out what exactly he was saying to you. A part of you understood. The guilt, the responsibility he was feeling. You wanted to help him. To help him with that weight he was carrying. To tell him everything is ok and that you understand. But all that came out of your mouth was:

“It’s not your job to protect me, Dean”.

He flinched. Something twinkled in his green eyes and his voice turned cold again.

“I get it, I’m sure you would much rather have Sammy watching over you but I’m afraid I’m all you can get right now!”.

You raised your eyebrows in a surprise.

“What?”, it was all you were able to say.

“Listen, I know you two have something going on and the last thing I want is to get in the way of that, sweetheart”.

You shook your head, and a small smile appeared on your lips before you could stop it.

Is that what this was? This entire tantrum? Was Dean Winchester… jealous?

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about”, you said sincerely.

“Sure”, he replied.

“Dean… Sam and I… we’re friends, that’s all! I mean I love him, he’s like a brother to me. Like a big, nerdy, dorky brother I’ve always wanted! And I’d do anything for him, just like you would. But… I could never be with him!”, you made a grimace and laughed.

“Yeah, okay”, he said.

“Why don’t you believe me?”, you laughed out loud this time. You just couldn’t stop it. This entire conversation was so bizarre.

“Because I’m not blind. He’s the one you always turn to when you need something, he’s the one you always call, text, talk to… hell, you left him a note today, didn’t you?”.

“Well, yes…”

“Like I said, I get it! I’m not trying to be a dick!”, he said, “It’s fine by me if you have a thing for each other, I’m glad even… you both deserve to be happy! All I’m saying is, it would be nice to get a heads up when you’re about to do something stupid, especially if I’m the one who’s gonna end up having to save you!”.

“Dean Winchester, I promise you I’m not trying to screw your brother!”, you yelled out,

“The reason I left him a note and not you is because I knew you were going to act like this! You would tell me to turn my ass around and come back home and if I didn’t you would come to get me, just like you did! And THEN you would yell at me just like you did! I’m not picking favourites, it’s just that Sam is easier to deal with sometimes, that’s all!”

“Oh, so I’m difficult to deal with, is that it?”

“Hell yes, you are!”

“So why do you keep dealing with me?”

“Oh, you’re such a damn idiot!”, you stood up from the bed in exasperation.

It was a mistake. The blood rushed to your brain, and you swerved on your feet. He jumped up and grabbed your shoulders with jungle cat-like reflexes. The look on his face went from irritated to worried in a matter of a second. It made you want to chuckle, but you held it in.

Goddamn, did you love this man.

“I’m fine, I’m fine”, you said quickly.

His eyes and voice both softened as he tried to get you back on the bed,

“Maybe you should get some rest. We can keep arguing in the morning”.

You rolled your eyes at him.

“Why do you want to keep arguing with me?”

“Trust me, sweetheart, that’s the last thing I want to do with you”.

Your heart stopped for a second. Your eyes widened and you looked at him in shock.

“Excuse you?”

He let out another sigh and tried to sit you down once again.

“Nothing, just go to sleep”.

“No, no, no, I don’t think so”, you said, shaking your head and turning around to face him, “What was that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I’m just saying crap. Don’t pay attention to it”.

But you wouldn’t let go. It’s been months since you first started noticing the change in Dean’s behaviour towards you. When you first met, he annoyed you so much and as far as you could tell, the feeling was mutual. You really were closer with Sam for a long time and the only reason you tolerated Dean was because he was his brother. And because well, he did save your life a couple of times. But then you died and came back and Dean, well… changed. You thought it was because of the guilt he felt over your death. Metatron did kill you because of your involvement with the Winchesters.

But it wasn’t just the guilt. You two started going on hunts together, he trusted you, he talked to you and looked at you like he’s never done before. You started suspecting he might have developed feelings for you that were more than just friendship, but there wasn’t an opportunity to bring it up. And you wanted to bring it up. You wanted to bring it up so badly.

“No!”, you protested and looked directly into his eyes, “What did you mean? What do you want to do with me?”, you asked, almost teasingly, but with a genuine desire to receive an answer.

He noticed the change in your tone and his eyes twinkled. His hands were still gently resting on your shoulders, making sure you don’t swerve again. He raised one of them and slowly brought his fingers up to caress your cheek. His touch was soft and warm, but it made a shiver go down your spine as if you were touched by lightning. You raised up your hand and gently placed it on his in affirmation. A small smile escaped both of your lips’.

You were still glaring into his eyes, waiting for him. Finally, his hand cupped your cheek and he brought his face to yours, slowly pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss was deep and gentle and warm, and it left you feeling breathless. You pulled him closer to you, running your fingers through his hair. He responded in the same way, sliding his hands down your waist and grabbing your thighs to lift you off the ground. You locked your legs around him as he carried you over to the table that was placed in the middle of the room.

He placed you on the table as his hands began exploring every inch of your body, his lips never leaving yours. Before you could even form a coherent thought, his hands were all up in your hair, over your chest, your thighs… In the moment they reached between your legs you let out a soft moan and arched your back, leaving your neck so beautifully exposed to him. He took advantage of that and moved his lips down to your collarbone, gently kissing and sucking on it. You pulled him even closer and moaned again. His scent was everywhere. He was everywhere. And it wasn’t enough.

You started to unbutton your plaid shirt but his fingers were quicker than yours.

You smiled at his impatience.

“It’s okay, the buttons won’t run away”, you said.

“I wish they would”, he muttered, making you laugh joyfully.

He smiled and kissed you again, unbuttoning your shirt completely and taking it off you in one fell swoop.

You tried to unbutton his now, but he was already out of it before you could even try.

“God”, you teased him, “You’re so impatient!”

“You have no idea”, he groaned, lifting you up again and crashing you both onto the bed.

He was placing hungry kisses all over your chest and stomach. His fingers then reached down to unbutton your jeans and you shivered in excitement as he slowly pulled them off you.

“Open your legs for me, sweetheart”, he said in a low tone, his eyes looking up to you as they were glistening with excitement and desire.

You bit your lip as you felt another shiver go down your spine.

“Open them”, he repeated.

You did what he asked, slowly spreading your legs as you felt the wetness and the pulsating sensation coming from between.

He gently moved the fabric of your underwear to a side, exposing you to him. His hungry eyes met yours once again as he gave you a soft kiss right between your thighs. You arched your back slightly and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him closer as he kissed and licked and sucked.

“These are getting in the way”, he said quietly and finally took off your panties.

You couldn’t help yourself and another moan left your lips, much louder this time. This encouraged him to go faster as you were becoming a moaning mess underneath his tongue. The pressure started building and building and building… and then he suddenly pulled away.

You widened your eyes in shock, desperate to pull him back down, but he pulled you up instead.

“I’m not done with you yet”, he said quietly as his breath tickled your ear.

You groaned in frustration.

“Now who’s impatient?”, he asked with a teasing smile.

“God, you’re so mean!”, you said.

“We’ll see about that”, he said as he reached down between your legs again and started rubbing your clit. He then slowly pushed one finger inside of you, stretching you out and earning another moan from you.

“Oh, God”, you whispered.

“You like that?”, he asked and added another finger.

You moaned again in response.

“Am I still mean?”

“Yes, you are!”, you responded.

He pushed you back on the bed while placing himself on top of you. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans. You reached out and gently cupped the growing bulge in his boxers making him groan quietly. You gasped in excitement. He was so hard.

He noticed your reaction and smiled.

“You see how hard I am for you?”

You bit your lip and nodded. Then you slowly pulled down his boxers and took him into your hands.

You’ve imagined him like this countless times, but you were still pleasantly surprised to see how big he was. You gripped him firmly and began to stroke his shaft as he groaned again.

You licked the tip and then put the rest of his length into your mouth, gently sucking on it. He moaned and tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer.

You sucked harder causing him to cuss and moan again. You loved the sound of it. Your fingers found their way between your legs, and you began touching yourself as you sucked him off.

He seemed to like that even more and by the sounds he was making you could tell he was close.

“You’re going to need to slow down, sweetheart”, he said in a hoarse voice, “Or I’m going to cum without even being inside you first”.

You sucked on him a couple more times but then you let go. He pulled you up to kiss you, but you just pushed him down to the bed and climbed on top of him. His eyes widened in excitement as you guided his length to your entrance and slowly began to ride him.

You loved seeing him like this, messy and desperate for your touch. He gripped your thighs and moaned your name, his eyes staring deep into yours, begging you to fuck him harder.

You gave him what he wished for and began moving your hips faster and faster as you both cussed and groaned.

“Yes, yes”, he was whispering between the moans, “That’s it, ride me baby, please!”.

You were so close, and by the looks of it, so was he. You gripped each other closer as the pressure was building once again. You pulled his face close to your chest as he was about to come and finally, reached the so very anticipated release.

You held each other like that for a couple of minutes, trying to catch your breaths and then you finally laid back in the bed.

He pulled you close to him as you buried your face into his neck, just breathing in his scent. You were laying like that in silence for a little while, not really knowing what to say. Not really needing to say anything. Until he finally started chuckling like a little kid.

“What?”, you raised your eyes to him. “Well, do you wanna keep arguing now?”, he asked with a grin. You laughed too. “Oh, definitely! Just let me get some water first”.

#spn imagine #spn fanfic #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #spn smut #spn angst #dean winchester angst

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ceilidho · 1 year ago

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take me home, country road

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 2) part 1

The solid hand at your back guides you through the dusty streets towards the courthouse in the middle of town. It’s not an easy walk. Your shoes catch on the skirt of your dress a handful of times in Price’s haste, each time almost causing you to tumble forward before you manage to catch yourself.

It’s patently unfair. The strides of his long legs would easily have you losing him in a crowd were it not for the way he refuses to leave you behind; every time you so much as slow down a tad to catch your breath, the firm hand on your low back presses you forward again. You’d be snippier if you weren’t still addled from the events of just five minutes previous.

“I beg you, please—” you plead, heart skittering in your chest when you chance a glance up to find Price’s face set. Everything about him feels purposeful now, driven. “If you just—if you would just let me explain!”

“Nothing more to know, darling,” he says, not bothering to meet your desperate eyes. Clearly not in any mood to continue arguing with you on the status of your identity.

He tugs you along when he takes a right turn down a road leading into the center of town. The belt of bullets around his waist rattles with every step. It’s a constant reminder of who you’re with and why you should not be with him. Every step feels like a step towards your own sentencing, like accompanying your jailer to your cell. It’s perhaps fool’s luck that the sheriff hasn’t inquired further into your identity or your reason for coming into town. Makes you think that perhaps there isn’t yet a warrant out for your arrest. Maybe that’s only to come.

“Sure there’s more!” you insist. “There’s—there’s—” It’s like the words fly right out of your head, bucked off like a bronc rider. Too much has happened in too short a time. “There’s the matter of—oh, would you quit that, I am walking!” The last bit comes out snappish, peeved as Price pulls you towards the stone steps of a red-bricked building.

The words County Court House are inscribed above the second-story door girdled by a wrought iron balcony. It’s a simple building, far from the colonnaded buildings from back home with their cupolas and hand-carved lintels. Even in size it hardly compares, a meager three stories with perhaps a basement. Still, it catches the eye in a town as small as this, by far the most imposing building for miles around.

It’s also the one he pulls you towards, hand moving from the small of your back to take firm hold of your waist. You flinch at the touch and the way his fingers dig in, almost proprietarily. It’s a physical shock to your system. While you’re not unaccustomed to the rougher ways of men, you’ve also been largely shielded from it yourself. By chance or fortune or luck. Men may take an attitude with you, as they’re wont to do, but none have yet manhandled you the way Price feels free to do.

“Take a big step there now, darling,” he says, lifting the front of your dress for you a tad, to your shock. “No accidents before the wedding.”

“The wedding?” you shriek, face heating at the heads that turn to look over at the two of you.

The courthouse is bustling with townsfolk, still not as busy as in the bigger cities back east, but still clearly at the center of all business activities. The few people that pass you by on the way out of or into the courthouse are bold in their perusal, eyebrows lifting when they take notice of Price at your side—and how could they not, with the size of him and the badge pinned to the lapel of his vest that glimmers when it catches the light.

“If you were expecting something grander, you should’ve turned up last month when I sent for you,” Price says, stern again. In the foyer of the courthouse, you can see the way the long hallway cuts through the building, leading into the adjacent rooms until finally culminating with the courtroom at the very back. You watch as a man slowly closes the door to the last door, shutting the occupants in. “Might’ve been more amenable to it then.”

“I’m not asking for a nicer ceremony—”

“Good, then you won’t be disappointed.”

“—but that’s because I’m not the woman that you intended to marry in the first place,” you finish, quieting to a hissed whisper, conscious of those still lingering close enough to eavesdrop. In all likelihood, the other people milling around probably already know that the sheriff has been waiting for his mail order bride to arrive. They wouldn’t be the first people to mistake you for her.

He pulls you into an alcove off the side of the foyer. When Price turns to face you, no longer just the heavy presence at your side, it takes a moment for you to gather your bearings. He seems larger somehow, with his arms crossed over his chest and feet rooted into the floor, drawn up to his full height. The hair on his forearms draws your eyes momentarily before he steps into your space, forcing you to meet his eyes again.

He stares down at you with an intensity that makes you flinch. “Now, far be it for me to say that I know my wife-to-be by her demeanor alone, given that we’ve hardly corresponded beyond our initial agreement. But I find it mighty strange that a single, unaccompanied woman would show up in town with all of her earthly belongings as I’m expecting my own woman to show up any day. Hardly seems coincidental.”

“Don’t you think I would have sought you out if we were intended to wed?” you ask beseechingly. “Or that I would put up such a fuss now? What sort of bride would do that?”

“You want to know what I think, darling?” The timber of his voice deepens as he lowers his head slightly, wrapping the conversation in a layer of intimacy despite its public nature. There’s a darker note to his voice now, a thinly-veiled anger. “I think you’ve been keeping yourself housed and fed off the back of men like me and the money you’ve been sent to compensate for the rough journey. I think your guilty conscience brought you here because you know that the Lord doesn’t look too kindly on swindlers and thieves.”

“I’m not a thief,” you hiss in protest, affronted. Ironic that you’d be insulted by his words when the truth is far worse.

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Price permits, a reluctant softness in his voice. “But your conscience did you right. Marriage will suit you far better than a life of crime ever could.”

If only he knew. “You’ve still got it all wrong—I’ve never once even glanced at the matrimonial pages or the personals. And I certainly didn’t come to town expecting to be wed.”

You did, however, arrive in town with a guilty conscience. Even you’re wise enough not to mention that, though.

“Then if you're not her, who are you?” he asks.

It’s clear from his tone that Price doesn’t believe you, but the question itself makes you antsier than even the thought of marrying this man. He still stares down at you in challenge, an eyebrow cocked. If you wanted to, you could easily answer his question and even furnish proof—a letter from an aunt or uncle or a telegram from a previous employer.

That last thought makes your throat squeeze tight. You could furnish proof, but at what cost? You’re still unclear on how much information has been disseminated or whether you're a wanted woman. Though only weeks have passed since the event that caused you to flee in a haste, there’s no telling whether a warrant has been put out for your arrest, no telling whether word has reached a town this far west.

“Not that it matters, but I’m from New York,” you say, scrunching up your nose.

The look he gives you is unimpressed. “I’m sure you lost the accent on the train ride.”

