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sabertoothwalrus · 5 months ago

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Ace Attorney: Trials in Paradise 🌅

— an AA7 fan concept —

Initial Premise:

Since it’s designed for the Switch 2 (and thus made for a larger screen), the game will almost always have 2-3 characters on screen at a time, and will feature dozens of unique interaction animations between all sorts of character combos.

There has been another 7 year timeskip.

The old judge retired, and the new judge is his granddaughter!

The jurist system is featured.

This concept is heavily based around these designs.

The characters would have multiple outfits throughout the game, which become unlockable costumes, much like the DLC costumes of DD, SoJ, and TGAA games.

While this is way too specific to truly be a "prediction" of what aa7 could be, I tried to keep it (mostly) realistic to what I thought could actually be in an ace attorney game!

📦 Case 1: Turnabout Homecoming

Trucy left the nest and Phoenix doesn’t like living alone anymore, so Phoenix is moving into Edgeworth’s house. Apollo— who recently got his driver's license— was driving the moving van, and was accused because a body had been found in the vehicle. The true killer was one of the movers. I like the idea that you'd have to look through boxes for evidence, maybe the murder weapon was hidden within their belongings.

Defendant: Apollo Defense: Phoenix Weird Girl: Edgeworth Prosecutor: Diana Payne (Winston’s daughter) Detective: (drumroll…) Godot!! Witnesses: Larry (he was helping with the move), Leslie (one of the movers) Victim: Bee(another one of the movers) Killer: Anne(third mover)

(rest of the cases and a lotttt more art under the cut ↓ )

🎢 Case 2: Rollercoaster Turnabout

Maya and Pearl are on vacation at Blue Badger Land. Pearl is accused of murder after a body is found on an unpopular attraction that only Pearl enjoys going on. As an aside, Gumshoe is retired from detective work, and now works as a dog trainer. He trained Armando's service dog, Spot O'Coffee. Wendy Oldbag also serves as a witness, but she's pretty old at this point. Her memory has become fuzzy with age, and her testimonies begin to mix up information from other trials (which will be little references to previous games).

Defendant: Pearl Defense: Apollo Weird Girl: Maya Prosecutor: Klavier Detective: Godot Witnesses: Gumshoe (and his kids, Callum & Beau), Wendy Oldbag, Ride Operator Victim: Ride Safety Inspector Killer: Park Manager

💍 Case 3: My Love, Turnabout

Klavier has arranged a collab performance between Trucy and Lamiroir. Hugh Dini, Trucy's assistant and boyfriend, is accused when his stunt double is found dead. Hugh is very cagey about his alibi, but it's because he was planning to propose and didn't want Trucy to know yet. Franziska takes this and spins it into a jealousy plot, and insinuates he killed his stunt double out of envy. Because Hugh is actually pretty shy, he has a habit of not speaking up, which only incriminates him further. A twist in the case is revealed during a cross-examination when it turns out the "gold band" the witness is referring to wasn't Hugh's engagement ring, but instead about a gold bangle. This immediately puts Apollo under suspicion, until Phoenix drops a hint that someone else (Lamiroir) has a gold bracelet as well. The truth about Trucy and Apollo's sibling relationship is revealed when Athena finds an unexpected emotion in Phoenix's mood matrix, and Lamiroir decides it’s time to break the news.

Defendant: Hugh Dini Defense: Athena Weird Girl: Phoenix, Apollo (← steps in when Phoenix has to get cross-examined) Prosecutor: Franziska Detective: Ema Witnesses: Lamiroir, Trucy, Hugh Dini Fangirl Victim: Hugh's Stunt Double Killer: Jealous Trucy Stan

🏝️ Case 4: The Getaway

This one isn’t a traditional case.

After Manfred Von Karma divorced his first wife, Bianka, he moved to Europe, and his previous home was left uninhabited until his eldest daughter, Karla Von Karma, discovers she has inherited it. She decides to turn the beachside property into a bed & breakfast, and invites her half-sister Franziska and adoptive brother Edgeworth to give the manor a trial run and let her know if it’s suitable for visitors. Edgeworth brings along Wright Anything Agency, because… why not treat them to a break?

But of course, their vacation quickly takes a turn when they find a literal skeleton in the closet.

Not all of the rooms in the estate had been searched. Manfred’s study has a large, padlocked safe, and Karla hadn’t gotten around to hiring a locksmith to open it for her. Phoenix tries “0001” for the hell of it, and the only thing more surprising than that combination successfully opening the safe is the body folded up inside.

They can’t imagine the killer was anyone other than Manfred Von Karma, but— since he’s already been executed— they’re not sure if a trial even needs to be held. They need to investigate the situation to determine with absolute certainty it was, in fact, Von Karma, because otherwise they’d need to find a new suspect. Obviously, the group of criminal justice lawyers aren’t not going to get to the bottom of it.

Except Apollo, who has decided he wants nothing to do with solving the murder. He came on this trip for a vacation, dammit, and that's exactly what he's gonna do. He heads back outside to the beach, and leaves everyone else to the investigation.

The first mystery is figuring out when the murder happened. The police arrive, and Ema estimates that the remains are about 30-40 years old, which is around the time the Von Karma family moved out. Since Manfred & Bianka had divorced in 1999, they start to wonder if Manfred had even still been residing here when the murder took place, but the body is found with a train ticket dated for January of 2002. A time period that just so happens to line up with the one singular vacation Manfred took during his entire career— to recover from a gunshot wound that he couldn’t even trust a doctor with knowing about.

The body is wearing a housekeeper's uniform, and they identify her as Ophelia Falsch. They conclude that she was killed because she had discovered Manfred’s injury, and he wanted to eliminate the witness. They think they have the case over and done with, but then Ema comes back with the dental analysis. She explains there was no dental record of an "Ophelia Falsch", but the teeth did match Bianka Von Karma.

This raises some questions. Why was Bianka dressed as Ophelia? Was there a more personal reason Manfred could have killed his ex-wife? Could Ophelia have been involved as well?

Since the murder happened so long ago, they don't even know where to begin with finding witnesses. Karla was 18 at the time of the murder, and had just moved out, so she wasn't present. Edgeworth, of all people, is the one to suggest an unconventional idea: why not ask Von Karma himself?

The manor is in a remote location that's only accessible by train or boat, and since it's late, Maya won't be able to get there until the next morning. In the meantime, they check up on Apollo, only to find him getting scolded by a woman about having his chair on the beach. She explains that she's Karla's daughter, Angelika Von Karma, and that she's impassioned about marine ecology. She just discovered the beach had become a nesting site for an endangered species of sea turtles, and is worried about disrupting it.

The next morning, Maya arrives, and Phoenix and Edgeworth hold a mock trial in the foyer. Manfred is channeled, but is uncooperative, so they try... a different method. Phoenix and Edgeworth perform a reenactment of how they think the murder happened, while Trucy and Athena watch Manfred to see if they can glean any information based on his reactions.

Manfred breaks down and confesses to the murder, but is telling the truth when he says that he didn't know the victim was Bianka; he did, in fact, think he had killed a housekeeper who found out about his gunshot wound. After this, his spirit is released.

As puzzling as this is— who was Ophelia, anyway?— they can't do anymore investigating because Karla has become very upset. The whole ordeal has caused long-repressed emotions to resurface. She's always felt a little bit resentful towards Franziska because their father left Bianka for Franziska's mother, Levina, and always felt like she had her family taken from her. On top of that, Manfred had done everything he could to get full custody of Karla in the divorce, and she never saw her mother again. She's angry that that wasn't enough— he'd gone and killed her too.

Karla and Franziska get into a big fight, and the whole trip ends up cancelled.

🚂 Case 5: Turnabout Train Car

They all board the train to head home. The mood is really awkward and it's kind of a bummer. Since the train is only way out of the area, Karla has to board as well, albeit in another car.

And because nothing is ever easy, there’s a murder on the train.

The victim was the owner of the train, Diesel Porter. He was found in his private sleeping room, and the only other room on that train car was being occupied by Karla, so naturally, she is accused.

Since Ema and the police are already on the train, they’re able to take control of the situation until the train makes it back to town. The Wright Anything Agency isn’t allowed to investigate the crime scene much, so they opt to interrogate the other odd passengers.

They get a helpful tip from the train’s bartender that Cole Porter, son of Diesel Porter, had been making plans to build a resort. They also find out that the train company had been losing money, since they weren’t getting many passengers.

The next day in court, Phoenix claims Cole killed his father to inherit the company, but Cole denies it because, why would he want to inherit a dying company? And Phoenix turns it around by bringing up the resort plans and how he wanted to build it on Karla’s property. He couldn’t just kill Karla, because then they’d have to take care of Angelika and Franziska too, so they needed Karla to feel like she had no choice but to sell it.

The trial goes to recess and Cole is apprehended for questioning, but at that moment they get word that someone else has just been murdered on the train— the bartender from before.

Phoenix goes back to the train investigate and boards when it’s stopped on the mountaintop station. While he’s investigating the train’s caboose, Cole’s wife, Electra, detaches it from the rest of the train. Cole and his wife were in cahoots! Phoenix is sent hurtling backwards down the mountain in the runaway car, and manages to pull the emergency brake just before reaching the bottom. He’s ended up back by the manor, and calls to have a boat sent to pick him up.

While he waits, he finds Angelika is still here studying the turtles. She gives him permission to go inside the manor again to investigate. He finds the deed to the house, along with an old photo that has a letter written on the back. It’s addressed to Bianka from Levina (Franziska’s mother).

The case is solved when Phoenix proves that both Cole & Electra Porter were involved in the murders. The land becomes protected by the government in order to keep the sea turtles safe, since they are endangered.

After the trial, Phoenix shows Karla and Franziska the letter he’d found. It turns out Levina hired Bianka as a housekeeper under the alias “Ophelia” so that she could still see her daughter Karla. The photo depicts a teenage Karla playing with a baby Franziska. Levina and Bianka had a good relationship, and had made efforts to keep their families together.

