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dreamsontheirway · 2 years ago

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It’s Not Your Fault | S.R.

Summary: You leave work late one night and someone follows you. Spencer x reader. Warnings: stalker, sexual assault/unwanted touch Word Count: 1.7k

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Spencer hated it when you had to work late nights. You were also an agent at the BAU, but sometimes you had to stay late to complete paperwork. He would stay late with you on occasion, but you hated inconveniencing him. Of course, he would never consider it an inconvenience.

He had offered to stay late with you again tonight, but you refused. He had such a long day and you knew he needed rest. Besides, you wouldn’t be too long.

It was only around 9 pm when you were finishing up your work. You heard the shrill beep of your phone, indicating a notification.

Hi darling. Almost finished?

You smiled at his message. You quickly sent a reply, letting him know that you would be leaving imminently. Almost immediately, he replied with a thumbs up and a heart.

You began compiling all your papers and files, now completed, and placed them in the filing cabinet at your desk. You stood up, grabbed your satchel bag, and admired the look of your tidy desk before turning on your heel and walking towards the door.

You normally parked in the parking garage attached to the building, but earlier today it had been massively full due to a conference. You were forced to park in the garage down the street a ways. This wasn’t so bad; the early fall weather was the perfect kind to walk in.

You began your short trek from your building to the parking garage, adjusting your satchel bag on your shoulder. It made you a bit nervous how dark it was already, but it wasn’t a far walk by any means.

You were about halfway there when you heard the light scraping of shoes on concrete behind you. You snuck a glance and saw a dark figure about fifty feet away. Most of the time men on the street were harmless, but you were an agent, and you had a bad feeling about this. There had been a few cases recently about women being assaulted in this area.

You assumed you were just being a bit paranoid. It had been a long day of looking at horrible case notes, after all. You decided to walk diagonally across the street as a short cut, and to see if the figure behind you did the same. Your stomach twisted tightly when the figure followed your path exactly. The figure had gotten closer, too, by at least ten feet.

Your hand instinctively went to your hip. Shit. You had left your gun locked up in the office. Shit.

You could hold your own in a fight, but you had absolutely no clue what you were up against here, and no back up.

You scrambled and fumbled your phone out of your pocket, and clicked the most recent contact on your call list. He picked up on the second ring.

“Y/N, are you on your way home y—“

“Spencer,” you whispered, with an intensity that resulted in a thick silence on the other end. You typically called him Spence. He knew something was wrong. “Someone’s following me. I left my gun in my desk.”

“Shit,” Spencer exclaimed, frantically. “Shit. Where are you?” You heard rustling on the other end.

You were a talented agent, and Spencer knew you wouldn’t call him unless you thought there was something seriously wrong. Unless you thought you couldn’t handle it. The thought sent a shiver down Spencer’s back.

“I’m almost to the parking garage, but there’s no one around. Spencer, I don’t know anything about who’s behind me. I don’t know what to do.”

The person behind you was getting closer, but you were talking quietly enough so they couldn’t hear you. You were growing increasingly frightened. You knew you were trained for this, but you were still a relatively new agent, especially in comparison to Spencer and the rest of the team. You’ve had your fair share of creepy men come on to you, but you had the advantage of analyzing them and knowing what you were dealing with. You didn’t have that advantage this time around. You could assume the figure behind you was a man by the heavy steps, but that’s about it.

“Keep walking, quickly. I’m on my way. I’m texting the others. Stay on the line with me, please.” His voice was desperate; you could tell he was just as terrified as you. You knew one of his biggest fears was losing you. Your mind briefly flickered to the realization he’d probably never let you work late without him again. The thought seemed comforting in the moment, and you found yourself wishing he was here.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up stiffly.

“Hey baby,” a deep, slimy voice spoke, a few feet behind you.

Damn it, you thought. You had been preoccupied talking to Spencer, you hadn’t realized how much closer he’d gotten.

You ignored the voice, and continued to walk quickly. You were unsure about how to handle the situation. You just wanted to get to your car. You could see it shining in the distance, the beams of light dancing on the windows from the lights in the parking garage. Luckily, you had parked on the lower level so it would be easy to access.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to ya,” the deep voice continued.

You could hear Spencer frantic on the phone, asking who the voice belonged to. You ignored him; you had to focus on making it to your car.

“Hey!” The voice bellowed, and a strong hand clutched your arm tightly, and you knew it would bruise.

You yanked it away, turning around. “Do not touch me.” You demanded, releasing a shaky breath.

Spencer was losing his mind. “Y/N,” he gasped. “I’m almost there. Hold on.”

You just breathed out in response. You slipped your phone into your back pocket, still on the call with Spencer.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing alone out here on a night like this?” The man questioned. He smirked, his teeth crooked and his eyes a piercing blue, so different from Spencer’s soft and comforting hazel.

“I’m going home,” you stated, continuing towards your car, but angled so you could continue to watch the man.

“Come on,” he smirked. “Aren’t you up for a little fun?”

He lunged then, grabbing the sides of your arms and pushing you against the concrete wall right next to the parking garage. You struggled against his grip. He had caught you off guard, and he was much stronger than you.

“Let me go,” you spoke deeply, as venomously as you could muster, although the slight crack at the end wasn’t very intimidating.

He just hummed in response, and let his hand travel down your arm and rest against your hip. You squirmed against him, but his grip was far too tight. You felt bile rising up your esophagus at the touch of the vile creature in front of you.

You whimpered, tears pricking your eyes. You couldn’t move. You had no part of your body free to even attempt to utilize the years of training you’ve had. The bastard knew what he was doing, and it terrified you.

The man’s large and sweaty hand traveled further, and squeezed at the fabric of your ass. Against your wishes, your let out a light sob.

All of a sudden, the man was torn away from you, his tight grip causing you to stumble forward onto the grass. It all happened so fast and you looked in the direction of where the man had been pulled to.

You saw a familiar head of brown, wavy hair. Spencer was clad in a Caltech sweatshirt and jeans. He really had left the house as soon as you called. He always preferred to wear a combination of slacks and a button down or sweater.

Spencer had the man pinned against the wall, one arm against his throat and the other — oh my god. Spencer’s right hand had his gun pressed to the man’s side.

“Don’t fucking touch her. What gave you the idea you could touch her?” Spencer growled, his left arm adding pressure to the man’s throat. Spencer rarely cursed; you knew he was pissed. The last time you saw him like this was during the whole events with Emily. But even then… this was different. The veins in his neck were popping out so much it looked like they might burst. Spencer was often protective of you, knowing the dangers out there in the world, but you hadn’t ever seen him like this.

“FBI, put your hands up!” A loud voice boomed to the left of you and you quickly looked towards it, breathing out when you saw Morgan, his gun pointed towards the man and Spencer.

Despite Morgan being here now and you being safe, Spencer didn’t budge from his position against the man.

“Agent Reid,” Morgan boomed, harshly, knowingly. He knew how much Spencer cared for you, and how quickly his emotions could escalate when something he cared about was threatened.

Spencer loosened his grip slightly, and the vile man against the wall lifted his hands up in defense. Spencer hesitated, then finally released him, but pushed the man against the wall as he let go.

Morgan rushed forward and took Spencer’s place, twisting the man so his front was against the wall. He grabbed his wrists and placed them in cuffs.

You were sat, watching the scene in front of you. You felt helpless, vulnerable, stupid. You were an agent of the FBI, how could you have let this happen? You choked back a sob, but a whimper left your lips against your will.

At the soft and solemn sound, Spencer’s gaze dashed to you and his eyes were filled with worry. He rushed to you then, cursing himself for not attending to you earlier. He lifted you from the grass, clutching your shaking form against his own.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asked, his hot breath against your ear.

“Just my pride,” you choked, laughing grimly. “I’m so sorry I let this happen.”

His grip on you tightened, his strong hand pulling the small of your back towards him. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault. We’re pretty sure he’s the unsub the local police department has been looking into.”

You shuttered at the thought. You felt like one of the victims whose smiling face was on the board in the conference room. You felt weak.

As if Spencer could hear your very thoughts, he whispered against your hair, “It’s not your fault.”

-----

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 6 months ago

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Postcards

Summary: Tom Bennett is sweet on the Post Office girl, but only dares to approach it just as he's conscripted for war | Word Count: 7.2k~ (oops) | Warnings: ww2, mentions of death, smut, fingering

A/N: A very VERY Happy Birthday to @ewanmitchellcrumbs <3 I hope you enjoy this and have a lovely day! ❤ And thank you so much to @theoneeyedprince for skimming over this 😘

“Get ‘im a cuppa, would ya darlin’!”

Her grandfather’s low baritone seemed to rumble through the floorboards so much so it made her eardrums throb, and she shook her head as she descended the creaky staircase at the back of the store room, running a hand over the collar of her dress to keep it flat.

“Yes, Granda,” she sighed, filling the kettle and placing it on the lit stove. Gone were the days when she was young, afraid of the tiny flame that appeared when her grandfather struck a match to light the gas. He’d always laugh at her concerned expression, chuckling that no grandchild of his was going to be such a ‘scaredy-cat’.

He’d had her lighting matches on the stovetop since she was eleven years old. No exceptions.

A harsh but fair upbringing, given that she was his only grandchild.

She brushed a wavy lock of hair from her face, her pumps clicking on the floorboards as she let the water boil and joined him at the front of the post office. She rolled her eyes when she saw him struggling with the sack of post, grunting and grumbling to himself as elderly men often do.

“Get off, granda, let me.”

“Cheeky beggar! Can do it on me own, ya pesky-”

“Granda.”

He finally turned, perhaps recognising the same tone he’d heard in his wife and daughter in years gone, and knew not to argue. She saw that when her grandfather, turned while bent over and withered with his years, with a smattering of white on his chin and waved sparsely on the crown of his head, had a cigarette hanging from his mouth, the end almost chewed right through with the effort he’d used in trying to lift what he easily could have several years ago.

He raised an eyebrow, bringing the cigarette from his age-weathered lips and blowing the smoke out, “Go on then. Tea on?”

“Course, it is,” she sighed, bending to pull the sack of post from the floor and into the corner to be sorted later. “I’ll do that later, you go upstairs”.

“Bollocks, will I. I’m staying ‘ere.”

Her grandfather was stubborn, though it was something they accused each other of being regularly. A family trait, some would say.

The postman, clad in his dark uniform trudged through the front door, ringing the bell with it. His satchel was empty and his cheeks were pink like the wind had been at them.

“The usual route please, darlin’”.

She nodded. “Cuppa first?”

“Yes, ta, milk, one sugar-”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she smirked, “same as every day.”

As the postman settled into the familiar chair, reserved for him if anyone asked, her grandfather gave a low grumble, shifting his weight with the slow deliberation of age. He looked over at his granddaughter, the same stubborn glint in his eye that she mirrored back at him.

"You're not still jawing, are you?" he muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray like he had done a thousand times before.

The kettle whistled, and she moved with ease, pouring the steaming water over the tea bags, the rich aroma filling the small, worn kitchen. She added the milk and sugar to the postman's cup, stirring it with a practised hand.

"Here you go," she said, placing the cup in front of him. "Warm yourself up."

"Bless you, lass," the postman replied, wrapping his hands around the mug as if to soak in its warmth.

The grandfather watched the scene with a softened expression before he straightened, a hint of urgency in his voice cutting through the usual routine. "Put the sign out, will you, love?"

With a tired sigh, she set her teaspoon down and retrieved the sign her grandfather had already sorted that morning, today’s headline written in white chalk across the blackboard surface. She didn't usually pay it much attention, but as she held the frame in her hands, her eyes were drawn to it. One word stood out like a beacon:

‘Britain Declares War on Germany’

“It’s official now,” her grandfather mused, having clocked her shocked, mildly terrified expression, his voice carrying an air of aged wisdom. He had seen another war before this one after all, even then, he had been too old to actually fight in it.

Her breath caught for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. "Today?"

"Aye, today," he confirmed, as if it made any difference, a solemn nod accompanying his words. "The world’s about to change."

She stepped outside, the gravel crunching under her feet as she made her way to the front of the shop. With a steady hand, she hung the sign where it would be seen by all who passed by. She stepped back as if to make sure the words were true and not a trick of the eye, and couldn't help but feel the gravity of the situation settling in. The world was indeed about to change, and their quiet corner of it would not be spared.

As she stood there, contemplating the significance of the headline, she heard the familiar sound of a bicycle approaching. Douglas pulled up, half-dismounting with a hurried air.

“Y’alright, Douglas?” she greeted him, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

Douglas’s eyes flicked to the sign, and he visibly flinched. A deep furrow appeared on his brow, and his jaw tightened, frustration evident in his tense posture.

“Not seen my boy, Tom, have ya?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Fortunately not. Why, is he in trouble?”

Douglas let out a frustrated sigh. “Is he. If you see him, send him back home.”

She nodded, then glanced back at the sign, understanding the unspoken pain in Douglas’s reaction. “I will, Douglas. Take care.”

Douglas gave a curt nod, his eyes lingering on the sign for a moment longer before he mounted his bike again. He gave her a brief, strained smile, the weight of his past experiences clear in his eyes, and pedalled away. She watched him go, feeling the heavy burden of the news. He and Tom were alike in many ways, stubborn mostly though, and set in their ways once their mind was made up. But Douglas was gentler since the first war had changed him, and Tom was never the same after his mother. Turning back to the house, she couldn’t shake the feeling that their small world, like so many others, was on the brink of something monumental. Something far beyond their understanding.

The week passed in a blur of routine tasks and quiet contemplation. She worked diligently, covering the post office as her grandfather went off to the social club, seeking the comfort of familiar faces and shared memories. The steady stream of customers brought a sense of normalcy, yet the weight of the headline hung over her like a shadow, and many others as well.

Each day felt heavier than the last, as the reality of the declaration of war settled in. Conversations with customers often turned to the uncertain future, and the usual gossip was replaced with talk of enlistment and preparations.

As the afternoon sun began to wane one gloomy day, the door to the post office swung open with the chime of the bell. She looked up from the counter, her heart skipping a beat as Tom Bennett walked in. His usual carefree expression was absent, replaced by a seriousness she’d rarely seen before now.

She smiled. “Three guesses who you're skulking away from.”

Tom approached the counter, a faint smirk rose at the corners of his mouth, and his serious depression faltered somewhat. “Box of matches, please.”

She rang him up, the familiar clink of the register grounding her amidst the day's uncertainties. Even from here, behind the counter, she caught the faint scent of cigarettes on his weathered coat, for some reason making her head feel airy. As she handed him the matches, she couldn't help but broach the topic.

“Heard you signed up,” she said, her voice gentle but curious. “What made you do that?”

Tom’s face hardened slightly. She knew immediately why but dare not say. “Don't carry on, had enough of this off Dad.”

“Not Lois?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tom let out a short, humourless laugh. “Nah. She can’t wait to see me gone.”

“How will she cope?” she smiled, attempting to lighten the mood.

Tom shrugged, pocketing the matches. “She’s tougher than she looks. She’ll be alright, both of ‘em will.”

Granda trudged past the doorway leading to the back room, leaving a large heaved sigh with a cigarette between his weathered lips. Tom nodded up at him, “y’alright, Granda? Keeping steady?”

She couldn't help but smile as she glanced back. Nobody called him by his real name, only ever what she had always nicknamed him, from a time where she was unable to say ‘grandad’. At first it embarrassed her, but now to hear everyone else call him Granda, well, it was endearing.

Her grandfather simply glared with hooded eyes, blowing smoke between his lips and permeating the air with musk, “bugger off, ya bone idle twat-”

He was still muttering things as he walked off and she gave Tom a face that showed she was trying her hardest to remain stoic.

“Your own fault really. Should know better.”

Tom chuckled, “Yeah, I should.”

From the first day she stepped behind the counter, Tom had made it his mission to tease and charm her, testing the waters with playful remarks and lingering glances. He would lean in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, just to watch her cheeks flush a delicate pink. It was a game they played, a dance of words and looks that neither was quite brave enough to escalate.

She found herself looking forward to his visits, the highlight of her day amidst the routine tasks of sorting mail and ringing up customers. Tom seemed to delight in the effect he had on her, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in close. “You’re going to spoil me with all this attention,” he’d say, and she’d laugh, trying to hide how much she enjoyed their playful but enigmatic banter.

Now, as Tom stood before her, the weight of his decision to sign up for the war added a new layer to their unspoken bond. The cheeky glint in his eyes was tempered by a newfound seriousness, and she felt the fragile line between them tighten and shift.

As she handed him the change, their fingers brushed, and she felt a familiar warmth rise to her cheeks. “You know,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, “you’re going to make a right mess of things if you keep winding everyone up.”

Tom leaned on the counter, his smirk widening. “Oh, you like it when I wind you up. Admit it.”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress her smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for a post office clerk-ow!” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief, rubbing his shoulder in faux offence when she smacked him lightly. If she were honest with herself, it was just an excuse to touch him.

“One of these days, your cheek will get you into real trouble,” she warned, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

Tom leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Maybe I’m hoping you’ll be the one to give me a proper telling off.”

She rolled her eyes, busying herself with doing a recount of the till, mostly so that she could have something to do with her hands. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible to resist?” he quipped, his grin widening.

“Impossible to deal with,” she corrected, though her cheeks flushed with a hint of colour.

Tom watched her for a moment, his smile softening, blue eyes flickering to the pile of post she still had to sort. “Got anything for me? I'll take it back on my way home.”

She hummed a laugh, shaking her head as she sorted through.. She always sorted the Bennett Household’s post separately, so she’d be prepared for another one of Tom’s spontaneous visits. “To face the wrath of Douglas?”

He scoffed, leaning back against the counter with a mock look of horror. “Don't make me laugh. I can handle my old man.”

“Brave words, Mr. Bennett,” she teased, handing him a small stack of letters. “But I’m not sure anyone can handle Douglas when he’s in a mood.”

Tom took the letters, their fingers brushing for a brief moment. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough,” he said with a wink. “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

She smiled, feeling the familiar warmth spread through her. “I believe it. Just don’t go getting yourself into too much trouble, alright?”

Tom’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “No promises. Trouble seems to follow me wherever I go.”

As he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder. “And don’t worry, I’ll come back before I ship out. Wouldn’t want to miss another chance to see you blushing for me.”

With that, he straightened and headed for the door, leaving her with a smile and a heart a little lighter despite the day’s heavy news. She watched him go, the weight of their unspoken connection lingering in the air. In her heart she knew she was afraid of truly letting him go, at the prospect of not seeing him walk through those doors every other day. Her heart felt like lead, deep in her chest, wondering if it was already too late, with war reaching their horizons, to admit how she really felt about the man who had just signed up to fight in it.

The days continued to pass in a blur of activity and mounting tension. The declaration of war had cast a long shadow over their small town, and everyone was feeling its effects. Life carried on, but the underlying anxiety was palpable.

A week later, Tom walked into the post office, a different kind of seriousness in his eyes. He held an official-looking envelope in his hand, and she knew immediately what it was.

“Got my papers,” he said, handing her a letter to post. “I’m shipping out in a few days.”

She felt a lump form in her throat but forced a smile. Don’t cry. “So soon?”

He nodded, looking around the familiar space of the post office.

“There’s a…leaving do at the Cross Keys, if you want to come and see me off with the others.”

And why on earth would she have said ‘no’.

A small gathering was held at the local pub to send off the men who had conscripted to do their bit. It was a tradition of sorts, a way for the community to come together and show their support. Friends and family gathered, raising their glasses to wish him well and offer their prayers for his safe return. It was all bright faces, pink cheeked from ale, clinking glasses and all. And all she could do was watch from her seat. Watch him. As if she wanted to print the very image and soul of him into her mind on the off chance he might not return to her, or if he already had a sweetheart to write to, and wouldn't spare a second glance to her.

The pub was filled with laughter and conversation, but she could see the sadness in everyone’s eyes. As the evening wore on, people began to drift away, leaving behind a quieter, more intimate group.

Tom found her sitting at a corner table, nursing a drink. He slid into the seat next to her, a playful glint in his eyes. “Mind if I join the prettiest girl in the room?”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile. Tom looked around, then back at her. He was antsy, she could feel his nervous energy a mile away. He was probably annoyed as well. Douglas hadn’t come to the pub that night, and there was always something in Tom that craved his approval. “Got anything you want to say to me before I go, or are you just going to miss me in silence?”

She looked down into her lap, tracing her thumb over the rim of her glass, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I don’t know what to say without sounding like a fool, Tom.”

“Then be a fool. I won’t mind.”

Her chest was all tight with anxiety when she finally had the courage to form the reply, looking up into his blue eyes, “this place just won’t be the same without you.”

She’d always seen Tom a certain way. Sure. Cock of the walk. Ever since his own mother died he’d almost put on this thick outer layer that was impenetrable. But here, sat with half a beer left in his glass, tapping his fingers against it nervously, his eyes gave way to something more vulnerable. They both know he was off to go and do something important, that he needed to feel valuable in some way, and this was his way of proving it. But his expression showed that he was also a young man, like so many others, who was afraid.