Embarrassment makes you dig your heels in deeper. “I didn’t grow up there, it’s just where I’ve lived for the past few years.”

“And what’s your name?”

“…Elizabeth Smith.”

It’s the first name that occurs to you, but the moment the words come out of your mouth, you can’t help feeling like you’ve made a huge mistake. Price must sense it too because he draws back up to his full height, lips twitching into a small smirk.

“You have family or a post back in New York, Miss Smith?” he asks in a patronizing tone.

“Family.”

“Alright, then it shouldn’t be too hard to get confirmation and settle this whole issue.” He points behind you to one of the unoccupied rooms. “Telegraph’s office just behind you. We’ll get in touch with the Census Bureau and ask them to confirm your identity. And, if you are who you say you are, Miss Smith, then we can put this issue to rights.”

Your blood goes cold. “That’ll—that’ll take time though. I can’t marry you today if they only get back to you in a week’s time.”

Price nods, his expression dissatisfied but resolved. “Wouldn’t be proper for you to stay at the house either, but I’ll make sure the inn lets you stay free of charge until this is settled. You’ll be in good hands under the Pattersons’ watch.”

He doesn’t say it outright, but you hear the implication in his words. You’d be essentially under house arrest, perhaps free to move about town, but certainly not free to take the next train out.

Your pulse thumps nervously at the base of your throat. Even swallowing takes effort now. The weight of his stare takes root in you, a living coil in your belly. No getting out of it. There’s no getting out of this. You don’t know why you thought you could, how you tricked yourself into thinking for even a moment that a man as formidable as the one set in front of you would simply give in. Let you go. You’ve hardly even moved the needle.

It’s there still in his eyes. Not even doubt—something quite far past that. Certainty.

“‘Elizabeth Smith of New York’, was it? Come, we’ll have them start the message and you can give me your birthday as well so it’ll be an easy find—” Price says, attempting to slip around you to head to the telegraph’s office.

“No.”

It slips out of you inadvertently, high and panicked. He pauses at the word. More than just your words. When you look down, you notice your fingers clenched in the fabric of his sleeve, bringing him to a halt. It pulls taut against the muscle of his forearm.

Softness bleeds back into him at your touch. You can see it smooth out the lines of his forehead and the jut of his brow. He ignores the onlookers still hovering by the double doors to twist back to you, now obscuring their view of you. The breadth of his shoulders nearly blocks the rest of the foyer from sight when he looms over you like this. Down the hall, you can hear a gavel pound down on wood and a litany of raised voices in unison from behind a shut door.

“You don’t have to make up stories,” Price murmurs, drawing a hand up to cup your cheek, holding it like a precious thing. “I told you before—all’s forgiven.”

His words remind you of being trapped in his office, drawers stripped down your ankles and skirt pulled up to your waist. Your bottom still smarts from the palm of his hand, still hot and sore to the touch. It’s hardly been long since then and yet it feels like an age ago, like trying to find your way in a dust storm.

You open and shut your mouth, lost for a way out. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Marriage or a jail cell. You swallow. Both sound like a sentencing.

But there are the cold, metal bars of a cell, and then there’s John Price. The first man in an age to elicit more than a passing glance from you. Deep blue eyes crinkled with the folds of old laughter, wide shoulders, and barrel chest. In another time, you think you would’ve jumped at the chance to be courted by a man like him. Keeled over at the very thought of being chased the way he hunts you down now.

“Alright,” you say instead, giving in. The hand fisting his sleeve shakes. “Alright.”

It’s not a pleasant giving in. Your permission is handed over with shot nerves. The coil bunched up in your core burns white hot, hissing and spitting like a rattlesnake.

Still, when he drags a thumb over the slope of your cheek, you fight not to let your eyelids flutter shut. “Good girl. We’ll make it work, love. Won’t be easy, but it never is.”

You don’t anticipate that it will be, but your mouth stays shut. Price must think you mollified, soothed rather than resigned to your fate, because he passes his thumb once more over your cheekbone, this time so tenderly that you wait for his lips to descend upon yours again, sure from the heat in his eyes that he won’t be able to keep from stealing another kiss. You lick your lips out of habit—not just to see the way his eyes follow the motion.

Then the door at the back of the building bursts open to a cacophony of shouts and hollering voices. The moment broken, Price drops his hand away from your cheek, only to take your hand in his this time, pulling you down the hall towards the register’s to await the circuit preacher. He makes you walk on the side closest to the wall, shielding you from the men that burst out of the courtroom, surging towards the doors. You think that someone must have been found guilty because the lot of them look joyous, clamoring over each other for attention.

You think that you might be spared another minute or two, enough time for them to clean up and reset the courtroom, but you’re shocked to find the circuit preacher ready to conduct the ceremony in the cramped register’s office. He and Price shake hands enthusiastically, the preacher turning to you to grasp your hands in welcome before turning back to the sheriff. They have a camaraderie that speaks of old friendship.

The cramped room where you’re married smells of patchouli and moth wings, like holes burrowed into sweaters at the back of a closet. The bookshelves along the walls are stacked with books old enough that you know they’d crinkle deliciously if opened. You try to listen as the preacher begins the introductory prayer. Behind you, another man slips into the room, a witness. He hardly bothers to introduce himself for such a brief affair.

You haven’t been to many weddings, but you always imagined that yours—if you were privileged enough to have one—might have more fanfare. The wedding you actually get is a brusque affair, a brief recital of vows that ends only when the preacher enjoins Price to kiss his wife.

His wife.

Your eyes go wide when a hand flattens along your spine and pulls you into a hard chest, John dipping his head down to kiss your mouth again. His kiss is less chaste this time, not restricted by convention as earlier. This time, his tongue licks hot into your mouth, like no kiss you’ve ever had before, beard scratching your face. His mouth tastes like something you’ve never had before, like heatburst. Hot and wet. Soft and suckling. Any kiss you’ve had before pales in comparison—juvenile fumbling, all dry and half-humiliated, unsure of yourself. Nothing like being kissed by your husband.

Your husband.

He only pulls away when the preacher finally clears his throat, a tad embarrassed. You’re too dazed to feel the same, fingers still sunk into the lapels of Price’s vest, clutched there. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and your hands to unclench. You feel Price tug your hands away and slip something onto your finger.

The few documents needing to be signed hardly takes any longer. You finally notice the man that had slipped in behind the two of you, a masked man even larger than Price, who nods at him before glancing at you only long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem curiously blank.

“Thanks, Simon,” Price says as the man—Simon—signs under your names, but he only grunts. The ink is still wet when he leaves.

“How was it so fast?” you ask absently, staring at the papers as the ink sits drying and the preacher takes his own copy before handing John his.

“Everything’s practical out here, darling.” His hand holds you by the waist again, relaxed this time. Not worried about whether you might run. “Even the weddings.”

“You don’t…you don’t even serve dinner? Invite guests over? No gifts?” The questions are irrelevant, but you ask them anyway because it’s a way to focus on anything other than the preacher handing you the final copy of the papers and Price leading you back down the hall and out the doors.

There’s a ring on my finger, you think, looking down. It sparkles when you twist your hand from side to side. Topaz, instead of diamond.

“Maybe if you’d showed up on time,” Price reminds you. He no longer sounds upset about it, but it still seems to come out as an admonishment.

You don’t respond to that. Perhaps you’re still shell-shocked, looking at the world through new eyes. It feels unreal that in the span of less than a day, you’ve been plucked up and married off, to the sheriff no less. The one man you would’ve tried your hardest to avoid crossing paths with.

No chance of that now.

“Where are we going?” you ask, still in a daze. The sun makes you squint when you leave the courthouse, making you miss the hat back in your room at the inn. Maybe you can convince Price to let you go back to collect your things.

“I think we’re due for a honeymoon, don’t you, darling?”

You go doe-eyed at that. When you look up, your husband is already smiling down at you, crow’s feet wrinkling at the sides of his eyes.

“Let’s go home.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #john price #captain john price #price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #cod price #price/reader #price x you

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kasagia · 7 months ago

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His mortal saviour

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x otkazat’sya!fem! reader Summary: You saved him. You took him from under the fold and healed him when he was in his most vulnerable state. He doesn't know you; he's hostile and distrustful of you, so he naturally runs away at the first possible opportunity. But somehow, he can't just walk away from you. Word Count: around 6k Anonymous requested this a looong time ago (in January). So sorry honey!!!! Hope you will enjoy! 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

He woke up feeling numb.

He had never felt so... paralysed in his entire life. It was as if the use of all his limbs had been taken away from him. And he didn't like that at all.

He expected him to be in the centre of the fold, with the volcra circling around him. However, as consciousness returned to him, he became more aware of his surroundings.

The first thing he felt was warmth. The warmth, which wasn't at all in the fold. He shuddered and remembered how the cold had penetrated his body even more the moment the volcra's claws had dug into his face.

Then he felt the softness of the mattress beneath his back instead of the hardness of the sandy, packed soil. Further evidence proving that he was entirely somewhere else was the sound of soft footsteps and humming a few feet away from him.

He opened his eyes hesitantly and hissed, unaccustomed to the light after being unconscious for so long.

He freezes as he feels a hand on his eyes, keeping the sunlight from reaching them. Little. Soft. Alina... a thought comes to him, and he quickly laughs it off. His little sun summoner would probably rather blind him completely with her sun than protect him from more pain.

"Take it easy. You've been badly harmed." A soft female voice breaks the silence and pulls him from his thoughts about the woman who betrayed him and their kind.

He feels a strange rush of fear as he hears a female voice. Aleksander unwillingly recalls the memory of the time when he and his mother were captured by the Drüskelle. He felt like he did now. Helpless.

He was unable to move even a small distance on his own. The only difference was that no one was hanging over him with scalpels and other blades or hurling insults. But he suspected that could change very quickly...

He had to do something. He needed to get out of here somehow, but every slight movement of his muscles was accompanied by a huge wave of searing pain throughout his whole body. And for a brief moment, it occurred to him that maybe destroying the fold wasn't such a bad idea.

"Don't worry. I am not a psychopath, mad, serial killer, or anything. I'm a nurse. I saw you near the fold and took you to my house to heal you. It's a miracle you survived your encounter with the volcra. Usually, no one gets out of the fold. Certainly not on their own." The woman says, slowly removing her hand from his eyes.

He's too dazed by the light, busy taking in his surroundings and seeing her face for the first time, to notice that she's adjusting the bandages on his face and checking his wounds.

But he hisses, feeling the burning pain on his forehead as she rubs some thick, gooey liquid onto him.

"I'm sorry, but I have to. It's an ointment against infection. This should also numb you enough so that you don't feel any pain in your face. How's your back?"

He is too shocked to respond. As he takes a breath, he has a sudden coughing fit. She moves away from him. He hears her quick footsteps as she returns a moment later with a cup of water and a tissue. He spits something black out of his mouth, desperately trying to get some air. She strokes his back gently and leans him more forward, making him spit out all the black goo mixed with his saliva from his throat.

He frowns, staring at the tissue soaked in black liquid.

"Don't worry, it's absolutely normal. Every time they bring a survivor from the fold to the infirmary, something like this happens. The air is different there, and volcra tend to infect their victims. Let's just say it's some kind of poison that comes out of you. That's a good sign. As well as the fact that you woke up. Here." The woman says, taking the tissue from him and throwing it into a nearby trash can. He glances there, seeing that it is half full of black dressings and bandages. He looks back at her as she hands him a glass of water.

"What do you want?" He asks, his voice hoarse from disuse (or screaming in the fold), not taking a sip from the cup you gave him. It could be poisoned or worse.

"I... I don't understand." You say, confused by his hostile attitude.

"What do you want from me?" He repeats it again, and the commanding, demanding tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine.

"Nothing. I'm just helping." You reply with a shrug, which annoys him even more. He laughs mockingly, making you frown.

"Selflessly? To a stranger? Don't make me look like a naive idiot. Tell me right now who you are, what you want, and where we are, and you won't get hurt."

"With all due respect, I doubt you'd be able to raise your hand right now, let alone hold a gun or sword, or hit me, even if you were a soldier of the First Army." He stares at you in surprise, realising that you have no idea who he is, and maybe you really just helped him.

Could a normal person dare to speak back to the Darkling with such courage and anger in her eyes? He didn't think so. But one name comes to his mind... even though he's too hurt to think about her.

"What?" You ask him as he stares at you for a little too long.

"Nothing." He clears his throat and stares warily at the offered water. "Not many people surprise me." He explains, still not believing in your good intentions. You couldn't be so altruistic as to help a strange man who got spat out by the fold. People weren't kind or helpful to the weak, at least never towards him. That's why he always had to be stronger than others. To never become prey again.

"I see that you don't trust many either. If I pour for myself and you water from one jug and drink it first, will you consider doing the same? You need to rehydrate." You say it calmly, completely unfazed by his distrust.

For some reason, this makes him more surly towards you. Maybe this whole act on your part was just to keep his guard down until someone came for him, for example, Shu, Drüskelle, or even Alina's group of heroes. He had to get away from here. As soon as he regained full control over his aching body.

“Try to deceive me, and I will make sure to wipe out your family lineage to the last living generation.” He growls hoarsely, trying to regain at least some semblance of control in this situation.

"It's good that I'm an orphan then." You say, pouring him and yourself a glass of water and showing him that both are empty.

Another orphan... he thinks as you reach both glasses so he can choose which one he wants.

"Who are you? Where are we?" He asks as he holds a glass in his hand.

You drink your water and set the glass on the nightstand near the bed. Aleksander decides to wait a while before taking a sip himself, to see if the water won't have a strange effect on you and if you haven't poisoned it after all. Although you could have practiced mithradism and been immune to whatever poison you wanted to give him. His head began to hurt more as he considered all the possibilities.

"Y/N Y/L/N. A nurse, as I mentioned earlier. We are in Eastern Ravka, on the border with the fold. More south of Tsemna and closer to the border with Shu Han. And you?"

He hesitates for a moment and doesn't know why, whether it's the headache or the fact that he doesn't want you to catch him in a lie, but he tells you his real name.

"Aleksander." He says, finally deciding to take a sip from his cup. He would always be able to use the cut if there was something wrong with the drink you gave him. You try your best not to smile at that.

"And what are you doing for life, if that's not a secret?" You ask jokingly, but he doesn't seem too eager to lighten his attitude.

He is still tense and looks around carefully, as if waiting for someone to attack him. Your heart hurts at the sight. Something must have happened in his past for him to be on guard all the time. And those scars from the fold... you suspect it wasn't just the volcra that were responsible for them.

"I... create things." He tells half the truth. After all, the fold, the volcra, and his shadows are some kind of... things he created.

"Are you a carpenter? Do you have your own workshop?"

Little Palace. He thinks, but he knows that after what happened in the fold, the tsar probably took this away from him as well.

He shudders to think about how he could have hurt his people. He had to get out of here. And fast. Before more, Grisha got hurt. Because if he knows something, he knows that Alina won't be able to protect them. He tried to walk the path of peace with Lantsov's dynasty, but it never ended well.

All he provided for Grisha—a safe place at the Little Palace, home, food, illusions of freedom thanks to the cessation of Grisha hunting, and much more—was bought with the blood of others. And if he had to be a monster to make sure his people wouldn't suffer like he did and many others have in the past, then so be it.

He would be the worst of them all.

"I have people who create for me and follow my orders and requests." He replies brusquely when you look at him carefully. You sigh, seeing that you won't be able to get through to him until he's sure you really don't have any bad intentions towards him.