Karla and Franziska apologize to each other, and agree to get along better.

Defendant: Karla Von Karma Defense: Phoenix Weird Girl: Athena & Apollo Prosecutor: Franziska Detective: Ema & Godot Witnesses: Train Conductor, Old Passenger, Tain Bartender Victim: Diesel Porter Killer: Cole & Electra Porter

💃 (DLC) Case 6: Turnabout Runway

Klavier has been invited as a guest judge for a fashion tv competition. He invites Pearl (and Apollo) to the shooting as an apology for accusing her for murder & because of their shared interest in fashion. "Lip sync for your life" but literally.

Defendant: Lady Killer Defense: Athena Weird Girl: Pearl Prosecutor: Blackquill Detective: Ema Witnesses: ensemble of drag queens/models, Klavier Victim: Taxi Macabre Killer: Paul Rue

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mooncleaver · 1 month ago

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Love's Quiet Surrender

To love without judgement, without the need to change him. Not just whenever he makes you laugh or smile, but all of his darkness. His past, his anger, his sadness. You do not desire for him to become someone else because you understand that he is enough as he is. "You can be anything you want and I'd still be here to love you." It was your promise, sealed with a gentle kiss on his lips.

ღ pairing: bucky barnes x wife!reader

ღ warnings: maaybe steamy and also sad, small thunderbolts spoilers, writing errors soooorry

"Buck?"

Your voice echoes in the warmly lit apartment. It's just some minutes past midnight, and in the air a gentle thrum permeates. A kind of stillness filled with exhaustion and comfort at the same time.

"Yes, baby?" Bucky answers almost immediately.

Even though he calls out from your bedroom, you can hear the fatigue beneath his tone. It's almost unnoticeable—he always tries to be put together whenever he talks to you and you hate it—but years of being by his side made you a whisperer or his tell tale signs. From the low lilt of his voice to the slight slur at the end of his sentence, you're no stranger to when Bucky needs to sleep.

Your husband had arrived home late today, presumably working on the whirlwind that was impeaching Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. He comes home disheveled these days, hair tousled with an aching frown on his lips—one you always try to kiss away. You can tell that this is all weighing down on him. The pressure, the bureaucracy, the slinking around your words to be sharp and polite at the same time. And the damn paperwork. It was endless. You don't think you've ever seen this much paper lying around your home and it was the 21st century.

Amongst all the papers and packets that your husband has very much not read yet, you he's been making talks to Valentina's assistant, Mel. He told you about what happened at the gala, how he attempted to convince her to switch sides. Did it go the way he expected? Mm, sort of?

It was endearing, in a way. Bucky always tried to be earnest, though sometimes it's difficult for him to spell out the right words—the right cues. You felt bad for the pout he sent your way as you giggled at his retelling. It took a few words and some kisses to convince him that he was not that awkward, and that you were sure Mel would give him something at least. The way Valentina was moving right now, there was bound to be a reason.

The man had since retired to your bedroom after some heavy coaxing. Bucky was adamant on staying out to help you clean up (he felt guilty for dropping chili sauce on your precious counters), but you didn't let him continue his sentence, knowing just how tired he was. You ushered him back, promising to join the man with an extra minute of head scratches if he followed your words. That seemed to do it, as he finally made his way to the bedroom with a small chuckle echoing.

While you were wiping down the counters, your eyes glanced towards Congressman Gary's dossier on de Fontaine. Less than the actual words on the paper, you focused on the mush of red staining the pristine white. You shook your head at the sight. Unfortunately, you don't think you've ever seen your husband finish a packet from top to bottom.

Not knowing what to do with it, you decide to just ask him. Though you think he’ll most likely tell you to throw it and every other coming packet down the trash, seeing how things are going now.

While trekking your way to him, you can hear him shuffling around in your bed, no doubt leaning onto it for a semblance of support.

When you finally arrive at your destination, the sight that greets you is nothing less than breathtaking—you say this to just about anything that Bucky does.

He's now dressed only in his white tank, evidence of the previous chili-dog accident thrown away into the laundry basket (to which he later promises to scrub it out, of course). He's got his legs spread and was, just as you had thought, leaning back on his arms against the bed. This angle lets you stare at the up and down motion of his breathing, the muscles flexing with tension. And God if this were any other night, you'd take him right then and there.

Once you're finally satisfied with your ogling—which you purposely timed in a way that lets your husband know it was much more than a simple glance—you finally speak.

"You left your packet on the counter. Didn't know if you wanted me to put it away 'cuz of the stain on it or…"

You trail off, giving him a sheepish smile as you leaned against the door with your arms crossed. Bucky's whole body just falls at the mention of the packet, his metal arm running a hand through his hair in quiet frustration. He looks done with it. It's like he's fighting the sleep right out of his eyes, and the dim bedside lamps don't help as it only accentuates a certain gauntness in his skin. Goddamn, he was trying to real hard here, but there was always an itch at the thought of only relying on the legal system. Valentina was a cunning and powerful woman. Bucky just couldn't see how a packet would overturn her entirely.

Without opening his eyes, his hand pats the top of his thigh, and you are compelled to follow that rhythm. You take quick but quiet steps to close the distance, finding yourself standing in between his legs while your hands fall on his broad shoulders. You're careful when you place your right hand down where his skin meets metal. Though he says it doesn't hurt as much as it used to, you always believe in treating his scars with the utmost kindness and care. He moves instantly, leaning forward to drag his hands down the curve of your waist before gripping the back of your thighs like he never wanted to let you go.

When he looks up at you, you see the smidge of defeat in his eyes, and the tired smile he sends your way just makes you want to cradle the man in your arms for eternity.

"Don't think this old man is cut out for this type'f thing, sweetheart." Bucky mutters almost inaudibly.

He tips his head back as he quietens, as if the weight above his head is too heavy to carry.

Despite the joke on his age, there's a small drop on your heart. It's different when Bucky says he's tired. It's because he's been doing life for a very long 110 years. You've always encouraged him to pursue everything he wanted, from the smallest thing like learning how to cook his favorite dishes to bigger ones like campaigning to be a congress member. So when he says that he doesn't feel fit to continue, a piece of your heart breaks because you understand how hard he tries. To move on, to become a better man.

You lift your hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck, pushing forward lightly to let him rest on your stomach so it doesn't ache.

You shake your head while combing through his hair, pushing the loose strands behind his ear while gently replying, "Silly, everybody starts somewhere."

Bucky shakes his head against your waist, and you have to hold back a giggle at the sensation and the gesture. Sometimes your husband does things that are very childlike, and not only is it absolutely adorable, but it reminds you that he is just a human like everybody else.

"Feels like I haven't even stepped foot while everybody else is on the goddamn finishing line." He mumbles. Its nearly inaudible, but you can hear loud and clear the weight behind those words.

"That's not true." Your protest is as much convicted as it is true, and you make them known as you pull away from his grip, grabbing his shoulders to straddle him. Both your knees are bent beside his thighs, setting comfortably on the edge of the bed. It's an extremely familiar position—in many contexts. But it's the most intimate to you. Vulnerable. To be mere breathes away from his face, all of you and all of him meeting in the middle.

You know what he says isn't true because Bucky doesn't do things half-assed. He worked his way up on a very, very difficult campaign, rising above in a world that doesn't always make space for him. He has made it so far, from the Winter Soldier to Congressman Barnes. It hurts you that despite everything, he still has doubts about himself.

Even when he's hurting he holds you in his arms so gently, one arm propping behind your back while the metal one is stationed right on your neck, trailing down to your waist to join the other. Bucky pushes his face into your neck, molding it perfectly into the crook that was made for him. You run your fingers through his hair in response, wishing to relieve all the built up tension.

He breathes in your scent, nosing the skin like that mere contact could calm him down. And you feel the way he deflates beneath you, breath tensing—anticipating—as if he were scared of what he wanted to say next. The words he uttered then were so soft, yet so convicted at the same time. It sounded like he already knew it would happen. "If I went back out in the field.. would you be angry?"

Your fingers came to a pause, lips dropping into a small pout. The man slowly lifts his head up again to see why you've gone quiet and he can't help but give you a small kiss to soothe the upset.

Despite the slightly uncomfortable shift in your chest, you couldn't say you were surprised about his confession. Bucky had always been a man of action more than he was with words. He carries his promises in the way he moves. To repent, to love, to forgive. His silence spoke more than any word ever could. So it's not new to you that his sense of justice is rooted in physically fighting for it. Though you hated seeing him hurt, you loved it even more when he had that gratified smile and a look in his eyes that showed you he was proud of the man he became. You could never stop him from doing what he thought was right.

Toying with the chain of his dog tags you sighed, shaking your head in acceptance, "Worried maybe.. but never angry."

Bucky took your right hand off his chain and placed it on his cheek, softly urging you to look him in the eyes. He wanted to hear you say that right to his face. To look at the truth, the hurt and the apprehension. He wanted to understand you beyond the words that came out of your mouth.

"You mean that, sweetheart?" He kissed your palm like it was glass, savoring every line and crease as if it was heaven beneath his lips. He stopped particularly longer when he met your ring finger, where a golden band had sat comfortably for years.

Bucky was ready to see the light dim in you—he knew you didn't enjoy seeing him go back out there after everything he went through. He was ready to use everything in him to spark it again, to save whatever trust you had left in you.

But he was utterly surprised to see the pure acceptance in your eyes. That kind of willingness to stay beside him along the ride, no matter the bumps and distance in between. You looked at him like you were ready to weather the storms and carry the weight of the world with him—if not for him.

Because this is what love is. Love gives and lets go without seeking recognition, without seeking for something in return. You love because you have the capability to—to make space and celebrate another flourishing in your presence.

Being with Bucky was never about what you could get, but what you could offer him.

