#the prospect of being hanged in the morning

[pratchettquotes]

They say that the prospect of being hanged in the morning concentrates a man's mind wonderfully; unfortunately, what the mind inevitably concentrates on is that, in the morning, it will be in a body that is going to be hanged.

Terry Pratchett, Going Postal

[eideticmemory]

SNAP OUT OF IT | SPENCER REID

Spencer knows he’s just a coworker. He knows he’s just a friend. He knows you’ve got a boyfriend. He just doesn’t really give a fuck!

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning/Includes: Taken!Reader, DownBad!Spencer, a little angst and a little smut.

Dedicated to wifetthew + future mrs stewart (and sidepiece) who inspire me everyday and don’t even realize it.

Spencer vividly remembers the moment he realized he was in love with you. Spencer remembers everything about you but this moment in particular, he recounts in his mind a lot. You had just joined the unit. He could tell you - you'd only been there three months, two weeks, and five days. You were flying across time zones so by the time you landed, it would be six days. Everyone else had fallen asleep or was nearly there. Save for you two. You tried your hand in a round of chess but you're shit at it so you'd taken to a game of cards. Spencer remembers thinking it was the easiest conversation he's ever had in his life. He could talk and talk and talk until he lost his breath and when he was done, you'd do the same until there was no air left in your lungs either. He shuffled the cards between his fingertips, hanging onto your every word, watching the sparkle in your eye as you spoke. He kept firing out subtle agreements between your words like, 'yeah...oh, I know...absolutely,’ not just because it's impossible to disagree with your pretty face but because you’re so smart. You get it. He actually had the thought: she gets it.

Finally, he thought, someone gets it.

And you felt just the same. You said to him, "Thank you for agreeing. No one ever gives a shit about my foreign film analysis."

"I...I give a shit."

You chuckled at the gentleness with which he swore and although his voice was soft, it was genuine. "I appreciate it. My boyfriend's unreasonably against the horror genre as a whole. I think it's his biggest flaw. I like being scared."

Because you were too busy counting up your cards, you couldn’t see the bright smile instantly drop from Spencer's face. He could feel the shift in his muscles, the way his eyes stretched wide. He promptly shifted his gaze down and cleared his throat, “B-boyfriend?"

"Yeah..." you shrugged. Very casual, very nonchalant. "Three years next month."

"Oh, wow," he replied and it sounded kind of snide but you didn't think much of it. “That's nice."

He had realized he was in love with you three years too late.

Spencer could have accepted defeat, yeah. Absolutely. If there's one thing the boy genius can do, it's compartmentalize. This is work. This is [y/n]. This is my coworker. This is our job. This is our jet. These are the cards we've been dealt. The best thing to do would be to play them as they fall. Yet, he keeps himself awake for six hour flights just to hold your undivided attention, to talk about things nobody else cares about. His eyes linger on you as you deliver a profile and he thinks: That's [y / n]. That's her face. That's her voice. That's the sweater that matches her eyes just right and the boots she wears when we travel down south. If there's one thing the boy genius can't do when it comes to you, it's compartmentalize. How could he?

He finds himself standing by the elevator at four in the morning. There is nothing exciting about being called in at four in the morning, save for the prospect of seeing you. The elevator dings and he stands up straight, poses his satchel just perfectly on his hip. He wants to be picture perfect ready. Like a model directly out of a Backup Boyfriend catalog. Although, when you step out, you don't even notice he's there. You storm through the bullpen, your phone held up to your ear and your head ducked down. You sequester yourself in an awkward corner, far enough that you feel secluded but not enough so that Spencer can't see you. He sways in place, an attempt to look casual, his hair tucked behind his ear so he can hear you better. He picks up strained words like, 'please...I don't know...okay...fine...bye!' It all comes to a sudden end, your thumb landing on the screen with such force that it could crack.

You seamlessly join the rest of the team, shoving your phone in your back pocket. Try as you might to shift your focus, the edge hasn't quite left your body so when Spencer asks, "You okay?" You respond with a curt, "Yeah. I'm fine.”

He thinks: That's fine. That's okay. I can take it. On the jet, you bury your nose in a case file and when your phone won't stop vibrating, you silence it completely. Spencer brings you a cup of coffee and you hardly even process it.

"Cream and extra sugar," he pips because he knows that's how you like it.

"Thanks.”

That's it. Spencer waits for more but it never comes. He sits on the opposite side of the jet, watching you pick up your phone, huff, and type, type, type in a rage. He thinks: I cannot take this.

The case is a good distraction. A relief for him to know that even when you are not yourself, you're still brilliant. You just can't help it. There's a moment where he just finishes the geographical profile and you stand at his side, arms crossed as you look it over. Your gasp cuts through the air like a knife and his eyes land on you instantaneously.

"Spencer Reid." You put your hand on his shoulder and oh, he almost drops to his knees. “You're a fucking genius."

You race out of the room and he exhales a breath he didn't even know he was holding. He grips onto his shoulder and his skin is still red hot.

A win is good. You needed a win. You all needed a win. Makes you feel good for something. Makes the flight home much less suffocating than its departure. On top of solving murders in a rush, the mental gymnastics your brain has endured over the week leaves you exhausted. You pull a blanket over your body and snuggle against the solid walls of the jet. You let out this big, heavy sigh just as Spencer sits down across from you.

“Close call today, huh?” he says.

“Yeah,” you nod. You look up at him with these bleary eyes and they’re so beautiful that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk.

But he does, “All thanks to you.”

You smile. You want to be bashful, to deny the praise, but you don’t have the energy. “Thanks for the pat on the back.”

“Oh, anytime.”

He watches you take another deep breath, your body lulling into further peace by the second. He hates to disrupt it. “You, uh…” he stutters. “You wanna share what’s been bothering you now?”

You glance over at him from the corner of your eye, “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to a profiler.”

You chuckle. He loves to make you laugh. “It’s nothing,” you shake your head.

“You…you know I’m the profiler, right?”

You sit up, another laugh escaping your throat without much thought. It feels nice. “Yeah. Right.”

“So?”

“I’m just…stressed…” you finally admit, though that part was evident.

“Blackjack?” He sets an array of cards in front of you.

You nod, “I have a stressful job. Hit me.”

He flips another card, “Five. Yeah, you do.”

“And…it’s hard when…when things at home are stressful, too. Makes it worse. Hit me.”

Another card, “Ooh, six. That makes sense.”

“Sometimes, I…I don’t know…I let myself get pulled in too many different directions,” you look over your cards, dangerously close to 21, and you take a leap of faith. “Hit me.”

He turns the final card over and it brings you right to 21. The way it unfolds shocks you, pulls you from your brain fog and you break out in a grin. “21? That’s 21, right?”

“Yeah,” he nods. He bites down on the smile on his lip and it’s a look on him you’ve never seen before. You can’t stop staring at it. “All you, money bags.”

You giggle, “Did you rig that?”

“Me? No,” he shakes his head, casually clearing the pile. “There’s no rigging in blackjack.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I’ve heard that before.”

“Everything should be that easy for you,” he whispers. There’s a slight change in his tone that even an untrained profiler could pick up. He glances up to meet your gaze, “I’d rig it all for you if I could.”

Now, he thinks because he’s resetting the table that you’re not focused on the subliminal message in his voice. But you notice. You look down at your cards, look back at him, “Hit me.”

When the boyfriend is a concept, an idea trapped inside your phone, a mirage that you only mention in passing conversation, Spencer doesn’t think much of him. Spencer doesn’t think of the motherfucker at all. You clock into work and he’s determined to take the time he can get with you, any way he can, the only way he knows how.

You get back into DC one night and the sun hasn’t even set yet. Emily and JJ invite you out for drinks and it’s with an anxious nod that you accept. So Spencer super graciously accepts. He strides beside you on the walk from the bureau, keeping you tucked in on the safety of the sidewalk because he doesn’t know how to not shield you. From anything. You order a wine and a glass of water. Spencer sits right beside you and orders himself a shirley temple.

You gasp, “Ohhh my god, I should’ve got that.”

“Here,” he slides the glass over to you.

“Oh, no, no. It’s okay.”

“No, take it.”

“I can’t.”

“But I’m offering. I don’t even want it. Maraschino cherries, yuck, gross. You have it.”

You chuckle and shyly grab the drink, sticking a straw in. “Thank you.”

“Mhm,” he nods. And he means that mhm in the way of it’s really no big deal. He’d give you a kidney if he was a match.

He trades you for your water though he doesn’t pay much attention to it. He watches you fall into loud conversation with the other ladies, yours being the only laugh to match Penelope’s in pitch.

You lean into him, cackling, “She’s insane. Oh my god, she’s ridiculous.”

His skin buzzes where your shoulders make contact and his face is bright red from how wide he smiles at you. “Oh, yeah. I could’ve told you that.”

Spencer’s absolutely obsessed with the joy in your eyes, the way you nearly choke on your second shirley temple. The way you’re so close to him. He cannot look away. So when your smile suddenly drops and that joy’s promptly replaced with anxiety, he’s the first to notice.

“Hey,” you whisper to the figure behind him. He turns around and looks the man up and down. “You’re early.”

The Boyfriend shrugs, “Sorry. Hi, everyone.”

He’s not at all like Spencer imagined him. He’s taller. Not as much of a little bitch.

You rise from your seat and wrap your hand around Boyfriend’s bicep. “Uh, this is just some of the team. That’s Emily, Penelope, JJ and, uh, Spencer. This is my boyfriend.”

They all dole out polite waves and smiles. Except for Spencer. He stands up tall and ha, just as he thought, they’re the same height. He gives Boyfriend a stern handshake. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Spencer? Heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Haven’t heard that much about you.”

The ladies exchange confused glances and you exhale a quick breath to cut the tension.

“Well, we’ve been together a while. Too much there to sum up in words, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Spencer nods and here is another smile you’ve never seen on his face before. It’s not genuine. That, you know.

“You ready to go?” Boyfriend asks and you nod.

“Mhm. Bye, you guys!” you wave, falling into the grip of the possessive hand around your waist.

Emily glares at Spencer as he lowers back onto his stool, his eyes not leaving the door even when you’re long out of sight. “You done swinging that thing around?” she mutters.

“Hm?” he hums. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mhm.”

As Boyfriend opens the car door for you, he can’t help but comment, “So that’s Spencer, huh?”

“Yeah?” you buckle yourself in and it’s an anxious few seconds before he’s buckled in beside you.

“Well, it makes sense now.”

“What?”

“The little toothpick’s in love with you.”

Spencer doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that the time you spend on your phone at work becomes more frequent after that. That you come in looking drained and pale even at ten o’clock in the morning. That, carefully, you distance yourself from him. It’s not a coincidence. It just hurts.

As he reads over a case file, he builds a tower of cards. You can’t help but admire the way his brain splits in two, one side reading and the other stacking each piece just right. It’s cool. You think it’s cool, but there’s not a kind bone in your body today and you snip, “Got nothing better to do?” as you sit across from him. “People are dying.”

“People are always dying. Kind of how we get a paycheck.”

“Mm. How altruistic of you.”

“I’m just passing the time,” he continues to stack. He’s very near the top of the pyramid. “People do all sorts of things to pass time.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you know. They spend hours, days, weeks, years…building something. And you know, you would think that would ensure some type of stability or longevity or…anything, right?”

“I guess.”

“But sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes no matter how much time passes or…how much effort you put in,” he places the final two cards on top. “It’s just not meant to last.”

And with a tiny flick of his finger, the whole pyramid comes tumbling down. You can’t help but watch the picturesque scene, the way they float down onto the table in a big mess.

Spencer doesn’t think there’s a chance in hell that you don’t know what he’s talking about. You’re smart. You get it.

You don’t acknowledge it, though.

That night, you can’t sleep. For some reason, you’ve got this idea in your head that if you force your eyes open for a few hours longer, you can make yourself useful on a case that, so far, has no end in sight. The hotel accommodating the team is a nice one. There’s a library on the first floor that they leave open 24/7, perfect for a profiler on the hunt. You flip through the files in the near pitch black, curled up in a chair beside the tiniest lamp in the world. Despite your eye for detail, you don’t even notice when Spencer walks in. Not until he clears his throat.

You look up at him, startled, until you see his face, “Oh,” not the reaction he was hoping for. “Should’ve known you’d find me here.”

“I like to think I’d find you anywhere,” he shrugs. He sits down in the chair beside you and looks over your shoulder. You can smell him from just a foot away but it doesn't affect you. It can’t affect you. “Any luck?”

“No. Care to help?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, great.”

“[y/n], it’s late. Nothing you can do without brain power.”

“I just hate…” you start, the exclamation coming out before you can hold yourself back. Spencer watches you intently, hanging onto your voice. “T-the detergent they use on the linens. Gives me a headache.”

He sighs, “Yeah. Me too. I swiped some extra pillow mints. Want one?”

“Mhm,” you hold your hand out and unwrap the candy instantly. It helps your anxiety.

Enough so that you open up just a bit more, you tell Spencer about the headache that’s been bashing against your skull all day. “But maybe I’ve just had too much coffee.”

“Or not enough.”

You laugh, “Yeah, no, that must be it.”

Your phone pings in your lap and you check the message very quickly, the small smile that once sat on your lips dissipating in thin air. Just when he wrangled a laugh out of you, Spencer thinks. Of course. He watches your entire mood change in the blink of an eye and he fucking hates it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Yeah…tired. Should probably head to bed.”

“But the detergent?”

You chuckle, “I’ll survive.”

On the elevator ride up to your floor, you rest your back against the wall, Spencer perched right beside you. You keep your eyes closed, your hands gripping the bar for balance. The motion doesn’t help your headache. You gulp, clear your throat, and when you open your eyes, Spencer is staring at you. Shamelessly. You furrow your eyebrows at him, tracking his eyes as they focus in on your mouth.

“Are you looking at my lips?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“Can you read them?”

“Mhm.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” that snaps him out of his trance and he stands up straight, shaking his head. The elevator dings and he walks off, exasperated, exhausted, exclaiming, “[y/n], who cares?”

Your jaw drops in shock and by the time you step out to follow him, he’s already marched into his room. You scoff as you burst into your own suite. You crash in bed and you lay there tossing and turning for what feels like hours. In reality, it’s only thirty minutes but it’s long enough. Long enough for this unbridle, illogical rage to build within you. Long enough for your mind to fill with thoughts like: who the fuck does he think he is? What the fuck does he know? Oh, I’ll tell him what he doesn’t know. And you hop out of bed. You storm down the hall in your slippers, knocking on Spencer’s door like, ironically, the feds.

Lucky for you, he was nowhere near asleep yet. He swings the door open and he opens his mouth to speak but you beat him to it.

“Listen, Einstein.”

“I’m listening.”

“Just…just because you don't get it doesn’t mean you have the right to shit on my relationship.”

“Who was shitting on your relationship?”

“Stop it.”

“Fine, I was shitting on your relationship.”

“And that’s not fair.”

“But you’re…” and he enunciates this next word very clearly. “Not happy.”

“Don’t tell me what I am. You don’t know anything. You don’t know me or my life. You don’t get to cast judgement.”

“Oh, okay. Okay. Well, then, I’m so happy for you, [y/n]. I am.”

You’ve said all you need to say and you have no interest in hearing any more. You turn around and march away but he persists, “Hey, I really am. I’ll be the first one to buy something off your wedding registry!”

There are no more card games on the jet for a while.

And that sucks, but you’re trying to prove a point here. Spencer knows nothing. Maybe no one’s ever told him that before and maybe that’s why it stings. Maybe that’s why he can hardly look you in the eye, but you’re trying to prove a point here.

You’ve drawn a boundary that should’ve been drawn long ago. Not even because you wanted to but out of spite. Spite can carry you a long way. It has before. The nature of your work makes it easy to clock in and think of nothing else. Focus on nothing other than getting the job done. It’s the moments in between that are hard.

Like tonight, as you’re typing up case notes at your desk. It’s too quiet. It leaves too much room for opportunity. Taking full advantage, Spencer sets a small gift bag in front of you. You tilt your head as you look up at him, your face etched with inhibition.

“I…” he stutters. “I got it a while ago. Thought it’d be a nice birthday present and I won’t see you tomorrow, so…”

You give him a small smile. The ice doesn’t just thaw, it melts. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” you dive into the bag, pulling out the hardcover book and holding it flat between your palms. You release a small gust of air from your nose. You touch the textured font of the lettering along the cover. “Oh, Spencer.”

He has to act like the tone in your voice doesn’t have the biggest effect on him. Hearing his name in such a gentle whisper. He just shrugs, “I recognized the limited edition cover while I was in this library near the art museum. It’s a nice library, you’d like it.”

“I love it,” you breathe before you can censor it. “The book. I love the book. It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.”

There’s so much more to be said. The weight of it all vibrates behind your teeth and you grind them together as you gaze at Spencer. He can see your mouth aching to open but he knows it won’t.

“Well…happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope it’s a great one.”

“Thank you.”

And you watch him disappear. You feel your heart sink to the barrel of your stomach, like all the words you’re destined to scream out to him are making you sick.

This nausea lasts well into your birthday. No matter the sheer amount of fuss. No matter the amount of texts or calls or gifts that arrive at your door. You’re sick. Even when you put on your fanciest dress for dinner, you curl up in your office with your new book, finally and for no reason, gathering the courage to open its pages and read the quote recounted on the first page.

“And here you come

with a shield for a heart

and a sword for a tongue”

Happy Birthday, [y/n]

Spencer

You slam the book shut and trap it in the drawer of your desk. You’re sick.

You still eat at your birthday dinner. The love and affection reserved for a day like today helps settle your stomach. You think: I am [y/n]. It’s my birthday. These are my gifts. They are from people who love me. This is my boyfriend. This is my birthday cake. It works, it’s working.

Then he pulls out that fucking ring.

The angle at which he kneels in front of you catches the light just right and the diamond blinds you in the eye. Your mind, along with the entire room, falls silent. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime - silence. When his voice cuts through the thick air, you can see his lips moving, you can hear the vibrations going wah wah wah wah wah. But nothing is as loud as the sound of your own breathing, heavy and rapid. Your hands are over your heart but just to keep it from forcing its way out of your chest. You’re sick.

You’re sick.

Spencer had just gotten in bed. He made it the entire day without allowing himself to call you and now he figures he can force himself to sleep. That is until there’s a booming knock at his door. Now he’s wired. He springs into action like it’s not a potential threat and he throws his body against the door to glance out the peephole.

When he opens it, you are still out of breath. Your chest is heaving and you wheeze with every exhale. His eyes travel down your body, the pretty dress and your beaten and bare feet, the heels dangling from your fingers. The look in your eyes is a mystery to him. It’s laced with exasperation and desperation and he furrows his brows trying to figure it all out. Nonetheless, when he sees you moving towards him, he wraps his arms tight around your waist, opens his mouth and gasps as you kiss him.

He’s quick to close the door behind you, stumbling when you drop your shoes to the ground, but only for a moment. No time for stumbling here. He moans at the sudden grip you take of his hair and his body pushes into yours even more, directing you to his bedroom with just the pressure of his chest.

Never expecting this to happen, let alone tonight, Spencer is quick to swipe away all the books that have piled up on his bed. He promptly takes their place and grabs your waist to pull you back into the kiss. You have to hike your dress up your thighs to properly straddle him but once you, he swears he can feel the warmth all the way to his toes.

Your eyes roll back as he licks all over your neck, attacking your chest with sloppy kisses and sudden bites. You feel his erection raise between your legs and the pressure of it has you moaning directly in his ear. The vibration scratches just the right spot in his brain and he bunches your dress up in his hands, the veins along his arm straining through his skin.

You huff, pull back to look at his face, his eyes hooded and hungry. “What…” you pant. “What am I doing?”

Caught off guard, Spencer can’t do much but blink. And shrug. “What…are you doing?”

You stumble over your words, if that’s what you could even call them. It’s more a collection of whines and one short whimper before you simply carry on. Grab his face, catch his mouth and let it go. Perfect for Spencer, because he didn’t really need an answer.

He follows your lead as you undo the tie on his sweatpants. He pushes and you pull until his throbbing cock is free. You don’t mean to gasp, but you do. It just all feels so unreal, like a dream, like a fantasy. Except it’s not, it’s tangible. You can feel it. You can touch him - and you do. You wrap your hand around him and shudder as he grips onto your forearms. His teeth are clenched tight so it makes it harder for him to kiss you, harder for him to breathe but he keeps you locked in place. If he could talk, he’d beg please don't stop, please. Please, please, please.

And it’s like you can read his mind. Through the ferocity with which he pushes his face into yours, the way his hips buck underneath you, you get it. You’ll give it to him. You pull your panties to the side and just the tip pressing against you sends a visual jolt through your body.

“Yeah?” You whisper. More like - right? This is right? Right?

Almost immediately, Spencer grunts, “Yes. Yes. Yeah,” he could say it in a million other languages if it would get the point across but english is good enough. You lower yourself down on him and thoughtless, he yelps, “Yes!” as he falls back on the bed.

Even though he’s transcended his own body, Spencer keeps his eyes locked on you. His gaze follows your jaw as it drops wide open and both of your moans fall in sync as you start to roll your hips. Spencer’s hand clamps down on your thigh, the other reaching up to touch your face. The tender contact makes your vision blurry but you can still see the way he’s looking at you.

He touches your hair and your jaw and takes a soft sweep over your cheekbone. His thumb runs over your bottom lip. He can feel your breath coming out hot and quiet each time you land on him, the rhythm of your body taking the air out of both of you.

Is this really happening? he thinks. This can’t be happening. But you increase your speed, lower your inhibition, send a shock of pleasure through him so good that he has no choice but to believe it’s real. You catch his thumb between your lips and he grunts, whines out for you, “[y/n]…”

“Mm, yes?” you lay your body flat against his, your hands intertwining with his amongst the bedsheets and he clenches his fist tight, tight, tight, tight. It’s all so much. Stimulation coming from everywhere at once. From your chest rubbing against his, from your pussy tightening around him like you’re nearly swallowing him whole. From the messy kiss your lips tangle in and the ever increasing volume from you both.

Spencer bends his knees behind you, supporting your body when your movements become rushed and uncontrollable. With your hand pressed to his chest and your head thrown back, he’s emboldened enough to grope your breasts, losely place his hands around your throat.

“Oh…” you whimper. “G-god…” and Spencer hangs onto the broken sound of your voice, enamored by the way your eyes cross over one another. He feels like he’s not doing much, like his body is still in shock and most focused on keeping himself grounded. As you crash down on him, he bends underneath the pressure, overwhelmed as each bounce grows more deliberate than the last. Each collision accompanied by a throaty, “Mm…mm…hmm.” Until your thighs come to a grinding halt and latch onto him, the orgasm radiating from your belly to your chest and directly to your head. He responds to your boisterous moan with a breathless gasp, catching you in his arms when you land on his chest.

He peppers your shoulder with tiny kisses, licking his way to your neck, biting your throat because he absolutely has to. Your hips continue in this mindless rhythm, draining every last twitch from your body as he whispers, “[y/n]…”

“Hm?”

“[y/n]…I, mm,” you catch his voice in your mouth, pushing your tongue between his lips. You attack his neck. You push his shirt up his torso just to move down his body and kiss his stomach.

“[y/n]…ah!” and though you love the sound of your name on his lips, you love to hear him scream even more and after you suck his cock into your mouth, he can’t stop screaming. Mouth open, body trembling, ear ringing moans. He reaches down to keep your hair out of your face and his hips jolt a bit rougher than he means to. He wants to look at you but his body is too taut. He wants to hold you in the palm of his hand, to call out your name one last time to make sure this is real. But he shoots into your mouth, his legs flailing around your frame, and all he can do, still, is scream.