"Okay… do you have any family I should write to? Or someone else?" You ask instead, apparently hitting another sore spot as his injured hand grips the cup so hard that the bandages you wrapped around it dig into his skin.

"No... there is no need for that." He says it coldly.

An image of his mother quickly comes to mind, as does the image of Alina, at which he shakes his head. The only two women with whom he allowed himself to be vulnerable and who could hurt him actually did. Without blinking an eye or a moment of hesitation. You probably were the same, and despite your quite tender care, he still wasn't sure if it was true or just an action.

Although if you were meant to capture him, you would at least tie him up so he couldn't summon his shadows. Maybe you really had no idea about his identity...

"I shall leave you to rest then. I have to go to my work." You say as you start to put on your coat.

"You will leave me alone?" He ask. He can't believe that you would really leave him—a strange man you didn't know at all—in your house all alone.

"Do you need a company?" You ask mockingly, using the exact same cold tone of voice he used before. Aleksander decides he liked you much more when you were soft towards him.

"Aren't you afraid I'll rob you and run away?"

"There are only herbs, medicines, and a few books here. I have nothing so valuable that I couldn't get it on the market if you decided to take it. You can look around if you want. Although I wouldn't advise you to get up, your wounds are still fresh and barely sealed, so they don't bleed."

"Are you insane?" He can't help but ask, as you really are going out. His words and utter shock make you giggle, which doesn't make his opinion of you any better.

"All the best people are. Try not to die. It would be a waste of medicines and bandages." You say this and smile amusedly as you close the door behind you.

Aleksander blinks, surprised, as he lays in your bed. He tries to understand what has happened here, but he still has a headache and needs to get out of here.

He didn't trust you at all.

So before anyone could come and get him from you, he stood up. His legs are shaky at the beginning, but as he walks around your (tiny) cottage, he regains the ability to walk… maybe not as well as he did, but enough to move.

He looks around, just as you suggested, but he didn't find any proff that would confirm his suspicion about your bad intentions towards him.. But it doesn't stop him from taking some pills and herbs before he leaves your house. He makes sure to take only a little—enough to get to the village or somewhere where he could find his people.

He decided that you were too kind to be robbed.

The healer who was trying to heal his wounds was surprised at how good their condition was. Virtually cured. However, black scars remained on him, marring his face. Just like the piece of amplifier in his hand.

But Aleksander didn't care at all. His scars were a good reminder that anyone can be made a fool of. And he didn't want to be fooled by the woman's beautiful eyes once again—even ones as beautiful as yours.

David offered to take it out for him, but he wasn't ready for it yet. The amplifier was his only connection to Alina, and he needed every means to locate her. At least, that's how he explained to himself his reluctance to remove the festering amplifier from his hand.

He did the same with you. He also told himself that the creation of a secret shelter for his Grishas in an abandoned manor in the forest a few miles from your little cabin was pure coincidence. Just like the way he had a habit of wandering around your neighbourhood and watching you from afar when he needed to think alone about his further plans.

The problem was that he couldn't plan anything. Nothing significant. Of course, he still freed his Grisha and kept them safe, but when it came to Ravka's fate... he was in a bind. He didn't know what to do.

And so one day, when he went for a walk away from Ivan, Fruzsi, and the rest who were bothering him, he 'accidentally' came across you.

It's happened quite often. At first, he sent Ivan to look at you; sometimes he followed you around himself, waiting in suspense to find out that you weren't an innocent nurse after all. That it was not by accident that you took him from under the fold and cured him. But he found nothing. You have no conspiracy against him, no cult that was killing Grisha, or even any connection to Alina's group. Nothing.

He didn't know what to think about that either. He would rather discover that you weren't so selfless and sensitive to others' harm. This way, you would save him some sleepless nights when he thought about you and the way you took care of him. No one has done this for a long time... or ever. To be honest, Aleksander didn't remember the last time that someone just... he looked after him out of pure kindness and concern FOR HIM.

Neither his mother nor Alina. One was too cold to even think about caring for the other, and the second was too afraid of him to even consider him as something more than just a monster craving power and the throne. He didn't think he'd had anyone since Luda who would simply take care of him out of the goodness of their hearts.

That's why he started to be fascinated and curious about you. A mere mortal. Otkazat’sya. You tended to avoid people despite your willingness to help (at which he was very surprised). In the village where you worked in the infirmary, everyone treated you warmly and kindly, just as you treated them. Even your worst patients. To which Aleksander would lose his tamper more than once.

Over time, he realised that what drew him to you was your warmth. He was starting to get jealous of the attention you gave others, even if you then went back to your cabin alone. He didn't know what caused this need to be near you. Maybe it was because he was tired of being alone in his icy darkness. Alina once was his sunlight. For a brief moment, he felt... normal. In peace. After everything went to hell. And then, he felt like this for a while under your tender touch.

He should have learned from his mistakes and forgotten about you, but... something wouldn't let him.

He was beginning to suspect that maybe he was just getting too old for all this.

"All alone in the forest? Do you know what monsters might be lurking here?" He asks, encountering you on one of his excursions to help him think. It was a pure impulse. He snuck up on you on the spur of the moment (or maybe because Alina tried to snatch the amplifier out of his hand a few hours ago and he needed someone to talk to as... just Aleksander. Not the Darkling.)

"For example?" You ask, turning to him and stopping picking herbs. You look pretty. Strands of hair fall into your eyes, and he almost reaches out to brush them off himself, but you do it before he can raise his hand.

He takes a look at you. Your coat is too thin for his taste. The snow had barely melted, and what you were wearing certainly didn't adequately protect you from the cold wind that was still blowing. He had to ask David to make you something similar to a kefta when he would be back.

"The Darkling." He says, feeling your burning, careful gaze on his face. You don't look at him with disgust or fear. No. He sees in your eyes a professional assessment of his health and a slight hint of curiosity... he wonders if maybe he's not the only one here who feels drawn to the other.

"I doubt he has enough free time to wander around the forest." He smiles at your words, amused that you have no idea that you are now talking with him.

He had never been happier that the news in these parts of Ravka... usually didn't reach here. People here identified more with Shu since they started mixing with each other a long time ago. Of course not Grisha. They could only count on themselves. Mostly...

"Oh, you'd be surprised what can happen, little saviour."

"Saviour?" You ask, raising your eyebrows at him. He sees the spark of amusement shining in your eyes, and he just can't help himself. He steps closer to you and reaches for the basket of herbs. He follows you as you select herbs and plants that you apparently find useful. Aleksander feels... normal and ordinary. And for a moment, he begins to understand why Alina would choose a simple life with her tracker rather than a privileged one as a Sun Summoner.

"I believe I owe a part of my life to you."

"Almost no one gets out of the fold. Thank the saints for your life, not me." You shrug off his feeble attempt at thanking you and turn to him. You study his face carefully, assessing the appearance of his scars. He feels himself starting to blush under your gaze.

"I don't believe in saints." He finally says, glad that he managed to drag your gaze away from his face as you look into his eyes this time, frowning in surprise.

"Why?"

"They were ordinary people. Most of them had no idea what they were doing. People hailed them as saints mainly because of rumours—stories whose confirmation could only be sought from the insane."

"So not only a carpenter, but also an expert in saints. You are a true mystery, Aleksander." You laugh at him and he smiles, thinking that you don't even know what an enigma he is.

"I'm just saying that most of them didn't do anything significant. Not for Grisha. And they were killed because they tried to show people that they shouldn't hunt us and that we are useful in some way. If anything, they tightened the chains of slavery on us."

"So you are a Grisha." He blushes slightly, embarrassed at how easily he let his secret be revealed. Yes. He was definitely too old for all this. "What kind of are you? Inferni? Durast?"

"Heartrender." He answers quickly and without thinking. "But it doesn't matter. Forgive me. I should go." He says, almost panicking as he turns away from you and rushes in the opposite direction. He wants to get away from you as quickly as possible before he unknowingly reveals his true identity to you.

"Wait a second. Aleksander!" However, you don't give up and chase after him, grabbing his hand—exactly the one that is rotting from the remains of the amplifier left in it. Aleksander hisses, wincing in pain. He pulls his hand out of your grip and tries to look anywhere but at you. "Your hand." You whisper hurriedly as you walk towards him. He takes a step back, trying as always to keep some distance from you when you made him feel... vulnerable.

"Not your concern." He growls at you, hoping you'll drop the idea of examining his wound. Because how was he supposed to explain to you the stag bone stuck in his hand?

"Volcra poison can infect your blood. You should get it cured by your healers. And do it as quickly as possible; otherwise, it will lead you to a slow death; you will lose your senses; you will start hearing whispers, calls from the fold, and volcra."

"I'll be fine."

"Don't make me laugh; even the Darkling wouldn't be able to deal with that all alone. The Volcra may be the product of his ancestors, but this... this is a wild kind of little science. Unpredictable. I have seen hundreds who may have managed to get out of the crease but have gone mad because of their venom. These are not ordinary shadows. They are living creatures that attack just like any other animal. So please, if you don't trust me with this, go and show it to some talented healer, because you can't leave it like that."

"How do you know so much about this?" He asks curiously, putting his injured hand into the pocket of his kefta.

"Anyone who lives near the fold and is involved in healing knows this." You answer evasively, trying to avoid his further questions. This time you turn your back to him, pretending that you are interested in some plant.

"No, they not." He continues insistently, wanting at all costs to know the real reason you were here, why you had so much knowledge about the fold. He grabs your arm and turns you around so he can look at your face, as he is waiting for your answer.

"My sister was a healer. A Grisha." You blurt out in one breath and look away from him as painful memories come flooding back to you. Aleksander feels a pang in his heart when he sees the obvious pain in your eyes. A pain he himself had carried with him for centuries.

"Was?" He notes, swallowing.

"She is dead."

"The fold?" You nod at his question. He feels his throat dry, and he lets go of your arm as his hands tremble slightly. And Aleksander thinks that of all the lives that the fold has taken, your sister's life will be the one that will remain permanently in his memory. Especially that look filled with pain, bitterness, and grieving. "Then why did you stay here?"

"I moved here... to help to this who could somehow managed to get out of it." You reply as you calm down. Your tone of voice and posture may confuse Aleksander at first glance, but your eyes, your eyes tell him everything that you try to hide.

"It's... very nobel."

"Just please, don't leave it like that. You will certainly die if you will."

"You care about the stranger?" He asks in surprise, raising an eyebrow at you. You reach for your basket and take it from him before giving him your answer and looking him in the eyes again.

"I've already told you. It would be a waste of medicines and bandages if you die." You reply mischievously with a smile, and he chuckles. He can't help but reach up to your cheek and caress your cheek with his thumb as he gets lost in your eyes. No one had ever cared for him, so... simply. Without any major reasons. It was... extraordinary. You were extraordinary.

"It's... more complcated... but I shall listen to you." He assures you, noticing the way you nuzzle your cheek into his hand, not pulling away from him at all, not flinching at his sudden touch. His gaze involuntarily flits from your eyes to your mouth for a brief moment, and he imagines what it would be like to kiss you—to feel the softness of your lips against his. And Aleksander really wants to do it.

"I hope so... and that you won't get in trouble because of that grumpy old general of yours for being here." Alexander chuckles at your joke, amused by the absurdity of the situation. If you only knew...would you still let him stand so close to you? His mood suddenly worsens as he thinks about it. What would you do if you found out he was the Darkling? That he created the fold?

"Believe me, little savior, he can't do anything to me for coming to you." He replies and lowers his hand, breaking any contact with your soft, silky skin. Oh, how he wanted to know more of you—to touch more than your hands, cheeks, hair, or neck. But he couldn't. Not after so much disappointment, not after Alina, not after Luda. He should have known better.

So he freezes, completely shocked, when you grab his wrist and cup his cheek in your hand. Your basket of herbs is abandoned on the forest path as you brush your nose against his. Alexander holds his breath, waiting to see what you will do.

"May I?" You ask, whispering, trembling as you're unsure of his reaction to what you want to do.

All Aleksander can do is cross the last inches between you and capture your lips in a kiss. You sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Aleksander wraps his arms around you tightly and takes two steps back, pressing you against the tree. You moan into his mouth as his beard tickles you into the kiss, which he uses to his advantage and slides his tongue into your mouth.

Aleksander allows himself to lose himself in the feeling of you, your taste, your smell, and the way your body feels under his wandering hands. And if he had previously suspected that he might be obsessed with you, now he has proved to himself how deep you have gotten under his skin. He was a fool for allowing you to have such power over him. But how sweet it was to be a fool, with your lips and hands pressed against him.

And the next day, when he comes to visit you, his hand is completely healed, without any amplifier. And his mind is completely free of Alina Starkov.

"That's nice." You whisper in the crook of his neck as you lie cuddled in the meadow under the full moon.

“Mhm…” Aleksander mumbles, burying his nose in your hair. He hugs you tighter, as if afraid that you might escape from his arms at any moment. "Although I'm beginning to wonder if you've brought me here to perform some witchy tricks. Maybe some sacrifice?"

"Your ass is too beautiful to sacrifice it." You reply teasingly, biting his neck. He gasps and digs his fingers harder into your hips. He leans down, moving your head away from his neck by pulling your hair so he can steal a kiss from your lips.

"Is it?" He whispers against your lips as he pulls away to let you catch your breath.

"Apparently." You reply, reaching up to caress the scars on his face with your fingertip. Aleksander closes his eyes and sighs, surrendering to your gentle touch. "I like your face too. The way you frown when you're irritated by something. The way you twist your ridiculously tempting lips into a smirk when you're right, even though it irritates me sometimes. The way your eyes sparkle when you talk about how you help Grisha. The way you look at me, as if I were your whole world. The way you wrap your hands around me or take my hand in yours to make sure I'm close to you, that I'm under your protection, and that I'm not going anywhere. The way you are grumpy when you are sleepy and how you don't want to admit that you are tired. I... I think I fell in love with you, Aleksander."

Aleksander smiles, caressing your cheek tenderly. He leans down and captures your lips in a tender kiss, trying to shake away the guilt that has been haunting him for several months now.

Ever since your relationship... became more serious, Aleksander has been trying to find the perfect way to tell you about his true identity. But every time he thought the moment was good, he lost his courage. He didn't even want to think about what your reaction might be to him being the Darkling who created the fold. He was absolutely convinced that you would hate him as soon as the truth came to light and that you would blame him for your sister's death. And honestly? Aleksander would not even try to defend himself. He knew damn well that he didn't deserve your affection and love. However, he couldn't help but come back to you, basking in the feeling that he had been denied for a very long time.

You end the kiss and bury your face in the crook of his neck. Aleksander shivers as he feels you exhale warm air onto his cold skin. He tightens his grip on you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"I love you too, milaya." He mumbles, running a hand through your hair. He plays with the strands of your hair, twirling them around his finger.

He feels unexpectedly pleasant around you. Homely. Ordinary. These were feelings that Aleksander had rarely, if ever, experienced over the course of hundreds of years. He found himself longing for moments where he could slip away to your little cottage and sink into the warmth of your arms, listen to your gentle heartbeat, and bask in your scent. This was a huge hindrance to his plans to get another amplifier and guarantee a better future for his Grisha.

"They say they've seen a Darkling in these parts. That he's gathering an army to start a civil war." Aleksander frowns, feeling his heart speed up slightly in panic.