And so in love's quiet surrender you learn to accept without condition. To love without judgement, without the need to change him. Not just whenever he makes you laugh or smile, but all of his darkness. His past, his anger, his sadness. You do not desire for him to become someone else because you understand that he is enough as he is.

"You can be anything you want and I'd still be here to love you." It was your promise, sealed with a gentle kiss on his lips.

And suddenly it wasn't just him against the world. Wasn't just the darkness creeping into his life, never with mercy, never with kindness. There was you at the end of the tunnel, holding out your hand for him. A chance at salvation.

You could be that for him. A saving grace, a friend, a lover. You'd be anything for him if it meant you could see that rare sight of his smile again.

There is no future without him in it.

He tightens his grip around your waist, arms snaking their way beneath your pajamas to touch the skin. Not the bruising, desperate kind, but a touch that grounds him in the moment. That allows him to feel every single emotion following your confession. You arch against him lightly, laying your palm against his clothed chest when the cool metal of both his arm and the ring on the right meet your skin. But it only makes you smile into his lips, remembering that small yet incredibly meaningful detail.

He wears his wedding ring on the right instead of the left.

Bucky told you that it was because he wanted to always feel the weight on his skin. Not the phantom one on his left, but that real, wrapping sensation, so that he'd never forget one of the happiest moments of his life. So he’d never forget that there was someone waiting for him.

Bucky continues to kiss you with leisure, humming in satisfaction when your hands run up and down from the base of his neck to the top of his head. He pushed your body impossibly close, wanting to feel each and every part of you.

When he is finally satisfied with your loving, he pulls away to face you and you see that mischievous look return to his eyes. He leans in yet again, trailing little pecks that trace your jawline before asking,

"Even if I was a paperboy?"

Now this brings an unexpected laugh out of you.

You know for a fact that Bucky actually used to be paperboy back in the 30s. It's a story that you hold safe in your heart, a glimpse of a reality lost to time. You remember the first time he told you about it back before the two of you got married and the pure elation you felt. Although you knew paperboys did exist, it never settled in your head that they were real real. More than that, you never pictured that your very own husband was one back in his days.

With your head thrown back in glee, Bucky couldn't take his eyes off of you. He loved your smile, even more when he was the reason for it. His clear blue eyes took in the very image of you, everything from the hearty breathes you were releasing, the crease of your lips to the way your throat bobbed. He would trade the world for the sound of your laughter and the stars for that glimmer in your eyes.

"Oh I can just imagine little Bucky riding around the neighborhood in his overalls and newsboy cap. I bet you made eeeveryone fall for how cute you were."

It was meant to be a tease on your husband's charming nature, but deep down you genuinely believed that to be true. And you were proven right when he shrugged in response, that annoyingly handsome smug smile settling deeply on his face.

"How'd you think I sold out everytime, doll?"

It's times like these where you see the light come back into his eyes. The nonchalance, the proud puff in his chest. He has such a beautiful smile. The most beautiful.

The surge of love you felt propelled you to wrap your arms around his head, pushing his face to rest on your plush chest. "You were a charmer weren't you?"

"Born and raised, ma'am." He mumbled against the soft fabric of your top. His hand drifted down to the bottom of your ass, caressing in a silent promise for the coming night.

You chased after it, placing your hand on top of his and then dragging your fingers up lazily, tracing the vein on his bicep. It teetered on his shoulder now, where you could feel him shudder and then flex beneath. With this gesture you felt the utter pride and masculinity showing. "You're not even denying it!" You exclaim as his lips move away from that comfortable spot on your chest to press a thousand pecks on your neck and then cheek. His beard—the one that you begged for him not to shave off—ticked you pleasantly. Once he realizes this fact though, he cheekily shakes his head, and you squirmed to get away only for him to snake a hand behind your head to softly guide you back to his lips.

You sighed against him, closing your eyes to savor the feeling. "The man of my dreams."

"You dreaming of me?" It took him a while to answer you, too occupied with tasting your sweetness. He whispered the tease right beside your ears, his lips mapping the shell as he softly nipped your earlobe.

"Every night Bucky."

WOWWWW thunderbolts Bucky changed my life you guys (hello prince hair). I initially wanted to write a playful little moment with him but got a tiiiny bit emotional 😅

ALSO ITS CANON TO MEEE that Bucky used to be a paperboy. I literally couldn't stop laughing at the thought

masterlist

dividers by @enchanthings-a

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consultingskeletondetective · 2 years ago

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Colonel's Girl

You’re the young army nurse on base and König decides to keep a protective eye on you. You don’t mind at all, the Colonel is sweet and safe - until he isn’t.

masterlist 🩷 ao3

tags: military inaccuracies, blood and injury, angst, smut, oral sex, vaginal sex

This was your first time on a real military base. You’d done field medic training of course, but this was the first time in your career as an army nurse that you’d been shipped out to base, far from home, calling a tiny bunk room your own in a building full of rowdy young recruits.

Their daily training brought them to you constantly with scrapes and bruises and concussions. They were feisty, adrenaline-fuelled young men, and you were one of the few women on base. The catcalling and the leering didn’t surprise you, even if it was unwelcome.

“What time do you get off, darlin’?” Private Turner drawled in a cockney accent as you applied butterfly stitches to a bleeding split across his eyebrow. “Maybe I can come to your room and we can keep each other company-”

“Turner!” It was barked, a stern command from an accented voice. The private paled as Colonel König stomped into your clinic, and you blushed. König was a very imposing man. He was at least 6”9 by your reckoning, and just as broad, in his late 30s or early 40s with a thick Austrian accent. His years of military training had given him a thick, muscular frame, with his broad thighs barely contained in cargo trousers and steel-capped boots on his feet, a black tee stretched over his chest and biceps the size of your torso. You knew what he looked like under that hood, square jawed and piercing blue eyes, but today he’d kept it on, his eyes framed and dark. It was no surprise you blushed whenever you saw him.

“Colonel?” He stood and turned. His voice held none of its previous bravado. Next to König, he looked like a mere boy.

“Two weeks of toilet cleaning duty.” König said gruffly, “and if I catch you using that kind of language again, it will be a month. Understood?”

Turner slumped. “Yes, sir.”

“Get out of my sight.”

Turner, chastised, scampered out of your clinic without looking at you.

König turned his hulking form towards you and actually had to look down to greet you.

“Pardon, ma’am. He won’t step out of line again.”

Ma’am . Your blush deepened. You gave him a small, nervous smile.

“Thank you, Colonel, that’s very kind of you.”

“These boys don’t know yet how to respect a lady, but they will.”

“Once you’re done with them?” You smiled playfully.

“If I have done my job correctly.” He said kindly, before turning on his heel and leaving swiftly. You giggled.

You didn’t see much of König at the start of training, his rank and his experience meant that he didn’t end up in your clinic as much as his recruits did, but when you did pass each other in the hall or by exchanging paperwork, he was nothing less than a courteous and charming gentleman. It seemed bizarre, considering you’d heard tell that he was a brawling killing machine out on the field, but he could switch from barking stiff orders to giving you a gentle smile that made you blush in the blink of an eye. You had to routinely remind yourself that this didn’t make you special, he was just being respectful, and you weren’t used to that. It didn’t matter that he was a soldier, or nearly twice your age, it didn’t take you long to develop a crush on the handsome and mysterious Austrian.

A few days later and you were stood in line to the mess hall. It was breakfast, and you’d seen the black pudding in the warming trays as soon as you’d stepped in. You were practically salivating as you waited, it wasn’t often you got a creature comfort like this - something that reminded you of home - on base.

“Not often we get this kind of luxury, eh, miss?” You recognised the coarse accent before you turned. Lieutenant Riley had joined you in the line, a balaclava covering his face. You knew him a little, the infamous Ghost. You’d crossed paths with the 141 on occasion, and you knew Riley, sometimes even Captain Price, dropped into the base to provide training or engage your services. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to make polite conversation with you. In fact, it seemed the norm here. The high rankers felt a bit sorry for you, while the recruits made you feel like a piece of meat or an object of ridicule.

You didn’t mind much, you were here to do a job, and you kept to yourself mostly anyway, but the offer of friendship was much appreciated.

You smiled a little shyly in return. “I know, right? I hope the black pudding doesn’t go too quickly. I’ve been thinking about it all morning.”

“A girl after my own heart.” The lieutenant chuckled. In front of you, two privates who had been turning around to eavesdrop on the conversation - more to get a look at Ghost, than you, you understood - burst into laughing at your admission. Your ears turned red and you wished you’d never opened your mouth.

Riley didn’t seem to notice, he was holding his gloved hand out to König, who had somehow appeared next to him in the line since you’d looked away. You actually had to do a double take. For a near seven foot slab of muscle, he was stealthy when he wanted to be.

The two of them talked among themselves in low voices and you left them to it, knowing you didn’t particularly want to hear the contents of whatever they needed to discuss.

You reached the front of the line and the private in front of you - the one who had laughed - piled his tray high with black pudding until the warming tray was empty. He turned and smirked mockingly at you.

“You can have my sausage, darlin’, if you ask nicely.” At least three recruits laughed. You wanted to shrink down so small you stopped existing altogether.

König’s brick hand clamped around the private’s tray and wrenched it easily from his grip.

“Sir-my breakfast…”

“Get out of the line, or I will feed you my fist.” König didn’t even raise his voice, the cold delivery had the private skulking off empty handed. König placed the tray back onto the counter and then he turned to you.

“Help yourself, ma’am.”

“Oh.” Your cheeks were crimson. He cocked his head, his eyes, the only part of his face visible through his black hood, looked amused. It wasn’t unkind. “T-thank you.”

König tipped his hood towards you before turning his attention back to Riley, and the pair of them moved off to a separate table. You sat by yourself, chewing your black pudding, and smiling like an idiot.

You glanced over to König a few times more than you would like to admit. He put you at ease, that’s what it came down to, it gave you a confidence you didn’t usually have around military men.

It was that very ease that left you wholly unprepared for the following week.

