#yes chapter 9 is not completely out yet

[adreamoverlife]

Good news for insane people who like q!french (me)

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 9 (part one)

(Rafe Cameron x reader series, 7k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

All that met you when you woke was anxiety and a sharp, thumping headache. It was such a depressing paradox to the peaceful way you’d woken up in this same bed on your first morning here, a thousand fucking lifetimes ago. Your whole body ached as you sat up in bed, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin on one. 

The bed felt empty. Strange, since you hadn’t ever shared it with anyone. 

Your eyes, puffy around the edges from tears and exhaustion, scanned the dimly lit room. You were startled when you saw it - the little box of candy sitting on the dresser, unopened and completely forgotten. Even more startling was the sudden pang of craving you had for it. You pulled the covers from your legs, immediately missing their warmth, and padded quickly across the room to fetch the candy.

After adjusting the heavy curtains to block out as much of the midday sunlight as possible, you crawled back under the blankets, tearing the package open. Little crystals of sugar went flying, their unnatural dyes and chemicals surely staining the white sheets. But that was some faceless Airbnb owner’s problem.

You ate the candy fast and messy, completely indulging your childish desires and ignoring any regard for moderation or tooth enamel. Fingers sticky and jaw aching, you chewed and licked until there wasn’t a morsel of artificial sweetness left in the box. 

The candy didn’t help your headache, yet somehow it still made you feel better. A small gift on a day of mostly unpleasant surprises. Ironic, since the person you had to thank for the treat was the one who caused the tears.

You’d have to face him eventually, there was still a question to be answered. That problem was entirely your own, and one you weren’t anywhere near ready to face yet, so you sunk back down in the sheets and let the sugar crash knock you back out.

The second time you woke up, the sun was setting outside your window, your mouth dry and sour from the sugar and oversleeping. You sat up and chugged some water from the bottle you kept on the nightstand, think about how you should probably go downstairs, see what everyone’s up to, check in with Carter. Yes, that’s what you should do, so why was your body not rising from the bed?

You checked your phone: 7:12 pm. The day was basically over. In the span of it, you’d fallen in and out of love, had your heart broken, and slept for nearly twelve hours. And, as the pang in your stomach was so aptly reminding you, you hadn’t eaten anything since Rafe made you eggs so many hours ago.

Your phone screen also showed you had about ten texts from Carter, checking on you and asking if you were okay. You opened them and sent a half-hearted “I’m good. Just catching up on sleep from the crazy semester.” 

Another growl of your stomach and you opened a different app, double checking the house’s address before confirming your order of one large pizza - pepperoni and onions, extra cheese. The delivery estimate was forty-five minutes. Perfect.

You had gotten through one episode of your favorite show when the doorbell rang downstairs, just as you’d expected. A few seconds later and a knock on the door finally pulled you from the bed, your legs like jello from being dormant for so long. You threw on Topper’s U of F hoodie and padded towards the knocking.

Carter stood outside your door, your hot, steaming pizza in hand.

“Delivery,” she smiled tightly when you opened the door.

“Thank you,” you said, taking the pie and opening it to smell the treat that was awaiting you.

“Glad to see you’re not dead up here,” she joked.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just tired.”

She didn’t buy it, you could read the concern all over her face, but there was nothing you wanted less right now than a lecture from her about everything that had happened with Rafe.

“We’re doing a whole crab boil down there, why don’t you just come down and-”

Actually, no. The last thing you wanted in the world right now was to sit across from Rafe, cracking crab shells and pretending nothing that happened had happened. You couldn’t bear to see him, not yet.

“I’m just gonna stay up here tonight, okay?” You smiled despite the questioning look she was throwing you, silently pleading with her to just drop it and let you be.

“I knew this was gonna happen,” she frowned, hands landing on her hips in an indignant pose. She clearly wasn’t going to just drop it.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before saying “you knew what was gonna happen?”

“I knew he was gonna hurt you, and now you’re spiraling out again. God, I’m gonna kill him-”

“I’m not spiraling,” you interrupted her. “I just want some alone time. I’m having a good time actually, I’m just watching some -”

“You’re holed up in your room, just like in high school, rotting away while he’s just down there hanging out and having a good time like he did nothing wrong. So fucking typical of him. Just come downstairs, don’t let him do this to you,” the look of pity in her eyes was enough to make you sick. 

Taking a deep breath, you set the pizza down on the top of the dresser, turning back to Carter with a stoic expression.

“Car, listen to me,” you said. “He’s not ‘doing’ anything to me. This is not just like high school, because I’m not who I was in high school. I know you’re used to taking care of me, but believe it or not, in the four years we’ve lived apart, I’ve actually gotten pretty good at taking care of myself. This is not a cry for help, it’s not me isolating and spiraling. This is me taking care of myself, and it might not look like how you take care of yourself, but we’re not the same. Please just go downstairs and let me do what I need to do. I’m not a hurt little kid who needs saving, okay?”

Her brows knit tight, she scanned you from head to toe, like she could pick out any deception in your words by sight.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m glad you know what you need. But…just, don’t hide away for too long, okay?”

“I’m just gonna do what I need to do tonight, and tomorrow we can get back to our fun trip, okay?” You promised.

She thought about it for a long moment, you knew she was having trouble not asking you what had happened when you were gone this morning. The two of you hadn’t even discussed Cassie’s arrival yet, and the millions of texts from her when your phone finally turned back on told you she had plenty to say, but right now you just needed for her to say nothing. Which she must’ve understood, because she finally nodded and slipped back downstairs.

The rest of the evening was spent watching your comfort show, eating your pizza and blocking out the muffled voices of the group wafting in from the patio through your window. Cozy in the blanket of solitude you’d wrapped around yourself was enough to eventually lull you into a decently restful sleep. Curtains on today, tomorrow would be better.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

The empty mattress was cold against your reaching hand. You woke up reaching for something, you weren’t sure what, the foggy dream you’d just had slipped away with the darkness as a stripe of sunlight leaked through the blinds and right over your closed eyelids.

With a groan, you sat up. You had done the whole self-care thing, a night in, letting the emotions settle and tears dry, and as you’d promised Carter, you should probably get back to the trip.

Blinking in the bright bathroom light, you turned the faucet on and ran some cold water over your face. The chilly water waking you up, you patted dry and blinked your eyes open into the mirror.

It was immediate, the way your gaze dropped to your own neck in the reflection. Right there splattered above your collarbone- three purple splotches in the shape of Rafe’s mouth. A constellation of reminders that you’d been so close to truly being his.

You gasped, fingertips flying up to skim over the tender spots. Flashes of your time with him in the car came back to you, your legs pinned to either side of his waist and his lips pinned to your throat. A swirl of desire and regret churned in your stomach at the memory. 

By your best estimate, it had been about forty-three minutes total. Forty-three sets of sixty seconds that you’d been happy, known he was yours, kissed him and been with him and felt good about all of it. Forty-three minutes between him confessing his feelings for you and him dropping your hand in front of Cassie.

A wave of sadness crashed into you with no warning, one thought echoing in your mind, so loud and sad it robbed the air from your lungs; forty-three minutes would be all you’d ever get.

Hot tears stung your cheeks as they fell quick and heavy. You didn’t bother finishing your skincare routine, or trying to self-soothe with some kind of platitude. You'd been perfectly, blissfully happy for forty-three minutes and you’d never be that happy again. You shuffled back down the hall and into bed, stopping first to pull Topper’s hoodie back in, as if keeping the hickies out of sight might make them heal faster.

Fuck greeting the day, fuck trying to end the trip on a positive note. Grief climbed over you and pinned your limp body to the mattress, clobbering you until the tears turned to dry, ragged breaths. You pulled out your laptop and restarted your comfort show. Maybe you’d just stay here, in the darkness, until the memory of him and the marks he’d left with his lips faded in time.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

The mattress sunk with the weight of someone climbing into bed next to you. For the briefest of moments a hope that you knew was absurd flashed across your mind - maybe it was him.

“Good morning,” Carter’s voice whispered, squashing the silly thought.

You didn’t open your eyes to greet her, just readjusted in the bed to face away from her, pulling the covers higher over your chin. 

“Time to rise and shine,” she poked your side, an annoying, cutesy sing-song effect added to her voice.

“No thank you,” you grumbled into your pillow.

“Okay so get this,” she continued chipperly, ignoring your denial. “You know how Jack’s family owns like a bunch of resorts and country clubs and shit? Well they own this bougie ass golf resort in Miami and he got us in for the day so we can go golfing and to the spa with all the millionaires.”

“You hate golfing,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, but we don’t have to actually golf,” she waved off your logic. “It’s just about wearing cute outfits and looking hot on a golf cart.”

You rustled in the sheets, turning on your side to face her.

“As inviting as that sounds, I’m gonna pass,” you said, settling in to go back to sleep.

“No, no,” she reached out to pull the covers off of you, making you groan in protest. “You said you were only gonna be sad for a night, and that today we’d have fun. Well it’s today, time to stop being sad! And you like golfing, so let’s go.”

“I’m not sad,” you lied. “I’m just tired and I don’t want to go.”

“Come on, we’ve barely spent any time together and I’m leaving soon.” Ah, so she was finally pulling the guilt trip card, you wondered when she’d make that play. “Also we have a lot to talk about, we haven’t even discussed the wicked witch of the west blowing into town.”

Despite your current annoyance with her, you laughed at this, no need to clarify who she was referring to.

“It’s because I’m trying not to think about her, actually,” you said, pulling the comforter back over your shoulders. “Let me get back to my dreams where she’s far, far away in munchkin land.”

Carter tsked, pulling the covers down yet again. You shot daggers at her with your glare, the game already getting old.

She sighed, “I know Rafe dropping your hand in front of Cassie really put a damper on things, but I just really think it’s time to move -”

Your eyes narrowed, sitting up against your pillows in surprise.

“How do you know Rafe dropped my hand in front of Cassie?”

Carter’s eyes widened when she realized the slip up she’d made, suddenly lost for words, which was a rare issue for her.

“I just…we were gonna come down and then….” she stumbled over her explanation, hoping you’d allow her sentence to fizzle out, but your questioning glare didn’t give her any reprieve. 

“And then?”

“We kind of…heard you. You and Rafe when you came in from wherever you were,” she finally admitted.

Your jaw ticked, nodding without meeting her gaze, your passive aggression palpable.

“Who’s ‘we’?” You asked, avoiding her eyes and pulling back out your laptop to load up your comfort show.

“Me and Topper,” she pulled at a loose thread on your comforter. “And some of the others, but only for part of it. I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have listened, but I was worried about you.”

“How much did you hear?” You said flatly, collecting the remaining information like a medical intake form, assessing the potential damage of the mortifying story she was telling.

“Me and Topper heard, like, all of it,” she confessed. “Everyone else heard just some pieces.”

You and Carter didn’t fight, you never yelled at her, but the frustration and betrayal bubbling in your chest was threatening to end that streak. You needed a distraction or you’d lose it entirely. Hoping she’d take the hint, you pressed play on the show, shutting back down. She lingered though, pushing the conversation to the exact place you’d hoped it wouldn’t go.

“I mean what he did sucked and you should be pissed, but, you were only holding hands. At least you didn’t like hook up with him or anything. Things can just go back to the way they were before the trip. You didn’t hook up with him, right?”

“Right,” you half-lied.

Your anxiety over potentially having just decieved your sister manifested itself into the cartoonish image of a courtroom in your mind, your pencil-skirted lawyer standing between you and the judge: “your honor, the term “hook-up” could mean any number of things. If my client’s sister had wanted the whole story, she should have been more specific.” 

But you knew Carter, any version of the story that didn’t include every juicy detail may as well have been a knife in her back, she’d be pissed if she found out. Subconsciously, you adjusted the hood of your sweatshirt, pulling it higher to ensure it fully covered your neck.

She had eavesdropped, and you had lied. It would all come out in the wash. At least, that’s what you decided to tell yourself.

It didn’t matter anyway, you realized with a fresh dose of unbearable sadness, because you and Rafe would never be together like you were this morning again.

You twisted quickly in the bed, angling away from her so she didn’t see the tears welling on your lash line and turned up the volume on your show.

She stayed in the bed for a while, trying a few more times to start conversation and coax you to join them on the golf trip, but you’d perfected the art of the cold shoulder, blocking out her every attempt to get you to get out of the bed.

After maybe thirty minutes, she sighed and crawled out from under the covers, pulling out her phone as soon as she was outside your door and texting Topper: it’s worse than we thought.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂��⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

“Did you try telling her -”

“I’m telling you, I tried everything. She just shut me down. She’s really mad I think,” Carter’s face was pinched tight with worry as she whispered to Topper outside your door.

“Okay, well maybe, I dunno, you’re just not the person she wants to talk to right now…” he suggested, eager to help but hesitant to upset her any further.

“What, you think you’d fare better in there?” She snapped.

“I mean, I could try,” he shrugged.

She considered this. Maybe it would be beneficial to have a neutral party. Or maybe you’d scream at him, but either way he’d at least get more of a reaction out of you than she did, right?

“Fine, be my guest,” she motioned towards your door.

Topper knocked lightly, eliciting a delayed “um, yeah?” from your voice behind the door. He slowly opened it and slipped inside.

Only a few minutes later, he emerged from the room, his face ashen, wide eyes skittishly avoiding Carter.

“Well?” She pried.

“I don’t think I was the person she wanted to talk to either,” he said vaguely.

“Did she say anything?” She pressed.

“Oh, she said a lot of things…” he scratched the back of his neck, still not looking at her.

“Maybe she’s mad at you too, for eavesdropping,” Carter puzzled. “Maybe we need someone who didn’t hear much of their fight.”

Knocking on doors down the hallway, Carter coaxed the rest of the group, minus Cassie, Sabrina, and Rafe, who were nowhere to be found, out of their rooms and into Mission: Impossible - Get You to Leave Your Bed.

They each agreed, albeit reluctantly, to tiptoe their way into your room and try and talk you into coming out and joining the golf trip. One by one they emerged defeated. Not only had they not convinced you of anything, it seemed from Carter’s perspective that you had your own mission - to drag them all down into an existential crisis with you.

No new information to provide Carter about you, they each came out with some new insecurity that you’d talked them into.

Maddie was first, coming out with sad, round eyes and asking Carter, “do you think I’m smart enough for med school? What if I just wasted the last four years being pre-med?!”

Then Jack, who came out with his hand on his face, “do you think I should reverse my nose job? What if my face never looks normal again?”

Even Tom attempted to warm you up, telling Topper, “I think she’s right, I am only in finance to get my dad’s approval. Why doesn’t he love me for me, man?”

With each friend who returned from a conversation with you full of anguish, Carter and Topper exchanged worried looks. What exactly was going on in that bedroom? You were just one girl, one who typically wouldn’t hurt a fly, and yet this morning you’d apparently chosen violence, no one safe from your emotional carnage. 

Also with each friend who emerged defeated, Topper suggested calling in Rafe for reinforcement, only for Carter to shoot the idea down. But he’d never seen Tom spiral like this, and it was his final straw. He disappeared into his room with some excuse about needing to check on the afternoon’s tee-time.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

Rafe hadn’t run in years. At least, not like this. 

Sure, he went for a jog now and then or opted for the treadmill between leg and back day every so often, but he hadn’t done this kind of no-holds-barred, all-out-sprint since he was an athlete, and the burning in his lungs was reminding him why. 

Plus, running provided all this space for his mind to wander. When he was lifting or doing some high intensity shit, he didn’t have time to think. An open road and nothing but his own two legs? The opportunities for his brain to spiral were endless.

Still, today he kept running, the sand of the long beach kicking up with each heavy step. He’d peeled his shirt off over a mile ago, sweat pooling everywhere possible as breath became more and more illusive. He could feel the early morning sun burning the tops of his shoulders, he knew he’d pay for not wearing sunscreen later.

Every time he was tempted to stop, some invisible force nipped at his heels, propelling him forward. It felt peculiarly like nightmares he’d had as a kid, though this time it wasn’t a monster chasing him, but something much more elusive and indefinable. And he knew if he stopped, it would all catch up to him; everything he’d been trying to avoid for years. He wasn’t sure he’d survive the ambush.

Music blared through his headphones, a playlist he’d listened to so many times that he barely heard it anymore. Suddenly, the music cut, his phone buzzing against his thigh in his gym shorts pocket. 

Thankful for the excuse to slow down, he pulled out his phone to check the text, it was from Topper: dude something’s up with her, u gotta come help us. we’re trying to get her out of bed, she won’t talk to anyone. but she might talk to u

Rafe’s breathlessness suddenly had nothing to do with overworking it on the cardio. He didn’t expect you to be a ball of sunshine the day after he’d done something so stupid to you, but he didn’t understand what Topper meant by “somethings up.” The fact that he was positive he was actually the last person you’d want to talk to right now only added to his shortness of breath.

It was all wrong, none of this happened the way it was supposed to. And now he’d possibly broken you for good. Maybe it was time to pack his bags.

To add insult to injury, standing along the shoreline, only about ten feet in the distance, was the other girl who’s heart he’d broken, glowing in the sunrise and looking like a goddamn marble statue. Jesus Rafe, he thought, you really know how to lose ‘em.

He tried to duck out of sight, but she had already clocked him, standing at the edge of the water in her stylish swimsuit and wrap looking like a fucking greek goddess. She was the ideal female specimen, and yet, as he noticed with curiosity, there was nothing in him that was attracted to her. If anything, he wanted to be as far away from her as possible. But she smiled softly and raised her hand in a polite wave, and despite what you may believe now, he wasn’t a total asshole.

Giving her a small wave back, he approached the shoreline, matching her stance looking out at the water. The moment was silent and awkward for just a second, Cassie flicking her hair off her shoulder and digging her toe into the sand as Rafe searched helplessly for words.

“You look good, Cass,” is what he finally landed on.

She looked at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. He expected her to tell him he looked good too, a smile already forming on his lips as a response to her incoming compliment.

“You’re an idiot, Rafe.”

“I- wh- what the fuck?” He was so thrown he couldn’t even find words to express it.

“You were with her yesterday morning when you saw me, right? Like with her with her?” She surmised, a small upturn of her lips at his confused look.

“I’m sorry you saw that, I tried not to make it weird for you. I didn’t know you were gonna see us,” he stammered, the misplaced pity in his voice only making her laugh at him more.

“Rafe, you dumped me four years ago,” she chuckled. “Believe me when I tell you I’m over it. Also, considering the fact that you dumped me for her, I really wasn’t that surprised to see you together.”

“I didn’t break up with you for her,” he corrected, reiterating a point he’d made a thousand times, and had yet to successfully convince her of.

“Oh c’mon Rafe,” she turned towards him, hands on her hips in exasperation. “Let’s not do the whole ‘I just needed to focus on college’ thing again. We’re both adults now, can we just be honest? You dumped me because you were in love with her. And based on the look on your face yesterday before you noticed me, I’d say you still are.”

A deep crease wrinkled Rafe’s forehead as he avoided her gaze, feeling like a little kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He actually thought he did a pretty good job keeping it from her, but apparently she’d clocked it easily, even all those years ago.

“So you knew? Like the whole time?” He mumbled.

Cassie scoffed, “I was a bitch in high school, but I wasn’t stupid.”

“You weren’t a bitch,” he tried to console her, though she didn’t need it, her easy smile making it clear she’d made her peace with this fact.

“You should ask her if she thinks I was a bitch,” she gestured up toward your bedroom window. “I think she’d agree with me, seeing as she was pretty much my main target.”

“Yeah, you could’ve been nicer to her, I guess,” he conceded.

“You could’ve too,” she pointed out.

A spark of shame flared in his gut. You had tried to tell him back then, tried to explain the ways Cassie mistreated you behind closed doors when nobody was looking, but he always brushed it off. Eager to have an excuse to avoid confronting Cassie about it, and if he was being honest, summing it up to a girl being oversensitive. God, maybe he was the bitch.

“I’m sorry if it made you feel weird yesterday, seeing us together. I was trying to get out of the moment without hurting anyone and I think I may have hurt you both,” he explained.

Cassie just shook her head with a small smile, he had grown physically since the last time she saw him, but he still had the social awareness of a seven year old.

Silently, she raised her left hand, displaying the massive emerald cut diamond on her ring finger, “I mean it when I say I’m fine, Rafe.”

His eyes widened, blinded by the diamond’s sheen in the sunlight. It must’ve been five, maybe six carats.

“Holy shit,” he grinned. “You’re, uh…”

“Getting married,” she nodded. “When I said I was over you…”

“No, yeah, message received,” he chuckled, feeling foolish.

It dawned on him slowly, the realization that seeing him with you had no impact on Cassie at all, except maybe to confirm suspicions she already had. There had been no good reason to drop your hand after all, he wasn’t sparing anyone’s feelings, he was only hurting yours. And now because of it, he may have lost you for good.

“Shit,” he groaned, his shoulders falling.

Cassie gave him a sympathetic look, reading the regret all over his face.

“Was she mad?” She clued.

“Um, yeah, more than I’ve ever seen her,” he said.

“Good. It’s about damn time,” she huffed.

Rafe’s brow furrowed in confusion, stunned by her words and apparent lack of sympathy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He scoffed.

“She should’ve given you shit a long time ago, Rafe. She deserves to give us both a hard time actually. But now that you guys are together -”

“We’re not together,” he blurted out, surprising Cassie and himself with the statement. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Rafe. You still haven’t told her how you feel? God, I swear, Cameron, you’re dumber than you look.”

“No, no, I did. I told her, I asked her to be with me. But she - then I…I think it’s too late,” he struggled with his words like he was new to the language. 

Cassie nodded, making a nearly inaudible “hmm” noise that he recognized well. It was the same noise she’d made when he talked about you back then, letting him know she clearly had more to say but was holding back.

“Say it,” he smirked at her familiar mannerism.

“Oh, nothing…”

“You’ve got no poker face, Bryant. Never have,” he jibbed.

“I just think…I don’t know,” she stalled. “It’s really not my place, and I’m definitely not going to pretend I really know her, but I don’t think you wait for someone for fifteen years just to throw in the towel over ten seconds of stupidity. Which it was, really stupid” she gave him a disapproving look, which he accepted, knowing she was right, “but still…you have your flaws, Rafe, god knows I know that. But I still think you’re the kind of guy a girl would wait for. And I think she’s the kind of girl you don’t give up on.”

Rafe took in a deep breath, his eyes grazing back over the horizon, considering her words. He couldn’t help but blush a little at the way she said he’s someone worth waiting for. It was the nicest thing anyone’s said to him in a long time. And her point about you being the kind of girl he shouldn’t give up on? That was the truest thing anyone had said in a long time.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he turned his head towards her slightly.

“What?” She rolled her eyes at his obvious amusement.

“Are you…dare I say…rooting for me and her?” He teased.

Reluctantly, she smiled back, her lips twisted into a knowing grin as she watched some jet skiers a few yards off shore. 

“Falling in love made me soft, okay?” She defended herself.

“I’m happy for you,” he told her. “I really am.”

“I’m happy for you too, Rafe,” she said earnestly. “Or I will be, when you get your head out of your ass and go up there and make things right with her.”

Nerves twisted in his stomach. He knew you didn’t want to see him, knew you’d push him away, knew he deserved it. But if he left here without trying, without fighting for you, he’d never forgive himself. 

He passed a sidelong glance at Cassie’s ring. It was strange, you all really were at the age where things like marriage and families, things like forever, were suddenly real and within reach. It should make him nervous, should make him spiral into an existential crisis and hide from commitment. But when he thought of you, it didn’t feel strange, because with you forever had always been real, and if it wasn’t meant to be, then the universe was going to have to pry it from his fucking hands.

Cassie gave him an urging look, nodding back towards the house as if to say, “it’s now or never, dude.”

He nodded, a deep breath and a thankful smile to his ex, and ran towards you.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

Yet again, your bedroom door opened with someone emerging who wasn’t you. Running out of options, Carter had sent Kelce in. Maybe he could annoy you into getting out of bed, it was worth a shot. She didn’t really expect it to work, but she definitely didn’t expect him to come back out sniffling.

“Kelce, are you crying?” She asked him, disbelief raising her voice an octave.

“When did your sister get so mean?” He asked, voice cracking.

The group tried and failed to stifle their laughter. Topper threw his arm around Kelce’s shoulder.

“Hey, hey guys we need to normalize men crying,” he scolded the group. “Even if they sound like little girls when they do it.”

Laughter echoed through the hall again, Kelce storming away indignantly, nearly bowled over by Rafe, who appeared suddenly at the top of the stairs. 

He was still shirtless, half-dried sweat making his sculpted torso glisten under the hallway’s lights. A body that made even the straight men on the second floor swoon a little.

The laughing stopped immediately at his arrival, Rafe’s sweaty, shirtless form breaking through the huddle.

“She still in there?” He asked Topper, his face serious as hell.

“Yeah man,” Topper answered.

“You’re probably the last person she wants to talk to right now, Rafe,” Carter snipped.

“Kinda looks like you are, actually,” Rafe shot back at her, gesturing to her position on the other side of the hall, making her jaw flex with the force of the scowl she aimed at him. “Give me five minutes.”

Rafe slipped through the crack in your door, shutting it firmly behind him.

“Sorry, but I thought it was time to bring in the big guns,” Topper gave Carter an apologetic smile.

“‘Big guns’ is right,” Maddie giggled, fanning herself dramatically at the memory of Rafe’s figure. “I mean, goddamn.”

Carter slumped against the wall, arms crossed, hating the whole thing, hating him.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

“Oh my god,” your heart raced at the sight of Rafe, half naked and panting, bursting into your room. You pulled the blankets higher over you, feeling suddenly exposed even though you were the fully clothed one between the two of you.

“Good morning,” He chipped, throwing your curtains open and flooding the room, making you cry out his name in protest, hiding further in your bed.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” You groaned.

“Can we talk now, please?” He asked, standing in the window, his sculpted body illuminated by the Florida sun, framed by the glinting rise and fall of the ocean in the distance. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel. It made you angry, knowing there was too much history to be able to justify getting out of bed and climbing into his arms, which if you were being honest was all you really wanted to do at that moment. “Have you thought about my question from yesterday?”

Suddenly, you weren’t pissed at him for dropping your hand, or for the prom thing, or any of the other similar stories that accompanied it, enough heartbreak to write a book of memoirs. You were mad at him because he asked you the question: “are you my girl?” in the first place and now, looking up at him, you knew how you needed to answer.

“No.”

“Look, I know I did something shitty, but it’s been like twenty-four hours now and if we could just talk -”

“No, Rafe. I’m saying, I have thought about the question, and the answer is no. I don’t want to be with you. I’m done.”

He just stood there, he just fucking stood there, looking down at you for a full minute before reacting. 

When he finally did, his bottom lip stuck out as he nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets and strolling casually across your room. Moving slowly, he stopped to survey the jewelry, makeup and other knick-knacks on your vanity, running his fingers over them like a restless kid in a store. You sat in bed with a furrowed brow and watched him with confusion, his muscular shoulders relaxed as they finally shrugged in response.

“No,” he shook his head, turning back to face you.

“I don’t remember asking you a question,” you were sitting up against the headboard now, arms crossed as you glared at him from under the hoodie.

“Have some coffee, think it over, we’ll talk about it,” he rambled, so casually it made your blood boil.

“I have thought about it! I’ve been in here for a whole day thinking about it,” you gestured around the room to emphasize your point.

He sighed, leaning back against your dresser on his arms, his triceps flexing as he looked down at you in the bed, “nah you’ve been in here hiding. What are you even doing?”

“I’m fine, Rafe,” you rolled your eyes. You hadn’t wanted to open up to any of the people who had come into the room before him, but you wanted his sympathy least of all. Good thing, you suppose, because he didn’t give it to you.

“I didn’t ask you if you were fine, I asked you what you were doing,” he said plainly.

Once again, Rafe was surprising you. You assumed when you saw him again, he’d be groveling, begging for you back, and you’d have to push him away. But here he was, not a hint of longing in his voice, just a blank face and a carved body you couldn’t believe was actually real. He wasn’t begging for you back, if anything he was being a little rude. God, what was wrong with you that it made you want him a little more?

“I’m watching TV,” you stammered dumbly, using your last sliver of willpower to direct your eyes to the laptop screen and away from him. “And getting over you.”

“Turn it off,” he responded. “And get out of bed.”

“I don’t know if you heard me just now, but I rejected you,” you were starting to get angry now. What was really pissing you off was the fact that out of everyone who’d come in here today, Rafe was the only one matching your energy. And it was successfully throwing you off balance. “I don’t know why you’re even still in here.”

“Yeah and I don’t know if you heard me, but I said no. If you wanna pissed at me, fine. But I’m not giving up on you and you’re not gonna spend the rest of this trip in here rotting because you’d hate yourself for wasting your last few days with Carter by freezing her out. So get up.”

“Stop acting like you know the first fucking thing about me, Rafe,” you rolled your eyes, sitting up straight on the mattress, the closest you’d been to getting up all morning.

“Oh don’t I? Really,” he looked around the room, gesturing towards the half empty pizza box from the night before, “pepperoni and onions? Extra cheese?”

“Okay, so you’ve seen me order pizza before, that doesn’t mean -”

“And I betcha I know what show you’re watching, the one you played like a million times junior year. Except you’re skipping the season finales because you don’t like endings. Which is how I know you’ll be so mad at yourself if you let Carter leave for the UK without making some good memories here with her.”

Rafe walked to the edge of the bed, resting forward on his hands and leaning toward you, the mattress sinking under his strength, causing you to slide towards the spot he was pushing it down. “You done with me? Fine. But I’m not done with you, so I’m not leaving this room until you get out of the fucking bed.”

“Get out,” you said through gritted teeth, scrambling to fight the forces of gravity and scoot away from him.

He only pushed the mattress down harder, making you tumble towards him, “no.”

You used your arms and feet to push yourself away from him as much as you could, needing desperately not to touch him, not to remind your body what his felt like, determined that you’d never let yourself feel him again.

His eyes were steely, expression fixed. He wasn’t leaving, and you’d never be able to overpower him physically, all you had left was a verbal defense.

Your chin wobbled with the angry tears you were failing to fight back, and for the second time today, you lied to protect yourself, “I hate you.”

He nodded that same, pursed lip nod, standing straight again, just looking down at you with an immovable defiance. 

“I’m not leaving,” he repeated.

Heart pounding with regret and adrenaline, you scooted back to the edge of the mattress. A disbelief that you’d just said what you said and the nauseating desire to crawl into his arms and beg for forgiveness, even though you knew you should stand your ground, you rose shakily from the bed. Needing to get away from him, and whatever version of yourself you’d just turned into. Desperate to escape with as few people seeing you cry as possible, you pushed past the crowd outside your door without a word and beelined toward the bathroom for a long, hot shower.

A few moments later, Rafe emerged from the room as well, holding the pizza box and other trash collected from your hiding place. 

“Woah you did it,” Topper congratulated him. “How’d you get her up?”

Rafe ignored him, his eyes on Carter, who watched him with a suspicious glare. He didn’t speak, disappearing back down the hall. Once he’d tossed your trash, he stood at the sink trying to breathe and make peace with what just happened, what you’d said to him.

As the ocean waves crashed violently outside the wide kitchen windows, a similar uneasy tide rose in his chest, threatening to spill over and destroy everything in sight.