"That's what they say?"

"Yhm... What do you think about it? Will you join him? Or will you try to escape and join Sankta Alina?" He unconsciously tightens his grip on you as you ask him this question and mention Alina. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent and trying to calm himself down before answering your question.

"I will stay. I think he wants a better future for us than Alina plans to guarantee."

"Maybe for Grisha. But still, I don't like wars."

"Me too, lapushka. But sometimes there is no other solution to change something than to start a war and take the power." He admits with a sigh and traces patterns on your arm, calming down as he feels the softness of your skin under the pads of his hard fingers.

Aleksander suddenly becomes more alert, subconsciously sensing the approaching threat. He doesn't want to outgrow you, thinking that maybe it's his paranoia kicking in, so he sits down, still holding you in his arms, as he looks around at his surroundings. He holds his breath as he sees movement in the bushes across from you.

Before he can do anything, a group of Shu surrounds you. One of them has a shotgun aimed at you. Aleksander acts instinctively. He wraps one arm around you, summoning his shadows. Before anyone can hurt you, he uses a cut and sends his shadows to remove the threat. The metallic smell of blood fills the clearing. Aleksander breathes quickly, his veins pumping with adrenaline as he looks around carefully. He feels blood seeping from where the bullet hit him, piercing his plain coat. He hisses, turning his attention to you. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees no signs of hurt on you, but freezes in fear as soon as he sees your terrified look.

"Y/N... I can explain."

"You are hurt. Let's go back to my cottage, I'll stitch you up." You interrupt him, examining his wound.

You take his hand and lead him through the forest towards your house. Aleksander stares at the back of your head in shock, tightening his grip on your hand, wanting to make sure you don't suddenly run away from him and that you don't decide to abandon him in the middle of the forest to save yourself from him.

You open the door and wordlessly point to the bed. He takes your hint and sits down, taking off his coat and shirt. Involuntarily, he remembers the first time he came here and woke up in your bed. He swallows hard, hoping this won't be the last time you treat his wounds. Or when you're close to him.

"This may sting." You tell him, sitting down next to him. You squirt a cotton ball with antiseptic into his wound. He hissed, biting his lip, completely unprepared for this as he was still lost in his thoughts.

"Y/N… I… I wanted to tell you. I swear. I just… I didn't want to ruin… you know what I mean, right?" He asks, staring intently at you. You make no move to look him in the eyes, pretending to devote all your attention to his wound. Aleksander cups both of your cheeks in his hands and forces you to look at him as he gives you a pleading look. "Please. Say something. Anything."

"I… I didn't expect this. Because why would the Darkling be hurt by something he created and why would he return to my cottage?"

"Because you fascinated me. Deeply. You... you were the first person to see me as something other than a Darkling. Alexander. The real me, not the version of myself I had to create for my Grishas. I... besides, I didn't hide my thought from you. You... you were one of the truly few people I let under my mask who could see my heart. And I swear I was going to tell you, I... I was just afraid that I would lose you the moment you found out who I really was. What can I do."

"Oh, Aleksander. You stupid man. Am I running away screaming? Am I calling you a monster? Am I treating you differently?" You ask, placing your hand on his bearded cheek and using your thumb to stroke it tenderly, making sure you give his scars the tender care they deserve.

"No." He responds, carefully analyzing and comparing your behavior before today's fatal accident.

"Because I don't see you any other way. Yes, at first I was shocked and a little scared, but that was because I didn't expect it at all. You… volcra it's not your fault. Even if you created it. You didn't know what would happen." Aleksander feels a lump in his throat.

How can he tell you that he planned to make it bigger? That before he met you he would have done it without blinking an eye, but now he has such serious doubts that he is actually considering deviating from his original plan for you?

"I'm not as good a person as you think."

"Then show me." You answer casually, as if it were that simple. You finish patching up his wound and press a kiss on it.

Aleksander smiles at you tenderly and pulls you in for a passionate kiss. His heart is racing as he realises that he hasn't actually lost you, that you're still here and want to be here, judging by the way you moan into his mouth.

He holds you tightly and lays down on your bed with you straddling him as you place small kisses along his neck and across the width of his muscled chest. He smiles, realising how far he's come with you. He never would have guessed when he woke up in this bed that he would let you get this close to him. But with each little kiss you gave, the gentle, tender way your hands moved over his body, and the way you caressed each of his wounds and scars, Aleksander thanked the saints for putting you in his path. And unknowingly to him, you truly were his little saviour, saving him from a much worse fate than he could ever imagine.

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 4 days ago

Text

The Wall

Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: When Cregan is forced to bring his wife to the Wall, he tries to ensure her protection but does not hesitate to defend her honor when necessary.

Warnings: no use of y/n, canon level violence and language, crude language, slight sexual assault, slight smut, men being disgusting, misogyny, cregan being protective, death, killing

Word Count: 8k oops

Masterlist

Rays of warm sun streamed across the Lord and Lady of Winterfell’s chambers, a rare sight in the North so near to winter. An equally rare sight was the lord and lady lounging in bed past sunrise. Typically, the Warden of the North was out of bed before or along with the sunrise. However, longing for his wife of only six months' embrace, he had allotted himself extra time to just be with her.

The two lay, just facing each other for several moments, basking in the warmth and intimacy. Cregan broke the comfortable silence, his hand reaching up to cup his wife’s face. “I am going to miss this sight.”

The girl quirked a brow but smiled nonetheless. “Miss?” she questioned. “Where are you going?” It then occurred to Cregan that his wife was not Northern. She was unaccustomed to the Lord of Winterfell’s duties at the Wall at the beginning of winter, dragging him from the warm embrace of Winterfell.

Slipping a hand down from her face, his fingers found her shoulder, rubbing against the bare skin. “The Wall,” he informed gently. “I forgot you were not raised with our customs. At the beginning of every winter, the Lord of Winterfell must go to the Wall for a few months.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “A few months?” she repeated incredulously. “And I am not to come?”

Cregan shook his head, keeping his calm facade so as to not ruin the soothing atmosphere. However, inside he was incredulous that she’d suggest such a thing. The Wall was no place for a woman, especially one as lovely as his wife. “No, my love, you cannot. It is too dangerous.”

She laughed softly. Her chuckle was not mocking, although dismissive. “I believe I can handle the cold.”

Cregan laughed as well, neither mocking nor dismissive, more so endeared. “As much as I believe you could, it is far colder on the Wall than it is here. But that is not even the concern. You know the Night’s Watch? How a man faced with prison or death may choose the guard the Wall instead?” His wife nodded, her expression slowly being overcome with concern. “Well, that makes them…” he paused, trying to think how to put this delicately, “not the best group of men. Now, when a man joins the Night’s Watch their past is forgotten and forgiven. However, part of being a brother of the Night’s Watch means giving some things up. Including the companionship of women. Now, they are my men,” he assured, “I fight with and for them, but they are not my friends. I do not trust them with the most precious thing to me,” he explained, his hand briefly leaving her arm to cup her face for a moment.

Despite the disheartening answer and explanation, his wife could not help but blush at his adorations. “Should I be concerned with you going there?” she asked, her concern thinly veiled by a laugh.

“No,” he assured. “I trust them in battle with my life. My law gives them another chance at life.”

His wife nodded, still unconvinced. “When do you leave?”

“A fortnight,” he answered, satisfied that the matter of her wanting to go was laid to rest. “And I should like to savor every moment of being home,” he said, his voice gaining a teasing lilt as he leaned over to kiss her. She laughed as his arm encircled her waist, allowing him to pull her body on top of his.

Cregan did not think about their conversation again, considering the matter to be done. His wife did not bring up the topic again for a week. Until she strolled into his study lazily one day.

Cregan looked up from the documents on his desk, a smile gracing his face as he saw who the intruder was. “What are you doing here?” he asked pleasantly. Her visits were not uncommon as she sometimes just stopped by when she missed him so he did not expect much of a response from her.

“I just wanted to see you,” she said with a smile, buttering him up. She took a seat across the desk from him, eliciting a furrowed brow from her husband.

“Why are you sitting there?” he asked, feigning offense. “Come,” he waved her over. She complied, rounding the desk. As soon as she was in reach, Cregan grabbed her arm, practically yanking her into his lap. She fell into him with a laugh, allowing herself to settle into him. “There, I much prefer this.”

She laughed again before her expression fell. “Oh, I am going to miss you so much,” she professed, reaching up to cup his jaw.

Cregan’s own expression softened. “I know,” he conceded. “But it is only for three moons.”

Her eyes widened. “But that is half our marriage!” she cried.

Cregan sighed. “I’m afraid I do not know how to comfort you, my love.”

“You could always bring me with you,” she suggested coyly, to which her husband’s expression morphed into disapproval.

“My love, you know I cannot bring you with me.”

“But they are my people too. Or am I not also the Lady of Winterfell as much as you are the Lord?” she challenged.

“You are!” Cregan agreed. “But there are some responsibilities that are mine alone.”

Before anyone could argue further, there was a knock on the door. The lady attempted to stand from her husband’s lap for the sake of whoever wanted to enter. But a firm arm around her waist kept her planted. “Enter,” Cregan called, his grip on his wife’s waist still tight.

As the door opened, revealing Maester Kennet, he paused for a moment at the sight that greeted them. All of Winterfell knew how affectionate their lord and lady were, but he had not expected to enter to find this. After clearing his throat, the man greeted them. “My lord, my lady,” he began. “I’m afraid I bring you regretful news. Maester Alden of the Wall has passed. The Lord Commander is requesting you bring a healer to the Wall with you. He has already requested a new Maester from their Order, but it will be several months until one is sent from Oldtown.”

Cregan sighed, letting go of his wife’s waist to rub his eyes. It seemed there was always a problem. There were no other maesters that he could summon from the north. He could not imagine the uproar he’d receive for pulling a maester or healer from a village no matter how small. And Winterfell could not lose Maester Kennet who had yet to take on an apprentice. The closest thing he had to one was the woman sitting on Cregan’s lap.

The woman in question perked up. “I could go,” she immediately offered.

“No,” Cregan was quick to dismiss.

“My lord, if I may,” Kennet began simultaneously, “your wife is an excellent healer.” Being born a Hightower she was raised under the tutelage of the Order of Maesters who occupied The Hightower alongside the noble family.

“She is not going to the Wall,” he rebuffed, speaking as if she weren’t there yet grasping her waist even tighter than before. He sighed, before looking at the woman in his lap. “I have to speak with Maester Kennet alone,” he said softly.

Despite her wanting to argue she just nodded, seeing just how stressed her husband was. She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before freeing herself from his grasp. As she stood, she nodded to Kennet before taking her leave, both men watching her go.

“Cregan,” the older man began, “I know what you are thinking but she is your only option. I cannot leave Winterfell, especially with you away. And with winter coming no one can afford to lose their healers. Nor could one be expected to travel between villages in the heard of winter.”

“I know,” Cregan mused. “But you have been to the Wall. It is no place for a woman.”

“You entrust her with the guards of Winterfell and bring many of them to the Wall as well. If she is not with you she can always be with them. Besides, the brothers of the Night’s Watch respect and fear you. I am confident they wouldn’t dare hurt her under your watch, or the watch of the guards.”

“But that is precisely my concern. What if she is left alone? You of all in Winterfell know she hates being shackled to someone, a guard or myself.”

“If you tell her protection is the condition of her going to the Wall I trust she will obey your wishes. I know she enjoys breaking the rules occasionally but if you express the importance to you she will listen to them.”

Cregan considered the older man’s words for a moment. He hated having his hand forced, especially when it became personal. The idea of bringing his wife to the Wall made it personal despite the lack of someone to blame. Still, he could not shake the image of the members of the Night’s Watch laying their eyes on his wife, the first woman that many would have seen in years. Gods, he could already predict their thoughts if he were in their shoes and they were not kind. They were the thoughts that only he should have as her husband.

“I will have an answer for the Lord Commander by the end of tomorrow. If I am unable to find another healer, Lady Stark may come,” he conceded. He let out a deep sigh. “Do you think there are any eunuchs that may be able to watch her?” he asked sarcastically.

Cregan reluctantly trudged down the hall to his wife’s study. He had spent all day wracking his brain for another healer that could make it to Winterfell in a week but there were none. And no one could even temporarily replace a village healer before the new one for the Wall would arrive. So he found himself reluctantly knocking at her door.

“Enter,” her voice came.

Entering the warm office that she had really just turned into a library, Cregan was greeted with his wife sitting by the fireplace. She turned to see who had knocked, a smile breaking out on her face when she was greeted with her husband. But that smile quickly faded when she saw his tired expression. “What is wrong?” she asked, turning in her plush seat to face him.

Her husband did not answer as he took a seat on the chair across from her, just looking in the fire. “I cannot find a healer to bring to the Wall,” he began reluctantly, the flames dancing in his tired eyes. Across from him, the flames seemed to make the light growing in his wife’s eyes dance. “So, you will come with us.” The lady gasped in excitement at his words but Cregan snapped his head to look at her. “But,” he dampened her excitement slightly, “there are some rules that you must follow if you are to come.”

“Cregan-”

“Don’t protest,” he reprimanded. “I love you, I could never forgive myself if you were harmed by anyone or anything on the Wall. Especially by the men who are sworn to me.”

The lady took a breath, finding the sincerity in her husband’s eyes. She could see just how scared he was of this, just how much the thought of her getting hurt scared him. And she could empathize, as she could not bear the thought of being without him for three moons. Much less that she now understood how dangerous the Wall could be. “Okay, I will obey your rules,” she conceded.

Cregan nodded, “Thank you. I do not intend to scare you but you should know these things. First, that there will be many men of Winterfell coming with us. If you are not with me or in our chambers, you are to be with one of them.” He paused, waiting for a response to which she just nodded in agreement. “Next, you will act as a healer so you will likely operate out of Maester Alden’s turret. Alden was an… experimental healer so do not touch anything unless you are absolutely sure you know what it is. And the Wall is cold, far colder than even here so ensure you bring clothes to keep you dry and warm. If you become too ill to care for yourself then all my men on the Wall are at risk.”

She quirked a brow at him. “Are you truly telling me to bring a cloak to the Wall?” she questioned.

“Well you brought practically nothing here,” he retorted lightly.

His wife just sent him a playful glare before he continued. “And finally, you are not to be in the common areas with the brothers. That includes places such as the dining halls, the practice yard, the brothers’ quarters, the stables, any place where they congregate. And, of course, you may not go beyond the Wall. Is that clear?”

“Cregan, you needn’t treat me like a child,” she chided lightly. But her soft smile wavered seeing his stony expression. “I understand,” she conceded. “I will be careful and stay with those you trust.”

“Good,” Cregan nodded. “I know you think me too protective. But it is my job to protect you, I swore an oath to the gods to it.”

“I know,” she acknowledged.

Cregan grew more and more nervous as the Stark party drew closer to the Wall. Sending a glance to his wife, he found her just behind him, sitting side saddle wrapped in furs and cloaks. Despite the long, arduous journey to the Wall she had not complained once. It got to the point that Cregan was concerned something was wrong. She just dismissed his concerns as not wanting to be sent back to Winterfell.

“Are you alright?” he asked, checking in on her as he often did.

“Yes,” she agreed with a teasing rolled eye.

Cregan nodded, her amusement doing nothing to quell his nerves. “We are approaching Castle Black. Remember, many of these men have not even seen a woman in years. Stick close to me.” The amusement left her features as she nodded. Cregan looked over to one of the guards in front of him. “Garrat, ride ahead. Let the Lord Commander know we are an hour out.”