It was ballistics training out on the grounds, and you caught wind of an accident halfway through your sandwich.

“Come quick!’ An officer skidded into your office, “there’s been an accident - potential fatality.”

You cursed, and gathered your supplies, before following him out of your clinic and out onto the training ground. Recruits stood nervously holding rifles, their half-shot targets abandoned. A young recruit was wailing on the ground, another kneeling beside him and pressing against his belly with a jacket, there was blood on the sand.

König was towering over a young private - the same young man who had laughed at you in the mess hall, you briefly noted - and barking bloody murder in his terrified face. It took you more than a moment to realise that König wasn’t actually speaking German, you could just barely make a word out in his fury.

It was easy to tune out, you’d been out in the field before, and turn your attention to your patient. You knelt beside the terrified looking private stemming the bleeding, and carefully lifted his jacket to look at his wound while the young man screamed.

“You’re going to be okay.” You said confidently, calmly. “It’s nothing we can’t stitch up. Private, keep putting pressure on the wound, just like this, you’re doing a good job.” Just this once, you were obeyed without question.

“I will have you court-martialed, dummkopf, you could have killed him. You come onto my base, you do not listen to a word I say, and now you attack my men? You sorry piece of -”

“König,” you cut through the accented remonstration, pulling bandages from your bag, “I need your men to carry him to my clinic immediately, then you have to-”

König turned swiftly to you, those bright blue eyes visibly narrowed in the slits of his hood. “Do not fucking give me orders, nurse.” He seethed, voice ice cold with rage, fists clenched and towering over you. “You address me as Colonel, you little girl.” The white hot fury in his eyes matched the venom in his voice. You baulked, in fear, in surprise, horrified to realise tears were gathering in your eyes. You looked back down on the man in your arms and forced yourself to regain your composure.

“I need to get him to my clinic, I can’t lift him myself.” Your voice was steady, if muted, throwing your gaze over your shoulder at König and the recruits staring at you. “Please, colonel .”

König turned from you and began barking your orders at his men and within moments, your patient was being carried between three recruits back to your clinic. You turned and rushed after them. You extracted the bullet from his ribs and sewed up the damage as numbly as you treated any one of your patients. You left your makeshift surgery room with bloody hands and sweat on your forehead, surprised to find König leaning against the wall in your waiting room. He’d stripped out of his uniform to a simple pair of combat trousers and a black shirt that looked like it was losing a fight with his bicep muscles. His hood was held lax in his hand, giving you a rare glimpse at his face. It was no surprise to you that he looked exhausted. He pushed himself from the wall when you entered. Like a gentleman , you thought bitterly.

“Will he live?” He asked you, his voice soft. It was just like every other interaction you’d had on base.

“It was a flesh wound. He’ll be fine, Colonel.” Your words were stiff, and you walked straight past him without even a glance, feeling like a complete idiot that you’d ever thought he might treat you with the slightest bit of respect. You were angry until the adrenaline wore off, then you cried in your bed.

The recruit, Jenkins, pulled through the night, and the next day he was airlifted to the nearest hospital. The accidental shooter was gone, and you didn’t care to ask what had happened. Training was halted for a few days as a result and you had a quiet week, but you weren’t complaining, as you now had a mountainous amount of paperwork to complete. You were grateful when you were able to file the heft of paper into your pigeon hole to be sent off, and rewarded yourself with a sit down in the breakroom to the main office.

You looked up on instinct more than anything when the door opened. König walked in, in combat boots and a military vest, his hood over his eyes and helmet strapped to his head, like he’d just come straight from deployment. He glanced at you with tired blue eyes, but all you could see was the fury in them when he’d scared you the week before. You felt stupid for thinking someone like König would ever be nice to you. You were just the idiot girl on base.

“Morning, ma’am.” He said pleasantly when he saw you, slipping one hand into his trouser pocket as he poured himself coffee from the pot on the table.

“Hey.” You replied, voice flat, suddenly finding your nails remarkably interesting.

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine.” Another one word answer. You still weren’t looking at him.

König shifted uneasily. The atmosphere in the room changed. Of course it did, he was used to you being a blushy, smiling, pathetic mess for him.

Concerned, König crossed the small space to you. He didn’t sit. From what you could see from your lowered head, his hand was no longer in his pocket.

“If this is about what happened…you did well, Jenkins will recover.”

“I know I did fine.” You genuinely didn’t mean to snap. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

The conversation went dead, the atmosphere was palpable. You didn’t know whether it was his culture, or his military status, but König went right to the point.

“Have I offended you?”

Was he being willfully obstinate? You felt your humiliated aggravation grow. Well, you were in it now.

“Just leave me alone.”

There was a pause. And then another. Neither of you moved.

“As you wish.”

He left swiftly after that, and you finally looked up at the empty room. You felt relieved, but also hollow. It was almost like you’d done something wrong. But you hadn’t, had you? König’s coffee was abandoned on the table.

König left you alone, and that pissed you off even more. He walked past you in the mess hall, he didn’t glance down to smile at you anymore, he didn’t come into the clinic, even though you secretly hoped he would. Your self-esteem was pretty much on the floor after that, and the base got just that little bit lonelier.

Two recruits barrelled into your office a few days later, one had a busted lip and they both had black eyes. They'd clearly been in a fight, but whether that was with each other, or someone else, you didn’t care to ask. You stayed quiet as you applied butterfly stitches to their cuts, and they were happy enough to complain between themselves.

“You’re a dickhead, Williams, the Colonel’s gonna fucking kill us.”

“Relax, he’s not going to know.”

“He’s been such a dick lately. He put Taylor on shit detail for a fortnight for having his shoelace untied.”

“Probably because he has to look at your fucking ugly mug every day.”

“You’re done.” You cut across. “You can go.”

They thanked you and left, and you were grateful to get the foul mouthed privates out of your office.

It was getting dark outside and you were tired. You left your clinic and crossed the training ground to the mess hall. There were still soldiers out here, practising hand to hand combat under the floodlights. You gave them a wide berth.

You didn’t see the abandoned dummy grenade wedged in the sand until your foot hooked around it and you vaulted over with an unladylike grunt.

A large hand curled around your wrist and stilled you before you ate dirt. You cursed under your breath and turned inward. König was towering above you, your wrist positively dwarfed by his gloved hand. His hood obscured his face, shrouding him in the darkness behind him, all except those bright eyes looking down on you.

“You should be more careful.” He grunted, releasing your wrist.

Your eyes hit the ground and you mumbled a hasty ‘sorry’ before you scampered away to the mess hall. König watched your retreating back as you left.

The next few days passed uneventfully. You worked, you ate, you slept, you called home. The clinic was surprisingly empty. You wondered if the recruits were finally becoming competent enough that they didn’t need you every five seconds. You signed off your discharge sheets for the day and headed to the main office to dump them in the output box. You were surprised to find König in there, sans hood, rifling through a box of papers on the desk. He glanced up when he saw you and his expression wilted. He looked back into the box.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a second.” He said. “I just need to find the instruction manual for the - s cheiße .” The papers in his hand fluttered to the ground. He bent down to retrieve them and winced, arm circling his broad torso.

You frowned and took a step closer to him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked.

“Nothing.” He replied instantly as he straightened. His movements were slower than usual.

“It doesn’t look like nothing, König, it looks like cracked ribs.”

“It’s fine, really.”

You put your discharge forms on the desk and walked up to him. “Lift your shirt.”

König sighed but complied after a moment. He lifted his dark tee to his pectorals. His deep abdominal muscles rose and fell under his breathing and you found your cheeks reddening under the sight. A makeshift bandage was wrapped around his torso, and you reached out and lifted it. His skin was like lava against your fingers. He didn’t say a word as you lifted the bandage but he may have winced when your eyes widened. The right hand side of his ribcage was purple with deep bruising and lacerated with deep and shallow cuts alike, some were healing, and some were leaving blood stains on the inside of the bandage.

“Oh my god, what happened?”

“Nothing.” König grunted. “Machine gun training. One of the recruits lost control of the barrel and clocked me in the ribs. It is just a scratch.”

“This cut needs stitches.” You said automatically, tracing the underside of the welt with your fingertip. König jolted and you took your hand away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“You didn’t.” He replied.

“I have cream that’ll reduce this bruising too-” König huffed and you looked up at him. You couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face. He might as well have been wearing his hood.

“It is fine.” He said. “The bruising has disappeared a lot in the last few days…”

“ Days ?” You blinked. “Days, König? You can’t have been walking around like this for days. Why didn’t you come to me?”

There was a pause. He was trying to avoid your gaze.

“You told me to leave you alone.”

“König,” it was reprimanding, reproachful, your eyes slackened. “You always need to come to me when you’re hurt, even when I’m mad. I’m sorry.”

König’s eyes snapping to you made you regret the words as soon as they were out of your mouth. Your gaze dropped to the grazes on his ribs but your cheeks were already on fire.

“Are you ever going to tell me why you are mad at me?”

You didn’t meet his gaze. It seemed pathetic now. “You yelled at me.”

König didn’t respond straight away. When he did - “I yelled at you?”

You fought off the sudden urge to say sorry.

“When Jenkins was shot.” You explained. “I’m not one of your soldiers. I don’t like being screamed at, especially when I’m doing my job.” Your voice dropped a little. “And I’m not a little girl, I’m a nurse. You should respect that, just like the way you tell your troops to.”

You glanced up at König, he looked crestfallen. “I…” He frowned a little, as if giving up on any explanation he planned to give. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head, embarrassed, and lowered his shirt.

“It’s not important now-”

“It is important. I don’t think you are a little girl. Sometimes in battle, things like this become heated. I do not even remember saying this to you, but I am sorry. I do not think that, I truly do not, I was…one of my men was dying, I was not myself. Please forgive me.”

Your eyes met. It felt like the first time you’d looked at each other in a long time. König’s blue eyes were soft and sad.