Before he knew it, he was running again. He made it a half a mile down the beach before the inevitable caught up with him, squeezing his chest with a sharp pain. He doubled over, gripping his heart and wincing as the muscle constricted, his heartbeat erratic and vision blurry from lack of oxygen. His knees slammed into the hot sand as his body crashed out one limb at a time.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

“Rafe? Rafe, are you okay?! Rafe!!” 

(to be continued)

a/n: okay ik this part is a lot of establishing things for the next part but part two will be nice and juicy and even have some giggles and good times

please note the taglist for this series is closed. for updates when I post, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

[carlos-in-glasses]

Rhythms

124k, 17 chapters, E, complete and on Ao3.

TK swoons when he discovers a sentimental scrapbook full of notes he and Carlos have left for each other – but he also unearths a book of poems that closeted teen-Carlos wrote about his struggles, including a few dedicated to his high school crush. An adorably mortified Carlos recalls the stir he caused when he was published anonymously in the high school paper, and everything he went through to write his wedding vows for TK years later. With TK as a hype-man, maybe Carlos can embrace his creative side again.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 - Love Heart: The day after TK and Carlos’ first wedding anniversary, TK is sent home from work sick. Back at the loft unexpectedly, he makes a surprising discovery about Carlos.

Chapter 2 - Club Can't Handle Me: In 2011, sixteen-year-old Carlos is both in the closet and in his high school’s wrestling team – and it’s all a bit too much. Perhaps against his better judgment, he turns to poetry and makes a decision that will change his life.

Chapter 3 - Crossroads: Daydreaming about his wedding vows mid-drive, Carlos gets pulled over for a traffic violation – and Gabriel isn’t happy. Reunited with TK, Carlos might be lost for words, but he finds another way to express his love and desire.

Chapter 4 - The Wrestler: Carlos’ poems are published – and he quickly learns there’s no putting the genie back into the bottle.

Chapter 5 - A Gay Fantasia: In the aftermath of being abducted by a serial killer, Carlos reflects on recent events and resumes work on his wedding vows.

Chapter 6 - La Tormenta: Carlos is devastated when Scott gets a girlfriend, and he finds himself in another snowballing situation.

Chapter 7 - Soulmates: When TK has a Huntington’s disease scare, Carlos finds he knows exactly what to say. But will it help him with his writer’s block when it comes to his wedding vows?

Chapter 8 - Man of Mystery: It’s the day of the Lake View High School Talent Show – and will the real Shadow Poet please stand up?

Chapter 9 - Crush: In 2011, it’s make or break for sixteen year old Carlos at the talent show. In 2024, TK becomes the hype man Carlos had needed over a decade ago.

Chapter 10 - From Behind: A couple of weeks before the wedding, Carlos is still working on his vows when a deeper rift develops between him and his dad. In 2012, seventeen year-old Carlos is spiraling after coming out to his parents.

Chapter 11 - The Other Wrestler: TK decides to lift Carlos’ spirits by learning how to wrestle.

Chapter 12 - Carlos Reyes Will Be Okay: At Gabriel’s funeral, Carlos regrets saying no to reading a poem in tribute – but during the wake, he finds himself under a whole new pressure. Later that night, he realizes the vows he’s worked so hard on for TK cannot be spoken yet.

Chapter 13 - The Closet: Despite some good news, Carlos ends up in the doghouse with his mom and with TK.

Chapter 14 - Once in a Blue Moon: Reeling from his confrontation with Andrea, Carlos seeks advice and admits a secret.

Chapter 15 - Raining on Prom Night: In May 2012, chaos erupts at Carlos’ senior prom.

Chapter 16 - Tyler Kennedy Strand: The wedding day arrives, and Carlos finally gets to recite his vows to TK.

Chapter 17 - Shadow Poet: Carlos attends his poetry reading with TK by his side and some important people in the audience – but will he actually perform this time?

“I was just remembering–” Carlos says, “The first time you stayed for a while after one of our hookups. It was, like, the third time we hooked up, I think. I asked if you wanted tea and cookies and you looked at me like I’d said the weirdest thing ever.”

TK’s exhausted, puffy face breaks into a dazzling grin. “You were being such a Boy Scout.”

“But then you said yes and you ate half the cookie jar.”

“You called me the Cookie Monster.”

“That was the first time I really made you laugh.”

“Tea came out my nose.”

“It was beautiful,” Carlos says, pausing then to qualify: “Your laugh.”

TK gazes up at him, his clear green eyes large and shining. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“The first time you made me laugh was when we were dancing at the honky-tonk.”

“Hey!” TK swats his arm. “I was trying my best!”

“You were so goofy,” Carlos chides. “I just loved it. I loved you.”

Read on Ao3

[readerstories]

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 7/?

Had some time during my layover, so here's the next chapter, hope y'all enjoy! Don't know quite when the next chapter will be, since I'll be on vacation, but I'll try to get something out in hopefully not too long. Just a smigde of info, reader has tried to look up treatments for the pain caused by soulmates, the only one that really works is to be near them. (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 8) (Part 9)

Warnings/tags: male reader, slightly suggestive, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn

Wordcount: 1659

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

This time it’s a week and a half before you see them. Your sanity might be thanking the universe, but your body does not. You’re stiff, your shoulders and back constantly. You’ve taken to taking long and scolding baths to ease the pain, it helps for a bit since painkillers won’t. Which you discovered through lived and read experience. 

So, in a way, it’s good that you meet them again, even if you will barely admit that to yourself.

This time it is in a place you didn’t think would be their scene. 

This time you are a bouncer at a nightclub, a favor for Dave who got food poisoning. You groaned over the phone when he asked for the favor, but said yes after he promised to buy several rounds for you next time you go drinking with him. It gives you a reason to leave your apartment, to try to live life normally.

So now you are getting paid to look tough and check ID’s, and have free drinks to look forward to later. So, a win-win. Even if you have to deal with drunk people, and you can’t go armed, since the dress pants and t-shirt that is the uniform doesn’t hide much. Technically you shouldn’t need to be armed for this job, but it always feels more safe to be than to not be, especially with your life.

It’s a win-win until you spot two familiar people in your line into the club. 

Two annoyingly familiar people. 

Wade’s wearing tight black leather pants, a black plastic cowboy hat, a pink hello kitty long-sleeve that sits plastered to his muscled torso, a pink bandana covering the lower half of his face, and matching pink chunky closed toe high heels. 

It makes him taller than Logan, who’s wearing black jeans, boots, and a tight black shirt that is unbuttoned to show a hefty amount of chest hair on his muscled chest. 

They both have glitter on their cheekbones, which glint in the light outside of the club as they talk to each other, not having noticed you yet.

They look kinda ridiculous.

But hey, opposites attract you guess.

You know you are stuck until they notice you. You can’t just leave, there’s too many people in line, it would take forever to get everyone in if there was just one bouncer. So, you are forced by the universe to stay put, watching as your soulmates get closer and closer, even as much as you want them to go further and further away. (Though your body screams for the complete opposite.)

When they are just a few people away, Logan catches your gaze. His eyes narrow, before flicking down to Wade, pushing at his arm, directing his attention to you instead of him. Wade grins as he spots you, you can tell because he pulls the bandana down to his neck instead.

“Oh heyyyy.” Wade drags out, grinning, while Logan watches you, saying nothing.

“This doesn't seem like your scene.”

“Not like you would know that, little pookie, you need to know people to know where they like to have fun.” There’s a shot of bitterness in Wade’s tone and your bond, but it’s gone before you can dwell on it as Wade keeps looking at you, unashamedly checking you out.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, just go inside.” You gesture for them to walk past you as you open the rope in front of the club door, but both of them stay put.

“Not gonna check ID’s?” Wade grins, fluttering his eyelashes, the only kind of hair he has (you assume). You and Logan snort in unison.

“Neither of you look 20.” And you don’t doubt both of them could get a fake ID with ease. 

“Not interested in seeing our ages pookie?”

“Not in the slightest. Now get the fuck inside before I change my mind and keep you out here.”

“You say that like being here with you is a threat and not a treat.” Wade winks, but walks past you to go inside. Logan follows right behind him, giving you a quick once over.

“What was that?” The other bouncer leans over to half-whisper after you’ve let a few more people in.

“It’s complicated.”

“They trouble?” 

“Only for my own sanity.” It’s with great annoyance you realize your shoulders feel just a tad lighter.

—---

A few hours later, you have moved from the door and are making the rounds through the club. People going in have slowed, meaning you are not needed outside anymore. It feels good to be moving, even as your body aches and hurts. 

The club is packed inside, the loud and rhythmic music making sure the dance floor is crowded with people in varying states of drunkenness. There’s probably some other substances too, but people are behaving for now, as your eyes scan the crowd you spot nothing that you need to stop.

As you walk through the edge of the crowd, you slowly become aware that your bond is more open, as something starts to filter through the low, but constant, hum of the bonds.

It’s not something you can immediately identify. It’s certainly something you’ve felt before, it’s just been a while, and you’ve never felt it this clearly through the bond before. A hint here and there, but you can hardly blame them for being human. 

It’s desire. Arousal. Lust. Horny, if you are going to be slightly less fancy about it. 

You feel your cheeks heat up, and sigh as you rub your forehead. You close your eyes, letting the bond guide you for the briefest of moments. 

It takes a couple of tries of you closing your eyes for you to be led to a metal door in a corner next to the bar marked “Employees Only” in red letters. The lights of the club dance over the letters as you push the door open, and the music spills out into the alley before you let the door fall closed behind you. There’s not much here, just the concrete steps you are standing on, a couple of dumpsters, a wooden bench with an ashtray drilled into the armrest. And two people pressed against the brickwall of the neighboring building.

“You guys should not be here.” Wade pulls away from Logan, turning his head to look over his own shoulder, grinning. His hands are in Logan’s hair, Logan’s hands are on his hips, neither of them let go of the other.

“Pookie! Fancy meeting you here!” You scowl at Wade, then meet Logan’s own scowling face, before he hides his face in Wade’s shoulder, but you do catch the beginning of a smirk before it's hidden from view.

“See peanut! I told you he would feel it.” Absent-mindedly you notice the glitter has moved from just Wade’s cheekbone to his lips as well, and his neck, just above where his bandana now sits.

“Feel what?” Wade ignores the question for a moment, kissing the top of Logan’s head. The bond still isn’t fully closed, as you feel another wave of arousal wash over you, making you take a deep breath. It feels strange, like it wants to settle in your gut, but just flows through you. “Well, now at least we know our bonds aren’t platonic! Well, we knew ours wasn’t-” Wade ruffles Logan’s hair, you see his hands clench Wade’s waist tighter “-but now we know for all of us! How exciting.”

You don’t know that to say to any of this, you rarely do, so you revert back to old habits.

“Like I said, you shouldn’t be here.” A brief spike of disappointment, then your bond is finally blessedly quiet again. Wade grins, but it’s a lot less teasing than earlier in the night.

“Ohhh, I like it when you get all bossy. Gonna start manhandling us? You are more than welcome to.” Wade keeps the grin on his face, Logan shakes his head against his shoulder. Or he’s rubbing against it, you are not sure.

“I will call the fucking cops.” Wade sticks out his tongue at you.

“Party pooper. Come one peanut, let's go home.” Wade plants one last quick kiss on Logan before turning towards you, dislodging Logan’s hands from his hips, taking one of them in his own. “At least you are a lot less stabby tonight.” 

“I am unarmed.” Wade gasps, overly dramatic. You don’t even know why you offer up that tidbit. Not like it was hard to guess with your outfit though.

“Oh my god, our baby is naked. Quick, cover your eyes!” He moves his hands back towards Logan’s face, Logan smacks them away with a grunt.

“I am not yours anything, and quit it with those fucking nicknames. There’s no way to hide anything in these dress pants.”

“No, you can indeed not hide a lot in those.” Both of their eyes wander over your form, you feel anger rise, and push it through both of their bonds. 

“Again, I will call the cops.”

“Again, party pooper.” Wade retorts, but drags Logan with him towards the door. You swear you feel him brush against you when he goes past, but by the time you process the light touch and turn around to look at him, all you see is their backs before the door shuts behind them. 

You stay behind, breathing in and out through your nose. Calming yourself down, the usual background hum of your bond fraying at your nerves. 

Fuck, your body hurts. But for a moment the pain had eased.

You shove your hands in your pockets, surprised when your fingers feel different fabric. 

Fishing it out, you are met with the sight of Wade’s bandana in your hand. You stare at it. It’s soft, there’s little horses on it in a darker shade of pink.

You ball it up in a fist and stare at the door to the bar.

(Part 8)

[strongheartneteyam]

Realize where you belong.

Pairing: neteyam sully x female!dreamwalker!reader/female!human!reader

cw: sexual content, possessive neteyam, tsaheylu, semi public sex, dominant neteyam, missionary position, doggy position, TRIGGER WARNING for brief mention of non con, dirty talk, sub reader, fluff, yearning, masturbation, tenderness. I might remember more and add later lol

After AGES (sorry for the hiatus, my loves :( I needed it), the so anticipated smut chapter of his story 🥺💓 I've been wanting to let my babies (yes, I love my characters to this point lol) have this special, intimate moment for so long 😭 it just wasn't the right time yet but now here it is. I wrote a part of this chapter in public, in a cafeteria inside a supermarket and damnnnn my pussy was clenching so much lol it was a weird situation lmao fuck I need Neteyam inside of me istg I can't anymore 😭 I hope my dear readers enjoy this <33

PS: in this story, Neteyam was shot on his arm when he was fighting the RDA, not on his chest, hence a scar on his arm is gonna be mentioned.

Slightly proofread. I'll edit it as soon as I can.

Chapter 9

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you

I can never look away

I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you

Things will never be the same

I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night

Now I'm wide awake

And now I see daylight, I only see daylight

(...)

All of you, all of me intertwined

Daylight (Taylor Swift)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Neteyam's lips kissed your neck in a perfect mix of tenderness and passion. Your whimpers filled the air as you felt his big bulge rubbing against your ass and Neteyam took that as a sign that you were enjoying that level of intimacy with him. He was finally able to show you how much he craved you, how just the thought of your wet pussy made him get hard as a rock.

Neteyam was leaking so much precum for you, his loincloth had a stain on it from his thick salty liquid, as he kept rubbing himself against your butt in a languid yet delicious pace, almost driving you insane.

His four fingers hovered over the sensitive skin of your arm.

 "Your skin feels so soft, oeyä muntxate… just touching it makes me get even harder for you."

You turned your head back to look at him and his amber eyes stared deep into yours. Your fingers softly touched his beautiful face, tracing his dark blue stripes and his freckles.

Neteyam let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, savoring your touch. You turned yourself around completely, your body towards him now, and your lips reached for Neteyam's mouth. You softly kissed him, feeling how plump and wet his lips were. Neteyam eagerly kissed you back as soon as your soft mouth came in contact with his. His tongue sneaked between your upper and your lower lip carefully but passionately and you opened your mouth wider so he could explore the insides of it. Neteyam laid over you and you felt his cock growing even harder and bigger, now pressed against your soaking wet pussy, still covered by your clothes. You wanted him so bad, he made you so weak that you couldn't help but moan against his lips. Neteyam ended the kiss leaving two pecks in your lips delicately.

“I want you so bad… your body, your scent, your lips on mine…”

Neteyam touched the sleeves of your white cropped top slightly, taking his time, not wanting to startle you or make you feel like he doesn't respect your boundaries, but Eywa knows there was a hungry animal inside of him who only wanted to bury himself deep inside your tight pussy, rough and merciless. His animalistic side wanted to hunt you down and catch you like a prey, mating with his female, taking what's his. But he knew it was too soon to act like that. This was gonna be your first time together and the last thing he wanted was to scare you, to drive you away. He could not live without you again. He needed to have the scent of your skin on him to survive.

His fingers finally reached the hem of your top and as he watched your body language, Neteyam noticed you welcomed his actions, so, he took your top off, your hair getting a little messed up as he passed it over your head. He threw it to the side and couldn't care less about where it had landed because all he could focus on was your breasts. They were much bigger than the breasts of the other na'vi girls, as you were in an Avatar body. That pleased him beyond reason. Neteyam's hands traveled through the delicate blue skin of your tits, caressing it with the most tender touch, his fingers drawing over your bioluminescent freckles. You watched his face, the way he looked dumb with desire and longing, his mouth half open, his breath heavy.

“Oeyä muntxate, how can you be even more beautiful in this body? Your human breasts drive me crazy, you know that, but these… your pink nipples contrasting with your blue skin, these stripes, your little freckles… fuck, my love… I wanna suck on your titties, bury my face on them and never let go.”

You chuckled slighty “Then I think you should. I'm yours, Neteyam.”

“Yeah? You're mine? Say it again. Say you're only mine.” He dared teasingly 

“I'm only yours, Neteyam. My body belongs to you.” Neteyam's smile was big and proud

One of his hands cupped your right breast as he took your lips on his, tasting the softest mouth he had ever kissed.

Neteyam kissed the tip of your cat like nose, then left kisses on your mouth, your chin and your throat. His lips rapidly found your nipple and he took it inside his mouth, suckling on it profusely, his hunger taking over him. Your na'vi ears moved downwards, your mouth was half open and your eyes closed, your back arching slighty. Your folds got wetter and wetter as he sucked on your other tit now like he had been starving for that for way too long and it had been killing him.

Neteyam traced your stomach slowly with his fingers, the bare touch of his digits scorching you with delight. He carefully started to unbutton your shorts as he looked into your eyes, as if asking for permission. You nodded and he slid your piece of clothing down your legs. You opened your legs slightly and his big hand cupped your pussy, covered by your soaking wet panties. That made a thought pop up in your mind: did female Avatars have a hymen? Would you feel pain and bleed once he penetrated you? You never bothered to ask about that to your teachers because… well… you never thought you'd be having sex in your Avatar body. You could never imagine that Neteyam would appear to you. Never… that made you hold back a smile but the corners of your lips curled up, in stubbornness.

“Why are you smiling?” Neteyam teased “Do you like when I touch you like this, muntxate?”

“Yes.” Even though that wasn't why you were smiling, that was undeniably true.

Neteyam smiled, proud of himself, and wrapped his tail around your leg, making you feel owned by him and that always turned you on beyond explanation.

He just wanted to pleasure his precious mate already. The way your juices smelled was driving him mad. Neteyam needed to finally have your taste all over his tongue. But before that, he wanted to do something important.

“It's time, tanhì. Tsaheylu.” He was nervous to ask you for something that was utterly normal and natural to his people but could be so very weird to you. In that moment, Neteyam was so aware that you had been raised in a totally different culture. That as much as you were na'vi in your soul and was in your na'vi body now, you were still… human.

But you eagerly consented. He breathed out, relieved and the fearful look left his face, where now there was a soft smile, showing no teeth. 

Your fingers trembled softly as you took your long braid in your hand and your tendrils were now free, the delicate, thin extremities dancing in the air.

“No need to be nervous, yawne. You're my mate. We belong to each other. Do you trust me?”

You looked at him with doe eyes “I do. I'm not scared. Just nervous.” You smiled coyly and he kissed your hand tenderly

When you both brought your pinkish tendrils together and they intertwined, you felt a powerful wave piercing through your whole being.

How do you explain that you can see yourself through someone's thoughts? How do you explain that you can feel, not sense, but literally feel how much the person you love loves you back, just like your spirits are one and the same? Your teachers in the laboratory taught you that tsaheylu worked very similarly to how synapses work in the human brain, extremely similar actually. Neteyam was passing to you his emotions through his kuru and so were you, like you both… had the same mind. As weird as it sounds to a human being, you never knew you needed that invincible, raw connection until that moment. It was euphoria running through your veins but also calming too. It almost did not make sense… but it did. It cannot be explained rationally, you can't use your brain to understand it. Only your heart will. His electrical waves invaded your body and your soul like a sword, its blade so sharp, the love so strong, that none of your barriers could keep him away, keep him from becoming one with you. You could only wonder if that was real, if that moment wasn't just a part of a crazy dream.

That's the best you could come up with to try to explain something as ethereal and sacred as tsaheylu. There are no words, at least not in the limited English language that you could try to use that would convey the feeling that it was having Neteyam's tendrils intertwining with yours. It was like they were made to be there, together, connected. Like some force said so in the beginning of time and there was nothing nobody could ever do to prevent it. Just like the cycle of life, it was an unstoppable force, you and him, the love you shared.

You hadn't realized when you had closed your eyes but once you opened them, you saw Neteyam with his eyes still closed and his lips parted, like he was in a trance. You couldn't help but smile. Was he feeling something as strong as you did? After a few seconds, he opened his sparkling golden eyes. Neteyam smiled at you and held onto your waist, kissing you passionately.

He gently pushed you to lay on your back, his hands on your shoulders. Neteyam left a trail of delicate kisses in between your breasts and went down, opening your legs.

“I'm addicted to how you smell. How can you have this power over me, yawne?” His wide eyes were locked on yours while he pronounced those enticing words 

Neteyam kissed your navel and licked over your wet panties, tasting your juices. Your breath got caught in your throat, so good it felt. He got rid of the last piece of clothing keeping him from tasting your cunt - that now belonged to him. Neteyam was impatient, it was like he needed to eat you out right now or he would die.

When his mouth finally reached your pussy and he licked your soaking wet folds for the first time and your taste invaded his taste buds, it was like he was gonna explode. His tongue lapped on your cunt over and over, desperately, like an animal, like you had just awakened his rut, even though it wasn't possible. But maybe it was. You had a hold on him that no other girl had ever had. And he knew that there would never be anyone else for him but you. Neteyam ate your pussy like you had the best taste he ever had on his tongue. And you did. He had been yearning to taste you for so long. Just touching himself thinking about you hadn't been enough for some time. He was so, so grateful to Eywa that he was finally there, with you, mating with the girl he loved so much, the girl who had turned him from a man into a burning flame, so strong was the desire he felt for you.

“Yawntu…” Neteyam cried “You taste so good…” he sucked on your clit, making your pussy feel hot and your entrance clench around nothing, aching to be fucked by his cock. 

You were now no longer a girl but a moaning mess. There was a boiling pool of pleasure in your lower stomach. Your body contorted under him.

When he was done eating your cunt, Neteyam sat on his ankles, and took his cock in his hand, its impressive girth and length turning you on, making your pussy get wetter, your inner thighs all sticky.

Neteyam started to jerk himself off, his swollen tip pouring precum out insanely while he gazed at your body with lust tainted eyes.

It was such a sight to see, so hot it had your heart beating at the speed of light and you felt your pussy walls clenching around nothing, yet again.

You could not believe he was like that because of you. Were you that pretty? So pretty that you were able to get the attention of such a gorgeous creature? Getting to the answer didn't matter, though. All that mattered to you at that moment was how hot he was and how crazy he was for your body. Neteyam's huge cock made you feral and you knew he was feral over your body too.

"Can I put it in, baby?" Neteyam asked, still stroking his blue cock. You watched him use his four slender fingers to stimulate himself with want in your eyes. The way the veins there were all loaded with blood… Fuck. "Need you so bad…" he cooed, yearning.

"Yeah" You meant to speak but it came off more like a moan

Neteyam gave you a lustful look with his wide feline eyes, the yellow in them luring you in as they shone like gold.

He put his cock on your entrance, making you quiver a little by the slightest contact of his member with your cunt. When he had all his length inside of you, there was the animalistic Neteyam again. The one you met that night outside your bedroom window, the one who could barely keep himself from forcing his body on you.

"You're mine!" Neteyam said and then groaned "All mine! Ahhh, fuck, yawne!" He kept slamming his hips vigorously against yours

No words could possibly come out of your mouth at that time. All your brain would let you do was moan loudly. 

"Eywa… you're clenching so much around my cock" He chuckled "Do you like being fucked by me as much as I like fucking you?" He said, while thrusting deep into you.

"Mmmgh…" You pathetically mewled 

"Yes, you do, yawnetu" Neteyam let out a sexy, almost cocky smirk. He loved knowing he could melt you like that, give you so much pleasure you couldn't even speak.

Neteyam kept fucking you hard, slamming his hips against yours, his tip reaching deep inside your body, poking at your womb, bruising your insides but bringing you to a state of raw pleasure that you never thought your body was capable of feeling. 

He felt divine as he buried himself inside your sensitive flesh, his moans just would not stop filling your ears, turning you on beyond reason, driving you closer and closer to the edge of Paradise.

“Get on all fours for me, oeyä muntxate”

You obeyed Neteyam's command without thinking twice.

In the blink of an eye, he was inside of you again, reaching deeper this time, making you moan in an addictive mix of pain and delight as his swollen tip reached your womb with every thrust.

"This pretty, tight pussy is all mine now. This body…" He let out an animalistic growl "so fucking hot, all for me. All mine. Yawne…" he moaned loud for you before he pulled out and pumped his cock as his warm, sticky seed fell all over your ass and reached the beginning of your lower back. That sight was by far the most beautiful thing Neteyam had ever seen. He had marked you as his. Completely. His cum covering your skin as a sign to show who you belonged to.

You laid at the wooden floor, flushed and panting a little as Neteyam smirked and kissed your back. He still breathed heavy as he ran his hand over your back, in a sensual caress. Neteyam was beyond proud of what he had done to his precious mate. Now you were utterly, undoubtedly and completely his.

༊⁀➷

When you two were holding each other, cuddling after having made love, you noticed a big scar on Neteyam's arm. How did you not notice it before? It was big and ragged. You felt bad for not noticing it before. But then you realized he wasn't wearing the brown beaded bracelet he used to always wear that day. That must be why. He hid his scar under his bracelet.

“I never noticed before that you had a scar on your arm”

He chuckled, trying to cover up his embarrassment. “Yes, I have one.”

“How did you get it?”

He breathed deeply and then let the air out, his eyes now clouded, like some terrible memory was hunting him. “Fighting against the demons. The Sky People.”

“I see…”

"It's kinda ugly, I know." He joked but you could see right through his smile and the obvious way he was now covering it with his hand. Neteyam was insecure about the way his skin looked with the scar on it.

You kissed the scar on his arm tenderly, your lips gentle as they did so.

"It's not ugly. I like it." You told Neteyam as your eyes were fixed on his scar "It only reminds me that you've been through something terrible but survived it, that you're strong." You looked up into his eyes again and Neteyam smiled at you tenderly yet coyly, showing no teeth.

“The bullet hit my artery. I bled so much when I got shot that my family thought I was gonna die. But I believe the Great Mother found a way to protect me because there was a female warrior with us and she was also a healer. She was able to stop the bleeding until they could get me to my grandmother, the Tsahìk. You know what a Tsahìk is, right?” He smiled softly, petting your face, his thumb gentle as the touch of a flower 

“I do. They're the spiritual leaders and healers of the clans, right?” 

“That's right, yawntu.” Neteyam was happy you knew a lot about his culture. The culture you should have been born in. You were his na'vi mate, in your soul you were na'vi. He knew it, he could feel it. Seeing you in your na'vi body (or in your Dreamwalking body, like his mother and grandmother used to say) felt so right. Like things finally were how they should be. You were just temporarily spending more time in the wrong body, the human one. But that would change soon.

Your heart hurt profusely, you wondered how your life would be if you hadn't met him, if he had died.  It's weird to think this, but you felt like it would hurt you to lose him like that, even if you wouldn't be actually losing him if you would never have met him, right?

Even so… thinking about it made you almost despair. How can you love someone so much like that? That the mere thought of having never met him shatters you? And beyond that, you hated that he had got shot. By humans. Your kind. That made you feel dirty, ashamed to share DNA with such a despicable race, one capable of hurting and almost killing a young man who was just trying to protect his family, his people, his home.

You fought back tears and of course he noticed. Neteyam noticed everything about you. Nothing would go past his golden eyes.

“Hey, don't cry.” He said 

“I hate that it happened to you.” He gave you a comforting smile 

“I survived. It's okay.” All you could do was hug him tight, still stuck in the thought of having lost the opportunity of meeting the best person you ever laid eyes upon

He hugged you back, his arms making you feel at home. They were your home now. You were far too sacred in Neteyam's eyes, like a pure, delicate creature he must protect at any cost. And he would. Neteyam would live and die for you.

He was way more than you had ever dreamed of in a partner. He showed you a kind of love you never even thought could exist, so pure and strong and raw and powerful. You wanted it to engulf you. You wanted to dive deep into Neteyam's ocean and never come back for air again. You wanted to learn how to breathe under his waters, just so you could never leave the state of mind that being loved by him, feeling that love so strongly, all over you, burning you so good, put you in. It was a sweet ecstasy.

After a while, Neteyam walked you back to your small room in the laboratory and when you were safe, inside the building, he headed back to his family's hut. Your taste and the way you felt were still all over him, though. Your beautiful face was haunting his thoughts. A part of him was left with you.

༊⁀➷

"Can I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out.”

Romeo Montague - Romeo and Juliet (William Shakespeare)

༊⁀➷

This is the last chapter of the Part 1 of this story :) see you guys in Part 2, hopefully! Thank you all for reading it and being in this journey with our beloved characters until now 💕

•

Taglist:

@onskepa

@tumblingdevils

@a-blog-name-2003

@xylobee

@nerdybouquetofkittens-blog

@henhouse-horrors

@lala-1516

@crazy4books1

@explosiongamora

@lik0

@your-girl-mj

@sereisstuff

@yeosxxx

@iman-lu

@manumanulau

@im-in-a-pansexual-panik

@hana-yuri

@thehoneymushroomhealer

@melllinaa

@siriuslysmoking

@ellabellabus07

@badbishsblog

@c-h-i-l

@celi-xxmoon

@luvv4j4ybe11

@bakugouswaif

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [9] - Engagement

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A marriage decision leads to an honest conversation about expectations.

Word Count: 2700

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, drinking. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

For a couple of seconds, he gawked at you in complete silence before he managed to pull himself together.

“You—you’re saying yes?”

“I’m saying yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Please don’t ask me again because I have this feeling that I’ll change my mind if I think about it longer than a second,” you stated and he nodded fervently.

“Right,” he said. “Sure, I…wow. Okay, we’re—we’re getting married then.”

“Don’t say that either, I am not ready to hear it out loud,” you said with a sigh but before he could answer, a soft voice reached you both.

“Bucky?”

He closed his eyes shut for a moment as he scrunched up his face and you turned your head to look at the top of the stairs where a pretty girl in an oversized shirt –his shirt, if you had to guess— was leaning to the steel handrail.

“Hi,” she said. “Um, who are you?”

“His fiancée,” you stated, trying your hardest to ignore the pang of jealousy in your stomach and her eyes widened.

“Oh I didn’t—I didn’t know—”

“Neither did I when I woke up today,” you said with a click of your tongue. “Can you leave us please?”

“Sure!” she said as she rushed back to what you could only assume was the bedroom and Bucky shot you an apologetic look.

“Charm I’m sorry, if I knew…”

You walked past him, looking around the huge living room. Even you had to admit it looked incredibly beautiful and sleek, and the clear view of the city that you could see from the floor-to-ceiling windows was absolutely breathtaking. It was exactly what you would come up with if someone asked you what Bucky's apartment would look like; luxurious yet dark.

It didn’t mean you would tell him that though.

“I’m not moving in here by the way, this place is a dump,” you forced yourself to say, “If I wanted industrial interior, I’d buy myself a factory.”

“Right, sure—”

“That could be a fun project though,” you muttered more to yourself as the girl appeared at the top of the stairs again, and rushed downstairs, grabbing her coat off the rack.