“Aye, my lord,” the man agreed, not even turning on his horse before taking off.

The rest of the trip was led in relative silence. The only person who had been remotely excited to go to the Wall was Lady Stark but that excitement had been quelled by the numerous grave warnings she had received from her husband and the men who had been.

Soon enough, she was staring up at the peaks of Castle Black as they approached the gates. She observed the fabled Wall she had heard so much about. In stories from her childhood and in preparation of this trip. To say she was underwhelmed was an understatement. She had heard fabled stories of a seven hundred foot wall made of ancient ice. Rather, guarding the fortress that monitored this Wall, were indeed ice walls, but they looked to be maybe fifty feet high at their peaks, along with some man constructed walls that served similarly to the walls of Winterfell, containing the fortress. She would have expressed her disappointment in a jest to her husband but did not for the sake of appearance.

As the gates of the fortress opened she felt just like when she had entered the gates of Winterfell. Compared to Oldtown in the south, Winterfell felt cold and cruel, with the local Northerners’ hard gazes making her skin crawl. But she had found a comfortable home there and made friends with many of the fortress’ occupants. Compared to Winterfell, the Wall was like the seventh circle of hells. Whilst the cold initially felt biting in Winterfell, she had grown accustomed to it. Here, it felt as if the cold was sinking into her bones as the gates closed behind them. She had thought Winterfell to be dirty and barbaric as if it was made for war and war alone. But here, she felt as if she had actually entered a war camp and was now trapped in by its walls and the miles of snow between here and her home. And when she had first felt the curious gazes of the Northern folk upon entering her husband’s home, she had taken them as hungry, sending chills through her body. Now she truly knew what it felt like to be looked at with hunger as their group approached a welcome party of men dressed in black. The lady resisted the urge to pull her hood up to cover her hair that gave her away, but doing so now would look weak.

Instead, she looked to the four men stood in the middle of the courtyard, separate from the rest of them. Whilst three of them kept flickering their gazes towards her, the man who seemed to lead them stepped forward, only looking to Cregan.

“Lord Stark,” the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch greeted him as he dismounted from his horse.

“Carron Vander,” Cregan greeted the man with a smile, shaking his hand.

“We appreciate you bringing your wife,” Lord Commander Vander said in a lowered tone. “Trust that I have told the brothers exactly what will happen to them if they harm her.”

Cregan thanked the man. “Might I get my wife inside? She was born a Hightower after all,” he laughed.

Vander let out a booming laugh, observing the girl wrapped in furs for a moment. “Of course,” he agreed. “You know where your chambers are,” he gestured to the Commander’s house.

Cregan nodded, going over to his wife who was still sat upon the horse. She was sure that if she jumped from this height, with her feet so cold, her toes would break off. Without a word, Cregan grabbed her waist, sliding her off the horse. A movement that for a reason that could only make sense in the minds of sex-deprived men, elicited several murmurs from the men. Cregan gave no indication that he noticed it but his wife’s eyes nervously flickered around the courtyard full of men.

Holding her close, Cregan whispered, “Come, let’s get you inside.” As the couple and their men were ushered in, the brothers of the Night’s Watch received pointed glares from their Lord Commander, First Ranger, First Steward, and First Builder.

As the shivering woman was quickly ushered into the chambers of the Lord of Winterfell, she let the warmth melt the cold from her body. She took a moment to observe the room, finding it constructed of stone with wood furniture and more than enough fur and cloth to keep her warm for the winter. Along with a crackling hearth that made the room warm enough for her to begin stripping off layers. “No windows?” she mused.

“No,” Cregan answered, also shedding his cloak. “The buildings were designed to hold as much warmth in as possible. Windows just allow the cold in.” She nodded, observing the room. Cregan could not help the sigh that left him as his wife wrapped her arms around herself. Going over to her, he wrapped his own arms around her. “Are you okay?” he asked, his chin resting on top of her head.

“Yes,” she dismissed. “Just a bit cold.”

Cregan still held her, unconvinced. “If anyone makes you uncomfortable please come to me or Vander, Weaver, Graen, or Staelle.”

“Who are they?” she asked.

Before Cregan could answer, there was a knock at the door. Reluctantly, he pulled away from his wife to answer the door. Opening it, he revealed the four men that had greeted them outside. The short door made all the men look huge, especially Cregan who stood taller than all four.

“My lady,” they all greeted, bowing their heads as they entered. She could not tell if that was out of respect or so they would not hit their heads on the low doorway.

“This is Lord Commander Carron Vander,” Cregan introduced the first man. Vander stepped forward, reaching for her hand to press a delicate kiss on her knuckles. He was tall, just like the others, with greying hair and a black beard littered with silver. “The First Ranger, Adian Weaver,” he introduced a slightly younger man who repeated the actions of Vander. His hair was cropped short unlike the rest of the men, but his beard was full and held no silver. “He leads the rangers who go beyond the wall. This is the First Builder, Karron Graen, he is responsible for maintaining the wall.” A man with purely white hair stepped up, taking her hand as well, his beard was so long the wispy tip reached where presumably his navel was. “And this is the First Steward, Myle Staelle, he is responsible for keeping this place operating,” Cregan introduced the final man who had no hair but a great bushy brown beard, and repeated the movements of the other men.

“Lovely to meet you all,” the Lady of Winterfell greeted, feeling a bit intimidated. “Thank you for welcoming me. I know you do not typically have women here.”

“We appreciate you coming. Without a healer we are only as strong as our ill,” Vander commended.

“If you need anything do not hesitate to approach any one of us,” Weaver welcomed.

“Thank you. Winterfell truly appreciates all you do. The entire realm does, although I regret that they don’t show their regard.” The men all laughed at her joke. “Although, I must say, I had thought the wall was larger. I never thought it was actually seven hundred feet but-” Her words were cut off by a resounding laugh. “What?” she questioned as the booming laughter died for a moment.

“That wasn’t the Wall you saw as we entered, my love,” Cregan said. “We are on the Wall as we speak. And it is in fact seven hundred feet.” He could not help but be endeared by her confused expression.

Despite the dedication of the four men from the Night’s Watch to their oaths, they could not help but also be endeared by her cute expression. Nevertheless, they pushed their feelings down as their lord turned to them, his arm slung across his wife’s shoulder. “Should we show her the Wall?” he asked.

“Aye,” they all agreed. This woman’s presence was by far the most amusing thing to happen here in a long time.

Throwing his wolf fur coat over his wife, Cregan eagerly steered her out of their chambers. She did not say a word as he led her out of the house, back into the courtyard. Fortunately, most of the men had dispersed, leaving only a few working in the yard. The group led her to a wooden structure that looked to be some sort of tower against the ice wall that formed the back wall of the fortress. Pushing her onto the platform, Graen uttered some words to a few men standing at some sort of crank.

“Lord Husband, what ar-” she began to question when the men started pushing the great pieces of wood. Her worlds halted as they were slowly hoisted into the air. She could only look at the slowly disappearing ground as they were lifted higher and higher into the air.

“This is the lift, my lady. There is one on the other side of the wall. It is how we get up and down it,” Graen explained.

She just nodded, looking at the horizon in awe. It was nothing but the white and green of the snow and the trees. But it became hazier the higher they were lifted. She did not even care about the cold as the wind whipped around them, too entranced by the magnificent scenery.

Cregan could not help but smile adoringly at his wife as she stared in awe at seemingly the entire North. But as the lift stopped, his smile grew wider as he suddenly turned her around, greeting her with the sight of beyond the wall. He actually quite preferred the sight of the North, but seeing just how high up they were would surely shock her mind. And he was not disappointed as she took in the incredible sight, the white of the snow stretching for miles contrasted against the brilliant blue of the sky. But the most impressive sight was just how high they were above the snow.

“Holy…” her awestruck voice came, eliciting chuckles from all the men as her eyes shone with the light reflected from the ice beneath them.

“Seven hundred feet, my lady,” Graen confirmed with a smirk. “It is a grueling trip up and down,” he gestured to a structure that peaked up from a slightly lower edge.

As the lady stepped forward to observe better, her husband kept firm hands on both her shoulders, ensuring she did not get too close and plummet down the wall. “So you do actually climb up and down this wall?” she asked in astonishment.

“Aye, my lady,” the man smirked proudly.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“Come,” Cregan said, pulling his wife back to the lift to return, “let’s get you settled in the maester’s turret. That is, after all, why you are here.”

Heading back down the lift and through the courtyards, they all headed to the maseter’s turret. It was in a tower connected to the dining hall and Cregan made a point of steering the in through the main entrance rather than through the hall.

“This was Maester Alden’s workshop,” Staelle explained, glancing around the room. Upon entering the rooms held by the old maester, Lady Stark could not help but wonder what was in the various bottles lining the shelves. She’d have to explore them further without Cregan there. “I’ll show you to the sickroom where you will be treating the brothers,” he explained, gesturing to a door housing a hallway.

Still holding his wife close, Cregan nudged her in that direction, leading them through the hall to a door and through to another room. It was large, made entirely of cold stone with two fireplaces on either end of the room working to keep it warm. There were a dozen or so beds lining the walls for men to rest after injury. But most alarmingly was the Winterfell guard suddenly standing up as the group entered.

“My Lord, my Lady, Lord Commander,” he greeted the three most senior in the room.

“Karden will be here in the infirmary at all times. And Drommen will always be outside this door as it leads to the dining hall,” Cregan explained. They were her two primary guards in Winterfell, always stationed outside their chambers or her study.

“Karden, I am so glad you will be with me,” the lady could not help but be overjoyed at seeing a familiar face. She knew they would be coming with them but it was nice to know that one of her most trusted guards was nearly always with her.

“I’m glad I can be of comfort, my lady,” he returned.

The atmosphere was then interrupted by a knock at the door. Drommen opened it without waiting, much to his regret as his eyes opened wide upon seeing his lord, lady, and the commanders of the Night’s Watch all before them. “Oh, my apologies. I had not realized you entered, my lady.”

“No apologies necessary,” she was quick to dismiss. “What is the matter?”

He opened the door wider, revealing a strange man of the Night’s Watch. “My apologies, my lords but I need a healer. You see, my—and I don’t mean to be crass—balls are quite sore and I think I might have an infection or something because my cock is leaking. My lady, if you don’t mind, as the healer, rubbing it to make the pain go away?” he dissolved into laughter.

Vander let out a growl, going over to the younger man, planting a large hand on the man’s head and pushing him out of the room. He then slammed the door shut just as the lady glimpsed Drommen dragging him away from the door. “My apologies, Lady Stark,” Vander began, turning to face her with a tired voice. “Trust that he will be dealt with.”

Cregan’s grip on her shoulder became impossibly tighter as she resisted the urge to shrink into his side. “It is alr-” she prepared to absolve Vander of responsibility.

“It is not alright,” her husband cut her off. “Stay here,” he said to her softly. “I am going to deal with him personally,” he declared, finally letting go of his wife. She just watched as he and the other men of the Night’s Watch all left through the same door Drommen guarded, leaving her with Karden.

She just turned to him slowly, clutching Cregan’s far too large cloak closer to her. Her guard watched her with concern. “Are you alright, my lady?”

She nodded, taking a breath to compose herself. “Yes, just a strange place, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he agreed. “My first trip to the wall was two winters ago. I admit I did not enjoy it at first but you get used to it.” She just nodded, hoping that by the end of three months she would not be quite so eager to return to Winterfell.

At dinner, the brothers of the Night’s Watch all observed their lord sat at the head table. “Fuck, they bring Lord Stark to eat with us so we feel better about being on the Wall but not Lady Stark?” Kerith, one of the brothers of the Night’s Watch cursed.

“You really think they’d let her eat with you lot?” one of the Winterfell guards scoffed. “Especially after that one guy said to her in front of Lord Stark and all of them,” he gestured up to the head table.

“Yeah, well he’s an idiot,” another of the men answered.

“Tell us, what’s she look like under all those layers?” Kerith asked the guard. He just rolled his eyes, continuing to eat. “C’mon,” he begged. “You realize I haven’t even seen a woman in five years right? Tell me, has she got big tits?”

The man from Winterfell just sent a glare to all the horny boys listening in eagerly. “I’ll answer that if you are okay with me telling the Lord Commander you asked such a question.” All the boys just grumbled going back to their meals.

The Lady Stark had been up to her elbows in wounds all day. It seemed that ever since Maester Alden died, all training had ceased. And it seemed that, according to her patients, sparring and training was part of what kept the brotherhood of the Night’s Watch going. After weeks of no outlet for conflict, combined with the sudden influx of Winterfell guards who operated by different rules, and the presence of a woman—unbeknownst to the woman in question—things had become quite heated. With several scuffles breaking out in the training yard and the Lord Commander allowing them to occur as a form of catharsis.

Lady Stark had even made Karden into an assistant as he worked to bandage less severe wounds and run interference against the boys who simply wanted to come see a woman.

Venturing over to a bed held by a younger boy, just barely six and ten, she approached him with a kind smile. He had come in so sheepishly, clutching an arm to his chest and looking at her like an angel. “How are you feeling Clarreth?” she asked.

“Better, my lady,” he practically beamed up at her. He had not been at the wall long but it seemed the lack of women had gotten to him as his eyes never left her as she worked through all the beds of legitimately wounded men.

“That’s good,” she smiled, the boy practically melting under its warmth. “Do you feel well enough to return to the barracks? I’m afraid I’ll need this bed for one of the other men.”

Clarreth practically deflated at the suggestion. “But I’m still a bit sore.”

The woman could not help but contain her smile, the situation reminding her when her nephew was not even four years and had developed an affection for her. Yes, this boy was old enough to understand the boundaries he was breaching but at least he was not being disgusting about it as many of the other men had been. Plus, his round face and wide eyes made him look harmless.

She sunk down beside his bed, speaking to him as if he were a child despite being only three years younger. “Clarreth, someone else needs that bed.”

He sighed. “Fine,” he conceded, reluctantly getting out of bed.

He began reluctantly heading to the door just as a large figure entered. Lady Stark’s face visibly lit up as her husband entered the infirmary. “What are you doing here?” the joy clear in her voice.

All the injured members of the Night’s Watch could not resist glaring at their lord as he passed, jealous of his wife’s favor towards him. The only glare that Cregan noticed was Clarreth, but seeing that the boy was so young and unassuming, he did not bother to address it with him. “I thought I should check in on you,” he answered, settling a hand on her waist. “Who was that?” he asked, nodding over to the boy’s retreating form.

“Oh, that’s Clarreth. He was knocked over during sparring and insisted on having a bed. I think he holds some affection for me.”

“My love, all the men here hold some affection for you. Even the Lord Commander,” Cregan stated bluntly. His wife just blushed, especially as he absentmindedly tugged her fichu up, maintaining her modesty. “Well, I can see that you are busy and I am in the mood for some sparring. I will see you at dinner,” he bid, pressing a chaste kiss to her hairline before backing away from her, a grin on his face.

She just stood there, smiling after him for a moment. Her trance was only broken by repeated attempts to get her attention from wounded soldiers.

“My lady! My lady! Lady Stark!” a voice finally caught her attention. Surprised, she whirled around to find a man who she had previously treated lying holding his arm. “I believe my stitches tore.”