“I won’t miss much about his place.”

Her heart sank a fraction, deep, forming a pit in her stomach. And it seemed Tom sensed it, as he twisted his body to face her, nudging her arm with his elbow to grab her attention again.

“But I will miss you. Especially you.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze. The pub was nearly empty now, the noise reduced to a low murmur, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable in her chair, fingers twisting the hem of her skirt in a gesture of uncertainty about herself. “Tom, I–”

His lips pressed to hers in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was a moment they had both imagined countless times, but reality was far sweeter and more poignant.

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers and chuckled softly. “About time we stopped dancing around it, isn’t it?”

She could laugh. Cry even.

Tom sensed her surprise and something that lingered deeper, but his bravado didn’t allow him to approach it, but it was enough that his thumb brushed a wayward hair from her face. “Had to get that in before I left. Didn’t want to regret missing my chance.”

She let out a relieved, breathy laugh. One that expelled all the tension from her body for a moment. Her eyes never quite left him, as if in wonder. And she was hit with the endless thought that she did not want this moment to end, she didn’t want him to leave. But knew she could never ask that of him.

“Promise me you’ll write,” she said instead.

A classically-Tom Bennett smirk rose to his face. He always did that when he saw the colour rise to her face. “I might.”

They both laughed lightly, with some uncertainty, when she swatted his shoulder. That attitude would get him in trouble, if not with her.

“How about I do you one better,” he started, “I’ll come back, and we’ll have our time.”

She knew then she could ask no more of him. She felt a mixture of hope and fear, knowing how much she was already relying on his return, how much she already craved it. But in response to his weighty promise, she nodded softly, her eyes feeling heavy with tears she did well to keep back.

It almost felt cruel, to have this moment the day before he would leave her for the seas. There had been no time…

Tom’s cheeky grin returned, albeit with a touch of tenderness. “Good. Now, let’s get you home before I change my mind and decide to stay here with you.”

She wished he would.

It was only when she was at her doorstep, watching him walk away, the darkness gradually enveloping him, that she finally took a deep breath, clutching the memory of his kiss and the promise of his return close to her heart.

The days following Tom’s departure were filled with a bittersweet mixture of hope and anxiety. She busied herself at the post office, trying to keep her mind off the worry gnawing at her. The routine tasks that once felt mundane now served as a distraction from the ever-present uncertainty.

On the morning Tom was scheduled to ship out, she was on shift, sorting through the morning post with a heavy heart. She couldn’t bring herself to go to the docks to see him off, knowing it would be too much to bear. Instead, she stayed at the post office, her mind wandering to thoughts of him, imagining his cheeky grin and the promise in his eyes.

After a fortnight, she was giddy with joy when she was sorting the post and saw her name amongst the pile, she nearly gave herself a papercut in her fervent attempts to open the letter, wanting to see his words, in his hand, it would give her happiness beyond belief.

Little Miss Postie, You wouldn't believe the state of things here. It's a lot different from our quiet little town. The lads are a good bunch, though, mostly, and they’ve already learned to put up with my jokes. They’ve got no choice, really. It’s either that or Hitler and I wouldn’t like those odds. I miss seeing your face every day, the way you blush when I tease you. You remember that night at the pub? I bet you do. I wasn’t joking about regretting not kissing you sooner. Let’s just say I’ve had some pretty vivid dreams since then. Don’t worry, I’m keeping my head down and staying out of trouble. Mostly. But it’s hard not to think about you when I’m supposed to be focusing on training. The open sea allows a man to think a bit too much, and every time I see the stars at night, I think of you. And, well, there’s not much else to do out here except think… and maybe imagine a few things I shouldn’t put in a letter. Write me back soon. Tell me everything. And don’t leave out the parts that make you blush. Yours, Tom

She sat at the counter, Tom’s latest letter in hand, a smile tugging at her lips as she read his words again. The warmth of his cheeky tone and the sincerity of his affection made her heart flutter. She knew she had to reply, but she wanted to make it special.

Rising from her seat, she walked over to the display of postcards near the entrance of the post office. The assortment included scenic views, cheerful illustrations, and wartime propaganda. Her fingers brushed over each one until she found a postcard that seemed perfect—a World War II specific postcard featuring a charming drawing of a sailor in uniform, waving from a ship, with the words “Keep Smiling and Carry On” printed in bold letters.

She took the postcard back to the counter and carefully penned her reply, choosing her words with care and affection. When she finished, she read it over, her cheeks warming at the bolder parts. With a satisfied smile, she addressed the postcard and prepared to send it off.

Dear Tom, I’m glad to hear you’re getting along with the lads and keeping them entertained. The town isn’t the same without you, and I miss your cheeky grin and those comments that always get under my skin—in the best way, of course. I hope you continue to write to your father and Lois, they miss you greatly. I’ve been thinking about that night at the pub too. More often than I should admit. Sometimes I catch myself smiling like a fool. Granda thinks I’ve gone mad. He’s just a few pennies short of putting me away. Since you were so forward in your letter, I suppose I can be a little brave too. I’ve had a few dreams myself, some of them involving a certain navy man and that uniform you hate. I’m looking forward to seeing you out of it as much as in it. Stay safe, Tom. I can’t wait for your next letter. Yours, ‘Little Miss Postie’

Little Miss Postie, I knew there was a reason I liked you. I couldn’t stop smiling when I read your letter. And blushing? Don’t worry, I’ve been doing plenty of that myself. Don’t tell anyone though or I’ll tell everyone you’re lying. I can’t wait to get back and see if those dreams of yours are as good as mine. Maybe we’ll have to find out together. And as for that uniform, well, I’ll make sure to wear it just for you. But you might have to help me out of it later. I promise, I’ll make it worth your while. Training is tough, and they’re keeping us on our toes, but thoughts of you keep me going. The lads are starting to wonder why I’ve got this goofy grin on my face all the time. I’ve been telling them about you—well, only the parts that won’t make them too jealous. They all say hello, by the way. Take care of yourself, love. And keep those letters coming. They’re the best part of my day. Yours, Tom

Her reply was affectionate, written with that telltale blush to her cheeks that Tom would have made fun of her for. Every scratch of the pen on paper, telling him that him blushing at her letter would be their little secret, and that he shouldn’t give the lads too high of expectations of her, made her heart feel as light as air. And as she signed off the letter, urging him to come back to her, she would not let that little whisper of uncertainty grow at the back of her mind. And as she turned over the postcard, appreciating the watercolour design on the front, she thought of his face when, and how she imagined it would light up when he received it. Just as hers does.

She waited for a response. But none came.

She found herself anxious, restless. Had she said something wrong? Gone too far? Scared him off with her incessant affections and flirtations? Surely not, she thought. But the lack of any real response had tensions rising in her gut, and the seed of doubt had long been planted.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, she checked the post every morning with a mix of anticipation and dread. Each time the mail arrived, she sifted through the letters, hoping to find one from Tom. But there was nothing. No letter, no word. Her heart sank a little more with each passing day.

Her grandfather and the regular customers noticed the change in her. She became quieter, more introspective, holding onto the hope that Tom would keep his promise and return. The thought of his words, “I’ll be back, and we’ll have our time,” became her lifeline, the thing that kept her going through the long, uncertain months.

Sometimes, she'd allow herself a trip to the house Tom used to inhabit, remembering the times she'd pass by on her way to the post office and spot him leaning against the doorway, smoke blowing from between his curled lips, amused to see the way she was watching him.

She'd hand Lois the post, come in for a cuppa, sometimes Douglas would say a quick hello as he was passing through the kitchen. But whenever she saw him, she was reminded very much of Tom, thousands of miles away from her, and the way his eyes crinkled like Douglas’ did when he smiled.

Every morning, she performed her duties with a determined smile, greeting the postman with a hopeful glance, on the off chance that some letter had accidentally ended up at Douglas’ home, only to be met with a sympathetic shake of the head. She would take a deep breath, steel herself, and continue with her day, refusing to let despair take hold. If she ever let it stick, it would swallow her whole.

It was funny how life had a way of testing people in their worst times.

Granda had always been stubborn. So much so that even when she told him she would put out the sign in a moment, he was too impatient. She only found him later, collapsed alongside the sign for that day's news. But no news seemed as important to her as that very minute, knelt beside her dying grandfather and shouting at passerbys for help.

If her little town was good for anything, it was community. Her grandfather left enough to cover the costs for the funeral, but all who remained put in as much as they could so that they could give the very beating heart of their slice of peace a good sendoff. Her grandfather would have hated it, everyone snivelling and crying over him. But it took the edge off her grief to see that he had touched the hearts of so many, despite his grumpy attitude.

At least, she thought, she wouldn't have to let go of the post office and go work in a factory. This small slice of peace was all she had left of her grandfather. And she counted her blessings that he had left her a good amount in his will, and what remained of his savings.

She only hoped that this brief didn't come in pairs. And she couldn't help but think of Tom now she was truly alone, running the post office by herself, her loneliness only exacerbated by the fact she only had herself to make a brew for in the morning now. She has the most vivid nightmares about the day someone would come and break the news that he wouldn't come back.

Then, one crisp morning, as she stood behind the counter, sorting the latest batch of letters, the door to the post office swung open with a familiar chime. She looked up, her breath catching in her throat as Tom Bennett stepped inside, dressed in his navy uniform, looking weary but very much alive.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The weight of all the months of worry and hope melted away as he crossed the room, a tired but genuine smile spreading across his face.

“I told you I’d come back,” he said softly, his voice carrying the same mix of cheekiness and sincerity that she had missed so dearly.

For a moment, she stood frozen, unable to believe her eyes. Then, in a rush of emotion, she ran around the counter and threw herself into his arms. As she hugged him tightly, the dam of her emotions broke and she began to sob uncontrollably. He smelled of cigarettes and the sea, a mix of salt and smoke that was uniquely him. The scent brought a rush of memories and emotions, grounding her in the reality of his presence. His uniform carried the faint tang of saltwater, a reminder of the long months he had spent away from her, battling the elements and the enemy.

Tom hugged her back, a bit confused by the intensity of her reaction. “Hey now, what’s all this? I’m back, aren’t I? In one piece and everything.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching him even tighter. “You look terrible in that uniform,” she said, her voice shaky but filled with affection.

Tom chuckled, a familiar warm feeling pooling in her gut, rubbing her back soothingly. “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t join the navy for the fashion. Besides, I was hoping you’d be so happy to see me that you wouldn’t notice.”

She wiped her cheek, feeling like air was finally making its way into her lungs. “Y-You didn’t write me back. I thought I'd lost you too.”

“I’m sorry, love. I never meant to leave you in the dark. It was just complicated out there, I–”, Tom furrowed his brows, his head cocking down at her slightly. “Too? I—”

He only had to look around. It was never usually this quiet. And she saw the realisation dawn across his war-hardened face when he spotted the framed picture of Granda on the counter.

“Oh, no,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “When?”

“A few months ago,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “Stroke. The tobacco must have caught up with him.”

Tom’s expression softened, and he pulled her into a tighter embrace. “I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered, resting his cheek on her head, “you're more a soldier, doing all this on your own.”

She held onto him, his presence like a balm for her aching heart, growing stronger every day around the pit that was grief. “I didn't feel very strong.”

Tom didn't reply. He hadn't felt very strong himself either. And she knew from the way his large hand rubbed her back to comfort her, that there was more to his easy-going facade than he wanted to let on. And he knew for her equally, that the months were tough on her own, and that she was still healing.

“Missed you so much,” she confessed, pulling away slightly to look up at his half-worried expression, “it felt like I was losing both of you at the same time.”

Tom sighed, a light, almost pretty sound from his lips, his gaze drifting down slightly to her lips, as if he were just remembering all the details he didn't want to admit he'd forgotten all those months at sea.

“Don't cry.” His thumb lingered, swiping away a tear from her under eye, before he lightened the atmosphere with his smile, “I'd prefer to see you blush again. Suits you better.”

She couldn't help a smile breaking across her face, and the warmth that crept up her neck made her feel like a schoolgirl.

Tom winked. “There it is.”

Before she could respond, he leaned down and kissed her, softly at first, as if testing the waters. Her hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his uniform as she kissed him back, the warmth of his lips against hers sending a shiver down her spine.

She pulled back slightly, a playful protest on her lips. “Tom, we’re still open…”

He gave her a devilish smile, turning around to flip the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ and locking it with a swift motion. “Not anymore, we’re not.”

He wasted no time, pulling her back into his arms, his lips growing more insistent and passionate. His hands roamed her back, finding the familiar curves and contours he had missed so much, but had no time to explore before he’d left. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with desire.

She felt her own longing mirror his, her body responding eagerly to his touch. “Show me,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin.

Tom’s grin turned wicked as he trailed kisses down her neck, his hands exploring with newfound urgency. “I've been dreaming about this,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and tantalising. “Every fucking night.”

She laughed softly, feeling a delightful mix of anticipation and excitement. “Tom Bennett, you are impossible.”

He gave no reply, his fingers already working on the buttons of her blouse. His movements were deft, practised, as if he had imagined this moment a thousand times over. She gasped as his hands brushed her skin, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

His lips found hers again, their kiss deepening as he pulled her blouse free, letting it fall to the floor. “Yeah, but I knew you’d come around,” he said with a cheeky grin, his hands sliding to her waist and pulling her closer.

Their kisses grew hungrier, their bodies pressing together with an urgency that had been building for months. She reached for the buttons on his uniform, her fingers trembling slightly in anticipation as she worked to free him from the fabric. He shrugged off his jacket and pulled her into his arms again, his hands caressing her bare skin and breasts through her brassiere, sending waves of heat through her.

She sighed, her head falling back as his lips trailed down her neck, his kisses leaving a path of fire in their wake. “Tom,” she breathed, her hands clutching at him, needing more.

“I know, love,” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm. “I know.”

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the small sofa in the back of the post office where she sometimes took breaks. Gently, he laid her down, his eyes never leaving hers. Their movements became a dance of passion and longing, each touch, each kiss, a testament to the months they had been apart. Tom’s hands explored her with a reverence that made her feel cherished, loved.

As if by muscle memory from those dreams he would write about, his knee slid between her thighs as his hands roughly bunched up her skirt to her hips, two fingers tucking between them to tease her bud through her knickers.

“Tom,” she gasped, her body arching against his.

“Shh,” he soothed, his lips capturing hers once more. “I’ve got you.”

She was enraptured by the way he nipped at her lips, that she only realised he had pulled the gusset of her underwear aside when he gently, but insistently, pushed two fingers inside her, crooking upwards and finding that rough, sweet spot with unyielding precision.

He swallowed every sound she made, every now and then a grunt of approval slipping past his own lips as he stretched her open on his fingers, his pace teasing. Her fingernails left crescent moon shaped welts in his now bare shoulders, the muscles tensing beneath them.

Tom hummed against her lips, pleased with himself. “Not so shy now, are you?”

His teeth slid across her neck, no doubt marks left behind, but she couldn't even focus on that with the way he was insistent on teasing that wild spot inside her that made her body feel like white, fluttery flames.

“I've missed your reactions…especially this one.”

His thumb joined in his ministrations, applying gentle but firm pressure to her bundle of nerves in tandem with his fingers plunging in and out of her wet heat. And if her face hadn't been buried in his shoulder, she would have cried out, embarrassed at the sounds she and her body was making. Tom however, seemed to revel in it, his hand soaked with her arousal as she teetered on the edge.

The tightness in her gut spiralled as she clutched him tighter, her body aching pleasantly with the force of her peak rushing through her, all while Tom grinned and didn't falter, as if to watch her linger on that border of pain and pleasure.

Before she had even fully come down, his fingers were gone and she felt she was able to fully breathe again. Her flushed expression snapped open to him as he pulled her thighs towards him, on the sofa, and watched as he righted himself and slid his belt through the loops of his trousers, a sound that made her belly flutter.

He raised his eyebrows, pulling his trousers low enough to free himself and leaned over her again. “Missed me that much?”

She laughed, and hid her face, the dull ache still thrumming through her body ignited again as the head of is cock parted her folds and nudged her bud. “Tom-”

Warmth crept to her face again when his hand turned her face towards him again, his pupils near eclipsing the blue with want as he sheathed himself within her, holding her there to watch her expression as her walls stretched to accommodate him.

In any other scenario, she would want to slap that self-impressed look off his face, but not now, not when it felt this good.

His eyebrows barely furrowed, struggling to keep his composure. “Christ, you're so fucking tight—”

His words shot straight to her core, clenching around him and eyes slipping shut as he began a tortuous pace, like he hadn't gotten to this part in his dreams before. His arms wrapped around her like choking ivy, pushing her body to his with every needy thrust, his breath hot against her neck and the metal of his identification tag cold against her chest.

For a few brief moments, the world outside the post office ceased to exist. There were only the two of them, reconnecting in a way that was both familiar and new. Tom's cheeky comments and playful touches had yielded to blend seamlessly with his genuine affection, creating a moment that was perfect in all its imperfections.

She can feel his hips growing tired the closer he gets, and if she is being truthful, the cooling sensation of the buckle of his belt and the friction it gives her is only flinging her to the edge right alongside him. And when he breathes her name all shaky and low like that, she can't help herself, and she lets go again with a choked cry, the second sneaking up on her so quickly it feels like she never really recovered from the first.

With a stuttered groan, mirrored by his own hips, he crushes her in his arms and pushes forward as hard as he can, burying himself as deep as he's able as he comes hard nestled in her silky walls. She held him on top of her, his weight a comforting reminder that he was real, that he was here. Her fingers gently traced the contours of his back, feeling the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his breath.

Her heart was still racing, but not just from their shared passion. It was the sheer relief, the overwhelming sense of having him back in her arms after so long. Every night of worry, every day of longing, all melted away in this moment.

She buried her face in his hair, inhaling the familiar scent of him, mixed with the faint hint of the sea. Tears of relief welled up in her eyes, but this time they were tears of joy, of profound gratitude. And she wanted to say so much, but whenever she tried, her throat closed up, not wanting to interrupt this quiet, loving slice of peace in her arms. For the first time in months, she felt whole again.

When he finally pulls back, breathless and flushed, Tom rests his forehead against hers, his eyes filled with love and mischief, her his voice low and intimate. He means to say so much more. The depth of his feelings, the fears, and the nights he had spent longing for her, it all threatened to spill out, leaving him vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. She saw it, though, in the way his eyes darkened with emotion, the unspoken words lingering just beneath the surface.

“I think we might need to close early more often.”

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avis-writeshq · 1 year ago

Text

03 — labyrinth

summary: “uh oh, i’m falling in love”/“thought the plane was going down, how’d you turn it right around?” pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, slow burn, mutual pining warnings: drug usage & addiction, talks about relapsing, therapy, tobias hankel, talks about weight (not reader’s), panic attack/night terrors wc: 3.8k a/n: as always, special mention to @astrophileous for beta-reading SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

“Are you okay?” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you gently lay a hand on Spencer’s forearm. You offer a soft squeeze of reassurance, your gaze meeting his.

He nods dismissively, averting his eyes but not shrugging your hand away. His tone is cold as he responds, “I’m fine.”

You know better than to believe him. Ever since his kidnapping a few short weeks ago, he’s been acting strangely. His eyes are sunken, bloodshot most of the time, with dark bags beneath them. He’s lost weight, not that he wasn’t already skinny to begin with, but he’s thinner than usual. He gets distracted more easily, he doesn’t spout out about random facts or statistics, and he’s now almost always irritated about something.

He’s been spending more and more time at your apartment, not that you don’t blame him. The two of you would spend your mornings at the dining table, eating half-stale cereal and sipping coffee from the premium machine you splurged on a couple years ago. The closeness is nice, and at times it feels a little too domestic to be platonic, but you’ve learned to control yourself around him.

You open your mouth to say something else (you’re mainly hoping to call him out on his behaviour), but he moves his other hand on top of yours, lightly pressing your fingers. Your mouth goes dry and your cheeks flush at the contact, effectively making you go quiet. He glances at you, his face softening and for a moment you could have sworn you saw the ‘old Reid’ resurface.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear, his voice wavering with each syllable. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Even before you were a profiler, you prided in being able to read people well. Spencer is no exception to this; he’s always been easy to read, and his tells are only obvious to the trained eye. In other words, in your long five years of knowing him, you could smell his lies from a mile away. You don’t comment on it, just allowing yourself to bask in the comfort of his touch and the warmth he exudes.

The two of you head off to work minutes later, climbing into your car with you in the driver’s seat. He holds your hand the entire time.

***

Spencer thinks he’s going to throw up. The moment he gets onto the plane, he thinks he’s going to hurl. He locks himself into the bathroom, fumbling with the little vials of clear liquid in his satchel. He doesn’t know how long he can keep this a secret for– he’s always been a bad liar– especially from a team of profilers. He gathers that they probably already know.

His vision blurs and his head grows foggy as soon as he feels the liquid enter his bloodstream. He squeezes his eyes tightly, relishing in the artificial feel of serenity when there’s a knock on the door.

“Uh… Spencer?”