“Um, come to the clinic, this afternoon,” you rose, flustered, “I, uh, that cut needs looking at.”

You turned swiftly and left but not before you heard König utter a single ‘yes ma’am’ before you did.

You thought about what he said as you sterilised your clinic for his arrival. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment, but you managed to keep your cool? Why didn’t he? Because he’s a soldier, you reminded yourself. He kills easily and without thought, he’s not the sweet gentleman you want him to be. You shook your head to yourself, that wasn’t the issue and you knew it. You didn’t care that he was a killer, or that sometimes he scared you. You knew what his easy dismissal of you meant - and it hurt.

König reported promptly to your clinic at 1pm that afternoon. He stripped out of his shirt and sat patiently down on the end of your bed and you had to pretend like having a 7ft goliath of a man stripped down in front of you wasn’t making your heart race. He truly was extraordinary.

You stitched the large cut on his ribs that was worrying you the most and he didn’t make a sound. it didn’t much surprise you, you assumed he was accustomed to pain. It made your stomach flutter with something .

He was even more impressive undressed, his body heavy with swollen, toned muscle, faded scars criss-crossing over his flesh. You had to remind yourself that you were a trained nurse just to stop yourself from drooling.

König watched you work rather intently. “You have very small hands.” He remarked suddenly. You didn’t respond, unsure if it was a compliment or not. You both lapsed into silence for another long while. It was like a form of torture. You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. You felt like a foolish little girl, trying to play with a grizzly bear. It must have shown on your face.

You didn’t expect König to talk again. He must have thought that you were insane - pathetic, at the very least.

“May I ask you a question?”

Oh. “Of course.”

“Why did you join the military if you hate being yelled at?”

You sighed and finished off your final stitch. “You don’t have to mock me, you know, I already got the message.”

“I am not mocking you. I’m curious.”

Forthright . You forgot.

You took a moment to respond, busying yourself with packing away your equipment. “I didn’t join as a recruit, I joined as a nurse.” You didn’t tell him the real reason, that it was because it was him.

“Right.”

“It’s not your problem.”

König stood, and pulled his shirt back on. “It won't happen again.” He said. “You have my word.”

Your gaze flicked to his handsome face involuntarily. “Um, here’s the cream. Make sure to apply it twice a day, and try to take it easy for a few days.”

König grunted, a ghost of a smile on his face. You could tell he hadn’t taken it easy a day in his life.

“What message?” König asked suddenly.

“Sorry?” You froze, trying to backtrack to that particular exchange.

“You said you ‘got the message’.” He repeated. “What message?”

Oh.

“Um, did I say that?” Your voice was uncharacteristically high. König tilted his head.

“Schatz, my English isn’t that bad. We both heard what you said.”

You blushed and your head dipped. You didn’t know much German, but you knew what ‘schatz’ meant.

“Well, you know-” fuck, shit, fuck . “P-put in your place by the guy you have a crush on. I get it. I got it. I won’t go there again.”

“Crush?” König responded like a lightning strike, before he fell silent. His brain was calculating, before his expression turned to…well, there was no other way to put it, absolutely fucking floored. “You like me?”

Oh, this was very fucking bad.

“Well…yeah? I thought it was obvious-”

“Obvious? Schatz, I thought you hated me.”

You blinked.

“Wha- why would you think that?”

“You told me to leave you alone.”

“You called me a little girl! In front of everyone.”

When exactly had you both gotten so close to each other? It was close enough that König could look down on you, and your heart was skipping a beat.

“You can’t like me.” He said quietly.

You frowned. “Why not? Have you looked at yourself? Plus you’re…you know, nice, and the only person in this dump that doesn’t leer at me or treat me like a stupid little girl. When people aren’t dying, I mean.”

“I…” Was König hesitating? The man who had nothing to fear?

“It’s okay,” you murmured, embarrassed. “Like I said, I get the message. Why would you want a pathetic sap like me who can’t even hear a raised voice without crying?”

“Do not say that.” König looked uncertain, his eyebrows knitting together. “You are like a...a flower. Not meant for men like me.”

“A…” Your brain couldn’t quite compute what you’d just heard. “Men like you? What does that even mean?”

“You need someone younger, for a start.” He sighed. “Someone who has seen less death, verdammt, someone who has caused less death.”

“Men like your idiot recruits, then?”

König didn’t respond.

“I have to go.” He said instead. “Thank you for the…cream.”

“Anytime, Colonel.” It was softly spoken, you watched him freeze, then you watched him go. You smuggled a bottle of wine back to your room and drank until you fell asleep. This really was a new low.

…

The days passed slowly and without incident. On the face of it, there was no difference in you, except for a notably lacklustre delivery of your care.

You were making notes at your desk when Private Jackson and his buddy, Williams, appeared at your desk, complaining of a groin injury.

You rolled your eyes and returned to your paperwork. “I’m sure it’ll feel better tomorrow, private.”

“I’m sure it’ll feel better right now if you kiss it-”

“Shut up,” Williams chuckled, shoving him, “you wanna get a disciplinary? You know she’s the colonel’s girl.”

Your gaze snapped up. “What did you just say?”

Neither of them answered you, they just sniggered and slunk off. You watched the empty doorway with wide eyes. You tried not to ponder on it. You pondered on it for the rest of the day.

…

You signed the bottom of Williams’ sick leave and ticked off the various appropriate boxes, flipping the page and hoping that was all that was required until you froze. It needed the signature of the patient's C.O. König. Shit.

You hadn’t even seen König since he’d rejected you and every time you thought about that particular exchange, your ears went hot and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You were too much of a pussy to talk to him, so instead you went to his office when you knew he was scheduled to be out at training, and scribbled ‘ sign me please :) ’ on a post it note, stuck it on the front page and left the form on his desk.

You turned for the door with a relieved sigh and accidently walked into König’s solid chest. He was standing in the open doorway, he was the size of the open doorway, wearing his combat gear although he was unarmed, his hood draped covering his face, even so, you could see he was looking down on you. It wasn’t until you glanced up that you realised he was ducking to fit in the doorway. That sent heat right to your cunt.

“Oh, hello.” You said stupidly, eyes hitting the carpeted floor.

“Hello.” He greeted you, accent gentle. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, right, I’m in your office.” You stumbled over your words. “Um, W-Williams needs sick leave approved, he needs gallbladder surgery off base, I need you to sign the form. I - I left it on your desk.”

König walked past you, he smelt of sweat and sand and some sort of hastily applied deodorant. He seemed unfazed that you were in his office, he certainly didn’t seem to be trying to avoid you as ardently as you were avoiding him. You cursed yourself for being so childish.

He removed his hood and draped it over the back of his chair as he picked up the form. His eyes were darkened with war paint, fresh stubble on his jaw.

“A smiling face.” He remarked as he read your post it note, voice muted. “The way yours used to be.”

You blinked. “Is that meant to be some kind of joke?” You asked hotly.

“Not at all.” He replied, not looking up from the form. “It used to brighten my days.” He signed the form and held it out to you before you could really process what he’d said. “Let us hope Williams makes a swift recovery, he is one of my best.”

You tentatively took the form, mind drawn back to the last encounter you’d had with the young private.

“He called me…” You bit back your sentence before you had a chance to finish it. But the damage was done.

König’s back straightened, his fists clenched. “Something inappropriate?”

“No.” Your shoulders hunched. Why did you even bring it up? “He said I was…they’re calling me…you know…the colonel’s girl.”

You glanced up at König shyly, to see if there was any truth in it. His back had relaxed, but his stance was still guarded.

“What?” You asked.

“I told the recruits to leave you alone.” He admitted. “Or there would be consequences.”

“Oh.” You blushed. “But, that’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No, it’s not…some of the men have interpreted the order to mean I am keeping you for myself.”

You took a bold step forward.

“And are you?”

König looked at the floor. You sighed and turned for the door.

König’s large hand curled around the front of your throat before you could turn and drew you back, right to his mouth. You whimpered into the kiss. You were forced onto your tiptoes to meet him, feeling his fingers against your oesophagus with every exhale. His lips eased wetly and insistently against yours until you were dizzy, gripping his arms and pressing yourself closer.

As soon as it started, it was over. König released your throat and took a step back. You had to blink a few times to regain just a few of your senses. You were still on your tiptoes, and you could still taste him on your mouth. Gunpower, and mint.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I shouldn’t have done that.” His voice was ragged, his accent even thicker than usual. Fuck, it was hot.

He turned and left before you could even articulate a response, but you were sure you saw his back muscles twitching as he went.

…

The deployment for the first active mission came about quicker than anyone had been expecting. It was practically a dummy mission, you’d been told, leading a team of recruits on a sweep near cartel lands for stray activity or potential landmines. Still, the atmosphere was palpable in the base, the recruits were scared, you could tell.

You watched from the doorway of your clinic as the men stood by the jeeps, ready to roll out. Riley had returned, and he stood next to König as the latter zipped up his kevlar and clipped on his helmet over his hood. You wanted to wish him luck, even though you knew everything was going to be fine. It was a routine sweep, and he was König, he wasn’t in any danger. Still, your stomach pulled. Fate was cruel. What if this was the last time you ever saw him?

You scrunched your eyes shut, called yourself an idiot, and jogged across the sand of the training field.

Riley saw you first, he knocked König on the chest to alert him - you tried not to read into that - König turned, face obscured, body heavy with kevlar and weaponry. He had to lower his head to look at you.

“Schatz?”

Your insides ached at the familiar term of endearment that you didn’t deserve. Your mouth was as dry as the sand you were stood on, and you suddenly didn’t know what to say. Don’t go? Come back? How could you say any of those things to the man who didn’t want you.

König solved your problem for you. His fingers closed around your tricep, and his thumb stroked just once.

“Look after yourself.” You said quietly.

He nodded before he dropped your arm. Then you watched as they got into the jeeps and drove away.