“Sorry again,” she said without looking you in the eye and walked out of the apartment, and you heaved a deep sigh.

“None of this will be happening from now on by the way,” Bucky said in a haste and you rolled your eyes, then turned around to look at him.

“I don’t care about you enough to have that conversation with you,” you said. “I don’t give a fuck who you fuck, but you’re not going to make me look like an idiot in front of other people so when it inevitably happens, you’ll keep it a secret.”

“You don’t have to worry about that at all,” he said, his voice firm and you crossed your arms.

“So then,” you said. “I feel like we should both talk about the conditions before taking it to the families and the lawyers and everything.”

“I’m good with your conditions,” he said and you shot him a glare.

“You don’t even know my conditions.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You kept your eyes on him, a slight frown pulling your brows together before you took a deep breath and took off your coat to throw it over the couch.

“Either way, I think we should talk about it,” you insisted and leaned on your hip. “So do you have actual booze in here or are you going to pull out a homemade barrel or something?”

He smiled slightly.

“Take a seat sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll bring the wine.”

“And put a shirt on!” you said as you made your way to the table, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat. “This is a business deal, honestly. There has to be a dress code.”

                                            *

When Bucky came to the table, he did in fact have his shirt on and he was carrying a bottle of wine with two glasses. He filled one and handed it to you, then filled his own and sat down. You took a sip, pleasantly surprised at the taste and lowered your glass, leaning back.

“Alright,” he said. “Tell me your conditions.”

You swirled the wine in your glass, deep in thought.

“Well first of all, we need to have a time table,” you said. “I don’t want to stay married to you for the rest of my life, and I’m pretty sure you share the sentiment.”

A small smile twitched the corners of his lips but he didn’t comment on it.

“But we can’t get a divorce as soon as I take over because that will lead to a lot of questions and I won’t have the time for distractions, the taking over process is chaotic enough,” you said. “I can’t be making any mistakes, especially considering I already have a rival.”

“Calling Ian a rival makes him sound more important than he actually is,” Bucky commented. “But I agree. We already know some of the families can disagree with this idea.”

“Stark?” you asked and he nodded.

“At least,” he said. “We have Steve and Sam’s support, my family and your family of course, but the rest…”

“You think Romanoff would disagree?”

Bucky thought for a moment.

“Probably, but I can talk to Nat I think,” he said. “She’d hear me out.”

“Barton?”  

“Barton is not going to do anything Nat disagrees with,” he said. “If we have Nat, we have Clint.”

“So that leaves us Stark,” you said, pursing your lips. “Who talks to him, you or me?”

He shot you an apologetic look.

“I mean we may try to sell it as love but at the end of the day, everyone will think about the business side of things,” he said. “It could be better if your father talked to him actually. He already dislikes me enough, and we’re changing the power balance in the city by doing this.”

“Alright,” you said. “My dad could do that.”

“Next?”

“I want your word that I will be included in everything,” you said. “None of the bullshit the earlier generation pulled. I will be in every meeting and I will be included in every single decision.”

He nodded. “Yeah, figured as much.”

“I mean it Bucky,” you said, looking him in the eye. “We will be equals completely.”

“We will be,” he assured you. “I swear on my honor.”

“And I’m not changing my surname.”

He threw his head back. “Charm…”

“Out of question.”

“Charm if I’m going to get you into those meetings, you need to have my surname,” he insisted. “You know the rules. We need to give them an actual reason if you can’t be there as an heir.”

You thought for a moment and cleared your throat.

“Hyphenated it is,” you said. “I’ll keep mine and add yours.”

“It’d be better if—”

“I can’t take over my father’s territory if my last name is Barnes,” you pointed out. “I’ll use both, it’s fine.”

Bucky thought for a moment, then licked his lips and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine,” he grumbled even though his tone signaled it was anything but fine. You sipped your wine, leaning back.

“Goes without saying that we won’t have any children in the meantime so should we even talk about it?”

“I think we should,” Bucky said, a small smile curling his lips. “Just in case.”

“Just in case?” you repeated and he rolled his eyes.

“It’ll be on the prenup just like everything else,” he reminded you. “And our families will see those prenups, so it’d be better if we covered it beforehand.”

You huffed out and waved a dismissive hand.

“Fine,” you said. “The usual, right? The first born is the heir…”

“The second born is the spare, yeah,” Bucky said. “Although, if you’re keeping your surname…”

“Our children would as well,” you finished his sentence for him and let out a dry laugh. “So then, is the firstborn yours or mine?”

“Maybe it’ll be twins,” he joked and you shook your head.

“We’ll say that the firstborn rules both until the second born is ready, and then divide my territory and yours accordingly,” you said and Bucky raised his brows.

“But until then, both territories?” he asked. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person.”

“That person doesn’t exist and will not exist,” you reminded him. “It’s just gonna be a hypothetical article in the prenup, that’s it.”

“And if we want a divorce—”

“When we have a divorce,” you corrected him and Bucky hummed.

“Any specific reque—”

“The weekend house,” you cut him off and he let out a small laugh.

“How long have you had your eye on it?”

“Oh, so long,” you said with a grin. “It’s really pretty.”

Bucky held up his hands, gesturing surrender. “It’s yours then."

“I mean I know I can’t just get it without giving something in return so how about you? What do you want in the divorce?”

“Nothing.”

You blinked a couple of times, gawking at him.

“You want nothing?” you asked him. “Bullshit. Say your price.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“You’re going to get me in the business and help me take over and you want nothing?” you insisted. “No fucking way. What is your game here?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Why are you doing this then?” you asked with a frown. “Seriously. What’s in it for you?”

“My reasons are my own.”

“Bucky…”

“But I do have one request now that you mention it,” he said and you nodded your head.

“Yeah tell me. What is it?”

“Throughout the time we stay married,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “No sleeping with other people.”

“…I’m not going to sleep with you,” you managed to say after a pause and he shrugged his shoulders.

“We’re going into war with an outsider while pushing you to the top,” he said. “Any kind of issue in our marriage, including a whisper of a rumor could work against that. We need to present a united front to all the other families and our people. Can’t fight a war on that many fronts, you know that.”

As much as you hated to admit, as it turned out, Bucky was actually smart when it came to how things worked in business. You nibbled on your lip, trying to put your thoughts in order before sticking your nose in the air.

“That’s a two-way street,” you told him. “If I’m behaving like the perfect wife, you’re going to behave like the perfect husband.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Bucky, I’m serious,” you said, looking him in the eye. “Don’t go behind my back and make me kill your mistresses.”

“Don’t go behind my back and make me kill your boyfriends,” he replied and you took a deep breath, then downed your wine and stretched out your hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you said and he chuckled, then reached out to take your hand into his, sending a pleasant warmth from your hand to your whole body.

“Likewise,” he said, his voice soft. “Let’s make you the queen, princess.”

                                              *

 You and Bucky decided to tell your family about your decision that weekend at their favorite restaurant. It would at least give you some time to get your story straight and you figured it would play into the lie; that you and Bucky had something for each other all along and once you got together you didn’t want to lose any time to get married.

Of course your closest friends were going to know about it, it would be impossible to keep it from Becca, Sarah, Steve and Sam because they’d had the first row to every single fight whenever you were within each other’s sight not to mention heard about how much you two disliked each other for years now.

But as far as anyone else was concerned, it was the happy ending to a decade long crush on both parts.

That night, you decided to stay in a hotel until the weekend. Not only did you not want to talk to Ian or your father, but it would also work in your favor; it was Bucky’s favorite hotel, it was in his territory and he would make sure to stay with you in the honeymoon suit every night until the weekend so you were pretty sure the rumors would reach your families way before you told them.

Your bodyguards were still on your father’s payroll after all.

You sipped your champagne, your feet propped up on the small coffee table across from the couch you were sitting on, the fluffy bathrobe wrapped tight around your body as you changed the channel on the TV but the knock on the door made you turn your head. Heaving a sigh, you pushed yourself off the bed and went to the door, then put a bright smile on your face and swung open the door.

“Finally!” you exclaimed, then gasped at the huge bouquet of roses Bucky was holding. “Oh my God!”

“Hi beautiful,” Bucky said with a smirk and you stole a look at both your father’s and Bucky’s men in the hallway, then turned to him.

“You shouldn’t have!” you giggled as you grabbed his arm to pull him into the suit, and closed the door behind him.

“Flowers are a nice touch,” you commented, the lovesick smile disappearing from your lips even if your heart did a happy flip and Bucky winked at you.

“I’m glad you like them,” he said as you took them from him, then walked to the open kitchen to pour water into the empty wine decanter before putting the flowers into it.

He leaned back to the kitchen island. “Did you talk to Becca yet?”

“Tomorrow,” you said. “I slept the whole day away today, barely did anything. Must be the stress after yesterday.”  

“Is she serious with that girl by the way?” Bucky asked you. “Leila?”

“I’m not going to tell you anything about Becca.”

He tilted his head. “You and I are going to get married—”

“And she’s my best friend so she’s still above you on my loyalty list,” you pointed out. “Marriage is one thing, friendship is another.”

“Should I at least threaten the girl so that she doesn’t break her heart?” Bucky asked and you rolled your eyes.

“No, Leila is a sweetheart,” you said as you walked past him, then threw yourself on the couch to grab the remote. He followed you and rested his hands on the back of the couch you were sitting on, the closeness of his body making your stomach do a pleasant flip for some reason.

“So what are we watching?”

“We are not watching anything,” you said, trying to focus on the screen. “I’m watching The Bachelor.”

He let out a groan. “Seriously?”

“There’s another TV upstairs, go watch whatever you want to watch there,” you said, grabbing your champagne glass again and tilted your head back so that you could look at him, and Bucky shot you a mischievous grin.

“Marriage requires quality time together, Charm.”

“Who told you that lie?” you asked, turning your glances to the TV and he chuckled.

“Steve sent me an article about it today when I told him the news.”

“Not Sam?”

“No, Sam sent me the address of a great psychiatrist,” he said. “For couples therapy and marriage counseling.”   

“That’s much more useful than an article,” you pointed out and he squeezed at your shoulder making your heart skip a beat.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said as he walked to the hanging stairs and someone knocked on the door, making you frown and look at Bucky over your shoulder.

“Room service,” Bucky answered before you could ask. “I already know your favorite so I ordered for both of us.”

“How do you know my favorite?”  

“I pay attention,” he said as he started climbing the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt. “Don’t open the door yet though, will you? Wouldn’t want my men to think I last five minutes.”

“I’m sure that would be an improvement for you,” you said with a scoff and he tsk tsked.

“If you want to see just how wrong you are, all you gotta do is ask nicely princess.”

“That will never happen!” you called out and slipped a little on the couch when you heard him close the bathroom door, then heaved a sigh.  

“Great,” you muttered to yourself as the water started running. “My honeymoon should be so much fun.”

Chapter 10

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

Chapter 3.

1 2 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

'Slight' Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader.

Arranged marriage AU.

SOME SPOILERS FROM THE NOVEL

Warnings: Maria once again being a creep and sadist, mention of the reader becoming a ‘toy’ (aka being experimented on, abused, losing all her human rights), Dion is most likely out of character, some things are conveniently there, the yandere themes will show up eventually just not now. I should probably add ‘Yandere! Dion’ to the other chapters. Probably. Edit cuz I completely forgot hahahahajajajajaja: one (1) mention of incest. Please tell me if I missed anything else I'm so tired I only slept 3 hours I do recommend doing that

Slightly edited.

Disclaimer: I do NOT condone any of the harmful and/or dangerous actions/behaviors that take place in this piece of FICTION. These actions/behaviors should not be normalized or romanticized as they are extremely toxic and dangerous.

This blog writes and interacts with DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT REBLOG FANART/FANFICTION DNI.

Chapter summary: teatime with your mother-in-law(s)… how wonderful. But Maria makes a strange comment on her son that has you overthinking.

Word count: 3041k

===

The greenhouse was beautiful, all kinds of flowers adding color, the lush green bushes making it look peaceful. Butterflies that flutter around, the bees that pollinate, the birds that chirp – so peaceful. The warm ray of the sun keeps your skin warm. The weather was perfect.

“You know… I just couldn’t see Dion with anyone. That boy shows no interest in anything – but I’m curious to see how this plays out. Although if you ask me, I think he should be grateful to get such a beautiful wife such as yourself!” Maria claps her hands as she praises you.

Yes. The weather was perfect. But being cornered and held hostage by Maria Agriche under the pretense of teatime was not. The blasted woman found you not even an hour after your bath – truly a morning person. The worst part was that it’s been two hours since she dragged you into her little game.

“Don’t you agree, Sierra?” The woman in question looks at Lant’s third wife timidly. Her deep blue eyes filled with both pity directed at you, and fear for her well-being glances at you. Her honey blond hair practically floats with the wind. She looks back at Maria.

“Yes, of course.” Then she looks back at you.

“Please don’t hesitate to ask us for help.” Hah. Funny, especially when her eyes are silently begging for it. But you’re in the same spot as she is – unable to escape. You’re just happy you don’t have a child. Yet.

You repress the cold shiver that attempts to crawl up your spine.

“Oh, thank you…” how should you address them as? Sierra wasn’t technically your mother-in-law… but Maria was. Sierra catches on before Maria does.

“Oh, you can call me Sierra. After all, it’s Maria that’s your mother-in-law, if we consider that Dion, is her biological son.” A forced smile tugs at her lips. The short haired brunette stares at her favorite person in awe.

“Oh my, Sierra!” she coos before turning her attention towards you. Unfortunately, her smile was genuine. Like she didn’t force both of you victims to have tea with her. You take a sip from your cup, hiding your frown. And then, you smile.

“Thank you, Sierra and mother-in-law.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. Anything for my precious, beautiful daughter-in-law!” she chirps. Her purple eyes shine brightly as she offers you more tea. You accept, watching as she personally pours it. Part of you do hope that’s it’s poisoned – maybe just enough to keep you bedridden with a stomachache for a day or two.

Which would mean that most likely, no one would be allowed near you. Well, maybe.

“Do tell me if Dion bothers you at all. He means well, but… he can be too much, at times. Oh! If you ever get lonely, feel free to find me – these kids get so busy.” She props her elbows on the table, resting her hands on the back of her hands. Like a curious child she observes you, gauging your reaction.

Your legs are begging you to run. You resist the urge to flip the table over and run for the hills; she would just kill you once she catches you.

Or turn you into a toy.

“Thank you again, mother-in-law. But I’m sure that we’ll get along fine.” You’re smiling on the outside but you’re screaming and crying mentally. You’re caught by surprise when her white gloved hands carefully reach across the small table to grab yours gently.

“You’re sweet… truly, I’m happy that Lant picked you to be our son’s wife.” Her beauty is breathtaking, pale skin and soft hair, her hat casting a shadow over her face. But it does little to hide that hint of sadistic pleasure in her eyes. You already knew she was a sadist and mental.

But you failed to realize that she would add you to her list of favorite targets until now. Mulling over it, you think that this could be helpful – maybe like with Sierra, she would guard you like a dog. However, that would also mean she would drag you around like a doll. And if she ever got bored of you…

“Oh, are you cold?” She feels how your hands tremble. Right. You shouldn’t think of such things right now. Not in front of her.

“Ah, sorry mother-in-law… I was just excited to meet you so quickly after the wedding. We didn’t get to talk much during the engagement party nor at the wedding ceremony.” You lie, and part of you knows that she’ll only take it as half-truth. Still, her smile twists into something warm yet sinister.

You’re her new prey.

“I’m happy about that too. But my, those events must have left you tired.” She ‘comforts’ you, squeezing your hands before releasing them. They tingle coldly.

“Yes… I never thought that they could be so busy and complicated.” From out of the corner of your eye you notice Sierra busying herself with a slice of cake. She mentally checked out. Oh, how you wish you could do the same.

“Mm, but it was exciting, wasn’t it?”

Exciting? How would she know? She didn’t even want to marry Lant in the first place – she only stayed for Sierra. If you’re remembering correctly from spoilers anyway. Fuck, you wished you finished the entire series.

“It was… different from how I imagined. From the novels I read and what I was told by some relatives, I thought it would have been a breeze. But it was exciting.” Just in a horrible way you mentally add. This woman probably knows your true thoughts so why state them.

Still, you should play the role of a ‘loving’ daughter-in-law.

“Dion,” she starts while pressing her lips against the rim of her teacup, “helped a bit with the preparations. Not much, just with the little things… specific things.”

“What?”

With the way she smiles, it’s clear that she’s enjoying how baffled you are. But forget that – Dion? Help? With wedding preparations?

All she does is grin before changing the subject.

Sierra exchanges a look with you but leaves it be.

---

Your legs give out the moment the bedroom door shuts behind you. Hana went to get you something once she escorted you back to your room. You forgot what though.

“Ah… I thought it’d never end…” you slump against the door, worn and torn. How long was that hostage situation? Three hours? Four?

You need to work on a plan to avoid Maria. Otherwise, her gossip and sadistic tendencies will be the death of you. You’ll die before Dion can even hold a sword against your throat.

“Husband, husband… mother-in-law, husband… which one is worse…” your thumb becomes victim to biting. “The mother-in-law…? She is the reason, well, one of them… I feel bad but I probably shouldn’t…” you mumble to yourself.

“But my husband is also…shit, I’m so fucked….” Is this how Roxana felt? Hopeless and weak? Unlike you, however, she was able to adapt quickly. And unlike her, you weren’t one to stay strong under pressure. Not to that degree. You’re not sure if you ever will be.

Thud, thud

Banging the back of your head against the door seems like a sane choice. Maybe you’ll wake up from this nightmare. Yeah, that’s it! This is just a nightmare. If you hit your head enough, you’ll wake up from it. You’ll wake up in your nice, fluffy bed. It’ll be your eighteen birthday and instead of being told about a fiancé you’ll be told that… you don’t know.

Think (Name), think. There must be something you could conjure up in your mind that could overwrite this nightmare. Something. Anything!

Creak

You fall backwards as the door opens, head landing against something warm and firm. You look up only to see crimson eyes that’s emptier than a void.

“Oh,” you blink up at your husband, “we-welcome…back?” You question rather than greet. He’s like a statue, only looking down at you. He doesn’t move, simply gazes at you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. You’re not sure if you want to.

“Wife.”

At Dion’s words you suddenly remember where you were – his room.

You scramble to your feet, tripping once before dusting yourself off to make yourself presentable. Doing a curtsy, you greet him properly. Your head hangs for longer than necessary; you don’t want to see his face nor for him to see the look of fear in your eyes. Cold sweat forms on your temples and you hope he doesn’t notice.

Honestly, you’re surprised to see him. You thought he would avoid you, seeing it as unnecessary to interact with you.

Or maybe he didn’t expect to run into you here. Either way, as you look up at him, you can’t help but wish you would drop dead. To be woken up by your brother shaking you, like the little shit he is. To smell the coffee your mother would make for the dead tired servants.

“I heard you had tea with mother.” He walks past you, causing you to quickly face him. No brush of the shoulders. No questioning why you were sitting on the ground like a dog. Not even a glance is thrown your way.

“Y-yes,” you shouldn’t stutter. Probably. “It was…” nice? Horrible? Exciting or boring? “…a unique experience.” You answer, fiddling with your hair. That should be a neutral response. You decide to keep quiet about what Maria had told you – that he helped with some of the preparations.

Most likely, she lied about it to see your reaction.

Dion doesn’t say anything else. Just goes the closet and slip off his shirt to change into a new one. Your cheeks feel warm as you look away, bashful. Now was not the time to admire his muscles. Rather, now was the time to excuse yourself and come back once the coast was clear.

Now that you think about it… where would you even go? There were too many twists and turns, with insane, awful and bestial people. What if you ran into one of his many siblings? Or another wife that decided you were a weak little thing they could get their hands on?

Or worse yet, run into Lant? The realization of how alone and weak you are, has your fingers pulling at your hair. Are you safer here after all? With Dion Agriche? The most brutal of all siblings?

Well, you are his wife… but that doesn't mean he won’t dispose of you. More so if he really did take after his father as others said. He did in the series, you think, but everything was turned on it’s fucking head. You don’t know what to expect anymore.

“Mother enjoys playing with the weak,” Dion informs you as he walks past you, glancing at you over his shoulder. You can’t breathe. “So, I suggest you don’t show weakness.” He leaves you like that. You watch as he closes the door behind him, silent. It was all you could do.

Voice caught in your throat and heart threatening to burst out your chest, his advice replays in your head. Yes, you knew that. But you’re unsure why he made the choice to warn you. He had no reason to. Wife or not, he showed no interest in you – maybe he had a good day today. Felt generous.

As generous as he could be. If so, you pitied Roxana – he probably ran into her and annoyed her. It probably made his day, too. It was the only thing that you could think of.

Your lungs release the deep sigh you didn’t know you were holding. Body finally relaxing, your legs give out on you. Again. The tile is hard and hurts your knees. Will they bruise?

You should work on this. You’ll lose the use of your legs and knees if you don’t. …maybe you should find and talk to Roxana.

No. She won’t help you. Even if you tell her everything, she might pull some strings and get rid of you, not wanting to take a chance. Not willing to have you accidentally have a slip of the tongue.

Funny. The only hope of your salvation will likely see you as a nuisance. To be fair, you can’t and won't blame her – you held no importance in this family. Lant is probably looking for a new wife for Dion this very second. Why stop at one wife?

“Haaaah… why couldn’t I be reincarnated into something like…’The Otaku Love Connection,’ or ‘Positively Yours,’… at least I wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells and worry about dying…or tortured…” you lament, trying your best not to fall apart. If you were going to be reincarnated as a character that shouldn’t exist, couldn’t you at least be away from the main and side stories?

Away from all the action. Just living a peaceful life. That’s all you’re asking for.

The again, you probably don’t deserve that… not after…

“…No use in thinking about the past. I guess God is making me pay my dues,” you force yourself to stand. Your legs may be wobbly, but you can’t keep acting like this. Sure, some of your in-laws may leave you alone once they realize you pose no threat; however, that doesn’t go for everyone.

Once everyone sees that Dion holds no interest in you, good or bad, some will dig their claws into you. Especially Fontaine. That creep… he’s worse than Dion with certain things. Like incest.

No, no, no! You shouldn’t just assume that about Dion! Sure, the vibe he gives off in the series is… questionable. But-!

Knock, knock.

You jump, startled. Hana must be back. With what, you absolutely have no idea. You had checked out mentally by the time you escaped the clutches of Maria.

“My lady, I have brough you the indigestion medicine, as Lady Sierra had requested.” Her statement puzzles you before you feel some warmth spread throughout your chest. She’s sweet. Too sweet.

You feel horrible for her but even worse for her children.

You push the thought away.

You force yourself onto your feet.

“Come in.” you order, praying that Hana didn’t hear the crack in your voice. One breath, two breaths, your lungs work overtime to ensure you keep breathing. It hurts, like you’re being stabbed from the inside. You need to work through the pain.

Fuck, you need to work through the pain if you want a fighting chance to survive here. Maybe make it out if you’re lucky.

Hana comes into the room, holding a tray of water and a small white pouch of medicine. Doubt starts to swirl inside you. How could you be sure that Sierra was the one who sent this? What if it was Maria playing a ‘prank,’ to see your crying face?

Man, why did you zone out during the last ten minutes of that damn get-together.

She walks closer until she’s barely a foot away. You take the medicine with wariness, unable to reject it in front of the maid. Her eyes are glued to you. Expecting you to accept this so-called ‘medicine’ without hesitance. And so, you do.

You can feel the pills go down your throat, the water barely helping. When you place the near empty glass down onto the tray, Hana bows before taking her leave with your permission. Again, the door shuts. Only for her to come back immediately afterwards.

Great, just great.

“My lady, I forgot to tell you… I’ll be helping you get ready around six.”

“Oh? For what?”

“Dinner with Master Dion. I’ll come back here and there; forgive me for not staying near your side for the entire day. As for now, I am not your personal maid yet.” So, Hana is going to be your personal maid. But why isn’t she right now?

How strange.

Wait. Maybe this is a good thing – you’ll be alone for quite a bit. Away from preying eyes. Maybe you could conjure up a plan on how to survive this hellhole.

“It’s fine, Hana,” a sweet smile as you clasp your hands together, ‘understanding’ of her position. “I’m grateful and happy that you will be checking on me regardless of.” Hopefully you seem sweet enough. Genuine despite everything being faked.

She looks at you oddly. In the end she just bows her head before leaving.

“…I think I’m going to die from stress before anyone gets to me…” dragging your feet, you sluggishly fall face first onto the made bed. Your feet are begging to be released from the torture device that is your heels; so, you kick them off. Huffing, you proceed to climb further onto the bed till your feet also rest on the mattress.

It’s soft and smells nice.

It smells like your bed back at home, oddly enough.

‘Dion…helped a bit with the preparations. Not much, just with the little things… specific things.”

“…What did that witch mean by that…?” Maria’s words come to mind the longer the scent engraved itself into your nose and mind. “She must be joking,” you muse, letting your eyes flutter shut.

But… things are starting to get a bit creepy.

Your eyes open. The longer you think about it, the gears turn in your head.

First, the shampoo. Sure, it was a popular brand, but you doubt your husband wanted to go around smelling like lavender. His… victims would smell him instantly if he used the product. The smell was more subtle than strong, but it would be best not to take any chances. Now, the bed.

It smelt like fucking citrus. Bergamot oranges to be exact, the same smell your bed has.

 You shake your head. It was just a coincidence – cirtcus smells were known to keep the bedbugs away. And as for the shampoo… maybe Maria sent it. As a wedding gift, probably. That or she didn’t want you to smell like him.

Either or neither, it shouldn’t matter. You’re just overthinking this. The insanity that takes over this mansion is just stressing you out. It would only make sense that you overthink about common scents.

“…I wonder if I’ll be allowed to write to my family…”

With that, your eyes flutter close. Everything turns back and sound is no longer a thing.

[yawnderu]

K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Chapter V

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

''Stop looking at me, Johnny.'' Your voice is strained, currently being crushed by the mass of pure muscle currently laying on top of you.

''Cannae keep my eyes off of ya, doc.'' You roll your eyes, attempting to change positions before giving up. The man is not going anywhere.

''Or your hands. Let go of me.'' You gather the strength to try to push him away again, just for Johnny to make himself heavier and shoot you a cheeky smile. As if being woken up by the man running into your room and crushing you wasn't bad enough, he was refusing to let go or move, arms wrapped around you tightly, legs caging you in.

''Next time I'm letting you die.'' You sigh, stopping the struggle just for your best friend to lay down next to you, an arm wrapped around your shoulder.

''Saved my life out there, bonnie.'' The man is like a golden retriever and it's practically impossible to resist his charms, not when he has been in a coma for two whole weeks after the surgery, leaving you alone with the rest of the team. Your hand comes out of the blanket to gently pat his cheek before your arms are wrapping around his neck, bringing him closer, foreheads pressed together.

''I kinda missed you, you know?'' His arms wrap around your waist as he brings you even closer, hearts pressing together. He sighs, looking away before looking back at you.

''Thought that was the end of me, doc. Fuckin' Makarov got away an' I get a bullet to the heid.'' Johnny has always been an open book, anger and frustration clear on his face, yet his eyes showed the fear he felt at the idea of being an inch from death. Your chuckle brings his attention back to you, eyebrow raising in a display of attitude only Gaz can surpass.

''Took me 12 hours to bring you back, Johnny. Got help from Ghost for the chest shots, but your head...? If anything that shouldn't be touched was messed with, we could have lost you— or made you into more of an idiot.'' He playfully tugs on a strand of your hair, a small smile on his lips, yet his eyes were just as haunted as before. He took a deep breath before holding you closer, your face buried on his chest, warm hand on the back of your head.

'''t was scary, bonnie. Thought I'd wake up in hell with all the fannybaws I've killed.'' A dry chuckle escapes his lips as he lets go of you, giving your forehead a small kiss before getting up from bed, looking around your room before his blue eyes go back to you.

''Thank you. For saving me.'' Your gaze softens as you look up at him, finally getting up from bed and gently patting his shoulder, looking at the small patch of hair that had to be shaved off in order to have more space to operate.

''Should have shaved that stupid mohawk while I was at it.'' He gives you an overexaggerated look of mock offense and you grin up at him, happy to at the very least, have your best friend back. He's not ready to be out on the field yet, so you can already expect him to be bothering you or Simon as much as possible.

His hand drapes over your shoulder as he guides you out of your quarters and drops you off in an interrogation room, your eyebrow raising as you look up at him for an explanation.

''L.Ts teaching you how to interrogate people. Said something about ye becoming more involved in field work.'' You don't question it, knowing if anything happens to the team while out on a mission, you'd have to take over. Johnny gives you a smug smile as he walks away, fully aware of what at the very least seemed to be Ghost's attraction to you.

You open the door just to see him already waiting, sitting on an old chair with rope held in his hands. His brown eyes immediately go to yours, softening slightly as he offers you the rope. He knows it's a bad idea, but at the same time, he wants to ensure you know as much as possible about psychological warfare, even when it's completely different from your field. It's an excuse to spend extra time with you, that much is clear— but he also knows you're a fast learner.

''Simon.'' There's a smirk threatening to tug at your lips as you grab the rope, already getting on with tying him up. It's something you're very familiar with, not needing further instructions and ignoring the way his muscles tense up slightly in mild surprise as your hands move with pure expertise as if this is nothing but a second nature to you.

It takes a few minutes until you're done, looking down at the artwork with the perfect muse— there's a knot tied up on top of Ghost's chest, rope running over his chest in three different sections, uniting where his hands are tied behind his back. The rope goes up, binding his mid-section to the back of the wooden chair. His thighs are held apart with the tight rope, ankles tied to the front legs of the chair, his prominent bulge standing out even more with the tightness your knots have.

''Right.'' He interrupts after you stare at him for a second too long, already feeling the sweat pooling up on his forehead underneath the balaclava.

''You already got the intimidation part down, so let's move with torture. In that table there's tools you can use on me. When interrogating the enemy... make sure you start slow before you build up on the most damage you can do without killing. Anything is fair game in this field, love.'' He looks down before looking back up at you, trying to keep his eyes from wandering as he looks at you in civilian clothes for the first time.

''Torture, psychological tactics of intimidation, even amputation, if you're not afraid of being discharged.'' He's clearly joking about the last part, but his voice remains serious as he focuses on the task at hand.

''Go get something from there and try to make me talk. I'll be an enemy holding back information, get it out of me.'' He gestures to the table with his head and you hum in acknowledgement. The corners of your lips tug into a smirk as you see it— a red candle among the many different tools, a zippo lighter you recognize as his right next to it.

''Interesting.'' He doesn't even have to look to know what caught your attention. Your hand reached out for the lighter, flicking it on and staring at the flame for a few seconds before looking over your shoulder, gaze catching his. His eyes follow your movements, from the way you slowly walk up to him, to your hands lifting up his shirt, wrinkling the fabric together underneath the knot of the rope, his strong body exposed.

His breath hitches when your cold finger trails up and down from his abs to his chest. He watches you light up the candle, waiting until the wax starts to melt before slowly tipping the candle closer and closer, pausing before the burning flame makes contact with his skin, waiting for his approval. All he can do is stare down at you and nod his head once.

Your eyes focus on his strong torso, tipping the candle until the wax began slowly dripping into the pale skin, muscles flexing underneath. He takes a deep breath, trying his best to not give you a reaction despite the burning pain on his sensitive skin.