Fuck, he wants to scream as he scrambles to put everything back in his bag. Not you. Anybody but you.

“In– in a minute,” he responds hurriedly, flushed and woozy from his high. He feels nauseous again and he wonders if he should actually just throw up to make the story more believable.

“Um, okay? I was a little worried; you’ve been in there for a while. Did you need anything?” You ask again through the door as quietly as possible, glancing at where the team were sitting. “Water? Tea?”

He swings the door open, and his voice is a lot harsher than he expected it to be. “I’m fine.”

He almost misses the way you step back uncertainly, and the way your fingers twitch at your side. Almost. He knows you don’t believe him. He knows that you know him better than anyone and at times it scares him. He feels like Pandora’s Box and it’s only a matter of time before you release the demons within him. His heart lurches as he watches the way your face falls into confusion and hurt– hurt that he is responsible for.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, softer now. “Just– just tired.”

He watches as you pause and give him a once over. His breath hitches in his throat as he feels your eyes over every inch of him, and for a second he feels incredibly exposed.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” You say slowly, cautiously, and you reach a hand out to gently graze against his forearm. “I’m here for you.”

The contact is enough to get him to calm down, and his shoulders visibly relax and his eyes close for a moment. He nods, looking at you with a softness he didn’t even know he could muster.

“I know,” he responds, touching his fingers to yours. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” you respond with a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You pause for a moment before nodding towards the seats of the plane.

Spencer follows you there, sitting beside you and as he relishes in your warmth and, in your company, he doesn’t feel quite as lost. The nausea begins to dissipate and he suddenly feels a lot lighter– and it’s not because of the drugs. This is different, a better different. A different he could get used to. The pressure from the plane doesn’t seem to affect him as much anymore, and his ears are no longer ringing.

He leans into your touch, his head pressed against your shoulder and his eyes begin to close. He feels your fingers gingerly hold his own, squeezing lightly in an effort to help him relax. It works. It always works. He feels the way your thumb grazes against the back of his hand and he feels both full of air and breathless at the same time.

“You okay?” You ask into his hair, continuing to rub your thumb back and forth against his hand.

He nods, not being able to bring himself to speak. He’s tired, so unbelievably tired, and he thinks that if he speaks he’ll begin to cry. He doesn’t realise that his grip on your hand has tightened.

“I’m not going to leave you.” He hears you whisper, squeezing his hand back.

He only brings himself to nod again, trying desperately to ignore the way his heart flutters in his chest. Uh oh. He’s falling in love.

***

Spencer knocks on your door at half past two in the morning, eyes bloodshot and feeling as if he was suffocating. He doesn’t want to be alone. At least, he doesn’t right now. He would usually enjoy the feeling of solace, considering that it was unlikely he would be able to experience those moments, but lately it feels as though he is lost inside of his own mind. He misses the moments where his head would swirl with unnecessary statistics, or random animal facts that he knows you adore. Now, the only thing stuck in his mind is the rush of the high– and the plummeting feeling of the low.

He holds a breath as he watches your feet come to a stop at the door before the doorknob jiggles and opens. His eyes hesitantly meet yours and he swallows thickly.

“Can I come in?” He asks, the words barely a whisper.

“Yeah,” comes your response, and you open the door a little wider. “Yeah, Spence, of course.”

He watches as you boil water and prepare two cups of tea– one chamomile and the other peppermint. He sits on the couch, fiddling with his fingers and his eyes darting around nervously.

“Spencer.”

Your voice echoes through the room, and suddenly he feels very grounded. He forces his eyes to meet yours and he feels himself stop breathing. Have you always been this beautiful?

“You haven’t been yourself lately,” you say, setting down the cup of peppermint tea in front of him. “Talk to me.”

He laughs humourlessly, sipping at the scalding tea and he grimaces at the burning sensation. “You sound like a therapist.”

“I studied as one,” you counter, dipping your teabag up and down in the cup. “The others… they can’t say anything. But I’m leaving the BAU soon, so I’m technically allowed to ask you this without any federal obligations.”

“I don’t know–” he begins to deny, but stops short at the way you give him a warning look.

“You’re high right now, aren’t you? And you were on the plane.” Your tone isn’t accusatory, but he expects it from the words that leave your lips. Your gaze softens as you continue. “It’s because of him, isn’t it?”

He flinches and he knows there’s no way out of it. “I tried.”

“I know.”

“I just– I can’t and I want to and I wish that I was… that I was stronger.”

“You are strong.”

He shakes his head. “I should be able to get over this. Get over everything he did to me.”

“Spencer, you were kidnapped and drugged and then you came back to the BAU like nothing even happened.” You pause and lick your bottom lip. “No one is expecting you to get over it, especially not this quickly.”

He doesn’t respond, a strange sense of deja vu filling him at your words and he sits rigid on the couch with his hands in his lap. His eyes don’t leave your face, his gaze shifting from your eyes to the curvature of your nose and then to your lips. For a split second, he wonders how they would feel against his, or how they’d feel against his neck. His head goes heavy at the thought and he pushes them away.

You don’t seem to notice where his eyes have settled, or you’re very good at acting as if he isn’t staring at your face because you continue to speak. “Well,” you say slowly, putting the cup of tea onto the table, “it’s a good thing I’m leaving the BAU then, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know if I can do this job without you,” he confesses, shifting his eyes downcast as he stares into his tea.

You laugh a little, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “You act as if I’m dying or something.”

“I’m serious,” he presses, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I want to be happy for you. And I am! But at the same time I feel– I feel so selfish for wanting you to stay.”

He feels you sit beside him and he instinctively leans into your touch, burying his face into the space between your neck and shoulder.

“It’s not your fault, Spence,” you whisper, rubbing comforting circles on his back. “And I’m always going to be there for you. Promise me you’ll remember that?”

He nods deftly into your neck, breathing in the smell of your perfume.

“Spencer.”

“Promise,” he mumbles, an arm wrapped around your waist. “I know. I promise.”

You hum in acknowledgement. “Good.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, but for once it’s no longer the uncomfortable silence you were tormented with back home. You could feel everything from his hot breath on your neck to the way his fingers squeeze your sides as if you’d disappear if he held you any looser.

“We still need to talk about this whole issue at some point though. You know that, right?” You murmur into his hair.

“I know.”

“We don’t have to talk about it now.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to stay over?”

“… please.”

***

It has been two weeks since you finished up at the BAU and started work at a clinic, working as a children’s therapist. It’s been a good change of pace for you; a lot slower and much more routinely. The hours are a million times better, and you find that you’re able to get home before seven on most days. The amount of free time that’s been handed to you is something to get used to, now that it’s no longer filled with completing paperwork or getting onto a plane.

Despite all the positives, it feels strange not seeing your former team everyday. It feels strange not being able to see Penelope’s brightly coloured outfits, or Derek’s dumb jokes. You missed Emily’s sarcasm and JJ’s stories about Henry, and you missed seeing Hotch’s rare smiles whenever he sees someone in his team succeeding. A lot of the time you find yourself craving Rossi’s famous pastas accompanied with special wine. But most of all, you miss seeing Spencer in his element every single day.

He’s been doing better, or so he says. He’s been going to self-help groups and you’ve been sending him summaries of help books written by former addicts. It seems to have helped because he’s been acting more and more like Spencer Reid than a weird limbo version of him. He still spends a lot of time at your place, sleeping on your couch despite your constant protests. He ends up taking turns with you after you bribed him with multiple chocolate donuts.

Although he insists that he’s been doing better, his constant night terrors say otherwise and more often than not you find him sweating and sobbing in his sleep. Today is no different.

“Spencer,” You whisper, shaking his shoulder firmly. “Spence!”

He jolts awake, sitting up so quickly he almost knocks his forehead with yours. He groans, his fingers flying to his eyes as he rubs them. Fresh tears slip past his closed eyes, spilling down his cheeks and you pull him into your arms.

“You’re okay, I got you,” you murmur, rubbing soothing circles against his shoulder blade as he sobs.

He keeps repeating the words “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t want it” as he sobs against your shoulder, clutching your shirt in the palms of his hands.

“Breathe in,” you guide gently, running your free hand through his hair, “breathe deep… breathe out…”

He takes in a shaky breath before exhaling through sobs but he continues to follow your guide. He wraps around you tightly, taking deep breaths in before releasing them. After a few minutes of steady breathing, he finally speaks.

“I relapsed yesterday.”

He expects you to push him off and start screaming. He expects you to start yelling at him for not being able to control himself and for wasting all his progress. He reckons he deserves it. But you don’t do any of those things.

“That’s okay,” you respond, squeezing his hand. “Have you talked to Meredith about it?”

Meredith Gray is a therapist you introduced Spencer to. She’s a good friend of yours and specialises in addictions as well as post traumatic stress disorder, and she even wrote her final thesis about it. Even though you work in different fields, the jobs cross over a lot when there’s speculation that a parent could be sick. After explaining the situation to her, Meredith was more than willing to take Spencer as a client.

Spencer shakes his head, the guilt creeping into his chest and lacing his words. “No… I have an appointment with her tomorrow though.”

“Okay, good,” you nod, continuing to rub soothing circles on his back. “Relapsing is normal. It’s just another step to healing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

“But–”

“It’s normal,” you repeat firmly. “You acknowledged it, and you told me. That’s good, Spence, better than most people.”

He’s quiet, his nose brushing against the soft skin of your neck before he speaks again. “Did you know I’m scared of elevators?”

You can’t help but laugh at the change of conversation and you squeeze his hand. “No, I didn’t.”

“Morgan and I got caught in one the other day. On a case,” he muses. “On average, elevators are inspected once or twice a year, but some could go up to three years without inspection. There are approximately ten thousand elevator related injuries per year, and twenty seven deaths.”

“Now I’m never going into an elevator again,” you respond with jest, poking his cheek. “It’s late. Take the bed, Walter.”

He huffs. “It’s your turn.”

“You need it more than me.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“I never said that you are.”

“(Y/N).”

You give him a pointed look. “Spencer.”

He stares at you for a moment, holding your gaze before he swallows and looks away. You watch the way his Adam Apple bobs in his throat and you suddenly feel faint.

“Take the bed, Walter,” you repeat, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Please?”

He says your name again, and he reaches up to rest his fingers against the collar of your pyjamas. Your breath hitches and you can’t help the way your cheeks grow warm and your head starts to spin. His touch is gentle, his fingers brushing against the skin of your shoulder. You resist the urge to shudder as you relish his skin against yours.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, pleading, and his eyes glance from your collar to your eyes.

“You hate sharing beds,” you remind him.

His thumb grazes against your jaw and his face is so close to yours you could count his eyelashes. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that he was going to kiss you. But you do know better, so you avert your gaze and push the thoughts out of your mind. An indescribable look flickers on his face but it is gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“It’s okay if it’s you,” he says earnestly, and you find yourself agreeing because how could you say ‘no’ to that?

You climb into bed, one leg outside of the covers because everything felt so warm, especially with his arm wrapped around your middle and his breath against your shoulder. The thin line between platonic and romantic love has blurred indefinitely now, and at times like these you feel as if it has disappeared entirely. Guilt creeps into your veins as you feel him bring you closer to him, his nose buried into your shoulder. Is this considered coercing? He’s in the middle of healing, working towards sobriety, and here you are taking advantage of his vulnerability. Well, technically you’re not ‘taking advantage’ of him if he seeks you out first but it still feels inherently wrong. Morally wrong, maybe.

It takes you another thirty minutes to fall asleep, your head rushing with thoughts and questions as you do. He’s gone when you wake up in the morning.

***

“Someone is looking happy,” Derek comments with a teasing grin, slinking an arm around Spencer’s neck.

It has been about a week since the ‘sleep in the same bed’ incident and he was promptly whisked away to a case in Nevada. He felt guilty about the whole ordeal, considering he wasn’t in his right state of mind at the time. It still made him feel like a sleazy college student who had a one night stand with some random person and then bolted (even though there was no contact of that sort that night). Despite his initial guilt, his head is spinning with the sheer peace and comfort that he experienced when he was sleeping in the same bed as someone. And that someone was you! He could barely even believe it. It all felt so right and perfect… and the way you would shuffle closer at times… it was enough to get his heart racing (he thinks that it’s terribly cliche and horribly cringe-worthy, but therapy has told him that he needs to ‘embrace’ his gross sappy feelings).

“What? No– I mean yes but–” Spencer coughs in response to Derek’s teasing, clutching the strap of his shoulder bag.

Derek cackles at his fumbling, grinning ear to ear. “Alright, so… is it a girl?”

“What?!” He shrieks, his voice raising by two octaves as he does. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Oh so there is a girl,” Emily joins in with a smirk.

“There is– there is no girl,” he responds briskly, his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Derek hums in thought, a mischievous look in his eye. “Did you catch up with Lila again?”

“No!” Spencer bristles at the thought. Ever since he almost destroyed his friendship with you over her, he hasn’t even bothered to give her a call. “I haven’t seen her since her since– since her case.”

“What about that girl you picked up at a bar?” Emily offers with a sly laugh. “What’s her name again?”

“Austin,” Spencer recalls instantly, his cheeks flaring up again as soon as she says her name. “B-but I haven’t spoken to her either!”

JJ rounds the corner, all too happy to join in the fun (much to Spencer’s chagrin). “I bet it’s (Y/N),” she says with a knowing smirk.

Spencer considers his brain to be a well oiled machine of facts and logic. It’s one of the only things he could rely on– and the only thing people seem to respect him for. As of late, his ‘well oiled machine’ hasn’t been functioning as well as he would have liked, but that doesn’t mean it’s not functioning at almost full capacity. But JJ’s comment, no matter how well functioning his brain was, rendered him speechless.

“Looks like you hit the nail on the head, JJ,” Derek cackles, clapping Spencer’s shoulder.

He lets out a small grunt at the contact, almost stumbling over his feet before he catches himself. “There is nothing going on between (Y/N) and I. We’re just friends.” The words taste bitter on his tongue and he resists the urge to cringe.

“Sure,” Emily says with a short laugh. “Totally believe you. How long did it take for you to realise you’re in love with her?”

JJ snickers along. “Yeah, before or after you had that make out session with Lila?”

Spencer groans at their relentless teasing, covering his face with his hands as they walk along to the bullpen. They’re definitely a lot calmer once they enter their official place of work, but it still doesn’t stop the way they poke fun at him through sly smiles and tasteful words.

“There’s nothing going on between us,” Spencer reiterates with a frown. “She knows just how difficult this job is; she doesn’t deserve to have to deal with it again.”

“Isn’t she the one who’s supposed to decide that?” Emily asks gently, no more teasing in her tone. She’s always been good at giving advice.

He pauses at that, a frown etched upon his features. His mind rushes with memories; the constant leaving, the torture, the trauma, the drugs… his fingers run through his hair.

“It’s not a good time right now,” he explains softly.

“When will it ever?”

He doesn’t meet her gaze.“I don’t know.”

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joelsprettyprincess · 1 month ago

Text

Run, Rabbit, Run

Pairing: low honor!Arthur Morgan x f!virgin!reader Summary: Arthur Morgan has done countless things for you. He decides that you owe him a big, fat favor. Tags: dub-con smut (reader is coaxed into sex), age gap (early 20s/mid-thirties), slight manipulation, oral sex, unprotected piv, dirty talk, pet names, slight daddy kink, corruption kink, loss of virginity, aftercare Wordcount: 4.2k A/N: I know I'm supposed to be working on my stalker Joel fic but I just had to get this out, Arthur is such a cutie pie I couldn't resist. All constructive criticism is appreciated and once again MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! Also @thoughts-of-bear I know you wanted to be tagged so here you go 🩷

"C'mere, baby. You see it?"

Arthur beckoned you closer to him. The two of you were hunched in the grass, hunting a particularly nimble deer.

You crawled over to his broad, muscular form. He was pointing to where the deer was loitering and looking around.

You and Arthur had been trailing this deer for a while now; it was healthy and big, and would make good food for the gang. But every time one of you got too close, it skittered away.

Hunting this deer was important to you. Ever since the Van Der Linde gang had taken you in, 6 months ago, you were desperate to prove your worth.

Arthur Morgan had saved your life on that fateful day. A couple of crazed thieves had ambushed you and your father on the way to a town near your run-down cottage. They'd demanded all your goods and your father refused, instead drawing his gun. A shootout occurred, leading to your father being killed– struck in the chest with a bullet.

The only reason you escaped with your life was because Arthur and Micah had happened to be in the same area. Hearing your screams for help, they'd ridden down the hill and saw the thieves handling you roughly, stripping you of your belongings as your father bled out just a few feet away.

Two more shots rang out, one from each of your saviors, and the men went down quickly.

"You alright, miss?" Arthur asked, though of course at the time you didn't know his name.

"I- no, my- please," you blubbered incoherently, gesturing at your father.

They went over to him, but he was already gone. The bullet had killed him instantly.

Micah and Arthur stayed in town for several days. They helped you report his body so he could get a proper funeral and possibly justice by the law. After the service, Arthur took you back to the bare cottage you had called home since your childhood.

You stood on the porch, profusely thanking him for everything he had done. "I really can't thank you enough," you said. "If it weren't for y'all, I'd be a goner..."

"'S no trouble," Arthur assured you. He put his black hat back on his head. "Anything else you need? Food, drink?"

"No, you've done so much already," you sighed. "Thank you. I really mean it."

He nodded. "I'm glad we could help. But if you don't need anythin' else, I'll be on my way."

"Alright. Thank you, Mr. Morgan!"

You watched him walk towards his horse, then turned back to your doorstep.

You put your hand on the doorknob, and immediately jerked it away. The knob felt cold to the touch, despite it being late spring.

You discovered that you couldn't open the door. Not that it was locked— you physically couldn't open it. Your hand wouldn't turn.

Looking back, you saw Arthur loading his horse's satchel.

A lump formed in your throat. You swallowed it away, and tried to will yourself to open the door, to no avail.

You stood there for a second, then made a split decision.

Turning around, you ran back onto the road where Arthur was just starting to leave.

"Arthur!" you called, running as fast as you could in your dress. "Mr. Morgan, wait!"

Arthur looked back and saw you clutching your skirts. He slowed his horse and turned around, trotting back.

"Need somethin'?" he asked.

You hesitated, then nodded. "I...I want to come with you."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"To your...group. I want to join...if that's okay with you?"

Arthur got a funny look on his face. "I...uh– look, darlin'," he began awkwardly. "That's not a good idea. I haven't been completely honest with you. Our group is more like a gang."

"A gang?" you asked confusedly. All he had told you was that he and Micah were part of a group that traveled all around the country.

He scratched his neck. "We do things that are...not quite legal."

What? "Wait, so you're...a criminal?"

He nodded.

You stood there, thinking. "So have you...never mind. Um...I still want to join."

This time both his brows shot up. "Really? Do you understand what you're askin', young lady?"

"Please, Mr. Morgan. I can't go back there...I can't go live in that house if my father isn't there with me. I don't have anything left 'cept my horse. Please let me come with you."

He sat on his saddle, thinking. Finally he muttered, "Fine. But it's not up to me. I'll take you up to the camp and you can ask Dutch."

You smiled and almost giggled when he said that. The prospect of experiencing a totally different life appealed to you as a way to heal from what had happened.

Arthur sighed. "Alright. Get on your horse, darlin'."

And the rest was history. Dutch allowed you to stay, with Arthur as your unofficial guardian.

He had to teach you almost everything. You'd worked as a bargirl since you became an adult, so the only thing you were really skilled at was putting drunkards out on their asses.

Well, that, and gardening. You loved to forage for herbs to use in recipes and medicine.

But everyone had to contribute. Arthur taught you how to shoot a gun first. You'd only ever shot your father's pistol a few times. He felt it wasn't appropriate for a lady to own a firearm, so you had never learned.

You and Arthur spent days just shooting at random things, working on your aim and grip. It had been a learning curve but eventually you mastered the basics.

He also showed you the ways of the gang. Most of the women took part in thievery and spying, not actual fighting. So you learned that, with Tilly serving as your guide.

And of course you were learning to hunt. Setting a trap was something you already knew, but it was slow and not as reliable as a proper weapon.

That was why the two of you had been trailing this particular deer for so long. You were determined to bring something to Pearson.

"We may have to try an' hit it from here," Arthur whispered. "Seems like it senses us from so far away."

You nodded and very slowly unsheathed your bow and arrow. This was your preferred weapon; it was whisper quiet and smooth.

Lining up the shot, you pointed the arrow straight at the deer's chest, breathing lightly.

"Easy," Arthur whispered. He was beside you, his breath ghosting over your ear. "Take your time."

You waited a second, then released the arrow. It sailed through the air, going straight towards the deer. It looked up at the last second, and by then it was too late. The arrow struck and the deer fell.

You gasped. "I did it! Finally!"

Both of you stood up. You skipped through the grassy turf to observe your kill, ecstatic at finally landing a clear shot.

It was a really good one. The arrow had struck almost dead center, ensuring the deer suffered for no more than a few seconds.

"You did good, sweetheart," Arthur praised you. "I'm proud."