…

The recruits were returned to you on a daily basis. Apparently, the drop point of the sweep was particularly hot for cartel soldiers, ready and willing to engage in battle. The wounds you were treating now were not the cuts and scrapes of training, it was cracked skulls and broken bones and lacerated flesh. And the men, Turner, Williams, Jackson, they weren’t the scrappy, joking lads they’d once been, they were crying and they were scared.

You slept when you could but you were always exhausted. You were waiting for the first time one of them died on you.

You were awoken that night by a loud, insistent banging on your door. You jumped out of bed and tied your robe around yourself, already gathering your hair up to tie it back.

“What’s happened?” You called, opening the door, “who is it…oh.”

It took a moment for you to realise that you weren’t staring at the pitch black of night, but rather directly at König’s chest. He stood in a dark shirt, helmet removed, hood covering his face, head disappearing behind your doorway, but his blue eyes were bright and wild and looking down at you.

“König! You scared me half to death. Get in here.”

You stood aside and König ducked his head and walked, actually stomped, his way into your room. You prayed you didn’t have any stray underwear on the floor. His shirt sleeves were short and you could actually see his arm muscles thrumming.

“What’s happened?” You frowned. “What’s wrong, König? Talk to me, please.”

“There was an I.E.D.” He replied, accent thick. You couldn’t imagine what his expression looked like. “Ghost saw it before I did. He pulled me out of the pathway. The fucking thing exploded five feet in front of my face. I could have died. I am a fucking idiot.”

“Oh, König, you…you didn’t die, and you’re not an idiot, okay? Every soldier misses…”

“No, schatz.” He walked forward, backing you against the wall. You swallowed when his large hand came up, pressing your collarbone back against the wall. “I’m a fucking idiot because I could have died without doing this.”

One hand curled around your hip and lifted you effortlessly, and you gasped as you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist - it was a stretch, he was so broad. König wasted no time slamming you into the wall next to your bed with enough force to rattle your bones. You squeaked, but that was all you managed to do. He pushed his hood up to his nose and captured your lips with his.

Your eyes crossed and closed as you groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck as your lips slid against his. This was nothing like the first kiss - that was chaste, hurried, this was luxurious, long, wet and slow, the whole world went quiet as König pressed his tongue between your lips and lapped at yours with sure strokes that had you whimpering. Your fingers tangled in his hood as he kissed you like that, and you forgot everything else.

He hitched your legs around his waist and you whined, muffled, as you felt a solid lump pressing up against your clothed crotch. You didn’t care – you ground down on him as you met his tongue with yours. He growled into your mouth and it reverberated through you, before he was pulling back, kissing along your jaw and grinding his cock against your heat harder than before.

Then his eyes were on you, piercing and bright through the dark hood, the fabric sat askew on his top lip, his lips pink and swollen with your spit.

“I want you, schatz.” He said bluntly.

“I - I want you, too.”

Your consent was all he needed. Suddenly you were airborne again, and you clung onto him as he lowered you onto the belt and knelt between your legs. The bed actually dipped under his weight and you blushed.

“K-König,” you murmured quietly.

“No,” it was short, and stiff, as he yanked your night shirt down by your collar hard enough to rip. You yelped as the sound of fabric tearing filled the room and suddenly your tits were exposed. You whimpered in embarrassment but he’d already grabbed them in his rough, gloved hands, squeezing and rubbing, flicking and pinching your nipples between his fingers.

“Hhhh, fuck.” You blushed, biting your lip as your underwear moistened at the rough treatment.

“Fuck, do not tell me they are sensitive.” König’s voice sounded wrecked.

“Please,” it was a whisper, “please be gentle.”

“Wanted to get my hands on you for too long.” Was all his reply was as he squeezed your breast again and leant down, using his hand to guide your nipple into his exposed mouth. He sucked so hard that you thought he was trying to drink your soul out from you. Your head fell back and you gasped, grinding your wet, needy cunt as best you could on the side of his thigh. König took pity on you, lapping at your nipples until they were shining nubs screaming in oversensitivity, while his brick hand - when had he taken his glove off? - cupped your pussy through your underwear. His thumb was jammed right up against your clit. You didn’t know if he’d meant to do that, or if it was coincidental, but either way you ground up onto the solid digit until your eyes were unfocused.

“So wet for me, liebling,” he murmured breathlessly, between your nipples, “you are fucking soaked for me.” He stroked you with his thumb once and your eyes slackened and you came with a shudder, stiffening beneath him as stars danced above your head.

He let your nipple slide wetly from his mouth and suddenly those bright eyes were on you.

“Did you just have an orgasm?”

“Mmm.” You buried your head into his neck shyly, thighs shuddering as the waves of pleasure rolled through you. Your clit twitched against his hand.

“Oh, sweet liebling.” He murmured, rubbing wet circles over the sodden fabric of your underwear. You shuddered as your thighs tried to close away from the intense pleasure, until one strong hand was on your thigh and pushing it wide.

“König!” You gasped. He was watching you intently as he pushed your underwear to the side with his fingers and pressed the thick digits through your sopping folds.

“Such a pretty little cunt.” He murmured, stroking his fingertips over your slit. It opened with every heavy breath you took, dribbles of desire wetting his fingers.

“König, please,” you whined, “need you in me. Please -”

“Oh yes? Is that so?” The side of his mouth twitched up, then his finger was sinking inside you.

“Shit, fuck! K-König, you’re so big…” You felt your cunt stretching around his finger, clenching involuntarily down around it as your thighs tried to close but couldn’t, pinned open by his solid hand.

“I know, schatz.” He replied calmly. “You can take it.” He slid a second finger in without warning and grunted at how tight and wet you were, just imagining how your cunt would feel around his cock. You whined and threw your head back, the stretch aching after months of nothing, thighs shaking. You were so fucking wet that his fingers practically glided in, his knuckles against your soft pink entrance. “I want you to come for me, to loosen you up for my cock.”

“König, fuck, I…” Your cheeks were rosy. “My god, please...please move, I need-”

“Shhh, little one, I know.” He wasted no time shoving his fingers deeper in your aching cunt, and you yelped and lifted off of the bed entirely. König growled in disapproval and used the hand on your thigh to pin you down to the bed, keeping you still as he ploughed his fingers in and out of you. You moaned deliriously at the sudden intense, rough pressure to your sweet spot, watching the way König’s large hand was like a blur between your legs.

“I’m-” You couldn’t even say it before you were coming with a wet moan, your release splashing against his wrist and dripping all over the bed.

“Scheiße, liebling, making such a mess for me.” His fingers were still hard and circling your engorged sweet spot. Your body seized in panic as you gripped his wrist with all your might to try and still him. All you achieved was watching your own arms shake as he fingered you mercilessly. The noise was obscene, soaking wet come and slick filthy between your legs and soaking his hand as you squirted again, streaming down his arm with a mix of clear and white desire. You moaned and gasped and sobbed, the pleasure intense and spiralling, your pussy already felt worn out from the rough treatment.

“König, please,” you begged, “it’s too much-”

“Again.” He commanded, hand leaving your thigh and curling around your throat. “Want all of that squirt out of you.” he pinned you to the bed by your neck, using the change in position to drive his fingers roughly home deep in your aching, spent cunt. He didn’t stop when you came, and he didn’t stop when you came again - your eyes in the back of your head, body on fire with ceaseless pleasure, the bed beneath you soaked with your own humiliation. All you could do was take it, and shudder violently.

Finally, König pulled his fingers from your gaping hole and slapped your cheek lightly, it was a wet noise and you blinked.

“Come on, little girl, do not give up on me.”

“König,” you slurred, heaving. “I…fuck, so good, never…I can’t…”

“Oh sweet one,” he cooed, crowding between your legs, pulling your thighs over his hips. “Fucked you stupid and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

You managed a tired smile as you traced your fingers down the front of his stab vest. You watched him drag the zip of his trousers down, rubbing just the once over the lump there before dipping in and pulling his cock free. It took him three tries - to extract the full, erect length of himself from the tight compression of his protective cup, before he was letting it hang heavy between his legs.

“Fuck, König- you’re so big.”

“I know, baby,” he stroked the length of his long, engorged cock from length to tip and your eyes widened, cunt throbbing between your legs in your desperation to feel it deep in you.

“König, please,” you begged, digging your heels into the small of his back, your wet cunt pressed up against his balls, inviting, begging him in, “my pussy - please -”

He chuckled before pressing the head of his foreboding cock against your clit and you trembled and cursed. He lent over you, hand squeezing your breast, the ends of his dark hood tickling your neck as you felt the hot, solid crown of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your eyes were wide, nervous, feeling the pressure, the give, then the hot length sliding home inside of you.

You gasped and arched, clenching around him and his biceps shook where he held you.

“Fuck, schatz, fuck, not so hard, you will make me come.”

“C-can’t help it.” It was a whine, rolling your hips and digging your heels in harder, trying to pull him deeper. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” He panted, regaining some of his composure and locking his hand around your neck once more. His hips began to piston and you weren’t prepared for it, the shift of his massive cock in your tight walls making you moan and clench and writhe. Your cunt was obscenely wet, and every noise was a squelch that made you blush, until he was pounding into your sweet spot and you forgot everything.

“Fuck, König, fuck-” it was breathless, eyelids fluttering as you clenched and groaned and sprayed his cock, his balls, with your release. “I can’t - can’t stop, fuck,”

“Guh, fuck.” He grunted, lips ghosting over yours. His cock not slowing, pounding you like he was trying to nail the mattress beneath you. “So tight, liebling, your pussy is drawing me in. I’ve waited so long for this.”

You couldn’t ask him to explain, you were too busy coming, your world zeroed down to the tip of König’s dick abusing your swollen sweet spot. He curled his fingers under your knee and held your thigh up by your collarbone, exposing more of your vulnerable cunt to him as he thrust hard into your aching walls.

Your moans were broken and never ending, blushing and squirming in delirious agony as you gushed and creamed on his cock, feeling your hot release on the backs of your thighs.