''That all you got?'' He challenges and that does nothing but make the dangerous glint in your eyes dance along with the fire. Your hand goes higher, tipping the candle again until a new bead of wax drips down his chest, not a single sound coming out of him besides his heavy breathing.

''Not yet.'' There's a small smirk on your lips as you notice the jolt that runs through his body, flinching slightly when the hot wax lands on his nipple, yet he still doesn't let out any sounds of struggle. His rock-hard cock twitches in his jeans, another deep breath coming out of him as the muscles on his stomach flex involuntarily. He takes his eyes off of you when the wax drips onto his other nipple, staring at the ceiling as he tries his best to calm down, body shifting in discomfort as much as possible despite the rope binding his whole body to the chair.

''Try harder.'' He orders, gravelly voice growing deeper. A small snicker escapes your lips at his words, nodding your head. From this angle you can see how his pupils dilate, the black specks quickly overpowering his dark brown eyes.

Your free hand travels from the now dried wax, all the way down to his jeans, fingers neglecting his hard cock and undoing his belt instead. His eyes snap back down on you, yet he doesn't deny you. You pull his cock out with your free hand, freeing him from the tight fabric before you let it go, allowing the thick shaft to rest on his abdomen. The candle goes up again, teeth softly biting on your lower lip out of excitement as you look at the red wax drip on his shaft.

''Fuck.'' His stare is firm, but the moment the wax touches his skin, he winces in pain. There it is. His head leans back on the chair, eyes closing tightly as more wax drips all over his painfully hard cock.

''Stay with it... It's nothing.'' He reassures himself, voice nothing short of a pathetic whimper. He shifts his body as you start letting the wax drip higher and higher, movements slow and calculated. He shifts his body, trying to escape the searing hot pain of the wax yet being unable to.

''Fuckin' amateur.'' He spits out, eyes opening to look down at you. His muscles are tensed, jaw clenching underneath his black balaclava. You can see a drip of sweat spill down from his masked forehead, moisture gathering at the bits of skin you can see from his face, eye black looking shinier than before.

''You seem to be enjoying what this amateur is doing, sir.'' Your words are taunting, clearly trying to get a reaction out of him, yet he gives you nothing other than a soft, low moan, half-lidded eyes looking down at you intensely. Your smirk grows at his silence, looking down at the hardening layers of wax all over his thick cock.

''You wanted me to break you, so I will.'' You watch the wax drip down to his glistening tip, mixing in with his precum. He can't help the way his body thrashes against the rope, trying to get away from the pain as a deep moan of pain escapes his lips. You say nothing this time, simply moving the candle around, angling it up so the dripping wax lands on a different part of his tip.

''Fuck! H- I cant—'' He whines out, eyes closed tightly as his body reacts involuntarily. He's still struggling against the rope, yet he doesn't have it in him to ask you to stop.

''That's all you can take?'' You taunt with fake pity and he inhales sharply, beads of sweat running down his forehead, pain showing in his face even when the balaclava is covering it. He finally lets out a quiet whimper, eyes struggling to remain open simply to stare down at you as he always does, yet there's no confidence behind them anymore.

''Do better.'' He's clearly trying to spite you and it works. Your free hand comes up to flick his tip harshly and this time, he doesn't fight himself, a low moan of pain and pleasure escaping his lips. His hips thrust up slightly and in that moment you know— Ghost's resolve is being broken.

''Fuckin'... hell.'' He moans out, bound hands behind his back becoming tight balls, veins bulging in his arms. His head tilts back when he feels a new drop of wax falling on his tip. He can't help it, really, the way his hips thrust up in nothing but pure desperation, ropes of thick white cum staining his abdomen as he groans out in a mix of pain and pleasure, muscles flexing underneath your touch.

''I win, Simon.'' Your taunt does nothing to him other than to make more cum spurt out of his throbbing cock, looking down at him in a mix of amusement and fake pity. Your gaze connects to the pair of wide brown eyes staring at the scene through a half-opened door, cock throbbing in his pants.

A/N: fun fact! Vamp was created with K-9 in mind, but I couldn't keep the idea in my drafts for long enough to use it in this fic so it was published as a one-shot. I decided to use the one-shot in this chapter, as things will get more interesting in the next ones!<3

[tired-truffle]

Before We Lost It All

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt @dedicated2viktor

"We make each other alive. Does it matter if it hurts?" - Ingmar Bergman

A/N: This takes place in chapter 9 of Muj Milacek during the scene where you convince Viktor to take a break from working and get some much-needed rest - in your bed, of course.

Masterlist

He’d let you sucker him into resting with those big, pleading eyes that plucked at his heartstrings. He was worrying you, he knew this, but he’d never been very good at accepting help. With his declining health and your visions of his death hanging over his head, he’d been growing increasingly desperate. And desperate times called for desperate measures - like sleeping in the same bed as the girl he’d been in love with for seven whole years.

If only you’d stop laughing at him.

"Is there something you find humorous about my attire, Milá?" He fixed you with what he hoped was a lovingly exasperated glare. At that point, he was too exhausted to tell.

"I'm sorry." You continued to giggle, undercutting your apology, though he found the sound pleasing enough to forgive you. "I'm overtired and I really wasn't expecting them to be that ill-fitting."

Viktor huffed at you, rolling his eyes with a small smile. He was well aware he looked ridiculous, the oversized shirt drowned his thin torso in fabric, but the pants barely reached past his knees. They had to be children’s pants, why you had them was beyond his understanding. To make matters worse, you were standing there in nothing but a large shirt that reached your upper thighs, your legs illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window, and he assumed underwear beneath. You were gorgeous, and he was…feeling rather silly. Though he found it difficult to care all that much when you smiled so sweetly at him, the corners of your eyes crinkled with mirth.

"You can have the bed,” you offered when you’d managed to stop giggling. “I'll take the couch."

"I'm not stealing your bed, Miláček, it is plenty big enough for the both of us." Viktor pulled back the covers, slipping in. "And I will not subject you to that couch for any longer than necessary. I swear they made it with knives instead of springs."

He had insisted this both out of genuine concern for your back after sleeping on such an object, and out of his selfish want to sleep beside you. Could a dying man not be granted this one wish?

You hesitated, and for a moment he worried he’d overstepped your boundaries. But he wasn’t left waiting for long. You made your way to the bedside, shy but not necessarily timid.

"If you insist," you said, turning off the bedside lamp. "But you better not warm up your frigid toes on me."

"No promises."

The mattress dipped as you climbed into bed beside him, laying down with your hands curled tight against your chest. You were facing him, your chin tilted to meet his gaze.

This felt dangerously intimate. He was in bed with the woman he secretly loved - well, secret to you, Viktor was pretty sure everyone else knew. If he asked you to come closer, would you understand then? If he placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head, his hands cradling your back, would he need to say it? But he couldn’t voice his request, couldn’t find the words to ask for that which he longed for most.

He’d been a fool to think he could sleep with you so close yet not within his grasp. To lay beside you like his skin didn’t prickle with the need to be pressed completely against you was its own kind of torture.

"Does it hurt?" You broke the silence, your head turning to face him in the dark.

He was too tired to try to deny it, and you’d see through his lie anyway. "Yes," he answered plainly.

"Can I try something?" you asked, your tone even.

Curious and unable to deny such a simple request, he nodded. You reached forward, placing your hand against his chest and sending a bolt of excitement running through him. Your palm was soft and warm through his shirt, your heart beating quickly in your veins and tapping lightly against him. He lay still, his gaze fixed on you, giving you space to make the next move.

You closed your eyes, forcing your breathing to even out, your nose crinkling adorably in the low moonlight as you concentrated.

Nothing happened.

"Can I get closer?" you asked, and he appreciated your asking for permission - always polite and giving him the agency to choose. 

He opened his arms, motioning for you to snuggle in. Slowly, you scooted closer until the top of your head was just below his chin, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his as you breathed. Your ear rested against his chest, one hand pressed against his chest while you placed the other on his back, over the back brace he’d been too tired to take off. He’d regret that tomorrow when his skin itched and his spine ached, but now he could focus on little else except the feeling of you curled up in his arms. Slipping an arm under your neck, he rested the other over your waist, drawing lazy circles on the small of your back. Viktor didn’t want to think about anything that didn’t involve you, nor how difficult it was going to be to pull himself away when the time came.

This wasn’t the first time you’d insisted he take a much-needed break from his work. Years ago you'd dragged him to a street fair in Piltover when he’d become so worn down by reports that he didn’t know where he ended and the equations began. He'd grumbled at first, but your infectious enthusiasm had won him over. You'd shared sticky cotton candy, the sweetness on your lips making him ache to taste them. When fireworks exploded overhead, he'd been captivated not by the display, but by the light reflected in your eyes.

Viktor's heart swelled with a bittersweet ache. He loved you - wholly, desperately, irrevocably. You were the sun to his withering form, the spark that kept his passion for progress alive even as his body failed him. He longed to confess, to pour out seven years of pent-up devotion. But fear held him back - fear of rejection, of complicating your friendship, of leaving you heartbroken when his time inevitably ran out.

So instead, he held you close in the darkness, committing every detail to memory. The soft whisper of your breath against his neck. The delicate curve of your spine beneath his fingertips. The subtle scent of your shampoo, floral and comforting. He etched it all into his mind, a perfect moment to carry with him always, no matter what the future held.

Viktor felt a sudden warmth emanate from your palm, spreading through his chest like rays of sunlight. A faint blue glow pulsed beneath your skin, illuminating the creases of your hand.

As your magic seeped into him, Viktor was struck by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The sensation was wistfully familiar, like a half-remembered dream or a long-lost memory struggling to surface. It felt like coming home after years away, like slipping into a warm bath after trudging through a blizzard. He couldn't place why it felt so natural, so right, but he found himself sinking into the comfort of it nonetheless.

The magic flowed through him, a soothing current that sought out every ache and pain. It pooled in his joints, easing the constant throbbing in his hip and knee. It traced along his spine, melting away the tension that had become a constant companion. Even the persistent headache that had taken up residence behind his eyes began to recede.

As the pain ebbed away, replaced by a numbing coolness, Viktor felt his body truly relax for the first time in years. His muscles unknotted, his breathing deepened, and the ever-present furrow between his brows smoothed out. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, filled with relief and contentment.

"Miláček," he whispered hoarsely, his voice heavy with sleep, "you truly are a wonder."

You didn't respond, your eyes still closed in concentration, but he felt your magic pulse in response to his voice. The blue glow intensified, casting soft shadows across your features. Viktor found himself enthralled at the sight, overcome by your beauty, wishing he could run his fingers down your jaw before capturing your lips in a kiss.

As the pain receded further, Viktor found his mind clearing. Ideas and solutions that had been just out of reach now crystallized with startling clarity. It was as if your magic had not only soothed his body, but sharpened his intellect as well. He wanted to leap out of bed and rush to his workbench, to capture these fleeting inspirations before they could slip away.

But the warmth of your body against his and the blissful absence of pain kept him rooted in place. For once, Viktor allowed himself to simply exist in the moment, free from the constant drive to work, to improve, to race against his own mortality. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer as you nestled in, pressing your face against his neck.

Viktor fought against the encroaching darkness, desperate to savour every second of this closeness, but exhaustion tugged insistently at the edges of his consciousness.

Within minutes, he was sound asleep.

Viktor drifted slowly into consciousness, his mind still blissfully foggy with sleep. Without thinking, he tightened his arms around the warm body pressed against him, pulling you closer. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in your familiar scent. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Then awareness hit him like a bucket of ice water.

His eyes flew open as he realized where his hands were. One had slipped beneath your shirt during the night, splayed across the bare skin between your shoulder blades. If he moved it even slightly higher, he'd expose…Viktor's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to complete that thought.

"Yeah, I noticed that too," you said, alerting him that you were awake.

He became acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies. Your leg was slotted between his, your thigh pressed dangerously close to his groin. Your breath tickled his collarbone, your lips mere centimetres from his skin.

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the temptation. You trusted him, had opened your home and your bed to him without hesitation. He refused to betray that trust, no matter how much his body screamed for more contact.

But oh, how he ached to explore further. To trace the curve of your spine, to map every inch of your skin with reverent touches. To wake you with gentle kisses and whispered confessions of love.

But that wasn’t for him.

"My apologies, Milá, that was not my intention," he said apologetically, reluctantly pulling his arm away and tugging your shirt down for you. It was the least he could do.

Returning his arm to your now clothed waist, his finger traced smooth patterns along your back. He swallowed his gasp of surprise when you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"It's okay,” your words vibrated against his shoulder, “I don't mind."

He hummed a soft acknowledgement and was pleased when you made no move to disentangle yourself. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the peaceful bubble. Nature's symphony of birdsong and distant traffic provided a gentle soundtrack as he let himself slowly wake up. As the fog of sleep lifted, Viktor became acutely aware of the pain creeping back into his body, the ache in his joints and the tightness of his back. Still, his head felt clearer than it had in months, the persistent headache reduced to a dull throb rather than the usual stabbing agony. He felt…rested. Truly rested, in a way he hadn't experienced in years.

Much too soon, your alarm clock shattered the serene atmosphere and worsened his headache.

You groaned as you slowly peeled yourself off of him and Viktor resisted the urge to grab your hips and pull you back into his arms. With a sigh, you slapped the top of the alarm clock aimlessly, finally hitting the off button and ending its incessant beeping.

Flopping onto your back, you turned to look at him, a soft, warm smile spreading across your face. The morning light caught in your tousled hair, creating a halo effect that made you look almost ethereal. Your eyes, still heavy-lidded with sleep, held a tenderness that made his heart stutter in his chest.

By the Gods, you were beautiful. Not in the polished, artificial way of Piltover's elite, but in a way that was uniquely, breathtakingly you. It was beyond his ability to describe, so he didn’t try.

Viktor's fingers twitched with the desire to trace the curve of your jaw, to tangle in your hair and draw you close. He imagined pressing his forehead against yours, breathing the same air, whispering all the words he'd kept locked away for so long.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't risk ruining this, whatever this was between you. So instead, he returned your smile with a small one of his own, hoping it conveyed even a fraction of the warmth he felt.

“You look like you slept well,” you teased, your smile tilting into a lopsided grin.

"You say that like it’s a good thing but it seems more like an insult to me." He patted at his hair, an attempt to flatten it that was doomed to fail from the beginning.

You giggled, a wonderous sound he would never tire of hearing, and sat up in bed. Before he had time to avert his gave, you’d stretched your arms over your head and you squeezed your eyes shut. Did you realize how your thin shirt plastered itself against your body, giving him a clear view of all your soft curves?

He cleared his throat, finding great interest in staring at the wall across the room, ignoring the blush that tinted his cheeks. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw your blush match his when you realized exactly what had just happened.

"I'm going to get ready," you announced shakily. With a quick swivel, you got out of bed and picked your clothes out of the closet, all while keeping your back to Viktor. Not that he minded, necessarily, but there was something about your reddened cheeks that captivated him entirely. "I'll meet you in the lab with breakfast?"

"Grab me a sweet milk and carrot muffin if they have it?"

“I’ll do my best!”

As you fled to the bathroom, Viktor found his voice once more. "Thank you, Mila." You turned back around to peek at him from around the door, adorable in your embarrassment. "I feel much better, you were right after all."

You smiled softly at him. "You should come back tonight," you said before hastily adding, "but only if you want to, of course."

He wanted nothing more, but did you? He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sunlight streaming through the window illuminating his soft brown hair. "Are you sure? I don’t wish to impose any more than I already have."

You shook your head. “I don’t like sleeping alone, you’re not the only one who benefits.”

He smiled, bright and unburdened. Why had he doubted you? It seemed silly now when you regarded him with such bashful hope. You cared for him as he cared for you, didn’t you? “Then I suppose we have a deal.”

A/N: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed the second Viktor's POV <3 Sadly, the arcane hyperfixation has left me, but when it comes back, I'm sure you'll definitely see more of these two! For now, I must let the writing demons out in my Dragon Age fic - time to terrorize another fandom!

[slut4thebroken]

Exposure Therapy pt. 9

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane × reader

Summary | Dr. Crane finally gives you a reward.

Warnings | 18+, sexual content, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, breeding, kissing, grinding, face sitting, 69, finger fucking, praise, degradation, consensual sex, cockwarming?, this is as close as he’ll get in this fic to being submissive lmao.

Words | 3k

Notes | Kinky smut will be coming up in either chapter 10 or 11😏

Ao3 link | <3

Fic Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Part 8

When you woke up, it took a moment for you to remember where you were, but the second your gaze settled on the couch you were laying on, your stomach dropped. You had cried to him— cried on him. The thought made you want to crawl into a hole from embarrassment, but you tried to ignore it. 

You could see now that he dressed you while you slept in the clothes you brought from his place and when you looked over at him, he was fully dressed in a suit, bent over the desk, completely focused on something. It didn’t seem like you moved enough to alert him that you were awake so you stayed still, trying to come up with something to say. Should you apologize? Pretend nothing happened? Make a self deprecating joke about it?

“I know you’re awake. I can practically hear you overthinking from here.” He said suddenly. 

“Sorry…” You muttered, deciding to sit up on the couch now. Picking at your cuticles, you watched him anxiously, waiting. Should you go to him? He hasn’t looked up from his work yet… Maybe he’s just waiting for you to walk over?

“Um, I- I’m sorry… for my behavior.” You forced the words out. “I don’t know what came over me.” He turned to face you, but after staring at you for a moment, decided to walk over. You stiffened as he approached you— were you going to be punished? Yelled at again? He sat down next to you, but still gave you enough space so you didn’t feel uncomfortable. 

“There is no need to apologize. I pushed you to that state so I cannot fault you for any of your actions.” He said, tone neutral. 

“I still shouldn’t have,” 

“No. You are allowed to have emotions.”

“I know, but- I made you uncomfortable.” You argued weakly.

“I am the only reason you acted like that in the first place. There is no need to apologize.”

“Okay… So things are fine?” You asked tentatively, scared of his answer. 

“Do not expect to do it again under any other circumstance.” His tone wasn’t mean, but rather he was just setting a boundary. You couldn’t help but notice that he said “under any other circumstance,” not just “any circumstance.”

“That didn’t answer my question.” You said with a small smile that he almost returned. 

“Yes.” 

“And you’re not mad that I made you change what you were going to do again?” 

“You hardly made me do anything.” He scoffed. 

“Okay… Good.” You said awkwardly, kind of feeling like you disappointed him by not being able to take the punishment. You also still felt bad for making him uncomfortable— for crying on him and laying on his chest. Your behavior made him call you a fucking pet name for christs sake. 

“Y-you… You called me-“ 

“Anything I said was to soothe you.” He said, suddenly colder than before. 

“So you weren’t really proud of me?” You asked quietly, making him sigh. 

“You took the punishment adequately.” 

“Oh.” You replied meekly, looking at your lap. You didn’t like the way he revoked his praise and affection so easily. He let out another quiet sigh, but you didn’t look up at him yet.  

“Your performance was… satisfactory.” It sounded like he had to force the words out. “Anything I said at the time was genuine, but do not expect to hear it again.” You looked up at him, but he couldn’t meet your gaze. 

“Thanks.” You muttered, giving him a small smile when he finally looked at you. “I liked when you called me that.” You said tentatively, carefully studying his reaction. 

“Do not get used to such affections.” 

“Okay… But if you ever decide you want to keep calling me that, I’m okay with it.” You shrugged and he narrowed his eyes. 

“I am not going to call you some silly name.” It felt like you were being reprimanded for requesting something childish. 

“I like the silly name. You don’t call anyone else by a silly name, do you?”

“Of course not.” He scoffed, almost offended. 

“Good. Just me then.”

“No, not you either.” He sighed, getting frustrated with your lack of acceptance with his answer. You pouted, giving him puppy dog eyes, hoping you didn’t look like a fool. “Stop that.” It seemed like the face was working though. 

“Please?”

“No.”

“Just once?” 

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“I will after you say it.” You said teasingly, giving him a small smile. 

“You are truly insufferable…” You waited eagerly, practically vibrating in anticipation. “Little one.” He muttered, looking away from you when your smile turned into a full blown grin. 

“It doesn’t count if I can’t hear you.”

“You’re pushing your luck.” He warned, but it almost seemed like he was teasing you back rather than giving you a genuine warning. 

“Please?” You pouted again, deciding to crawl onto his lap and straddle his legs, placing your arms on his shoulders as his hands settled on your hips. 

“Remind me why I brought you here?” He asked, annoyed. But not in a genuine way, in an almost playful way. 

“Because I make you come and I’m stupid enough to go to your place in broad daylight for you.”

“I suppose that’s true. I guess I do have a brave, eager pet. Wouldn’t you agree?” You nodded, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat from the new name. “Lost for words, little one?” He asked, tilting his head and rubbing his hands up and down your thighs. You let out a needy whine as you fisted his suit jacket and rolled your hips forward against his crotch. 

“Can- can I call you something too?” You asked, already breathless from the small amount of pleasure. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“Your name?”

“Go ahead— try it out.” It took you a moment to register that he didn’t deny you like you thought he would. 

“Jonathan.” You whispered. 

“It doesn’t count if I can’t hear you.” He said teasingly. 

“Jonathan.” You whined, louder this time. 

“What do you think?” You hummed in thought. Something about the name just felt a little off. Maybe it was because it’s his full name rather than a nickname. 

“Jon.” You muttered to yourself. “Does anyone call you Jon?”

“Everyone refers to me as Dr. Crane or Scarecrow.” 

“Do you like “Jon?’”

“It is tolerable.” 

“Oh…” You said, visibly deflating in his lap. “I don’t have to if you don’t like it.” 

“I do not tolerate many things— that was a positive statement.” He quickly corrected himself, still making sure to keep his tone neutral though. 

“Oh. Do you tolerate me?” You asked, perking up a little again. 

“That is a foolish question that you already know the answer to.” 

“I know… I just like hearing it.” He sighed and for a moment you thought he wasn’t going to respond. 

“Yes, I tolerate you, little one.” A blush creeped up on your cheeks as you gave him a shy smile. “Satisfied?” You nodded, biting your lip to keep from grinning like an idiot. 

“Can I come today?” His brows shot up and you swore he was about to laugh.

“Someone’s getting bold.” 

“You didn’t let me last time.” You frowned. He hummed in thought and continued dragging his hands up and down your thighs, teasing you. 

“I suppose since you did such a good job taking your punishment, as well as staying quiet when we were in my office, you’re long overdue for a treat. Don’t you think?” 

“Yes please.” You said through a breath as you nodded in agreement. Snaking his hands behind you, he grabbed your ass to roughly push your hips against him, starting a slow, steady rhythm of grinding. 

“Whatever you want. Go ahead.” He said, making you falter as you stared at him in confusion. 

“What?” 

“Take whatever you want.” He explained, still leaving you dumbstruck. 

“Anything?” 

“Within reason.” He said teasingly. Flattening your palms on his chest, you slid them down before slowly dragging them back up, thinking. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“There’s no need to ask. Take whatever you need.” He said softly, eyes fluttering down to your lips. Grabbing his tie, you gently pulled him forward into a kiss. His hands moved back to your hips, not gripping anymore, just holding you as you continued grinding against his crotch. You let out a low moan from the friction and brought your free hand up to pull his hair, making him groan in response. When you eventually grew too impatient, you whined and pulled back. 

“Please.”

“If you want something, just take it, little one.” He whispered, making you whine even louder. Suddenly getting up, he eyed you curiously as you took off your pants and underwear, then hesitantly laid him down on the couch. You moved slowly, giving him a chance to protest or change his mind. When he didn’t, you slowly kneeled over his chest, watching his eyes darken as he focused on your cunt. You waited again for him to tell you to get off, but he never did. So you shuffled forward even more, then tentatively lowered yourself onto his mouth. He dove in eagerly, lapping up your arousal and circling your clit with his tongue to tease you. 

When you suddenly lifted off of him, he let out a grunt of displeasure, making your cheeks heat up. But you wanted to do something more than just this. You took off your shirt then moved to the floor and started working on taking off his belt, asking for assistance on the upper half of his body. Once he was as bare as you— which you still weren’t used to yet— you climbed over him again, this time facing the other direction. He cursed under his breath as you laid down, your face only inches from his cock. 

The second you lowered yourself onto his mouth, his hands wrapped around your thighs, not letting you move away again. You whimpered at the sudden intense pleasure and brought your hand up to start stroking his length, teasing him. When his hips bucked up, you placed your forearm over his upper thigh and put some of your weight on it to hold him down. He growled against your cunt and dug his nails into your thighs, making your gasp, then chuckle as you leaned down to suck the tip in your mouth. 

You liked having this power over him. Deciding how much you wanted to tease him- torture him… it was addictive. You wanted to make him beg and whine and moan, so desperate for you that he loses all control. 

Hollowing your cheeks, you moved farther down his length, only pulling back up when the tip met the back of your mouth. The movements of his mouth grew sloppy, unable to focus with the stimulation on his cock, but it didn’t matter. You were practically grinding against his face anyway. 

When he pushed a finger in your drooling hole, you let out a muffled moan, not expecting it. In retaliation, you moved your hand to cup his balls, gently playing with them until his hips bucked and he moaned against your heat. Another finger was pushing inside, stretching you open and curling against your walls to emit even more arousal. 

To reward him, you decided to take him all the way down for as long as you could force yourself to stay there. He let out a choked moan at the tightness of your throat and the hand holding your thigh squeezed again. You did your best to breathe through your nose and relax, but after another few seconds, you couldn’t control your gag reflex anymore and had to pull off of him. 

“Baby— I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that.” He muttered against your clit and your hips jerked at his words. 

“Neither am I if you keep calling me that.” You whined. When you lifted yourself off of him again, he let out a grunt of disapproval, trying to grab your hips to pull you back. “Fuck me.” You said through a breath, making him instantly release your hips to sit up. When you got a good look at his face, you almost moaned at the sight. His lips and chin were slick with your arousal and his spit, and his glasses were fogged up enough that he had to take them off and set them on the floor to continue.  

“How do you want it?” You bit your lip in thought. 

“Dealer's choice.” You finally replied and it seemed like he was about to protest, but decided against it. Grabbing a cushion from the back of the couch, he placed it down, then maneuvered you so your hips were over it as you laid on your stomach. He leaned over you, breath fanning against your neck as he lined up, then placed a soft kiss behind your ear. 

“Ready?” He whispered. 

“Please.” You didn’t have to tell him again before he was breaching your hole, making you whimper at how fucking full you felt in this position with your legs together. “Jesus-“ You choked out as he stilled inside you, buried as far as your cunt would allow. 

“Fuck me, Jon.” You said breathlessly and he cursed under his breath, but obeyed. He slid out slowly, still giving you a chance to adjust, then pushed back in just as slow. 

“God- You feel so good.” He moaned, forehead resting on your shoulder blade. “So fucking warm and wet, and a perfect fit for my cock, aren’t you?” You nodded as you scrambled for purchase when his thrusts sped up. “Like my own custom made fuck doll, huh, baby?” 

“Oh god yes.” You sobbed out, already feeling close from hearing that pet name again. He let out a low chuckle when he felt your walls fluttering desperately around his length. 

“Close already? Why’s that?” You couldn’t get a response out through your moans, let alone think of one in the first place. “Is it cause you like it when I pin you down like this? Force my cock in your tight little cunt and fuck you like a cheap whore. Is that it?” You let out another sob that turned into a vulgar moan when he suddenly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back. With his lips brushing your ear, he whispered, “Or maybe it’s when I call you baby. Is that what’s getting you so hot and bothered?” You did your best to nod with his grip in your hair, but he wasn’t satisfied. 

“C’mon, use your big girl words. I know you can.” He cooed, making your cunt pulse around him. 

“Jon,” You whined, squeezing your eyes shut as your mouth opened in a silent moan. “Please make me come- I’m so close, Jon, I need it.” You whimpered. He suddenly pulled out, making you whine loudly. He ignored your protest though and flipped you over, hooking your legs over his hips as he leaned back down and slid inside again. 

“Keep your eyes on me when you come, do you understand?” You nodded eagerly and he continued pushing in and out, getting deep enough that you knew you’d be able to see his cock bulging your stomach.  

“God- you look so pretty like this.” He whispered, eyes rapidly trailing over your face. You let out a low whine, feeling your face heat up. 

“Say my name.” The request was so quiet that you thought you misheard him. “Say it.” Not a request— a plea. 

“Jon,” You whispered, moving your hands to pull on his hair as your eyes fluttered to his lips. “Please kiss me.” He obeyed eagerly and you moaned into his mouth from the intensity of it— of everything really. A hand on your clit made you jolt with a surprised sound that he swallowed eagerly. 

“Oh god- Please can I come?” You whined, barely able to get the words out since he wouldn’t break the kiss to let you speak. “Please, Jon.” He pulled back, eyes squeezed shut as he panted, never stopping the movement of his hips or fingers. 

“Go ahead, baby,” He whispered as his eyes fluttered open to look at you. “Come for me- but remember what I said.” What you would’ve originally thought was a warning, was actually just a reminder— the closest he would ever get to saying please. 

Your orgasm crashed over you suddenly and you did your best to keep your eyes open through the pleasure. He stared down at you with furrowed brows and slightly parted lips, letting some moans escape. 

“Please come.” You gasped out, orgasm just barely starting to fade. “Please, Jon.” His lips parted even wider and then he was squeezing his eyes shut, still trying to keep them open though. His hips stilled completely inside you, staying deep to make sure you took every last drop of his come. 

When his body finally relaxed and he rested his forehead on your chest, you played with his hair. Both of you were still panting, a little sweaty, and definitely come drunk, but he didn’t seem to care at all. He swiftly turned you both over as he moved the couch cushion back, his cock never leaving you. You let yourself lay down on his body, your cheek on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and one of his hands came up to pet your hair, the other rubbing up and down your back lightly. 

There was a nagging thought, deep in the back of your brain, that you were trying to ignore, but it was growing louder the longer you laid there. This felt too good to be true. Like you’re dreaming and going to wake up back in your cell again. 

“Jon?” You asked quietly. 

“Hm?”

You didn’t want this to be a dream. You wanted him to hold you again and again, let you fall asleep in his arms, have normal conversations about everything and nothing. But most of all, you wanted him to feel the same way. To long for you so hard that his chest aches at the thought of losing you, the way yours does. You wanted him to— 

“I-“ You had to stop yourself from saying the thought that just popped into your head because you were scared of how he’d react to such a deep confession. “I just…” 

“I know.” He whispered, heart beating faster and harder in his chest. “Me too.”

Part 10

[vitaminseetarot]

Back-to-Back PAC Part 2: What is Beginning For You? 🥚🌴🌊

Hey y'all it's time for round 2 of my back-to-back reading! I have to admit I was a little upset that the widespread glitch in tumblr's tags last night messed the mini event up a bit; I was disappointed that my reading wasn't visible in the search until earlier this evening. But it's not gonna stop me from submitting the 2nd half anyway! So if you haven't seen part 1 yet I highly encourage you to check it out as it's my last reading of 2024.

(Yes, I've decided to go with spring colors for these piles!)