You smiled and blushed at his approval. "Thanks," you said. "It was really you. If you hadn't taught me I would still be shit with a bow."

He chuckled. "I'm flattered, but that was all you, baby. You've learned so much." He paused. "But you know what, I have been a big help, haven't I? You owe me a few favors, don't you?" He laughed loudly.

You laughed as well. "Probably, but I dunno how I'd pay you back. There's nothing you can't do for yourself."

He shrugged, grinning. "I can think of a couple things. I'll figure somethin' out."

You chuckled again, assuming he was joking.

The two of you stowed the deer onto the back of Arthur's horse.

"Listen, sweetheart," Arthur started, leaning against his horse. "It's getting a bit later in the day and the camp is quite a ride from here. Whaddya say we set up camp right here and set out in the mornin'?"

You looked up. The sun was well past its peak by now, and there were golden orange and pink hues in the horizon.

"Plus you'll get a break from all the jabberin' from everyone," he added, chuckling.

"That sounds great," you agreed. You had camped with Arthur a few times before. He was a good partner to have.

"Shit's settled then," he grunted. "Let's ride down to that creek to wash up, then we can start a fire somewhere." Arthur helped you onto your horse and patted your leg before getting on his own.

You spurred your horse, Desdemona, into action, and she set off behind Arthur's horse.

There was a deep creek (or maybe it was a shallow river?) a few minutes away, where you and Arthur scrubbed the blood and dirt off your arms while the horses drank.

You glanced at Arthur and saw that he was looking at your arms. "What?" you asked.

He shook his head. "Nothin'. Yer hands, they're just so...delicate."

You had never noticed before, but now you could see that compared to Arthur's large grizzled hands, you were really soft– not just physically but mentally.

"It's 'cause I'm useless," you joked. "Just like Pearson said."

He looked sharply. "Pearson said what?"

"Oh– nothing, just...well, it's nothing," you muttered.

"Tell me what he said," Arthur said firmly.

You hesitated, not wanting to be a snitch. "Well, he just said that I don't really contribute much...but I mean, he's right! I don't do much. That's why I wanted to hunt today."

Arthur didn't say anything for a bit, then he said in a low voice, "I'll have a talk with him."

You felt bad. "You don't have to."

He didn't answer, and instead stood up. "You ready?"

You stood as well, finishing drying your hands on your cloth. "Yup."

Arthur got back on his horse and continued down the trail, with you following closely behind. Within a few minutes, he located a bit of flat dry land on which to set up camp.

The horses were hitched to a nearby tree and given their supper. You worked on lighting a fire while Arthur refilled your water containers.

Both of you had lunches packed, fortunately. Arthur said he wanted to leave the deer untouched until you got back to camp.

You sat on the grass and ate your sandwich. Arthur shared some of his jerky with you. He also offered you a sip of alcohol, which you accepted and almost immediately spit out.

The two of you spent some time at the fire, eating and looking at the slowly advancing sunset.

Without looking at you, Arthur took your hand in his and gently rubbed your knuckles.

You didn't think too much of it. He'd held your hand before and said it didn't mean anything, it was just a sign of your companionship.

Arthur was strange sometimes, you thought. Here he was appreciating a sunset, when just last week he'd stumbled into camp covered in blood– and only some of it was his.

You knew the reality of life in the Van Der Linde gang. The men made no attempt to hide their actions from you, least of all Arthur. In fact, you sometimes wondered if he sought out violence on purpose. The looks he gave you when came back from a long day of lawbreaking were...interesting, to say the least. Like a wolf observing a clueless rabbit.

But on the other hand, he was a man of hidden beauty. You'd found his journal soon after you arrived, and in the 10 seconds before he snatched it away, you read the words written in neat cursive and surprisingly good sketches.

He also sometimes went foraging with you, and seemed just as interested in the herbs as you were.

As for the handholding, you didn't know how to feel about it. He only did it when the others weren't around, and you knew it usually had romantic notions. But you knew it could have friendly notions as well.

Arthur Morgan was complicated, that was for sure. He made your thoughts jumble and your face heat up as you tried to piece together his psyche. He was handsome for sure, way more good-looking than anyone else in camp.

Still, though, you didn't think it was appropriate to explore those feelings. It was...weird. He was quite a bit older than you, after all, and your relationship was more of a teacher-student one.

Well, whatever your feelings were, you were certain he knew not to encourage them.

Deep down, he was a good man.

You had been watching the sunset for a few minutes when Arthur spoke in a low voice.

"Sweetheart, I've been thinkin'."

"Mhm?" you asked.

"About how you can repay me."

"Oh? I thought you were joking," you giggled.

He chuckled, then cleared his throat. "Well, I've done so much for you, I feel like you should do somethin' for me, yeah?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," you replied. "What do you want? Money?"

"Not quite." Arthur took your hand, still encased in his, and placed it between his thighs.

You felt something stiff but pliable pressing against your palm. "O-Oh," you said, heart pounding.

"It's the least you could do," he said. "Are you...have you done this before?"

"...Yes," you whispered. "Twice. But...I don't..."

Arthur used his other hand to unbuckle his pants and pull them down a bit. He moved your hand to rest on his boxers.

"Arthur, I–"

"You owe me," he said. "All the times I covered your ass. Not to mention I saved your life."

Your pulse was quickening rapidly. You were getting a bit scared at his change of tone. "I don't think this is...appropriate," you spoke carefully.

"Why not? We're both adults," he said flippantly.

"I just–"

"You can't do this one little thing for me, babydoll?" he asked. "It's not a big deal."

You stayed silent and thought about what to do. The only sound was the trees rustling.

Arthur slipped your fingers underneath his boxers. Your fingertips pressed against his groin.

You gasped and inadvertently jerked.

Immediately, he was calming you. "Shh, s'okay, don't panic, baby. Just let it happen..."

You remained still as Arthur pulled down his boxers and let his half-hard cock spring out.

Your breath quickened. You weren't that experienced, but even you could tell he was big. It was just a bit longer than your hand length, and the girth looked almost scary.

Arthur could tell you were nervous. "Hey, it's okay, babydoll. Look at me."

You met his gaze. His normally bluish-green eyes had darkened.

"Is...is this...normal?" you asked confusedly. "I thought..." You trailed off uncertainly.

"Thought what, darlin'?" he prompted.

"I dunno. It feels weird..." You couldn't explain it.

"This is very normal, I promise you. Yer daddy tell you about what married folks do?"

"Not really," you admitted. "But I know some things. And...I did a little."

"Well then, you know how good it feels. 'S nothing to be afraid of. I'll be gentle, I promise. We don't even have to go all the way."

He placed your hand on his fat shaft and left it here. "Just use your hand, baby. Up and down."

You started off uncertain at first, giving tiny strokes, then Arthur intervened and showed you just how he liked it: a nice, fast stroke.

"Don't be shy, now," he said.

After he removed his hand you tried to match the speed. This felt really weird. Although you did find Arthur attractive, you kind of had relegated it to a silly fantasy. A pipe dream.

This was all just happening so fast.

He sighed and shifted closer to you, so your legs were pressed together. Then he said in a husky voice: "Put some spit on there, darlin'."

You hesitated and paused. "S..spit?"

He nodded. "Use yer mouth. You never did that before?"

"Just once... but is this okay? Will Dutch get mad?"

He laughed. "Dutch? He ain't got nothing to do with this. This is somethin' special just for the two of us. "

Arthur grasped your neck and pushed your face towards his stiff tip. When your mouth was inches away from it, he said, "Now just relax your mouth, don't use your teeth. Just use your tongue."

He pushed further until your lips were against his shaft. You parted them and allowed him to enter your mouth.

Arthur inhaled sharply and sighed. "That's right. Good girl...g'on and suck it..."

Only a few inches were in your mouth, but you already felt full. You struggled to swipe your tongue over it, and tried to suck it as best as you could. Horribly lewd noises came out of your mouth, and you were embarrassed.

Arthur roughly grasped your hair and pushed down, forcing more of his thick cock down your throat.

You made a noise and pulled away, gasping for breath. Arthur allowed you to breathe for a second before coaxing your mouth back onto his cock.

By this time it was early evening and the sun had almost completely disappeared. The first stars were appearing.

"Suck it good, just like that," Arthur moaned while you struggled to fit him in. You found it most comfortable to just suck the tip, but he clearly wanted more than that. After a minute, he was pushing your head down again.

You tried to lift your head but Arthur didn't let you. He rubbed your back. "Shh, s'okay, you're doing great," he whispered. "Just relax. Relax, babydoll."

You kept sucking and slurping with your tongue. It still felt weird, but it did feel good. Arthur smelled like the outdoors, which wasn't that bad.

"Keep using yer hand too," he reminded you.

The length that wasn't in your mouth was encased by your fingers. You moved them as much as you could.

You had this sudden need to please him. Actually, it wasn't sudden at all. You lived for Arthur's praise. Whenever he taught you something new, you tripped over your feet to prove yourself. It made your day when he said "good girl", or "I'm proud of you."

It was the same here. Though you were still a bit apprehensive about this, your need to satisfy him overruled it.

And he wasn't shy with the praise. Dirty words from his lips, his chest heaving in and out as you attacked his fat cock with your tongue.

Arthur started pushing and pulling your head, using you almost like an object. Your lips slid up and down his throbbing shaft and the speed of it made it difficult for you to focus on breathing.

He pushed and pushed until your mouth was almost pressed against the hair at the base. Holding it there, he muttered, "That's right. Choke on daddy's cock."

You choked, and desperately tapped his leg and made noises before he finally let go.

You shot up off his cock, coughing and blinking. Drool ran out of your mouth.

"Ah...haah," you breathed, wiping off your lips. Did he really just call himself...?

"Good," he praised. "You're doin' so well for me, sweet girl."

Arthur stared at you, transfixed by the spit smeared around your lips and the bewildered look in your eye.

He needed more.

Arthur gently maneuvered your body to lay on the blanket under you, then pulled up your skirts.

"Wh-what?!" you gasped. "I thought you weren't-"

He put a finger to your lips. "Shh, it's okay, baby, I promise. Just lay still."

You lay there as he pulled off your shoes and bloomers.

Arthur traced the outline of your cunt and you shuddered.

"You ever been touched here before?" he asked.

You wordlessly shook your head.

He whistled lowly. "Good."

Arthur took his pants off completely and lay down on you– but his head was between your legs. He pulled your underwear off– the last layer. You shivered a little as the cool evening air hit your bareness.

Using his hands, Arthur kept your legs spread and started using his tongue. You were completely shaken by the sudden pleasure blooming and cried out.

"Arthur–!" Your hands found his hair and grasped it, needing some sort of grounding.

He continued eating you out, sparing no pleasure. Your legs squeezed around him but his arms kept them spread.

You tried to moan quietly, but it felt too good. Your hips rocked against his face and grinded your cunt on his lips.

He added a finger, and it was like you'd died and ascended. You were seeing stars.

"Arthur, Arthur, please," you gasped, not even knowing what you were begging for. It was sinfully good.

"That's my good girl," he whispered, replacing his tongue with another finger. "Damn, you're a tight squeeze. Fuckin' creamin' all over daddy's fingers, ain't you?"

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought it was strange how he kept calling himself that, but you were too overwhelmed to care. Maybe you even kind of liked it.

"Yes...yes," you whined.

After just a couple more minutes, the pressure that had been building in your stomach was very quickly released, in the form of you reaching your peak and soaking his fingers and the blanket, crying out in ecstasy the whole time. Your own fingers shot down, encouraging your cunt to ride out the full orgasm.

After what felt like an hour, you finally opened your eyes to see Arthur smiling at you.

"Never seen nothin' like that before, baby," he said huskily. "You sure you're a virgin?"

You giggled nervously. "I am."

"Hard time believing that," he remarked, wiping off his mouth. Then he shifted positions, so he was on his knees in front of your cunt, towering over you. His cock stood at the ready, still just as hard and leaking precum.

"You ready?" he asked.

"What- we're not done? There's more?" you gasped.

"Course there's more. I gotta get off too, don't I?" Arthur laughed. He tapped his tip against your still throbbing cunt.

You got scared again. "W-wait, Arthur, I don't think it's gonna fit- Ah!"

Ignoring your words completely, Arthur pushed his cock into your soaked hole. You cried out at the stretch and the warmth. He was fucking big, much thicker than his fingers.

He coaxed in about half of it before pausing to breathe. Your eyes were tightly shut and you were gripping the blanket, breathing heavily.

Arthur leaned down and gently kissed your lips. He put his hands on your shoulders and slowly started thrusting in and out, enjoying the loud, creamy noises that were being produced.

If getting fingers was the pinnacle of pleasure, this was completely supernatural. You had no idea a person could feel like this.

It did hurt a bit, even with Arthur prepping you beforehand. He went slow enough at first, but he was impatient. Soon he was speeding up, desperate to feel every inch of your tight, warm hole.

Very quickly his cock was coated in your juices, allowing him to more easily fuck you. And this was definitely fucking, not making love. He growled lowly in your ear, nibbling on the lobe.

The force of his thrusts made your breasts bounce up and down. One of his hands went down the front of your dress and fondled your breast.

"Good girl," he mumbled. "Good fuckin' girl. Gripping me so nice. So sweet...my special girl. Fuck...I never wanna leave this pussy. You're daddy's special cocksleeve, yeah? You want that?"

You whined desperately, arms scratching his broad back. Lucky he still had his shirt on, or he'd have scratches all over.

"Please, Arthur," you gasped, eyes rolling from pleasure. "I-I- mm–"

Another orgasm washed over you. You gripped his cock tight, milking it, barely letting him thrust in and out.

He chuckled. "Gripping me like that, you're fuckin' begging for me to fill you up. You want that, princess?" He slapped your face. "Dirty slut."

His sudden change of tone surprised you, but you couldn't say it didn't totally turn you on. But he'd reminded you of something.

Between moans you gasped, "What– about a, a baby?"

Arthur didn't answer, bent on reaching his climax.

"Arthur!" you cried, getting nervous.

"I'm close," he muttered. "Lay still, babygirl, lay still."

You were scared he was going to finish inside you. "Arthur, please! Please–"

"Fuck," he growled, pulling out at the last possible second. He was just barely able to scramble upwards before his cock twitched and he came, letting out thick spurts on your breasts.

Arthur grabbed your hand and you jerked him off together, both of your hands quickly stroking him. He let out a couple more thick ropes, which landed on your face.

Once he had let out the last of his cum, Arthur let your hand go and breathed heavily.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed. He grabbed a nearby cloth and used it to wipe your face off, then kissed you deeply.

You kissed him back, stroking his hair.

The two of you wiped down everything as best as you could, using damp cloths.

You shared the tent that night, bodies pressed together.

"I love you," Arthur mumbled. "My special doll."

His hand found yours and squeezed it.

Your life would never be the same.

#18+ mdni #mdni #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #oldermen

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k-nayee · 8 months ago

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Wife to the Winds Epic: The Musical | ii

wc: 3.5k a/n: yeah I'm sorry y'all. I'm, a slow updater/editor. But I'm getting faster and better! Here's the animation for this part

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

recap

"You truly believe you can ensure my safe passage home? After everything?"

"With all my heart..."

The salty tang of the sea clung to your hair as you followed Odysseus back to the creaking ships. The satchel against your hip jostled with every step, containing all of your life ever since the ambush of your village.

Midway through readying the ship for their long-awaited return, the men around fell silent as Odysseus approached.

Murmurs rippled through the crew as they watched their battle-scarred leader approach, a stranger by his side.

Reaching the center of the gathered crowd, Odysseus raised a hand for silence. A hush fell over, their gazes flitting between you and their captain.

"This one!" he boomed, aura carrying the authority of a seasoned leader, "is under my is under my protection. Do not lay hand upon her, show her the respect you may give to me."

Glances flicker towards you and stare intently, their faces etched with curiosity and a hint of something...more.

What it could be? You don't know, but you refuse to show it. Even riddled with fear and wary, you held your head high, posture radiating confidence.

That's when the whispers reached your ears: "A goddess, perhaps?" one muttered. "Sent to test us," another added, a hint of reverence lacing his voice.

'Wait...what?' You blink at this. Looking closer, you realize they are staring at you in awe, not lust.

You steal a peek at Odysseus, but his face remained impassive, any amusement he might've felt hidden.

'A goddess huh?' Your lips twitch, a snort of disbelief threating to escape your lips. Seems Odysseus initial shock towards you wasn't a one man reaction.

"Men!" attention is brought once more to the King of Ithaca.

"We have weathered storms. We have battled and sacrificed. Yet, victory lies within reach. Today," he brings a fist up to the heavens. "we begin our journey home!"

Cheers erupted from them, collective roars of relief and anticipation.

The rest of the day was a blur of activity: sails unfurled, oars readied for rowing—image of home ever the motivator.

Days bled into weeks, the endless blue horizon and rocking of the ship becoming your new normal.

The crew remained wary, interactions limited to curt greetings and exchanges. Your only solace came from occasional conversations with Odysseus and surprisingly, both Eurylochus and Polites.

Speaking of which, a tense discussion was brewing near the stern. Eurylochus, his weathered face etched with worry, was locked in a heated debate with the king.

"Six hundred mouths to feed," Eurylochus stressed, frustration coloring his voice, "and our supplies are dwindling! We may not make it far, we are running on fumes!"

Polites, ever the diplomat, step forth in hopes of calming the second in command. "We'll find a way, Eurylochus. Odysseus is a resourceful man—"

"Look!" Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by Odysseus himself, his gaze fixed on the sky.

You follow his line of sight, spotting a flurry of birds flying into the distance. Your brow raise at that, catching on to his proposal.

"We watch where they go, and there we will hunt for food." Giving a firm nod, Eurylochus began giving new orders.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

Hours had pass, soon the Sun going down leaving the stars and moon as your only source of light.

"Captain!" Polities' cry breaks you out of your daily/night inventory checkup. "There in the distance: I see a light faintly glowing."

You quickly stuff everything back into your bag, rushing over to stand next to the Greek warrior and see for yourself.

He turns and gives you a bright grin, lightly bouncing on his feet. "Maybe it's a village lighting a fire? Who knows! They might even share some food."

"No." Odysseus shakes his head. "No, somethings not right. I see fire...but there's no smoke."

Eurylochus scoffed. "Let's raid the place and be done with it!" he barked, his hunger overriding caution.

Odysseus narrowed his eyes. "No," he countered, his voice firm. "There must be another way, one that doesn't involve bloodshed."

"Captain you can't be serious, we don't know of the danger's ahead! A—"

"Just!...just give me until sunrise," Taking a glance at the awaiting crew, his voice lower in attempt to quell their bloodthirst knowing just speaking of potential fighting would set them off. "And if we don't return, burn this place to the ground."

Odysseus turns to Polities, gesturing towards the approaching island. "Polites, gear up. We'll scout ahead."

"Yes sir!"

"I'm coming with you!"

The mortal king's head snapped towards you, frown creasing his brow. "Absolutely not."

Your voice rose in protest. "B-but I can help! I'm a fast learner. My skills..."

"There will be no debate," he states, voice leaving no room for argument. "The men are weary. They need their rest. You will stay and watch over little Ajax."

Anger welled in your chest as your teeth gritted. You storm off, the sting of rejection burning in your eyes.

Being reduced to babysitting(once again) felt like an insult to your abilities. You couldn't help but pout in disappointment as you watch the two sail step off the ship, crossing your arms with a glare.

The rest of the night crawled by, the time made longer from your simmering resentment.

It was sunrise when Odysseus and Polities returned, their faces were painted with apprehension.

"We've been told of a cave with food in the east!" he said "enough to last us on our journey back to Ithaca, even extra to spare."

You perk up at the news as men were called to arms. Pushing your way into the forming group, you stand before Odysseus who releases a heavy sigh upon seeing your wide grin.

"Perhaps I can help assess the situation? My knowledge of—"

"We have enough help," he holds up a hand, silencing you with narrowed eyes. "You stay here with Ajax. Guard duty."

You bite your tongue to keep your anger from saying something disrespectful.

Taking a deep breath, you clasp your hands in a pleading motion. "Please. Just let me help. I-I can gather herbs, o-or even tend wounds..."

"There'll be no wounds," Odysseus says curtly. "We'll be in and out, quick and quiet."

And with that, he and his newly gathered group of men began venturing east in search of food.

Though your fists clenched in fury, you knew better than to disobey Odysseus directly. Instead, you waited, a plan forming in your mind.

It was then upon spotting the ever-cautious Ithacan Eurylochus right as he prepares to leave and catch up with the main group, an idea sparks.

You quickly approach him in determined strides. "Eurylochus, there isn't any proper medical supplies on board. I'm sure the men will gain injuries on their quest for food. And for that, I will need to go and get more herbs."

Eurylochus barely glanced in your direction, more focused on ensuring his weapons are tied on correctly as he gives a dry chuckle. "Injuries huh? I'm sure medicine won't be needed for a little wound."

"You sure about that?" Offput at the chilly tone of your voice, he looks up only to be taken aback at the emptiness of your gaze. "Even the mightiest of warriors have fallen, crossing the River Styx from a mere scrape."