“Oh!” she cried, grabbing a rag to begin putting pressure on the wound. She held the man’s upper arm firmly. “Karden, come hold pressure,” she shouted across the room. The guard came running over immediately.

“Are you sure?” the man questioned. “I much prefer you to hold my arm,” he flirted.

The lady just rolled her eyes as she moved to grab some thread and the needle she had used earlier. Crouching by the bed she observed his arm, finding the first three stitches missing rather than torn. With a brow furrowed in confusion, she found bloody clumps of thread on the bed along with the man’s bloody fingers. Her jaw fell slack with disgust and surprise. “Di- did you rip out your own stitches?” she gasped.

“How else was I supposed to get your attention?” he smiled.

The woman looked at him like he had three heads. She took a breath, gritting her teeth. “I will stitch you up one more time and if you rip them out again, or even accidentally tear them, I will leave you to bleed. Is that clear?” she demanded.

The man only smirked. “Understood, my lady,” he smiled before settling back against the bed.

Reluctantly, the woman began stitching before looking to the new injury that stumbled into the room. Quirking a brow, she observed two men entering, one clearly not well as his arm was slung over the shoulder of another man, looking like he was near unconsciousness.

“Take him to bed three,” the healer directed. The man holding him complied, staggering under the weight of his friend. “What happened?”

“Said he wanted to spar with Lord Stark. He got him onto his knees and knocked him out with the hilt of his sword.”

“Mother,” the woman breathed, observing the large welt forming on the man’s hairline. “Here,” she said, grabbing a rag from a freezing bucket of water. “Can you have him hold this against his injury? Get it cold again as it warms but just keep him awake,” she asked.

“Of course,” the uninjured man agreed.

She thanked him before moving to check on the other wounded men occupying the beds. “Karden,” she called over her guard.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Can you bandage him up and kick him out?” she asked, nodding over to the man who had ripped out his stitches. But as she looked at him he winked, blowing her a kiss.

“Of course, my lady. Would you like me to report him to Lord Stark as well?”

She thought for a moment before shaking her head, heading over to one of the beds that held a bleeding member of the Night’s Watch, checking on his bandages. She made her rounds as Karden removed the man from the infirmary. Fortunately, he didn’t make too much of a fuss, just a few angry remarks before walking himself out.

After another hour of bandaging up injuries, many of them reportedly coming from Cregan as he seemingly sparred with every member of the Night’s Watch, Lady Stark was exhausted. But it seemed she had settled most of her patients. The men stopped coming as often and those who truly needed to stay in the infirmary were all resting, the rest having been sent back to their duties or the barracks.

Taking a seat at the desk set up in the infirmary, she took another moment to breathe. The door then opened again, revealing the side of Drommen as he allowed another man in. Reluctantly Lady Stark looked up at him with a polite smile. “What may I help you with?” she asked.

Feigning the best hoarse voice he could, Kerith spoke. “I was in the training yard and got knocked down and something feels wrong in my chest,” he rasped, holding his chest.

Genuine concern drew over the healer’s face as she stood. “Go over to one of the empty beds and remove your furs and tunic. I will come check on you in a moment,” she directed. The man nodded before going over to the furthest bed.

After giving him a moment to undress, the lady went over. “Okay, lie back,” she instructed. “I am going to listen to your breathing.” The man complied as she stooped down, placing an ear against his bare chest. “Take several deep breaths for me.”

Kerith did as instructed, his breathing sounding perfectly normal. Confused, the woman moved to his other lung, listening again, but before she could pull away, the man grabbed her head, pushing her down. She let out a yelp of surprise as he shoved her face into his fortunately still clothed crotch. But as she tried to pull away, his fingers grabbed a fist full of her hair, shoving her face further into his body.

Hearing the scream, Karden immediately ran over, a hand on his sword as he grabbed the man’s hand. “Let Lady Stark go,” he demanded. But Kerith just ignored him, savoring the feeling of something other than his own hand touching his cock. Unsheathing his sword, Karden brought it to the man’s throat. “Unhand her or I will kill you right here,” he threatened.

Reluctantly, Kerith let go, releasing the now crying woman who slumped down onto the floor next to the bed. Karden wasted no time yanking the man from the bed, his torso still bare, and marching him out of the infirmary.

Meanwhile, Drommen was rushing over to his lady’s side as the conscious men watched on from their beds. “Are you alright, my lady?” he asked, kneeling beside the weeping woman. She did not answer as she tried to make the tears stop but they just kept coming as she found her breath becoming shallow. “Come, I will bring you to Lord Stark,” he told her, helping her up.

Outside, Karden found his lord in the training yard, standing with the Lord Commander and First Ranger, observing a fight. Knowing that the Warden of the North would not let this transgression pass, he shouted across the training yard, “Lord Stark!”

The crowd fell silent, even the fighters ceasing as the Winterfell guard marched the half naked member of the Night’s Watch to his lord, throwing the man at his feet. “My lord,” Karden began, “this brother of the Night’s Watch has committed a transgression against you and your wife that I will not let go unreported,” he practically spat. “Whilst Lady Stark was attempting to help this man, he grabbed her by the hair and forced her face into his crotch.”

The yard was deathly quiet, no man daring to speak as the Lord of the North processed his loyal guard’s words. Inside, fury burned within Cregan as he stared down at the man like he was scum on his boot. He gifted these men with the thing most cherished by him and they disrespected him in such an egregious way? He could not allow that.

Beside him, the Lord Commander took a step forward to look at his man. “Is this true?” he questioned.

Kerith sat up on his knees, angrily spitting the dirt from his mouth. “Aye. Just because he is the Lord of the North, why should he get to bring a toy just to parade it under our noses?”

By now, Lady Stark had entered the training yard, under the arm of Drommen. Cregan observed his wife’s tear-stricken face, the rage inside him burning brighter but the words dying on his tongue as he looked at her across the yard.

“That is your liege lady,” Vander spat.

“Fuck her titles,” the man spat. “She’s meant to fuck. A man was meant to have the pleasures of a woman and well, she’s the only one around. I say, whoever beats her husband gets to fuck her.”

Several murmurs erupted from the crowd, with a few of Winterfell’s guards stepping forward to detain him. But Cregan just held up a hand, a cruel smile finding its way onto his lips. Stooping down, he got close to Kerith’s face. “You want to fight me for the right to fuck my wife?” he repeated incredulously. “Is that really your proposal?” he dared.

“Aye,” Kerith agreed. “I know we give up women when we take the oath but the way I see it, if I best the Warden of the North, then I am released from the oath and gifted his wife.”

Cregan wanted nothing more than to shove the measly little worm before him back into the dirt but kept his composure. The cruel smile once again graced his features as he stood. “Fine,” he agreed, releasing his cloak from around his shoulders and grasping his greatsword, Ice. “Someone get him a sword,” he called, his eyes never leaving Kerith. “I’ve been making quick work of your brothers all day.”

The murmurs among the crowd returned, louder this time. Next to Drommen and a few other Winterfell guards who had noticed their lady, Cregan’s wife let out a whimper. She moved to step forward but Drommen’s firm grasp halted her. “Don’t,” he warned.

In the center of the yard Kerith stood determinedly, a sword in hand. He had bested nearly every ranger here, surely the lord who spent his days cooped up in a cozy castle was slow and clumsy with a sword as large as Ice.

Cregan circled the man calmly, waiting for him to make the first move. It seemed he was quite slow as Kerith did not strike until Cregan had nearly completed the circle around him. But the Lord of the North saw it coming as the man’s body tensed in preparation to attack. He dodged the repugnant man easily, the flat of his sword swinging around to slap the man’s back, sending him crashing to the ground. Cregan created some distance between the man and himself, allowing him to recover.

Incensed, Kerith made another wild attack at his lord, to which Cregan met with a surprising defensive force. Bringing his sword up, he held strong against the watchman’s attack, his large frame easily pushing the smaller man back.

At the display of strength Kerith began to appreciate the gravity of the situation. The Lord of Winterfell was strong and trained in combat by the best swordsmasters the North had to offer. Perhaps a more erratic approach would throw the large lord off enough to earn him a victory.

So he approached the lord wildly, swinging his sword as if he were merely a boy again swinging a wooden sword. Cregan met it surprisingly well, managing to block all the man’s blows. Whilst he had merely been toying with the watchman before, as he came at him with a new ferocity, Cregan was ready to end the man that had so egregiously violated and dishonored his wife.

He met Kerith’s attacks with ferocity, finally putting his opponent on the defense. That was, until he got in close, giving advantage to the man with a shorter sword that allowed him to barely swipe the blade against his side. It was hardly a slice but a slice nonetheless. But ever the experienced fighter, Cregan did not let it hinder him, rather the rage that this man could defile his wife and then wound him fueled the lord. Drawing his arm down, his elbow knocked into his opponent’s blade before striking up again, his greatsword plunging into the man’s abdomen so far the Valyrian steel emerged from his back.

Cregan watched with cruelty in his eyes as the vanquished man’s eyes grew wide before his legs gave out, sending him crashing to the ground, his body coming free from the blade. The lord looked away from the dead man at his feet towards the men surrounding him. “Would anyone else like a go for my wife’s hand?” he shouted with such ferocity that even if he hadn’t just killed a man, the rest of them would be too frightened to approach.

After several beats of silence, the Lord Commander spoke. “Everyone back to your duties. Go!” his voice boomed across the yard. The men needed no reminder as they all quickly and quietly headed to various buildings.

Finally, Drommen relaxed his grip enough so his lady could reach her husband. She wasted no time ripping out of her arms and going to her husband’s large form, immediately placing a tender hand against his side, careful not to hurt his wound.

“Cregan, oh my gods,” she cried.

Disregarding her gentleness, he wrapped his strong arms around her, crushing her into his side but she was quick to pull away, far more concerned about her husband’s wound than he was. Turning, she found the guards that had surrounded her still standing there, “Prepare Lord Stark a warm bath in our chambers,” she requested before turning back to her husband again.

Cregan practically melted looking at her teary, concerned eyes. “I am alright, I have suffered worse,” he assured. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, although her sniffle was unconvincing. “I am. Come, let’s get you stitched up and in the bath,” she said, pressing herself against his uninjured side, meaning to support him but Cregan just walked with ease like the war tested hero he was.

Once in their chambers, they found a steaming tub of water. “Sit there,” she directed him towards a short stool that had been left.

Cregan complied as he watched his wife fretfully go over to her trunk, pulling out a sewing kit. As she came back over to him, kneeling next to him, he noticed her trembling hands and her distraught face. “Hey,” he stopped her, grabbing her shaking hands in his large, still ones. “Take a breath,” he advised her. She listened, letting out a shuddering breath. “There,” he praised softly, his hand running down her arm. “I do not mean to offend, my love, but I’d prefer if you weren’t shaking when you stitched me up.”

Fortunately she laughed at his teasing, nodding in agreement as she took shuddering breaths to compose herself. Reaching over, she grabbed a fistful of his tunic’s hem, pressing it up. Her husband took the hint, helping her to remove it. She then pressed on his shoulder so he would rest his back against the wall, stretching the wound so he would not be restricted with his stitches. But before he would let her begin, he tapped his fingers against her hip, urging her closer to him. He kept pressing, in a silent request, until she had climbed into his lap, but she moved herself to straddle his thighs, careful to keep her skirts away from his wound. She then sent him a teasing glare to his proud smile as she got to work stitching him up. By the end, he hadn’t complained or even moved once. The only indication that he was conscious as she stitched was his firm grip on her hip.

“Okay,” she said, climbing off of him. “I will bandage you after your bath,” she gestured to the still steaming tub that had probably cooled down to an appropriate temperature.

Cregan didn’t say anything as he stripped his clothes, getting into the bath without hesitation while his wife cleaned up. After he settled, she came over with a rag, intending to clean him but a strong yet gentle grip on her wrist stopped her before she could even begin.

Looking up at her husband in confusion she found nothing but pain on his face. “Please forgive me,” he begged quietly.

Shocked confusion ran through her. “What?”

“Forgive me,” he repeated. “For bringing you here where a man, one of my men, tried to take advantage of you and your kindness.”

“Cregan, it is not your fault,” she was quick to assure, pulling away slightly. “It is no one’s fault but his.”

Cregan looked unconvinced but nodded anyways. After a beat of silence he finally let go of her wrist. “Join me?” he asked. She hesitated for a moment making him think the worse. “If you want to,” he added. “I understand if you are uncomfortable wit-”

“No,” his wife was quick to dismiss her concerns. She just nodded, beginning to strip her layers off and untie her dress until she was bare before him. A sight Cregan had missed between all the travel and cold.

Seeing as her husband occupied the entire tub, she settled on his thighs, just below his hips. His fingers found her womanhood, teasing her in the way he knew made her putty in his hands. She let out soft moans as he tried to coax her to rest her chest against his but she just stayed upright, wary of his injuries.

As her husband’s fingers coaxed her closer and closer to the edge, she reached down, finding his already hard cock, her fingers giving it a few strokes before she moved her hips, making Cregan’s fingers pull away as she settled herself sinking down onto his cock. Her whine matched his groan at the intrusion, both missing the other’s body.

“Gods, Cregan,” she whined, her hips already falling into a smooth rhythm. “Tell me I’m yours,” she begged.

Cregan smiled softly, agreeing without any hesitation as his hips met hers. “You’re mine,” he confirmed, wrapping an arm around her to pull her even closer. “You’re mine,” he repeated, pressing a kiss to her temple before burying his face in her hair again.

Masterlist

#x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #got #got x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragons x reader #house of the dragons #cregan #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #stark x reader #house stark #house stark x reader

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you-know-honey · 1 month ago

Text

Risky Moves

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Chapter Summary: A secret experiment and a punishment at the academy end up conspiring to bring Jayce, his partner, and you together in the same place, and a half-lie will shape the path of their future.

Series: The Path to Zaun

Past Part / Next Part

A/N: English isn't my first language, feel free to correct me in the comments and I'll update it. Remember to share if you liked it. Sorry for the delay but the holiday season is full of work.

That morning started out as a beautiful day, the sun spilling down all the streets and reflecting off almost all the buildings in Piltover, perfect for doing anything but going to class.

“Oh come on, I thought you liked that class” Sky said beside you, both of you had seen outside the dorms and took advantage of the walk to their classrooms to catch up.

“I like the class, but my classmates are asymptomatic smarts” You complained, moving your hands in exasperation, it wasn’t long before your wrist creaked and a grimace of pain was reflected on your face. You remembered perfectly how you had won that.

Sky just laughed with the softness of a kitten. She was very used to seeing you be very expressive, if your mouth didn’t say it your face spoke for you and she simply enjoyed the show, it seemed cute to her. It was something she had seen you do since you were little and it reminded her of the times when things were less complicated, at least in her childish eyes.

“What happened to you?” She asked as he saw you holding your wrist.

“It’s just a little discomfort, don’t worry.” You offered her a calming smile. Sky didn’t believe your words at all, you weren’t that kind of clumsy, but she knew you would tell him when you were ready.

It had been weeks since your little escape with Jayce to undercity, you hadn’t seen him since then, not at the academy or walking down the street. You had passed by his apartment several times by mere chance, your feet simply dragging you to his street every time you left the academy. Your mind kept thinking about whether all those things you had managed to get had really been of any use to him for his secret project, you wished he would need things again, even though you didn’t want to admit it, it had been fun going out with him, running through the streets, returning to your native home without being alone. Of course there was still a thorn of poison in that memory and it had a name, Finn, you didn't expect to see him again, just thinking about his stupid smile made you clench your fist again, you would hit him again even if it broke every part of your hand just to permanently erase that stupid smile.