Pick any one of the three images above to find out what's beginning for you:

Pile 1: Morganite Nest Pile 2: Aventurine Palm Pile 3: Larimar Sea

Pile 1: Morganite Nest

Knight of Pentacles, King of Pentacles, Page of Swords, 7 of Swords; Non-Attachment, Co-Create, DNA - Karma, Acceptance: all is as it should be

How's it going, pile 1? Your next chapter is going to be a slow and steady one and I get that, in some respects, this will be like a breath of fresh air. In other times, it may test your patience. But there's a sense of serenity that's emerging from you as a result of past experience. You're realizing that some things manifest more brilliantly when they're given their time to form and flourish. I think of all knights, the Knight of Pentacles respects the necessity of sitting back and letting actions speak for themselves before pushing towards the next act. So I see an equal play here of you taking action on something and then detaching from the outcome until you're able to make your next move. This doesn't always mean things have to move slowly, in fact when done in confidence this could become a regular ritual enough to build momentum.

It's like playing a turn based game for the first time; we see somebody play the same game quickly and wonder how it all began. It all began with learning the ropes, the basic moves one by one, until it became ingrained into gamemaster's body as a habit. This beginning is all about embracing the angels of habit forming while making peace with the devils of difficult patterns that must be reconfigured. Habits, either way you spin them, are powerful. In this next phase of life, you're able to balance the two minds, the one focused on abstract goals and the one focused on earthly desires. I'm getting this understanding that both parts need to be heard to be in harmony with each other.

Finally, you're learning a lot in this new beginning as the Page of Swords, but the biggest lesson this year will be in recognizing that you can bring your greatest goals to fruition as the King of Pentacles. He represents your "how" in this reading, meaning that you already possess the strength to build yourself up and it's up to you to use it in a balanced way. This reading, for the most part, seems to be about work-life or school-life balance, though there is also a message here for ambitious creators too. I see you being able to complete many things this year coupled with the sense that you're working along with the universe rather than against it. You're able to discern your capacities from what the world can bring you, what's in your hands versus what's out. And that knowledge is strong, pile 1! You'll have the stamina and the patience to see things through while staying grounded. Reach for the stars and, after you touch them, be sure the clouds catch you and bring you back to the earth once again.

Pile 2: Aventurine Palm

XX Judgement, 9 of Swords, The Prism, Page of Cups; Confidence, Neverending Story, Love - Compassion, Nurture: grow a great life

Hey, pile 2. I wanted to mention that even before I started your reading, a "self-love" card fell out of one of my oracle card decks as I was clearing my desk to prepare your reading. I didn't think much of it until I drew your cards and then knew what it was all about! Pile 2, your next beginning is going to involve so much more personal care for your own well being and happiness. I'm feeling with the Judgement card like this is gonna come almost as a revelation to you. You're going to be given a message that will rock you to your core in regards to old beliefs. This may come as a story someone tells you, or through a work of fiction. It could be something you witness secondhand that causes you to rethink some ideas.

Your beginning is going to come as a wake up call to look after yourself more. Not just in regards to self-care, but in terms of how you perceive yourself as well. How you believe in yourself, and how much trust you're able to put into your own self-belief. The 9 of Swords makes total sense with this as this person's depicted to be falling. Your old self-limiting beliefs that kept you in a loop of confusion and worry are falling away in this next chapter. Being there for yourself is just going to make "sense", I don't know how else to put it. It's like how I'm required to inspect my car every year, but I'm not required to have a yearly physical for my body. It makes sense to look after the car, so much so that it's legally obliged, but I have to be the one to decide if I am worth the same "inspection" for my own health (assuming it's all affordable ahem). The car is being taken care of so it can work right on the road, but can I function? Here I go, comparing myself to a machine, while saying that I'm "fine".

Strong, justifiable anger I'm channeling here. This is the argument I hear in my head right now. "Why do we treat objects better than people?" This is what's changing for you, dear pile 2. It's like caring for yourself won't be seen as just necessary for simply "functioning", but as an act of empowerment for your own life separate of society's. You're right, people should be treated better than material things. Your outrage for others' sake is a reflection of your needs. This blank card with the gem is called Prism, and simply represents everything, all that is. And a loving open palm rests beneath it. This is you seeing your own inner light and worthiness and recognizing gentleness as a great priority. The next chapter in your life calls for radical compassion that spills outward and it starts from you filling your own cup so much that it overflows.

Pile 3: Larimar Sea

7 of Wands, 6 of Cups, X Wheel of Fortune, Queen of Swords (Rx); Festivity, Orphaned, Dragonfly - Emergence, Timing: wait for the right moment

Hello, pile 3. I see a bold new beginning for you filled with vitality. You'll be taking charge life by the horns to go where you've been deeply demanding. No room for auto-pilot based decisions anymore; you will be at the helm of your ship to steer it towards your desire. There is an almost aggressive pollyanna vibe to this reading, insistent on joy. I think you've been striving for this kind of joy for a while, but letting things be as they always were doesn't tend to bring novel results. You're taking more of an active stance on your dreams and that's admirable, pile 3.

I'm kind of getting Rapunzel from Tangled here in how she struggled both inside and out to break free and seek what she knew would fulfill her. Others called her immature but still became inspired to do great things because of that naive hope she held. You are filling your plate with what you want and casting out the naysayers who try to drag you down. You're saying no to those who yell "stop having fun around here!". It is a huge and liberating but also scary feeling to own up to what you want. Like with Rapunzel, there's a mixture of cheering and crying to be had. Your childhood stories are reaching out to you; they want you to reintegrate their lessons for you to take with you moving forward. It's easy to discount them as cheesy, but oftentimes it's those old messages that impact us the deepest. Honoring your inner child is helping you restore your boundaries and reclaim the tower that once held you back as your own.

Your next beginning involves a beautiful glow up due to the immense amount of respect you give to yourself, so much so that you'll be unable to put up with less. Things are turning to your favor as you adapt to life's conditions without losing your emotional core. Some of you will discover a more competitive side to your nature, which may come as a surprise. Perhaps this side was suppressed in childhood but is renewing itself to be understood again. This new beginning will be more able to support you, should you choose to take a bold path to get into something competitive, like playing sports or signing up for an online poetry contest. For others, this is more about pursuing the things you didn't think you had the audacity to do. As long as you take things in stride and don't overthink it, embracing this fierceness will help you burst out of the cocoon like a newborn dragonfly when the time is right. No longer hiding beneath the rocks, the wheels are turning and allowing you to fly forth from the waters.

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2025, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINE

when you and eddie can't sleep, he has a bright idea. but only after he's lit a fire in your mind through a bathroom door. also, steve finally finds out what he said that night.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, allusions to male masturbation, minors dni

→ wc: 6.9k+

→ a/n: oops my bad. this chapter is dedicated to @jo-harrington i know it's not exactly what you'd joked about but... i did it. solo eddie for the win.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

9:00 ─────ㅇ──────────── 24:00

DINGUS received a message from BIRDIE. 

BIRDIE: i found out what you said. 

-

HOUR NINE - 12:00 AM

When Eddie gets out of the bed, it wakes you up. 

In all fairness, you were sleeping lightly to begin with. It had only been about twenty minutes since his quiet confession, an apology that hovered in the air between you two, lingering and plastering itself to the ceiling. He was sorry for everything. And the optimist in you couldn’t help but count what exactly everything entailed rather than sheeps. You were certain it included the events of the night so far, but did it include Steve’s party? Did it include the cruelty exchanged the night this bet was made? Did it encompass the passing in time in which he’d tucked himself away from you after first meetings, letting a sheet of ice separate you? 

You’d fallen asleep halfway through the swirlings of ‘Did it…?’s, hardly realizing you’d left Eddie hanging after he’d whispered goodnight to you. You both knew you’d be waking up soon enough to send updates, or possibly receive a call from one of your friends. You both needed to utilize the time for rest – you were utilizing this time to rest. 

Until Eddie got up. Until you realized Eddie wasn’t sleeping, and now suddenly, you couldn’t even keep your eyes closed for more than ten seconds at a time. 

You listened to his footsteps as he left the room, as he crossed the hall and he shut the bathroom door behind him. When you did open your eyes, you focused intensely on the light pouring out beneath the small crack at the bottom of the door, waiting with bated breath for any sign of a shadow without luck. 

Five minutes. You’re awake enough to count the five minutes without any further noise or sign of him returning to the bed. 

You really shouldn’t be so nosey. He’s just using the bathroom in his own apartment. He’s probably just taking a piss, or more, and you hold no right to time him. But without him in the bed, there’s a cold you hadn’t expected. You hadn’t even been pressed up against him, the pillow wall still intact, and yet, his warmth had clearly reached you and kept you comfortable.

Maybe it wasn’t just his warmth. Maybe it was just his presence that made the room light up, swirling with something to wrap yourself up in rather than the chill of loneliness. 

The decision is made by your body first, brain second. By the time your thoughts have caught up to the choice that yes, you need to check on Eddie, your bare feet are already meeting his carpet. It takes mere seconds for you to cross the room, cross the hall. You raise your fist to knock and then– 

You stop. 

A sound completely stops you, freezes you mid-action. 

A whimper. 

Your stomach clenches. It wasn’t a whimper of pain. 

You’ve managed to cross countless lines with Eddie, both tonight and the entirety of knowing each other. You’d blatantly ignored boundaries he set in stone just as he did to you. The two of you had never functioned off of respect. 

It’s what you remind yourself when you take a step closer to the door, when you lean to press your ear against the wood. 

You nearly jump back when you catch onto the sounds coming from within the bathroom. 

Oh, yeah. He’s fucking jacking off. 

You’re familiar with that sound, hearing it both mocked in school and in pornos. The unmistakable sound of a fist gliding over flesh. Just as suspected, the whimper Eddie had let out on the other side of the door was by no means a sign of pain or distress – it was out of pleasure. 

You tell yourself that you’re only keeping your ear pressed to the door to fully load yourself with artillery to tease him with once the time comes. You tell yourself it’s a necessary evil, that you don’t enjoy it. You completely ignore the way your own thighs are beginning to press together when the sound speeds up. 

“Oh my- fuckin’ Jesus Chri- my God.”

Let it be known that you’ve never tried to picture what Eddie’s voice sounds like during sex. You’ve never fantasized about how many octaves his tone might drop, how breathy he might get from desperation, how his words might curl upwards with whines on the tailends. No, you’ve never thought about those things late at night. when you’re alone and have a hand between your thighs. You don’t have those thoughts about the guy you claim to hate. You don’t have the best goddamn orgasms of your life by picturing your hand replaced with his, the way the metal of his rings would nudge against your entrance. 

You don’t. You don’t. 

But something about the way he’s stuttering, sounding like a stereotypical porno in the way his voice is breaking, clearly close to finishing, has you pressing your thighs together tightly. It has your necks and cheeks flushing brilliant red as your chest heaves, recklessly trying to expand against the door you have pressed yourself against entirely now. 

“Fuck.” 

It’s muffled, led into by a heavy panting you can hear, even through the door, before being broken off by a long moan.  

Maybe you would give yourself the best goddamn orgasm you’d ever had again once this was over. And maybe that would be the soundtrack. 

You have to stumble back from the door, your entire body tight with frustration now as you back up away from the invasion of privacy you had taken part in. You don’t even have a chance to tell yourself it’s fine, because somewhere in your fumble to get away, your knuckles meet the door in an eerie resemblance of a knock, on accident. 

You can’t play it off. If you heard it, he heard it. 

“Uh, Eddie?” you nervously call out, cursing the way the words came out more like squeaks than tired syllables, “Everything okay in there?” 

You can hear his panic, between sudden shuffling, the slamming of the faucet turning on, the curses beneath his breath before he suddenly calls out, “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Just stubbed my toe!” 

“Okay…” you trail off, still breathing heavily, trying to return your heart rate to normal, “I, uh- okay. Just checking. Sorry.” 

You scurry, quite literally scurry, back into his bedroom. 

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have eavesdropped, because now, this was all so, so much worse. Every fleeting detail of his living space passed by you, and all you could hear was a repeat of his harsh fuck he’d clearly let out on accident. When you’d found his playboys, it was all fun and games. He was a guy, and you knew what he did with those magazines, but you’d never been a door away from him doing that. 

You’re not a very imaginative person, but you’re still trying to picture how his hand wrapped around his dick might look, what his dick in general looks like, when he exits the bathroom and finds you sitting there. 

He looks even more embarrassed than you.

Your apology is on the tip of your tongue, an impulsive I’m sorry is stuck between your teeth. But saying those words is admitting to knowing he didn’t really stub his toe. It would be admitting to eavesdropping. 

You’d be taking this night to the grave to you. 

“How’s your toe?” you question instead, curling your hands into fists and forcing a weak smile. 

You’re a shit pretender. 

“Fine,” he breathes out, the edges of his bangs wet, probably with sweat, and his eyes wide in fear, “It’s, uh, fine. Sore.” 

It’s okay, though, because he’s a shit pretender, too. 

He makes no move to sit down, and you almost laugh at the palpable tension and awkwardness in the room. Both of your chests are still heaving, both of your cheeks are still burning, and both of you are flooded with distrust by your words. 

“I can’t sleep,” you break the silence with the worst possible conversation starter. If the roles were reversed, if Eddie said this to you, you’d just shrug in response.

Eddie isn’t you, though, thankfully, “You just were.” 

“And now I’m not.” 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t.” 

Some habits die hard. Even in the new waves of Eddie’s apology, even as you two entered uncharted territory of unspoken civility, there was still bickering to be had. 

“This argument is just waking me up more,” you sigh, leaning back on your palms behind you, “I’m definitely not getting any more rest.” 

Eddie’s eyes trail over you, head to toe, and your breathing stops completely, “Well, yeah, not wearing jeans. Did you bring anything comfortable to wear?” 

Did he just check me out? 

That starts a fire within your brain. The blush isn’t even a product of him making you flustered anymore, it’s the physical billboard to alert everyone of the flames that will surely consume you within the hour. A warning to Eddie, that if he doesn’t stop, you’ll be nothing more than a pile of ash caught between his carpet’s fibers. 

You’ve gotten lost in your thoughts until he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, not too close but near enough to get your attention. 

Which hand did he use? 

You choke at the smokey thought, making him worry before you cough out a, “Sorry?” 

“Clothes. Did you bring any?” he questions as he looks down at you in concern, “Maybe some pajamas, or just something comfortable?” 

You don’t understand how it got to this point. How you’re the one so flustered, so embarrassed, when he was the one touching himself in the bathroom. Why are you the one with a fire blazing behind your skull, and why are you the one having to admit that no, you didn’t bring any clothes? 

Your silence is all he needs before he turns to walk to his dresser.

“Eddie, wait, no-” you start to protest but he’s already holding out a black pair of sweats, a similar style to the ones he’s wearing. 

“Here. I don’t know how well they’ll fit but…” he shrugs, almost shyly, before thrusting the clothing towards you with more intense purpose, “They’ve gotta be more comfortable than jeans.” 

“I-I-” I can’t. I can’t wear your clothes because I’m already thinking about your dick, and which hand you masturbate with, and how you’d sound hovering over me as you grind your hips into mine, and- “Thank you.” 

You take the damn pair of sweatpants, you swallow your pride, you continue to wade in his ocean. Maybe it’s all a game to him and he’s trying to break you (it’s working).

He continues to stand there awkwardly until you finally narrow your eyes, and take a single finger, waving it in circles to motion for him to turn around.

“What?” he asks, looking at your finger with wide eyes, still watching the circles it draws in the air. 

“Turn around, idiot,” you try to laugh lightheartedly, but it comes out strained.

You’re still thinking about him inappropriately. You’re still intoxicated by the idea of the sounds you can pull from him with the right moves, the right kisses. But you can’t, you know you can’t. 

You know he doesn’t think of you in that way. This feeling, unfortunately, is not mutual. 

He’s clumsy in the way he turns, even covering his eyes with his wide palm despite it being unnecessary. You notice the way he almost raises his left hand before he hesitates and chooses the right one instead. 

And now you’re convinced you have an answer to one of your burning questions. He uses his left hand, and instead of putting out some of the damaging flames within your mind, it fans them. You’ll definitely be nothing but a charred mess by the end of this night. 

You try not to take long, quickly yanking off your jeans and tossing them beside you before you work the sweats on quickly. Eddie has them a few sizes too big for himself, and it works out in your favor. 

You hate to admit it, but he was right – they’re comfier than your jeans by far. 

“Okay, you can look again,” you mumble as you bend down to grab your discarded jeans, working on turning them back outside right and folding them neatly. 

The turn to face you once more is even clumsier than his turn away from you, his hand dropping and slapping his thigh unceremoniously as he takes you in, “They… You… They, uh, fit. Good.” 

What was once cute tension and easily dismissed uneasiness is becoming too much. He’s still nervous, you’re still burning, and the room is too stifling when filled with both awkward emotions and swirling wisps of smoke that are thickening. 

So you do something about it. You choose to be the brave one and say something, “You’re being awkward.” 

He immediately scoffs, still stiff in his actions, “Excuse me?”

“You’re. Being. Awkward,” you enunciate each word with heavy emphasis, keeping up a faux mask of indifference as you turn for the bed, setting your jeans down on the floor by the nightstand before you climb back into the side you’d previously occupied. 

“I’m being awkward?” he’s following, taking the path from the end of the bed as he already has several times, leaving the wall of pillows intact, “You’re being awkward.” 

“That is such a childish response,” you tease him as you see him begin to warm up once again. The bathroom incident is forgotten, stomachs unclenched and jaws slacking as the two of you rearrange beneath the comforter. Both of you are careful not to disturb the pillows that weigh down the center of it. You convince yourself for a second his returning warmth comes from being closer to you, from being close enough to feel the heat of your flames. Or perhaps he has a forest fire of his own transcending his own neurons, and maybe the feeling is more mutual than you’d believed. 

If you never mention it out loud, he can never deny it, and you can continue to live in this newfound delusion and comforting fantasy.

You both still lie on your backs, mirroring each other with hands folded politely atop your stomachs and eyes glued to the popcorn pattern of his ceiling. It’s quiet. It’s nice. The only thing you can hear is his crashing waves and your crackling frames. You’re wading with your head above water still, not quite fully submerging yet, terrified that once you take the final plunge into him, the flames will be drowned out. Once he drags you under, he’ll settle the heat and the fever that has begun to haunt you, and you don’t know if what will be left in its place will be better or worse. You don’t know if you’re equipped to handle that unknown yet. 

“You remember how you asked about my motorcycle earlier?” 

His soft tone cuts through the white noise of it all. Every wave, every flame, every metaphor falls quiet for him. It’s suddenly just you, and just him. 

“Yeah?” you roll your head to the side, daring to look at him. He’s already staring at you. 

In the dark, you can make out a ghost of a smile as he says, “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I like to take it out for drives.” 

“Oh?” You’re tempted to twist your body to fully face him, to prop yourself up on your elbow and give him your undivided attention. You don’t. 

“Yeah. I guess it’s why I prefer it over a normal car, or even a van like I had in high school,” his eyes are clouding over with thoughtfulness, with nostalgia. You can picture it fairly clearly; he seems like the type that would drive around an ominous van just to scare a town shitless. “It’s a pain in the ass because now I can’t lug around my own equipment for gigs, but there’s this parking garage that the bike can fit through the closed gates of-”

“Hold on, I’m sorry – gigs?” you take an extra second to process it, but you’re sure he just insinuated he’s in a band. 

He’s giddy, those eyes lighting up in the darkness. You can see the dimples, you can see constellations exposing themself amongst his pupils, “Oh, yeah. I’m… I’m in a band.” 

“How did I never know this?” 

You both know the answer. Because before tonight, there was a clear division between you and Eddie for your friends. Before tonight, you two had never really gotten to know each other, save for the first night. You don’t know if your supposed enemy is in a band. 

He doesn’t say that, though. And neither do you. Instead, he just whispers, “I don’t know.” 

You can’t let the obvious go unsaid. You’d defeated the awkwardness, and you could handle your own brain being on fire from his match strikes, but this? 

You couldn’t handle the heaviness of the past year in the room with you two. 

“I’m sorry, too, by the way,” you should look away, look to the ceiling as he had when he said those words to you, but you don’t. You finally do as you wanted; you turn onto your side, fully facing him, bringing your hands to be folding between the pillow and your cheek, “I’m sorry for… everything.” 

Everything. You wonder if it punches a hole in his chest, too. You wonder if you move like an ocean in his eyes, if your waves are beckoning him within those four syllables. 

Now that the constellations in his eyes have been exposed, they refuse to vanish from your sight. He mimics your position, his hand tucked beneath his pillow. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you have to fill the silence, just as you always do, “It doesn’t mean we have to be, like, friends or anything. I just… We were both jerks in the past. And you said sorry first, but- I’m not just saying it because you said it! I swear. You just deserve to hear that I’m sorry too. I regret it all, too.” 

He nods subtly, licking his lips, “I mean, I don’t regret it all.” 

Oh God, is he about to fuck it all up again?

“What do you mean?” your voice is impossibly small, a phantom of a whisper, clutched in fear and anticipation. 

Please don’t fuck it all up again. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice. 

“I mean… I… It was fun sometimes, wasn’t it?” he looks nervous now, blinking rapidly as if he’s fighting looking away from you, “You’re the only person who’s ever really given me a taste of my own medicine. Everyone else teases me, yeah, maybe banters from time to time, but you? I like the ‘no-bullshit’ policy you apply to me. Keeps me in line.” 

A sigh of relief. A weight off both your shoulders, a heaviness that vacates the room. 

“Fun?” your tone is confident, teasing even, once more, “What about me throwing a glass at your head was fun?” 

“I said sometimes, not all the time,” he laughs, as if the memory of one of the worst nights between the two of you was just a fond tale between friends. Maybe that’s what you two were becoming – friends. 

A brain on fire. Two lungs twisted in vines rejuvenating. He’s beginning to consume all of you, effortlessly, and you question if that’s what friendship is. 

His laughter dies down, and you sigh, breathing despite the greenery and the smoke, “I get what you mean. There was a month there that just sort of felt like it was our thing. Just banter, or whatever.” 

“Is it not our thing, still?” he raises an eyebrow, “I mean, clearly, we still argue. I think the day you don’t argue with me will be the day pigs fuckin’ fly, or whatever they say.” 

“Whatever you say,” you banter back with ease, putting on a face of complete agreement. “Do you need me to check the news for you? See if little Porky grew wings?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

You’re both cackling as he reaches down to the wall of pillows, grabbing one at random, leaving a gap as he flings it softly in your direction. It hits your chest and you fall dramatically onto your back, wrapping your arms around the fluff of it while still giggling. 

The giggles linger as you pinch the corner of the pillow between your fingertips, rubbing as you glance down at the gap now in the wall. 

You can see his torso now. The sliver of skin that is his exposed hips, the waistband of his boxers. 

“You know, I’ve never met a guy with this many pillows,” you murmur, trying to steer your mind of his hips, his boxers, what’s beneath his boxers-

“I used to only have two. Then one time I brought a girl home, and she left because I only had two pillows.” 

You can’t help but let out a snort of your own this time, “What? A one night stand left you high and dry because you didn’t have enough pillows for her fancy?” 

“Yep. That’s exactly what happened,” he’s chuckling along with you at the ridiculousness of it all, “The next day I went to the store and bought all of these out of spite. Never saw the girl again, though. I like to think she’d be impressed.” 

“Oh,” you’re still laughing, with your entire chest as you subconsciously crush the pillow tighter to your body, “So impressed. You know you’re going to have to tell me all about it now, right? You can’t leave me hanging like that.” 

“I’ll tell you another time,” 

Another time. It almost goes over your head – the first time either of you have even entertained the thought of hanging out after the twenty four hours have ended. You don’t show him that you notice, and just continue on laughing. 

Somewhere amongst your delight, your head falls to the side and catches Eddie in the act. 

An act of total, utter softness. His features are melted butter as he stares down at you, seemingly entranced by your laughter and joy in his tale of a failed one night stand. It’s not the kind of look produced from forest fires, or turbulent oceans, or a garden of vines. It’s the kind of look that is a natural disaster all on its own. It’s devastating – something in the two of you immediately breaks, quietly, desperately. There’s no repairing the damage being done; there’s no want for reparations. 

The first bloom after a long winter finally sprouts on your vines. It’s bright and brilliant red – like scarlet blood, like hot and flickering flames. It’s watered by salt water, slow and warm and enticing. 

You start to believe that even if you plunge beneath his waves, the fire Eddie has lit within you will always remain. 

“We should go to sleep,” you whisper, eyes never leaving his. Trying to find the deep blue hidden within honey brown, to find seafoam green amidst wide, black pupils. 

“We should,” he agrees. 

“Goodnight, Eddie.” 

“Goodnight,” he pauses, and then he adds your name, as if he’s testing the taste on his tongue, as if he’s saying it for the first time.

It feels like he’s saying it for the first time. 

You look back up at the ceiling but still feel his eyes on you. A couple minutes pass, and neither of your eyes close. Just because you should go to sleep doesn’t mean you will. 

“You’re not even trying to sleep, are you?” 

You only hum in response, still clutching that pillow, still counting cracks in the ceiling. 

“Alright, fuck it.” 

Your eyes break to him as he suddenly is leaping off the bed, void of grace as he finally settles on his feet and races to his dresser. 

“Um, Eddie?” 

He doesn’t look up as he digs into a drawer, pulling out a long sleeved shirt, “Yes, sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart. A nickname that once filled you with venom now makes your insides twist in the agony of want. You want him to say it again. 

“What are you doing?” 

The long sleeved shirt flies your way, and he’s walking to grab a set of keys off the top of his dresser, “Getting you something warmer to wear.” 

“And… why…” you’re still lost, looking down at the shirt in confusion. It’s black and fairly thick, the neck hole stretched and a haunting white font sketching out the words Corroded Coffin, “Why do I need something warmer to wear? Your apartment isn’t that cold.” 

“Because it’s barely March, and it’s cold outside still,” he pauses and grins childishly, practically beaming at you as you continue to wearily eye the article of clothing. Once he realizes you’re still not getting it, he sighs dramatically and makes his way to your side of the bed, holding a hand out to you, “Neither of us can sleep. Let’s go for a drive.” 

His palm stares you in the face, an offer of something that should be considered a plain bad idea. There’s a million and one reasons to not go for a drive. And so you tell him exactly that, ready to list them off in rapid fire.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Perfect. Means no one else is on the street.” 

“We have to send a photo to the group soon.” 

“The place is five minutes away. We can take a photo when we get there.”

“Place? Oh my God, are you actually going to murder me? You’re taking me to a secondary location and that is in stranger danger 101-” 

Eddie stresses each syllable of your name as he says it, waving his hand that’s still stuck out for you to grab, “C’mon. There’s always a hundred reasons to not do something. Just… live a little. I promise it’s better than laying in my gross ass bed.” 

You narrow his eyes and challenge him, remembering his words about the way you two still argue. He was right – there may never come a day you don’t feel compelled to go toe to toe with him, whether it’s of ill-intent or not, “Why is your bed gross? Jesus Christ, Eddie-”

He moves suddenly. One moment, he’s just standing there, charming as ever with a daring palm that calls to you like his ocean. The next, he’s impossibly close, placing a hand on either side of you as he leans in dangerously close. 

“Change your shirt and meet me in the kitchen in the next five minutes, or I’ll come back in here and take your shirt off myself.” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

If he had said those words to you nine hours ago, you would have castrated him. But the low tone of his voice, the brush of his breath over your cheeks, against your ears – you’re putty in his hands now as you nod dumbly. 

When he leans back, he even looks shocked in his actions and words. But then he catches that look on your face – the blank stare and wide eyes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest – and a shimmer of cockiness returns.

“Five minutes,” he reminds you, tilting his head as he takes slow steps back and exits the room. 

It takes you less than one. 

The moment the shirt is on you, you’re encased with a new Eddie smell. The scents of the bed, of the apartment, of him still cling to the fabric, but it now mixes with something of fresh linen, lemon and clean laundry. 

As promised, he’s in the kitchen, leather jacket on as he grabs his phone off a charger plugged in at the end of the breakfast bar lined with stools. 

“You charge your phone outside of your room?” you ask as you carefully pad in, immediately heading to grab your shoes and slip them on. He’s already got his boots on, laced tightly. They should look comical against the grey sweatpants, but he’s making the entire look work. 

“Saw some science magazine say it would help me sleep better,” he mutters as he flips the phone open, probably checking for missed calls or texts. 

“That really only applies to smartphones. When did you even plug it in?” 

You’re bursting with questions, nervous and eager to avoid what’s to come. 

Being on Eddie’s motorcycle. With Eddie. Probably pressed up against Eddie’s back. Probably wrapping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“When I came to wake you up on the couch,” he nods towards where you’re sitting, snapping the phone shut and shoving it into his pocket, “You ready?” 

You wonder for a moment how he’d respond to you snapping back something bratty. How far would you have to push him for him to threaten you like he did in the bedroom again? 

You’re not quite recovered enough from the first time, so you don’t press your luck, nodding in response to him. 

—

Apparently, by the time you two reach his motorcycle parked on the street, you have recovered enough to press your luck. 

He’d grabbed a helmet on the way out the door, and you’d just assumed it was for him. It made sense, considering the one time you’d seen him ride, he’d worn it. 

But then, he was suddenly thrusting it in your hand. And the argument ensued. 

“I’m not wearing this,” you try to shove it back into his hands, “You’re driving, you wear it.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve taken a dozen hits to the head in my lifetime. I can handle being banged up if something happens, but I’m not risking it with you. Put it the fuck on.” 

You almost spit for him to not call you sweetheart, but it soothes something in you. Something made of your flames, something drowning in his ocean. A conundrum, whatever it is, because he’s just irritating you now. 

“You could not survive a motorcycle crash without a helmet,” you snap. 

“And neither could you.” 

“Why don’t you have two helmets then?” you nearly toss the damn thing to the ground and declare that neither of you will wear a helmet. 

He finally breaks and takes the helmet back roughly, “Because I don’t normally have a passenger,” he’s rotating the bulky, black shell in his hand, the glass visor for the eyes shining under the street lamps, “Consider yourself lucky. Most aren’t tall enough for this ride.” 

You’re about to make an immature sex joke when he takes you off guard, smoothly bringing the helmet up over your head, not even giving you a chance to protest or fight him. 

“I hate you.” 

The words come out muffled to him, crystal clear to you in the helmet. But he still grins, and you can see it through the tinted glass. 

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to miss another appearance of those fucking dimples for the rest of your days. 

“Good. Glad to hear nothing’s changed,” he playfully jokes, rounding the motorcycle before he swings a leg over the seat and straddles it. You try not to watch and check your phone instead.

You’re getting kind of sick of imagining Eddie Munson naked. Something you’d never thought you’d have to think about. 

12:35 AM. Your phone clearly displays the time, just as a text comes in from Argyle. 

ARGYLE 😎: picture time, my dudes! say cheese (and send it our way) 📸

“Argyle just texted the chat, asking very politely for the photo,” you announce to Eddie, already holding your phone out so he could read the screen.

He’s kicked up the stand on the bike, balancing it with both feet on the ground, the entire thing leaning with him when he gets closer to read the text before simply saying, “Okay.” 

“Okay? We have to take a photo-” 

He snatches the phone from you, a terrible habit you needed to start scolding him for. “Well? Don’t just stand there, sweetheart. Get on the bike and smile pretty for the camera.” 

It’s impressive how quickly the man who still has a flip phone has learned to navigate your smartphone. He’s already got the camera open, flipped to be front-facing as he waits for you to climb on behind him. But you haven’t moved.