A tremor of unease ran through Eurylochus. He cleared his throat, the bravado gone

"Alright," he conceded, "but if anything goes wrong..."

"There won't be anything wrong!" you assured him quickly, smile bright and innocent as if you hadn't just traumatized this man.

Gesturing two nearby men to come over, Eurylochus gives you one final look. "Now, I'm trusting you to get what you need and get out. This is Lycus and Alexander; they will watch over you, so stay close. Understood?"

You bobbed your head enthusiastically, already launching into a flurry of excited instructions for your temporary bodyguards.

Eurylochus couldn't help but shake his head and sigh as he turned to leave. "Gods...Odysseus is gonna kill me..."

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The moment your feet touched the shore, a thrill shot through you. The air hummed with an unfamiliar energy, and the vibrant foliage swaying in the gentle breeze.

Years of training under your mother's watchful eye kicked in: You recognized the landscape instantly—the lush vegetation, the specific types of trees—everything she taught echoing in your mind.

Unlike Odysseus and his men trampling path, or the impatient stomping of your guards, you carefully navigated the undergrowth with practiced grace; steps light and sure.

Awe filled you as you surveyed the diverse flora. You stopped every so often, meticulously collecting samples in your satchel, murmuring a silent thank you with each pluck.

A memory flickered from your childhood's countless foraging trips; your mother kneeling beside you in a sun-dappled meadow as her hand gently guides yours. "Plants are lives of their own...they are deserving of respect, as would any other being."

Too caught up in reminiscing the past, you miss it when your small group stumbled into a clearing.

It wasn't until you noticed the men behind you stopping themselves did you pay attention to your surroundings.

There, in the center of the area was a group of figures. Their faces were serene, eyes filled with an otherworldly light.

You couldn't help but look at them in awe, tales heard over the years could never measure up to the—

The sound of drawn weapons snap you out of it.

"W-wait!" you cry, darting forward and placing yourself between the armed men and the peaceful Lotus-eaters. "Lower your weapons! They mean no harm."

Lycus, a gruff soldier with a gnarly scar on his cheek to match, scoffs. "They could be a threat, best get rid of them while we can" he grumbles, grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

Undeterred, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze.

"And as I said, they mean no harm. Pose no danger Look at them!" You gestured towards the Lotus-eaters, some of whom were staring at you with wide-eyes, others seemingly lost in a blissful daydream. "They wouldn't hurt a fly."

A tense silence hung in the air. The men exchanged uncertain glances, unsure of how to react.

You pressed further, lowering your voice conspiratorially. "Besides. I'm not moving, and Odysseus wouldn't be too happy if I got hurt...now would he?"

The mere mention of the formidable leader caused the men to flinch, images of Odysseus' fearsome wrath flashing in their minds.

Lycus grunts in defeat. "Fine." Reluctantly sheathing his weapon, Alexander follows suit in a mixture of annoyance and grudging acceptance.

The Lotus people seemed captivated by the scene unfolding before them. Their gaze remained transfixed on you, faces filled with a strange mix of curiosity and wonder.

You turn and offer them a warm smile, disarming the Lotus-eaters completely. Their gaze remained fixed on you, captivated not just by your courage and kindness, but also by your beauty.

Unlike the warriors who had come earlier, bristling with aggression, you approached them with an open heart of respect and curiosity.

And they knew this...from the moment you stepped into the forest, you were being watched after all.

So watchful of those who arrived on their island, the Lotus-eaters had seen everything: your reverence for the plant life, your gentle touch as you collected herbs—it spoke all that was needed.

They felt—no, they knew your heart held no malice. So that's why they had no problem answering any question you asked.

Meanwhile, the men assigned to guard you grow bored from the lack of conflict. They began to talk to each other, attention drifting away from their assigned duty.

After all, you seemed perfectly safe surrounded by these serene beings.

Encouraged by your gentle demeanor, one of the Lotus-eaters hesitantly approach you. He's tall, a crown of woven leaves sitting on top of his curly-hair.

Shy and gentle eyes meet yours. A tranquil smile is etched on his face as he holds out a strange bulbous fruit within his cupped palms, its surface pulsating with an otherworldly glow.

You recognize it instantly for its legendary intoxicating properties, accepting the Lotus fruit with a grateful smile.

Knowing the dangers of the Lotus and its ability to induce a blissful forgetfulness, you carefully stow it away in your satchel.

The Lotus-eaters trill in content, their voices all speaking at once in a wave of pitches.

Straining to hear what they were saying, you slowly make out some of the words drifting through the air.

"...giant..." one voice rasped, low and conspiratorial. "...big as a mountain..." another chimed in.

You pause, a flicker of unease taking root in your stomach. 'Did I just hear that right?...'

"Excuse me," you began, your voice dropping to a hushed tone, "but I couldn't help but overhear something about a... giant?"

They eagerly nod, their excited chatter confirming your worst suspicions.

The Lotus-eater from earlier locks eyes with you. You sense a flicker of concern flash across his glazed eye before murky sereness takes place once more.

He spoke, voice deep and whimsy. "The one-eyed giant in the east? He owns most of the sheep, calls himself Polyphemus..."

'Giant...sheep...cave...east...that means—' when the pieces clicked in your mind, dread coiled in your gut. Odysseus and his men...trapped with a monstrous cyclops?

This was a disaster. You needed to get away, and fast.

Glancing at the warriors, still lost in their own world of boredom, a devious plan began to form in your mind.

You turn to the group of Lotus-eaters and lower your voice further.

"Listen," you began, urgency lacing your tone, "there's something really really important I need to get from the cave in the east."

You give a nudge towards the lounging duo guards. "Those men who came with me wouldn't understand. Plus they're not very nice...they've been nothing but mean and unhelpful!"

The Lotus-eaters exchanged glances. Even with their peaceful demeanor they could sense your worry.

"What do you want us to do?" the crowned Lotus-eater asked, his voice laced with alarm.

A large grin stretched across your face.

"Pretend to kidnap me!" you declared, barely able to contain a giggle. "Take me to the cave. There, I can handle the rest."

Their faces broke into wide smiles. Now this was a game they understood.

A Lotus-eater with eyes the color of the sky, clapped her hands in delight. "Oh that sounds fun!"

Before you could even blink, half of the group erupted in a playful ruckus of shouts and laughter; hurling small rocks branched leaves at the warriors.

The men sputtered in confusion as nearby plants and vines creeped down and snatched their weapons, leaving them flabbergasted and unarmed.

"What in Hades—" Alexander exclaims, eyes wide with confusion as his sword was yanked from his grasp by an unseen force.

Now for your part.

Taking a deep breath, you let out the most dramatic, exaggerated scream you could muster. "Help! Oh no! They are taking me! What ever shall I dooooo!"

The distracted guards turn in time to see the other half of the Lotus-eaters scoop you off the ground. You kicked your legs playfully, still crying out in mock distress. "No! Oh no! Let me go! Someone, save meeeeeee!"

As Lotus-eaters began moving to the cave, you grimace when realizing a little too late of your lack of fighting back and reaction to being taken. 'I hope they didn't see right through me. Probably should've acted a little more afraid.'

"H-hey!" You turn back to see Lycus' stressfully looking in your direction as he tries to dodge the sticks and stones, "They're kidnapping her!"

"We must save her!" Alexander chimed in, his panicked filled voice reaching your ears before you disappear into the foliage.

You blink in disbelief at their gullibility. 'Nevermind...'

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

The further you were carried away from the clearing, the more the sounds of chaos faded into the background.

When you finally reached a safe distance, they gently set you down.

Once brushing off your clothes and looking around you immediately notice the Lotus-eaters brought you to the side of a mountain.

'Where's the cave...?' Confusion flickered across your at face as you try to understand why you where there instead.

Seeing your puzzled expression, the crowned-Lotus eater stepped forward with a gentle smile.

"We brought you to a secret passage," he explains softly, "It's a hidden way that leads to where the sheep are kept. The giant one may find you at the entrance, but this path is safe."

He gestures towards a cluster of branches and vines. Pushing them aside, he reveals a human-sized crack in the mountainside before letting dense foliage fall back over the cleverly concealed hole.

A warm smile spreading across your face at their concern and attempt for your safety. "Thank you!"

Leaning forward, you stand on your toes to place a soft kiss on the forehead of the crowned-Lotus eater who's been your main communicator of the time.

His cheeks flushed a deep scarlet red as he giggled, his companions joining in with flushed faces and shy smiles of their own.

"Good luck," he whimsically mutters, still blushing.

With a nod, you turned towards the secret passageway. Your heart pounds as you carefully push aside the branch and vines and squeezed through the opening.

The rough stone walls loomed around you as distant noises faintly echo in the background.

Air growing cooler and damper with each step as you ventured deeper inside, it wasn't until then did the faint sounds became clearer—multiple voices talking and sounds of sheep scuffling around.

You pause at the edge of the cave, listening intently.

"Over here!" At the sound of Odysseus' commanding and calm voice, you immediately peek around the corner.

The first thing you're met with is an abundance of food and resources scattered all around: Jugs of wine stacked neatly against the walls, expensive cloths rich in color and texture, to even golden chalices and cups that gleamed in the torch-light cave.

And the sheep.

There were so many! So much, a few roaming ones were so close that you could feel the softness of their wool if you just reach out to tou—

Your nose scrunch up in disgust as a pungent wave of musk, grass, and a hint of manure hits you. 'Ugh...don't smell as cute as they look. That's for sure.'

Looking past the sheep, your body almost instinctively relaxed as you saw no signs of dead bodies or a murderous Cyclops.

Instead, you spotted the King of Ithaca standing alongside his 2nd of command and friend, onlooking as the other men got to work.

"Odysseus! Look at all this food...a-and all of these sheep!" Polites exclaims, you could even make out his bright smile all the way from here. "I can't believe it! This cave, it has all this for us to keep."

Eurylochus stood a few feet away, a begrudging nod of acceptance as he keep watch of the soldiers as they slaughter sheep and prepare to carry them to the ships. "I've gotta hand it to you both, this is quite the treat. More than enough sheep here to feed the entire fleet."

"Hmmm. I'm not sure. Looks too perfect, too good to be true." Odysseus seemed unconvinced. He shifted on his feet, glancing around as unease began seeping into his bones. "Why would the Lotus-eaters pass up on all this food?"

'Okay!' You take a step back, readying yourself for the potential scolding you most definitely were going to get for leaving the ship. 'You can do this...'

He sounds worried enough, so maybe he won't be too mad?

Taking a deep breath, you straighten you back and take a step out to greet the—

"WHO ARE YOU?" A deep, rumbling voice echoes through the cave, making everyone freeze in their tracks.

Popping your head back around the corner, the blood drains from your face once you see the Cyclops.

Odysseus steps up with a confident smile. "Hey there! We're just travelers." He waves to the giant and motion to the others. "We come in peace."

The cyclops says nothing at first. He's monstrous, frame towering above so high you could barely make out his features—a single eye glowing menacingly in the darkness as it glared down at the Spartan warriors.

"YOU KILLED MY SHEEP. MY FAVORITE SHEEP. WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO DEAL A PAIN SO DEEP?"

You stumble back with a soft gasp and try to calm your racing heart. Your mind raced as you tried to figure out what to do.

"TIME TO DRINK—YOUR BLOOD OVER WHERE YOU STAND. YOUR LIFE NOW IS IN MY HAND."

Recalling the tales and stories of the cyclops' favored weapon (a massive club), you knew it was only a moment of time...

"BEFORE I'M DONE, YOU WILL LEARN THAT IT'S NOT SO FUN TO TAKE. YOU CAME TO MY HOME TO STEAL, BUT NOW YOU'LL BECOME MY MEAL."

Your hand flickered down to the weight in your satchel. With trembling fingers, you rummaged through it.

A Lotus fruit and bundle of dried Nepenthe and Poppy herbs are pulled out the bag, now in your hands. 'Please Gods....please. This has to work...'

"A TRADE, YOU SEE? TAKE FROM YOU LIKE YOU TOOK FROM ME."

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rebelliousstories · 5 months ago

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Desperate Times and Desperate Measures

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by @infinityfandoms

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Fighting

Word Count: 1,505

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: She always said she would be about as useful as a wet paper bag in a fight. Good thing she never skips leg day.

Consider Donating: Here

“And who is this? I don’t think audiences have had the pleasure of meeting you yet.” The man in the red mask asked, looking at the woman behind Gambit. She looked up, startled at the sudden attention being brought to her.

“Um, hi.” She offered her name, but was still confused as to what was going on with these new people.

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re ‘The Druid’ aren’t you,” Deadpool gasped, “sparkle hands.”

“Sure, I guess if that’s how you want to know me. Haven’t heard anyone call me that in years.” She turned back to her bandages that she was wrapping back up. There were footsteps coming closer to her, but someone stopped them.

“Until I know whatcha gonna be doin’, ya ain’t gettin’ no closer.” Gambit snaps, charging a card near the red masked man.

“Oh, I’m not going to do anything to her. I’m a fan really. From one person with a regenerative healing factor to another, I applaud you, my dear.” Wade clapped his hands together and bowed dramatically. She giggled and set down the bandages, before walking over to Gambit.

“We’re alright, hun. He’s just being friendly.” With a hand on his chest, the man turned and caught her eyes. Letting the energy fizzle out and back into his body, Gambit wrapped an arm around her waist to tug her close.

Later that evening, as they prepared to go to bed in preparation of the big battle the next day, she was checking and double checking her stash. Different salves, elixirs, and dressings were being packed away in her satchel to take with her. As she was placing the last bottles and jars in, hands creeped across her waist and pulled her back into a firm chest.

“Neva’ gonna get tired of seein’ you work like dis, chere. Amazes me each and every time.” Remy drawled, pressing kisses to her neck while she leaned back.

“All to make you guys better, hun.” She replied, loving the feeling of his affections.

“Listen, when we in da lair tomorrow,” he began, “you gonna stay back righ’? Stay in da car?”

“Of course, I am. You know I can’t fight.” Her snort made the man smile as he pressed a kiss to her head.

“Good. Don’t want you gettin’ mixed up in all dat.”

Her hands came in front of them, and both of their attentions were on it. In a matter of a few seconds, a magnolia blossom was blooming from her palm. Taking it from one hand to the next, she passed it back to her lover. He held it to his nose, and breathed in deeply. The sweetest scent flooded his senses. Gambit tucked the flower into the top of his chest plate, right near his heart.

“Everything is gonna be alright, Remy. We’ll be fine.”

Those seem like famous last words now.

She was staying in the background. Behind the car because she was just not going to stay in an on fire car for anything. So far, no one had noticed her and that was just how she liked it. Keeping an eye on her boyfriend and friends, the chaos around them almost made her lose the line of sight.

An explosion next to her gained her attention, and made her squeak in surprise. Thankfully, she was still virtually hidden from the rest of the fighting going on. Locking eyes on Gambit’s coat once more, she was shocked to see someone sneaking up on his. Of course, all the fighting and shouting made the odds more optimal, but it was still an incredible task to do that to him. When he did not seem to be turning and looking at the attacker behind him anytime soon, she knew she had to do something. Looking around her, she tried to find something that would draw both Gambit’s attention to the attacker, and the attacker’s attention away from Gambit.

So she threw a shoe. Some random shoe that had gotten blown off of someone was what she picked up to throw. And somehow, it worked.

“Uh oh. We done messed up now.” She muttered, seeing the new set of eyes on hers. Taking off, she began weaving through the structure. But that man was close behind.

Gambit only noticed when he heard the sound of footsteps running behind him. A card blew up the spot that those feet had stood in the second prior. Taking a look around, he noticed that there was someone now chasing his girl all through the maze of bars that was Cassandra’s lair. Remy took off after the person, while trying to look ahead to see where she was going. Somehow, he remained just out of range for his cards to reach.

Ducking into a corner, she breathed heavily as she tried to catch her breath. A stitch was deep in her side, and her claves were beginning to cramp, but she couldn’t not stop now. Her life, Remy’s life, depended on it. All the noise around them meant that she would not be able to focus on the bad guy’s movements even if she wanted to. Poking her head out of her hole, she breathed a sigh of relief as she did not see him immediately. But that changed when, from the other end of the apparent hallway, he dropped down. She was trapped.

There was nothing that she could use as a weapon nearby, and her powers were defensive; not offensive. Breathing hard, she tried to steel herself against the awful smile that the man was now sporting. A cool metal bar was digging into her back. Her heart was speeding up. If she fell from this height, she would survive, but her bag would not and that was a greater travesty in her opinion. However, she did not have these thoughts long as a flash of magenta flew in front of her and sparked in front of the man.

“Ain’t ya momma eva’ teach ya how t’ treat a lady?” Remy was here. He shot a wink over his shoulder to her, before going after the man. His bo staff was out and charged, but for some reason it did not seem to be slowing this man down. Finally, he got close enough to stick a card to him, that promptly exploded. But as he walked away, this man just got back up and began to heal again.

Gambit groaned, and struck three cards to the ground, before running and grabbing his girlfriend from the railing. As they fell, an aftershock of the explosion knocked them in the air. He tucked her head into his chest, and cushioned their way down. Landing on the hard ground, both of them groaned as pain shot through their bodies.

“You good, chere?” Remy asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He was inspecting her face as his hands ran over the rest of her body.

“Yeah. You?” She replied, doing the exact same thing to him.

“Don’ worry about ol’ Gambit now. Gambit’s fine. I want you to go dat little hole in the side over der and stay der till I come get you.” The man pressed a kiss to her head, a brief one to her lips before rolling them over so he was on top. Slipping a card out from his pocket, he flicked it towards someone coming near, before getting up and joining the fray once more.

Once she had caught her breath, she did exactly what Remy had instructed of her. The little cave that she had found herself in allowed her to keep an eye on everybody, but stayed out of the fighting. She knew where her strengths lie, and she was definitely going to be most useful after the fight. As she watched, her mind kept forming different recipes and mixtures that she could use to help.

The fighting slowed until there was just a few people left. As the group finished them off, she stepped out briefly to watch their two friends jump into the glowing circle and away from the Void. As they disappeared, she ran over to her boyfriend and their friends. He welcomed her with open arms, and breathed a sigh of relief as they stood there.

Taking an assessment on her friends, she immediately set to work dressing some of the injuries that they had but could not heal properly. She felt Remy pat her shoulder lovingly as she was wrapping a spot on Elektra’s back. Turning to him, he just drew her in closer before allowing her to tend to wounds he may have gotten. This was a well oiled machine that had been established over the years.

As they piled into the Honda Odyssey after, their journey home was quiet. They did not know if they were going to be able to go home, or if they were stuck there forever. But one thing was for certain; that shoe was going to live in her head for a while.

#rebelliousstories #writing #remy lebeau imagine #remy lebeau #remy lebeau x reader #gambit x reader #gambit #gambit imagine #xmen imagine #x men 97 #x men comics #x men movies #x men imagine #x men #deadpool and wolverine

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sleepyangelkami · 9 months ago

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TOUCH STARVED s.harrington

☆ WORD COUNT - 2.5K

STEVE HARRINGTON X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - you were too shy to speak up for what you wanted, even to your boyfriend for something so simple. fortunately for you, he always seem to know exactly what you need.

☆ WARNINGS - mention of pussy whipped, reader has hair, light insecurity, (1) use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

walking into family video, steve swore he'd never seen such a glum face.

your expression was saddened, not enough to look upset over something but just enough to tell steve what kind of day you'd been having. and believe me, he'd had his fair share of these kind of days.

"you doofus, that's not how you do it." robin argued, as she always was. nothing steve could do for her ever deemed to be the 'right way' however, before he could give back a snappy argument, he snapped his head towards you, the bells of the store giving a quick ring.

robin looked up confused as she received no snarky comeback before glancing towards you. she could have rolled her eyes, how pussy-whipped was this guy? "hey, y/n." she greeted first, watching as steve stepped away from the counter.

"hi, rob." you gave her a sweet, almost shy smile, she returned it in full. robin was very well used to you getting in these little moods, sort of where you shy into yourself. she'd never mentioned it, though, sort of assuming that was just how you were.

"hey, honey." steve was by your side in an instant, snatching up your bag from you so he could hold it. the sight of him had you leaning into him, almost fluttering your eyes shut. a sudden overwhelming feeling of tiredness fell over you. "you okay?"

he was craning his neck to look at you, you merely nodded. "tired." you answered before making your way behind the counter with him.

technically, you shouldn't be behind the counter and if keith were here, he'd surely have something to say about it. but he wasn't.

family video was having one of them slow days that consisted in hardly five customers an hour while steve and robin argued relentlessly on working the stupid computer that had been around way too long for anyone's liking.

you sat on one of the chairs with steve's arm around you. for as long as you could remember, he'd always been like this. touchy.

and truthfully? you were thankful. some days, all you needed was his touch and you didn't even have to ask, merely hold out a hand shyly and it was in yours. but on days like this, even an arm constantly around your shoulder wasn't enough.

your fingers had trailed up to mess with his. his large hand was relatively big in yours, you could lean against his shoulder all the while. in all of this, you could have fallen asleep.

though, that deemed hard with robin and steve's constant arguing. "you idiot!" steve yelled, pushing buttons at the computer and sort of dragging you as he did so. "you're gonna break it!"