You hum. You swallow. You slide off of him with a sharp pop. You crawl off of his body and drop as soon as your head hits the pillow. Spencer’s hand keep track of you, grazing your thigh, sad to feel you leave, begging to keep you close. Even as he struggles to breath, he balls up the edge of your dress in his fist. You lean back against the headboard, looking up at his ceiling fan, your body finally exerting all its energy and unable to move any further. The room has settled into nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and catharsis.

Spencer looks up at you and when you make eye contact with him, there are so many more complicated thoughts you could have. But the only thing that swims in your mind is the slow bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. You rest your knuckles on his cheekbone and he promptly grabs your wrist, peppers soft kisses all over your hand.

You owe him something. He has every right to ask. As he opens his mouth, you’re prepared to tell the truth. You will give him nothing but the truth.

“Did you see they’re adapting another Stephen King novel into a movie?”

You exhale a small laugh. Partially because you weren’t expecting it and partially because you had been dying to talk to him about it. “Yes. And I think it’s stupid.”

“Me too! I mean, the premise is promising, I think it can be done, but it’s the…”

“Supernatural element.”

“Yeah!”

“It’s hard to pull off. Major chances of it turning out cheesy and robotic.”

“Yes! Thank you! I’m still going to see it.”

“Oh, me too,” you laugh and his laughter blends in just perfectly.

It can wait. There’s a lot to catch up on. A lot of questions to ask and answer but for now, it’s easy. This, Spencer thinks. This is it. This is actually the easiest conversation he’s ever had in his life. And he’s not gonna fuck it up now.

Author’s note:

Ahh 😝 thanks for reading!!! Like, reblog, comment, all the things!! Just wanted an excuse to post this meme. Stay safe out here 😚

[heich0e]

tomura tries to sneak out of your apartment one morning before you wake up, because he has to get all the way back to his apartment before his dad shows up to take him to a 9AM yoga class.

god forbid he be forced to explain:

a) why he slept over at an apartment that was not his own to his father (toshinori would be calling wedding venues and asking his assistant to look into your ring size before they'd even made it to the yoga studio)

nor b) the fact that he was going to a fucking yoga class at 9 o'clock in god damn the morning with his dad, to you.

he slips out of your bed soundlessly, moving as carefully as possible not to wake you. it pains him to do it. really, it does. your sheets are warm, and soft, and smell like you. and you're still there resting so peacefully, tucked under them, breathing soundly with your face burrowed into the collar of his hoodie that you'd worn to bed the night before. you look so pretty like this, tomura had spent at least half an hour just staring at you while he was laying next to you in your treacherously comfortable bed, and would have happily spent another hour more doing it.

there are very few forces on earth that could tear tomura out of bed like this, but the mortifying prospect of having to explain to his over-enthusiastic father that he has a girlfriend is certainly one of them.

he creeps out of your room and into the bathroom, splashing some cool water on his face and using the lotion that you keep next to the sink that makes his skin feel so nice. you started buying a bigger bottle lately, now that the two of you are both using it, and you never mentioned it but tomura still noticed when the little tube was replaced by a larger version of the same product. next he reaches for the toothbrush that he's started keeping next to yours, double checking the hour on his phone to make sure he wasn't running out of time.

he contemplates stealing one last peek at you in bed before he leaves, but he knows that if he doesn't leave now he won't have time to change his clothes before his dad shows up outside his place, so he heads straight to your front door once he's done in the washroom.

you're standing in his path before he can get to it.

you've got a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, but he can still see the soft skin of your thighs where the hem of his hoodie hangs peeking out from underneath the edges of it. there's a little frown tugging the corners of your mouth down.

tomura freezes in his tracks.

"going somewhere?" you ask him, your voice quiet and a little bit hoarse from sleep.

oh, fuck.

"morning," he mumbles, a bit nervously, as you pin him in your stare.

"it is," you reply, as though agreeing with him. "early, even. so why are you sneaking out of my apartment like a burglar?"

tomura rakes a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "i, uh, gotta be somewhere."

"you have to be somewhere?" you repeat, a bit incredulously—like the words don't quite compute. you don't seem mad at all, just thoroughly bewildered by the whole strange situation. "tomu, we went three rounds last night and you're awake before two PM on a weekend. are you okay?"

"'course i'm okay," he rushes to get out, tripping over his words.

"did I like... do something? or is there someone el—"

"are you kidding?" tomura's voice cracks and he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. he reaches out and grabs the edge of the blanket you have wrapped around you, his fingers twisting into it desperately. he knows you can't possibly—can't reasonably—think that he's seeing anybody else when the fact that he even landed someone like you is an honest to god miracle. the kind of underdog success story they make multi-part docuseries on.

tomura groans, shuffling forward and resting his forehead against your shoulder as he snakes his arms underneath the blanket around your frame to hold you close.

"you're being weird, tomu," you say quietly, brushing your fingers through his hair and letting your nails drag lightly against his scalp in that way that makes him want to shiver.

"fuck, I know, I know,"—he buries his face further into the crook of your neck, breathing in shakily—"'m not being sketchy or anything."

"you are," you remark lightly. "it's not that I don't trust you, I'm just confused."

tomura mumbles something, but the words are lost to the skin of your throat.

"what was that?" you ask.

tomura steels his nerve and takes one last long breath buried against your warmth. he pulls away and faces you.

"I have to go to a yoga class with my dad."

he loses his nerve about halfway through his admission, his eyes flickering away from yours to a point on the wall just above your front door, as a violent heat surges through his cheeks.

"a yoga class?"

he knows it sounds ridiculous. it is ridiculous. it may have been more believable to tell you he was going to hook up with someone el—

"why didn't you just say that?" your laughter cuts through his spiralling thoughts like a morning alarm.

his gaze snaps back to you, only to find you smiling softly.

"you... you're not...?" tomura isn't even sure what he's going to say. mad? surprised? convinced he's lying?

"i mean, i've noticed you've been looking kind of toned lately, but honestly i thought it's because we've been fucking so much," you scrunch your nose up a little. "yoga makes sense on both counts, though."

you turn and look across your apartment to the clock hanging on the wall.

"what time's your class?" you ask him, suddenly worried that this impromptu interrogation may have made him late. "i didn't mean to—"

tomura grabs either side of the blanket wrapped around your shoulders and tugs you forward, pressing his mouth to yours while your lips are still parted in speech.

(he doesn't make it to class that morning after all.)

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 20 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley gets the update he's been waiting for. You get something you weren't expecting. Neither of you can tell the other how you're feeling.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, romantic Bradley, 18+

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You drove Bradley's Bronco back to his house, dragged yourself back inside, and climbed back in bed. You cried so hard when you watched him carry his duffle bag into the airport, you had painful hiccups for twenty minutes afterwards. Now you were emotionally drained and on the cusp of a headache, and this was only the first day.

With your cheek on Bradley's pillow, you pulled the covers over your head and took a few deep breaths. He didn't know much about his deployment, but the communication blackout was designed to keep you from learning anything. If something happened to him, it might be weeks before you heard about it. Your heart ached as you thought about how lonely he was going to feel after he made it a point to tell you how much he loved getting mail from your class last time.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you scrambled to get it out.

About to take off. I love you, Gorgeous. I'll let you know when I land.

Well, you had about six hours to kill until you would hear from him again, which felt bad enough. Then seven full weeks after that. You typed back to him with fresh tears in your eyes, and then you tried to sleep, but the hiccups came back. When you moved to the couch, it felt too cold. You were tempted to call Natasha, but if you couldn't even make it a handful of hours without Bradley, you didn't think she would be able to help you.

It would start to get better. It would have to. When your winter break ended, you'd be back in your classroom with your students. You could dive into your lesson plans for the new year. You could focus on teaching. You could do this. Because if you found out the hard way that you couldn't, then you had no business being with Bradley.

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

Bradley was given a tiny room in the barracks on base in Norfolk, and he spent the entire night talking to you on the phone. Literally six hours straight before he passed out, sound asleep, hanging halfway off the bed with his phone connected to the charger. One of the last things he remembered you saying was, "As soon as you know if it's San Diego or Norfolk, let me know. I love you."

The following morning, he was so exhausted, he was practically dizzy as he met with his commanding officer, Admiral Walker, for this new special deployment. Even his arm felt heavy as he saluted Walker in his office. It was barely seven o'clock which equated to four in the morning in San Diego, and he knew it would take him a few days to get caught back up on sleep at this point. But every second of talking to you was worth it.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw. Welcome back to the Atlantic Fleet," Walker told him, gesturing to the empty chair in the office. 

"Thank you, Sir," he replied, even though he was far less than thrilled to be back in Virginia at all. The prospect of a change of station could not have come at a worse time when he spent the flight from California looking at engagement rings on his phone.

As Bradley sat down, the older man said, "We never wanted to lose you to the Pacific in the first place, so I'm sure you can understand why you'll be staying on the east coast after your seven weeks on the Gerald R. Ford is complete."

His heart sank to his feet, and he felt like he was going to throw up. "Sir?" Bradley asked. "That's it? There's no chance of me returning to North Island?"

When the response he got was a raised eyebrow, Bradley pressed his lips into a line. This man wasn't going to give a shit that he owned a house in Coronado or that he was in love with the most beautiful woman in the world who happened to work in Mira Mesa. Something told him that keeping his mouth shut was the better option right now, even though he felt like punching a hole in the wall and flipping the desk.

Walker shuffled some papers on his desk. "Plans still need to be finalized, but it is our goal, and the goal of the US Navy, to change your station to Norfolk."

The words echoed in Bradley's mind. He couldn't decide if he should tell you about this yet. It wasn't like he had signed paperwork in his hand. Until he did, as far as he was concerned, he was going back to Top Gun and the love of his life. He knew you were stressed and concerned enough as it was, and he didn't want you to have to dwell on this unless it was finalized. 

"Once aboard the carrier, mission details will become available to you and the other aviators," Walker informed him. "I have a folder with your bunk assignment and some more information that you can take with you right now. You'll have access to your phone for about another hour, but as soon as you report to the carrier, it will need to be shut down and locked up. Are we clear, Lieutenant?"

Before Bradley could even respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. Walker heaved a weary sigh as his gaze left Bradley's face, and he barked, "Come in."

Of all the faces he knew from North Island, Bradley wasn't exactly sure if it was a friendly one, but when the door opened, Admiral Simpson came strolling inside in his service khakis. He couldn't fathom why his meeting was being interrupted by Cyclone, but he sat quietly with the folder in his hands. 

"Admiral Walker," Beau Cyclone greeted, voice as stern as ever. "You never returned my calls, and red eye flights the week of Christmas are not something I find endearing."

Walker stood behind his desk with all of his accolades hanging on the wall behind him, and Bradley jumped to his feet as well. "Admiral Simpson," Walker replied, voice dripping with disdain. "There was no need for you to fly out in person to release your pilot to my fleet."

Bradley could hear Cyclone's knuckles crack as he watched his eye twitch. He was somehow caught in the middle of this, but it looked like the Top Gun admiral was in no mood to be outmaneuvered and lose a member of his team. Bradley silently goaded him on while he stood there completely still.

"I'm not releasing anyone to you. That's not how this works," Cyclone barked. "If you can't manage your fleet, you don't get to poach from mine."

The admirals seemed to be in a competition to see whose face could get redder. "Admiral Simpson, I'm sure you'll find my rank alone is reason enough for-"

"You do not outrank me," Cyclone interrupted, voice loud but calm. Then he turned toward Bradley with his jaw clenched and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw. You are dismissed. Please board the USS Gerald R. Ford on time for your deployment."

"Yes, Sir," he replied, saluting both men before walking back out into the hallway on slightly unsteady legs. He paused, hoping to hear some more of their conversation or an outright blow up that would give him a clue as to what the fuck was going on, but instead he walked the rest of the way to the barracks to collect his duffle and head to the docks. 

With his phone in his hand once again and his bag slung over his shoulder, Bradley called you. He knew it was early and he'd be waking you up, but time was tight now. And your voice was the only thing that would keep him sane at the moment. 

"Bradley," you sighed a second later, and he pressed his phone tighter to his ear. 

"Baby, I miss you so much," he promised, heart aching. He swallowed hard and decided not to bring up anything that was going on since he didn't have a completely clear understanding of it himself. "I'm about to board the carrier."

He could hear you crying, and he wanted to kick himself. "Just come back safely. That's all I want. As long as you're safe, that's all that matters to me, okay?"

He was having a hard time keeping his own tears at bay. "Me, too. We'll figure out the rest of it later, Gorgeous. Take care of yourself. Write in the journal. And don't forget to check the mail."

"I love you, Bradley!"

"I love you so much."

As soon as he ended the call and turned off his phone, he had to walk through a small building for security screening. It was there that his bag and phone were taken from him. When he exited the other side, his duffle was handed back to him, but his phone was not.

"Sorry, Lieutenant," the petty officer told him with a shrug when he glared. "I'll tag it for you and return it when you get back to Norfolk. At least it's not a long deployment."

Bradley couldn't even argue with that. It wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things. He'd been overseas for a full twelve months at a time when he was younger. This should have felt like nothing, but he knew it would feel like the worst one. He hefted his bag higher on his shoulder and started to head for the bunk that would be his for the duration. There was no sense in standing on deck when there was nobody who would be looking for him to see him off.

He made it down two hallways before a loud voice echoed off the walls around him. "Lieutenant Bradshaw." When he turned, Admiral Simpson was heading his way, face so red it was almost purple. Bradley's heart sank.

"Yes, sir?"

The other man pulled his composure together, sighing like an angry bull. "While you will be under the command of Admiral Walker for this deployment, you will fly directly back to San Diego when you return to port in Norfolk. You'll be presented with the paperwork today."

Bradley's jaw dropped open. "I'm returning to the Pacific Fleet, Sir?"

He got one firm nod in response. "I told you last week that I would do what I could to retain you."

This was honestly the best case scenario, and Bradley could feel some of his tension melt away. "You weren't kidding," he mumbled before clearing his throat. "Thank you, Sir. Being in San Diego is important to me."

"Fly safely, Lieutenant. See you in seven weeks," Cyclone barked before turning on his heel and walking toward the ramp back down to the dock.

Bradley pumped his fist in the air. "Fuck, yeah," he whispered, spinning on the spot. He would get to go back to the station he preferred in North Island as well as his friends, but most importantly, he would get to return to you. There would be no stress of packing and moving and hoping you were still willing to come with him. He could stay in Coronado.

When he slid his hand into his pocket to get his phone out to call you back, he froze. "God damn it."

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

If waiting for emails and letters was bad before, this was torture. The early days of getting to know Bradley through written notes left you with constant butterflies in your tummy, but now it felt like you were walking around with a lead weight instead. You constantly caught yourself reaching for your phone to text him before setting it back down in frustration. 

You hadn't heard from him since before he stepped onto the aircraft carrier, and that was four days ago. Today was New Year's Eve, and at least you had the wine bar with Natasha to look forward to. While you got dressed and ready to go, you couldn't help but put in just the bare minimum amount of effort. What was the point when your boyfriend wasn't even here to give you kisses along your neck and call you Gorgeous? You pouted at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and put the cap on your lip gloss before even using it.

"You look nice," Nat said as you climbed in the front seat of her car. You turned to look at her with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm wearing Bradley's old sweatshirt with a pair of leggings that are starting to get a hole in the crotch."

She started cackling as she pulled away from the curb. "Well, you still look nice."

"Thanks," you said softly, watching the houses go by. 

As Nat turned toward the highway to head up to Oceanside, she asked, "How are you making out?"

You pressed your lips together for a few seconds, trying to make sure you weren't going to cry. "I'm just having a hard time being off from work while he's gone. It's... harder than I thought it would be. I can't wait to return to my classroom in a few days."

"I'm sure that will make it easier," she agreed. "You'll be so busy, time will start to fly by. Oh, I forgot to ask if you got any interesting mail at Bradley's house since he left?"

You shook your head. "I barely remember to check the mailbox most days. Why?"

"Don't worry about it," she replied smoothly. "You'll be back to work in a few days, but in the meantime, we've got merlot and chardonnay to keep your mind occupied."

"Sounds like you're talking about two hot French men," you said with a laugh.

"I could be! You don't even know!"

Now both of you were laughing. And you were still laughing when you actually did order a glass of merlot and a glass of chardonnay. You and Nat enjoyed some wine flights and cheese platters, and she regaled you with stories about Bradley from flight school.

"When he was twenty-two, he probably weighed a hundred and twenty pounds," she said with a smirk. "He was such a nerd, too. God, it was so bad." You were trying to stifle your laughter as she added, "Once he really started working out and grew the mustache, he thought he was hot shit. He's still a fucking nerd."

"He kind of is," you agreed through your giggles.

"But he's a good one," she promised. "Wears his heart on his sleeve too often, but I don't think he has to worry about you breaking it."

You ran your hand along the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "Never."

Once the two of you were filled with cheese and sober enough to get back in the car, you paid for your adventure with the gift card Bradley gave you, only to find out it had five hundred dollars on it.

"Natasha! We need to come back like four more times," you said as you signed the slip.

"I don't see any issue with that," she muttered, leaving cash for a tip. "I think I'll write Bradley an email and thank him for funding girls' day so he can read it when he gets back to Norfolk."

"I think he'd like that."

You started thinking about the journal sitting on the nightstand in his bedroom. Every night before you fell asleep, you'd been pouring your heart and thoughts out into the thing, but even the mention of the word Norfolk had you fretting again. You managed to keep up the conversation with Bradley's best friend as she drove you back to Coronado, but perhaps you should keep most of your things packed after you moved your stuff to his house. What if you had to move to Virginia when the school year ended?

"Thanks for driving," you told her when she pulled up to Bradley's driveway to let you out.

"Anytime," she said, waving you off. "We'll go back up again soon." When you leaned in to give her a hug, she told you, "Don't forget to check the mail."

"Okay."

You weren't sure exactly what her deal was since Bradley couldn't send you anything, but if she wanted you to, then you would. You already promised your boyfriend you'd keep an eye on anything unusual that arrived, so as you walked up to the front door, you took a peek inside the mailbox. Empty. Just like the house. You curled up on the couch with the journal and started to write your daily entry.

I heard from a very reliable source (Natasha) that you were and still are a nerd. I'm going to need to see some pre-stache photos of you when you get home. Your best friend is a wealth of information when you get some wine in her, and I had a great time with her today. 

But I miss you. So much. Sometimes it knocks the breath out of my lungs. Your house is too cold and quiet without you here, hogging the couch and eating snacks. I'm looking forward to school starting up in a few days. It'll be a little less lonely when I have eighteen kids telling me what they got for holiday gifts. Of course I'll have to tell them they won't get a visit from their favorite aviator for a while. We'll just be nineteen sad pen pals.

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

On January second, you were working on your lesson plans while wearing Bradley's gym shorts and eating potato chips. Tomorrow you'd get back into a routine with work, but first you were going to allow yourself one last day of being kind of pitiful. You bit off more than you could chew with Bradley, and now you were paying the price. 

You sporadically started crying at random times throughout the day, and it was only made worse by the overwhelming feeling of being alone. If you could barely make it a week without hearing from him, how were you going to make random deployments with no communication your lifestyle? Why did you even think you could?

While you were crunching your way through some potato chips, you heard something thump on the front porch. The sound made you jump on the couch, and you set your snack down on the table and crept to the front door. When you peeked outside, there was nobody there, but when you cracked the door open, you saw a box. A fairly large box. Addressed to you.

"Oh my god," you gasped. It was from Bradley. According to the date stamped next to your name, he somehow sent a box from the post office in San Diego last week. "Oh my god!"

You grabbed it and kicked the door shut, almost tripping on your way back to the coffee table. When you tried to claw at the tape, you almost broke your nails. "Scissors," you shouted, running for the kitchen drawer by the sink where your boyfriend kept a random assortment of junk. Then you walked quickly back to the couch and started to cut into the box.

Natasha had to be behind the arrival of the box, but you couldn't fathom what could possibly be inside. If Bradley wanted you to have something, he could have simply given it to you before he left. Your heart was pounding as you set the scissors down and looked inside.

"Bradley," you gasped, tears filling your eyes as those familiar butterflies zoomed and swooped around in your belly. You'd been so upset about missing out on his letters, he sent you a whole box of them. There were dozens of envelopes and little treats filling the box nearly to the top, but a neon orange envelope with OPEN ME FIRST written on it caught your eye. You pulled it out of the box and tore into it.

Hey, Gorgeous,

I'm thinking about you right now. Guaranteed. It doesn't matter when you get this box or when you read this note, I'm thinking about how much I love you. And if I'm asleep, I'm dreaming about us eating Thai food on the beach in front of a sunset that is nowhere near as beautiful as you.

I hope you realize there was no way you weren't going to get some letters from me while I'm deployed. I would never let that happen. Somehow, you fell in love with me this way in the first place, and more than anything, I want you to feel as loved as I do. So I filled this box with little notes and long, rambling love letters and things I thought you might like. When you read the individual envelopes, you'll know what to do.

Please fill that journal up for me. I can't wait to read it in seven weeks. I'm missing you like crazy, and I selfishly hope you're missing me just as much. I love you.

Yours Truly,

Bradley

With shaking hands, you set the note down on the orange envelope and swiped at your tears. You never dreamed you would meet a man this romantic, but somehow you did, and he became your boyfriend. "Oh, Bradley," you whispered, picking up a stack of envelopes and reading what was written on each one.

Open me when you've had a bad day

Open me when you really want some coffee

Open me when you need a laugh

Open me when you're in bed

Open me when you need a girls' night

Open me with your class

You flopped down onto the couch and kicked your feet in the air. "Bradley!" you shrieked, voice breaking as you started to cry. You hugged the letters to your chest and let the warm feeling of being loved wash over you and fill your heart. He was unbelievable. He was perfect. He was everything you wanted. And somehow you loved him a little more and missed him a little less with this box on the coffee table.

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

He's so romantic. He's taking care of Gorgeous from afar! He's coming home to San Diego, but she doesn't even know it! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @daggerspare-standingby

PART 21

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[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 || 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬

part one: the fallen fruit || part two: here

summary_after freeing Rome, you’ve lost Marcus Acacius, his baby and you are forced to marry Lucius Verus in order to freely rule as empress and visit Acacius’ grave

warnings_ CRINGE, age gap (legal) (I’m 20, sorry) historical inaccuracy, angst, sexism and misogyny, fluff but angst, a lot of canon divergence bc I said so. ANGST ANGST I CRIED WHILE WRITING THIS

note_ that’s it, it’s official, Paul Mescal my new bf, don’t you ever make me write a fic where I knowledge any Pedro character’s death (even if it’s canon) listen to 13 beaches pls

♪ ♫ Pedro playlist

♫ ♪ Paul playlist

✰ Index (+ fics here)

𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𓆇𓆸

Once your eyes opened, reality struck you in the harshest possible way. This time, no one was there to tend your wounds. Although they weren’t severe, they had dozed you off for days. You heard Lucilla’s scream and you closed your eyes, knowing your love was dead.

Numbness assaulted you, nausea struck you and you heard everyone gasping in horror as their beloved general’s body collapsed in the arena.

Hours after Marcus Acacius’ died, you lost his baby as well.

A day later, Rome was freed. Lucius Verus became the new emperor and you caught a fatal fever when the sun came down.