He turns and looks at you over his shoulder, “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you squeak from beneath the helmet. 

Just the thought of being pressed up against you after I’ve suddenly started fantasizing about you without shame is madly overwhelming. And if I have to wrap my arms around your waist, I might burst into flames outwardly. 

“Okay,” he draws out, twisting further to watch you, “Need help, then?”

You don’t honor him with an answer, instead roughly grabbing his shoulders as you swing your own leg over the bike. You try to sit with distance between the two of you, but the curve of the seat won’t allow it, sliding you down until your hips are flush against Eddie. 

It’s at this moment it dawns on you that if you are fantasizing about him, if you are indulging in the memory of the bathroom incident, he’ll feel it. You can hide or brush off a blush, you can avert gazes, you can pine just about every way physically without him knowing – you can’t stop him from feeling the heat between your legs as it’s digging into his lower back. 

You swallow hard, and you pray that Eddie isn’t in a teasing mood. 

“Good?” he asks when you don’t remove your hands from his shoulders. 

Even through the fucking helmet you smell his cologne. If you had your phone, you’d be googling images of grandmas like a teenage boy, warding off your unsavory thoughts about the man in front of you. 

“Good.” 

You have to tilt to the side before you both come into view of the camera. Eddie realizes at the last moment that they can’t see it’s you, and he doesn’t even react as he casually reaches up to flip the window visor up, exposing your wide eyes and rosy cheeks. The photo is taken, your blush evident and his smirk not even close to being hidden. 

He doesn’t even consult you before he sends it and passes your phone back, taking to tying back his hair as you fumble to secure the device in your pocket. 

You still haven’t dared to wrap your arms around him as you know is proper protocol as a motorcycle passenger. Instead, one hand is still shoved in your pocket, and the other continues to rest on his shoulders.

“Alright,” he says, producing his eyes and putting them in the engine, not yet turning it, “Just put your feet up here,” he takes a hand to each of your calves and lifts, situating your feet on the small pedals designated for a passenger. Your skin burns through the layer of sweats – the flames aren’t just in your head. They’re everywhere now, licking and nipping and leaving your breathless. “And then hold onto me.”

You return your hand to his other shoulder, giving a squeeze on each for emphasis to say you’re ready. He makes no move to start the bike. 

“What?” you complain, “I’m holding onto you!” 

“If we hit a bump, you’ll go flying.” 

When you don’t comply, he’s rolling his shoulders, shrugging off your touch before both hands fly back behind his back and capture your hands on their fall to your lap. His fingers are tight, warm, secure around your wrists as he pulls your arms to wrap around him in the exact way you’ve been avoiding. 

It pulls you impossibly close to him. If it weren’t for the helmet, your cheek and nose would be painfully smashed into his shoulder. The heat of him radiates off his back, seeping through the sweatshirt he’d given you. 

“There. Now is that really so bad?” His tone is cocky and confident, getting under your skin in a new tactic neither of you had ever broached. 

Flirting. He’s flirting. He can feel the tremble in your palms, and he has the nerve to fucking flirt with you. 

“Awful,” you quip, having to focus an insane amount to not allow your voice to shake, “I might vomit, it’s so bad.” 

“Aw,” he tuts mockingly, hands finally letting go of your arms, clearly pleased when they stay in place as he turns his face to look you in your eyes, “Just aim for the street and not me, okay?” 

Fire and flames dance in his eyes, easily reflected from the flush of your cheeks and the falsification of your glare. He’s going to be the death of you. 

“I’ll try,” your voice does shake this time. You’re not as brave when he’s making eye contact. 

The two of you are playing a dangerous game now. The venom of hatred has leaked out of your words, and what’s replacing it has the capability of breaking both of you far easier. This is no longer a game of who can make the other bleed – it’s no longer a game of you versus him. It’s a game of the two of you versus fate. The world’s worst game of chicken to date. 

A natural disaster. A forest fire that eviscerates all common sense. A rowdy ocean that drowns every version of every possibility ever known. Nature taking back what was once hers, an abandoned haunt of a chest that is now back in full bloom against better judgment. 

You, him, and fate. You always knew he would be your inevitable downfall. You’d always just assumed it would be a lot more screaming, a lot more fighting, and a lot less fantasizing what his lips would feel like against yours. 

He reaches out, and you think for a second, his knuckle will brush your cheek and he’ll whisper that it’s okay for you to just give in, to let Fate have her way. 

He doesn’t. He flips down the visor over your eyes, he twists the keys in the ignition, and he calls out loudly over the roar of the engine, “Hold tight, baby!” 

Your arms tighten around his waist and you hope the flames that encase you char him all the same. 

—

DINGUS: what did i say? 

BIRDIE: it’s not bad.

BIRDIE: i promise.

BIRDIE: it’s just not great either. 

DINGUS: robin. tell me what i said before i come across the hall to your room and break every the smiths record you own. 

BIRDIE: jesus okay! hop off the violent train. 

BIRDIE: i’m going to call you and explain because… context. just trust me and answer, okay? 

DINGUS: jesus christ. okay.

—

The moment the girls have all left for the bathroom, each guy exchanges a look. Argyle nudges Jonthan, who then kicks Steve under the table, who takes his turn in facing his entire body in Eddie’s direction before tapping the boy on his shoulder.

He looks up immediately, only to be caught in the spotlight of his friends, “Uh… yeah? What’s up?”

“You like her,” Steve deadpans. 

“You like her, my dude,” Argyle sing-songs from across the table, “I’m about to start planning a bitching wedding, I swear.”

Eddie freezes up, face scrunching up before he shakes his head violently, “What? No, I just met her-”

“Subtlety isn’t your specialty, Munson,” Jonathan adds in his two cents, “Lost puppy dog eyes are, though. Which you’ve been making at her all night.”

“I have not-”

“You guys think they’re more of a summer wedding couple, or fall? No, no, actually, scratch that – they’re clearly a winter wedding couple, man,” Argyle is teasing, but the warmth of his personality is genuine as he wiggles his brows at Eddie.

A smile finally cracks on the boy’s face. 

Fine, maybe he did like her. Maybe he had been plotting subtle ways to get her number before the night ended. Maybe he had already been trying to silently catch Robin’s eyes to get her blessing without words. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve suddenly interrupts, “Tone down the teasing, alright, fellas?” 

Eddie curiously turns his head to him, hiding a smirk behind the lip of his glass, “Why? You’ve already got eyes on her, Harrington?” 

It was a joke. A stupid, stupid joke. A joke that never should have been made, because Steve was drunk and wasn’t in the business of using a filter once he was this many shots deep. 

Eddie knows deep down he didn’t mean harm by the words. He knows that they were the words of a drunk man. But don’t all drunk thoughts have truth to them? 

“What? Nah, man. Not anymore, at least. She was never interested. And I just don’t want us getting ahead of ourselves, because if she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you? I think we just-”

Eddie stops listening. Steve continues a drunken rant, and if Eddie had been listening closer, he’d hear about Steve’s grand plan to better feel out how she felt about him. He’d hear about how Steve would get Robin involved, maybe Nancy, how they could talk to her. 

He’d hear that Steve meant more than those awful words that immediately take up residency in Eddie’s mind. But the damage is done. And just like that, a fate between Eddie and this new girl has been decided. There will be no asking for her number. There will be no giddy late night phone calls or terrible nerves when planning a first date. There won’t be anything – Fate clicks with reluctance as Eddie Munson begrudgingly closes the gates to his heart once more. 

“If she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you?” 

Steve was right. Eddie shouldn’t have gotten ahead of himself. 

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[babymetaldoll]

Are you mine? - Chapter two: “Let the fear you have fall away”

Summary: (Y/N) is very pregnant and she will have to learn to deal with the hormonal swings, the fears, the nausea and the realization that things might never be the same again.   Word count: 11.110 words Warnings: mention of a daddy kind, description of Criminal Cases from season 9 ep 19 Mr & Mrs. Anderson. Extreme fluff, some light angst.  A/N: years ago I wrote the entire story of how Spencer found out he was gonna be a dad with reader, it's called: "You are gonna be the best dad." 

Series' Masterlist - Author's masterlist

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Spencer’s point of view

When (Y/N) told me she was pregnant with our first baby, it was one of the most chaotic moments of my life. I had no idea what was going on.

We didn’t try for too long before she realized her period was late, just four months of many, many attempts to have a baby. I was blind to the first signs: her breasts were getting bigger and her stomach was giving her a hard time. I never noticed anything, which eventually made me feel like a lousy profiler if you ask me. But I wasn't trying to read her, and she was waiting for the right time to tell me. She had it all planned: she had even rented a cabin in the woods for the following weekend, and she had a little box of clues gathered to surprise me.

But, of course, our job got in the way, like it always did when something important was about to happen. We were caught up in a case and never made it in time to enjoy the cabin. Besides, the team realized something was up with my wife, even before I suspected anything. By the time we were back in DC after solving that case, they had all noticed she was pregnant, and even Emily in London knew I was gonna be a dad before I did.

I remember getting our bags in the car, still in the FBI parking, when somehow I found the box filled with all the clues and little treats she had gotten for me.

- “Hey, chipmunk? What’s in this box?”

- “What?”- (Y/N) turned around and tried to grab it from my hands, but it was too late. My curiosity was faster and I had already opened it.

- “What’s all this? a teddy bear with glasses? That’s funny. A rattle, baby shoes…”- I started taking everything from the box, still not getting what it was all about. (Y/N) sighed and looked at me, trying to find the right words to give me the news.

- “Honey…”

- “A onesie that says “baby genius, like my dad,”- I remember thinking We should get one of these when we have a baby. I was embarrassingly stupid at that minute, and I blame the exhaustion after the case. Besides, I know I can be clueless about the obvious sometimes.

- “Honey bunny…”- my wife stood in front of me and looked at my confused face as I kept trying to understand what those things were doing there.

- “Why do you have all these things in our car?”

- “There is one more thing in the box you haven’t seen yet.”- (Y/N) whispered with a sweet smile on her lips. I dug into the box again until I finally grabbed a pregnancy test with a little note hanging from it.

- “Baby Reid, coming soon.”- I read out loud and immediately opened my eyes wide, in shock.

- “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I didn’t want to tell you here. I wanted to make it special”- (Y/N) whispered and even pouted as I looked at her in complete disbelief. Yes, we stood in the parking lot at Quantico, but she was delivering the most important news I had ever received.

- “You… we are… you are….”- I stuttered as I tried to make my brain work again. I felt all my brain cells had turned off the second I connected all the dots.

- “Yes.”- she smiled and took a step closer to me as she added- “We are gonna have a baby.”

I could only stare at her, in shock. Her eyes were filled with tears as she waited for my reaction. Meanwhile, I could barely process all that information. My heart was pounding in my chest and my eyes were watering as I just looked at my wife.

- “Come here,”- when I finally managed to speak, I hugged her tight and tried not to sob as I kissed her, and repeatedly thanked her.

- “Why are you thanking me?”- (Y/N) whispered against my chest and I just chuckled, still shocked. It took me a few seconds to gather my thoughts because I felt like I was dreaming. Somehow at that minute, life was too perfect to be true.

- “Because you just gave me everything I ever wanted,”- I murmured and wiped off the tears from my face quickly before cupping her cheeks with my hands and kissing her lips sweetly.

- “I just wanna make you happy, Spencer Walter Reid,”- she answered between kisses, making me smile.

- “You are very good at that”- I said as I wrapped her in my arms and kissed her one more time.

- “You make me happy too just so you know,”- (Y/N) added and smiled as I rested my forehead against hers. My wife was pregnant, it was a dream come true.

- “And you are gonna be a great dad, honey bunny.”- (Y/N) said and it still shocked me to hear those words.

- “I’m gonna be a dad,”- I repeated and chuckled- “I’m gonna be a dad.”

- “Not just a dad, the best dad!”- (Y/N) kissed me again and held my hand- “Now let’s go home so we can eat and celebrate.”

- “Wait!”- before (Y/N) could move from my embrace I stopped her, all the signs that were too obvious to see were finally making sense.

- “Emily knew, that’s why he texted me congratulations. Am I right?!”- my wife looked at me with an apologetic smile and nodded.

- “I’m so sorry, honey. I tried to make it special, but I failed.”

- “But she is in London! How did she… Who told her? Who else knows?”

- “Morgan, JJ, Hotch, and Garcia. Garcia told Emily.”

- “You told the entire team before you told me?”- the words came out harder and angrier than they should have been. In reality, I was shocked she hadn’t told me first, but never mad.

- “I haven’t told anyone except for you. But working with profilers makes keeping a secret a nearly impossible task.”

- “But I didn’t notice”- I argued, upset with myself for being so blind and naive. My wife hugged me, and kissed me a few times, soothing my anger.

- “I didn’t want you to notice ‘cos I wanted to make it special for you. Not in a parking lot, by the way”- she was disappointed with the circumstances of her confession.

- “Any place is special when I’m with you, Mrs. Reid”- I whispered, holding her closer and kissing her lips a few more times, as I felt her smiling against my mouth. - “Now let’s go home, tomorrow we are going to the library to get all the pregnancy books we can find.”

- “Of course, we are.”- (Y/N) giggled and got in the car. It wasn’t in a magical cabin in the woods or watching the sunset on a beach, but it was perfect anyway because we were together, and my wife was giving me the life I always dreamed about, but never imagined I could have.

When we told the team, everybody got excited. They hugged us and congratulated us for a good ten minutes. Though they all knew, the fact it was official made it all special. Garcia went nuts and even video-called Prentiss to the UK. JJ was pregnant with Michael at the time, and she started sharing tips with my wife right away.

- “Congratulations, Reid”- Blake said as she stood by my side and raised her coffee, to toast. I followed her lead and smiled.

- “Thank you.”

- “Have you thought about names yet?”

- “Yes, but nothing specific yet. We are just sharing options and making a list.”

- “Which is your favorite?”

- “Matilda or Raven for a girl, and Finn or Oliver for a boy.”- I said, smiling and Blake nodded right away.

- “Did you pick names from your favorite books?”

- “Yes. They were my best friends growing up.”- I confessed and sipped my coffee. (Y/N) turned to me from the other side of the room and smiled, making my heart skip a beat.

But then, it all turned too real to be true. Hotch told (Y/N) she wasn’t allowed back into the field until after the baby was born, which also included me most of the time. And I was glad to stay aside from the action. I wanted to take care of my wife and help her with every craving, every back pain, or body ache. Then came all the paperwork, signing disclaimers and basically making sure the entire Bureau knew what was going on. Hotch said it was mandatory, but it still felt slightly over the top. Neither of us argued with it, but we were both slightly uncomfortable.

On top of telling the team and the rest of the FBI about our pregnancy, Mikey, Frank and Lu were paranoid during the entire gestation of our baby. They called pretty much every day and became very protective of (Y/N). Honestly, they were worse than her parents.

- “How long are you going to work?”- Frank asked her when we all got together at our apartment for dinner. (Y/N) looked at Paco and raised an eyebrow, not getting where that question was coming from, or why he was even asking.

- “Until the day the baby is born, why?”- my wife's answer was the most logical, and also, what we had talked about and agreed to do. Yet somehow, for Frank, Lu, and Mikey, it was the most irrational thing we had ever shared with them.

- “What the fuck, nugget?”- Mikey yelled, making (Y/N) jump.

- “What���s wrong?”- she asked, confused by their freaked-out reaction.

- “You have to take time off work, get some rest, and keep our baby away from fucking psycho killers!!”- somehow, Frank calling my baby “our baby” wasn’t weird at all. He, Mikey, and Lu were insanely intrusive during the whole process. Not in a bad way, just in a… I guess, possessive way.

- “You know I’m no longer on the field.”- (Y/N) explained again, though that was something we had both told our friends multiple times. - “I’ve been sitting around police stations all over the country for the last four months! It’s so fucking boring!”

I knew (Y/N) didn’t like to stay away from the action. She loved our job and she wanted to catch serial killers. But at that moment, she could only help with geographic profile and support from the station.

- “Just what? four more to go!”- Mikey joked and sipped his beer- “Come on, nugget. We are worried because we love you.”

- “Yeah, we are all worried about my godson or daughter.”- Frank added and both Mikey and Lu smacked him at the same time.

- “My godson or daughter!”- they argued possessively. I turned to my wife and watched her smile as our friends continued rambling about who the godfather of our firstborn would be. I held her hand upon the table and she turned to me immediately.

- “I love you.”- I whispered and she smiled.

- “Me more.”- (Y/N) leaned over and kissed me, as our friends kept chatting.- “So, do you want to go out for dinner tomorrow?”

- “Are you asking me out, Mrs. Reid?”- I whispered and watched her blushing, completely flustered. I will always love that reaction to that simple nickname.

- “Maybe I am, doctor.”- and she knew exactly how to tease me.

- “This is gross, we are still here.”- Frank argued right away.

- “Remember when you asked me a million times to date Spencer? Well now I married him and you’ll have to deal with this!”- (Y/N) quickly replied and smiled at her friends. I chuckled and stared at her with what Garcia calls “heart eyes”, just like the cartoons. Every day I feel like there is no way on earth I could ever love her more than I already do, but the following day, I always prove myself wrong.

(Y/N)’s point of view

A moment of pure honesty: so far in life, I’ve enjoyed being pregnant. Each time it has happened, Spencer treats me like a princess made of glass. He is always sweet and thoughtful, but when I’m carrying his kids, I become the most important and precious thing in the whole galaxy for him. It’s impossible not to fall for how carefully and lovingly he treats me.

Any cravings, no matter what time or what it is, he gets it. Pampers and kisses are available for me 24/7. Crying over a movie, show, or TV commercial? Spencer is there to hug me and tell me I’m not crazy. And trust me, I feel like I’m going crazy most of the time.

However, there is a dark side to pregnancy, and so many ghosts appear to hunt me. There are the doubts that keep hunting my brain, hormones changing, and overthinking. Sometimes I felt needy, and when the months passed and I started turning “rounder”, I also started feeling ugly. I have never been overconfident about my looks, but now I was afraid Spencer was never going to think I was sexy again, and he would leave me.

Being pregnant can make you very irrational. No one ever told me that. And if they did, I never actually listened.

However, my husband was always the sweetest. He would hold me, kiss me, and tell me how much he loved me.

That very first time I got pregnant, I started second-guessing everything a few days before Valentine’s Day. I was already five months pregnant and I felt like a whale. I couldn’t imagine how big I was going to get in the following weeks. And I was sure Spencer was going to leave me.

I told you, I was being irrational, right?

Morgan and Garcia were talking about Valentine’s Day when we reached the bullpen that morning. They were telling each other whatever plans they had with their dates and both of them seemed excited. Derek has a date with Savannah and Pen was planning a night with her boyfriend, Sam.

- “And what are you guys doing this year?”- Garcia asked and placed a hand on my tummy, hoping to feel the baby’s first kicks.

- “I… I don’t know.”- I answered the truth, ‘cos I hadn’t had a moment to plan anything for Valentine’s. Over the years, it had become one of our favorite celebrations, and every year I dedicated the entire day to celebrating my husband. I always tried to make something extra special for him that day. Why? Aside from the fact that he absolutely deserved it, I always felt like he would do everything and anything to make me feel loved, and I wanted to make him feel just as loved.

So, having no plans for Valentine’s that year shocked me and stressed me. I had forgotten about that celebration. And I needed to show my husband how much I loved him and make it extra special.

There I was, lost in thoughts and planning when JJ walked out of the elevator. She had been kidnapped a few weeks earlier, we had all worked extra hard to bring her back, unharmed, and medics had suggested she stay home for a month to recover. Which is why none of us was expecting to have her back to work yet.

- “JJ! You are back! How are you feeling?”- Spencer asked as he hugged her.

- “I’m ready to work”- she replied and turned to me- “(Y/N)! You are glowing!”

- “Don’t turn this to me, what the hell are you doing here already? Shouldn’t you be resting?”- I argued as JJ simply smiled, looking freaking gorgeous.

- “I'm… I'm fine. Don't get me wrong, I love my boys to death, but I was starting to get a little stir-crazy.”

- “Well, let's do this.”- Morgan said and opened the door for us.

- “I’m glad you are back, JJ”- Spencer added and smiled at our friend. She smiled back at him and replied.

- “Thank you. I’m glad to be here.”

- “Do you want some tea?”- Penelope suggested and all of them walked a little faster than me, as I slowly made my way to the briefing room. I had a little back pain and some dizziness that made moving a little more challenging. And for the first time, Spencer didn’t notice. Instead, he walked JJ to the briefing room and left me behind.

I stared at him from a distance and sighed. I knew I was being irrational, but I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of the attention Spencer was giving JJ at that minute. I know it was stupid, she was our friend and she had been held captive and tortured, of course, he was going to be extra nice to her. But still, it hurt.

The entire team welcomed JJ back, and before Garcia started explaining our next case, everybody asked JJ how she was feeling. They wanted to know if she had seen a doctor before coming back to work, and basically, they all just told her how amazing she looked. I was the one turning food into a tiny human in my stomach, but she looked good.

It didn’t get much better once we were on the plane to Pittsburgh. I could feel my feet getting swollen with every minute that passed. That had never happened before and it just made me feel humiliated. Everything was going downhill.

- “Good news, crime-fighters.”- Garcia’s voice took me from my thoughts and back to reality as her image showed up on the screen in front of me. - “I tracked the shower curtains this creep has been using to burrito his victims. Turns out they are commercial grade, sold in bulk to a bunch of economy motels, a list of which I just sent you.”

- “It makes sense.”- Blake added- “It's a secure secondary location.”

- “Either he doesn't want to draw attention to his home or someone is living with him.”- Papa Pasta suggested.

- “Rossi, you and Morgan go to the M. E.”- Aaron commanded- “ JJ and Reid, go through Garcia's list of motels.”- I froze at those words. Spencer was going to be on the field? He had been with me at the police station for the last eleven cases. I knew it wasn’t a rule or mandatory, but I thought Hotch was trying to be nice and pair us together for our sanity. Wanna know what upset me the most? my husband didn't argue, he just smiled and nodded at the command.

- “Blake, (Y/N), and I will go to the field office and cover victimology with Agent West.”- Aaron finished commanding and I stayed still, sipping my water, nearly shocked. Blake cut me a big smile and I had to smile back.

- “How are you feeling, (Y/N)?”- Blake asked as soon as we got into the SUV after we landed. I had already kissed my husband goodbye and watched him make his way with JJ, away from me, which for some weird reason, hurt me deeper than I ever thought it would.

- “I’m good, I miss coffee, though. I would love a large black coffee right now. No sugar, no cream.”- I replied and struggled to buckle up. - “Shit, I’m so pregnant.”- Hotch chuckled and helped me with the seat belt.

- “You are only five months into the pregnancy.”- he whispered and smiled at me- “You are still a few weeks from the short breath problems, cramps, and fatigue.”

- “Please, don’t spoil it!”- I argued and Aaron Hotchner laughed- “You are giving me all the dirty details of pregnancy I didn’t want to know.”

- “You will love it! He is just making it sound like hell!”- Blake rubbed my shoulder with her hand in support and I tried to turn and look at her. I knew she had lost her child, but she had been a mom, and her guidance had been quite useful during the entire process.

- “Other than coffee, how are your cravings?”- Hotch asked as he started driving us to the station. I told them about my random food choices, and they made me feel better about my pickle mayonnaise craving for dinner. According to him, Haley craved hot Cheetos dipped in yogurt, and Blake told me she once ate two bowls of hot Indian curry because she was craving spicy food. Somehow, curry started to sound good after she mentioned it, but we had no time for pit stops. In a few minutes, we were at the station, and before I realized it, my head was buried in work. Another day, another psycho killer, I guess.

I didn’t hear from Spencer for the rest of the day. Nothing. He didn’t reply to my texts (I only sent two because I didn’t want to sound needy) and he didn’t even call. So when he reached the station that evening with JJ, I was already upset and ready to give him the cold shoulder.

- “Chipmunk! how are you feeling?”- my husband kissed my cheek and sat next to me at the table, where I was analyzing victimology with Blake.

- “I’m good.”- I simply replied and kept looking at the papers.

- “Have you eaten anything?”- he asked and grabbed a few files as well. I just hummed and avoided looking at him. There was a long silence in the room, though we were all there. For a few seconds, that felt like hours, no one said anything. Probably they all noticed I was mad at my husband.

- “Take a look at this”- Agent West, from the local police force, walked into the room with more info and handed us all new folders- “You guys were right. I was able to match their M.O. to 10 other strangulation murders. We were only able to identify four.”

- “They've been at it since 1994.”- Rossi pointed out as we all read the file.

- “Looks like they stopped in 2010 and remained dormant up until now.”- my husband added and looked at me. But before I could say anything, JJ started talking.

- “Something had to prevent them from killing. Maybe one was incarcerated.”- so I just sighed and looked at the files again.

- “I'll start pulling prison records, see if I can't get a match.”- Agent West was very excited with the findings, and he walked out of the room in a hurry. I sighed one more time, exhausted, and continued reading. Spencer moved closer to me and rubbed his warm hand carefully on my leg. It was a loving gesture I’ve always adored, but I was so irrationally upset with him at that minute, I hated it. I held my breath and stayed very still as he did, and I guess he noticed something was wrong, ‘cos he slowly stopped and moved his hand from my leg. I didn’t turn to look at him, but I knew his eyes were analyzing me and probably wondering why I was mad.

- “These two have been in a relationship a lot longer than we thought.”- Rossi said and left his case file on the table, ready to start analyzing the new facts.

- “But even if they broke up, to come back together and resume killing after a four-year hiatus is rare.”- Spencer looked confused by the unsub's actions like there was a logic he couldn’t understand. I shrugged, finally acknowledging him.

- “Love is strange. It will make you do the craziest things.”

Those words just slipped through my lips and never actually went through my brain. It was an entirely emotional answer. My husband stared at me, his lips parted and his eyes focused on every micro reaction on my face. I tried not to give away anything, but I’m sure I failed.

- “Guys, what if they are married?”- JJ suggested, obviously taking the idea from what was happening in the room. I looked down at my hands and decided I didn’t want to talk anymore. I just wanted to crawl into a bed and lie down.

- “Sounds about right”- Rossi added and looked at us.

- “It’s been a long day, we’ll pick it up from here tomorrow at seven. Let’s get some rest.”- Hotch read my mind and we all slowly gathered our things. Spencer grabbed my bag and waited as I slowly moved to the door. I walked in silence until we reached an SUV, and my husband opened the door for me. I wanted to tell him thanks, but I didn’t. Why? ‘Cos I was being irrational.

- “Do you wanna get dinner?”- he whispered as he sat behind the wheel. I didn’t reply.- “(Y/N), why are you mad at me? What did I do?”

- “Nothing.”- I mumbled, already pouting.

- “Clearly I did something that upset you, so please tell me.” - he wasn’t angry, he was honestly worried. I did my best and tried not to look at him, instead, I was making an effort not to cry.

- “Is it because I didn’t reply to your texts? I am sorry chipmunk, but JJ and I had a very busy day, and I didn’t have a spare second.”

- “Sure…”- I whispered and bit my lips, ‘cos my quin quivered. I turned and looked through the window, to anything but my husband.

- “Come on, please.”

- “You didn’t have ten seconds to type “I’m ok, love you” during the entire day you spent with JJ?! Really?!”

And what I avoided the most, just happened: I yelled like a crazy person. I even broke into tears as well. It was way out of proportion, it was completely unexpected, and Spencer looked at me not knowing what was happening.

- “I wanted to be with you! I wanted to know about you! I fucking missed you! I was worried! And you never took the time to reply to my texts! I am sure you were waiting for any chance you got to stay away from me! I’m sure you were already sick of being paired with me at the station! and you were happy to be with JJ ‘cos she is cute and hot and I am a fucking pregnant whale!!”

Yes. I am not proud. But somehow, it was relieving just taking all that from my chest.

Spencer stayed quiet for a moment as I just cried my eyes out. I prayed none of our friends was left in that parking lot, ‘cos I didn’t want them to see me like that. Spencer reached for my hand and held it. I didn’t fight him or anything, mostly because I was honestly craving his touch. He caressed my hand and I continued sobbing and after a few minutes, he simply whispered.

- “I’m sorry.”- and I knew I wasn’t mad at him anymore- “I know this whole process is… difficult for you, and I am sorry I can’t do anything but be supportive with you to help you through it. I love you, chipmunk. I love you so much it hurts. I never meant to make you sad, or upset. I just… got my head into work and forgot. It won’t happen again.”

Spencer kissed my knuckles and I tried to steady my breathing. My irrationality was upsetting, but I didn’t know how to turn it off or manage it.

- “I love you.”- he whispered one more time- “And please, don’t call yourself a whale again.”- my husband begged as he kept looking into my eyes with such love and care, I felt I was gonna melt- “You are more beautiful with every passing day.”

- “I’m getting huge, and I’m just nineteen weeks in.”- I mumbled still in tears, and caressed my tummy.

- “Chipmunk, you look so sexy, so beautiful and so mine with that round tummy, showing everyone you are carrying my baby.”- I wanted to tease him about his obvious breeding kink, but I was still trying to calm myself down.

- “I am so sorry I made you feel bad, ma cheriê. I love you so much.”

- “I… I love you too.”- I managed to mumble, still sobbing- “And… and I’m so fucking hungry.”- my husband started the car right away and started driving in no time.

- “Then I’m taking you out for dinner to make it up to you for making you worried today. Is that ok with you, chipmunk?”- I nodded and whipped off my tears with both hands, ruining what was left of my makeup.

I wish I could tell you that was the only time I was irrational during my pregnancy. But it was just the beginning. And every time I realized I was acting crazy, I got more and more scared Spencer would stop loving me.

Spencer’s point of view

I’ve always thought it’s unfair how my wife has to carry (literally and emotionally) the burden of bringing our kids into the world. It was painful to see her go through so much on her own, being an observer and a helper in any way possible. I couldn’t take the morning sickness from her, or the swollen feet, the contraction pain, the labor sacrifice. It was so much. And all I could was support her.

She could be irrational. I know it's common to have mood swings and feel tearful or easily irritated during the first semester of pregnancy. I was ready for it. I knew her body was going through a change and she had to adapt to the higher levels of these hormones. After that, things had to go smoother.

Statistically, one in eight women suffers from depression during gestation, and I was scared anything like that would happen to her. She was already giving me everything I ever dreamed about, and I wanted to make her happy.

After that first incident, I wanted to talk to Hotch and tell him I’d stay at the police station with my wife, but (Y/N) convinced me otherwise.

- “I overreacted, honey bunny.”- she stood in front of me and helped me fix my tie before we left our room to work the following morning- “Stop worrying about it. Don’t say anything to Hotch, just let’s go out there and do as we are told, for once.”

I stared at her and caressed her belly, waiting to finally feel our baby’s first kicks. I looked carefully into my wife’s eyes and leaned over to kiss her.

- “Are you sure?”

- “Positive”- she stood on her tiptoes and reached my lips with hers, kissing so sweetly and softly, that I nearly melted. - “Go out there and kick some ass.”

- “And when we get home, do I get to worship my wife?” - I whispered in her ear as (Y/N) giggled. I kept my arms around her, feeling her body close to me.- “I mean it, I want you to know how much I love you, ma cherie.”

- “I know, Daddy.”- the pet name had a different meaning now, and it affected me on so many levels it’s embarrassing to even start explaining.