"and what if i did?" she argued back. "not like it's worth anything." she would have kicked the computer, had she been right. unfortunately, the computer was worth something, her job.

steve sat himself back on the chair with a scowl before glancing to you.

even the mere sight of you was always enough to calm him down.

"sorry." he mumbled, knowing he was disturbing whatever peace you were getting. you merely waved him off before going back to playing with his fingers.

a couple more customers came in and fled all the same, renting movies that robin and steve would then gossip about as soon as they'd leave the store. oh yeah, horrible movie. i heard the sequels even worse!

it was best for you to leave them do this.

and by seven, it was time to lock up. you stood outside, waiting for steve who was using the key to pull down the store gate.

robin's head came out from underneath, holding her satchel bag. "night guys!" she called after you without turning around. she didn't even have a drivers license so you weren't entirely sure how she was getting home. nonetheless, you'd learned that it was better not to question robin.

"night!" steve called back before turning to you and rolling his eyes. "that girl." he only shook his head and shut his eyes, concealing his obvious irritation towards his best friend.

you only grinned back sheepishly, knowing they despised yet loved one another dearly.

it wasn't until you were sat in the passenger seat of his car, gazing out the window while your hands fiddled with his fingers that sat atop your thigh that he noticed something was wrong. earlier, you'd shrugged it off as mere tiredness and he supposed he believed you.

the night sky was dark and the hot air coming from the car was enough to lull anyone to sleep. yet still, he had a gnawing feeling that you weren't telling him the whole truth.

you weren't a liar, no. steve would say you were many things, never a liar.

however, you had the tendency to hide things from him. not overly important things like seeing someone else or something or other. you just had the tendency to not speak much about your feelings unless directly asked. you'd shy away and sheepishly shrug, not wanting to bother him.

you always had that fear of burdening him.

as the relationship progressed, he noticed this. he too had the fear of burdening. but slowly, you both began to break out of your shells. him undeniably much faster than you.

the stillness of his house told you it was home. the porch lights were on as he led you inside, hand on the small of your back. a couple lights were left on in the house too.

not the large, centre lights.

the warm lamps illuminating the entire house in a cozy aura.

you weren't too sure how you moved from the door to the couch so quickly. nonetheless, you relaxed into the material as the sound of you and steve's show began to play. a new episode every week. it was a ritual in the harrington house. and by that, i mean just you and him.

steve didn't miss the glances you kept shooting him. whether intentional or not, he could see from the corner of his eye, your head move to look at him and suddenly look back at the screen before he could catch you.

when he did, though, he caught exactly what he needed.

you were looking at him all doey, presumably tired however there was something else in your eye, something that gave you completely away.

a longing.

suddenly, everything clicked.

there was a reason you'd been leaning into him so much today, following him around silently like a lost puppy dog. not that he minded, no, he never minded. but he knew something had been wrong and that you didn't think you had voice enough to speak on it.

"what's wrong with you, huh?" he nudged you, voice ever so gentle. though he knew what you wanted, he sort of wanted you to tell him. "been quiet all day."

you leaned your head against the back of the couch, eyes travelling over his pretty features. and he looked especially pretty in the dim lighting of the enormous living room. "'m always quiet." you countered.

in a way, you were far from wrong. more often than not, steve would have to beg you to speak to more people, try get out there because he knew you wanted to. once again, you feared your voice was much too small. "fair point. but you're more quieter today."

you pursed your lips at him. "just quieter." he hummed in confusion. "it's just 'quieter', more quieter isn't the right grammer."

a roll of his eyes was paired with a pretty grin. "see? there's my smart girl. where was she all day, hm? head cloudy?"

truthfully, you didn't know what was wrong. everything just felt so off, all day you'd wanted to be surrounded by him. his embrace, his words, his scent, his everything. and that was becoming a little too much when the cruel world reminded you that it was, in fact, impossible to morph into another human being by hugging them hard enough. "i don' know." you shrugged, voice sort of small.

but steve had been in the game much longer than you.

it started with the simple feeling of his fingers tracing against your cheeks, grasping a strand of hair and curling it between his index finger. he always thought you looked pretty with your hair framing your face. though you were undeniably beautiful in all aspects.

"there something you want?" he didn't ask it in an accusing way that made you sheepishly look away. he spoke ever so quietly, as if careful of disturbing the peace of his rarely quiet house.

once again, you shrugged.

"sweetheart." he gave you this look. this convincing, knowing, look. steve always had a way of communicating to you, even just through his eyes. it was enough for your heart to quench.

he looked as though he knew exactly what had been troubling you, like he knew exactly how to fix it.

how is it that steve harrington seemingly knew everything in the world? sometimes, even he made you feel a little silly. i mean, he was more tuned in with your emotions than you were.

the show that was playing on the tv was low, barely heard as his eyes searched your own. "you know you can ask for anything, yeah?" you nodded your head while chewing your bottom lip. because you did know. steve always made it easy for you to come to him with anything. yet even then, your own shy nature still prevented you from saying all the words that sat against the tip of your tongue. the universe tended to be cruel like that. "c'mere, honey."

his outstretched arms looked like the heaven you'd been searching for.

without second thought, you found yourself climbing into them, breathing out a sigh of relief as your cheek sat itself against his sweater-covered chest.

this is what you wanted.

his legs were outstretched, somewhere for you to sit against while your own wrapped themselves against his torso. there was something so comforting about the feeling of him against you.

he let you relax your face against him, lips shut tight as one of your hands came beneath your chin. while watching the animations flash across the television, you could feel his own arms slinging loosely around your waist, one hand gently playing with the strands of hair while the other traced against your back.

you supposed you weren't morphed into him but this was as good as it was going to get.

perhaps, this was all you needed.

he was gentle, soft and welcoming.

everything you'd been hoping for.

"this all you needed, hm?" the shapes he drew against your back began to feel a lot like words, a lot like 'i love you'. you nodded, humming ever so softly. "should've just asked, baby."

"i didn't wanna bother you." you mumbled, suddenly feeling like the whole thing had been just a little silly.

you felt his hand against your chin, gently tilting it upwards so you could meet his eye. "you never bother me." and you could tell by the chocolatey swirl in his eyes. he wasn't lying.

perhaps two hours passed since that very moment. steve watched the show episode until it ended, flicking on the television programme that was simply on. he could feel your soft breaths against the nape of his neck, hands outstretched towards him.

you'd fallen asleep in his embrace.

he often told you not to watch the show so late if you would fall asleep albeit you always insisted that you wouldn't. low and behold, he was right. he was always right.

and when the final programme ended, and he deemed it was late enough, he decided it was time to get you into bed.

instead of waking you, he opted to pick you up, carrying you upstairs and surely almost dropping you a total of three times because he couldn't register where he was putting his feet. yet eventually, he made it towards the bedroom and placed you against the bed. the warm blankets soon were draped over your body.

and after all the rustling, the thing that stirred you was the creek of the door.

he watched as your eyes parted, obviously still slick with sleep, and cursed himself. he thought, who, as rich as him, would own a door that creeks so loudly? and made a mental note to get new hinges.

"you okay, angel?" he mumbled into the darkness of the room, slipping off his jeans and slipping into bed with you.

"mm." you hummed as he grasped your body again, holding you close. your arms hugged themselves around his neck, shutting your eyes closed. "wanna melt into you." you mumbled, obviously too tired to register what you were saying.

"yeah?" a chuckle fell from his lips, knowing you would never have the confidence to say such a thing while wide awake. nonetheless, he took it as a compliment anyway. "we should try turkey then."

"what's in turkey?" you questioned tiredly.

"i don't know. everything? i mean, if they can give you a new set of teeth, surely they have the answer to your problems too. we can like, melt ourselves together." he was talking nonesence, though it was lulling you back to sleep anyway.

the sound of your sleepy giggle had him holding his breath, wondering if this was all real. "let's go to turkey then."

"i'll put it on our bucket list, angel." you nodded your head, without response. "you goin' to sleep on me? hm?"

"can you..." you cut yourself off with a breath. then, you reminded yourself that it was steve harrington, the boy you loved more than yourself. and you could ask him anything. "can you keep talking?"

"careful what you wish for, i might not shut up." you only giggled gently before allowing him to continue. "did i ever tell you about dustin's girlfriend?" you shook your head. "oh god, you should have seen it..."

this, you were sure, is where you could actually die happy.

main masterlist/steve's masterlist

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niqhtlord01 · 3 months ago

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Humans are weird: A thing of beauty

“I now announce that the grand temple of Zavana open!”

The priest nodded to the team of lay brothers behind him and forty Zuthiliuns pushed the massive temple doors open. A joyous chorus of gasps of awe arouse from the gathered followers as they finally laid eyes on the inside of the grand temple for the first time.

Three miles in length with a height of ten stories, the Grand Temple of Nazareim was unlike anything the world had ever seen. Every square inch was a dedication to the story of Nazareim from the holy book from young up bringing to his triumphant slaying of the dark pantheon of old. Row upon row of pews and prayer rugs lined the walkways while intersections were dotted with fountains of holy waters to be anointment in. Yet most impressive of all however was what lay at the center of the temple.

Nestled in the heart of the vast open space was a tree of truly breath taking size. It’s trunk extended high above and it looked as if the branches were holding the roof up through sheer force of will while a the holy tomb of Nazareim themselves lay at the base.

At the sight of such grandeur many of the followers and pilgrims fell to the ground and began praying; the depths of such beauty and majesty overwhelming them that their limbs had been sapped of all their strength.

“Go,” the priest echoed loudly as he stepped aside, “enter your holy ground and walk amongst its splendor.”

Without needing further invitation the thousands of Zuthiliuns began milling into the grand temple. Families and friends of those who had collapsed gently picked them up and carried them inside as they continued to weep tears of joy.

The priest smiled and nodded as the followers passed by. They’d offer a blessing or word of encouragement but did not join the masses as they filed in. Their eyes remained on a lone figure in the crowd who had not joined the flow of followers flocking inside.

Like a stone in a rushing river the lone figure stood stoic before the doors. Their gaze passed along the gathered masses before gazing up at the massive doors as they finally swung fully open. They watched for a long time before dropping their gaze once more to the masses.

For a moment the lone figure’s eyes and the priest’s locked.

The priest’s expression hardened and they tilted their head towards the back of the crowd. Saying nothing, the figure took one last look at the temple before turning back and making their way through the crowds. -------------------

It was many hours later and after several dozen sermons from within the grand temple that the priest found himself wandering the darkened streets of the nearby town at the base of the mountain. Unlike the holiness of the mountain or the temple at its peak, the stench of living sin was palpable here. It was enough to make the priest hack and cough as they made their way through the streets to an otherwise indistinctive bar.

Pushing open the door the priest made their way towards the back of the bar where a lone figure was sitting alone nursing a half-finished drink as they watched the news.

“Busy day?” the figure remarked as the priest sat next to them.

The priest said nothing in reply. Removing a satchel from their back they tossed it to the table with a heavy thud. A portion of the top opened and several silver credit chips fell out and slid across the table to the figure.

“Your payment,” the priest spoke harshly, “and for your silence.”

The figure turned their attention away from the news and picked up one of the spilled credit chips. With a flick of his fingers the coin flipped itself between his knuckles one at a time before spinning out back into the bag.

“As we agreed upon.” The figure replied.

Without saying another word the priest turned to leave but was stopped by the figure as they began collecting the spilled credit chips.

“Tell me priest,” the figure spoke, “does it bother you?”

The priest and turned back to the figure.

“Does what bother me?” they asked as the figure removed their hood to reveal a frail human.

“That for all your pontificating you men of faith turned to a nonbeliever to forge your house of worship?”

The human figure saw the priest’s hands clench into fists in frustration before relaxing.

“You are but an instrument for our lord to speak to us, nothing more.”

The human laughed. “I am that.” The human agreed, much to the priest’s surprise. “But I should warn you that I heard no voice of the supposed divine as I drew my plans; and if I did the bastard should learn to speak louder.”

The table shook as the priest spun around and brought their hands down hard against the table.

“Do not dare to mock our lord!” the priest demanded. “You were of use and I tolerated your blatant blasphemies, but now that use has come to an end.”

“I bet it burns you.” The human countered unmoved by the priest’s threat. “That for all your prayer and claims of being the voice of a god you could not think of anything as grand for a place of worship than a box with a door.”

The priest let out a hearty laugh. ‘Is that not what you have done?” To his surprise the human’s grin grew wider.

“I never cared for your god. I only took this job so that my name and legacy will live on long after I am gone. People will travel from across the quadrant to look upon my works and weep from its beauty, while my name becomes renowned.” They leaned in close to the priest and whispered “Can you claim the same after your followers leave you?”

#humans are weird #humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

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judeswhore · 2 years ago

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easy fix; spencer reid

summary: after spending weeks searching for ways to ease the burden of his headaches, spencer has finally found a solution. you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

requested: no i’m feeding my own obsession

notes: silly little spencer reid fic bc i’m down bad and had to do it :)) short and fluffy

you had a feeling spencer wasn’t well from the moment he closed the front door behind him, satchel landing almost unceremoniously on the floor beside the shoe wrack. he toed off his shoes, his odd socks, one red stripes, one blue polka dots, making you smile softly over the top of your book, gaze tracking his movements as he sluggishly shuck his coat off and unwound his scarf. brows drawn in tight he rubbed his fingers just above his eyebrow, grimacing in pain as he dipped his head away from the light inside the apartment.

“hey, pretty boy,” you were laying on the sofa, head propped up against the armrest, book settled against your knees and you let it drop to your side when you fully turned your attention to your boyfriend. he seemed to be in a world of his own and he startled slightly at the sound of your voice, blinking a few times as though to clear the fog in his head, his deer in the headlights look curling the smile at your lips even more. “everything okay?”

"yeah, yeah, just tired i think, long day. have you already eaten?" spencer kept massaging his fingers over his forehead, eyes squinting until you weren't sure if they were even open anymore. he dropped his sunglasses on to the table beside the door, his keys following suit and you suddenly understood. he was having one of his bad days and unless you approached the topic first, he would more than likely go straight to bed without asking for anything.

"hmm," you hummed noncommittally. "i made lasagna, there's some left over for you if you want it?" spencer shook his head and finally made his way towards you, fingers tugging a little to loosen the knot of his tie, top button popped open to show the soft skin of his throat. he fell back on to the sofa with a sigh, his free hand reaching to pull your feet over into his lap but before he could you were sitting up, shuffling as close as possible so you could help with his tie. "how bad is the headache?"

"what? i don't-"

"spence." he grimaced even more at your tone, his nose scrunching in that adorable way that never failed to make your heart thump. you slowly undid his tie, pulling it from around his neck and draping it over the back of the sofa.

"a little worse than usual but i think i just need to sleep. you know, lack of sleep has been proven to lower the body's pain threshold which makes them more susceptible to headaches and explains why they're often more painful." spencer sent you a sheepish half smile before his eyebrows scrunched and he turned from the lamp sitting on the small coffee table. "and i've not exactly had a lot of sleep in the last week."

"so, what i'm hearing, doctor reid, is that i need to take you to bed immediately?" his lips suddenly lifted into a smile and he gave a little shrug.

"that's usually the best remedy for most things." your smile matched his, your hand gently patting his chest before you leant in and pressed a single soft kiss to his mouth. the smallest bit of contact had him humming happily, his smile only growing when you tilted and kissed his cheek. pushing yourself up you brushed his hair back off his forehead.

"i'm gonna make you some tea, do you wanna go up and i'll bring it?"

"i can make-"

"go take that suit off, i'll be five minutes." spencer was still sitting in the same spot when you reached the kitchen door, his gaze locked on your back, eyes soft with adoration and love over how you were always so willing to make him feel better no matter what. you threw him a playfully scolding look over your shoulder.

"spencer reid, you better be upstairs and undressed by the time i'm finished making this."

his suit was gone when you stepped into the bedroom and he was sprawled on his back in only a pair of red checkered pants, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other against his stomach. messy hair and the tantalising happy trail made your stomach dip, his effect on you still as strong as the first time you met him. the room was mostly dark, the only light the small bedside lamp which was dimmed to the lowest setting.

"jj wants to go for brunch tomorrow." spencer spoke up, his voice quiet and a little lower than usual, the early signs of sleep already evident. he peeked at you from beneath his arm, eyes still squinted beneath furrowed brows.

"will she be bringing henry?"

"he wants to show you that he learnt how to ride his bike."

"he did?" your smile was instantaneous as you thought about spencer's godson, a look casting over your features that the man in front of you couldn't quite grasp. he watched with lowered lashes as you placed his chamomile tea on the nightstand before climbing on to the bed.

"mhm, he can ride for a whole minute he says. you didn't make yourself tea?"

"no, i'm okay. c'mere." patting your lap you gestured for spencer to rest his head there, his hand curling quickly around your thigh as he got himself comfortable. he nuzzled his nose against your bare skin, the material of your shorts having ridden up and left a soft kiss behind that had warmth spreading through your chest. "can you turn so i can put this on for you?"

“what is it?”

“migraine patch, i bought you a new box when i was at the store yesterday.” spencer shifted a little so he was facing the ceiling, gaze soft on yours, smile just a little lopsided and he lifted his hand to prod his finger into your cheek.

“always taking care of me.”

“hotch pays me monthly.” you caught his eye roll as you brushed his curls back from his forehead, finger tips grazing lovingly over his hairline. spencer stayed silent and watched as you opened the migraine patch, pressed it lightly against the centre of his forehead and smoothed it down into place.

a deep sigh blew past his lips when you gently rubbed your thumb across the patch, eased the slight tension between his still furrowed brows. your touch was light and comforting and within seconds he was letting his eyes fall closed, the grimace he’d been wearing on and off since coming home smoothing out just slightly. the tip of your finger trailed down the bridge of his nose and swept beneath his eye. the dark circles were prominent, days old bags tugging painfully at your heart because it was obvious it had been a while since your boyfriend had gotten a full nights sleep.

leaning down you pressed a fleeting kiss to his closed eyelid. “try get some sleep okay?” his reply was a nod and then he was guiding your hand into his hair, quietly urging you to ease the dull throbbing with your fingers. doing as he wanted, you slowly massaged the tips into his scalp, pressure light but just enough to have him melting into you, the tension in his face relaxing even further. you worked your thumb carefully into his temple before sweeping it over his eyebrow and rubbing into the space between them.

it wasn’t long before spencer’s breathing started to even out, the steady rise and fall of his chest and the peaceful look on his face an obvious indication that he’d finally fallen asleep. he looked at ease, pretty pink lips parted to let out soft snores, the twisted look of discomfort he’d been wearing now smoothed out and you let your lips tilt into a gentle smile. again you traced your finger over his nose and the curve of his lips.

“goodnight, spence.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid smut

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heavenlyraindrops · 9 months ago

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♱ Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Four ♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Four Warnings: slight profanity How to find the other chapters in my pinned post.

♱Where the purest soul in Heaven falls for the Devil♱

[Chapter Four]

You hadn’t been keeping track of the time.

Say, a couple years ago, you never would’ve considered the possibility that you could end up in a room full of rubber ducks. In Hell. With Lucifer Morningstar. Or, what sort of situation could lead you into it.

But you supposed that life was full of surprises.

You ran your finger along the side of the head of a random rubber duck you had decided to pick up. You heard a small gasp, and a hand shot out to snatch it out of your hands.

“Careful,” Lucifer gasped. You stared at him blankly.

“You don’t know what they can do…” he said sheepishly. You raised an eyebrow.

“Sure.”

He smiled at you. You crossed your legs, staring down at him in his chair from your perch on the table. “So, is this what you do with your highly important, influential, immortal existence? Create an army of rubber ducks?” You teased lightly. He tipped his head back in the chair, staring at the ceiling.

“Maybe.”

You tilted your head, and your eyes drifted over to a painting on the wall. Standing up, you walked over, feeling golden eyes train into your back. You pointed at it, turning to face him. “Who are they?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard- he just stared at you as if you had threatened to strangle him. You furrowed your brows in concern. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “Nothing. That’s my daughter and my… ex wife.”

“Oh,” you managed to utter, feeling a strange mix of regret and guilt burrowing it’s way into your chest. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-“

“No, it’s fine,” he said quickly. “Ask away.”

“Are you sure?” The reply was a simple nod.

Curiosity killed the cat. You winced, trying to banish Sera’s voice from your head.

“Her name is Lilith, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

You shifted from foot to foot. “What’s your daughter's name?”

“Charlie- Charlotte.”

You returned to where you originally were. “I take it she doesn’t live with you in this huge, erm, house?”

Lucifer smiled wryly. “No, she… she’s off doing, uh…”

“You don’t know, do you?” You sighed. He shook his head. “It’s alright. Do you two not talk?” He shook his head, again.