“Okay, we’re here.” Sky said, pressing her notebooks to her chest before giving you a big hug goodbye.

“You’re leaving already?” You asked like a puppy who was about to be abandoned, you wished you had taken advantage of the time on the way to chat instead of getting lost in your thoughts. But it was too late and you were already in front of her classroom door.

“Can we have a girls’ afternoon tomorrow, tea and cakes?” Your face lit up, your friend could only let out a delicate laugh before giving you a kiss on the cheek and breaking the hug.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything… in your room?” you mentioned putting your hands in your pockets, rocking on your heels. She confirmed it with a sweet nod of her head.

Sky was about to enter the classroom after some students but she turned quickly “I almost forgot, here.” She handed you what you could only describe as a masterpiece of craftsmanship, a notebook with leather covers, cyan blue and gold details.

“Wait what?” You asked as you took it in your hands as if it were a red-hot iron.

“I saw it in a store and it reminded me of you, I hope you like it.” She seemed to enjoy your reaction quite a bit. You were so unaccustomed to receiving gifts that you even refused to accept one. “Maybe it’s worthy of being used in your research.”

“But Sky…” You were left speechless to respond, something that Sky took advantage of and entered the room quickly, leaving you alone in the hallway.

A smile crossed your face from ear to ear, as your fingers wandered over the cover of the notebook, it seemed expensive and even if you tried to rack your brain you couldn’t find a way for it to give off any vibe of you. But that was Sky, out of nowhere she would appear at your door with a hand-knitted scarf or some freshly baked cookies without giving a damn that she had to climb the stairs to the top floor, she seemed to simply sense when something was wrong in your life and would appear to offer you a helping hand.

It was something that happened since you were both little, when you ran away to go to her parents' house to pretend you still had a sweet childhood, where you could feel loved and cared for. More than best friends, she felt like a sister, the good half of your whole life. And that made you have no idea what to put in such a nice gift, your notes about your research were barely legible even for you, pages of theories, data, horrible crossed out lines and torn pages, giving the same fate to such a nice notebook would be like slapping Sky. You would wait, you would wait for something incredible that was worth putting in it.

You continued on your way to class, putting the beautiful notebook in your bag. You knew it wouldn't be an easy day when you could hear a loud commotion inside from the beginning of the hallway. When you entered, Professor Heimerdinger was trying to quiet everyone down, but no one seemed to take the cute yordle seriously, so you decided to give him a little help, slamming the door as hard as you could to close it. All eyes immediately turned to you.

“Oh,” the yordle jumped. “Welcome to class, dear Y/N,” the professor said when he saw you and with one of his small furry hands he motioned for you to sit down.

“Oh, perfect, just what we needed, the misfit has arrived.” one of your classmates murmured as you passed by his table. Others laughed a little under their breath, no one was stupid enough to play along in front of the professor.

“Errik! That language is unacceptable in class!” Heimerdinger quickly reprimanded, the boy just rolled his eyes. “That merited an apology to your classmate.” The professor always fought to keep the peace, no matter how difficult it was.

The boy grimaced before speaking. “I’m sorry for having said such an apt comment about you.”

“Errik!” Heimerdinger scolded again.

“Its okay, professor.” You didn’t want any more attention than you were already getting. “An insult only hurts if it comes from someone admirable, if not, it’s nothing more than envy.” You said as you sat in the first row of tables, next to the window so the air currents would cool you down. The professor seemed to want to say something else, but gave up and decided to continue with the class.

You didn’t care what someone like Errik said, he was the fourth nephew of Councilman Hoskel and apparently low intellect was a dominant gene in that family. You had become the object of his mockery after the last boy he annoyed left the academy, he was basically an untouchable fly, leaving his bacteria on everything and no one would do anything to respect him, not even Heimerdinger himself could give him anything more than a mild scolding. So the best thing was to bite your tongue and try to evade his provocations as best you could, advice that the same teacher had given you along with a long apology for not being able to reprimand him properly.

You would never be on equal terms after all, everyone had someone powerful who watched their back in case they made a mistake, you only had your excessive sarcasm and confidence to defend you and that, well... wasn't much use in Piltover.

You had left blood and tears on the road to even be considered to enter the academy, more exceptional than the average applicant, but not enough to be able to apply for more important careers. So you were stuck with some students really interested in biology and spoiled brats who just wanted to brag about having studied there.

Professor Heimerdinger took advantage of the small silence and started the class, climbing up tiny stairs to reach the blackboard, moving his chalk with agility and speed.

“Well class, I have noticed that no student of this faculty has presented an idea as a project. I must not repeat that without that project the grade of some of you will be severely affected. So we will fix that today” The professor came down the stairs with a small jump “With a brainstorm” his eyes seemed quite excited and by his tone I expected that at least one or another would respond with that same emotion.

Unfortunately the only thing you could do was evoke a smile and a look of support in a sea of tired and indifferent faces. You knew your grades wouldn't be affected in the slightest and honestly, an extra project wouldn't hurt, it would be the perfect excuse to get materials in a less suspicious way.

“Tough audience” the yordle muttered “Okay, then each of you will come forward with an idea, no matter how crazy it is, think big!” he said as he sat down behind his desk.

The whole activity took up a lot of the morning. Not all of them seemed like bad ideas to you, of course some were fantastic and really crazy but really interesting. When your turn came, you walked like the others to the front, you took a breath before speaking. “Replacing the gas streetlights with bioluminescent elements, in the mines of undercity there are mushrooms that shine brightly, it would be a safe and natural way to light up the nights in the cities” the professor seemed quite attracted by your idea and the whispering of your classmates gave you the indication that you were on the right track.

“Ha!” a fake laugh came from Errik’s seat “You can get the rat out of the sewer but not the sewer of the rat”

“Excuse me?” You said through your teeth, clenching your fists behind your back.

The professor’s ears lowered. “Y/N…”

“How do you plan to bring those dirty mushrooms here? Have you even thought that they could be toxic?” Errik asked with the clear intention of discrediting your proposal.

“We will go down to take samples and study them in the laboratory” You answered, it wasn't something complicated to do.

But as soon as the rest of the group heard about going down to undercity it was as if everyone had suddenly stopped their spirits and perhaps not so secretly that offended you.

“Are you crazy or do you take too many drugs? Nobody wants to go down to that dump!” His words were supported by cowardly looks “And help them? This is a project for the city of progress!”

That was enough for you, for your patience and for your pride, it was seconds in the middle of the disaster. The ground shook, the entire classroom moved, some students even fell to the ground. The sound of an explosion in the city resonated in everyone's ears and blue particles floated through the window in the wind. You were the victim of an unknown force, as if a bolt of pure adrenaline had split you in half, traveling through your spine and leaving your brain collapsed. While everyone looked at each other due to the noise of the explosion and helped each other to stand up, you took the eraser from the board and with a lucky aim you managed to throw it with all your strength towards Errik's throat.

“You miserable son of a bitch! I'm going to rip your guts out with a corkscrew if you say one more word about Zaun, you ignorant bastard!” You didn't know how, but you were on his table, holding Errik's shirt collar while a thick drop of blood ran down his nose, his eyes had become moist and his gaze only reflected a scared big mouth bitch. It was the first time you pronounced the name that Undercity had given itself as a promise of freedom for the next generation, that name was something that any inhabitant of above hated to hear. A symbol of rebellion.

“Y/N!” Heimerdinger scolded. “Please let him go!”

His voice made you react, letting go reluctantly, feeling like your fingers had gone numb in the grip. Errik quickly moved away with his hand on his neck.

“Professor, look!” One of your classmates shouted, pointing to the window, the entire class ran to see what was happening. You tried to go too, but your body felt heavy and dizzy so you had to push your way through to look.

“Oh for the gods…” The teacher murmured when he managed to look out the window.

A giant cloud of smoke rose over a building in the academic district between flames and the sound of firefighters and police. The entire class was shocked and they whispered among themselves what could have caused that. But your mind was stuck on a single fact. From the height you knew that street, you knew that building and even more importantly, you knew who lived there.

“Jayce…” your heart was hit by anguish and worry.

“Professor Heimerdinger!” a policeman flung open the door, drawing everyone’s attention. “The council urgently requests your presence.”

The little yordle moved his whiskers in surprise. “I understand…” he gently massaged his chin. “It seems serious. Please inform the others that classes are cancelled today and that all students are prohibited from leaving the academy.”

A group “What?!” spread throughout the classroom.

“Please escort them to their rooms,” the yordle continued.

Despite the complaints, each student heeded his words and lined up in front of the door. You were still at the window with almost half of your body out of it, waiting to see at least a sign of life.

“Y/N...” the teacher said heavily when it was your turn to leave the classroom, you walked to the door still looking towards the window “Not you” the policeman just closed the door in your face before leaving.

Your face frowned before relaxing to look down and face the teacher. His face only showed that he was looking for the wisest and most thoughtful way to let you have the scolding.

“My dear, violence is never the answer, not even in the most frustrating moments…”

“I know, it wasn't my intention, it was…” he stopped you with a sign of his hand.

“Hitting another student not only puts the harmony of the academy community at risk, but also your own progress. I know you want to help yours. But how can we advance as innovators if we don't learn to cross the sea of frustration? True greatness lies in controlling our emotions and using our intelligence to build, not destroy.”

He was right, he always had the right words and you knew it. To argue with him or turn it into a fight would be ridiculous, so you just nodded shyly, hands clasped in front of you.

“I understand professor, I’m very sorry for what I caused.” The embarrassment was clear in your voice to the chagrin of your pride.

“You will understand that I must give you an exemplary punishment.” You averted your gaze, you had already expected something like that. “But you are my best student in this faculty, and since there is an emergency call from the council I don’t think they will pay much attention.” He cleared his throat. “So I will ask you to stay late today and organize tomorrow’s class.”

“Understood,” you said, something like what you had normally done would put expulsion on the table. You were glad it wasn’t like that.

The professor walked towards the door and before closing it behind him, he gave you a few last words: “As for your graduation project…you better postpone it a bit, at least until Councilman Hoskel forgets that you hit his nephew.”

“What?!” You didn’t even know what to say when the door closed, leaving you standing alone in an empty room, just like your hopes. The only sensible thing to do was to let yourself fall to the ground, a stupid fool in a thousand different ways.

The day passed with the afternoon until it reached night, you took a long breath, dropping the pen into the inkwell when you finally finished the punishment that Heimerdinger imposed on you. You had taken as long as you could, writing each letter meticulously just so you could have an excuse and waste time. You stood up abruptly from the teacher's desk, dragging your feet to the windowsill, the cold air of the city making your skin crawl and almost pushing you back inside.

From the window you looked at all of Piltover, every building and every person that was now nothing more than a lost point in the night only illuminated by streetlights that looked more like fireflies from above.

“I'm so… idiotic…” you hit your head against the cold stone behind your back, hugging yourself, just to receive at least some peace of mind. “What the hell happened to me?” You weren't usually violent, at least not at the academy, that outburst was so surprising that you yourself didn't expect it.

You weren't ready to go back to your dorm, see the wall full of terrariums and know that you had ruined everything in a fit of rage that you didn't know where it came from. You had always been agile at dodging Errik's insults no matter how painful they really were, but this time you basically painted a target on your chest. You looked at your hand, the same one you used to throw that eraser straight at his throat. Where had that strength, that anger, come from? You had no idea, again you fell into a hole that you had brought upon yourself by recklessness. Again stagnant like a piece of wood that begins to rot among the garbage in the sewers and by the time it is released it will have already sunk in the dirty water...

You scolded yourself, saying that next time you would be smarter, that next time you would be more prepared. Your mouth opened but no words came out from between your lips other than a warm puff of breath. Your mind wanted to free itself from the torment in which you were submerging yourself, an escape, a fleeting one that would take away your feelings for a while, at least until you knew how to deal with them. Your vocal cords vibrated, even for your ears it was strange to hear yourself sing again, if you closed your eyes you could even see yourself still on that old, damp stage, with the pink and purple lights above you, with the slow and sad music rumbling against your eardrums until it silenced the laughter of the drunks, a way of reminding you how far away from that life you were now. A spectator in the interrupted life of that girl on the stage full of lace and transparent tights reminding you that if there was someone for whom you had to bet everything it was yourself.

“Am I interrupting something?” You quickly wiped away the tears you didn’t know you have, when you heard a soft female voice from the half-open door. “You have a beautiful voice.”

“No…” you said but the tremble in your voice didn’t help your cause at all.

Councilwoman Medarda showed herself, the moonlight illuminating her silhouette from head to toe, she walked towards you with the same elegance of a princess and to your not very enlightened imagination in that regard, she looked just like a pretentious cat. Even though it was ridiculous at this point you still had a shred of dignity to preserve, so you pretended that the darkness of the night outside was more important. The councilwoman dragged her soft hand across the teacher’s desk, caressing the perfectly ordered papers you had arranged.

“Is that song yours?” You nodded in response, the giggle she let out made you immediately turn to look at her.

“Are you amused, councilwoman?” You asked, jumping down from the windowsill with a attitude that stopped the woman from walking.

“Not at all” he said again with his soft tone and a smile on his lips, approaching you with the air of superiority, classic of the advice “But it's hilarious to me that someone with your talent would waste it in these four walls” His hand embraced your cheek, caressing your cheekbone.

You took a step back, moving away from his touch. You didn't expect him to get so close and even less that he would dare to touch you with such sweetness.

Your voice wasn't something that mattered much to you, you knew that it was at least comfortable to listen to but it wasn't your passion, it was a gift that you didn't ask for and that didn't satisfy your soul, if you thought about it, it had even brought more problems.

“Mhmm…” your evasive response to her touch forces her to focus on something else, she looked at the blackboard, it wasn’t long before she sensed that your presence in that classroom was the work of a punishment “It took you so long?” she was provoking you.

“I had my reasons” you weren’t willing to reveal much more.

“You missed an interesting judgment” she sighed resignedly “That boy had so much potential,It's a shame that he was expelled. What a tragedy…”

“Expelled?” as soon as you opened your mouth you knew you fell into her trap, her feline eyes quickly picked up on the concern in your voice and pulled that thread a little further.

“That’s right, Mr. Jayce Talis was officially deemed a danger to the academy community for carrying illegal and dangerous material.” With the click of her heels she turned around ignoring you to play the pen you had left inside the inkwell. Which you were grateful for, so she wouldn’t see your nails digging into your palms.

“Is… is he okay?” you asked.

“He looked devastated at the trial, I doubt he’s better now.” You couldn’t believe how her voice still exuded grace despite such news not being a joy at all. “Did you know him?”

“No.” you rushed to answer, if you didn’t know him you wouldn’t have given a damn about the news and you wouldn’t have shown even a shred of interest, maybe you would have even made fun of him for being discovered. But you had led him to get all that illegal trash and part of you felt responsible for his expulsion although of course it’s not like you would admit it in front of anyone, you didn’t want to run the same fate. “Why is he here?” You asked, maybe something you should have done from the beginning.

“Can’t I just walk around the academy?” she asked but got no response from you so she resigned herself to a sigh and slumped her shoulders before returning to her elegant posture. “Anyway, if you want to do something more than sing to an empty room, call me.” She approached you and from somewhere on her dress she pulled out a card, name and address on it, marked in gold. “And I will make Piltover die to hear you.” She said against your ear, leaving the card in your hands as if it were a secret. “Think about it, it’s a great opportunity…”

With a smile she walked away again towards the door.