That night, death seemed like the most convenient alternative. You had lost everything you had fought for over the years. The man you loved and the prospective children were taken from you before you could’ve claimed them.

Something changed when you woke up. Like time has passed so rapidly that the pain from the loss of Acacius and your baby has healed. But as soon as you think about the would’ve, could’ve, should’ve… you start sobbing.

It’s a bright morning and the city sounds peaceful. Everyone has moved on. And you know you’ll have to. Only that, you don’t know how.

With your brother’s death, your lover and baby’s, everyone was gone.

Lucius is alive…

There’s a knock on the door and soon it opened.

A man should never intrude into a woman’s chamber he had no relationship with.

“Ah. Princess y/n you’re awake….” He says uncomfortably. You didn’t knew his name, but had been running as a politician for several years.

“I suppose I’m no longer a princess”

“Trials are happening right now, the senate is a disaster but we’re handling it okay. Lucius Verus Aurelius refuses to be crown emperor but he has argued in your favor and you have been found not guilty, but you face conspiracy charges. Consequently, you’re still a princess. And the only person we can rely on according to the law…”

You sigh, looking away from the old man to focus on the tapestry that hangs from a wall. It has a naked woman’s statue in the middle of a garden. A woman being the center of attention.

You were the maximum authority at the moment. But you still had barriers to break.

“What did you do with the corpses of my brothers?” perhaps your siblings weren’t the most lovable people, but you grew up with them. They were your last remaining family.

“Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla rest in the secluded area of the cemetery of Rome. Where the punished are buried…” you nod.

They deserved punishment, but still, an odd sensation in your stomach rested, feeling shame and pity for your brothers.

Where did the good one go? An imaginary little light sparkles upon your eyes.

“And General Acacius?”

“In his Death Will, General Acacius stated that he wanted to be buried alone in one of the islands belonging to Rome” Your eyes water and you have to bite your tongue and gulp to calm your tears.

Where he had wanted to build a home with you.

“His wife Lucilla was buried in the neighbor island upon petition” You nod, trying to sit down. You finally spot the cuts and sewed arm. Fighting Pretorials had been more difficult than participating in the war.

Alongside Marcus…

“I would like to visit his grave. Marcus Acacius’s grave” Your voice sounded broken and you could barely see the man, failing to hide your growing tears.

“There is one problem, princess y/n. Until you’re officially crown empress, you can’t leave Rome and command without being considered charged, despite being not guilty. You must marry first and I’m afraid the only suitor is Lucius Verus Aurelius”

The man that made you feel so much in no time. Who made you feel like you could be for once unconditionally loved. And that maybe Acacius was not your downfall. Maybe you had one more chance to nourish your wounded heart.

You suppress a smile. You want to see him and talk. See if he felt the same way about you and if he did, it would be a new beginning.

“Where is he?” You ask trying to hide your excitement.

“The prince is back in Numidia. He wanted to give a proper burial to his friends and his late wife especially”

The little smile on your face disappears and you look down. Unbeknownst to the man standing in front of you, you felt shame. For believing Lucius would be waiting for you.

“How so?”

“He was given permission to go back with an audience from the council” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“And why he was allowed to go to territory that is not declared Roman by the law yet…. But I can’t go to an island that is less than four hours away, claimed by the empire hundreds of years ago?”

The man gulps, seemingly uncomfortable by your sudden snapping. Your heart beats in anxiety and the anger increases. The first minutes after you awake you already feel the burden of your new present.

“Because he’s an heir…” to that, you can only sigh. Knowing the real answer.

“And I’m a heiress. I’m… a woman”

Rome was free. But as a woman, you probably never would.

“I suggest you rest and prepare for his arrival, princess. You’ll want to be ravishing to negotiate and assume the wedding”

“I haven’t decided if I’ll marry Lucius Verus Aurelius”

“It’s not like you have much of a choice, princess. I’ll send a doctor to check on you” The bitter tone of the man made you frown. You quietly curse him as he leaves the room.

Finally alone again. Like it seemed it would be for the rest of your life.

You should’ve run faster the first time you tried to escape Rome. You should’ve climbed that wall higher, maybe, just maybe none of your disgraces would’ve happened.

You had to go to Marcus’ grave. You had to say goodbye to him. Tell him all the things you couldn’t say the last time. Because he deserved it. To let him know that no matter where your baby and he were, you would always love them.

Lucius meant nothing, you try to lie to yourself.

I won’t be part of a deal, you remember as you look at the renewed Rome.

Suddenly you realize no matter whom you decide to love, you’re always the lover, not the wife.

Always the second option, never the one.

…

Four days later, you realized you had no other choice but to attend the hearing that would determine your future. Where you would face Lucius. If you had seen him once again before he left, many things could’ve been different, you liked to think.

But given the circumstances, you had no desire to see him again. You barely knew the man, of course, he would choose his wife first even when she was dead.

Your mind betrayed you with the idea of Lucius using you just all those nights to find a way to get out of the Colosseum. No matter what, he didn’t visit you, he didn’t bother to see if you were okay. Likely, he never knew you had fallen ill.

Everyone left you behind.

Happened once as a little girl who fell for her best friend, once as a teenager who fell for an older officer who turned General and once as a young woman who fell for a gladiator and turned out to be a missing prince.

With golden brackets that cover your arms and the heaviest earrings, you nervously walked through the long marble halls of the justice building. Near the temple of the god of war, there rested the place where justice was brought.

A guard opened the door for you and once you stepped in, the room was already full.

Every man inside stood up to greet you with a little reverence and you could feel a migraine already coming.

But when your eyes found a blue pair of aquamarine diamonds looking piercingly at you, the anger mixed with nervousness.

Immediately you look away from the prince. As you took a seat at the end of the long table, you could feel him everywhere. As if Lucius was silently begging for you to look at him.

“We reunite here to revoke any charges and penalties addressed to Prince and Princess; Lucius Verus Aurelius and y/n y/l/n”

You barely hear the man speaking, you were only waiting to hear the next part.

“From the power the senate gave us and by the guidance of the gods, said charges and penalties will be revoked by uniting the prince and princess in sacred marriage. Everyone who agrees says accipio…” everyone says the word, and you close your eyes trying to avoid huffing or ending up screaming in disagreement. Your father ascended to the throne rightfully. Every politician voted for him. When he died your brothers were young and naive and remained as so throughout their rule. Your only crime was to conspire against the empire along with Acacius when he was alive.

All a big nonsense.

“Hear hear, now… Do you Lucius Verus Aurelius agree to the terms of conditions of this agreement?” you look up to see the man. He looked different.

His wounds were healing, his hair looked trimmed, his beard styled. Without sweat, blood, and dirt covering his face, he looked gorgeous. Like an actual prince.

Lucius also looks at you. You can’t tell how he feels, but his eyes look hopeful. And his lips are slightly tilted. Was he trying to smile at you?.

“Accipio…” he says, looking away from you.

Your lips sealed shape a full face of anger.

“Do you y/n y/l/n agree to the terms of conditions of these agreements?”

“I would like to resign to my titles”

Gasps could be heard, and a mixture of shock and disapproval was all over the men at the table.

Lucius looks with curiosity at you. But you can see he’s also shocked.

“Princess y/n… you can’t resign” a man says and you roll your eyes.

“Exile me if needed. I can also recommend a handful of women who would be perfect suitors for Lucius Verus Aurelius” As much as you tried to sound calm, you sounded enraged.

“Then I won’t sign the agreement…” Lucius says looking at the same man who spoke first, then at you.

You eye him with confusion, he crosses his strong arms and he intimidates you with his strong gaze.

“I want you or nothing” he admits with tranquility. Which makes you even angrier. But also make your cheeks turn hot after feeling every man in the room exchange awkward looks.

How could he act so cooky and shameless?

Before you can say another thing, you are interrupted.

“If none of you agree, your charges and penalties will prevail. That would lead to several trials, where both of you could end up with death penalties despite being two rightful heirs”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh.

You’re so tired, drained from everything.

But you won’t give any man the satisfaction to see you crumbling.

Never again…

“You may constrain me all you want, Lucius Verus Aurelius. But you won’t hear what you want from me today”

The poison filling your voice intoxicated everyone, leaving the room flooding with awkwardness and uncertainty. Lucius and you share looks. There’s an odd warmth that makes you remember how good he was when you first met him. He is not a bad man. But you fell in love with him and overrated him so early.

With the silence reigning, the sound of your chair sliding as you stood up drew all the attention to you again. But you didn’t face anyone, you simply left.

The air hit you and you could already feel the tears threatening to spill.

It’s a shame because it seemed like it was a good day for Rome. You can hear kids playing nearby, and people selling goods while the clear sky warmed the afternoon.

“You really don’t know why I want you, y/n?” You hear behind your back, Lucius approaching with heavy steps, making you wipe your eyes before you turn around to see him.

“I would say to gain power. But I know you don’t want that so no… I’m clueless. All I know is I won’t be part of a deal when all my life I’ve lounged for love”

“I can’t believe you don’t remember…” he responds and you frown, disappointed that he has ignored your words. So rudely, you move away, farther from him.

“Who was there when you fell ill after breaking your bones?” your eyes almost pop out, you stop walking only to slowly turn around again and eye him in shock.

“Who was there when you used to escape the palace and needed someone to accompany you back?” Lucius pleads with every word he lets out, he walks towards you and tries to grab your hands but you slip away from his touch, defying him.

In your shock, you can only sigh as memories start reminiscing in your head. A childhood love that couldn’t be. Which involved some feelings you thought had no meaning. But sure they had. More than you wanted to admit as an adult.

Lucius Aurelius Verus was that little boy that you fell in love with as a child. That little boy disappeared without saying goodbye. A boy you thought you’d never see again.

“I left you and resented it all my life, y/n. Now I can be here for you again. Allow me to retrieve the memories we had…” This time you weren’t fast enough to prevent his touch.

He feels warm and at home. His fingers are calloused and his raspy fingertips slowly caress your knuckles. You want to hold him in your arms and cry from happiness. You want to curse him for making you believe he was dead.

But you are selfish after so much pain.

“Why you didn’t say anything when we met again?” You coldly ask, freezing the warmth he has built.

“I needed to know I could trust you first,” he says apologetically.

There’s so much to talk about. Never in your dreams, you thought you’d have the boy you loved once now turned into a man you must marry.

“Please, y/n. We’ll meet each other again, fill the empty promises we made years ago”

“You knew I was alive all this time. Why did you never come for me? We could have escaped. If I had known you were alive, a lot of my suffering could’ve been prevented” he looks away, he feels guilty.

“You married, Lucius. You were happy before Rome conquered Numidia. And I won’t diminish the death of her. But you moved on… like I never existed”

He grabs both of your hands but you move away.

“I thought you were safe. I had no chance of getting you back, that’s why I married. But when I saw you again at the celebration where I had my first fight…” even when he sounds convincingly remorseful, you still keep the distance.

“I don’t care, Lucius. The only thing I want now is to say goodbye to the only love that mattered while you were gone. I can’t visit his grave now for the charges, and when I marry you, I won’t be able to visit his grave because of it. Don’t act like you are not wanting me as your second choice”

If only you knew, Lucius thought as he watched you leave.

…

As a kid, your father would be delighted whenever you danced in the celebrations he hosted. Your brother Geta and Caracalla would sneak in and try to ruin your performance, they weren’t allowed to attend the parties because of their mother; a whore. Your father’s ginger hair had not spread across the twins’ heads and they certainly not looked anything like your mother. There was a snake hidden in the basket of flowers you carried while dancing. But a gentleman realized earlier and as soon as you dropped it because of the bite, he took you to the doctor. And that night you developed a little crush for the officer Marcus Acacius.

Soon you forgot about the older man when you took food and made your way out of the palace. Near the stables, you had found a safe place. Where you always met with who refused to tell you his name.

So you always called him amicus. You could only refer to him as a friend.

“Amicus…” you called him.

Soon he appeared, with burnt blonde hair, blue eyes, and his kind smile.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked pointing at your bandaged extremity.

“Geta and Caracalla placed a snake on my flower basket”

Your friend huffed, clearly annoyed that they tried to hurt you again.

“I wish I could be there, I would always protect you”

You smiled, caressing his face. You were no stranger to his proximity. At the rough age of nine years old, you two had grown a big friendship.

“But you’re always here for me, amicus”

“I won’t be always…” you frowned confused.

That was the last night you saw your friend; Lucius.

You shake your head, pushing aside the memories. Realizing you are once again in a party, but your father is gone. Nobody sits on the throne, your twin brothers are not around to try to banish you. There is no Acacius to help you and you are no longer a kid.

You wonder why Lucilla never told you his son was alive. That he was your best friend. You understand that probably she didn’t trust you enough, given that you looked like you were on your brother’s side most of the time. Although the reality was very different.

Lucius arrived at the celebration with many people trying to talk to him. His tone was kind, but he felt overwhelmed responding to the variety of questions thrown at his face.

Having all the attention resulted in frustration. He was no god and Rome started seeing him as such thing.

He was a humble man, despite growing up knowing he was a prince, he was accustomed to the peaceful farming life in Numidia. He married and thought he would die as a farmer. But even when he finished a rough day of tending his sprouts and counting seeds, mostly he would go to sleep thinking about you.

Lucius never forgot the little girl he found pacing through the secret passages under Rome. Surely he always knew you were a princess, you were alive and well within the walls of the city he grew to hate.

He thought he was correct in never telling you who he really was. He had no chance to say goodbye, he was forced to leave. For a lot of years, he thought he would never be able to fall in love again, but he found a new love.

As soon as he married, he tried to forget about you. And as much as he loved his wife, he always went back to you. Wondering if you were also married, if you remained as beautiful as you were as a kid, or if you missed him like he missed you.

His answers were given to him when he saw you eating figs and softly arguing with one of your red-haired brothers.

Lucius swore his heart stopped a few seconds before he had to fight under the demand of Macrinus. When he recited poetry, he understood you didn’t know who he was. He locked eyes with you for too long, which made you frown and exchange confused looks with Geta.

But he did a good job because you went to visit him later, realizing you knew only half of the truth.

Lucius never stopped loving you.

He watched you twirl around in a purple dress and he couldn’t help but smile. His need to know who you had transformed into was eating him. The curiosity over your love affair with Acacius and how you ended up on the battlefront of war killing him. And he wished nothing buy you to understand that destiny wanted you to be separated but now there was a chance to heal together and be together.

Although it seemed like you were beyond hurt. Only makes Lucius feel guilty for some reason.

A man from the senate reveals to the party you and Lucius are officially engaged and he knows you must be boiling in anger. Lucius tries to go and talk to you. Assure you that he wasn’t involved in the early announcement. He wanted your consent and forcing you would never fix your anger and resentment.

But when he tried to reach you, you were gone. And he knew to where.

To visit Acacius’ grave.

…

With white roses and a dirty cloak, you arrive at the island. Is smaller than you thought. It’s just a hill.

No gold, no ostentatious mausoleum, just a little mark in the middle of the hill that over the centuries would be swallowed by the Earth. There rests Marcus Acacius.

You swallow hard, hoping to get there before your legs betray you and you end up on the grass crying. After hearing the announcement of the engagement, you sprinted out of there making a mess of fury. Your desire to say goodbye to your love would never become a reality. So you took matters into your own hands and risked three hours of absence in Rome.

Each step adds a little more pain to your chest and you want to leave as fast as possible.

But you remain silent, looking at the little plaque.

Not even beloved General of Rome. Just his name.

“I don’t regret saying that I hated you the last time we talked…” you start, biting your cheek from the inside and frowning, competing against the tears that were already coming.

“I closed my eyes so hard to pretend I wasn’t witnessing your death” The chilly air makes you shriek, it also makes some scary sounds as you talk.

“We had a baby, Acacius. I suppose conceived in Athens. He left me hours after you did. I guess he sensed my bad luck…” you coldly say, attempting to joke with the silence.

“Not of importance anymore. I just came to say goodbye. To thank you for training me, and for making me a strong woman. Thank you for loving me the wrong way…”

“You can rest now, Marcus. Your death was worth it, Rome is free. But I’m not…” Finally, your voice breaks and you start sobbing, weeping, and crying so loudly that your lungs hurt.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be strong enough to come back again, Acacius. Your death will always be the loss of my life but our baby is my little hope. To always remind me that I was very close to having you…” with your legs trembling, you stand up and grab the basket. The flowers are gently placed and your tears fall over his name, washing the accumulated dirt.

“I’ll move on. Because I know that’s what you would’ve wanted. I’ll keep your memory alive. And I’ll never love the same way I did with you. You earned it, Marcus. In life and death…”

Dried from all the tears, suddenly you felt less weight on your shoulders. You feel light and in peace.

In that hill would rest the memories of your past, of the love you gave to that General and what could’ve been.

You leave in silence. And when you step foot in the boat again, you have the strength to smile and realize that you don’t care about anything anymore.

The sense of everything comes into question.

Nothing can hurt you anymore.

…

He’s there when you step a foot into the salty shores of Rome. Lucius looks worried. He gives confident steps until he’s facing you.

“You went to that island. Didn’t you?” He asks judging you, which makes you frown.

“I did…”

“Why are you risking yourself? I had to tell everyone you felt ill” You roll your eyes, not handling his words with patience.

“I have nothing to lose, Lucius. I don’t care anymore if I die right now…” he huffs and slides his fingers through his blonde hair, exasperated.

“Why can you understand you’re the one I want? I want you to be safe. But you can’t stop acting like there is no hope left. Why?”

You finally explode.

“BECAUSE I’M HURT!. You know my brothers never loved me, I thought I had you and you disappeared. I spent years in love with Acacius and when he finally looked down at me, he never chose me above your mother. But he wanted to give me a house, a family. I lost him and that night I lost our baby too, I didn’t even know I was with child. And now everyone’s gone, you’re back but I feel like you are just choosing me because you have no choice” Your lungs so tired of your crying make you ache as you end up sobbing once again.

Lucius immediately places his arms around you. And it’s the first hug someone gives you in a long time. So you sob harder and slide your arms to hold him closer.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry” he whispers in your ear, one of his hands caressing the back of your head, fingers sliding through your hair.

“You’re not my second option. You were always the first. I choose you all or nothing because I couldn’t before. And now that I have you in my arms, I’m never letting you go”

Lucius feels like the home you never experienced but always dreamed of. His words start soothing you. His words feel bigger, like an oath this time. A healed promise of the one he made as a kid.

“When I looked at you again, I remembered that little girl I used to play with. With her dazzling hair and loving eyes” you look away, to the shore. You never liked receiving compliments.

“Look at me…” his fingers grab your chin and gently, he makes you look at him but you close your eyes after briefly meeting his eyes.

Just like the first time, you get lost in his blue irises. Blue like the sea you traveled, like the sea you once thought would be your way to freedom.

“Please look at me, y/n,” he says pleading, with his warm touch you know you won’t be able to oppose any longer.

Slowly you open your eyes and finally accept his gaze.

“You loved another man and I loved another woman. But we had already marked each other’s hearts before we met them”

Slowly, you nod. He smiles and wipes the tears from your eyes. He looks so gorgeous. You know he means every word. Only a man who did everything to save his mother and free a city would make such a big promise to a woman and beg.

You caress his strong jawline, ignoring the way his beard tickles at your fingers. You smile back at him.

“I love you”

Before he could finish, you kissed him.

…

You hadn’t thought back on your love Acacius in months, but that morning you dedicated the bright sky to him. You hope he’s happy for you.

You look at yourself in a mirror and smile at your reflection.

“Are you ready?” Lucius asked entering the room. Your smile grows at the sight of him dressed in gold and a crown in his head. He also eyes your dress and you blush at the way he is mentally undressing you.

Your husband is possessive, kind, brave, and an emperor.

“Stop staring like that…” he looks back at your eyes and it makes you chuckle.

“Come here…” he pleads and when you try to kiss him you both hear a tiny yelp.

“Oh Lucilla, I’m just trying to kiss your father…”

You had birthed a daughter two months ago in Egypt. And was named after Lucius’ mother. She had matted hair the same color as you and she had the blue eyes of his father.

“I’ll get her…” Lucius carried her and leaned to let you look at yourself tiny baby yawning, as she had woken up from a little nap. Her tiny hands flirt fists and her face scrunched in slumber.

She was a winter baby and every citizen of Rome was waiting to meet the daughter of the emperor and empress.

“So fussy like her father…” you claimed, making Lucius roll his eyes at you.

He had grown patient. A perfect partner and father. You felt lucky and blessed to have him. Thinking all the pain was worth it. Your head would now and then think back on what could’ve been if Acacius had survived, and his baby as well.

But you accepted that in this life, he wasn’t meant to be yours. So you prayed to meet him again in the next one. But for now, you were in the arms of your first love.

“I love you, Lucius…” he seemed lightly surprised, as he was the one that says it more often. But he knows he looks so clumsy and in love.

“Not more than me…” you kiss your daughter’s cheek and then your husband, making him softly gasp as you deepen the kiss.

“Don’t do this to me now, y/n…” you giggle, taking the baby from his arms and leading the way towards the door.

“Wait, satis… I know it’s nonsensical to ask at this point but…Do you think I’m being good at this?” Lucius asks pointing at little Lucilla, you sigh, walking back towards him.

“My love, there is no way of being good at this. But if she knows that we love her and that we’ll be here for her forever, is enough…”

He had his doubts a couple of months after the wedding when you got pregnant.

“You don’t know how proud and thankful I am of you. You decided to agree and give me a family after so much pain, satis” You form a smile grin, opting to avoid the memories of your old love. Because that was the past, sacred to you but still the past.

“We deserved it, Lucius.” He nods, taking your free hand.

“I have the feeling that this one will be a boy…” you say pointing at your still-flat stomach.

“Whatever it is… as long as you’re the mother, it’ll be okay”

You both exit the room hand in hand, hearing the excited crowd outside waiting.

_________________

PAUL X PEDRO X READER FIC IS COMING, COMMENT TO BE TAGGED :)

I won’t ever ever ever write a fanfic where a Pedro character dies again. NEVER AGAIN! I don’t care if you think this was cringe, I cried a lot while writing on different days. I love Lucius but in my head Acacius never died, so from now on if I write for him, he WON’T DIE.

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | v.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Grandma’am’s dissonant notes fill your room as you lie on the bed. The old woman’s wobbly soprano has been the background noise to your awakening this early morning.

At least it diverted you from your dire thoughts.

You rose with low spirits, defeated. You didn’t dare leave the cover of the warm blankets.

You’ve stared at the ceiling for so long, the flower patterns have morphed into smudges of pale color swirling in your vision. It’s all you did the entire morning. Stare at the ceiling while awful thoughts collide in your head. Perhaps for hours. You’re not sure. Time has been a foggy concept as of late.

You can’t even remember when everything started spinning out of control. The beginning of your unraveling.

The day before Coryo held you as you wept in his arms. For a while, in the warmth of his embrace, the uproar in your head fell silent.

Now it’s all noise again. Chaos. You have no desire to climb out of bed, face the day. Perhaps it makes you a bad guest. But hiding is easier. So it’s exactly what you elect to do.

Hiding until it becomes an impossibility.

Or until the door knocks in that case. 

The sound startles you. 

You don’t answer. Instead, you burrow yourself further beneath the sheets. 

The knock starts again. Stubbornly, you ignore it.

“I’m coming in,” a familiar, airy voice announces.

The creaking of the door reaches you and your brows crumple. A slight weight plops on the mattress, making it dip under you. You freeze, willing yourself to remain still. 