“Look at you,” König didn’t even have the decency to sound exerted as he took you apart. “You can’t stop coming, can you, schatz?”

“No.” There were tears in your eyes, your fingernails digging into his arms, holding on for dear life. “You need, please -” Your mouth fell open as you came again, the splash of your squirt explosive and filthy, “you need to come, please, I can’t, can’t come again, please, König, please.”

König framed your jaw with his hand, stroking along the bone as he slammed his hips into yours, forcing more of your come straight from you with a grunt.

“Nearly there, schatz.” He said into your mouth. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Fuck, please,” your walls clenched and contracted again, vaulted over the edge and nearly losing consciousness, clenching your fucked out cunt tight if only to help him get there. “Please, come, come in me, fuck.”

“Scheiße,” he groaned, cock jamming in your tight cunt as you came so hard you nearly pushed him out. He shoved his way back in and you wailed. “You want me to come inside? I’m not wearing…”

“König, please,” it was pathetic, and he couldn’t deny you, watching your sobbing eyes with his piercing blues as he slammed into your weeping cunt for a few more torturous minutes, then his forehead was pressed to yours and he groaned as he spilled inside you. He was so deep you couldn’t feel it, but you could feel his cock twitching, and you could feel yourself clenching and coming so hard you forced dribbles of his white come straight back out of your slit and dribbling down between your cheeks.

König was breathing heavily against you as he held himself, forehead against yours, body framing yours, and you watched him as you shuddered and tried in vain to relax. He was…there were no words for it.

You let your hands trail down his clothed back, feeling the solid and bunching muscles there, feeling his cock heavy in your squirting pussy and wondering how the hell this had happened.

“König,” you had a warm, dizzying smile on your face. “You came back.”

He nodded mutedly, face partially obscured by his hood, as he stroked along your jaw, then your lips, and let his hulking body fall and rest beside yours. “Thought you might not want me.”

You shook your head, curling into his chest the best you could. He was still inside you.

“Want you, always. Don’t-'' He'd already curled his bear arms around you, drawing you into his warm chest and cutting you off. You were suddenly so overhot you couldn’t remember what you were going to say.

“I’m sorry I upset you, liebling,” he stroked along your back, his blue eyes slack. “I have always wanted you to be mine. From the moment I saw you.”

This felt like a fever dream. It couldn’t possibly be real. You couldn’t possibly be this happy.

“I’ve always been yours, König, I still am. If you still want me.”

He tilted his head as he watched you, lips pulling up, and you blushed.

“What?” You asked.

“You,” he said simply, voice warm like honey, “are smiling again.”

#fanfiction #call of duty #cod #konig x reader #konig call of duty #smut #cod smut

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littlegrapejuice · 1 month ago

Text

Grid Mum 5 | MV1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: The solution when one of your grid kids is sad? Spending some family time together and reassuring him like good parents would do.

Author's Note: this is a alpine/fl*vio bri*tore hate post❤️ justice for jack, and good luck to franco bc it is not going super well for him recently🙃 i promise this is not pure angst lol (y'all have probs realised i am mostly a fluff girly)

F1 MASTERLIST🏎 | Previous Part | Next Part

To say that you were mad would be an understatement.

You were originally not the biggest fan of Alpine – only tolerating the team because it was Jack’s, but now it had gone too far.

It seemed as if the not so French anymore team had taken inspiration from Red Bull, as they decided to replace their rookie driver only a few races after the beginning of the season.

Jack was being switched with Franco, and there was nothing to do to change that.

You were quite neutral about Franco: he seemed like a sweet guy, having charmed half of the F1 fans last year, and he had potential from what you remembered.

But Jack was Jack. He was one of your grid kids. He was kind. He was caring. He was funny.

He wasn’t enough, according to Alpine.

Your train of thoughts was the same as when Red Bull sacked Liam. The teams were forgetting that they had hired rookies. Rookies who were still new to the sport, and still not adjusted to racing in F1. Of course they had to prove themselves and the pressure on them was huge, but they needed to be given time.

The teams couldn’t expect them to be world champions only a few races in the season. Even scoring points would have been a great achievement, but it seemed like the teams were wanting no less than a podium. Teams that honestly had such a shit car, even Max would struggle to bring it to the top five.

You couldn’t even blame Franco for this. It was Alpine’s fault. And they weren’t really respectful to Franco either, to be honest. They had actually announced him as the second driver for only five races.

“Who does that?” You rhetorically asked Max, throwing your phone to the opposite side of the couch.

“Should we even be surprised anymore after the stunt they pulled in Abu Dhabi?”

“I guess not, but that’s still so fucked up. That team is absolutely fucked up.” Leaning back on the couch, you sighed. “It’s like their second seat has become a game of musical chairs.”

Max bit back a smile at your words. It wasn’t a laughing matter when he thought about how Alpine was ruining Jack’s career, and probably soon ruining Franco’s as well. But it was the type of nervous laugh one could let out when the situation was so desperate and seemed out of solutions.

“Maybe after those five races they’ll put you in the car,” Max suggested as a way to try and lighten the atmosphere.

“Max…” You whined, not really enjoying the joke. Thinking for a second, you then considered Max’s idea. “If they put me in the car, I’m definitely running Briatore over.”

“And that’s why I love you,” Max proudly concluded.

You had to admit that his words had put a slight smile on your face, making the frown previously there disappear.

“You know what this means now?” You asked Max, hoping he would read your mind and not hate what you were thinking about.

“Family dinner?” He guessed.

“Family dinner,” you confirmed with a nod before pulling out your phone.

You honestly had no idea whether Jack was alone at home or if his – actual – family was there, but you still texted him to offer him your support and remind him that he didn’t have to deal with this on his own.

Your first message was one filled with love and kindness, with words that were very reminiscent of what you had told him a month ago in Japan – you hoped that he hadn’t forgotten what you had said to him back then. Your second message was shorter, simply asking him if he wanted to hang out as a means to take his mind out of the situation.

It took less than an hour for Jack to text you back, agreeing to your offer. And soon enough, he was back in your home.

It was easy to notice the dark circles under his eyes, and the way his smile wasn’t as bright as it usually was. You frowned when you thought about the toll it had taken on him, offering him a warm hug when he was within your reach. He tightly hugged you back, and you could feel how tense he was.

You motioned for him to come sit with you and Max, hoping that a comfortable setting would make him forget about the situation for a little while.

“How are you holding up?” Max asked Jack, once the Aussie driver had sat down to him.

“Surviving, I guess. Don’t really have a choice but to accept it and move on…”

And that was all the words exchanged between the two of them. You had to admit the atmosphere was quite heavy, and you were about to bring up a more lighthearted topic when Jack spoke again:

“I just feel like shit,” he said with a sigh. “Alpine got what they wanted from the beginning: Franco and his oh-so-wonderful Argentinian fans – fans who are still harassing me even though their beloved driver is finally back on the grid.”

It seemed like Jack was ready to rant about his frustrations, which was definitely something he needed to do. So you just stayed silent, offering him a comforting and supporting hand on his shoulder. It was a way to remind him that he wasn’t alone right now, and that you weren’t going anywhere.

“I’m just mad,” Jack emphasised. “They barely gave me a chance to prove myself, and now I’m back to being a reserve for a guy who’s also a rookie! They won’t have any right to complain when he crashes the car or if he doesn’t score points because the car is actually just shit. I’ve been loyal to Alpine for years – since I was in F2 – and this is how I get rewarded for it.” Jack sighed, before speaking again more slowly as his tone became more desperate.. “What if I never get a chance again to drive in F1?”

Seeing the Aussie looking so hopeless made you want to cry. You could feel your own heart breaking at his question, and wondered how to word your reassurance. It seemed that Max was doing better than you regarding that, as he managed to answer Jack before you did.

“Then you just never forget, for even one second in your life, that you did drive in F1.” Max wasn’t even looking at Jack as he spoke, but his words were impactful enough that the rookie didn’t need more than Max’s voice. “I can’t promise you that you’ll be back in an F1 car. I can’t promise you that Alpine will switch you once again with Franco. Hell, I can’t even promise you that another team will call you to sign you and give you more opportunities. But I can definitely promise you that you had earned your seat, and your place in F1. You deserved to be there – still deserve to be here. And I wish I could tell you that yes, we’ll race together again one day, but that would be wrong of me to give you false hope.”

“So I should just stop hoping, then?”

“It’s more about not giving up”, Max explained as he finally turned sideways to face Jack. “Even if you’re hopeless – and even if you feel like there will never be another chance for you to race in F1, you just never give up. I feel like determination and hope are very distinct, although we group them together very often.”

Jack nodded at Max’s words, trying to process his train of thoughts.

“I feel like it makes sense, even though I have a hard time grasping the difference between the concepts.”

“Just don’t give up”, Max concluded. “You’re a bright kid, with a bright future. And I know you’ll be rewarded for that one day.”

“That I definitely agree with”, you added.

“Thank you guys, really means a lot to me.” Jack was being genuine, truly appreciating the support that you and Max were offering him.

You didn’t have to do that, no one forced you. But still, you were there for the rookie and he would forever be thankful for that.

“Will we keep seeing each other?” Jack eventually asked after a couple minutes of silence, his eyes filled with a need for reassurance. “You won’t replace me with Franco like Alpine did, right?”

“I’d never replace you, sweetheart.” You pulled Jack into a hug as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “You’re one of a kind, and nothing will change between us. If anything, we might have more time to see each other during race weekends.”

“That’d be nice, yeah.” Jack slowly pulled back from the hug. A smile had made its way on his face, which warmed your heart. Jack was glad that despite him not being on the grid anymore, you would still be his grid mum. “I’ll sneak you into Alpine and we can steal their food, or something.”

“Sounds perfect”, you agreed to Jack’s idea with a nod.

“Don’t cause too much trouble”, Max warned with a sigh. As usual, he wanted to pretend that he was being serious but the smirk on his face said otherwise.