You dragged over a chair to sit next to him, and reached out for his hand. He didn’t shy away from your touch as you intertwined your fingers. The cold metal of a ring- you glanced down- his wedding ring, pressed against your skin.

The air slowly filled with a thick silence, until he broke it.

“She left to chase whatever dreams she had a while after Lilith left.” His next words were bitter. “She just left- Lilith, I mean. Just disappeared.”

You glanced at him, and he laughed. “But whatever. It’s been years. She’s clearly not coming back. I’ll just have to move on.”

“You’re clearly not trying,” you pointed out, tapping a finger against the thick gold band. He sighed, then looked up at you suddenly.

“What?”

“I’ll take it off.”

“Seriously? I didn’t mean-“

“No, you’re right.” He stood up and went over to a drawer in the corner. You watched as he pulled the ring off his hand and dropped it in one of them, then locked it with a key sitting on the top. “Catch.”

You caught the key as it came flying through the air towards you. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Keep it. Or toss it, I don’t care.”

You buried it in the depths of your satchel. “Fine,” you muttered. You could see his pleased smile in your peripheral.

♱♱♱

“Fuck! [name]!”

You yelped as you fell into a giant pile of rubber ducks. The smell of- well, rubber- attacked your senses, almost suffocating. You gasped, emerging in a flurry of rolling yellow ducks to see Lucifer standing over you, stifling his laughter.

“Do you not have, like, places to keep these…” you gestured agitatedly at the colony of artificial creatures surrounding you. “Specimens?”

“They’re ducks.”

“I know they’re ducks.”

He grinned as he offered his hand towards you.

A scream sounded out outside. Two black shapes zipped across the red sky, the scene framed by the window you were staring out of. It was behind Lucifer, framing his silhouette as he turned around to glance outside. The scream had dissolved and the shapes had disappeared. Lucifer glanced back at you.

You stared at him and gulped, frazzled.

“Are you sure your… friends aren’t looking for you?” You took his arm and he pulled you up. But didn’t let go.

“I hope not.”

Lucifer stared at your face, intensely, as if he was trying to memorise it. You flushed and turned away. “Maybe it was a bad choice you made, seeing me.”

You laughed nervously. “It’ll be fine. Plus, you hardly left me with much of a choice.”

He smiled, and his eyes seemed to glitter in the dim light. “We all have choices, angel.”

It knocked the breath right out of you.

You stared at him, then turned away again. “Sure, whatever.”

You heard his low chuckle behind your back as you walked away.

♱♱♱

The pentagram would be closing soon.

You grappled with the window, until Lucifer sighed and pushed you to the side, gently, opening it up for you. It swung open soundlessly as you clambered onto the windowsill, wings poised for flight.

“Angel, wait.”

You stared at him as something closed around your wrist. You looked down. A bracelet. “Huh?”

He held up his own wrist. The bracelet on it was identical to yours. “First thing I’ve made since a rubber duck.”

“…a bracelet.”

He held his finger up to your lips to silence you. You flushed. “Not just any bracelet,” he said, the pride evident in his voice. “It’s for communication. And you’re the perfect person to help me test it out over long distances. You press the stone on the front, and mine will buzz and light up. Vice versa.”

“We are worlds apart.” The sentence seemed to strike a strange feeling in you, one of melancholy. Lucifer, however, seemed unfazed.

You knew that, deep down, you’d give in anyways.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

♱♱♱

The morning light filtered through the window and onto your bed as you emptied out your satchel. Your notebook and pen dropped onto the covers soundlessly. The apple bounced off the corner of the frame, rolling across your rug.

As you leaned down to pick it up, you heard something else clatter onto the floor.

You turned and stared at the ground where it lay, next to your foot.

The key, glinting in the pale light.

You kicked it under your bed. It spun away into the shadows with a final flash.

You sighed, shoulders relaxing, and sat onto the bed, leaning over your arm, staring at the bracelet. The stone in the middle was flat, in the shape of an apple, and a

metal snake coiled around the band of the bracelet. Pretty.

You pressed the stone. Buzz.

It lit up as you touched it. A few seconds ticked by.

Buzz.

You flinched as it lit up and vibrated, by itself too, then let out a deep breath. He was on the other side. It worked.

Knock knock knock.

You stiffened.

The knocking started up again, more relentless this time. You scrambled forward, quickly picking your way across your living room and opening the door.

“Lute?”

She smiled thinly, crossing her arms and glaring at you. The look on her face made your heart sink down to your shoes and dribble out in a puddle onto the floor. You gulped.

“[name],” she said coldly. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

♱♱♱

A/N: Stay Tuned!

Taglist: @boredlime, @ica1, @tremendoushearttaco, @sweetadonisbutbetter, @lucky-flowey,@kitty-kei, @thornwolfy235, @w31rd3rg1rl, @marxo5, @lvstyangel, @brainz00, @lukerycyja-reblogs, @dickmastersworld,@everlastprime259-blog, @rain-doll401-blog, @bakugounuggets, @ren-ren23, @mjhehe09,@angelicwillows

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 1 year ago

Text

Imagine Geralt realising how pissed you are after running into you again…

It was another busy day where knights, men and women of all corners came in to rest their battle-weary feet and drink mead. There would be the occasional brawl but they were nothing when you compared it to battling a cursed wyvern with a blindfold.

You exited the back room having just refilled the pitcher of cool mead when a familiar grunt caught your attention. Just behind a rowdy table of farmers, in the corner, sat the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia - and a bard who was far too chipper while sober.

Inching a little closer, you busied yourself with empty flagons while remaining within earshot of the pair.

“Come on - it’s not a bad lyric. Ah, what do you know? You can wield a sword but not understand the complex meaning behind a beautiful string of words.” The bard said.

Geralt scoffed. “It wasn’t complex.”

An old man slid a few coins across the table for the service which you pocketed and then moved on to the next.

“We can’t stay long.” Geralt told his companion. You glanced back briefly and saw the brightly dressed man staring into his coin satchel, concerned.

“I could swear there was more silver in here. Geralt, I think I’ve been indecently swindled.”

You wanted to confirm that the man could easily have fallen prey to the notorious pick-pockets that haunt the tavern but you stayed silent, now distracted by a customer who ordered some pies.

“Don’t forget the carrots this time.” He reminded.

You wanted to tell him where to shove his carrots but heard your name being shouted from across the floor.

“Y/n, I need a word!” It was the tavern owner who enjoyed paying you less than what you were owed. With a sigh, you trudged over to him away from most prying ears. “You’ve been waiting on those tables long enough. Deliver those pies and refill goblets on the double or I’ll show you out the door.”

You had half a mind to bite back but chose to hold the words at bay. In ten minutes, the pie was ready to be collected from the kitchens. As you walked it to the table, you made the decision to confront Geralt but upon approaching his table, found that the Witcher and his bard had vanished, leaving behind some coins for the hospitality.

Geralt would have heard your name being bellowed. He would have seen you answer the call. And yet, he still left?

Typical!

The farmer who had ordered the food found his plate empty as you swerved around his chair and rushed out the wooden door. Turning left, you followed the small path down to where riders often tied their horses, your own being one of them - spotting the familiar silver hair and lute of the bard.

Words appeared to have failed and rational thoughts had abandoned your mind the second you fled.

Your hand flipped the pie out of its casing and with one, well-aimed throw, found its mark. The bard screamed and the Witcher stopped in his tracks instantly stilling for a few seconds.

Then he turned, his jaw clenched. “Did you throw a meat pie at my head?”

You tossed the empty pan over your shoulder. “You bet I did and I’ll do it again.”

The bard at Geralt’s side grabbed his guitar and hid behind the broad-shouldered man fearing that he would be next. “Oh, they’re pissed. What did you do?”

Geralt exhaled as he pulled stray bits of pastry out of his locks. “I’m not sure…”

“Not sure? You fucking ignored me in the tavern! Friends for years and it doesn’t warrant a simple ‘hello’?” You yelled.

Jaskier peered out from behind, “Oh, he’s always like that. We’ve been friends for several weeks and he pretends to hardly know me - such a jest.” He chuckled to himself quite fondly.

Ignoring the brightly coloured song man, Geralt addressed you, now free from the discarded food. He had indeed acknowledged the your presence the minute he set foot in the tavern but found himself reliving old memories instead - some good, others painful.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after that business with the striga.”

“The striga?” You repeated, remembering the event he was referring to where he had taken claim over the beasts defeat instead of giving you proper recognition. “That was over a year ago, I was bitter for perhaps a few weeks but no more. But you wouldn’t know that because you ran off with Roach.”

“I didn’t run off - I just - you were injured and I had no reason to hang around while you healed.” The Witcher explained. “In hindsight, I probably should have checked in.”

You nodded vehemently. “And since you didn’t, you’re very deserving of that meat pie.”

“The pie was mean.” Geralt frowned.

“Oh a tale of a strained but beautiful friendship filled with battles and miscommunication - you must regale me with the details.” Jaskier grinned.

You would gladly do so if your old friend would have your company once more. Raising a brow at Geralt, you posed the silent question.

“Don’t you have a job?” Geralt asked.

You squinted in return. “I abandoned my post and stole a pie. I’m surely fired.”

“Fine - but only until the next village.” The Witcher negotiated, knowing full well that his friend would likely be staying for a longer time. He grabbed the reins and pulled himself up on his horse with a small grunt.

You shared a similar grin to the bard and sent a high whistle into the air to call forth your own steed for the journey ahead.

When the horse approached, you took hold of the reins and walked alongside Jaskier.

“While we’re on the topic, I’ll tell you about the time when Geralt fought an ifrit almost fully naked.” You winked and caught the eye roll on your friends face.

Jaskier pulled his guitar to the front and strummed a few strings to start a catchy tune. “Oh, I’m ready for this.”

~ More imagines here ~

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #witcher x reader #witcher imagine #geralt imagine #geralt x reader #jaskier imagine #jason x reader #jaskier x reader #geralt of river x reader #geralt of rivia imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine

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polakina · 11 months ago

Text

on his knees for you

pairing: javier escuella x reader

rating: mature

outline: a robbery goes sideways, and your already rocky friendship with a fellow camp mate is put to the test as you evade the guards of Van Horn

warnings: cursing, so much bickering, canon-typical gore and violence, flirting, slightly suggestive (this is by far the tamest thing i've ever written)

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

a/n: i can't believe how many notifications i've gotten about my works over the past week. its fucking crazy. thank you so much, you're all absolute stars

masterlist

It was a simple job, really. Get in, steal the bonds, and get out.

But nothing ever went as simple as the original plan, did it? Not with the Van Der Linde gang. There was always a little bit of improvisation to be had. Which was exactly what you were doing right now.

Bullets firing past your ears, blood running down your leg, the target’s personal guards chasing you down the winding paths of Roanoke Ridge.

One day earlier.

The plan was set. Arthur, Bill and Lenny were to infiltrate the building and steal the bonds, while Micah and Charles handled the guards. You and Javier were on lookout, posted at the entrance gates.

You were all stationed just outside of Van Horn, your target being the mansion and its occupiers. Trelawny had brought intel of bonds on their way through Van Horn to Annesburg, stopping off at the mansion overnight. Roanoke wasn’t a place anyone wanted to be caught up in at night.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” you muttered, leaning further against your horse, absorbing his body heat as much as you could. It had been hours of waiting around and checking on the mansion. No movement whatsoever since the sun began to set. Darkness was nearing and the coach was nowhere to be seen.

Javier stood beside you, rifle in hand, eyes fixated on the road to the right, where the coach should appear from. “Want my poncho?” He asked, glancing at you briefly.

You didn’t even cast him a look as you responded. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your style, Escuella. I think I’ll survive without it.” You sighed, and moved from your position, heading further down the road, hiding in the trees to watch from a different position, seeing the road winding down Roanoke Ridge to New Hanover.

The two of you had never gotten along. He didn’t like your attitude one bit. You were snarky, cold. Something you’d developed after years of running with Arthur and John. He’d try and make conversation, you’d brush it off. He’d invite you on a fishing or hunting trip, you’d decline and say you preferred to hunt alone. He couldn’t win. You never sat with the camp during his songs or meals, you were always perched somewhere else, keeping lookout. That’s what you did. That’s all you ever did.

So after a few months, he gave up. Not exactly understanding your harshness to him, he just accepted it instead. He returned your cold comments and your mean stares. Years passed and you bickered like enemies living beside one another.

You whistled out to the group as you spotted the coach. Your whistle blended with the birds, so it was undetected by the gourds watching the bonds.

Everything went smoothly, Arthur, Lenny and Bill making quick work of breaking into the bonds lock box, and you heard the guards grunting and groaning as they hit the floor from Micah and Bill’s attacks.

Through your scope, you spotted as the boys grabbed the bonds, throwing them into their satchels. Drifting your rifle along the side of the mansion, you sensed something wrong with Bill. He was arguing with Micah. More so than usual.

“What’s going on?” Javier whispered, lying beside you, hidden between the trees.

You shushed him, focusing on Bill. Their argument grew even more heated, and you caught a glimpse of lantern light behind them. You watched as they turned, cursing loudly before returning fire. Micah had scurried off during the brawl with the guards, seeking other treasures and getting himself caught in a scuff with guardsmen minding their own business.

“Shit, shit,” Javier cursed, throwing an arm over you and holding you down, protecting your head as bullets fired your way. “He can’t keep his head for one mission, puta madre!”

Arthur had ordered for, if the mission went south; which you had good money on it that it did, that you scatter. Split up and evade Van Horn at all costs, go the long way around New Hanover until it was safe to return back to camp so you were sure you weren’t followed.

They had the bonds, all they needed to do was escape without getting caught. But you wouldn’t have minded if Micah got murdered in the. Just when you thought he’d found your last nerve, he managed to hit another one.

“I think this is our cue to leave,” you said through gritted teeth, pushing yourself onto your feet and grabbing your gear. Javier was on your heels, close behind. You hiked deeper into Murfree Brood territory, constantly keeping an eye over your shoulders for lantern light.

“Our safest path is through Roanoke,” Javier said from behind you, following your path through the trees. “The guards won’t dare follow us through there this late at night.”

You halted suddenly, whipping around to face Javier. He was caught off guard, almost stumbling into you, a surprised expression on his face. “Are you crazy, Escuella? Murfree Brood hunt here at night. If it’s not the guards who get us, it’ll be them. And I’d rather take my chances with bullets rather than-”

A bullet shot through the wind, straight through your leg into the tree behind you. It caught your words in your throat and you almost crumbled to the ground under the pain firing down your leg. Javier didn’t even blink as he wrapped an arm around you, catching you before you fell. He pulled his gun from its holster at his hip, pointing it over your shoulder and firing it straight into the head of the guard who fired at you first.

It drew attention. Of course, it did. Javier pulled you away from the scene, down the winding path leading to New Hanover. His arm stayed firmly around your waist, and you tried to hold in your groans of pain as your feet collided with uneven terrain, worsening the sting of the wound.

You both heard voices, coming from the top of the hill of which you had just descended. Javier pulled you around a large oak tree, pushing your body against the bark which pulled a pained gasp from your lips. “Fucking hell, Javier. At least try to be gentler with-” His hand clamped over your mouth, his body pressed against yours as he looked past the tree trunk to the guards making their way past you, checking their surroundings as they went.

“You need to learn to shut up once in a while,” he whispered, looking back to you. His hat was tipped down his head, shielding his eyes. “I’m trying to save you and you’re still complaining.”

You looked up at him, your mouth still firmly covered, your hand wrapped around his wrist, instinct from when he shut you up. He smelled of whiskey and firewood, his scent filling your nostrils. His hand wrapped around your waist protectively, tightening as the footsteps grew closer.

Pulling his hand down, you noticed his skin never left yours. It rested around your neck. Softly, no pressure in his fingers, but the heat of his palm burned against your pulse, and he felt your heart rate jump. “Thought you would have wanted to get rid of me, Escuella,” you whispered, looking up at him.

But he just looked down at you, surprised. “What?”

“Get rid of me. Hand me off to some guards searching through half the woods for us.” Your gaze never wavered. “Would certainly save you the trouble of dealing with me back at camp.”

He just smirked, tilting his head up, his eyes turned down to look at you. “And why would I want to get rid of you? Perhaps I enjoy the trouble you cause me. Ever thought about that?” His eyebrows raised as you stood there, unable to form words. “So are you going to shut up and behave yourself while I get you out of here? Or are you going to keep talking until they figure out where we are?”

Javier waited for your response, but it never came. You just bowed your head, sealing your lips in a thin line. He took that as a sign that you’d ‘shut up and behave’.

The men eventually left, abandoning their search for you, leaving both you and Javier a window of opportunity to flee.

The sun poked out above the trees from the makeshift camp Javier had set up in New Hanover. You were shielded by the canopy of branches, the fire in front of you keeping you warm. But it wasn’t doing anything good for the bullet wound in your leg. You stretched out your leg, wincing at the pain shooting through your body.

“I told you not to try and fix it by yourself,” you heard Javier say as he emerged with an armful of firewood, dropping it by your bags. “Your hands will shake before you’ve finished stitching it.”

You glared up at him. “Would you suggest I just leave it? Cut my leg off?”

Javier rolled his eyes at you, kneeling in front of you, his knees on either side of your wounded leg. “I would suggest…that you should wait for me. I’ll stitch it for you.”

Pulling his knife from the holster at his ankle, he sliced the blade through the fabric of your pant leg like butter. All the way up to your hip. “Hey!” You called out. “They were new pants.”

“I’ll buy you a replacement. Now shut up.” He was always harsh with his words, but now, it was even more so. A slight pang of worry soaked his tone.

“You’re such an ass sometimes-ow!” His fingers pushed against the wound on your leg, blood pooling out to the floor. “The fuck was that for?”

He looked indifferent as he looked up at you. “Feeling for any shrapnel. You don’t have any, thankfully, or else this would have hurt a lot more than its about to.”

“I could have told you that,” you grimaced as he began cleaning the wound. Applying pressure to one end of the bullet hole only forced blood through the other side. You could see both the entry point and exit point of the wound, stretching across the left and right sides of your leg.

You were both silent as he cleaned your leg, but you gasped as he pulled out a needle. He saw a panicked flash across your face, seeing it appear as quickly as it fled. “Easy,” he soothed, patting your knee. “I’ll be quick. You won’t feel it.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you whispered, your eyes only focused on the needle.

He sighed, leaning closer, tipping your chin up to meet his softened gaze. “Okay. You will feel it. But not much. A bee sting, that’s all it feels like. But it’ll be easier if you lie down.”

“Why?”

“Your muscles tense when you sit upright. You could at least be comfortable while I stitch you up.” He helped you into a more comfortable position. Javier still straddled your shin, one of his hands pressed against your thigh while his other stitched the hole closed. You laid there, his poncho acting as your pillow as you looked up at the trees.

You ignored the sting you felt each time the needle pierced your skin. Javier wasn’t wrong, it did feel like a bee sting. What’s more important, was that you could manage that sort of pain. “Thank you,” you said quietly, but you weren’t certain he heard you at first, until the needle stopped in your skin, his actions immoveable. Lifting your head and straining your neck, you met his eye. There was a small smile on his face, the corners of his moustache turned upwards with his laugh lines driven deep into his skin. You always did like his smile. That was the one thing that never changed about him.

“It’s the least I can do,” he smiled, turning his attention back to your stitches. “It’s sort of my fault you got shot in the first place.”

“Sort of? You mean ‘entirely’?” You laughed as he playfully slapped your other leg with the back of his hand.

“Quit laughing,” he chuckled with you. “Or I’ll end up stabbing you in the wrong place.”

He finished quickly, wiping away any trace of blood before gently bandaging your leg. His soft touch lingered for a little while, his thumb gently rubbing soothing patterns into your skin. Your breath stopped in your throat as his touch rose higher. Higher up your thigh. To where your thigh met your hip. He was so fixated on it, he didn’t realise what he was doing until he felt your pulse beating at an ungodly rate at the top of your inner thigh.

His eyes flicked up to yours, where you laid, patiently. You were curious what sorts of thoughts were running through his head right now. What sort of cogs were turning in that brain of his.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, your face closer to his than it had ever been before. “What?” You coaxed, too curious to keep quiet now.

“Nothing,” he moved to lean back, his hands drifting down your thighs, but they never left your body before you grabbed the front of his shirt, holding him in place.

“What did I say? Don’t lie to me, Javier.” Your voice never raised above a whisper. It didn’t need to. You were so close a whisper felt like a shout.

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t speak. The close proximity had rendered him faulty in speech. So instead he closed the gap. His lips touched yours, his body melting against your touch. You didn’t expect it. All those years of bickering. All those years of cruel comments and nasty looks. Nothing prepared you for this. But you welcomed it.

Javier leaned you back, your head meeting the poncho as you felt his body settle on top of yours. Breaking away for air, you saw a softened, kinder look in his eye when he looked at you. “Is this your apology for me getting shot?” You asked, smiling against his lips as he kissed you once more.

“Is it working?” His lips moved to your neck, hovering above your skin to a point where it tickled.

“Hmm…maybe.”