A delicate perfume hangs in the air. Guilt seeps through you. It’s not like she’s done anything to you. If anything, she’s been kind. It’s about the hot layer of shame that has grown thick roots into your being.

Her gentle lilt flutters above you.

“I won’t move until you talk to me; I’m worried.”

You gnaw on your lip. The seconds stretch to minutes, arduously long, seemingly endless as she remains on your bed. It dawns on you how deadly serious the older of the Snow cousins is. She will not go away until you speak to her.

Besides, your mother’s voice echoes somewhere in your head. Your behavior is ill-fitted for a lady. Here you are, a guest in someone else’s house, acting like a petulant child.

Though you balk at the prospect, it’s time to face the world.

You huff out a quiet sigh under your breath before peeking above the blanket. 

“Tigris,” you mumble. 

Her thin blonde brows are pinched. 

“You missed breakfast,” she notes. She tilts her head, scrutinizing you as her frown deepens. “First dinner, now breakfast. It’s becoming a habit.”

Concern glimmers in her honey orbs. Your chest squeezes. The last thing you want is for someone else to feel terrible. You push the blanket further away from you, sitting up as a contrite smile tugs your lips. 

“Sorry.”

Tigris’ slender fingers latch onto your forearm. 

“Don’t apologize. Just keep me company today.”

You attempt to deflect, “What about Coryo?”

The blonde releases a deep exhale, crossing her arms in frustration. You’ve gazed upon a similar crease on Coriolanus’ face before.

“He barely has time for me these days. Between his work with Dr Gaul, the University and…” A small smile plays on her lips as her voice trails off. “You of course.” Your cheeks heat at her implication. Of course, you’re aware of Coriolanus’ dedication to showing up for you as of late. But it never occurred to you that it could impede on Tigris’ time with him. It saddens you.

From what you recall of the glimpses of them you caught growing up, there was a time the two Snow cousins were inseparable. After all, ever since they were young, Tigris has been everything to him. A mother, a sister, a best friend. It was clear on Coriolanus’ face too. Fondness was etched on his face whenever he looked at his cousin. 

She leans over you, her tone pleading.

“Come on, I really need a friend, and something tells me you do too.”

Shoulders sagging in surrender, you concede, “I’ll get dressed.”

She leaps to her feet, a victorious smile breaking onto her face.

“I’ll have the maid bring you some food before we go,” she sings. “When’s the last time you ate anyways?”

You purse your lips, shocked at the realization of how long it’s been since your last meal, eating having toppled to the bottom of your list of priorities the last two days.

You give an honest reply.

“I…can’t remember.”

Concern scrunches Tigris’ angular features once more. She then takes her leave and you glumly get ready for the day.

Food is brought up to your room. You nibble down every bite of cheese, bread and eggs until you’re full.

You find the massive trunk Coriolanus had the staff carry up to your room. You marvel as you peer inside, rummaging in search of an outfit for the day. His thoughtfulness astounds you. You don’t deserve a friend like Coryo.

Once you’ve removed your night robe, it pools at your feet. Your stomach sinks at the sight of your bare form. Bruises still speckle your skin. They are starting to fade but the ones on your hips and thighs are still quite prominent. The thought of Coryo touching you this way crosses your mind and you shudder. 

You know you shouldn’t feel this way.

It’s like your friend said. It’s better that it was him than some stranger with nefarious intentions. After all, you were both drunk. You both didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s obvious Coriolanus is as inconvenienced by this as you are. 

You should move on, let the incident scatter amidst the unfortunate mistakes of youth. It’s what common sense dictates. Otherwise guilt will chew you to the bone.

But you can’t. 

Every time you think of that night, you’re unsettled, an inkling of wrong humming through you.

It haunts you. Though you wished it didn’t.

The remainder of the morning is spent with Tigris. The two of you scour the city in search of various fabrics and items her boss, Fabricia Whatnot, asks her to collect. 

It’s a nice change of scenery and you welcome it.

You even get to see Tigris work on a dress, a magnificent wedding gown whose sight stirs a bittersweet feeling within you. It reminds you that your own dress was ruined, a matter you’ve yet to solve. 

…If there’ll even still be a wedding. 

As the afternoon sun crests to a scorching peak in the bright blue sky, she offers to stop by a café which you readily accept. You both sit beneath a wide umbrella on the outdoor terrace. 

You take small bites of your petit fours, the sugar melting on your tongue providing much needed comfort.

“Does your grandmother do this every morning?” 

Tigris’ lips pause above the rim of her porcelain cup, her honey gaze widening at your question. Realization then lights up her face.

“Oh, the singing? Yes, almost.” A fond smile spreads onto her thin lips. “Grandma’am likes to reminisce about the glory days of our family, you know…before the war.”

Your brows furrow.

The glory days...

Could the days before the war truly be referred to as that? The people of the Districts were forced to serve the ever-growing needs of the Capitol citizens, reaping no benefits from their hard work and being kept docile by the perpetual threat of execution.

Exactly like now.

You hardly see the glory in that. Maybe for the victors, the ones who get to stand atop the mountain while others try to claw their way up from the bottom until their hands bleed.

But, as usual, you don’t voice your treasonous thoughts, simply nodding in response.

Tigris and you both relish the comfortable silence for a while. She doesn’t urge you to talk and you’re grateful for that. Idle talk is an arduous task when constant worries gnaw at your mind.

While she may not know the depth of your predicament, you appreciate that Tigris picks up enough not to prod.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” she says. “Quiet. I like to come here when I need a moment to myself.”

Your gaze roams across the luxurious garden near the café. You get lost in admiring the pretty flowers and the swan fountain. It reminds you of your own garden, your beloved roses, probably withering from neglect. You’ll need to tend to them soon.

“It’s beautiful,” you admit. You nibble on your bottom lip before your eyes find hers. “I’m sorry for being…difficult this morning.”

Tigris’ shoulders heave as she replies nonchalantly, “It’s quite alright.” Mirth sparkles in her amber orbs. “I’m sorry for dragging you all over Panem to run those errands.”

You give a small smile. “It’s fine. I enjoyed the distraction.”

You look down and fiddle with your napkin, arranging it in different positions several times in your lap.

“Is something the matter?”

Tigris’ abrupt inquiry makes your head snap up.

You hesitate beneath her compassionate stare. After a long, quiet minute, your shoulders slump.

“I just loathe that I am such a burden to you and Coryo,” you mumble.

Tigris tilts her head, genuine confusion scrunching her features. “A burden? Don’t be ridiculous. You could never be that to me...” Her slender hand reaches across the table to drape over yours. “And even less to Coryo.”

A wry chuckle leaves your lips. “Well, he’s got better things to do than taking care of me.”

She shakes her head.

“Taking care of you is a pleasure to my cousin.”

You wince. “I very much doubt that.”

Tigris’ head lowers, her hand rising to her mouth to dampen her chortle.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, frowning.

“It’s just…you really don’t see how much you’re changing him?” She studies you momentarily before heaving out a long exhale. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately. She smiles.

“I haven’t seen him focus on something other than his ambitions in so long…not the way he focuses on you.”

Your jaw hangs slack at her admission.

She pauses, seeming to mull over her next words. “Coryo…when he returned from his service in District 12, he was so different. I thought all the warmth in him was gone, that he was becoming like my uncle.” A distant, sad look dims her eyes. “A cold, calculated man. But when he’s around you…" Fondness illuminates her face while she gauges you. "I don’t know, it's almost like he’s back to his old self. The little boy I knew, sweet and caring. My little Coryo.”

Her fingers tighten around yours as she beams. “You’re good for him, so don’t worry about being a burden. It couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Tears of relief almost spill from your eyes at that but you swallow them.

Instead, you return her smile. It may have been at the behest of your dead brother but you couldn’t deny how comforting Coriolanus’ presence has been, his friendship the silver lining above somber clouds. Coryo is the only one who gladly listens when you talk about Sejanus and how much it aches that he’s not there anymore, his passing having left a void that can never be filled. It’s too painful for your mother and your dad’s in plain denial. If it weren’t for Coryo, grief would have eaten you alive, you’re certain of it. 

It’s hard to picture your life without him in it now, in some form or another. In fact, you don’t think you even want to. You may have lost a brother but the gods were merciful and granted you another.

After you leave the café, you and Tigris take a leisurely stroll through the Capitol’s streets. The talk you had with her rejuvenated you. For the first time since that awful night at Clemensia’s, you feel a bit more like yourself. 

All is well until someone strides out of a bakery, someone you know too well. The sight of the familiar face freezes you in your spot. 

Your eyes then lock from across the street. You watch the recognition dawn on his face. 

He starts making his way towards you. 

A surge of panic bleeds inside you. You briskly grab Tigris’ hand.

“Let’s go,” you urge, already pulling her in the other direction. 

“Wait…what?” Befuddled, Tigris lets you drag her along as you start racing through the streets.

You don’t dare look behind you, your heart thundering inside your chest. 

You dive into a busy street. The crowd cloaks you as you zigzag between bodies. Strangers give you dirty looks but you don’t care, focused on running as far away from who you saw as you can. 

You and Tigris end up in a narrow alleyway, catching your breaths behind a dumpster. 

You shoot worried glances at the other end of the alleyway. You lost him, you realize. A strange blend of emotions fills you, every single one carving a larger hole inside your chest.

“Who was that?” Tigris asks between uneven breaths.

Shame swells within you as your gaze lands on the cobblestoned floor.

“My fiancé,” you reply.

“Hey.” Your head lifts from your knees, your eyes traveling to the blond head peeking through the slight opening of the door.

Concerned cobalt orbs study you. You avoid his scrutiny by focusing on a random spot on the bed sheets. He enters the room. As he sits at the edge of the bed, you bring your legs closer to your chest.

His soft tone breaks through your hazy train of thoughts. “Tigris told me what happened.”

You unleash a shaky breath before finally meeting his gaze.

“I’m a coward,” you say.

His hand rises to cradle your jaw, his thumb collecting an errant tear you didn’t even realize had spilled over. “You’re not a coward,” he assures.

Your lip wobbles. Of course you are. You saw William, your own fiancé, and ran away from him. Who does that? An idiot and a coward. But you didn’t know what else to do. You panicked. When his beautiful green eyes locked with yours, all you could think about was those same eyes filled with hate and betrayal if he ever learnt what you did.

“I am,” you affirm.

Coriolanus strokes the side of your face, his tone growing firmer, “It’s a tough situation…”

His sentence is halted by a loud banging downstairs. 

Your eyes go wide.

“What’s that?”

The faint echo of your name being yelled from outside reaches you. Your heart leaps as Coryo’s features go taut, his jaw clenching.

His lips stretch in a tense smile.

“I'll go check. Stay here.”

“I’ll come.”

You jump from bed and make a beeline for the door. He tries to placate you by holding your shoulders, blocking the exit with his towering frame.

“Princess, I don’t think-”

You glower at him. You can’t run forever.

“You can’t stop me, Coryo.”

Tension hangs in the air for some minutes, thick and electric, before he relents with a deep sigh, “Alright.”

Heart in your throat, you take slow steps down the stairs. Coryo trails behind you in silence.

Your name’s uttered again, the door rattling as he bangs against it. You flinch.

Trembling feet drag to the front door. Your hand spreads over the wooden carving. You take a deep breath before hesitant words stumble out of you.

“William, you can’t be here.”

“I love you. Of course I should be here.” 

Unwavering determination vibrates in his tone. Guilt flares within you. You swallow the impending rush of tears. You don’t deserve him. He’s good, kind, honest…and you’re a liar.

“I saw you with that girl, Snow’s cousin. Talk to me, baby, please.”

“I just need a little time...alone.”

“What? Is this about the wedding preparations? Is it your parents?” He sounds confused and hurt. Your heart wrenches. You’re hurting him. It’s exactly what you meant to avoid. “Whatever it is, we can fix it. We can face anything as long as we’re together.”

The desperation thickens in his voice.

“Come out. I just want to see your face, please.”

“I…”

Your fingers hover above the gold door knob. But your hand is snatched by long, stern digits before it can fully wrap around the handle. Coryo tugs you away from the door. You gasp as his deep voice resonates in the lobby. 

“You need to leave her be. She told you she needs space, William,” he says.

“Snow!” A mirthless chuckle ripples from the other side. “I knew it had to be you somehow.” You leap as the hinges of the door shake as William’s fists slam against it once more. “What did you do to her?”

Tears well up in your eyes. 

“Right now, it’s you that’s hurting her,” Coriolanus says, his fingers curling around yours. “What kind of husband-to-be doesn’t respect his future wife’s wishes?”

Your brows collide. You wish he didn’t speak like that. After all, you’re the one at fault. But fear keeps the words chained to your throat.

“I just need to see her, please,” William insists.

Your stomach lurches. This is insane. Your fiancé is on the other side of the door and you won’t let him see you.

Maybe William’s right. Maybe talking to him will fix everything.

You sniffle and wipe your tears. You take a solid stride towards the door again, fingers ready to open it. 

“I think I should, just for a few minutes.”

Your decision is made but Coryo’s hand cinches around your wrist. This time his hold is much firmer, on the cusp of painful in fact. 

You grimace as he draws you away from the door, near the stairs.

He bends over you to whisper hotly, “To tell him what, princess?” Angling your chin upward, he sighs. “That you gave me something you denied him all this time? After just a few drinks?” Heat nestles in your cheeks. It is true. Both you and him got near that point so often, but you were adamant about waiting for your wedding night. It was your excuse every time. You doubt he’d take it well if you told him what occurred. While you want to believe your relationship will survive it, Coriolanus’ words are tossing fuel on every insecurity within you. Your confidence wavers, your hand sagging in his hold.

Coriolanus’ intense blue gaze is hard on you as he continues, his raspy tone low and foreboding, “Or perhaps, you’ll make up a lie? You really think he won't see it on your face?” A contrite expression settles on his handsome features. “You wear your emotions on your sleeves. He’ll know right away.” His thumb sweeps over your cheek to wipe a lone, stray tear. “William seems like a good man, but such a betrayal…it’d break the two of you before you even began.” He leans closer, his lips ghosting over your earshell. “He will never forgive you.”

All hope shrivels inside you, the last remnants you still held onto crumbling to dust.

You almost made a mistake. Of course Coryo’s right. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You give a frantic nod, releasing a shuddering sob.

He smiles at your response.

“Then go upstairs,” he instructs. “I’ll talk to him, fix everything.”

Seeing you linger at the bottom of the stairs, longing gaze darting to the door, Coriolanus squeezes your hand in reassurance.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’m going to make sure you still get to have a wedding at the end of this.” His smile grows wide. “I promise you.”

You search his face. Confidence radiates from his expression, planting the belief that he’s right deep within you. You shouldn’t have doubted him. Coriolanus has gone to great lengths to help you. Even now, he’s protecting your future. It’s more than one should ask of a friend, yet he’s doing it for your sake.

“Thank you,” you say. His hand slackens around yours, a satisfied glint dancing in his cobalt gaze. You rush up the stairs, not daring to look back in fear you falter once more.

[storiesforallfandoms]

i'd find you in any life ~ eric; a quiet place day one

word count: 3614

request?: no

description: in which two idiots in love find their way back to each other after the end of the world

pairing: eric x female!reader

warnings: swearing, use of y/n, spoilers for aqpdo, mentions of death, mentions of the quiet place aliens, end of the world type beat

masterlist (one, two, three)

Day One

The little bell over the door chimed to signal the first customer she'd seen in nearly an hour. She stifled an eye roll and bookmarked her novel, only to find it was her favorite customer.

"Hey Eric!"

Eric smiled at her. She was glad to be leaning against the counter because his smile never failed to make her weak in the knees.

"Working hard, or hardly working?" Eric asked, mirroring her leaning position across from her.

"Oh, very clearly working hard," she responded, gesturing to her book. "I'm almost finished my book."

"Very hard work indeed."

(Y/N) chuckled. "Want your usual?"

"Of course. And one of those delicious looking chocolate chip muffins."

(Y/N) playfully salted and went to make Eric's usual coffee order.

Eric had been coming to the coffee shop (Y/N) worked at for months now. He had came in first one morning before one of his classes, in a rush and asking her to make him anything with caffeine as quickly as she could. She quickly made him a coffee and he threw a $20 bill at her, telling her to keep the change. He came back the next day to thank her, and to tell her it was the best coffee he ever had. She made him another and insisted it was on the house.

It was the start of Eric being a regular customer, as well as being the start of his and (Y/N)'s friendship.

Eric watched her work to make his coffee. "You know, one of these days I'll figure out what you do to make such good coffee."

She smiled at him over her shoulder. "It's just coffee! I don't even do anything special with it."

"But it's the best coffee I've had! I can't even make coffee this good."

"I make it with love."

She quickly turned away to pretend she was making his coffee. Really, she was trying to hide the look of embarrassment on her face. The second the words had left her mouth, she regretted it.

Of course (Y/N) had a crush on Eric. You'd be crazy not to. On a surface level, he was extremely handsome. He had the biggest, brownest eyes she had ever seen, the prettiest face, and a smile that made her feel like she was flying. Not to mention that British accent of his, which was way too easy to fall for. And then she got to know him and she found herself falling even deeper in love with his personality. He was the sweetest person she had ever met. She'd be crazy not to develop feelings for him.

The question then, she knew, was why did she never tell Eric how she felt about him?

As kind as Eric was, and as much as she considered him a friend, she knew they weren't meant to be together. Eric was in New York to go to law school. He was going to be a big lawyer, make lots of money and be successful. (Y/N), on the other hand, was in her 20s working in a coffee shop, with no prospects for the future. She didn't know what she wanted in life, but she knew Eric likely wouldn't be a part of it. It was best for him, even if it hurt her.

She poured his coffee into a take away cup and bagged the muffin he asked for. She could barely look at him as she rang in his order. He was looking at her with those big, brown eyes. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to form a coherent sentence if she did.

"Are you on your way to class?" she asked as she took his payment.

"Not for another hour and a half," he replied. "Had to come down to get my coffee first, and was hoping you weren't too busy so I could hang out for a bit."

(Y/N) couldn't fight the smile on her face. "I guess I won't kick you out for loitering."

"As long as I don't get you in trouble."

She scoffed. "Please, you're a paying customer. There's nothing my manager can get upset about. Not that he ever shows up anyways."

Eric paid for his order, and as (Y/N) was getting his change he pulled another $20 bill from his wallet and put it into the tip jar next to the register. (Y/N)'s eyes widened. She grabbed the bill and tried to give it back to Eric.

"That's your tip," he said.

"It's too much, Eric! Just give me your change!"

He shook his head. "You deserve it. I told you, you make the best coffee I've ever had. Not to mention the coffee comes with a side of friendship with a wonderful person."

She tried not to let her smile falter at the word "friends". She knew that's all they were. It was her choice to keep her secrets a secret.

Eric hung around long enough to eat his muffin and drink about half of his coffee. It wasn't until another customer finally came in that they both realized the time and he had to go. (Y/N) said goodbye and Eric promised to come back again the next day. She smiled at him before turning her attention back to her new customer.

Soon, the shop was empty again and (Y/N) found herself missing Eric's presence. Despite being friends, they had yet to exchange phone numbers. Eric had found (Y/N) on social media and asked her if it was okay for him to follow and message her, which of course she said yes. They had messaged back and forth on there, but there was something more intimate about asking for his phone number. Maybe she was just overthinking that. They were already friends, they already spoke outside of when he came to the shop. What harm was there in asking for his number to text whenever they wanted to, and not just when they had internet?

That's it, she thought. I'll do it tomorrow.

(Y/N) was content with her decision, smiling to herself as she was cleaning the coffee machine, when she heard a commotion outside. Through the shop window she could see a crowd forming. She stepped up to the window to see everyone looking at the sky. She followed their gazes to see streaks of light falling from the sky. She thought it was a meteor shower at first, but there was something about it that made her feel off. Like it wasn't just a few space rocks passing over Earth.