- “Are you gonna be good today?”- I asked her in a deep voice. She just nodded and kissed me again. - “If you are good today at work, I’ll do whatever you want me to do when we get back home.”- I suggested and (Y/N) bit her lips.

- “Anything?”

- “Whatever you want, ma cherie”

- “Laundry and ironing too?”- she murmured and walked away from me. I groaned and followed her, leaving our room.

- “Really?”

- “You said anything, dear husband. That means in fact, whatever I want.”

- “But why can’t it be dirty?”- (Y/N) chuckled as she pushed the elevator button and turned to me.

- “It could be… if you get laundry done.”

That day I was out in the field with JJ and Morgan. Yes, it was a change being out there again after so many months at police stations doing geographic profiles with my wife. And though a part of me enjoyed being out, I still wished I was with her.

Morgan always made fun of me, saying I was whipped. And yes, I was. I still am. And I love every second of it. I don’t know how to explain it, but being with my wife makes me the happiest man on earth. No matter what. I guess Morgan hadn’t met that kind of person yet, so he couldn’t get it at that minute.

However, being on the field with him also meant having to hear him teasing me and asking way too many questions. And considering (Y/N) had had a little moment the prior day at the police station, he had a lot of things to ask.

- “How is the Mrs, Reid?”- Morgan drove to the crime scene we were called to and kept his eyes on the road. JJ was sitting next to him and didn’t say a word.

- “You just saw her, she is fine.”- I tried to be as vague as possible, but he kept pushing it, of course.

- “Everything ok? She seemed a little upset yesterday.”

- “Morgan, don’t snoop into other people’s relationships.”- JJ was the voice of reason Derek obviously ignored.

- “Pregnancy is getting harder?”- he asked and I sighed, annoyed by his questions- “Oh, man! That’s a yes!”

- “It’s just unfair she gets to go through all those changes and all I can do is support her. I feel useless because I can’t help her.”- I explained, but now that I think about it, Morgan was never going to understand what was happening. He just wanted to tease me.

- “So hormones are driving her crazy?”- and he even chuckled as she suggested my wife was going insane.

- “No. She is…”- I bit my tongue ‘cos I didn’t want to share something that I knew was going to upset my wife.

- “I’ve seen it happen.”- Morgan smiled and JJ turned to him immediately.

- “When?”

- “Ehh…”- he hesitated and nearly answered, but decided to change the subject instead. - “Is she upset you are on the field today?”

- “No, she just worries, but it’s normal. We talked about it and everything is ok.”- the less they knew, the better. I know we are together all the time, but I don’t want the team into everything that happens in my relationship.

- “Well, you know what they say.”- Derek said as he parked the SUV- “Happy wife, happy life.”

I quickly got out of the van and stared at the scene in front of me. A new victim was displayed in the middle of the street, and for the first time ever, it was a man and not a woman.

- “This is a first for them.”- JJ said as she stood next to me, followed by Morgan.

- “Aside from gender, the M. O. is the same.”- Agent West pointed from the side of the corps.

- “Something in their dynamic must have changed.”- Morgan walked closer as I maintained my distance from the body.

- “A male victim most likely caters to the female unsub's desires.”- JJ added and turned to me for a second.

- “They haven't displayed that behavior before. Up until now, it appears it's been the male picking the victims.”- I said, trying to connect the dots.

- “Which typically indicates a dominant/submissive relationship.”- Morgan pointed out, still staring at the corpse in front of us.

- “It looks as though her psychopathology could be evolving.”- I know it was obvious, but I had to say it.

- “Ok, we need to look at this from a marriage perspective. Compromise is the key to any long-term relationship's success. What if this murder was their way of sharing responsibility?”- I don’t know if JJ was saying that because it fit the case or the conversation we were having in the SUV earlier.

- “He let the woman choose the victim. That could be problematic.”- I replied only because it made sense to the case, not because it made sense in a relationship.

- “Now that she's been given control, she might not want to let it go.” - Morgan added and looked at me- “Sounds familiar, kid?”

- “Shut up.”

The teasing didn’t get any better when we delivered the profile. Now that I know there won’t be any more moments like that again in my life (at least at work), I guess it can be a little nostalgic. But I specifically remember how annoyed I was that day.

After the crime scene, we went straight back to the police station. We had a brief meeting with the team and then, we decided to deliver the profile.

- “We believe we're looking for a married couple, to whom we can attribute at least 13 deaths since 1994.”- Hotch started explaining.

- “He's a sexual sadist, and she's a scopophiliac, which is Greek for "love of looking, " meaning that she gets off on watching her husband kill.”- my wife added as she crossed her arms on her chest and stared at the police force, taking notes around us.

- “Like Karla Homolka and Paul Bernardo, who raped, tortured, and killed at least 19 people, this couple's homicidal tendencies most likely surfaced once they met.”- I walked from the side I was standing and moved closer to my wife, ‘cos I didn’t feel comfortable when she was far from me. I needed to feel I could protect her and our baby by all means.

- “It's possible that the use of a shower curtain is a sign of remorse on the part of the female unsub.”- Rossi started talking as I stood right next to (Y/N). I could actually feel the warmth from her body next to me, though we weren’t even touching.

- “Up until now, all the victims were females, so it's possible that the change in victimology could be the husband's way of subjugating his own needs for his wife's happiness.”- Derek explained, but looked at me for a slip of a second.

- “But a sexual sadist doesn't typically subjugate. We think he could have committed crimes on the side that got him arrested.”- JJ continued.

- “But wouldn't we have the bodies to prove that?”- Agent West asked, confused.

- “Yes. Which is why we need to take another look at all strangulations within the geographical profile that occurred during the gap years.”- Rossi explained. I slowly rested my hand next to my wife’s and moved my pinky carefully toward her fingers, caressing her skin slowly. (Y/N) didn’t move, didn’t look at me, she didn’t even notice what I was doing. But I felt her shoulder dropping and relaxing as soon as I touched her.

- “Without his female partner's influence, the male's independent M.O. should present differently.”- Morgan said and locked eyes with me, making me stop what I was doing right away.

- “Learning the nature of how that differs from their team dynamic will be the key to driving a wedge between their partnership.” - my wife said, making eye contact with as many officials as possible. I just stared at her and nodded, supporting every word.

- “In the meantime, all transients are at risk.”- Blake continued talking - “Now that the wife has gotten a taste of control, she'll crave that feeling again.”

- “And if the husband sublimated his needs with the last kill, his desire to fulfill his own will be what’s driving him now. Thank you very much”- Hotch finished and dispatched all the police. We all remained in our spots to continue with the profile review.

- “What can you add, Reid?”- Morgan asked and raised an eyebrow- “From your husband's point of view, not talking as an SSA.”- he asked me as soon as everybody else was out of the room. I just looked at him and raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. And (Y/N) turned to me wondering what he was talking about.

- “Morgan.”- Hotch raised an eyebrow and stared at Derek, who raised his hands and walked to the coffee pot.

- “What was that about?”- (Y/N) whispered as she stood next to me.

- “Just ignore him. I do”- I held my wife’s hand and kissed it. She smiled as I did and both of us pretended Morgan wasn’t there anymore.

During the rest of the afternoon, we analyzed unsolved strangulation cases within the geographical profile. I can’t say it was the best way to spend an afternoon, but at least I could spend the time with my wife. And the rest of the team.

- “How are you feeling?”- I whispered as I sat next to (Y/N) and noticed she had left half of her dinner untouched. We had ordered Chinese food for dinner for the team, and I knew she loved that.

- “I’m good”- my wife replied and continued reading.

- “You are not hungry? I thought you’d love dinner. It’s one of your favorites. You are not into Chinese anymore?”- my wife shrugged and looked at the files in her hands. JJ walked in sipping a gigantic soda, and I heard (Y/N) sighing. So that was it, she was self-conscious of her weight. It hurt me knowing my wife was so scared to gain weight during pregnancy. But most of all it pained me to know she was comparing herself with JJ. It was logical, JJ had had a kid and she hadn’t lost her figure after giving birth. But, how could I explain to my wife that I thought she was very sexy with that round tummy? I know I had told her, but clearly, it didn’t make any difference to her.

- “Chipmunk…”- I whispered, but JJ started talking about work, and (Y/N) ignored me to focus on her.

- “I have a 1989 strangulation victim dumped 10 miles from where the first body was found, only she was raped and stabbed.”

- “His comfort zone. Could be our unsub.”- (Y/N) said looking at the team.

- “Well, I've got two more, '01 and '03, except these took place in Clifford, Delaware. The M.O.'s an exact match.”- Rossi added and looked through the files he had read.

- “I got another one here from 2013, Scottsdale, Maryland.”- Morgan didn’t look from the papers as he spoke- “He was smart enough to cross state lines.”

- “The Crestview rapist was operating during that time.”- JJ pointed out. I looked at my wife for a moment, rubbed her tummy, and tried to focus on work, though most of my brain was trying to find a way to make her feel better.

- “The male unsub never went dormant. Only the female did.”- Derek said and there was a short pause.

- “So when this guy kills without his wife, his signature changes to stabbing and sexual assault.”- (Y/N) sighed after talking and she stood up to walk closer to the board and look at the crime scene pictures.

- “Well, stabbing is indicative of rage, and it's most likely towards women.”- Derek added.

- “And the sexual assault is his way of establishing dominance over them.”- Blake seemed focused, I wasn’t keeping track or paying much attention.

- “Maybe their marriage isn't as solid as we think.”- Rossi suggested- “Clearly he has issues that he's working out when the wife isn't around.”

I don’t know why Derek looked at me. I don’t know if he wanted to see if I reacted to that statement or if I was affected by it.

- “Well, if she emasculates her husband at home, that could be the reason why she now needs to have control over the murder.”- JJ proposed and Derek’s eyes could burn holes in my skull as she did.

- “Hey, guys, we have a survivor.”- my wife interrupted the moment and I moved closer to her to look at the file she was reading- “Hannah Franklin, a 23-year-old waitress who was attacked on her way home from work back in 2008.”

- “Do you have a contact number?”- Hotch asked as he looked at my wife from the other side of the room. She just nodded and grabbed the file with the information.

- “When she gets here, JJ, I need you to talk to her, and try to get as much information as possible.”

- “Can we talk? after you make that call.”- I whispered into my wife’s ear. She turned to me and nodded and in a second, she was out of the room.

- “Everything ok?”- Blake asked me and I just smiled and nodded as well.- “Everything ok with (Y/N)? She seemed a bit off yesterday.”

- “Yeah, she is ok.”- I paused and looked around for a second. - “Let me ask you this: did you guys eat anything this morning while we were out?”

- “Eat? take out?”- I nodded and Blake shook her head immediately- “This is the first meal I’ve seen since breakfast, and I nearly fainted. Why do you ask?”

- “It’s nothing, I’m just worried (Y/N) might be skipping meals.”

- “Is she still feeling sick?”

I didn’t want to tell my friend anything else about it, so I just agreed with her inference and watched my wife on the phone, just outside the room.

- “Well, being pregnant is very challenging. Your body keeps changing and whenever you feel like you are ok with the stage you have to face, your whole hormones go crazy and you lose it again.”- Blake explained and smiled at me- “She is lucky to have you. I can see you’ve been an amazing partner for her.”

- “Thank you.”- I think I blushed at those words because I knew Blake wasn’t saying that just to be polite. However, I didn’t feel like I was doing enough. I knew (Y/N) was going through something more complex than what she was sharing, and I needed to show her she could count on me.

(Y/N)’s point of view

The rush of emotions I had felt that entire day was crazy. It was my first pregnancy, and I didn’t know any better. I had no idea what was going on. One thing is reading about how much your body is gonna change and another completely different thing is feeling alienated from your own body.

I didn’t want to talk about it with Spencer. After what had happened the day before, I felt like oversharing my feelings and mental instability might drive him away. So I pretended to be ok. Which, of course, didn’t work because my husband is a genius and could read me like a book. Also, leaving my leftovers around hadn’t been very bright. I was still starving and wanted to eat what was left of my dinner. But when I looked at my swollen feet and round body, all I could think of was: you have to stop eating. Which I did.

- “Hey”- Spencer walked to me as I poured myself a cup of ginger tea- “I brought you your dinner.”

- “Thank you, honey bunny. But… I’m not hungry.”

- “You left pretty much all your sweet and sour pork, and I know you love it.”

- “Yeah, but… I’m full and despite what everybody says, I don’t have to eat for two.”- I sat down and stared at my hands as my husband followed my moves and sat next to me.

- “I know that. I’m just making sure you are getting enough nutrients and vitamins for our baby.”

- “I am, trust me. Our baby is fi…”- but before I could even finish that sentence, the weirdest and most beautiful feeling interrupted me. I opened my eyes wide and turned to Spencer. He stared at me confused and scared something was wrong. But everything was perfect.

- “What is it, chipmunk? are you ok?”- I grabbed his hand quickly and placed it on the side of my tummy- “Wh…”

- “Shh!”- I commanded and looked at him with tears in my eyes - “The baby is kicking.”

- “Wh.. wh.. are you sure?”- I couldn’t argue Spencer it was obvious I could feel a human kicking my guts from the inside out, because the baby suddenly moved and kicked again, and this time he felt it as well.

- “Oh… my… god.”- he whispered and looked at me, tears filling his eyes in a second. - “Our baby is right there.”

- “This is so weird…”- I had never even imagined what those kicks would feel like, and I wasn’t ready for them, at all. I looked at my husband, his eyes were beaming with happy tears as he kept his hand on my tummy, rubbing it and waiting for our baby to kick again.

- “That’s…”- he whispered and peered at me, analyzing my reaction - “Does it hurt?”

- “No, it’s just.. odd.”

- “Come here.”- he moved his chair closer to mine and cupped my face with both of his hands - “I love you so much, (Y/N). So, so much. I still can’t believe we are gonna have a baby.”

- “Your baby is kicking already, so you better believe it.”- I joked and he chuckled as he rubbed his lips against mine. Spencer kissed me gently and sweetly. I didn’t last long, because we were at work, but it was the kind of loving kiss that gave me a peaceful feeling in my heart.

- “Reid.”- Hotch said as he walked into the room and looked at me. It was weird at the beginning when I changed my last name and our Unit Chief started calling me by Spencer’s. Now I was used to it, though most police forces and sometimes the rest of the team were often confused.

- “We got a suspect. I need you to talk to the wife. Judith Anderson.”

- “Right away. Tell me what we have.”

I knew Hotch and Spencer were with Blake behind the window, analyzing every second of my interview with the suspect. I guessed because I was pregnant, my Unit Chief thought the unsub wouldn’t see me as a threat. I asked the cop in the interrogation room to uncuff her and sat in front of her. She was small, red-haired, and looked like she knew exactly what was happening.

- “Hi, Judith. My name is (Y/N). Can I get you anything to drink?”- I tried to be nice and welcoming.

- “I’d like to make a phone call.”- she replied right away.

- “To who? Your husband?”- I questioned her and Judith didn’t answer. - “You're coming up on your 20th anniversary. Congratulations. That is a huge accomplishment.”

Judith glued her eyes to my wedding and engagement ring for a few seconds. She didn’t say anything, she just sat there and stared at me. So I continued talking.

- “We recovered a used condom with Alan's DNA in it. Nothing odd about that, except you've had a hysterectomy. So, why use condoms if you can't conceive?”

- “You seem to know a lot. You tell me.”- Judith finally answered, and her voice was menacing. But I just shrugged and sighed, playing innocent.

- “Well, you just don't strike me as the unfaithful type. I mean, Alan, on the other hand, he's a different story.”

- “You know nothing about my husband!”- clearly I hit a sensitive nerve, ‘cos her face changed completely.

- “Well, actually, I know a lot.”- I opened my case file and started listing everything we had on them- “Let’s see. I know your husband tested positive for an STD back in 2010. You two were married in 1994, which tells me he isn't as committed to your marriage as you think.”- I made a short pause and stared at her, waiting to see if she had anything to add. And she did.

- “There was a point in time when both of us were unfaithful in our marriage. When I found out he had cheated…”

- “You thought if you retaliated it would make you feel better.”- I interrupted her, nodding, showing her I understood what had happened.

- “My husband and I no longer keep secrets. I've known he's had an STD for years. The reason we use condoms, to answer your question, is because he insists on protecting me. That's how much he loves me.”

I smiled at her and nodded again. Then, I stood up and started opening all the case files for the investigations of the murders that we knew her husband had committed.

- “I can't wait to see where this is headed.”- Judith smiled and looked at the files I was placing in front of her. I just exhaled and stood in front of her.

- “When you discovered your husband was cheating, you took away the one thing that mattered most to him. His partner in crime.”- I told her and made a short pause- “Now, how do you think he dealt with that?”- but her face didn’t make a move.

- “Do you recognize any of these women?”- Judith didn’t even look at the pictures, she just stared at me with her best poker face.

- “How many times are we gonna go through this? No, I do not.”- she wasn’t even raising her face, I wasn’t reacting to anything. So I just continued.

- “And these are only a few of the victims that he raped and murdered without you.”- finally, I could see her facade starting to shatter- “And which one do you think gave him the STD? Just take a look for yourself.”

And she finally did. She scanned the pictures right in front of her and tried to maintain her attitude.

- “His DNA is all over each of these women.”- I continued talking - “It's the killing without you that's most painful. It's the cheating that you can't forgive.”

- “You're married.”- Judith said and looked at me with cold eyes.

- “Yes, I am.”

- “Where's your husband?”

- “Standing right behind that glass.”- I replied and pointed at the one at my back.

- “Huh, so you know what it feels like to share an interest with your husband. What would happen if he were to slip up? If he is a Fed who can cover his tracks, how would you know?”- I smiled at her words and simply answered:

- “A wife knows. Which is why you know I'm telling you the truth.”

- “My husband and I aren't perfect.”

- “No marriage is, Judith, but look at these women. Look at the way he treated them.”- she closed her eyes for a moment and refused to look at the victims. Instead, she started explaining.

- “We're rebuilding step by step, brick by brick…”

- “He hates them because he hates you.”- I ignored her words, and she lost it.

- “He loves me! I want to talk to a lawyer!”

And that was the end of my interview. Luckily, we had enough to find and catch her husband before he would kill again.

- “We are rebuilding step by step”- I said as soon as I walked into the room from where Rossi and Spencer were following my interrogation- “Interesting choice of words.”

- “Oh, I've heard those many times before.”- Rossi started talking as my husband handed me a packet of cashew nuts.

- “Where?”- Spencer innocently asked David.

- “Somewhere you two will never go. Marriage counseling.”- I chuckled at those words and opened the snack my husband had given me, ‘cos I was starving.

- “That would explain how they were able to move through Alan's infidelity.”- I said as I chewed and hummed happily- “They were seeing a therapist.”

- “Maybe they still are.”- Spencer suggested and grabbed his phone.

And he was right. They were seeing a therapist to work on their issues as a couple. And Spencer profiled that the emasculation our unsub felt didn't come from his wife. It came from their therapist.

I was left at the station with Rossi and Blake, while Spencer and Morgan drove to the therapist's office, she was the last victim, and we were against time to save her life. Meanwhile, I sat in the kitchenette and swallowed my leftovers, because I was too hungry to keep living. Besides, the anxiety of having Spencer on the field dealing with a serial killer made me feel uneasy, and eating was a way to deal with it.

- “How are you feeling?”- Blake asked as she walked into the room and headed straight to the coffee machine.

- “Like I could sleep for two days. You?”- I replied and continued chewing my sweet and sour pork.

- “I just wanna spend the entire weekend in my pajamas watching movies. That would be my perfect Valentine's”- Blake answered and sat next to me. Great, I had totally forgotten about Valentine’s Day, again. - “You did great with Judith.”

- “Thank you. It was hard to remain calm knowing she was trying to protect a serial killer and a cheating bastard.”- I mumbled as I continued chewing. Alex just smiled and held her cup with both hands.

- “Hungry?”

- “Starving. I feel like Kirby.”

- “Who?”- Blake didn’t know who Kirby was, so I swallowed my food and explained in the easiest way possible.

- “It’s a videogame character, it basically eats everything in front of him. I feel like that most of the time ‘cos I am always hungry.”

- “Spencer was worried you might be skipping meals.”

- “I know.”

- “You know this is just temporary. While you have an actual human growing inside of you.”- I chuckled at Alex's explanation and nodded- “You will be who you were before.”

- “Rationally, I know that. But an irrational part of my brain takes charge of my thoughts and emotions at the worst possible moments.”- I explained to Blake, knowing she would understand. I didn’t feel like talking with many people about my feelings at that point. As I said, I felt I was losing my sanity, and I hated it when people were condescending to me just because I was pregnant.

- “You probably are. You are pregnant, it’s a complicated process.”- Blake sipped her coffee and I finished my pork. I was suddenly in the mood for some dessert, but I knew there was nothing left in my bag.

- “It’s useless to talk to you about the hormone levels changing, right?”

- “Trust me, Alex, Spencer started reading the books the second I told him I was pregnant. That means I’ve heard his talks about pregnancy for the last nineteen weeks.”- she chuckled at my words as I sighed and continued - “Knowing why it happens doesn’t help stop it from happening. And sometimes I overthink every single little thing until I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

- “You are not, (Y/N). Trust me.”- Blake smiled and caressed my hand for a second. - “We all feel like shit during the whole process, and no one but we can understand it. So, if you ever need to talk about it, I am here.”

- “Thank you.”

Spencer’s point of view

We solved the case and made it back to DC on time to spend our Valentine’s Day at home. I had reservations for (Y/N)’s favorite restaurant, but we both agreed we were too tired to leave the house, so we changed plans and decided for some delivery and relax on the couch, watching a movie.

I honestly didn’t care what we did for our Valentine’s, as long as we were together, I was always happy. But I couldn’t help but feel my wife’s disappointment with the plans, even though they had been mostly her idea. She was extra exhausted after the case and the trip, of course staying at home made perfect sense.

I filled the tub with hot water, salts, and bubbles while my wife prepared a tray with snacks to share after dinner, knowing it was most likely she’d start craving something sweet, sour, or probably both. I lit a few candles and held (Y/N)’s hand as I walked her to our bathroom.

- “What are you doing?”- she giggled as I covered her eyes and guided her through our apartment.

- “Just because we are staying at home doesn’t mean we can’t make this a romantic moment.”- I explained and uncovered her eyes.

- “Oh, honey bunny.”- she gasped as she looked at the tub, filled with bubbles. - “This is perfect.”

- “You deserve a moment to relax.”

- “Are you gonna get into that tub with me?”- she asked and I nodded.

- “Anything you want.”

We brought two cups of peppermint tea and got in before the water got cold. (Y/N) hummed in satisfaction as she sank, and I sat right behind her, feeling her back resting against my chest. I kissed her neck and wrapped my arms around her, my hands took a second to find her tummy, and I started caressing it right away.

- “Wanna know something embarrassing?”- I whispered in her ear and she nodded immediately.- “Ever since you told me you were pregnant, I’ve been scared you are gonna blame me for making you go through all those changes and awkward moments.”

- “I could never blame you… I was as horny as you were when we did this, and we both wanted to have a kid.”- she whispered and though I couldn’t see her face, I knew she was smiling.

- “I know pregnancy has been getting more challenging.”- I said after a moment - “I just want you to know I’m here. And nothing will ever change that.”- she didn’t say a word, I just felt her sigh and saw her fingers play with the bubbles around her. It took a few minutes until my wife finally opened up about what she was going through.

- “You know how people always say our story is like a fairy tale?”

- “They do?”- I questioned surprised.

- “Every single time I tell people our story, they think it’s fanfiction or a fairy tale.”- (Y/N) made a pause, probably picking the right words to explain her mind. - “I know you loved me for years before we started dating. The same way I loved you in silence. I know you waited for me, you took care of me, you were always there.”

- “And I will always be.”- I whispered and kissed her temple.

- “That’s what I keep doubting now. I’m sorry.”- her voice was barely perceptible.

- “But what makes you doubt me?”

- “It’s not you.”- my wife replied before I could even finish asking, - “I just feel like… you deserve better than me.”

I felt my heart shatter with those words, ‘cos how could anyone be better than her? How could anyone make me feel the things she did? No one else had that smile that made me feel weak in the knees since the day I met her. She was the only woman on earth I wanted. And I had always felt like she deserved better than me.

- “How could I ever think that way when I have the most perfect, smart, and gorgeous woman on earth here in this tub with me?”- I murmured, holding her tight against me and peeping kisses on her cheek and neck.

- “Spencer…”- I hated when she called me by my name outside work. It always meant she was being serious.

- “Mrs. Reid, trust me when I tell you, nothing will change the way I feel for you right here, right now.”- She moved from my arms and turned in the tub to look at me. - “I dreamed of this life with you for so long, I will do whatever it takes to keep you by my side and make you happy.”

- “I feel like I’m going insane, hon. I yelled at you in the car the other day because you didn’t reply to my texts. That’s not me! And I’m jealous of JJ ‘cos she looks gorgeous after having a baby and I feel like a whale. And I can’t stop eating, I try to stop, but I’m hungry all the time, and moody and my feet are swollen already and I’m just nineteen weeks pregnant!”

Tears fell from her eyes as she continued talking and I carefully wiped them away from her cheeks with my thumb.

- “Look at me, I can’t believe I am crying over this! I cry all the time now! Why does everything make me so emotional? Stupid hormones!”

- “I am so in love with you, nothing will ever change that. I will love you until my very last day and most likely, from beyond my grave. So trust me, please.”- I whispered and cupped her cheeks with both my hands, staring into her eyes as I spoke.

- “I feel like if I tell you everything that happens inside my head, you will run away from me.”

- “Never.”- I rubbed my lips against her and kissed her, sweet and slowly, feeling her whole body relaxing.

- “I’m sorry”- she whispered and rested her forehead against mine.

- “You have nothing to apologize for, chipmunk. Did you know that some studies suggest that as many as 90% of new mothers experience unwanted thoughts related to their child during pregnancy or shortly after birth?”- my wife smiled as I kissed her one more time.

- “I love it when you drop statistics.”

- “I have more.”- I replied and heard her chuckling, one of my favorite sounds.

- “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

- “But instead of statistics, I was thinking you should just lay here against me again and I could read to you for a little. What do you think?”

- “I don’t deserve you.”- my wife whispered and I shook my head immediately.

- “You deserve everything I can do to make you happy, ‘cos you make me the happiest I ever dreamed I could be, ok?”- she sobbed and nodded. I kissed her again and then helped her move back to her original position in that tub, lying against my chest. I grabbed a book from the side of the bathtub, kissed her temple one more time, and started reading “Wuthering Heights” for her. 

Series' Masterlist - Author's masterlist

Previous chapter | Next chapter

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 9: Sacrificial Lamb

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 9: Sacrificial Lamb

Wordcount: 5,3k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for full series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Panic attack, hallucinated body horror

Description: You visit the local church.

A/N: I still have not recovered from Arcane...that show will forever reside in my soul

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

It's an odd morning, and while the odd has become your normal, this isn't within what you typically expect. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror is completely in view. No pesky shadows of your mind blocking your vision from yourself.

It's hard to tell if it's due to the pounding headache and the nausea in your stomach, or a different underlying factor. Just like It's hard to tell how much you drank last night, though you have a better idea on that thing than the other. It doesn't really matter much to you in the end, you clearly ended up thoroughly wasted.

Your hand reaches up to touch against your cheek, you lean in, inspecting your own skin for bumps and scrapes. You half expect some sort of illusion to start distorting your vision, but that doesn't happen. You're just there. It's just you.

You let your hand fall down, reaching instead for the chain around your neck and the connected cross. Your hand encircles it, holds it in a fist till it hurts. You tug a little, with no real force behind it, before you let it fall back against your chest with heavy weight.

You splash cold water in your face, breathe out and stabilize yourself against the sink. You'd woken up alone, in the wrong bed. There are still vague memories of the countless ways you must've embarrassed yourself last night. In one of the possibilities, you'd fallen asleep next to someone.

An unlikely reality staring at you in the face. Why had you done that? Why had you allowed it?

You should never have touched that alcohol, should never even have considered it. Now you had to do your own damage control. You had to make sure this didn't come with unwanted complications later on.

You reach for the towel and dry off your face. Your hands clutch tightly and the cloth, and you scrub hard until your skin feels raw and aches. A single glance back into the bedroom reveals the wide landscape outside of the windows. The constantly falling snow, letting snowflakes plaster to the windows themselves. It's getting colder out.

"Good morning sleepyhead," Soap is too chipper. Way too awake for the early hour. The sun hasn't even graced the world with its face just yet. Soaps personality this morning might as well be a replacement for the sun, however. An action taken in the name of fun and bordering obnoxious for your tired head.

You make a tired sound as you force your body across the kitchen, taking a seat opposite of Simon, who silently reads a local newspaper. A now cold, abandoned tea rests next to it as he seems completely engrossed in whatever is printed in today's issue.

"Not a morning person then, ah take it?" Soap abandons the pan to sizzle and stands in front of the table.

You shrug, you've hardly been able to tell with yourself. Your sleep is as irregular as the voices in your own head. "Didn't sleep too well I guess," you lean back in the chair, taking a glance at the stove behind him.

"Thought I'd make ye some breakfast, hope ye don't mind," he gestures behind him with a quick motion of his hands. Your eyes, however, are fixated on his smile, how it widens across his cheeks, and gets his eyes to crinkle just a little bit in the corners.

"No...no it's...it's nice."

He hums approvingly, adding a nod to send the feeling home. Soap turns back to the cooking meal, a new pep in his step at your approval. Are they not going to acknowledge it at all. What had happened last night? Or what hadn't happened.

Your brain isn't being clear to you about your memories, but that unfortunately isn't something that's new.

"Uh...did we...sleep in the same bed last night?" Your question hangs heavy in the air.

"Ye got quite knackered, fell right into bed ye didn't seem to care which one it was" Soap chuckles and shakes his head in a playful manner, "Yer not hungover? No headache or nothing?"

"Massive one yeah."

He gives you a sympathetic smile, "ah think we got some painkillers in one of these cabinets." He turns around, about to go through probably every single one of them, if you had deciphered his type well enough by now.

"Oh no that's okay, thank you Soap" you smile awkwardly, your hands waving in a dismissive gesture to not trouble himself. "I'll live," you add in hopes he'd stop his search. He doesn't, instead tutting and crouching down to reach into a cabinet that stored light medicine.

"Ye talk in yer sleep, ye know?" you can hear the grin in his voice.

Shit.

What did you say? Since when do you talk in your sleep anyway, it's nothing you've noticed before. Did you have a dream? Did you say something you shouldn't have? Did you reveal anything, did you unconsciously dig your own grave?

He stands back up, coming over to the table and putting down the little box of pills in front of you. A precaution.

"Who's Emma?"

Oh.

You bite down on your lip, and hide your hands beneath the table. "Just someone I met at bootcamp..." you say dismissively, looking anywhere but at Soap, who's walks back to the kitchen counter.

You don't miss the way Simon's eyes flicker to you briefly, before returning to the newspaper. "We sort of became friends but...I lost track of her over time," you shrug, doing your best to sound as uninterested as possible.

"Tends to happen...ah met a few fine lads back then too, don’t know whether they ever continued the struggle," he chuckles quietly to himself, earning him a huff from Simon.