“Why are you giving me this?” you asked incredulously.

“Because I see potential. It would be a shame if it was wasted,” she answered from the door frame. “Shall we walk together?”

The echo of Mel's heels resonated in the empty hallway as you tried to keep up with her. Despite her elegance, the councilwoman moved forward with a determination that made it difficult for you to catch up without tripping in the darkness.

You both turned a corner and came across a curious scene: two young men, one stocky and black-haired, the other brown hair and skinny, were leaning in front of an office door. The stocky one held a strange device that emitted a dim light in his hands, while the other nervously looked around. It was Professor Heimerdinger's office.

And it wasn't hard at all for you to figure out who they were, at least one of them was undoubtedly Jayce. A part of you was glad that he was safe and sound and the other wanted to kick him for being so stupid as to infiltrate the academy.

“Are you sure no one will discover us?” Jayce asked, feeling the adrenaline in his ears as they snuck away.

“If you don’t shut up they will” his new partner in crime muttered under his breath. “Gods you really suck” Jayce was basically a bundle of nerves.

“You’re not the first to say it” Jayce replied “Can we just go in?” he complained.

His partner crouched over the three-bolt lock, searching through all the keys for the right one. “So far so good” he managed to get one of the keys to fit.

But to the surprise of both of them a blinding light appeared out of nowhere, revealing two faces familiar to Jayce.

“You'll risk exile for an invention. That's having conviction.” Councilwoman Mel didn't seem very surprised, maybe she already saw something like that coming.

“Councilwoman!” Jayce exclaimed surprised trying to cover his eyes from the light of the flashlight. “Y/N?” but in your case, he seemed disconcerted. As if it were a bad joke from the universe such a rare reunion.

“Wait a minute, isn't this my room? How did I end up here?” You raised an eyebrow at such a terrible excuse. The boy gave up with a soft exhale, holding onto his staff with an unfriendly expression. Although well it was understandable, nobody likes to be caught.

“Please, can we test that it works” Jayce begged causing the councilwoman to laugh.

“Jayce, what are you doing, have you gone crazy?” you asked in a whisper, as if you expected no one but him to be able to hear you.

“It's my secret project... well... ours” he said, giving his partner a quick look. That answer wasn't comforting at all for you. “Believe me, I'll make it work.”

“You couldn't do it before, why would it be different today?” At such an answer from the councilwoman, Jayce's attention returned to her again.

“We managed to stabilize him” Jayce's partner seemed convinced by his words, and he didn't like the way the councilwoman spoke to them at all.

“The professor has you as an assistant...” Councilwoman Mel pointed her flashlight at the boy with the staff.

That helped your gaze analyze him better. He had an appearance that clashed with Piltover's, thin but firmly planted on the ground with a palpable determination, straight back and proud posture. His face was angular, pale skinned, with soft dark circles under his sharp, intense and penetrating golden gaze. His hair was carefully combed with some unruly strands that escaped from the rest. He used the cane elegantly, as an extension of his body. He wore simple clothes, at least compared to Jayce or Councilwoman Medarda, without luxuries but he carried a certain methodical order that was easy for you to notice.

He seemed to make eye contact with you for a moment, you didn't mind that he caught you looking at him, but he quickly looked away with a serious expression to look at the keys hanging on the door. He was in a hurry.

"No, he's my new partner," Jayce said with determination, bringing you back to the situation in front of you.

“Even if you were to prove your theory, the council would destroy it.” These were not baseless comments, she knew the council’s ways better than anyone.

Her words seemed to offend the boy with the cane. “Heimerdinger will recognize the potential.” She said firmly.

“He already does…” the councilwoman began to say. “It scares him. It scares everyone…”

“What do you think?” The question came from the person you least expected, the boy next to Jayce. A discreet search for a little support.

It’s not like your word had any importance or weight in the councilwoman’s opinion but it was worth a try. After all, these boys risked exile to prove that they could do it. It would be hypocritical of you to go against them.

You looked at the councilwoman, she seemed to be waiting intently for you to say “Any innovation represents a risk…and if this is the city of progress, we should be the first to take them.”

Jayce gave you a sweet look of gratitude but everything was cut short by the sound of heavy police boots accompanied by a carefree whistle at the end of the hall.

You weren’t the only one, Jayce seemed more affected than you “Councilwoman, this technology is real and no matter what happens here, it will change our world. We should be the forerunners. Piltover the land of progress, equality, innovation. I know it sounds impossible but have we ever let that stop us…? Please give us a chance.” There was no other chance than this, time was playing against them.

The councilwoman looked at them and then looked at you “One night gentlemen, I suggest you surprise me or pack your things.” Her words were clear before she turned off her flashlight. “My dear, take care of these two. Make sure they don’t do anything that could cause a disaster or worse, a funeral.”

“Good luck.” Before you could protest, the councilwoman disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone with the two young men.

“Sneaking in? That was their best plan,” you scolded Jayce with a smack to the back of his head, crossing your arms.

“This is no time for fooling around, let’s get in quick.” The boy intervened, his calm but firm voice an order you both followed.

You sighed, looking at the two of them. “Okay,” he finally said. “But if this goes wrong, it will be your fault.”

A spark of amusement crossed the boy eyes. “I expected nothing less.”

You closed the door as soon as they entered, you had been in Heimerdinger’s office a few times and everything was just as you imagined, somehow too big for its owner’s size.

Jayce rushed to grab some things from the shelves and throw them on the table, with the low light, you could barely tell they were the things you helped him get, you imitated him, bringing the rest and leaving them on the table, he seemed surprised by the sudden support.

“What?” you asked when you saw the way he looked at you “I helped you get this and you think I’m not going to help you with whatever it is you’re doing?” you asked with a proud smile.

He didn’t say anything, he just rushed to give you a big hug, you froze in place as he wrapped his arms around you. “Thanks…” he said against your ear with a nervous breath.

A fake cough was heard behind both of you “We start working once?” The boy asked, holding a box with some tools against his hip, making his way through the two of them to set them on the table. The scolding worked, Jayce got to work, opening his notebook full of notes on the table.

“Well… Y/N, do you know how to weld?” You nodded when Jayce asked. You didn’t really know, but how difficult could it be? “Well then do you think you could put this together while we work on the rest?”

“Sure, boss,” you dropped into the chair to the side, Heimerdinger’s welding glasses were too big so you had to hope you wouldn’t go blind in the process. “Can I at least know what we’re doing?” you asked, turning the page of the notebook and having it completely catch your attention.

The page was covered with blueprints and notes about runes and a strange artifact with giant letters ‘Hextech'. The boys looked at each other.

“Is it trustworthy?” the boy asked as he searched for cables and circuits.

Jayce looked at you for a few seconds, his eyes were a bit doubtful but he didn't last a second to answer “Of course, she's the girl I told you about.”

His partner sighed “Is she the girl?” He seemed somewhat disappointed as he said it “Then tell her” he said with disinterest, as he sat down at the side of the table and began to work quickly, leaving this cane aside in his seat. You were dying to ask what they had both been saying about you, but it wasn't the right time.

“We managed to find a way to unite magic and technology with this…” From the shadows of the table he brought a box closer, when he opened it there were hundreds of blue crystals that shone brightly, with each small touch rays united and separated them. You swallowed hard, trying not to let the panic show on your face. “They’re magical and really unstable, but we managed to find a way to stabilize them a bit, imagine that. We’ll change the world.”

His words were full of hope and pride, while all you could think about was not ending up blown to pieces.

“We don’t have all night, let’s get to work!” the boy growled a few feet away from you. “I’m talking to both of you.”

The scolding worked and although the night was cold the frenzy of their activities throughout the office warmed the atmosphere, even you were starting to sweat after welding a few pieces, the image of the frame was clear and although you felt your eyes burning, you were not willing to stop. If what Jayce proposed was real and really worked then you had to be involved, if it didn't work you wouldn't hesitate two seconds to jump out the window and sneak like a thief into the student residence area and pretend that nothing had happened. Magic was a serious matter, only some were born with it and none of those people were even allowed to get close to the doors of Piltover. Things were different in Undercity, you had had one of them as a client, although he never proved that he was and one day he simply disappeared completely.

Time passed and when everything was ready Jayce and the other boy spent hours adjusting one of the crystals, facing small flaws. You watched along with them, now just as committed to making it work as they were.

“Try it now,” the boy exclaimed, and you leaned over the table with a mix of concern and curiosity. They had already fixed the circuit three times and perfected the structure a few more times. It had to work.

The boy pressed the button and the crystal inside the device rose a few inches from the base causing larger rays to hit the metal that spun around it.

“I told you it would work” the boy exclaimed with an air of enormous pride. “All yours.”

“Impressive…” you murmured, taking mental notes of the entire process.

Jayce’s gaze seemed lost in the crystal, as if he couldn’t believe it was actually working. “Wow… I’ve never done that before.”

“Alright, what are you waiting for? Make it work, I’m dying to see what it does” You handed the notebook over to Jayce, he's partner had been writing down a few things in it.

Although his partner honestly seemed the most excited about it.

Jayce sighed and brought his hands closer to the button, turning it just a little. Everyone held their breath as the runes on the device began to spin and the crystal’s activity began to increase. Another spin. The crystal rose even higher, the runes spinning like crazy on their axis, after another movement of the button, strange shapes orbited the crystal. You held back a sigh as you felt one of the rays coming from the crystal hit the table and its electric current ran through your body, you removed your hand as quickly as you could.

“Are you okay?” Jayce seemed worried, you nodded, it was not the time to worry about you “I don't think it will last!” Jayce shouted when the atmosphere began to charge with heavy energy and the sound was filled with that of the Hextech spinning.

“Look at the accumulation!” you pointed at the crystal with your head.

“The resonance will stabilize it” The boy did not shout, he seemed very calm and sure. A feeling told him that this time it was going to work. “Trust me”

The crystal began to go crazy, spinning faster and faster, emanating a blinding light that electrified the atmosphere.

“Turn it off!” Jayce’s partner shouted as he tried to protect himself a little from the electrified particles.

You tried to turn it off when Jayce couldn’t get close to the table, but the button and the energy of the crystal prevented you from doing so.

“No…I can’t” you exclaimed, any movement you made that was in contact with the particles felt like needles on your skin.

Before anyone could do anything, the power of the crystal concentrated, and a beam of energy went through the window, filling the glass with it.

It was a relief for a few seconds, before the window panes were drawn back to the cristal, flying and breaking against everything and everyone in the office. You felt yourself being dragged towards the cristal, managing not to do so as you hid behind Jayce, luckily his fist crashed into the button and the cristal fell on the base as if it were a simple rock.

“Unbelievable…” the other boy exclaimed in the middle of the darkness.

“Shit!” You shouted as you approached the broken window “The police at the entrance are not here, they must come here, we must hurry and get out of here”

You quickly began to search blindly for your bag in the dark. Jayce seemed to agree with you.

“No!” The boy shouted, getting his attention with a blow of his cane to the ground. “We can't leave, it's ready, it's going to work.”

“The police are coming for us, I don't doubt it will work but we have to leave or they'll catch us.” You confronted him, even though he was taller than you and even though you hit the table somewhat violently he didn't falter, there was no spasm or movement, he was firmly in his place next to the table.

He didn't hesitate to look you in the eyes, like a staring contest that you couldn't win, his eyes were full of conviction.

“Hey guys…” Jayce murmurs, as a mediator of the discussion.

“One more try.” He said somewhat rudely, taking a step closer to you. His scent of parchments and clean clothes embraced you completely.

You tried not to give in but it was impossible, with a sigh you walked away “I'll look at the door. Make it work” you pointed at both of them before opening the door and being alert for any light or sound.

“She it's a bossy” he exhaled, perhaps he would say something else but your frown stopped him.

Seconds were enough to put the crystal back into operation and it was those same seconds that were enough for the police and Professor Heimerdinger himself to approach quickly.

“They come!” you shouted, closing the door and rushing to find something that will work to give them a little more time. “Hey! Give me your staff!” you yelled at the boy who just didn’t hesitate before throwing it and placing it between the door handles. It wouldn’t stop them forever but it would give them a few minutes.

“Stop this madness!” You heard the professor yell in an angry tone that you had never heard from him before.

“They’re going in!” You yelled as you tried to hold the doors back with your own body. “No pressure but… hurry up!” You yelled at both of them.

“That sounds like it!” Jayce answered you upset.

Jayce’s partner raised the button again which didn’t take long to rise between the metal and the runes.

“She won’t hold out for long” the boy said watching you put all your weight against the door.

Jayce's mind was racing through all his knowledge. He had gotten the best student at the academy into this and dragged you along for the ride, it wasn't just his life that would go to shit if Hextech didn't work, but also the lives of two people who had made many sacrifices to get to where they were and still didn't hesitate to support him. It was as if the answer had come like magic, his hand instinctively moved over the button.

Right.

The crystal rose higher and began to spin around itself rapidly.

Left.

The runes froze in place, glowing and propelling the crystal.

Right.

Arcane symbols and seals began to expand from the crystal and fill the air.

Center.

When Jayce pressed the button the symbols and seals filled the entire place, joining together above their heads, culminating in a huge implosion.

You closed your eyes before the light hit you. What a way to die.

“Excuse me, careful downstairs!” Heimerdinger exclaimed, his voice was what made you open your eyes, you were still alive and even stranger. You were floating in the air in a strange galaxy of energy coming from the crystal.

Your face was not the only one that seemed amazed at everything you were witnessing.

The artifact floated beneath your body, along with other books, crystals, and other objects. In front of you, the crystal had transformed into pure energy, surrounded by a ring of light. You were impressed, maybe it was nerves or excitement but you couldn't help but laugh nervously, looking at your companions' gaze.

Jayce was more than amazed. Laughing, as nervous as you, pushing a small nut towards the crystal with his hand.

But it wasn't the reaction that interested you the most. On the other side, catching the nut, the boy with the cane laughed, sweetly and genuinely with a tender smile, the tiredness in his gaze had completely vanished. And that seemed cute to you.

“Oh shit!” You exclaimed when your body was inexplicably drawn to the crystal, your fingers touched the ring of light and before you knew it you were floating headfirst over that boy. His eyes and yours connected and both of you smiled nervously, it had worked and relief was something you could breathe in peace now.

“Wow…” he was surprised to have you so close from one moment to the next.

“You were right… One more try…”

“I told you so” He extended his hand towards you as you began to float further and further away from both of you, keeping you together.

“You really did it” the teacher called the attention of everyone floating. “But just because you can make it doesn’t mean… Guys could stop flying?” he exclaimed a little annoyed.

“I’m not sure how to do it sir” the boy answered somewhat nervously.

A giggle escaped your lips, how he could break all the rules and be so inhibited when speaking was something you didn’t understand.

“Y/N?” The teacher seemed surprised “What are you doing here young lady?”

“Ummm… I’m the… assistant?” You said raising your shoulders, not quite sure that the lie would work. “Right?..ummm..” you realized that you never asked him his name.

“Viktor, Miss Y/N,” he replied with a confident smile on his face.

Mental note: You already knew what you would put in the special notebook.

Tags:aise-30 optimistic-but-very-realistic flare-on ratnamedtoby

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