She noticed one beam of light was coming closer. Not exactly at her specifically, but close enough for it to be concerning. The crowd in front of the shop suddenly started to move, some of them in a panicked manner. (Y/N) backed away from the window, planning to take cover however she could, but she was too late. There was the sound of an impact a few streets over, followed by rumbling of an aftershock that eventually reached the shop. The last thing (Y/N) remembered was the shop windows exploding and her being thrown back, hitting her head on a nearby table and knocking her out.

~~~~~~

Day 89

"There's a boat coming!"

Eric didn't usually care much to see who was arriving at the island. He was always glad to know that other people had heard and figured out Henri's code to get to safety, but he knew that whoever was coming was not someone for him. He had lost everyone during those first few days - his parents (not that it was ever confirmed, but he knew the likeliness was slim and he'd never get a real confirmation he was sure), Sam.

(Y/N).

There was no reason for him to go watch as new survivors were welcomed to the island, like so many of the others did.

But that day, he was sat outside in the sun eating with Frodo when the call came. Frodo's ears had perked up and, before Eric could stop him, the black and white feline had taken off towards the beach. Eric swore under his breath and got up to follow.

"Even the damn cat is a noisy bugger," Eric muttered to himself.

There was already a small crowd huddled to watch as the small boat coasted onto the island. Henri and a few others were already there, pulling the boat to shore and helping the small handful of survivors off. He was speaking to the first person who had gotten off, a man who shared the same expression that everyone did when they first got there - terror. The confusion and fear of Henri speaking always got to them first, and often times people wouldn't believe Henri when he said that the aliens couldn't reach them because they couldn't survive the water.

Eric was looking for Frodo more than he was paying attention to whoever was getting off the boat. The cat was moving around the people in his way so smoothly, meanwhile Eric had to bump and push his way past everyone, mumbling an apology as he went.

Frodo suddenly ran towards the boat as another person got off. Eric broke through the crowd and chased after Frodo, an apology already on the tip of his tongue for whoever Frodo had ran up to. But the words died before they could come out as he watched the person scoops Frodo up in her arms and look for whoever owned him, her eyes locking on Eric immediately.

"Eric?"

"(Y/N)?"

He was moving before he realized it, his arms around (Y/N) to pull her into a hug. Tears were forming in his eyes as he held her, making sure that she was actually real and not a figment of his imagination.

Frodo grumbled, breaking them apart. He jumped down from (Y/N)'s arms and sat looking between them.

"Is he yours?" she asked.

"Technically yes. He belonged to someone else before, but..." He stopped, the familiar ache in his chest from whenever he thought about Sam. "But he's mine, now."

(Y/N) nodded. She seemed to understand. They had all gone through the same hell, all lost someone. It was hard not to understand.

"Bring her up," Henri said, suddenly appearing next to the two of them. That's when Eric realized that everyone was making their way back to the community. "Unless you both want to keep standing here all day."

Eric shook his head. "No, sorry. (Y/N), come with me."

(Y/N) was shocked upon seeing the community of houses and people, as most survivors are. They were so used to the wreckage that the aliens caused, and all the fear that drove so many into silence, that seeing all these well built houses, and seeing people talking and living without fear, was foreign.

"When was the last time you ate anything?" Eric asked (Y/N). "Or showered? Or had water?"

"A long time," (Y/N) responded to all three questions.

Eric nodded. "I have my own place. Frodo and I were just having lunch, and there's plenty to share. I have a working shower, drinkable water."

"That all sounds perfect," she said. "Lead the way."

Eric showed her to his place. He gave her towels and told her he'd find her clean clothes from one of the other ladies in town. He tried not to linger as she stepped into the bathroom and let the shower run. She'd think he was crazy if she caught him there, debating on going into the shower with her, but it was the only thing on his mind in this moment. Well, besides the desire to kiss her senseless and never let her go again.

Eric had mourned (Y/N). Even before he met Sam and had to mourn her as well, he mourned the coffee shop girl who had became such a good friend to him; who he had loved and never told. When the invasion first started, Eric's first thought wasn't his own survival, but about if (Y/N) had gotten to safety. He had left her in the coffee shop just moments prior, and someone had been with her then, but did that person stay? Did more people come? Was there anyone there to protect her, to get her out? Had she figured out too late that the aliens were attracted to sound?

When he got on the boat to come to the island, he looked at every other survivor that was there with him. He asked around if anyone knew (Y/N), if they knew whether she was there. When they got to the island, he looked at the others who had gotten there first. She was nowhere to be seen, and no one knew of her. He had to come to terms with the fact that she was probably dead, and that made him wish he was, too.

He regretted never telling (Y/N) how he felt. He thought he had lost his chance forever, and that thought haunted him every day. He could hardly believe that she was actually here, that she had survived.

One of his neighbors was gracious enough to give him clothes for (Y/N). He left them outside the bathroom door for her, then went back outside to continue eating. He had gotten the extra food he had planned to put away as leftovers and brought it out for (Y/N) to eat, as well as gotten her a glass of water. Frodo had taken his position hunched over a can of cat food again, eating away as if he were the one who was starved.

(Y/N) came out a few minutes later, her wet hair clinging to her and looking more refreshed. She still looked exhausted, but he knew how long it would take to really get any rest after what she had experienced.

She sat down next to him and picked up the food he had waiting for her.

"Thank you," she said.

"Of course," he responded. "You served me for quite some time. I think it's only fair I finally repay the favor."

She smiled, and he was brought back to every time he visited her coffee shop and was able to make her smile at something he said. It had always been such an accomplishment to him.

They ate in silence for some time. (Y/N) tried to savor the food, but she was so hungry that she couldn't help but scarf so much of it down so quickly. Eric couldn't help but watch her. He was still terrified that she'd suddenly disappear and he'd realize this was all just a dream.

"I can't believe you're here," he said before he could stop himself.

(Y/N) looked up at him. "I can't believe you're here. I thought..."

"Me too."

She moved her plate aside and turned her body so that she was facing him. "What happened that day?"

"I was in the tube - the subway - and suddenly there was all this shaking and rumbling. A pipe or something burst eventually and suddenly the whole place was flooded. I was sure I was a goner, until I managed to get to a stairwell that led up into New York. That's where I first met this guy - " Eric reached over to pat Frodo. " - and I followed him to his owner. She...she's the reason I'm here."

"Did she...?"

Eric swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "She was sick. She told me she made peace with her mortality and was okay with the sacrifice so that Frodo and I could survive."

(Y/N) reached out to place her hand on Eric's. He moved it so that their fingers intertwined. If this had been months ago, he would've been more focused on the fact that he was finally holding (Y/N)'s hand.

"She sounds like a good person," (Y/N) said. "I wish I could've met her."

"Me too," Eric said. "What about you? What happened to you that day?"

"Well, I was at the coffee shop, as you know, and suddenly these...things...I guess the eggs? I don't know, but I watched them fall from the sky. One of them landed a few streets over from the shop and the aftershocks blew the windows out and knocked me out. When I came to, I had been rescued by Stephen, he's the one who got off the boat first. He found anyone who was still alive and brought us to this building to hide us away. He told us to keep quiet, that it was the only way for us to survive. He kept going out and searching for other survivors, or for any resources to keep us alive."

"He didn't take you to the boats?"

She shook her head. "He tried, but there was an attack when we were all trying to get there. We kind of dispersed and all ended up back in the same building. A lot of us didn't make it, and by the time we tried to get out again the boats were gone. We had no idea where they were going, or how to get there since every boat had been taken from the dock it seemed. We settled in to try and fend for ourselves, which we did until we happened to hear a song looping over the radio."

"Beyond the Sea," Eric said. "It was Henri's idea. It was a code to get more survivors to come to safety."

"It worked. It just took some time for us to follow it."

"But you're here now." Eric squeezed her hand. "God, I'm so glad you're here. I thought...I spent every day thinking about you."

"I thought about you a lot, too." There were tears in her eyes now, too. "When I woke up, the first thing I thought was worrying where you were. I wanted so badly for you to have been someone that Stephen saved, and then so much time passed and I thought..."

Eric nodded. "Me too. I really thought you were gone."

It may not have been the most tactful way to do it, but emotions were running high and Eric's brain wasn't particularly working right. He took hold of her face and pulled her to him, pressing his lips against hers. It wasn't the best kiss in the world, he would admit. Because he caught (Y/N) off guard, it was more teeth than lips, and he could taste the saltiness of their mixed tears on her lips.

When she pulled away almost immediately, Eric felt embarrassment wash over him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have done that without asking first."

To his surprise, (Y/N) moved their plates out of their way before climbing onto Eric's lap. She leaned in slower, giving him more time to register that they were going to kiss again. When her lips touched his this time, it was soft and gentle, but still needy. Like they were both making up for so much lost time, which, he guessed, they were.

They were only interrupted this time by someone yelling, "Hey! There's kids out here! Get a room!"

(Y/N) pulled away, giggling a little as she rested her forehead against Eric's.

"So, it was okay that I kissed you?" he asked.

"I would think me kissing you back was enough of an answer," she said. "But yes, it was very much okay."

"I've wanted to do that since the day after we met."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "The day after?"

"Well yeah. The day we met I was in such a hurry that I didn't have time to really register the fact that a beautiful woman was making me coffee."

"See, that's so funny, because I also wanted to kiss you the day we met, and every day after when you came in for coffee."

"Wait, really?" Her smile was shyer now as she nodded her head. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Well, you were going to school to be a lawyer and you had everything going for you. I was just the girl in a coffee shop who didn't know what she was doing with her life. I thought...I thought it would be better for you if we didn't date, so that you could find someone with the same ambitions as you."

"I'm not saying this now because the world as ended, but fuck me being a lawyer. I didn't care if you were working at a coffee shop, or going to school like I was, or if you were just some homeless person on the side of the road. I loved you for who you were. I still love you for who you are."

(Y/N) was speechless. It was the words she had been longing to hear for so long, even after the world went to shit. She was convinced she was dreaming, or having some sort of alien induced hallucination. She made a mental note to pinch herself later, because if this was a dream she didn't want to wake up any time soon.

"I love you, too."

They went to kiss again, but Frodo meowed and nudged Eric's leg. He chuckled as he reached down to pet the cat. "I guess we shouldn't just be making out in broad daylight after already being yelled at once."

"I suppose not," (Y/N) said. "You know, I am awfully tired still. You should take me in to see your bed."

Eric grinned at her. "I like the way you think."

[adore-laur]

would love to see how dadrry would react if his girls asked him for a baby brother 🤭

——

At dinner, after Harry picked the girls up from preschool and daycare, your eldest rambles on about her classroom adventures through spoonfuls of homemade fruit pasta. You smile at her with an undefinable amount of fondness while hanging on to every word. She seems to be loving school and adapting just fine to not seeing her parents as often throughout the weekdays. It could crumble your heart into ruins if you let it, but you focus on the bright side: it's one less thing to worry about when you're away from your babies. She's safe, she's happy, and while you miss her dearly during the day, her independence is blooming beautifully. It's evident in how she can hardly sit still in the morning.

Harry listens intently, only interspersing questions when appropriate so as not to make her lose her train of thought. Your youngest is sitting on his lap, secured by his fingers splayed across her tummy, while his other hand absentmindedly pretends to be an airplane serving applesauce straight into her awaiting mouth. It's a blissfully domestic scene, and you sometimes wish you could view it outside of your body and witness the pure, tangible love surrounding the kitchen table from an outsider's perspective.

The mellow evening sunlight washes the room in a dandelion-colored hue, and the California heat floats through the window to warm your soul. Crashing ocean waves accompany the sound of silverware clinking and the sweet lilt of your daughter's voice. With the weekend ahead, you feel a strong sense of contentedness. Being at home with the entire family, with no obligations pulling you apart, feels like diving into a pool on a hot summer day—it relaxes your muscles and rejuvenates your mind.

In the middle of a story about finding worms on the pavement during recess, your daughter, with unbridled enthusiasm, says, "A friend I talked to today told me she has a baby brother."

"Really?" Harry replies, matching her enthusiasm. "Did you tell her you have a sister?"

"Yeah, and I also told her I want a brother."

The bite of grilled chicken you swallow almost gets stuck on the way down your esophagus. Your eyes shoot to Harry, whose eyes are already locked on yours with humorous shock swimming in them. He hides his smile against the baby's head before kissing it. Then, he waves his hand, silently signaling for you to take the lead.

"A brother," you say slowly, fidgeting with the napkin beside your plate. "You want a baby brother. When... sorry, how long have you been thinking about this?"

"Since today at school!" On the high chair, she sits on her knees and beams with excitement. "My friend says her brother is cute and fat. Now I want one."

Harry, your savior, jumps in by saying, "Your baby sister is cute. And, well, she's chubby." He pats her precious little potbelly and bounces her in his lap. "Like most babies are."

"I want a baby sister and brother."

"Why do you want a brother?" you ask, mystified by the unexpected dinner conversation. Before her little sister was conceived, she only asked for a sibling. Now she's getting specific, and you're lost on how to answer adequately.

"Because." Dead silence follows her response as she stabs her silicone fork into the last pineapple tidbit in her bowl.

"Fair enough," Harry says. There's a sneaky glint in his gaze, and you know he's enjoying this subject matter far too much. You never have to worry about bringing up the prospect of having another baby together since you know he's all in. But since you're the one who carries the babies and pushes them out, he understands you're not quite ready yet. Or, at least, your body isn't.

"We can't guarantee you a brother," you say gently. "That's not how it works."

She frowns, looking at you and then at Harry. "How does it work?"

Harry snorts and stands up to begin clearing the empty dishes. "You should save that question for another time, lovebug." He kisses her cheek as he passes by. "C'mon, show me how Mommy taught you to wash your hands."

——

Later that night in bed, you lay your head on Harry's bare chest and delicately trace your fingers along the length of his bicep. The room is still, and his breathing is a constant sound and rhythm against your skin. Knowing you get to bask in his presence all day tomorrow is a wonderful thought to fall asleep to.

The weekend plans are still in discussion. Maybe you'll all just stay home and have a beach day. Maybe you'll take the kids to the park and fly the kites Harry recently bought for a breezy day. Whatever may come, you know there will be love and laughter in abundance.

"I need your breakfast order for tomorrow," Harry says, his voice gruff. He had a busy day at work, so you took over the kid's bedtime routine while he luxuriated in a long, hot shower and did his nightly stretches.

"I can get up to help," you reply. You know it's quite literally his job to cook meals for people, but you want to take a load off his shoulders. Going into parent mode after a long work week is no easy feat for anyone. It requires teamwork.

"No, you're sleeping in." He wraps you in his arms and buries his nose into your hair. "I'm serving you breakfast in bed with a side of cuddles."

You smile sleepily. "I'd like that. I'll eat whatever you make, by the way. Surprise me."

He squeezes you, slides his thigh between yours, and murmurs, "Think I'll eat you instead."

You lift your head and kiss his mint-flavored lips to shut him up. He always likes to start things right before bedtime. There's something about the intimacy of being alone with a locked door in the quiet night with the man you wake up to every morning. It's rare to indulge in moments like these.

"So, a baby brother, huh?" you say, switching gears to more innocent matters. You need all the sleep you can get tonight.

Harry laughs, his eyebrows raised as he rubs his hand down his face. "She kind of demanded it, didn't she?"

"Oh, don't even start with that." He'll use anything as a way to inspire the idea of a third child.

"You know my answer. And hers, apparently. I'll be patiently waiting until you say the word."

"What's the word?"

He hums a deep, thoughtful rumble beneath you. "Let's make another baby."

"How discreet," you say, laying your head back on his chest. "Anyway, I think a two-year gap is what works best. It gives me time to, you know, recover from the craziness and sleep deprivation."

"You want another baby with me?"

The fact that he even has to ask is befuddling. There is no one you would rather do this with. He's the best husband and the best father—the family you’re creating with him is just beginning.

"Yeah," you say softly, admiring the vulnerable look in his eyes. "One more. Maybe two."

Harry pleasurably groans and shifts his hips, the mere idea of knocking you up again somehow turning him on. You feel his hardness, which makes you roll your eyes. Men are too easy.

Once he settles down, he says, "Take all the time you need, sweetheart. I'm tremendously happy with what we have right now."

"What if we end up having another girl?"

"Then consider me the luckiest man in the universe." He tilts his head on the pillow. "Is it bad if I secretly hope that happens?"

"You’d have three princesses to spoil rotten."

"Four," he whispers, tapping his fingers along your spine. With a sleepy sigh, he adds, "It's been hard being away from them. From you."

Although he keeps his promise of always being home by dinnertime, he doesn't always get to drop the girls off at school in the morning. By the time you get them settled in the car, he's already in the trenches at work. To make up for it, he cooks their breakfasts and kisses them goodbye before he leaves.

"We have our trip to Italy next month," you mention.

"Fuck, that's right." Harry seamlessly flips you over so that he's hovering over you. "Perfect time and place for babymaking. Maybe we should start practicing right now."

You place your palm over his mouth and say, "Shut up."

For the next hour, he uses his mouth for… other reasons.

——

[scealaiscoite]

friends to lovers prompts ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🐚 ꒱

— hugging and absentmindedly kissing their neck, resulting in mortification for one of them

— one being shorter and it being a source of great enjoyment for the other

— hang-outs that start to feel more and more like dates

— sleeping in the same bed, as they’d often do, but one morning waking up cuddling

— nickname turning into petnames

— one having to sit in the other’s lap when space is tight and them both blushing like crazy over it

— being overprotective of them in front of prospective partners

— one giving the other their jacket / covering them with it when they fall asleep

— sharing clothes in a totally friendly way

— telling them they deserve better (and silently wanting to be the one who gives it to them)

— valuing their opinions/approval above everyone else’s

— memorising their favourite things and treating them when they have a bad day

— cuddling for comfort in a Very platonic manner

— defending them against everyone, even when they’re not there to witness it

— being distrustful of the other’s bfs/gfs

[heechwe]

beam me up | 𝐜𝐬𝐛

୨୧ pairing: choi soobin x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 3.5k ୨୧ genre: lots of fluff, smidges of comedy, smut ୨୧ tags: parents!au, married!au, established relationship!au, body (mostly chest) worship, pet names (love, bunny, baby, etc), oral (f receiving), fingering, breeding kink, lactation kink, unprotected sex, down bad soobin essentially. ୨୧ synopsis: Going out after having a baby should be a breeze. So what if you don't feel incredibly confident? So what if you both act like awkward teenagers on your first date? It's you and Soobin, and that's all that matters. ➸ bless my pals @lovetaroandtaemin, @xomakara, and @heesuncore for reading this behemoth ilysm

Why am I so nervous? You think to yourself as you swipe the mauve shade in your hand across your bottom lip. Its light pigment prevents staining, yet provides noticeable definition, just enough to stand out. Your hair is in a low bun, two stray bangs falling over your cheeks. With your makeup and floral midi dress, you feel confident enough to step out and leave the house without becoming riddled with anxious thoughts.

The demands of motherhood have been hefty, but you clean up well. And despite all the dirty diapers and staying awake pumping, you’re ready to spend one night simply as Soobin’s wife. Perhaps a night out in town with your husband is exactly what you both need after three months of being parents.

It’s been picture perfect, without question. Minyoung has her father‘s pout when she sleeps, your long eyelashes, and the softness of a human being well beyond her years. But, you can’t deny that you miss the days where it was just you and Soobin in your own bubble.

Perhaps tonight, you can discover a balance where your old and new life blend harmoniously.

You step out into the living room to see Soobin with his mother, your daughter asleep in her grandmother’s arms. Soobin holds a laundry list of instructions in one hand and her car-seat in the other, waving his hands in frantic motions. “She usually naps like this for about two hours, but if she sleeps more, that’s even better. And then—“

Soobin stops short and looks back at you when he senses your presence. Your in-law and husband stare at you in disbelief. The frayed edges of your appearance from a few hours ago are nowhere to be seen.

Soobin looks at you like you hang the moon. His smile is small in the presence of his mother, him trying to maintain some semblance of modesty, but it’s ‌electric. “You look beautiful.” He sets the car-seat down on the floor to free his hand, reaching it out for you to take.

You do it gladly, smiling from ear to ear. Soobin also cleans up well, his button up tucked in his cargo pants. He’s always dressed a bit like a dad in training, and now he fits the bill‌. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Binnie.”

His face turns a shade of pink at the nickname, unable to hide your effect on him. He turns back to his mother and refers to the paper in his hand. “If you need something that isn’t in her diaper bag, please‌—“

“Soobin, I can handle it. Just spend the night with your lovely wife.” His mother winks at you and takes the car seat from him. “I promise to bring her back in the morning in one piece.”

You and Soobin kiss the top of Minyoung’s soft head and say your goodbyes, both of your hearts clenching. It’s the first time you’ve been apart from her for more than an hour or two, so the prospect is daunting, at the very least. “Be good for grandma, lil’ bun,” Soobin whispers to her sleeping figure.

When your mother-in-law leaves, Soobin looks back at you with a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and desire. “Ready to go?”

You nod, sharing the same concoction of emotions. Most importantly, though, you’re relieved to finally have some alone time together. Wherever the night takes you is anyone’s guess. “Definitely.”

You both sit at the table in the restaurant like it’s your first date. Uncertain about what to expect once the meal ends, full of nerves and anticipation.

Soobin finds it hard to make eye contact with you, his eyes moving across the entire room. He can’t help it when you look so beautiful. You always do, but tonight is different. He’s been so stuck in the haze of being a new dad, it’s like he’s seeing you clearly again. Now, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

You’ve been married for half a decade, ‌yet every time he sees you, he falls deeper. It’s the first time for him every second he gets to touch you, kiss you, tell you how much you matter to him.

With a child, his feelings have only amplified. He looks at Minyoung some mornings and sees all the features he loves about you and vice versa in one human, his pride as great as his love.

But, instead of revealing he’s in the throes of intense admiration for you in the small Italian restaurant, he turns his focus back to the menu in his hands and looks over the wine list.

The appetizer you shared a few minutes ago has made him thirsty for some alcohol, it seems. “I know you have water, but do you want some Pinot, too? Oh! They have Moscato! I know that’s your favorite.”

It’s the way his eyes light up and his mouth curves into that signature O that makes you giggle‌, unable to contain it.

“What’s so funny?” Soobin looks up from his menu with mirth.

“Nothing at all, Binnie. I’m just happy.”

Your chest pinches at his soft reaction to your words, him looking over his menu at you with bright eyes.

Soobin has always been a goofball, intentionally or not, but it’s what makes him the best partner, among his many qualities. He knows when to be serious, taking the reins when necessary, but he’s well-versed in lightening the mood when you need it.

It’s surreal sometimes thinking about how you lucked out.

Suddenly, your thoughts cease thanks to the rising discomfort from your breasts. It started as an unnoticeable pinch when you gave your drink and light food order, but now it’s full-on pain erupting in your chest.

Why is it so uncomfortable?

You feel the droplets of milk settling into the fabric of your dress, your question answered in a flash.

The impending concern rises on Soobin’s face when he notices your scrunched-up brows and mouth. Then, he sees the two small wet patches forming on your chest. Immediately, he shucks off his jean jacket to give you. “Here baby, take this.”

A deep blush forms on your cheeks when you cover up with his garment. You’re unsure how to broach the subject or the rest of dinner in this state, immediately self-conscious. “I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing, I—”

“Baby, no. Don’t be sorry, it’s normal.” Soobin says the words with so much empathy, you could cry from that alone. You excuse yourself to use the bathroom and clean yourself up, not listening to the words that leave his lips in rapid succession. You’re a mom. It happens to every mom at some point! I love you!

Soobin feels useless, knowing no words he says will assuage your shame. He decides now is as good of a time as any to check up on Minyoung. It’s been almost three hours since he’s talked to his mother.

When the line rings, Soobin doesn’t let it bother him. Minyoung probably needed a burping or night-time bath. No big deal.

By the second unsuccessful attempt at contact, his heart drops into his stomach. What if something’s wrong? As he tries to call for the third and fourth time, his thoughts spiral further.

What if his mother rushed out with Minyoung and she forgot to bring her cell because it was so serious? He knows babies usually are out of the woods for colic by the third or fourth month, but anything’s possible, right?

Parental anxiety is one thing, a feeling Soobin knows well by now, but his instincts are usually spot-on. And something has to be going on if his mother isn’t getting back to him.