“Then perhaps I’ll try a different angle,” he smirked, unbuttoning your pants, encapturing your lips in a soft kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. He had a lot of making up to do.

#fluff #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption x reader #javier escuella smut #javier escuella rdr2 #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption two #red dead fandom

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twola · 1 year ago

Note

your last rb… there’s something about an angry arthur, covered in dirt and sweat, dirtying his sweet s/o’s blouse and skirts as he rips them from her body so he can ease his frustrations with her 😩

His hands are shaking. He shouldn’t be surprised, with the simmering anger still pulsing beneath his skin.

Goddamn Micah.

The coach that slimy snake was so damn desperate to hit sure as hell wasn't worth the take. Sixty bucks? Certainly not worth the the dead bodies strewn around the road. Not worth getting bucked from his horse and tearing his damn shirt and goddamn it all, he hates that sonovabitch.

It's a good thing its so late, by the time they got back to the camp, most people had turned in for the night. Arthur stalks over toward his wagon and cot and strips his gun belt from his hips, tossing it on his cot along with his worn old hat. His satchel hits the floor. He grinds his teeth as he runs one hand through his hair, absentmindedly thinking that he needs to see a barber soon.

Like a livewire, angry energy pulses through his blood - there was no way he'd be able to sleep anytime soon. Groaning in frustration, he kicks the ground under his boots and leaves the yellow-orange glow of the lantern hanging from the wagon above his cot. Moving toward the woodline, he pulls a pack of cigarettes from pants pocket, having tucked them and a book of matches in before leaving his cot.

By the time he reaches a large oak tree to lean against a bit further away from camp, he's puffing large clouds of smoke from between his lips, the cigarette doing nothing to calm him down.

Goddamn Micah.

"Arthur?"

He breathes out another plume of smoke before tossing the cigarette to the ground, putting it out under his boot before looking up.

You stand a few yards away from him, wringing your hands and having a concerned look on your face. Worry is etched into your features as you eye him up and down.

Goddamn Micah. Now his frustration over this damn job has gotten you worried, the last thing he ever wants to do.

"Are you alright, love?" You ask softly, your voice higher pitched than normal as you take a hesitant step toward him, like a newborn lamb, afraid and fearful of the wolf that he his.

"M' fine." He grits out, unable to hide the hardness in his glare as he meets your eyes. You flinch, radiating discomfort as you come closer, braving the snarling of the wolf you've tied yourself to - knowing that he is not all harshness and sharp teeth.

"C'mere." He drawls lowly, holding out his arm toward you, knowing that you're dubious in your approach.

But approach you do, and he slides his hand around your small waist, absentmindedly noting that you need some more meat on your bones. He heaves you against him the last half step between you, and you stumble slightly before you are secure in his embrace, one large arm locking you in against him.

He knows he's dirtying your blouse, a faded pink that does not stand up to the dirt and grime painted over his blue workshirt, but right now, he couldn't care, closing his eyes and placing his chin on the top of your head, trying to assuage the aggravation in his blood. Your small hands press against his chest lightly as you situate yourself in his embrace, and your movement only stands to heat his blood further.

His hand moves from your waist, down, down to your rear, where he takes an entire handful of your ass as you yelp in surprise, clutching at his shirt as you push against him completely, continuing to stoke him.

Sometimes, there is a part of him that hates the idea of sullying you so - he's brash and dirty and an outlaw - you're meek and quiet and pickpocket when needed, your doe eyes seducing men with their innocence. But lord, when he strips you down and gets you beneath him, the sounds you make are downright filthy, rivaling far-flung whores he's seen over the years across the west.

Goddamn Micah. The heat in his blood and your body against him, he knew, he knew that the only way to power through this frustration was to bury himself inside you. His head moves further downward, nipping at your neck as you yelp again, jolting in his arm and fully pressing yourself against him. You shiver as he kneads your ass cheek, the long, hard line of him pressed against your stomach as he groans into the damp skin of your neck.

"Fuck, darlin'-" Arthur moves up toward your ear, whispering breathily in low tones that make you shiver again, "Lemme have you, right here."

"H-here?" You ask, turning your face toward his and he muffles any further question as he shoves his lips against yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth.

God, you sweet little thing. You never tell him no. You give a little sigh into his mouth and lean into him, giving your approval with a small press of your belly against his hardness, to which Arthur takes complete advantage.

Your pretty clothes, that dusty pink blouse and light grey skirt, pressed against his dirt stained outfit, they will need laundering right away. One of Arthur's hands yanks at the ties of your skirt, and with a bit of finessing, it falls to the ground as he pushes you back slightly, your eyes lust-blown and your lips swollen as he pulls at the hem of your blouse, pulling it up your midriff, up and over your breasts, and over your shoulders as you hold your arms up for him to strip it off you completely.

Arthur pants against you as he takes you in, shielded from his eyes only by a gauzy chemise. Your hands, floating to his pectorals, slowly trace downward, over the muscle of his belly before your fingers land on the buttons of his trousers, his cock pulsing beneath the denim.

He gathers your chemise upward from the waist, pulling it up and over your drawers, and he quickly pushes them downward to pool around your ankles, leaving you completely bare beneath your belly.

You blink up at him, as he returns to kneading your ass with one hand. He breathes heavily out of his nose as his other hand grasps your waist roughly.

"On your knees, little darlin'." Arthur rumbles, pleased when you nod and start to sink to your knees. For the first time tonight, the hint of a smile crosses his face as he quickly reaches toward the buttons of his trousers.

#miniprompt #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan smut #twolafic #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic #red dead fandom #red dead redemption

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queer-irritator · 8 months ago

Note

could i request a kratos x shy reader Waking Up together and cuddling and Kissing, so basically fluffy?

Of course!! You asked at a perfect time bc I just got finished with finals! One thing about me, is I love a background story. I hope you like this one ❤️

New Routines

Who’s got time to proofread anyway?

CW: Mention of animal death/hunting

Word Count: 1,196

It had been less than 24 hours since you spilled your feelings to Kratos.

You weren’t expecting to, you had long accepted that your fondness of the Greek God would have to remain locked tightly in the confines of your heart, never to be shared. He had gotten into (another) argument with Atreus.

“One day you won’t be able to tell me what to do anymore!” Atreus’ voice filled the space of the small log cabin he called home as he half-hazardly stuffed items into a satchel.

“That day is not today.” Kratos argued back in his usual stern voice.

“Guess we’ll see about that…” Atreus mumbled to himself.

“Do you have something to say, boy?”

Atreus silently closed the bag he had been filling, slung it over his shoulder and pushed pass his father to head out the door. Kratos stopped him before he could push open the squeaky wooden door by grabbing his shoulder, spinning Atreus to meet his eyes.

“You cannot go.” Kratos stated to his son. Atreus was set on assisting Sindri with a dangerous sounding mission to gather rare artifacts.

Atreus shrugged his hand off of him, “Why can’t you just believe in me? You never let me do things by myself. I’m not a little kid anymore!” He continued out the door. “Atreus!” Kratos called after him, moving to stand in the doorway. “Don’t worry,” Atreus said, dejected, “I’m just going to sleep with Speki and Svanna tonight.” He walked past where you had been sitting to head down to his wolves.

Kratos let out a long exhale through his nose. After standing for a moment he finally noticed you sitting on a log stump right next to the house, skinning a rabbit.

“What are you doing here?” His words came out harsher than he meant to.

Your stomach dropped at his tone, but you didn’t let it show. “I was going to cook supper for you and Atreus tonight.” you replied to him without looking up from your task.

“...Yes, I remember now.” He wasn’t usually the type to forget things.

You stripped the hide off of the last rabbit you had and stood up, “Would you clean these for me?”

“Mh.” You got a famous Kratos grunt followed by a nod.

You started to clean the blood off your hands in a wash basin. Kratos watched you from the corner of his eye as he began dressing the meat.

“Why do you care for us?” His sudden question caused you to turn your head towards him.

“What?” Confusion was evidently spread across your face. What type of question was that? Not the type to be casually brought up in conversation, that’s for sure.

“You cook for us… You clean for us, make sure we are well. Why?” Kratos re-explained carefully, his was soft. A stark contrast to his usual short and serious tone.

Your feet felt glued to the earth beneath you. A light, warm summer breeze ran through your hair as you stood searching for an answer besides ‘Because I love you’.

But it did not come.

Kratos turned his head to you, he knew you weren’t too talkative but this much silence from you was unusual.

“Uhm…” You swallowed thickly, starting to feel nerves shoot through your body and the pit in your stomach return, “Just because.” You knew the moment the words left your mouth, it wouldn’t be a suitable answer for Kratos.

“Most people want something in return.” Kratos resumed rending to the rabbits.

Was he insinuating you wanted something from him? Your nerves turned into confusion, even anger. A wave of confidence washed over you.

“Can you just accept I come around because I like you? That I like spending time with you, talking to you, just being in your presence? Why do I have to want something from you?”

“Mmh… So you have feelings for me?” The pieces were starting to fit together in Kratos’ mind.

“What? I never said that!” You were a little too quick to defend yourself, you could feel your heart beating in your chest. You didn’t think you’d ever been through such a rollercoaster of emotions in such a short time in your entire life.

This only left more questions for Kratos. Why would someone like you have feelings for someone like him? What did you see in him? You knew of the awful things he’s done to the people that are closest to him.

“Why do you have feelings for me?” He asked. He finished dressing the animals and turned around to face you and await your answer.

“Oh my gods, sometimes people just fall in love, Kratos!” This might have been the first time you ever yelled at him. But the way he thinks so lowly of himself gets you so heated. Kratos walked closer to you, so he was only a foot away. He was looking over your eyes and face in confusion.

“Love?” He spoke softly.

You felt your cheeks burning and you looked away from him and finally you could move your feet. You quickly gathered up some vegetables you foraged for dinner and made yourself busy preparing the meal.

You felt Kratos’ eyes trailing you for the rest of the night. While you chopped vegetables, stirred the stew, washed the dishes, every move, he was watching you.

You, on the other hand, had been avoiding his gaze the entire time. It was only when Kratos announced he was going to give Atreus his dinner and talk to him that you had a chance to relax. The second he closed the door you sat down on his bed and put your head in your hands with a loud sigh.

“Why would I say something so stupid?” You questioned yourself. All you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and fade away from the world. You were so exhausted after the events of the day you didn’t notice yourself leaning down on the bed.

You blinked your eyes open, squinting at the sunlight that poured in through the gaps of the wooden roof. Rubbing away the sleep from your eyes, you just noticed the soft blanket around you and warmth against your back. Your attempt to sit up was stifled by a strong arm tightening around your waist. You looked down to be greeted by the unforgettable scarred arms of Kratos.

Butterflies erupted from your stomach and seemed to flutter into your throat as your cheeks warmed up. When had you fallen asleep? Why were you in Kratos’ bed with his body entangled with yours? Questions raced through your mind as your heart began to pound harder.

Rough, calloused knuckles gently stroked your cheek. You turned your head to meet Kratos’ amber gaze. The both of you stayed, gazing at each other while Kratos’ knuckles grazed your skin for a few minutes.

Kratos had stopped his soothing motions, drawing you back to reality. “Hi.” Your voice was hoarse from sleep, but soft.

“Mmh… Good morning.” Kratos greeted you. He placed a kiss to your head and his beard tickled your face.

You could definitely get used to waking up like this.

#god of war #god of war ragnorak #gow #gowr #kratos x reader #kratos #kratos x gn reader #kratos x gn!reader #gow fanfic #gowr fanfic #god of war fanfic #god of war ragnarok fanfic #god of war fanfiction #atreus

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k-nayee · 3 months ago

Text

Wife to the Winds Epic: The Musical | iii

wc: 1.8k a/n: turned into 4 instead of 3 parts lol. Here's the animation for this part

Traveler M.List

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recap

Your hand flickered down to the weight in your satchel. With trembling fingers, you rummaged through it.

A Lotus fruit and bundle of dried Nepenthe and Poppy herbs are pulled out the bag, now in your hands. 'Please Gods....please. This has to work...'

You pressed against the cold stone wall of the cave as Polyphemus' voice boomed, shaking the very earth beneath your feet.

From your hidden position you could see Odysseus standing tall even when facing such an overwhelming force.

"There seem to be a misunderstanding," His voice was steady, though you could hear the weight of strategy in every word. "We never came here to steal nor kill what is precious to you."

The conversation was enough of a distraction. And so, while all eyes were on the Cyclops and Odysseus, you seized the moment.

You carefully slip from your hiding place, your eyes locked on the jug of wine sitting nearby.

Using a passing sheep for cover-up, you crept low across the stone floor until you reached it.

Your fingers shook as you uncorked the jug, working quickly despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

With a practiced hand, you pull out the bundle of Nepenthe and Poppy, crumbling the dried herbs into the wine.

You pause at the sight of the Lotus Fruit before quickly squeezing the juice into the mix as well—hopefully it would make him more susceptible to the mix.

As you finished, Odysseus raised hand in a placating gesture. "But now I see the damage we've caused. Maybe you and I can make a deal?"

This was your cue.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up and walked out from behind the sheep with the jug of wine cradled in your arms.

A soft smile spread across your lips as you called out to the Cyclops.

"Great Polyphemus!" voice laced with awe, your footsteps were light and graceful as you approached. "Forgive my interruption but I could not resist the chance to gaze upon such greatness. At last I find you in all your glory."

Polyphemus' anger faltered, his fiery gaze shifting toward you, massive eye narrowing slightly.

You approached slowly, keeping your movements reverent. "I have been searching for you," you lower your eyes and bow your in show of humility.

"I have heard tales of your strength and power, Son of Poseidon. No mortal can stand against you. Not even these men," you add, casting a glance at Odysseus and the others. "They are beneath you."

The men stirred at your insult, muttering among themselves. Even they seemed to believe your words.

Polyphemus however was intrigued. The light in his eye softened slightly as he observed you, taking in your visage and apparent devotion.

You lift the jug of wine higher, offering it to him. "As a token of my loyalty, I bring you this—wine from distant lands. It is said to have the power to rejuvenate even the mightiest of warriors. One sip, and you shall possess the strength to end them all in a blink of an eye. You needn't waste your time with mere mortals."

You felt the weight of Odysseus' men staring at you in disbelief. You ignore them, focusing only on Polyphemus.

"Knew she was too good to be true!" one of them hissed. "Should've thrown her overboard when we had the chance!"

Hostility simmer as some of the men stiffened, fists tightening around their weapons. Even Eurylochus glared at you with mistrust.

Polyphemus grinned, yellow jagged teeth glinting in the dim light. His ego was clearly pleased by your flattery.

"YOUR WORDS ARE AS RADIANT AS THE FACE THAT SPEAKS THEM." he rumbled, leaning closer. His breath washed over you, foul and warm. "TELL ME, WHAT IS YOUR NAME?"

"I am nobody," you said smoothly, holding his gaze. "Nobody...but a humble servant for thee."

A flicker of understanding passed through Odysseus' eyes. He caught your gaze for a brief moment and you saw the gears turning in his mind.

His lips twitched.

His gaze hardened as he gives a slight, almost imperceptible nod—just enough to show he was on your side.

He trusted you. And that's all that matters.

Polyphemus chuckled. "NOBODY, YOU SAY? THEN NOBODY SHALL SERVE ME. COME CLOSER, POUR THE WINE."

You suppress the shudder crawling up your spine and force your feet to move closer as the Cyclops extends an enormous hand toward you.

For a brief moment the overwhelming stench of him—the musk of sheep, sweat, and earth—fills your senses. It nearly made you gag.

But you keep smiling, even as your hands began to shake when he takes the jug from you.

Slow and deliberate he raises the jug to his lips and take a long drink.

You fought to keep the anxiety from showing on your face, hoping the herbs and lotus fruit in the wine would work.

"AH...STRONG, THIS A FINE WINE." His eye fluttered with a contented sigh as he lick his lips in satisfaction.

"PERHAPS I WILL KILL THEM SLOWLY, JUST TO HEAR THEM SCREAM," Polyphemus muses, more to himself than anyone else. But the momentary distraction gives Odysseus an idea.

"BUT YOU..." He continues, glancing down at you, voice lowering with a hint of possessiveness. "YOU SHALL REMAIN BY MY SIDE AS MY WINE-BEARER. I WILL KEEP YOU TO ADMIRE FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE."

Your stomach churned at the thought—blood running cold at his words, but you kept your sweet smile fixed.

"No!" Odysseus declares stepping forward, his voice rising with protest. "You can't take her!"

The call of defiance took the Cyclops aback. "OH?"

"She's mine. And if you intend to claim her then I demand a fight. Surely a warrior such as yourself knows not take what belongs to another without challenge."

A collective gasp ripples through the men as they stare at their captain in disbelief.

Polities grabs Odysseus' arm, pulling him back with panic in his voice. "Captain wait! You can't—!"

The King of Ithaca shrugs him off, his eyes never leaving the giant.

Polyphemus blinked in surprise before releasing a booming laugh. "YOU THINK YOU CAN DEFEAT ME MORTAL? A FIGHT AGAINST YOU WOULD BE CHILD'S PLAY."

Odysseus raised his chin with a steely gaze. "I'm willing to take that chance. Let her fate be decided by strength."

The son of Poseidon grinned at the Hero's audacity. "VERY WELL. LET US SEE WHO IS THE STRONGER."

"AND WHEN YOU FALL..." He grabbed his massive club, the sound of it scraping against the stone floor sending shivers down your spine. "I WILL CLAIM HER AS MINE."

But Odysseus stood his ground, hands loose by his sides with a calm expression.

With a low growl Polyphemus lifts the club. But as he prepared to swing, his movements slowed.

He blinked sluggishly, confusion clouding his face as it began to glaze over. The massive club wavered in his hand.

"WHAT IS...THIS?" he slurred, voice thick and heavy. His lidded eye shifts back to you, suspicion dawning too late.

He staggered, the weight of the club suddenly too much for him to bear. "WHAT...HAVE YOU...DONE....?"

Your heart race as the adrenaline coursed through you.

His enormous body swayed as he tried to keep balance. His grip on the club faltered, clattering to the ground with a deafening thud.

Polyphemus clutch his head as his body struggled against the effects of the spiked drink.

Odysseus wasted no time. "Now!" he barked.

In a flurry the Ithacan warriors rushed forward. You watched as they grabbed sharpened stakes and rushed into the Cyclops' single unguarded eye.

Polyphemus released a bloodcurdling roar, the sound shaking the cave walls as he thrashed in agony.

He staggers back, howling in pain, before collapsing with a thunderous crash. Defeated.

Odysseus was at your side in an instant, his eyes sharp and gleaming with pride. "Let's go. Quickly."

You didn't need to be told twice.

You scrambled to the entrance with the men, dragging the spoils of food and sheep along as you made the escape.

Once outside the cool air hit your face like a blessing. You were alive. All of you had survived.

When you finally emerged back onto the shore, the sight of the awaiting ships filled you with relief.

The men were abuzz with energy, laughing and cheering now that they were free of the giant's clutches.

Those who stayed aboard crowded around with cheers as they helped haul sacks of food and provisions on deck—enough to sustain the journey ahead.

You followed behind the last of the group, watching Odysseus make his way up the gangplank.

But just as he stepped onto the deck he was immediately met by two men—Lycus and Alexander.

The pair looked uneasy, their eyes darting nervously between each other as they shuffled toward him.

Pale-faced, they wrung their hands anxiously and avoided eye contact with their captain.

Odysseus halted with slightly furrowed brows as he glanced at them. He said nothing.

Lycus shifted from foot to foot, voice trembling as he tried to form the words. "C-captain...w-we...uh...we may have..."

"Lost..." Alexander finished, the word barely a whisper as it left his lips.

The King of Ithaca remained silent as he waited for them to explain further.

Both men looked like they were about to buckle under the pressure. Lycus stammered, trying to find the right words. "W-we um...we uh...might have—"

You slid into view from behind Odysseus with a bright smile.

"Huh?" you asked innocently, tone light and playful as though nothing unusual had happened.

Both men froze with wide eyes at the sight of you standing there unharmed and cheerful.

They blinked rapidly, looking between you and Odysseus in disbelief.

Still facing the two men Odysseus only gave a slow confused blink and raised eyebrow.

He glanced back at you for a brief second, then returned his attention to Lycus and Alexander, silently waiting for them to finish their explanation.

"W-what was that?" you mockingly added, your smile never wavering as you watch them squirm.

"N-nothing!" Lycus blurted out before looking to Odysseus in slight panic. "Nothing at all sir!"

"Y-yeah nothing Captain!" Alexander echoed, nodding frantically in agreement. "Everything's perfectly fine!"

Odysseus tilted his head slightly. Though his expression was neutral, a flicker of amusement glinted in his eyes.

Without saying a word he give a curt nod, dismissing them with a simple gesture.

Lycus and Alexander didn't waste a second—they quickly stumbled out of sight, muttering hurried excuses.

As they fled, Odysseus turned back to you. He crossed his arms over his chest as he regarded you with a knowing look. "Well...care to explain that?"

You met his gaze with a grin and offer a casual shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine."

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