You look back and forth between them and find your curiosity itching on your tongue. "How did you two meet?" you bite down hard on your tongue as soon as the words leave your lips.

There's silence for a moment, the only sound reaching your ears being that of Soaps messing around with kitchen utensils. He looks back, just about to answer, when Simon looks straight at you.

"We got assigned to the same mission, years back now...got put on the same task force and things grew from there."

You swallow and nod.

Your attention is split in three when you notice Price coming up to the opening in the kitchen wall. "Oh good, you're all here" he sighs exhausted. Catching the particular attention of both Simon and Soap.

"What's wrong cap?" Soap places one hand on his hip as he turns off the heat on the stove.

"Gaz is sick," Price shakes his head "lad won't be coming with you today, MacTavish, take Spider instead, they know their way around that sort of stuff."

"What?"

Soap nods quietly, taking a seat beside you when Price moves into the kitchen and starts rummaging around. He takes a glass from the cabinets above the counter and fills it up with cold water, afterwards looking into the same cabinet that Soap had just been in to retrieve medicine.

"Woah, woah, take me where?" your brows furrow, every fibre in your body ready to stand in protest.

"Mctavish and you will be heading to the local church today, you'll be attending as regular people looking for a new community to become a part of," Price lays down your cover despite your frown and clear distaste. He stands back up, grimacing at the popping in his knees.

"But I haven't-"

"That's an order, Spider" Price says with little budge, "we need two of you for the safety, and you'll fit the skills needed."

You remain quiet, foolishly trying to convey your meaning through a look alone.

"Am I understood, Spider?"

You sigh, and fold your grimace. Soap comes over to put the plate of breakfast in front of you. There's little choice, in fact there's no choice. You were here to help, after all, there has to be some meaning to it all.

"Yes sir."

Soap tries to spark a conversation with you the entire way there. The part of you that's not busy sulking over the decision made for you, applauds him for his relentless effort.

Where he gets his steadfast energy, you aren't sure of. It feels like a bottomless pit he can continuously reach into and get something new. You envy him. It's not often you've met people like him, and the few you have always got their light quenched before they could truly look around.

It's refreshing in a way you can't take.

His constant chatter becomes a soothing background noise. Somewhere along the way he stops expecting answers, taking notice of the way, you lean against the window of the car, silently listening to his ramblings. He continues, whether you really register his voice or not.

But as the car comes to a stop in the parking lot, the metal box fills with silence louder than his chatter. You pick your head off the window, orient yourself on your location and become fixated on the raised walls of white in the church.

It's not the grandest thing you've seen. Rather modest really. It didn't need to be big and flashy, it instilled dread in you either way.

Soap lets out a deep sigh, loud enough for you to give him a questioning glance. He isn't looking at you, instead up at the bell tower being rung. "Didn't think ah would be back at church this soon..." he looks almost reminiscent at the church itself.

The chances he's been here before seems too low, but not impossible.

"You're religious?"

He doesn't answer immediately, rather takes a surprisingly thoughtful moment to think about it. He turns his head to look you in the eye. You quickly grow squirmy, avoiding the eye contact he's asking for. "Ah....sort of was raised religious yes...don't know if ye can say ah am any more though, don't know if ah even could be if ah wanted to."

You could understand that. If you dug deep enough within yourself you could probably even relate to it. At least on a certain level. The conflict to follow one's family, and to choose your own path forward could be a hard thing.

You thought you chose a different path. When in reality you should've stayed behind.

"I...think I understand," you mumble. "You know how they keep saying that no matter what, you can always ask for forgiveness and have it granted?" He nods. "I keep thinking there has to be a line...how many times can you sin before it's done and gone. Is it really unconditional love or is there secret conditions behind the veil."

You take the chance to look at him, and the shocked expression on his face makes your stomach drop. Great, you've made yourself out to be a freak, and it hasn't even been that long. Why can't you just keep your mouth shut.

Soap lets out an exasperated huff, a small grin on his face as he looks away from you. His hand comes over to smooth over his short mohawk. "Ah wouldn't know...but ah think in the end it doesn't matter that much...as long as ye have faith, right?"

You shrug, feeling even more awkward by the minute.

"Hm, ah think they're opening the doors...should we find us a seat?" he plasters on a cheeky grin, and pats your arm.

"Yeah...let's head into the den of wolves," you huff, taking off your seatbelt and opening up the car door.

The inside of the church isn't much to look at either. You simply refuse to. Leaving your eyes glued to the ground and using the heels of Soap's boots for guidance. He speaks to somebody in front, but their voices are garbled nonsense in your ears.

Soap turns to you and says something just as unintelligible. Your eyes snap up.

"What?"

"Ye want to take your jacket off?" he asks in a confused tone, already in the process of shredding his own coat to put it on the rack on the wall. There's a quiet little echo in the room, reverberating the many sounds that fill, bouncing off the walls in symmetry and into your own skull.

You allow yourself to breathe long enough to shrug off your own jacket. Soap reaches out, taking the thing out of your hands, his skin brushing against yours enough for you to retract both your hands too quick. He almost drops it, but he doesn't get mad. He catches it in time with a soft chuckle and hangs it up with the rest.

"Ye a'right? Seem a bit jumpy," he takes a step closer to you to lower his voice.

"Yeah," you say too quick almost cracking your own voice, "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"

He gives you a look, that makes you squirm away, going for the doors to the inner part of the church instead of risking more of a conversation with him. "It's starting soon," you say dismissively as you put a hand on the doorhandle.

You open it but come to a complete stop as your eyes meet the altar at the end of the room.

When he had first told you there was a special surprise for the congregation, you weren't sure what to expect. The first thing your mind went to was a special announcement about expanding the territory. The next thing would've been a renovation of one of the places of worship. Some update about the caves, or some other activity you never got to do as a community often.

Whatever it was you could have imagined, it wouldn't have been this.

It feels like regular mass, for people you've never met and never seen. Outlining the walls of the church, stands people you do know, other members of the collective bearing the mark that The Father has set for you all.

Most paint it on themselves in various places of their body, sew it into clothes or make patches. Anything they can do to show their pride.

You haven't done it yourself; it feels too outspoken, but if that's what The Father would wish of you, you'd have little choice in the matter any more. He seems pleased with them, with every single one of the children here.

You don't doubt that if he could, he'd go on about how important unity is for him. You're spared the lesson from the priests speaking over the crowd, into the room. His voice holds power, binds the minds of each and every one under one single faith.

Despite the surplus of people, this seems like a normal occasion. There's no outrageous surprise, nothing new or exciting. Not that it needed to be, but it only serves to feed into your confusion on what he had meant.

"Patience, angel" he whispers to you as if reading your thoughts as clear as the emotions on your face.

You feel The Father's presence at your back, his hand keeping a strong hold on your shoulder. You're stunned as soon as the doors to the church opens. In comes a young girl. She can't be much younger than you. Clad in white, her skin practically glowing, the softest of smiles on her lips with a white bouquet of lilies in her hands.

She looks like a religious symbol, an icon of faith. She was the type of girl you'd sacrifice yourself for.

It made you wonder if she had been put through the same things you had. If she could be as lethal a weapon as they were making you. It was doubtful, her smooth skin lacked the marks that littered yours.

She was untouchable, a glowing light with the kindest of smiles. She could lead a revolution, probably.

"What is she-"

"Quiet Angel, just watch and you'll understand."

Each step she takes makes your throat feel wound up tighter. All eyes are on her. Both familiar and unfamiliar. The attention is hers, as above as below, and she carries it with grace and humility.

There's a pit that opens in your stomach, ready to swallow you whole. It grows bigger, deeper, as she closes in on the altar itself. There's quiet chanting all around, hymns of hope and wonder. The promise of salvation, the promise of the new Eden, the promise of God.

She lays down on the altar and the priest who had started calm and collected shouts the words of prayer to the congregation. They rise and your brows furrow. You see the glint of the blade, and you go to take a step forward.

A hand around your mouth muffles all sound you try to make.

And the blade collides with her chest in a bloody sacrifice.

You're pulled back by him, colliding with his chest as you weakly struggle against his hold. Your eyes refuse to believe what you're seeing. It has to be fake, right? It has to be a nightmare, an illusion, it has to.

You look wildly around at the others, and your eyes land on a form that's familiar. You hadn't spoken to Emma in a while but seeing her here, so vivid and falling to her knees in worship and prayer over this, it made you want to throw up. This had to be wrong, right?

"Breathe, my angel," he whispers reassuringly in your ear. "This is what we have to do, this is good, this is what is demanded of us, and very soon you'll understand exactly how you will serve."

His proud words do nothing to quench your fear.

"It's all part of god's plan...and one day, it'll be you up there."

Your throat closes up. There's not enough air in the room for you, and you know that you have to get out. You should've never gotten this close. You should've fought harder against it, and fled before Soap could've led you to the seats and locked you in place.

Soap's attention is ripped away from the priest. He glances at you from the corner of his vision, his brow furrowed in both confusion and a tinge of concern. There's no real explanation you can give him for your turmoil, as if he'd ever believe you either way.

Your breath wavers, hitching as your eyes meet with the altar. It's covered in liquid red, thick and pungent. A copper taste in your mouth, a rotten smell in your nostrils. It bleeds into the floorboards, down the tile and stone and seeps into the cracks to create the ritualistic patterns.

And there she sits atop of it all.

Her empty stare keeps yours locked. Her eyes gouged out leaving empty sockets of pulsating flesh, because where she's going, she doesn't need eyes. She doesn't need a tongue; she doesn't even need her senses.

Her cheeks are stained by golden tears, and the light surrounding her head forms like a halo. She's reached the true angelic state you never could. Forever bound to the darkness, you could only dream of the glory she got. The recognition, the hope, the faith, instead of the fear and disgust your role elicited.

She's been the lamb a lot longer than you have. The only true difference is you got out, or so you've convinced yourself to believe.

"Nervous Spider?" Soap's joking tone is a lot quieter than it should be. Your blood runs hot and cold, an antsy feeling settling in your muscles, compelling you to move and fast. "It shouldn't be that long right...how much time do they use on these again...an hour or two-"

Abruptly, you rise from your seat, shocking not only him but the few people around you as well.

"Spider?"

The girl's hollow sockets follow you; her lips move in a whisper only you can hear.

Welcome home

Without a word of warning, you move out of the row, hurried steps towards the back of the church, through the backdoor you know leads deeper. You can hear Soap's shout behind you, the shushes of people telling him to be quiet, but by the lack of rushing footsteps he doesn't seem to immediately follow.

Can you feel it?

They only get louder when the heavy wooden door closes behind you. Quiet whispers of her, of him, of them all. Layered a thousand times, echoes the songs and whispers of prophetic angels.

Can you feel him?

They make it so painfully obvious that you'll never find a place to be truly alone. It doesn't matter how much you beg or plead, it won't go away, it never will. They'll continue to fester in your mind, triggered by the most miniscule thing, until you lose your own mind.

You're already losing it.

He's calling you.

You lean up against the wall. It's curved near the ceiling, making the room feel even smaller than it already is. Everything feels all too familiar. The room itself is stocked with boxes, white sheets over furniture, and enough dust to make you cough. Whatever this room is supposed to be, it hasn't been used in ages.

But you hardly have time to reflect on the reasoning, neither on the chair placed in the middle of the room, nor on the blood stain near the window.

Can you feel how close you are to home?

And that's the thing that gets you because you do.

This place is one of pure truth, one of holy worship and connection. Its raw vitality is what keeps it upstanding, it's got a breath of its own constantly blown to a bigger flame. You'll never be closer to Him than here. You'll never be closer to your salvation than right here.

Come back to me

And it terrifies you.

It would so easy to find your path back to him. It's laid out for you, as if a beacon in the distance showing you the way home. You know exactly where to go, who to ask, who to beg. You know exactly what it would entail and how you'd be taken right back home.

It would be so easy.

You push off the wall, grab your own throat tightly to steal away your own air. It's getting increasingly harder to control yourself, and you realize maybe a few minutes too late that there's nothing to do but ride the wave of panic out.

Your body moves of its own volition, forcing your legs to take steps towards the back exit that still remains in clear view. It can't be done here, if anybody finds you here alone, vulnerable, not even you yourself have any big ideas of what you would do to them.

Sometimes you wonder whether a breath of cold air is just what you need to vein off the symptoms. It doesn't matter how many times you try it; you never receive the result you want, other than a deeper-rooted panic and the discomfort of the freezing temperatures, without a jacket.

You stumble down a step, almost drop to your knees before catching yourself against the tiles of the building leaning up against the church. You do not know where your legs are carrying you, away from there is all you can surmise, and still you let it.

All the buildings look the same to you, all a mash of dull colours and housing each of their own sinners. You know how to cull them, but you know even better that you can't. You almost get consumed by the idea before you trip over your own feet.

You let out a pitiful yelp as you come to a stop at the corner. Your hand grips the tile of the building as your eyes lock on the group further down. A few teenagers, one adult. An adult you'd rather die than meet up with again.

The shepherd to herd the flock, a trainer, a dim light to follow, a tormentor.

Follow the leader, become a leader. You're better than this. You're worse than this.

You meet his pupils at the moment he goes to turn, and you want you weep your final thoughts, but before any recognition can befall his eyes and blow your cover, you're pulled backwards by a set of much stronger arms.

Your mind whirls, grasping at straws to make sense of your vision. To call upon what little control you still have to figure out what remains truthful and what's a cruel joke on you. You want to cry out, but his hand closes on your mouth and reassuring words are whispered in your ear.

You're pulled further away, your legs barely working with him. You don't go quietly as much as he wishes you would. You claw, scratch and bite, fight within an inch of your life, but none of it holds weight in your state.

Only when the only noticeable noise is the buzzing in your ears, and the gentle music from within the church fades, are you let go from the embrace. You slump against the wall, your body tense and lax in a taxing combination.

Your eyes find his, looking into them like they could be an anchor behind the skull print. "Easy," he says but you might as well have gone deaf. You try to use his voice to guide you through the fog, like he used to do when you were kids and the impending pain was looming over your head. Only now that memory only adds to the agony, the knowledge that it is no longer like that, and it will never be like that again.

"Spider, I need you to breathe...come on, love...just follow me."

He's gentle. Too gentle with someone like you. Gentle movements are not for you, that sort of comfort does not belong to you. It never has, and he could try all he wanted, but those touches would forever be foreign on your skin. It's how you want it to be.

You're guided down. Unwelcome hands on your shoulders and arms to force you into a crouch, and then a seat on a box. His shrouded figure crouches in front of you, tries to coax you with more honeyed lies.

"C'mon...breathe with me, in...and out."

You try to follow along. To do one thing right today would be an achievement enough on its own, but it seems you can't even do that. It starts to make you frustrated, which does nothing good for your pounding heart.

"Hey, hey, it's okay...try again."

He's so insistent. So sure, you can do it. You can't even begin to imagine what he must think of you now. In a back alley looking like an unqualified lunatic in the midst of a breakdown during important parts of a mission you should have been able to do.

Neither can you even begin to imagine what sort of punishment that could bring.

You can feel it creeping stronger in the back of your mind, in the corners of your vision. The hot and cold sweat wreaking havoc on your senses. Shadows creep closer, taking shape as vile little creatures using their claws to break the earth.

Your eyes follow them and their every move. You watch them crawl closer, wide-eyed stares, leaking mouths and jagged teeth. Targets your hands itch for, and you silently thank yourself that you're not technically armed.

Then your attention is ripped away from it. You start to feel a steady thump beneath the palm of your hand, along with a steady warmth against your chest. You look down to see his ungloved hand resting above your own heart, he's taken your hand, moving it to his own chest, to his own beating heart.

"Nothing is going to hurt you..." his voice is quiet, but it reaches your ears, and for a moment you freeze completely to listen to it, "I've got you...promised, didn't I?"

You let out a shaky breath, heaving in for another one. The wind swishes in your ears, the whispers try to gouge your attention back to the dark state, but no matter how much you want to look away, your eyes are glued to him, to his hand, to your own hand to his chest.

"What are you-"

You bite down on your lip, cutting yourself off from finishing that sentence in such a shaky voice. You'd surprised even yourself with it, it wasn't often you heard your own voice in your own head so clearly, so unclouded and burdened by emotion.

"There you are," the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly. His hand remains in place, coaxing you through it with a display of dramatic breaths. You hate how well it works. How it makes you calm within minutes, how it takes your mind out of the moment and into a cloud of nostalgia you'd rather disperse.

"Come back to me, Spider," he lets out a quiet little huff. Your breaths start to even out and turn back to the normal pace.

"I'm sorry," you sound breathless, your response still quick and short to conserve energy. His eyes flicker with a different look of concern, before he shakes his head no.

"What happened in there?"

For a moment in time, you actually consider telling him everything. Right from the beginning when he left to how you ended up here. It would probably take a day and a half to go through it all, not even to mention the unbelievable things you'd have to say.

And still, for a moment you want to. You want him to know, you want him to understand.

You want his help.

You foolishly open your mouth, years of fear and terror ready to spill out.

"Agh there ye are! Ye can't just run off like that. Ah had no idea what went wrong, are ye alright? What, Simon, ye're supposed-"

Simon hushes Soap as he comes closer with his frantic questions.

"Quiet down, we're fine, Johnny."

There it is again.

Johnny. Johnny. Johnny.

He would make a pretty offering.

You shake your head to get rid of the thoughts, because what the hell was that. You almost succeed in it as well until he starts to take steps towards you again. Each one making the inner whispers into talk, into yells.

And then, he places a jacket over your shoulders and it stops.

It almost gives you more whiplash than when Simon had placed his hand upon your heart. "Yer going to catch a cold like tha'" Soap. Johnny. John. Speaks.

He looks down at you with concern that mimic Simon's, a quiet care that might have started to grow through Simon's relation towards you. One you can almost familiarize yourself with, one you could almost allow yourself to want, to crave.

It's foreign for you to feel like that. How your walls against him are being climbed that easily. Maybe you're just losing your edge, or maybe the tough exterior you've tried to craft was never as solid as you thought it was.

You want his care, his concern, his attention.

You know exactly how to get it, how to coax it out of him. You were taught very well, but still, you don't want to do that again. No part of you wants it to be like that again, and would you even know how to do it differently?

"Come, we should get you home before anyone of us causes more of a stir than we already have." Simon stands, extending his hand for you to take.

You're treading dangerous territory, and you can feel it in the way your stomach flips uncomfortably.

It's a type of territory that will get you killed sooner rather than later.

And wasn't that your entire goal? Survival?

Maybe it's changed.

Perhaps, it could be something else.

Your eyes meet his, and you take his hand.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @spicyspicyliving @kaoyamamegami @chickennn-soupp @ellabellabunny123 @woodlandgirl22-blog-blog @haipasa

[gastersreturn]

YOU HAVE FOUND HIM

by : tinybrainboy

READ IT ON : ComicFury - DeviantArt

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

GASTER'S RETURN MASTERPOST

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

PROLOGUE

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28

CHAPTER 1

Scene 1 : 1/5- 6/10 - 11/15 - 16/20 - 21-26

Scene 2 : 27-31

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

.

.

.

GASTER'S RETURN - FAQ

What is the plot ?

Everything is in the title, it's a story about Gaster returning from wherever he was after his accident that broke him between time and space. This story is set after the Pacifist ending, months after monsters have been freed from the Underground

What are the main themes of this story ?

The story will focus on the difficulties he will encounter about this return in a brand new world, about searching for his place in this new setting and letting go of the old one, and also the impact of it all on his family and friends

Is it an AU (Alternative Universe ?) ? And how close it is from Undertale ?

Yep, it is. I want to keep it as close of the canon as possible, in order to really tell a story based on the game. But it won't be exactly the same as the canon.

Several details change in this story and this is why I call it a "AU", the main ones being :

Gaster : My interpretation of Gaster resemble the general interpretation of the fandom about him a lot, but not completely. It will be fun to play with what you know, or what you think you know about him :)

Sans and Papyrus's origins : In the original game, I strongly think that Sans and Papyrus don't come from Undertale, but from Deltarune (I won't elaborate more on that subject, you can make your own researches on this theory if you're interested), however it's not the case in this AU. In this story, Sans and Papyrus really come from the Undertale universe. It will change their characters, especially Sans, but I'll do my best to show them accurately (at least more accurately than the general fandom's representation of them)

Frisk : Frisk's personality have been imagined and adapted to this story. I wanted Frisk to be like a fusion of their actual personality in the game (because, yes, they have one even if it's really subtle) and the one of the player. So, you get it, the player in itself isn't really a thing in this universe (But it doesn't mean you won't have a role to play...)

How did you get the idea of making this AU ?

At the very beginning, I just started to make some random drawings of Gaster, and some KingDings (AsgorexGaster) sketches, then other Gaster related things, and a story began to form into my mind. I decided that I wanted to make something out of it.

So does that mean there will there be KingDings in this AU ? :0

Well, not really. the main focus of this story won't be romance. At this point of their lives, neither of them are ready for a relationship (if I want it to be healthy). I have thought about making a KingDings mini serie after the main one to develop their relationship, but I don't know if I really will, I didn't even wrote anything for it yet.

When will the next pages come out ?

I try to make approximatively 5 pages every two weeks (I have another Undertale so I'm working on one and the other every week)

How long is this going to take to complete the story ?

Long as hell, I have written a prologue and 3 chapters to finish the story, wish me luck

Am I allowed to make a dub of the comic ?

I honestly don't know if anyone would ever want to make one, but if you do, sure you can ! (as long that you credit me of course)

You are also allowed to make fanarts, or any fanwork based on this AU, again I'm not sure if anyone would, but just in case x)

Am I allowed to repost this AU somewhere else ? Or to make a translation ?

Mmmh….I would allow it, but I want to be informed of it before you do. DM me to ask me, and if you see someone else than me reposting it somewhere, please tell me ^^

The only places I post this AU in here, on DeviantArt and on ComicFury, anywhere else isn't me

Russian translation just here !!

I have other questions !!!

Then you can ask them ! I will answer the ones who are interesting/doesn't require me to spoil my own story

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

WILL YOU KEEP SEARCHING ?

[phie04]

Inconvenience | g.clarke

Chapter 4: Tough Day

Summary: The boys try and help Noa with a new project

Word Count: 1.2k+

Warnings: swearing, George being a dick (again)

Roughly a week or so had passed since Noa moved into her new apartment, and her hopes that George would warm up to her hadn’t been achieved yet.

Even though she spent most evenings with the boys, he would still only talk to her if the others were there, and whenever he could he avoided her at all costs.

It was beginning to bother Noa. She couldn’t understand why he was acting this way towards her, and after thorough discussions with his other roommates, they confirmed that she hadn’t done or said anything to cause this behaviour.

Luckily, Arthur Hill and her got on like a house on fire, and being one of the better housemates at DIY, he aided in building most of her new furniture whenever he wasn’t recording a video or working on his new song.

“So when’s it coming out? I feel as if I can only listen to the same sound bite before I go crazy.” Noa said, glancing up from her laptop to look at Arthur, who was sitting on her kitchen counter.

“Should be done in a couple of weeks, just trying to iron out the wrinkles and sort the bridge out.” He replied, taking a long swig of tea out of the mug that she had leant him. “What are you working on? I feel as I can hear your brain whirring.”

Noa grumbled and massaged her temples. It was moments like these that she wished she had an influencer job, with complete creative freedom and a flexible schedule, instead of her gruelling 9-6. “Trying to find as many different types of ancient column design as possible. Well, not too ancient because the clients want their building to look modern enough.”

Arthur gave her a sympathetic look. “You really are bottom of the food chain in your firm aren’t you?”

“Yep. That’s what you get when you’re the new kid, all the tasks that no one else wants.”

“But at least you’re not having to make coffee and do paperwork right?” He asked hopefully.

Noa raised her eyebrows at him. “Why do you think I’m having to do this at home, and not in the office.”

“Ah.”

“Ah indeed.” She muttered, scrolling through another page of Grecian inspired pillars. “Honestly, sometimes rich people have too much money to spend. I mean, who needs a foyer with the three types of alternating pillars, that match the fountains? Do you know how expensive that is Arthur?”

He winced. “I’m guessing a lot.”

“Correct.”

“Noa!” Chris yelled, swinging the door open. “You, me, George and the two Arthurs and the club. Yes?”

“Chris, it’s a Thursday night.”

“Exactly! Thursday night, do you have anything better to do?”

Noa blinked at him. “Be up in the morning with ample amount of sleep ready for work?”

“God I forget you have a boring actual job.”

“Someone has to remind you guys there’s an actual world out there.” She muttered, typing quickly on her computer, eyes widening as her stomach let out a low growl.

Chris and Arthur slowly turned their heads to look at her. “Okay, new plan. Order takeout and watch a movie?”

“I could be up for that.” She said quietly, absentmindedly chewing on the end of her pen, before going to jot down some notes. “Just need to finish working.”

Chris’ eyebrows raised. “And when will that be?”

“Before the end of time.” Noa said. “Or at least I hope so. I’ve gotta figure out the best combination of these pillars and then I’ll be done.”

“And how many combinations are there?”

“Well there’s eight main types, but then there’s different patterns within those. I might have actually lost count.”

Chris moved so that he could peer over Noa’s shoulder, and winced at the number of tabs open she had on her computer, as well as the scribbles that adorned her notebook.

“Gonna be honest. I’ve got no clue at what looks good. But I believe in you Noa, if anyone could figure it out it’s you.” He said reassuringly, patting her head. “Right, Hill let’s order food, at this point in time Noa will probably eat whatever we put in front of her, so what are we feeling up for?”

arthurhill

liked by arthurtv, maxbalegde and 28,039 others

arthurhill everyone drop your favourite pillars and columns to help with Noa’s latest design

Comments open

fan1 everyone knows the correct answer is doric

⮑ fan2 booo temple of winds supremacy

maxbalegde scared and confused at this comment section

⮑ noamurphy they’re all just architecture nerds like me

arthurtv correct answer is ionic

⮑ noamurphy no it isn’t I promise

⮑ arthurtv one day you’ll see

⮑ noamurphy sure. also we’re getting take out if you wanna join

⮑ arthurtv I am running to the elevator

fan3 noa in the ikea vlog is everything 😫🤌🤌🤌

⮑ fan4 she is a divine queen

⮑ fan3 her and George in the bed 🤌🤌

⮑ fan4 nooo that was the most forced and uncomfortable thing I couldn’t with it-

gkbarry_ we stan a hardworking queen

⮑ noamurphy love you boo

⮑ gkbarry_ okay now girlie take a break

“Okay Noa, maybe take Grace’s advice and stop? Surely it would be better to rest up and then be able to finish it when you’re not exhausted?” Chris asked gently, reaching to slide the laptop away from her grip.

Noa glared at him and swatted his hands away. “No Christopher. No.”

Chris gave her a stern look, only looking away when the door slammed open again, revealing Arthur Television in his pyjama trousers and hoodie. “Food, when?”

“The one with the law degree decides to speak like a caveman.” Chris muttered, shaking his head, as a much calmer George walked through the door.

Walking into her apartment, George was hit with the realisation that he’d never been in Noa’s apartment before - she’d always been at theirs, or if Chris and Arthur where heading down he’d give the excuse that he was busy planning videos.

He was pleasantly surprised. Well, he didn’t exactly know what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t a light and airy apartment. Maybe he thought there would be neon lights everywhere, like the ones that adorned Chris’ room or stacks of books like Arthur.

The living room was cosy, and he recognised the two sofas that they had picked out in Ikea, as well as a plush rug, with a coffee table that matched the dining table and chairs. A couple of pictures adorned the walls, a simple beach watercolour as well as some cinematic shots of her playing football with Arthur and Chris.

His brow furrowed. Neither of them mentioned that she played, and since she’d arrived they had filmed a football video for Chris’ channel, but she didn’t take part. Surely if Noa was good enough to warrant her to have photos of her playing, then surely Chris would want that talent in his videos?

George cast his eyes to Noa, who was hunched over her laptop, still trying to finish the designs. Arthur TV sat next to her, and the pair were discussing which column designs worked the best together.

“Maybe that person was onto something bringing temple of winds into the conversation…what if you put them with some Doric pillars, then…” Arthur trailed off, stumped.

“You see? Finding two designs that go together is easy, but a third? A fucking third?” Noa sighed, resting her head on the keyboard.

“How rich are the clients, ie, what’s the budget?”

“Yeah, are they Ronaldo rich, or so rich that you’ve probably never heard of them?” Arthur Hill asked.

“The second one.” She muttered. “Which is why it has to be perfect, because they are paying us a lot.”

Noa sighed and pulled up the designs of the fountains that had been chosen. She studied them meticulously, trying to find a hint that could help her. Even though it was strenuous work, this was one of the reasons that loved designing buildings, once you found all the right pieces, it perfectly fell into place like a puzzle. It was incredibly satisfying, and seeing the final projects always made her heart swell with pride.

But this was really trying her patience. Why couldn’t she figure it out? It didn’t also help that she had a live audience watching her stress over it. “Do you know when the food’s getting here?”

“Should be about five minutes.”

“Thank god.”

“Oh never mind, the guys here.” Chris said, slipping his shoes on, that had been previously abandoned by the door. “Arthur can you help carry it?”

“Sure.” Both of them replied, following Chris out of the door, leaving George alone with Noa.

She was silently cursing the three that had just left, physically wishing all the curses and ailments upon them for leaving her with George. Who, was silently leaning against her kitchen counter.

George didn’t know what to do. Ever since the trip to Ikea he hadn’t been close to Noa again, not that he wanted to, but he wasn’t sure if he should mention it. Why should he? If she hadn’t mentioned it then surely she was fine, right?

Not that he even wanted to talk to her.

George couldn’t fully see into Noa’s room, most is it being blocked by the angle at which he was looking in, and from what he could tell, it was just like the rest of the apartment, except with more decorations. He wasn’t sure why, but he was curious about what was inside, how Noa had organised her bookcase, what perfumes she used, how she kept her jewellery, the way her plans laid out on her sketching desk.

And he didn’t know why.

As far as he was concerned he actively disliked Noa, and so he couldn’t fathom why a part of him was so interested in her, why he wanted to know the little details of her life.

Noa closed her eyes. She was genuinely considering giving up, but she knew she couldn’t. This had to be finished that evening so that it could be sent to her supervisor ready for the next morning. Pushing her chair back, she stood up and paced into her bedroom, unknown to her that George’s eyes followed her every step, hoping that one of her books would provide her with some inspiration.

But it wasn’t any of her architecture books that caught her eye. It was the battered copy of the third Percy Jackson book - it was her favourite of the series, and would read it religiously as a child. Partially, as a child it was her dream to become a Hunter of Artemis, and so she could read the book over and over again without tiring of it.

Somehow, this was the prompt she needed to let the puzzle pieces fall into place. “OH MY GOD!” She exclaimed, sprinting out of her room and skidding on the wooden floor to the table. Noa grinned whilst nearly destroying her keyboard at how quickly she was typing.

“FOOOOD!” Chris called, carrying the plastic bags and setting them down in front of Noa.

“Dude give me two minutes I’ve figured it out.”

“Really?” Arthur TV asked excitedly, pulling the chair next to her out, so he could see what she was working on. “Caryatids? Noa that’s genius! They match the f-“

“Fountains yeah, because they’ve got marble women carved into them, and so they’d match perfectly.”

“Have we ever said you’re a genius?” Chris asked, smiling proudly at her.

“Only when I do genius shit.”