You trot over to the table, tucking Soobin’s jacket tighter around your chest so it doesn’t flap open. The event may have been embarrassing at the moment, but you’re ready to get the night back on track and focus on your husband.

You smile eagerly, not noticing the way Soobin’s face has gone stark white. “I think I got most of it, but—“

“We have to go. Something’s wrong.”

You don’t think twice, practically stealing Soobin’s keys from his pocket when he stands up. The two of you race out of the restaurant and to your little girl, your thoughts newly scrambled in the worst ways.

Soobin tries to knock on his parents’ door without slamming his fist against the wood, but he can’t help it. So many scenarios have built up in his head since his intuition kicked in. He could barely say one word on the drive to his mother’s. The silence was palpable in the air, both of your bodies filled to the brim with fear and regret for leaving her for one second.

Soobin’s mother answers the door with a shocked expression. “Honey, what are you two—“

Soobin barrels past her and into the house. You follow hot on his heels. His pace is quick, his voice loud as he calls out Minyoung’s name like she’s able to answer him back.

Then, you find Minyoung perfectly content. Soobin’s dad has her in his arms at the dinner table, feeding her a bottle of milk. “Hey, kids. Why are you here?”

Soobin stutters when he responds. “M-Mom wasn’t answering and we—“

“Oh, lord.” You hear her deep groan pervade the small kitchen. “You left the restaurant for that?”

“What were we supposed to think?” Your words are full of defense, lighthearted now that you’re not in panic mode. Were your worst thoughts so unexpected? You felt bad enough leaving your daughter alone with people you trusted just for a night of solitude. If something worse had happened, the guilt would’ve been too much to bear.

Soobin rushes over to Minyoung and takes her from his father’s arms. Droplets of milk spill from her lips, but she doesn’t care. She reaches up to touch Soobin, her little nails gliding across his face. “Daddy’s here, Minnie.” He presses his forehead to hers, smiling proudly. “I’m right here.”

You tear up at the image in front of you, relieved to see your baby girl out of harm’s way. Even if the harm was entirely imaginary, you’re calmer nonetheless.

Soobin walks towards you and kisses the crown of your head. “Sorry I pulled a false alarm, baby.”

Although you’ll never tell him, you don’t mind that he did so. He’s an incredible husband and father, always on alert for the two of you and putting his needs to the wayside. You have to remind him every day to also think of himself, and he appreciates you looking out for him in the same fashion.

You shake your head and move Minyoung from Soobin’s arms to yours. You kiss her chubby cheeks and she coos at the attention, the spitting image of her father. “Daddy is gonna be the death of me, isn’t he, baby girl?”

Soobin chuckles into your hair and holds onto one of Minyoung’s fists with his palm. “Not if I can help it.”

“Now that you both have made sure she’s okay, go back to your date night!” Your mother-in-law strides into the dining room to pluck Minyoung from your grip. Minyoung is more than comfortable with it, smiling widely into her grandmother’s neck. “It’s rude enough that you both interrupted your dinner time and ours.” She turns to speak directly to Minyoung. “Right, sweetie? How dare they!”

“It’s officially off, I promise.” Soobin puts his phone in the glove-box once he parks the car in the downtown parking garage, determined to make the rest of the date night go off without a hitch.

You laugh and take his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers. “So much for low-key and relaxing, right?”

“Hey!” He points at you with his other hand. “It’s only 8 PM. The night’s still young.”

“Well, we’re not gonna be able to go back to the restaurant now. Not after I practically gave out my milk for free.” You cover your face with the palm not wrapped in your husband’s, but he takes that one too.

“Stop it,” he chides with a stern pout. “Even if you leaked through your shirt every time we went out, you’d still be more beautiful than every other person on the planet.”

You tease, "You're just saying that."

“I mean it! Do you see how gorgeous and incredible Minyoung is? That’s half your handiwork.”

You roll your eyes, but your body lights from within at his words. “She’s half yours too. You probably didn’t notice, but every waitress was checking you out.”

Soobin blushes hard, suddenly shy. “They were not.”

“Yes, they were. I can’t blame them, though. Parenthood has made you ten times sexier.”

Soobin quirks an eyebrow, the undercurrent of passion in your words unmistakable. He gets closer to you until your faces are barely an inch apart. His lips ghost over yours. “I could say the same about you. I’ve only had eyes for you, but even more so now that you’ve had my baby.”

You gulp, noticing how hard your thighs are clenching in your seat. Soobin notices too, holding one of your knees in his hand with a smirk. “Binnie, I’m not hungry for food anymore.”

He presses his lips to yours slowly. You moan into his mouth from such exquisite pleasure that’s been long overdue. He glides his tongue in between your lips as he palms one of your breasts over his jacket. When he takes his mouth from yours, he’s breathing heavily. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

It’s a clash of teeth and tongue when you make it inside the house. Hands run over curves and skin to take off the restricting clothing, appearances be damned.

You discard Soobin’s button-up somewhere in the hallway as he pulls your hair loose from your bun, clutching the strands at your nape to expose more of your neck. He riddles your skin with love bites before you even make it to the bedroom, but you both love it. How feral and frantic you are for one another, no children or external restrictions holding you back.

By the time your body hits the king-sized bed, all that’s left on you, garments-wise, is your thin bralette and mismatched underwear. Soobin looks over your body with a hunger that’s unshakeable. The poor man’s probably salivating at the mouth by now, just like you. 

Ever since the doctor’s six-week ban on any physically strenuous activity, he couldn’t imagine dry-humping without fear of hurting you. That timeline came and went in a flash, but with the fatigue of daily life, it seemed impossible to find time to be intimate.

Until now, that is.

“How did I get so lucky? You’re angelic.” Soobin spreads his palms out over your chest. His long fingers squeeze your breasts over the confines of your lingerie, making you moan. “I have to take this off, bunny. I need to see you.”

You feel heat pooling at your center from his gaze, his words, his touches on your skin. You unclasp the clips holding your bra together and flick it away, not breaking eye contact the entire time.

He used to be so shy during sex, and now he wastes no time unzipping his pants to touch himself. “Fucking perfect,” he grunts, staring at the pebbling of your nipples and the volume of your tits from lactation. He spreads the pooling pre-cum in his hand to rub his cock earnestly.

You whimper and clench around nothing, the center of your underwear incredibly damp. Why did he get to have all the fun and leave you frustrated? “Binnie, please touch me.”

“Gladly.” He uses the hand not holding his dick to yank your underwear off and throw them in a corner of your room. Once the fabric is gone, he dives in between your legs. His licks start small, kitten-like in their touch, but soon he grows hungrier, more dominant. Eating you out has always been one of his favorite things during sex, like it's the only thing he needs to do to sustain himself.

“You taste amazing. You always do.” He stops jerking himself off to press two fingers inside of you without warning, mixing his essence with yours on his way to your warm and wet walls. His lips and tongue remain attached to your clit as he prods you soft and slow.

“God, it feels so good.” You raise your hips to match the rhythm of his hand inside of you. Despite being eager to keep his mouth between your legs, you reach down for him, wanting to feel his lips on yours again. “I want you up here with me.”

Soobin smiles gently before crawling up the expanse of your body. He looks down at you, unable to hide how strong his desire runs in his veins. But instead of his declarations of love that he’s said a million times before, he greets you with a deep kiss to your lips and pushes his fingers back into your cunt.

You moan into his mouth. “Jesus fuck, babe.” You whimper as he leans his head down to latch his mouth to one of your nipples, still ramming his hand deeper into you. Some milk sinks onto his tongue and dribbles past his chin, but he doesn’t care. If anything, it turns him on more. His cock produces more pre-cum and spreads onto your bedsheets.

“I want you inside of me, Soobin.” You spread your legs wider for him to settle into, and he does.

He rubs the head of his cock across your slit before nestling inside fully, his mouth opening in a large gasp as he fills you. “It always feels like the first time, bunny. Always so tight for me, fuck.”

His pace is reverent, driven by his lust, his love for you, and his desire to make this experience as incredible as it already is for him. He rubs your clit between his fingers, and your face contorts into absolute pleasure after a few minutes like that, privy to every feeling. When you fall apart, your body clenching around him in ecstasy, the moment is too beautiful for Soobin to handle. It’s a picture he wants to tattoo on his heart forever.

You could have done anything in this life, and by his luck and the universe’s grace, you were led straight to him and have given him some of the greatest gifts he could ever ask for. Your love, your hand in marriage, your children.

He would follow you anywhere without question. And he may not always believe it, but he also holds all the same powers over you. Without him, the world would be a lot duller, no color to define the edges and details of the life that you’ve built together. He makes it all worth it.

So when his next words leave his mouth, you can’t help but agree with them, the thought too beautiful in the throes of your desire to say no to. “I want to fill you up, bunny. Have another baby with you, as many as you want. So beautiful like this, but you’re even more beautiful heavy and pregnant, shit,” he moans, eyes screwed shut as he chases his own orgasm.

“Yes, Binnie, fill me up. Come inside of me, give me another. Pretty please?”

Those two words are his undoing, the blade that severs the cord that’s been slowly tightening in his stomach since he saw you in your dress five hours ago. He spills inside of you, your insides hot with his release. He doesn’t let any part of it go to waste, fucking it into you until his hips can’t go for much longer.

He lies beside you, both of your chests heaving. And while the moment was an amalgamation of intense passion, you both look at each other and laugh like teenagers. It takes you back to that first night, the first “I love you,” all the first you’ve shared and the ones that are yet to come.

“You’re my best friend, you know that, right?” He rubs your bare arm as he stares deeply into your eyes, more in love than he was a second ago. “I could not have found anyone better to be my wife and my children’s mother than you.” He kisses you on the forehead, his lips featherlight. “I love you.”

You may be incredibly hormonal, any words that make your heart seize up more than likely to cause a well of tears in your eyes. But these don’t. They make your heart lighter, shoot all your fears down, and quell any insecurities that have sprung to the surface since the two of you have become parents.

“I love you, Binnie. In this lifetime and all the other ones,” you respond. You snuggle into his chest, feeling the tempo of his heartbeat against your ear.

Everyone told you both how hard having kids would be. You know you’re not in the home stretch, not in the slightest, but with Soobin, no mountain you’ll come across is insurmountable.

All because he’s yours and you’re his.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss @pars-ley @lovetaroandtaemin @wonwovy @hursheys

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @moadiarynet @sweetvenomnet @moadiarynet @lapydiaries @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[cinna-stars]

Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader - MDNI

18+ Trafalgar Law Ghostface SMUT - ABSOLUTE FILTH below the cut

Word Count: 3.3k

This is my first time writing in a few years. This was a self indulgent piece after seeing this art from hunnismoker on Instagram:

Trigger Warnings: 18+ MDNI, this is your last warning!

Knife play, Choking, Law has a potty mouth, Penetrative sex, Dacryphilia, Blowjob, Face fucking, Mask kink, Ghostface mask, Shachi being a little perv at the end

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

Trafalgar Law, your boyfriend and Captain of the Heart Pirates, was acting more quiet than usual. Which was somewhat concerning, given that he was already one of the most stoic people you had ever met. It had started after you had come to him with the proposition of bringing a Ghostface mask into the bedroom. "I don't want to hurt you" was his initial response. It wasn't until you noticed a white mask in his dresser drawer that you realized he had been considering your request. You gently pulled it out, running your fingers over the smooth surface. Law's eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of you holding the mask.

"I... I got it for you," he admitted quietly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "But I'm still not sure about this."

You smiled softly, touched by his thoughtfulness despite his reservations. "We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, Law. I appreciate that you even considered it."

He stepped closer, taking the mask from your hands and examining it. "It's not that I'm uncomfortable," he said slowly. "I'm just concerned about losing control. The thought of potentially harming you, even in play..."

“ I trust you, Law. And if at any point either of us wants to stop, we will. No questions asked."

He brings his hand to his chin, rubbing slowly, gazing off pensively for a few moments. “Okay. Let’s try this.” He lifts the Ghostface mask to hover in front of his face.

“How do you want me to initiate this… and when?” He questions in a slightly deeper, more sultry tone than normal. Even the illusion of him wearing the mask has your heart racing and core heated, the question sending shivers of excitement through your body.

“I feel like the element of surprise adds to it, so, whenever you’re ready, Captain.” you grin. His golden eyes peer through the mask and examine the joy on your face.

He moves his free hand to ghost over your throat, pulsing his grip ever so slightly and leaning to your ear. “That’s Mr. Ghostface to you.”

A small whimper escapes from your lips and you hear a light chuckle from Law. “Something tells me this is going to be enjoyable for the both of us.”

A few days pass, and the anticipation of finding Law lurking around any corner wearing the mask that he had bought filled you with both lust and anticipation. He had teased you with it a couple of times, leaving it in places for you to find it, such as the bathroom mirror whilst you were taking a shower, and hanging from the back of his door in the dark of night. Needless to say, he had started to gain just as much excitement from the prospect of fucking you in the mask as you had seeing him in it.

Tonight, Law had advised he was going to be working until the early hours of the morning in his office. This wasn’t irregular for him, especially as of late. So, you decided to sit on the sofa in his quarters and watch a film, hoping to try and stay awake for his return. The film you chose was not particularly of interest, and your eyes started feeling heavy. Just as you lean your head back on the sofa, you hear footsteps approaching.

Your eyes snap open, suddenly alert. The footsteps are slow, deliberate. Not Law's usual confident stride. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize what's happening.

The door creaks open slowly. You hold your breath, heart pounding. A figure emerges from the shadows, tall and imposing. He still wore his normal attire, the usual black t-shirt and dark jeans, but over his face he wore the white mask. The smooth plastic gleams in the dim light from the TV screen. You also notice what you think is a small black hilt tucked into his waistband.

The footsteps continue slowly in your direction, and you lift your head up to watch his figure approaching. You swallow hard, a mix of fear and arousal flooding your system. "Mr. Ghostface," you whisper, playing along.

He stalks towards you, movements predatory. "You've been a naughty girl, waiting up for me. Don't you know it's dangerous to be alone at night?"

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-” he cuts you off, closing the distance between you. With a sudden change of speed, he straddles you where you sit. His bare hand wraps around your throat, not squeezing, but firmly holding you in place. "Shh," he hisses through the mask. "No excuses."

Your breath catches as he presses you against the sofa. Even through his jeans, you can feel the heat radiating from Law's body. His free hand trails down your side, sending shivers through you.

You remain silent, watching as he tilts his head in that eerie Ghostface manner, his curious hand finding purchase on the waist of your silk pyjama shorts.

You whimper softly, torn between playing the scared victim and showing how aroused you already are. "Please," you whisper, not even sure what you're begging for.

He chuckles darkly. "Please what? Please let you go?" You paw at his hand and nod vigorously, and he feels you swallow hard. His fingers now play with the fabric of your waistline, the hand around your throat moving round to the back of your head to grasp your hair. With one swift pull, your neck cranes back as he leans forward to whisper in your ear. “Don’t FUCK with me. You’re getting exactly what you asked for. Now be a good girl and do as I say.”

Your breath hitches at his commanding tone, a mix of fear and desire coursing through you. You nod slightly, careful not to move too much with his grip on your hair.

"Good," he purrs, the mask distorting his voice just enough to send chills down your spine. "Now, stand up slowly."

He releases your hair and moves off of you, allowing you to rise. Your legs feel shaky as you comply, standing before him. His golden eyes bore into you through the mask's eyeholes, intense and predatory.

"Strip," he orders, voice low and dangerous. "Slowly."

With trembling fingers, you begin to unbutton your silk pyjama top. You can feel his gaze burning into your skin as you reveal more and more. The top falls to the floor, revealing the black lace bra that you had kept on in anticipation of him making his move tonight. You hesitate at the waistband of your shorts.

"Did I tell you to stop?" he growls. You pause, wondering what he’d do if you disobey. Apparently you took too long thinking about this, because in one swift motion, Law grabs your arm, spinning you round so that his chest is flush with your back. You feel him manoeuvre to grab something from his person, and just as quickly you feel a cold, hard object placed against the underside of your chin.

“I told you not to fuck about. Now we do things my way.” The cold metal against your skin sends a jolt through your body. You realize it must be the small blade you had noticed earlier. Your heart races, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through your veins.

"Y-yes, Mr. Ghostface," you play into the role, your voice barely above a whisper.

You feel his breath hot against your ear as he speaks, "Good girl. Now, finish what you started."

With shaky hands, you slowly push your shorts down your legs, stepping out of them carefully. The cool air of the room raises goosebumps on your exposed skin. You stand there, clad only in your black lace underwear, hyper-aware of Law's presence behind you.

The blade trails down your neck, across your collarbone, and down between your breasts. It's not enough pressure to cut, but the threat is there, heightening every sensation. Law's chest presses harder into your back, and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans. You’re relieved to know that he is enjoying this as much as you.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice husky behind the mask. "Now, on your knees." You comply, carefully turning around and sinking to the floor. The knife follows your movements, never leaving your skin. You can feel Law's presence looming over you, powerful and dominating.

"Hands behind your back," he orders. You comply swiftly, gazing up at the sight before you. Now that you were pretty much level with it, the bulge in his pants was VERY obvious. It looked painful, even. Your lips part in awe, panties absolutely soaked through already. He removed the knife from your plush skin, discarding it onto the sofa, and unzips his jeans, pushing them down to his ankles. He does the same with his boxers, but not before you can notice the significant wet patch across the front of the black fabric. His cock bounced as it was freed from the confines of Law’s pants, and you notice how flush his tip already was. You snap yourself out of the trance you found yourself in, staring and drooling.

"Open wide," he commands, his voice thick with desire. You comply eagerly, parting your lips as he guides his cock towards your mouth. He teases you at first, running the tip along your lips, smearing pre-cum across them. You whimper, and stick your tongue out, desperate to taste him.

Finally, he pushes into your mouth, groaning softly as your warm, wet tongue envelops him. You hollow your cheeks, sucking eagerly as he begins to thrust slowly. His hands tangle in your hair, guiding your movements.

"That's it," he hisses through the mask. "Take it all."

You relax your throat, allowing him to push deeper. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you gag slightly, but you don't stop. The sounds of your wet, sloppy efforts fill the room, punctuated by Law's low groans.

“That’s a good fucking girl” He breathes, picking up the pace of his thrusts. You adjust to his size, tears streaming down your face, gagging and blubbering as he lolls his head back in pleasure. You can see the fall and rise of his chest quicken, indicating how close he already is.

His breath catches in his throat, and he pulls you off his cock by your hair with a “pop”. He glares back down at you through the mask, chest still heaving. “Such a compliant little slut now, huh? Look at you. Is this what it takes for you to fucking listen?” You moan at his words. Hearing him talk like this, you could feel your pussy clench around nothing. All you wanted was him inside you. With his free hand, he holds your chin, using his thumb to wipe your saliva around your mouth. He places his index and middle finger over your lips, and you start sucking them in. He starts thrusting them across your tongue slowly, pulling your head back with the other hand still attached to your hair.

Suddenly, he shoves his fingers down your throat, causing you to gag and cough. He releases his grip on you, allowing you to catch your breath momentarily, before grabbing you underneath each arm. He pulls you up harshly, spinning you back around and pushing you onto the sofa. On instinct, you get on your knees and arch your back, giving him a perfect view of your ass.

Law's hands grip your hips firmly, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. You feel the cool plastic of the mask brush against your shoulder as he leans over you, his hot breath tickling your ear.

"Look at you, presenting yourself like a bitch in heat," he growls, voice dripping with lust. "Is this what you wanted all along?"

You nod eagerly, pushing your hips back against him. "Yes, Mr. Ghostface. Please..."

He chuckles darkly, one hand leaving your hip to trail down your spine. "Please what? Use your words, slut."

You whimper, desire clouding your thoughts.

Without warning, he rips your lace panties off, the delicate fabric tearing easily. The cool air hits your dripping core, making you shiver. Law brings his hand down hard on your ass. The sharp sting makes you cry out, a mix of pain and pleasure. "Answer me when I speak to you," he demands.

“P-please fuck me, Law! Please! I need you inside me.” You wail. Another harsh smack reverberates off of your ass and echoes through the room, along with the sounds of you crying out. His hand returns to your neck and pulls you up against him. You turn your head to try and face him.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” He snarls. Your face goes as white as the one staring back at you. The few seconds of silence are deafening. The sounds from the TV dull as the room fills with overbearing silence.

“I-I-” you try to start, his grip on your throat getting firmer. More tears start to fall from your cheeks as you gaze up at him through the mask, trying to predict his next move. The pressure on your trachea is starting to overwhelm you, and black spots start to cloud your vision. Before you pass out, he lets go and you fall forward, back onto all fours, gasping for breath.

Without warning, he grabs your hips and thrusts his entire length into you. You both groan in unison from the pleasure, yours slightly more strained. He starts thrusting in and out of you at a harsh pace, the rough grip on your hips already burning. The silence that once veiled the room is replaced with the sound of his balls slapping against you with every thrust, his feral grunts and your rasped moans. He removes once hand from your hip to hook into the side of your mouth while he fucks into you from behind.

“Fuuuuuck baby, you take me so well” he drawls. This is the first time during his pursuit this evening that you can feel your Law shining through, clear as day. The use of one of your many pet names has your stomach doing flips, and you can feel your release building up fast.

“M’gonna cum” you strain. The remaining hand on your hip shifts slightly closer to your ass, as you feel his thumb probing at your back entrance, and your orgasm hits you in a wave of pleasure. Back arching even further, mouth agape and drooling, you let out a mix of a moan and a scream. Law watches as you come undone around his cock, feeling you tighten up and watching as your ass clenched around the tip of his thumb, your whole body trembling. The feeling of his own high flooding his senses.

“Thaat’s it, good girl. Gonna cum inside this tight little pussy” He breathes ruggedly, hips faltering to a stop as he releases his load deep inside you. Another drawn out moan expels from you both at the sensation.

Law reaches up and pulls the mask off of his face to help catch his breath, and you turn your head to see his beautiful, fucked out face, forehead drenched in sweat and hair a mess. You can’t help but beam from ear to ear, and he can’t help but smirk back at you. Throwing the mask to the side, he wraps his arms around you from behind and rolls you both onto your sides on the sofa.

You both lay there panting, bodies intertwined and glistening with sweat. Law's arms hold you close, his chest pressed against your back. You can feel his heartbeat gradually slowing as he catches his breath. The room is quiet now, save for your soft breathing and the muted sounds from the forgotten TV.

After a few moments, Law gently turns you to face him. His golden eyes, no longer hidden behind the mask, search your face with a mix of concern and tenderness. "Are you alright?" he asks softly, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face.

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his care. "I'm more than alright," you assure him, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips. "That was... incredible."

He returns your smile, relief evident in his features. "It was," he agrees, "I have to admit, I enjoyed that more than I expected to."

You examine his face, taking in his flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. "I could tell," you tease, running a hand through his damp locks.

He smirks at you again. He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips. “Next time you come up with one of these mask ideas, can you pick one that has a fucking hole to breathe out of?”

“I don’t know, the heavy breathing adds to the immersion” you giggle. He rolls his eyes playfully in response. You begin to trace the tattoos on his arm idly. He leans in again and slots his lips between yours. It was tender, soft, and epitomised the sappy side of Law that he revealed ever so rarely. He withdrew from your lips and paused for a moment, as if he was contemplating something.

“I missed kissing you, too” he admits, the innocent confession causing even more of a blush to form and his eyes to shift to the side.

“Trafalgar D. Water Law, are you going soft on me?” you tease. Your hand moving to his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Don’t ever change. You are more than I could ever ask for, and far more than I ever deserved.” You brush your thumbs across his cheek. “I love you so much, Law".

You can see his eyes go slightly glossy from the emotional confession. “I love you, too, Y/N.” He tucks another loose strand of hair behind your ear and his face contorts into a smirk. “Now who’s going soft, huh?”

The hand that you were using to caress his face pats his cheek lightly in a faux slap. “Can’t have one sincere moment without one of us being a cynical ass hat, huh?” You retort, grinning.

Slowly sitting up from the sofa and rubbing your (rather sore) neck, you can feel the mixture of your fluids leaking out of you. You both head to the bathroom to wash away the remnants of the evening, getting comfortable underneath the covers, bodies entwined with each other.

——————————————————————————————————

The Next Day

Shachi and Penguin opened the door of their Captain’s quarters, in search of Y/N’s log pose, at her request. They headed straight for the corner of the bedroom where a small makeshift living room space had been fashioned; a simple set-up including a sofa, coffee table and small TV.

Penguin fumbled through stacks of paperwork on the table, while Shachi moved around the pillows on the sofa. Y/N had instructed that her log pose may have fallen off somewhere in that vicinity.

“…holy SHIT” Shachi exclaimed, pulling out three items from betwixt the cushions. Penguin turned around and examined the items in his friends hands: a small knife with a black hilt, a ripped pair of black panties, and a plastic, white Ghostface mask.

“Oh my god” Penguin stared in awe. Shachi was particularly distracted by the panties that he gripped in his fist. “Do you think these are… Y/N’s?” he beamed.

“No, I think they’re the Captain’s... OF COURSE THEY’RE Y/N’S!” Penguin examined the other two items in Shachi’s hand. “Man, they’re into some kinky shit.” His friend nodded in agreeance.

They both continued searching for the log pose, but not before Shachi stuffed his new find into the pocket of his boiler suit.

[haikyu-mp4]

Congrats on the milestone I love your work😸.

Applying with Sakusa, I am organized and a problem solver

thank you very very much, love!! I'm happy to hire you<3

Human error

Sakusa is a regular and finally asks you out, for the now hiring! event

word count; 1087 – f!reader

Every time you got to see Sakusa, the mysteriously handsome volleyball player was accompanied by one or more of his fellow jackals. Their training facilities just so happened to be around the corner from the cafe where you worked and you had recognised him from the posters one of the first times he stopped by.

Sakusa wasn’t sure he’d ever have a chance with you, but he told himself it was even less likely if his teammates were to get involved. No doubt, they would try to play Cupid and ruin his already slim chances as if the prospect of them knowing he had somewhat of a crush wasn’t already embarrassing enough. So he put some effort into little ‘schemes’ that would allow him to talk to you without them.

One time, he left his MSBY jacket on the counter after he picked up his coffee. As he and Hinata left the shop, he put on what he felt was quite the acting performance, telling Hinata “I left my jacket, you go ahead,” before turning around to do so.

He had walked right up to the counter and you perked up when you spotted him, pulling the jacket up from behind the bar in a neat bag. You always wore a mask at work, which he greatly appreciated, but you pulled it down for a second to smile at him after he took the bag from you with a brief ‘thank you’. “You’re lucky I know you jackals and your uniforms by now,” you teased. “Someone tried to tell me it was theirs after they saw you left it.”

“Lucky me,” he agreed, completely abandoning the whole script. Instead, he just bowed and walked away.

Let’s just say, most of his schemes didn’t work out. Human error, one might call it.

Sakusa wouldn’t say he gave up, but he took some time trying to come up with a new plan to approach you. The next time he saw you, it was with the full squad of Bokuto, Hinata and Atsumu alongside him. They were talking loudly, not even lowering their volume when they got inside, which made Sakusa look away from them in embarrassment.

But then you laughed. And it annoyed him so much because he loved that laugh, but he never got close to being the reason for it. There’s one guy in line in front of the four volleyball players, and Sakusa was trying to tune in to your conversation. By now, one or two of his friends had caught on to where his attention lay.

“Would you let me take you out sometime?”

What did that guy just ask you?

Sakusa loudly cleared his throat and didn’t even realise he was moving until he stood in front of you, eyebrows furrowed as he turned his attention to the apparent competition. “Are you done ordering? There’s a line back here.”

You glanced at Sakusa and huffed out another short laugh, then looked back at the guy who had asked you out. “Sorry, I’m not interested. Remind me, did you want whipped cream on that?”

After a deep breath and watching the rejected guy step away to wait for his coffee, Sakusa was happy to find your attention back on him but not as happy about the playful glint of your eyes, even though it suited you painfully well. “Hello there, Sakusa. The usual?”

After confirming with a shy nod, Sakusa looked over his shoulder hesitantly. Atsumu was covering his mouth with his hand to contain his commentary, Hinata gave him a thumbs up, and Bokuto looked happily at the menu boards hanging above them to decide what he wanted to try today.

Sakusa could not believe his luck. Not only did he have to stay late at practice, meaning he couldn’t stop by your cafe before you closed as he planned, but his car also decided to give up on him and stay in the parking lot. He called the repair guy, who said he could be there in the morning, and Sakusa begrudgingly agreed before hanging up. Taking public transport home was not an option if he could avoid it.

Might as well start walking. He stared at his feet while walking to make sure he didn’t step on anything gross, but the slam of a door in front of him made his gaze sharply turn upwards. His feet stopped moving and he stared as you locked up the door.

Is this... destiny- no. Sakusa didn’t want to entertain such childish ideas, but at least it was an opportunity. He hesitated. Should he finally talk to you? None of the other volleyball players were there to snicker or make teasing comments and no other customers could rudely ask you out right in front of him.

You were closing up the shop and it had been a long day. Working at the cafe was amazing, but even you were susceptible to bad days. It didn’t help either that Sakusa hadn’t stopped by, so you did your hair all nice for nothing.

Speaking of the devil, you heard someone clear their throat behind you, making you startle and clutch your key like a weapon. When you saw those brown eyes, you calmed down slightly before tensing up again.

Your mind went back to earlier that day when Bokuto, Atsumu and Hinata had come into the cafe and the trio leaned their elbows on the counter.

“Between us girls, what’s your type?” Atsumu had asked, followed by Hinata adding,

“We’re asking for a friend!”

“Who might be interested,” Atsumu continued after realising that Bokuto had gotten distracted and forgot his line.

“Someone might call him the silent dark type, do you like that?” Hinata added like Atsumu had told him earlier.

“A friend?” you asked, pulling up the top of your mask a little to hopefully hide your cheeks more. They looked at each other and smirked, not giving you a proper answer.

“Could I get a raspberry refresher?” Bokuto asked with his sweet smile, and you clicked your pen more times than necessary before finally getting back into what you were doing.

Now, you looked at Sakusa and the blush seemed to be back. Your mask was hanging off one of your ears and you thought it might be too obvious if you put it back on now to hide it.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you said.

Sakusa seemed to consider his words. “I was going to get something to eat. Would you join me?”

“Gladly.”

masterlist

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Skip the small talk

Request: None A/N: Again, I just want to thank everyone for supporting my stories and liking/commenting/reblogging/etc. It means the world to have such great reception to these one-shots. So please, enjoy this lil' story about the reader being a badass :) Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language and violence, drug use, decapitation Summary: You really weren't looking for trouble. All you wanted was something to eat, but of course things go awry. This is the Wasteland, after all.

Word Count: 2.6k+

(Gif Credit to @acecroft)

Thunder booms across the Wasteland, combining with the sound of heavy rain on metal rooftops. 

It continues in tandem with its partner Lighting, who illuminates the hazy green poison that hangs low in the air tonight. The storm has been raging for hours, and doesn’t seem to be on the verge of letting up anytime soon. 

After hours of tossing and listening to the howl of the storm, you decide to give up on sleep for the moment. The inn room you’d acquired is small but cozy, lit only by a couple candles that burn bright orange on the side table. You untangle yourself from Cooper where he lies half-naked beside you, scarred skin on display while in the security of your arms. As per usual, he crankily grumbles curses at you for causing a disturbance, but there’s no malice behind the words. His eyes blink open and lock on to you, immediately more alert at the prospect of you venturing away. 

“What’re y’doin’?” His question is thick with sleep, forced through the haze by this codependency you’ve developed on each other. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, and reach a hand back to brush his arm gently. “Thunder’s keeping me up. I’m gonna go see if the saloon downstairs has anything in the way of food.”

Cooper opens his mouth to respond, but a cough cuts him off. You pluck his inhaler from the nightstand and press it into his waiting hand. The cough wasn’t unusual, but you’d been traveling for days on end in search of a bounty and knew Cooper was putting on a facade of toughness. Everyone needed rest, and The Ghoul just didn’t know when to admit it. 

“Go back to sleep.” You murmur, “I’ll only be a minute.”

He relents, but points a finger in your direction. “Fine. But they got anythin’ good, you bring me some back too, huh?”

You snatch the hand out of the air and press a kiss to his palm. “Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep.”

And since the Wasteland’s most fearsome bounty hunter would rather live through ten more atomic bombs than not have the last word, he scoffs. 

“Bossy fuckin’ woman.”

You giggle at Cooper’s tough love as you tug thick tights and a long gray jacket onto your body. Out of pure habit, you look around for a weapon. Yours are stashed on the other side of the bed, but Cooper’s shotgun is propped against the wall by the door. You opt to grab it, slinging the gun onto your shoulder and making sure the strap is secure before cracking open the door. 

The old clock hanging in the hall reads one thirty in the morning, but the sounds from the saloon downstairs continue as normal. Perhaps a bit more toned down than the daytime, but voices still mingle and dance together up the stairs. You trail after them, patting your pockets to ensure there’s enough caps to pay for a hot meal. Cooper’s half-canister of Jet and the wrinkled bounty poster sure ain’t going to pay for anything.

Eyes flicker towards you as you step onto the main floor, but they return back to their own tables soon enough. Everyone’s clad in raincoats or hats, outfitted for the weather. The town was a central point for a few settlements which popped up around it, and a major trade destination. The frequency of armed caravan guards passing through proved to be a rather decent deterrent for the unpleasant types, and most people had been nice to the point of frightening. 

At the bar, you pull out a rusty stool and settle onto it. All the other patrons but one are at tables closer to the door. The same man who’d rented the room to Cooper and yourself is down the bar chatting. 

“No surprise there. They’ve got some questionable folks runnin’ cargo these days.” The bartender is saying. He drops his hands on the bar. “But they take what they can get.”

The other man at the bar is older, just like the bartender. Dressed in dirty clothes, hood up with heavy gloves next to him, you figure he might be a lead farmer. You give a brief nod his way before focusing back on the bartender as he slides over. 

“What can I do for you, ma’am?” For someone out in the Wasteland, his face is kind. Weathered and probably suffering from radiation poisoning like the rest of you, but kind nonetheless. 

“Got anything hot to eat back there?” You ask, but think better of it. “Or anything to eat?”

“You’re in luck. One of the trade caravans left us with an old brahmin yesterday. Fresh brahmin steak if it tickles your fancy?”

You toss the caps onto the bar. “Sign me up.”

He busies himself at the cooking station for a few minutes, and eventually delivers a steaming steak in front of you. He checks on the other bar-goer and floats back over to you after a few minutes. 

“So, I have to ask.” He starts, “You came in here with that ghoul, yeah?”

You pause, mouth full and one hand instinctively freeing itself for a weapon if necessary. He must have caught onto your bristling, as he holds both hands up in a placating gesture.

“I’m sorry. It’s nothin’ bad, I was just curious. We don’t get a lot of ghouls around here, let alone people traveling with them.”

Hell, there was no need for him to tell you that. Cooper and yourself brought stares everywhere you went, discounting the cities you frequented that knew you both by reputation. You’d been called every name in the book in small communities like this, from chem-head, to ghoul-fucker and anything people could come up with.

“Yeah, we travel together. Easier to stay alive and make money when there’s two of us.” You saw off another piece of steak. 

“Bounty hunters, then?”

You shrug. “Sometimes. We do whatever needs doing most of the time. If the price is right.”

If Cooper was next to you, he’d be spewing threats of dismemberment and cutting out tongues for all the questions, but you didn’t mind. It was nice meeting someone who wasn’t immediately training crosshairs on your body. 

“Fair enough. I’m Clint, if you need anything.” The bartender wipes his hands with a rag and moves about his way, readjusting liquor bottles and carrying beers out to tables that are hollering for them. 

You finish your steak and gulp down the water Clint had set in front of you at some point. It washes away the gamey taste of mutated beef. You wait for him to return, as you were sure that fresh brahmin steak qualified as ‘anything good’ in Cooper’s eyes. 

“This seat taken?” 

You barely glance over your shoulder at the question, but give a half-hearted shrug. There was a whole bar and whoever this idiot is wants to sit next to you?

“Nuh-uh.”

The stool scrapes against the uneven wood floor, and you look over at the man that’s sat himself beside you. He’s younger than you expected, but vaguely familiar as if you’ve passed by him before. Brown hair slicked back close to his skull and shaved on the sides,  and a distinct pale discoloration on his chin. There’s a valiant attempt at beard growth but it’s patchy at best. 

You stare for just a moment before returning to the drops of water left in your dirty cup. 

“Now, I can see you’re not from around here.” His tone is boyish, almost conceited. 

Narrowly resisting an eyeroll, you set your cup back down. “Aren’t you just a right scholar?”

“I know a few things.” He waves his hand at Clint as he returns, and a beer is set in front of him moments later. “I know that you rode into town tonight, looking for a bounty.”

Lightning illuminates all of the cracks in the building. Thunder rolls. 

It takes a moment, but hits you as a smile is breaking out across the man’s face. You hadn’t passed by him before or traded. Your hand ghosts over the folded-up bounty poster in the pocket of your coat. 

“Name’s Spade, by the way.” 

Fuck. You’d never forget the name of a bounty. Especially the one set to inherit an entire Gunner outfit that had been threatening caravans for miles in every direction. 

“Spade, huh? Named after a shovel?” You prod. “No wonder you ain’t good at making friends.”

Spade calmly sips on his beer. “Neither are you, I hear. Though that might be due to your choice in company.”

Turning your head all the way towards him, you entertain the banter. Trying to avoid the subject of having a partner. You didn’t doubt if the shooting started that Cooper would come running down the stairs, but surprise is always an advantage. 

“Yeah, I’m starting to question it myself.” 

“I heard you were funny.” Spade chuckles, and withdraws a bulky device from underneath his coat. It crackles and pops like a geiger counter. “But I know you didn’t come here alone.”

You listen to the device pop, but don’t recognize it. 

“Say, how much Rad-Away do you go through? Traveling, eating, sleeping and whatever else with The Ghoul must really fuck with your health. His radiation signature is all over you.” Spade tucks the device away. 

“Don’t worry, I wear lead-lined panties.” You pat your thighs and stand. “And I don’t have time for this.”

Just as you make it to your feet, you notice the rest of the patrons do the same. They all shrug off their raincoats and reveal standard Gunner clothing, and you pause. Betraying nothing, you simply stare. Counting eleven opponents including Spade. Too busy thinking about how you grabbed Cooper’s shotgun and no extra ammo because you’re apparently a fool. The one combat knife in your boot is a viable choice, but tough to handle so many. You note Clint’s swift exit out the back door of the establishment.

“All this firepower for me?” 

Spade follows suit, and stands. He towers over you. 

“Don’t play dumb. I know they want me dead, and I’m not keen on letting that happen.”

You nod. “Understandable.”

And it’s then one of his men gets twitchy, and you’re diving behind the bar at the cocking of a gun. 

Spade hollers something at the men that sound suspiciously like “kill her”, but the thunder drowns him out. You press your back up against the bar for cover, and whip the shotgun into your grip. You feel at the knife in your boot, and brush past the Jet in your pocket. 

“Fuck it.” 

You draw out the inhalant and put it between your lips. Bracing for the adrenaline rush, you squeeze the Chems into your mouth. Not much of a frequent user, you resist the urge to cough and waste the effects. 

In just a few seconds, the world around you feels as if it’s moving in slow motion. You leap up from behind the bar, aiming and popping off the two rounds you have into the groupies that Spade brought along. One slug crashes through two of them while the other blows another’s head to pieces. 

Three down, eight to go. 

You sling the gun back over your shoulder and draw the knife. In your peripheral, you notice Spade reaching for his waistband. On pure instinct, you whip the knife in his direction. It finds his mark in his right eye, and he goes to the ground wailing. Just as the Jet begins to wear thin, you hop over the bar towards the crowd. 

“Fuck her up!”

You bend down near Spade’s writing frame, and rip the knife out of his eye socket with a wet squelch. Leaving him for last, you twirl the knife around and beckon at his cronies. 

“Well?”

You lunge towards the closest, thrusting the knife at his throat. He catches your wrist and twists it away, but you’re quick to jam your elbow upwards into his chin. It stuns him just enough that you can stab the knife into his guts and rip sideways. Entrails spill, and you reach through them to grab the pipe pistol at his hip. 

The next few go down via bullet, and you’re eventually left with only Spade alive. He’s clawed his way to his feet as you finished off his gang, and now has an automatic pistol pointed at your head. It wavers dangerously, as he’s half-blind and still spurting blood from the wounded eye socket.

You drop the pistol that’s been occupying your right hand and hold up the knife. 

“Wanna get reacquainted?” 

Spade bares his teeth at you. “And here we brought all the guns for The Ghoul.”

A shrug. “I’m sort of offended that I was underestimated.”

“I’ll make a note of it.” 

Spade pulls the trigger as soon as you duck. His intentions were given away by the fractional squint of his good eye, struggling to aim properly. You charge towards him beneath the rounds, colliding with his knees. The bullets fly upwards, blasting holes in a narrow column up the wall. It sends splinters flying near the staircase. 

“Motherfucker!”

About fucking time Cooper decided to show up.

You straddle Spade’s body and knock the pistol away. One boot keeps his wrist pinned down, and you bring the knife to his neck. 

“Next time,” You growl, tracing the blade along his Adam’s Apple, “Skip the small talk.”

Blood sprays as you apply pressure, puncturing through his carotid. You drag the knife to the side, leaning away to avoid the spray as best as possible. Until he stops twitching, you keep him pinned to the ground. 

“Well goddamn baby, next time invite me to the party.” The Ghoul, as Spade had referred to him, swaggers over to you.  His honey-soaked eyes survey the carnage. “I thought you was gettin’ something to eat, not takin’ out our bounty so soon.”

You wipe your bloody hands on Spade’s coat and huff indignantly. “And I thought your old ass would move faster when you heard gunshots.”

Cooper holds out a gloved hand to help you up. “Thunder blocked out the sound.”

“Excuses, excuses.” You grumble, allowing him to pull you up. 

The world spins, thanks to the adrenaline fading and Jet withdrawals. You stagger into Cooper, and he grips your arm. 

“You ain’t shot, are ya? Left the stimpaks upstairs.”

You shake your head and let him steer you onto a barstool. “Nah. Jet.”

Cooper whoops. “My girl! Well shouldn’t we just be celebratin’ this momentous occasion.”

“Fuck you. I’m not doing anything but going back to bed.” You press your forehead into his chest. “Fuckin’ Chems.”

The Ghoul chuckles and uses two fingers to hold and lift your chin. He kisses your lips, already dry from licking at them. You hold the lapels of his coat to keep upright and only pull away when another pang of dizziness wracks you. 

He steps away for a moment, and gets to work removing Spade’s head from his body to return for the money. 

“Damn.” You rub your temples. “How the hell do you use that shit all the time?”

“Years of practice.” Cooper hums, and finds a burlap sack behind the bar to package the head. “Sure worked good for you, huh?”

You hop from the stool, using the bar as a crutch to stay upright. “Uh huh, right up until it didn’t. Now I wanna go to bed. Desperately.”

“Fine, fine.” Cooper relents, bloody sack in hand. He follows you to the stairs, free hand ghosting over your hip. 

The Ghoul hovers behind as if you’re going to start cartwheeling back down, and herds you back into the rented room. You strip and crawl back in bed, hiding away from the cool air beneath the blanket. Cooper takes his time, but eventually blesses you with his body heat. You cozy up, letting it burn away the symptoms of Jet withdrawals.

“Did you ever get somethin’ to eat?”

thanks for reading, much love ❤

Read More: Fallout Masterlist

[isaacswhy]

professional

isaacwhy x gn!reader (sfw) summary: what it's like to date isaacwhy as a content creator/streamer + moving in to tgc's austin house requested?: no a/n: this is essentially a really long drabble but im calling it a fic

It might be embarrassing to admit to people, but you first met Isaac on a discord server. He was hosting one of this discord events with a bunch of different YouTubers and you got an invite from a friend that was also going to be in it. You didn't win by any means, but you did make enough of an impact to see a friend request from Isaac in your inbox after it was over.

To your surprise, he messaged first. Your conversations were casual, discussing the project you were in and his future ideas. You shared your own video and stream ideas to him, getting his input on everything. Even if your content wasn't the exact same, your eye for content creation seemed quite similar.

Maybe it was because of quarantine, but the two of you were messaging all day. You'd get a message from him around noon, and you'd message periodically throughout the day until it was almost three in the morning and you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Then the calls. You'd call each other on discord, chat a bit, but mostly you'd just chill and work on videos. Things would get quiet because you were both focused on editing, but it was nice having his company. Once the two of you would agree that you'd worked long enough, you'd hop on a game together. Sometimes, his friends would play with you guys, but you loved the nights it was just you two.

When Isaac would stream with his friends, you were often there. You got to know his friends, and they were nice. You were slowly getting in on the inside jokes, hanging out with them on group calls once or twice a week, and messaging some of his friends outside of group events on occasion.

Nothing could compare to how much you talked to Isaac, though. You'd call him pretending you needed help with something just for an excuse to talk to him all night. He was doing the same, too, and you were picking up on it. He was just so mesmerizing, and there was nobody you'd rather hang out with. Every time you were talking, you just couldn't stop smiling and laughing at every joke he made.

It took around six months to realize what it was. You were crushing hard. Coming to terms with the fact you were e-crushing on a boy was sort of embarrassing. If you ended up dating, that'd make you edaters, even in quarantine. Even the cringe you felt at the prospect wasn't enough to stop you from being just so into him.

As much as you tried to ride it out and see if it would disappear, your feelings toward Isaac were only getting worse by the day. Eventually, you had to bite the bullet. Your confession came on one of your late night calls with Isaac, around 1 AM. You were talking about essentially nothing until you went quiet for a bit. He asked you what was up, and it just all came out.

Isaac was shocked, to say the least. He went quiet for a bit and you felt your heart in your throat. The silence broke when you heard a soft laugh of disbelief from his microphone, Isaac clearing his throat and sitting up in his chair, and saying, "Fuck, me too."

The wave of relief that washed over you in that moment was like nothing you'd ever felt before. It turned into giddy laughter from both of you and embarrassed admissions of the fact you were going to be edaters. The two of you decided it would be best if you kept things pretty slow as you figured it out, not telling the friend group just yet.

It went easier than you thought. Your calls and messages were as frequent (if not more), you were just a little more honest with each other. Being able to tell him how nice his voice sounded whenever it came to your mind was a perk. Isaac, it seemed, had a lot of repressed things he didn't say. You'd get random compliments a few times an hour and it would just melt you.

God, Isaac was so obviously in love with you. Good morning and good night texts every day, sending you photos from social media that you posted just to compliment everything he liked about it, and showing you off to all his friends as soon as you were ready to tell them. Turns out, they'd picked up on what was going on between you two. Nick, Tanner, Larry, Yumi, and Grunk all had a shared bet on when you'd get together (closest one wins, it was Larry).

Almost three months into your relationship, Isaac slipped up and finally said "I love you". You didn't hesitate to say it back. In truth, you'd both been in love with each other before you got together and you were both waiting on the other to say it. Isaac was just about to get off call to stream and said, "Alright, see you in chat! I love you!" He was a little late to stream that day.

The amount of times Isaac says sappy shit and "I love you" needs to be recorded. He's just hopelessly in love. And you're hopelessly in love with him, too. You're almost as bad as he is, but you'd never admit it. He won't hesitate to parade you around to his friends if it's something you're comfortable with.

Time was flying by, so it was a surprise when he was suddenly talking about moving in with his friends in Texas. It was a good idea, although a little bit of a risky investment with the previous content houses. With how confident he was in the idea, you were behind him whether or not it turned out well.

Then, he asked you to join them. It shouldn't have been as surprising as it was, given you were his partner. Either way, you were more than happy to say yes. It was a scary endeavor, but you would get through it with Isaac by your side. Though, the two of you had never met in person and you'd be moving in together Isaac had offered to pay for an apartment for you to live in nearby, but you'd much rather live with your boyfriend.

So, before you knew it, the time had come. Isaac and his friend had driven all the way to your house, you piled yourself and your things into the truck, and set off. The ride felt no different than any of your nightly discord calls. You bounced off each other just as well as you did before, the fear of awkward tension dissipating immediately.

The drive was long. Picking up friends on the way was nice, Isaac's mom was super nice, but in general it was still a long drive. It only dawned on you how little you had recorded the first day once it was almost over, and you rushed to record a bunch of new footage once you were in Austin.

Halfway there, you got to Blake's house to take a rest stop for the night. You and Isaac took the guest room and took a few photos together. It felt surreal to finally be with your boyfriend in person, cuddled up in one bed together. You got to kiss him for the first time, and it was better than you could imagine.

Before you took off the next day with Blake and Nick in the other car, you made sure to take a photo of Isaac to post on your social media (with his head cropped out). No official confirmation of your relationship, but it was nice to be able to post your boyfriend. Of course, any of the rumors fans had started were extinguished by other fans for speculation, but you couldn't help to laugh at the fact they were right.

Through all the trials and tribulations of the next day, you finally arrived at your new home. Tanner and Larry were already there, having flown in before your group had gotten there. Somehow, in the little time they had been there, the house was both empty and a mess at the same time.

All that aside, you were happy to settle in for the night with Isaac. It was your second full day of being together and it felt you'd known each other for a lifetime. You slept with your head on his chest and woke up to him having picked you up breakfast. It hadn't occurred to you until that moment that Isaac might know your go-to orders and foods you liked best.

You had breakfast and went downstairs to find Isaac hanging out with Nick. You didn't say anything until you cuddled up next to Isaac on the couch, mumbling a 'thank you for breakfast' into his shoulder. Nick shot you two a judgmental look before returning to unpacking his room.

It took you another hour of chilling and waking up before you finally began to get your room unpacked. He had put up a lot of little trinkets from your favorite shows on the shelves he bought alongside his own. By the time you guys had your room and office set up, it was about time to get dinner and wind down for the night.

You did your first stream from the new office after you ate, the boys coming in periodically. Your chat asked about the new location and you got to be the one to announce the move, calling all the boys into the room. Isaac's height made it conveniently easy to keep his face out of frame, and you had to remember to tell him he couldn't lean down too much to hug you without an accidental face reveal.

It wasn't much of a surprise how chaotic the house ended up being. The boys had their moments of being utter idiots, but they were a lot more fun to get to know in person. Isaac gushed to you one night about how happy he was that you were friends with his friends. Even if you spent the most time with your boyfriend, you casually were hanging out with the guys all the time.

When it came to being in the background of streams, you and Isaac were the stars of the show. You didn't always do content together, but if you were seen on a stream it was always as a pair. The dating rumors came back with a vengeance, and you had to consider whether or not to keep your relationship under wraps from the fans anymore.

It didn't matter, though. Isaac was on a late night stream with Tanner and Blake and mentioned how he was planning your anniversary without even thinking. The fans sufficiently blew up at this news, but it came with a plethora of well wishes. Any shock wore off and you realized it was a weight taken off your shoulders to not have to hide it.

Of course, you gave the internet a mirror selfie of Isaac holding you by the waist from behind as a confirmation on your end. As a treat.

[henrycangelbaby]

In which: Ellie allowed herself to be held for a second. The only sounds were their soft breaths and Joel’s light snoring. She felt silly asking it, as if she were still a toddler. Then again, she hadn’t had much comfort even in her toddler days. Ellie let out an exhale.

Or

Ellie seeks comfort in those who love her the most.

Things are finally good for Joel. He and Ellie have been settled down in Jackson for a while now. They no longer have to fight to survive. Ellie can attend school and has made quick work of befriending many kids her age. They were finally happy.

Joel had even found himself a few friends; he had his brother in close proximity, was friendly with the neighbors, and cracked a smile whenever Ellie brought a friend over for dinner. And there was also Y/N, his precious darling girl.

Truthfully, Joel had never considered the prospect of settling down again. He had lost far too much to ever consider being truly happy again, but then he had found Ellie, been reunited with his brother and his new family, and then he had met Y/N.

She had come into his life rather unexpectedly, the prettiest thing he had seen in many years. He was only just settling down in Jackson when they had met. She was a little younger than him and had been so kind that he had been rather turned away at first, but with time (and quite a bit of Ellie meddling), they had grown close and eventually fallen in love.

It had been subtle, but people had noticed. He had been caught more than once wearing a hair tie around his wrist, and gradually her things had shown up in his and Ellie's house. Ellie isn't sure of much, but she doesn't even bother hiding her laugh when he walks downstairs in a slightly too-small, very faded Spice Girls t-shirt that his soft stomach peeks out of the bottom of. (Y/N also makes sure that Joel knows how much she appreciated him accidentally putting on her shirt that morning, but her and Ellie have very different reasons for thinking of his soft tummy).

For the first time in what felt like forever, he was happy and carefree. He still took patrols, but they seemed rather dull in comparison to the life he had lived outside of Jackson's protection. They were also fewer and further between as he reluctantly felt the effects of his age and life on the run. They had caught up to him rather brutally in the form of dodgy knees and full deafness in his left ear. For the first time since the outbreak, he felt at peace with the world.

Ellie had settled down well; it wasn't like she was a feral kid, raised by herself having to fight to survive. She had been raised in a school, had friends, and was educated to a somewhat proper level, but Jackson had been good for her. She was glowing with happiness most of the time, running around with her friends and even (much to Joel's dismay) girlfriends.

She had taken to Y/N instantly; they were both charmers in their own way, and Ellie had all but been swept off her feet by his darling’s kindness. Y/N, in return, had taken to the kid. The quick sense of humor and chatty nature in Ellie had caused Y/N to often joke about Ellie being better company than Joel. Truthfully, they did get along very well; he would find them bent over a puzzle on the kitchen table or wreaking havoc while cooking in the kitchen.

Ellie was getting older; she needed Joel and Y/N less, but she still found time to hang out with them. If it made his heart ache when they had family dinner together, or when he would come home from his depleting patrols to find Y/N and Ellie accidentally fallen asleep on the couch together, movie night long forgotten, it had been like this for years now, and it still made him emotional.

The sun had all but retreated behind the clouds, Joel barely awake as he peered out of the corner of his eye at his baby. Y/N seemed to be in a similar position to him, her head dropping slightly onto his arm, rubbing her eyes as if to try and run the sleep away.

“Darlin’,” she hums in response, turning to face him.

“Let's go to bed, baby,” he offers her his hand, pulling them up. She holds onto his arm, walking next to him as they sleepily made their way to bed together.

“Is Ellie still up?” Y/N asks, sitting on the toilet, waiting for him to finish brushing his teeth.

“She’s out, told us not to wait up for her, baby.”

God, he was getting old, having to go to bed early while his teenage daughter stays out too late for him to wait up for her. Ellie was hardly a teenager anymore; she was technically an adult, but he still felt as if she was a little girl.

They fall asleep quickly, as they always do. Joel is very secretly the small spoon. He sleeps peacefully with his back pressed against her chest, one of her legs in between his, her arm thrown over his stomach.

Ellie gets in late. She creeps through the house, well aware that Joel and Y/N have probably long gone to sleep. If she wasn't feeling so sullen, she might giggle at the old-people-ness of the adults in her life. Perhaps she had stayed up a little too late, past the point of late-night fun, into existential dread territory.

Everything is fine for Ellie. In fact, things are great in Jackson: a family that she can finally call hers, friends, and even dating prospects. Most of the time, Ellie is fine—she is more than fine, thriving even. Going out with her friends late into the evening, it was nice to be able to mess around with no repercussions.

But maybe she should have called it off this evening. She hadn't felt great all day, anxiety and dread settling at the bottom of her stomach and putting her off eating. She had learned to deal with it, mostly. The terrors she had seen in her past were just that—in her past. She would never have to fight again, never have to kill again; she was safe.

She was rather embarrassed to repeat those words over and over again to herself as she moved quietly through the house. She heard it in Y/N's soft tone, as she had once repeated it to Ellie after a bad panic attack. Ellie was safe, here in this house, with two people who cared about her like no one else did, in this town with all her friends, protected by the heavy walls and forever ongoing patrol shifts.

She was safe.

She tried to convince herself, unsuccessfully, as she fell into an uneasy sleep.

She wakes with a gasp. Her bed sheets feel far too suffocating; there is sweat dripping down her back, and as she brings a hand up to her face, it feels wet with tears. She doesn't remember what happened, but her heart won't stop beating fast, and the tears won't stop flowing down her face. She feels dizzy, like she might throw up.

Night terrors aren't unusual to Ellie. She has had her fair share of trauma to make up bad dreams. They had been bad when she was younger, in the beginning of her time in Jackson. She would often wake up crying and sweating, or she wouldn't sleep at all, kept awake by her haunting memories.

But as she, Joel, and eventually Y/N had settled down into their new life, they had become less and less frequent. Ellie’s life was going well, and most of the time she could escape her mental health problems. They came back to haunt her occasionally in the form of nightmares or panic attacks.

She had confessed to Y/N one night about how scared she felt sometimes, at the time confiding in Joel’s rather new girlfriend her problems and fears, which she felt too scared to tell Joel about. Perhaps she had secretly longed for the comfort that Y/N had given her, when she had been held close to the older woman’s chest, a kiss on the head as she slowly rocked Ellie back and forth.

Ellie loved Joel incessantly, but the introduction of Y/N into her life had filled a hole in her heart that she hadn't known she had.

She pushed herself up from the bed, quickly making her way to the other bedroom, where Joel and Y/N had resided for the night. The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open. It was rather comforting to see the room as it always was. The moonlight peeked through the window, revealing the messy bedside table and the photo of the three of them tacked above the bed.

Everything was the same, everything was fine. Ellie squinted in the darkness to see Y/N closest to her, her back facing the girl, her arm thrown over a much broader back and waist. She felt somewhat bad for waking her. She didn't want to scare her too badly. Y/N wasn't quite as switched on as Joel (Ellie still giggles thinking about how bad Joel had felt after he had cornered her against a wall—it had not been her best idea to stand behind a door to scare him).

She coughs awkwardly before shaking Y/N gently.

“Y/N?” she whisper-yells urgently. “Please, Y/N, wake up.”

Y/N turns around slowly. “Hmmm?” She rubs her eyes, still basically asleep, until Ellie nudges her again.

“Joel?” Y/N murmurs. She jumps slightly when she opens her eyes, scared by Ellie’s face so close to hers.

“Fuck,” she breathes, putting a hand on her chest as she pulls herself up. “Ellie, honey, what's wrong?” she asks, immediately alarmed by Ellie’s late-night appearance.

Ellie can't help as the tears begin to leak out of her eyes again. She tries to speak, but nothing comes out.

“Oh, my baby,” Y/N reaches forward to wipe the tears quickly. “Come here,” she says, while pulling Ellie up to sit beside her on the now somewhat squishy bed.

“I had a nightmare,” Ellie confesses quickly. She feels Y/N pull her in even closer.

“Was it bad?”

Ellie could only nod in response as she felt Y/N stroke her hair gently. “I’m sorry, baby,” was all Y/N said for a moment. After a beat, she spoke again. “I’d offer for Joel to go scare away the monsters under the bed for you, but I think you might be a bit old for that.”

It caused Ellie to let out a watery chuckle. “And also, I don't feel like waking Mr. Grizzly Bear tonight,” Y/N joked. They were silly, but they made Ellie smile.

Ellie allowed herself to be held for a second. The only sounds were their soft breaths and Joel’s light snoring. She felt silly asking it, as if she were still a toddler. Then again, she hadn’t had much comfort even in her toddler days. Ellie let out an exhale.

“Can I sleep in here, with you?”

She hadn’t expected to be laughed at, per se, but it felt like a silly request to be making nonetheless. But Y/N answered quickly.

“Of course, honey,” she said as she quietly pulled them both down to lay back down.

It was certainly a bit more of a squeeze with three of them, but she felt so warm and loved. Pulled close to Y/N, able to hear Joel’s snores close by, her nightmare felt like a thing of the past for a moment. So surrounded by comfort and love, perhaps everything she had suffered through had all been worth it if it led up to this moment, so loved by the best family she could ask for.

Joel's alarm went off at 6 a.m. sharp, just as he had set it to (much to his dismay). He was quick to turn it off, not wanting to wake Y/N—she didn’t deserve to be punished for his rather early patrol duty. He sat up slowly, feeling his neck creak. There was a pain in the bottom of his back that he couldn’t quite place, and his arm had gone somewhat numb in the night.

Fuck, he was getting old.

As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, he peered around the room. There was little light creeping in through the windows, and Y/N was still peacefully sleeping next to him. He smiled slightly before leaning to get out of the bed with as little disturbance as possible.

He pulled himself off the bed as quietly as he could until he hit another body. Wait, what? He flinched for a moment before recognizing the face of his other family member that lived in this house. Now when had she gotten in here? She was sleeping peacefully under Y/N’s arm, much like he did most nights. Come to think of it, he had been a little colder than usual last night.

He climbed carefully over both of them, not wanting to wake their peaceful sleeping states. His heart felt so full as he peered down at his girls, so sweet and lovely. He pushed Ellie’s fringe off her forehead, leaning down to kiss her forehead lightly.

“Love you, babygirl.”

He moved to hover over Y/N now, gently cupping her face in his hands before leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth and then her lovely lips.

“Love you so much, baby.”

He was whispering to himself, but it was still true. He loved his girls so much; his chest felt like it was aching with the love. He willed himself to walk away—he had to get to work, and he couldn’t spend all day fawning over his family. With one final glance back, he closed the door behind him, wanting his loves to get as much rest as possible.

He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. He had everything he needed, and it just so happened to be sleeping in his bed. His loves, his girls, his family.

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter VII - Bona Dea

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Spoiler-Free Summary: Set before and during Gladiator II. General Acacius finds himself entranced by a highly valued priestess of Rome – A Vestal Virgin. Both have taken vows that make sure their paths may never cross. Until they do.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 18k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, (Attempted) Sexual Harassment, Smut, First Time, More tags to be added

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

i was supposed to upload this two days ago but silly me decided to have a mental breakdown instead. anyways, enjoy the new chapter ♡

bona dea - a goddess/her festival subligaculum - underwear

Chapter VII

The house is filled with the overpowering scent of strong wine and blooming flowers. Food and drink is being served, the atrium of the roman villa that belongs to the senior magistrate and his wife transformed into a place of worship as much as a place to celebrate.

The annual winter festival of Bona Dea, one of the most important (and as some argue, fun) nights of the year for the women of Rome. A tribute to the goddess that promises fertility along with chastity and healing, in return asking for her worshippers to hold the values of a good, roman wife. Her celebrations allow strong wine and sacrifices led by the Vestals and most importantly–ban all men from the villa and its grounds. Just laying eyes upon the holy celebration and the rites would be enough to condemn a man to a life of blindness.

It is so different from the worship you are used to from Vesta. She is quiet, a prayer whispered into the flames, the crackling noise of the wood, the only company for women who ask for safety and blessing on lonely nights.

You have barely been able to eat, despite the food seeming worthy of the gods. Bona Dea has always made you nervous, the prospect of trying to effortlessly fulfill the rituals that have been passed down from generations of women before you. But the prospect of meeting Acacius in mere hours had you trembling the moment you rose from your bed this morning. The hours seemed to tick by agonizingly slowly all day, making you wonder if the sun would ever set.

But it did. And with the early darkness of the winter night came the loss of appetite. And the later it becomes, the worse you feel. The comfortable anticipation starts mixing with an anxiety you’ve rarely felt before. Nothing can go wrong.

Of course, something goes wrong. When you reach the large front entrance of the atrium, the one you hoped to slip out of unnoticed after fulfilling your duties, is far too busy. The columns are decorated with skillfully woven vines, the entire room alight with candles and torches. A thin layer of smoke still hangs in the air from the rituals you conducted earlier, making the space feel even more sacred.

You settle on making another round, speaking some words here and there, disappearing into a crowd that has evidently already enjoyed the strong wine forbidden to them on other occasions. You catch a glimpse of Severa chatting animatedly with a few other women and duck away just in time to avoid attracting their attention.

It is already late, far later than you meant to leave. You know Acacius will be waiting. He has no rites to attend to tonight. Instead, he will be able to casually stroll out into his–

The gardens. Just like the other houses, there are spacious gardens attached to the villa you are currently trailing through. There has to be a way to slip out into that direction and get up Palatine Hill, which is rather close. Pretending to long for some fresh air, you step into the lush green, plants and trees imported from places where they do not wither in the winter. They lend themselves to your cause perfectly, barely allowing the guests inside to catch a glimpse of your white stola as you tread the small paths, the light around you becoming less and less. You slip past a few trees, fight your way through bushes–and are met with solid stone. Of course. A wall to keep out everyone who tries to sneak into the gardens. Or in your case, sneak out of them.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. Heading back inside, finding another way–it will take too long. He could be gone by then. With a small shake of your head, you step forward and let your hands run over the cold stone. The moon is hiding behind clouds, giving you essentially no light to work with. Still, you somehow manage to find two crevices to tuck your fingers into and pull yourself up. Panting slightly once you've heaved yourself up onto the stone wall, you look back for a brief moment, catching a glimpse of the lit up villa through the trees, listening to the voices and music drifting over to you.

Suddenly, it feels like you're looking down upon your whole life, like you are seeing yourself from the perspective of the gods you so worship. You try and think of something to hold you back, any excuse to just jump back into the gardens and have no one ever be the wiser about the ideas in your head. You think about the dishonor you may bring to the Vestals, to your family. To him. The punishment they would settle on. The whispers that would follow you, even after death.

You try and think of a good reason to stay. But not a thought comes to mind.

So, you jump down on the side that leads further down the path and up to the house with the lavender gardens, a path you do not wish to leave now that you’ve started walking it. Even if it leads straight down to hell.

***

Acacius sighs quietly as he gets up from the bench he sat down on what feels like hours ago. His mind is as restless as his body, his head spinning a different direction every time the wind carries the sound of what could be someone sneaking toward him through the night. The statue of Mars stands quietly next to him as he begins to pace back and forth, eventually expanding his rounds onto the stairs. Up. Down. Have you changed your mind? Back. Forth. An invisible tug of war with the thoughts racing through his head.

The small pavilion is lit by only a few candles, providing just enough light to see but not enough to shimmer too far through the trees. On Bona Dea, the whole town below is alight with the celebrations of the women. Song, Chatter and Light travelling through the night air, distractions that lay like a shroud around your meeting. A protection not unlike your veil. An indication that what lays below is not to be touched–an indication he so desperately longs to ignore.

It's not any sound that makes him turn his head. It is an instinct that he cannot name that has him turn towards the path below. And there you are. Looking almost like a ghost, dressed in a festive, white stola that swishes around your body as you hurry the last few steps, the top of your head crowned by the very veil he just saw in his mind. And he suddenly feels like he cannot wait a second longer.

Acacius meets you halfway up the stairs, his arms sliding around your waist like they belong there. Like a child resting its head in their mothers lap, like a soldier returning to his village after the war. Like the most natural homecoming, a nestling of a body against that of its lover.

“Acacius–” You whisper his name, a relief that it can finally fall from your lips again. “I’m sorry for making you wait.”

He hums quietly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your side. “I would wait all night for you, Dulcissima.” He cannot see the blush that spreads over your cheeks but he can hear it in the small breath that escapes you. “May I?”

Keeping one arm firm around your waist, he leads you up the stairs, towards Mars who stares into the distance. Unlike the stone eyes of the statue that are forced to stare at one point on the horizon for eternity, Acacius’s eyes never leave you. Even when he leans down to the small tray he brought along earlier, grabbing a glass filled with red wine and handing it to you, he keeps his focus on you. You barely get to whisper a thank you before a frown spreads over his face. “What happened to your dress?”

“I had to climb the garden wall,” you mutter sheepishly, embarrassed that your original plan has so clearly gone awry. He watches as you take a sip of the wine before you continue. “I will clean it in the morning, it is not worth speaking of.”

Acacius doesn't agree. It feels like another thing he's making you do. A visual representation of the way he is soiling you, tainting your beautiful white gown with reminiscents of the dirt and grime that stains his armour after returning from battle. “It is my turn for apologies. You should not have to–”

He is shut up by your lips coming to rest on his. He can taste the red wine he picked out for tonight and by the gods, he does not think there is anything he likes more. Picking out what you taste like for him.

There is a small tremor in your body, an insecurity that he immediately recognizes as inexperience. He sighs into the kiss at that, his taunt muscles finally relaxing as he blindly reaches behind himself, finding the stone bench and lowering both of you onto it, never breaking your kiss. Sweet. You just taste so sweet.

He allows you to dictate the pace, only pulling back when you do, your breath coming in short pants. His forehead rests against yours as he reaches down to take his own glass, nudging you until you toast him, glass against glass creating a light melody that fades as quickly as it has appeared. You both drink in silence, only the distant noises of the celebrations and those of the garden around you reaching your ears. 

“May I ask you something?” He hums, his voice low in his throat as he watches you raise your wine to your lips, the flames of the candles reflecting in the glass and liquid, sending smooth shadows over your face. At your nod, he continues. “Why did you ask to meet tonight? Bona Dea must mean a lot to you.”

You smile softly, though there is still a hint of nervousness present in your eyes. “The gods are busy looking down onto the feasts.” It is the unspoken part of your response that makes Acacius feel almost light-headed. If the goddesses eyes are truly on the feasts happening in the city, they are too busy to see you under the cover of darkness. One of his hands is still supporting your waist and he uses the other to set his glass down again before coming up to caress your ankle. A sliver of skin pokes out from under your stola, giving him a taste of what is waiting below the linen and silk that you are wrapped in. He feels you lean in, a hand gently coming to rest on his shoulder for support as he maneuvers you onto his left leg. In one smooth motion, Acacius runs his calloused hand past the hem of your stola and up your calf. You shiver, shifting slightly. “Acacius–”

It's somewhere between a whisper and a begging command. He forces himself to pause, his hand resting on your knee, the fabric of your dress bunched up around his forearm. “Do you want me to stop?” You shake your head silently. And he decides that maybe, he can push a bit further. “Is this why you wanted to meet?”

He can practically see you pause, your eyes flickering nervously back and forth. He may be completely wrong. It may not even have occurred to you–this. That you could do this. Because technically, you can’t.

“Maybe,” you whisper and he smiles at the subtle hint in your tone that sounds less like a maybe and more like a yes. And he'd be lying if he said he didn't have the same train of thought. He just didn't expect you to want him like this. Hell, he barely expected you to show up. Not with how much you are both risking.

“I’m sure you know–” you whisper as his hand travels further, slowly but surely inching up your thigh. “That Vestals are sworn to celibacy.”

He gives as gentle a squeeze as he can, watching with a smirk as you bite your lip, stopping yourself from letting out a noise. God, how he wants to hear that noise. How he wants all of Rome to hear the noise, wants to hear his name fall from your lips as he gives you the pleasure you've been denied your entire life.

“There are other ways,” he muses, his thumb trailing over the edge of what he assumes to be a subligaculum covering your most private area. “Other ways of pleasure.” He cocks an eyebrow at you, his hand gently rubbing over the soft skin of your inner thigh, not quite crossing the invisible threshold yet. “Dont tell me you have not discovered any of them?”

This time, he can watch as the blush spreads over your cheeks and down toward your throat. His gaze softens slightly. “You do not have to tell me, if you do not wish to.” Acacius sighs quietly, his eyes watchful, trying to gauge if he's gone too far. If he should retreat. “Does this feel good? We do not have to–” He can feel himself stumbling over his words. “I do not wish to force myself upon you. We do not have to do anything if you are not ready.”

“What if I'm never ready?” You whisper before you can stop yourself, resting your head against his shoulder and he tuts as he looks down at you.

“Then we will never do anything.”

“Go on.” It is a whispered plea. And Acacius gently obliges. He knows how to give commands that demand to be followed. But he also knows how to take them.

His fingers sneak under the delicate cloth that forms your underwear, his index finger finding the space between your legs already deliciously wet. He can feel himself getting hard at just this. The thought that merely sitting on his lap, kissing him, feeling his hands on your leg, is enough to arouse you to this point. He swipes his thick index fingers through your folds, making you clutch onto his shoulder and whimper in surprise. A low chuckle leaves his lips as he stills his hand again, not wanting to overstimulate you right away. He is keeping that trick up his sleeve for later.

“Your body does not know of your vows, dulcissima,” he rasps, his beard scratching against your skin as he places soft kisses against your neck. He feels you shiver and while he is sure some of it can be attributed to the excitement, he has a feeling the cold is also doing its part. He has a sudden urge to pick you up and carry you inside. If you truly want him to see you, to bare yourself before him–the first man to ever touch you like this–it cannot be on a cold stone bench.

“Let me take you inside.”

(art by art by Gökberk Kaya)

notes: okay, i know, i know, bad moment to stop. i promise the next chapter is in the works! ♡