“We would never”, you denied with an innocent grin.

“Yeah! We’ll be so well-behaved, don’t worry.”

Max kind of wanted to add that he wasn’t very convinced with you and Jack, but he let it go. He was glad that for now, the Aussie had a smile back on his face. Wanting it to stay there, Max suggested that they do something productive together and you didn't hesitate to force the two drivers into cooking. Jack immediately said yes, already standing up and walking to the kitchen with you.

Meanwhile, Max realised that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter – especially when you came back to the living-room to grab your boyfriend’s hand and drag him to the kitchen where Jack had begun analysing your fridge’s contents.

Max had never been much of a cook, more than often leaving you free reign in the kitchen. But it seemed that for the rookies, he would keep making an effort. Because for them, he might do anything if it meant that it was putting a smile on their face.

..........

Taglist: @umm-i-love-u @callsign-mirage @freyathehuntress @elieanana @suns3treading @fastandcurious16 @l3thal-l0lita

Thank you sm for reading<3 likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated if you enjoy this

Writing this was fr making me go :( bc i miss jack sm like y'all can't imagine the amount of times i text my friends "bring back jack" every time franco does a slight mistake😭😭

And i loooove franco, don't get me wrong☝🏻 but alpine is my probs worst enemy rn

So yeah, we might acc see less of jack in da fic but I'll still try to include him from to time bc i like writing him😔

See you soon, take care of yourselves, love y'all xx

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x you #max verstappen x you #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv1 x you #grid mum series<3

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4mrplumi · 6 months ago

Text

( crow choir. entry one ) ── dust of snow ( m.s | prev/next )

author's note at the end

you have three brothers- no, two brothers. you’ve only heard of the third. you can hardly think of them as such, feeling traitorous to your old family… families. but you are also a lonely child, so you give them permission to be props of your plain life.

the eldest, with stark blue eyes and dimples at his near-permanent smiles is named richard grayson. he’d given you a warm grin the day you arrived, that somewhat wavered at the blank look you hoped you gave him. you don’t talk to him, but sometimes you wish you did.

you know nothing of the second, apart from his first name; jason. the usual answers to unasked questions, that piece together via general conversations, don’t form here, and you can’t be bothered to ask. you wonder where he is, does he not come to visit?

the youngest of the three is younger than you too, tim drake the butler says, by maybe one or two years, you never tried to figure it out. he came to the house about a few months after you arrived, but seems far more involved with bruce’s business than you ever will be (ever hope to be). there’s a familiar twitch to his brows, and you relate it to old inquisitive roommates, the ones that tried to figure you out without asking questions and always gave up eventually.

it's a relief he doesn't even try at all.

it does feel a little odd, to not have to talk to anyone just to shoo them away. you strangely miss it, the feeling of being irritated at bothersome small talk. in the silence of the manor, which had not much for a child to do, you start to feel lonely

you've never felt lonely before. alone, yes, isolated, absolutely, but lonely? you've never wanted company. not from anyone who wasn't... forget it.

and thus, you're in an odd situation. you want to be a part of the family, but you have no interest in talking to them. why, the mere idea makes you sweat all over, and you prefer your few meals in your room.

you don't like it. wanting so badly to converse with your brothers, get to know them the way you knew your old previous foster-care siblings, but not being able to.

in your old houses, the children would be somewhat put into forced proximity, there was no choice other than to call out for company. you'd gotten absurdly used to being reached out to without having to do it yourself. your brothers must be busy, or you must be too quiet for them to notice you around.

so with all the courage you could muster, you crept up to an idle older brother, visiting after so long from bludhaven. you might implode from the short moment where he looked at you with confusion, not knowing who you are, before giving you a awkward smile of acknowledgement. no matter, it's not his fault.

he nods off your subtle attempt at asking for his time, maybe you're not being clear enough? it's enough to put you off, so you leave quickly after he gives you a small promise to talk later, maybe get out of the house for a while.

it's such a small thing, but it makes you embarrassed. you try to build up a little stubbornness, and look to find tim. but when you find him immersed deeply in a book, a journal of some sort, you decide otherwise and leave.

it's okay. you'll try again! when you're feeling better. better and livelier.

livelier.

your patterned quilt does little to keep away the monstrous cold of gotham's winter nights, and does it wreck though your nerves and leave you shivering.

the butler; alfred, had given you a good understanding of the room's systems, yet another thing that'd take time to get used to, and you knew the switches that would connect your vents to the central heating system.

but it feels so surreal, and the familiarity of huddling into your own ice cold limbs for warmth is a comfort you can't let go off just yet. you mustn't allow these new privileges to make you forget who you are. what you are, and what you deserve.

you recall a young boy in one of your old homes, discussing earnestly with your 'sisters' about what he'd do if he had all of gotham's money. the prospect of being filthy rich had always irked you to a small degree, to be well-off when others struggle. was it guilt?

he'd gone on and on about the different things he'd get. a curly-haired poodle, a shining red bicycle, clothes that made him look like a proper gentleman, from a gentler city. you wonder solemnly where he is now, wishing you could share the fortunes you've been shoved into with him. someone who wanted it, deserved it.

deserving... deserving something is odd. whatever makes an individual deserving of something? the hardships they recieve, and the hardships they pass out?

you don’t remember your mother, having gained metaphorical consciousness at the age of six, when your sister started taking care of you instead. you made out from her teary, drunk mumblings that she was an awfully sophisticated woman. she’d colour herself with red blushes and redder lip stains, wear family jewels she refused to sell to her ‘business’ meetings. thin-framed glasses with the eyes of a vixen’s.

what your sister muttered most about was her many nights away from home. one-sided conversations that plunged a small anchor to your heart, because you knew you were a product of one of them.

when she was in a bitter mood, your sister never shied away from berating you for your existence. she, unlike you, was born in wedlock. yes, to an unhappy couple, who threw picture frames and cheap souvenirs at each other before splitting up, but she knew her father.

a ridiculously strange thing to hold above one’s head. “i knew my absent father. no one knows yours.” but your depraved heart and dull mind took it so deeply. so, so deeply.

were those hardships? did you deserve them? others have it worse, right? so do you deserve this? this wealth?

now that you do know your father, you can’t help but resent the idea of knowing. did he know? that he left his child to an unbecoming family and an irresponsible sister? did he know that the guilt of starving your sister to eat yourself made you so incredibly weak-minded at the idea of being full? did he know that you refuse to switch the heater on in the cold, because you don’t know if your old foster siblings got the same luxury? all while the elites of gotham stay in their glasshouses with their rose gardens and wine cupboards.

you can’t put your finger to it. it’s not jealousy, it’s not resentment, it’s not hatred for his absence so far… is it guilt?

you don't know what to do with this abundance of luxury. you’ve lived a lifetime of pet mice from old caretakers, mice that died from the dust that creeped out of cracked floor boards and owls that haunted your window sills. a lifetime of reminiscing about a sobbing woman in your apartment, thinking about all your promises of providing a better life for her, only for her to die in front your eyes. a lifetime of wondering why mommy didn’t come back. why daddy's never there. who daddy even is.

someone else should have it. someone else should have the option to ask the butler for a piece of chocolate pastry at an odd time. to know about their father after countless days of not knowing him. to feel pretty in new dress suits after years of wearing the same two sets of clothes every week.

someone who deserves it more.

your sister.

you miss her.

small events make you change too fast for even your own liking. small things made you so desperately attached to your big sister, small things made you so frightened, so ill, to try to talk to brothers who barely knew you only by your shadow. small things made you tolerate your father more, and mourn the fact you couldn't ever connect to him the way the others did.

small, small things. that troubeled you too much, made you decide it was time to leave. running away from reality in the comfort of your mind when you zone out, is not much different from physically running away, right? troublesome things are not worth the trouble. so you'll run away, and you'll be free. of duties you were never given.

yet another one of gotham’s teenage misfortunes. who leaves a home of riches with a light mind, with the desires of soaring through lost years in gotham like the daftest of pigeons, with no worries or vows. they leave a home of blood and bonds with a heavy heart, lamenting that this time, the choice to leave a permanent, forever family lay on them. they left unspoken conversations unsaid, and imaginary memories within their imagination.

...but, these conversations, these fake memories, become the objects of obsession, for those left behind.

where's the little crow who stalked the corridors, whose naive, cloudy eyes watched from behind walls?

alfred, where's (name)?

INTERACTIONS AND REBLOGS VV APPRECIATED !! incase it was unclear, the sections jump around in the timeline. i did want to leave it to reader interpretation, but since this is the footer, there's no harm in explaining. "you have three brothers..." and "your patterned quilt does little..." are interchangeable within the plot. both are placed after tim's given the mantle of robin, but before jason's re-entry as the red hood. the last part however, is well after both, and damian's entry. anyway you can consider this entry as like, a vague plot summary? there's a lot that happens in between and after, most of the story is about after, but i like setting the ground for this stuff.

once again, if you are interested in the series, do interact! comments, reblogs, etc are so appriciated, to anyone who posts on tumblr! i'll try to get the next entry in soon, but i can't confirm anything!

thank you for reading!!

#saria's 💤 writing #saria 💤 says #'25 run: crow choir #batfam x reader #dc x reader #neglected reader

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princesssmars · 1 month ago

Text

thinking some more on this idea of caitvi x high femme reader <3

nsfw. fxfxf relationship + smut. reader is ofc high femme, portrayed as wearing feminine clothes, wearing makeup, etc. switch reader, normally tops but switches caitvi. oral and fingering (cait receiving), mentions of reader and vi receiving.

wc : 2.262

"darling i really don't think we should be- oh, oh..."

"come on, caity, i cant help it, you looked so pretty."

you knew you would be in big trouble for this later, but you knew it would be so worth it.

you loved your girlfriends, truly, you did. there was an unbreakable bond between the three of you after these few years spent loving and crying and laughing together, and each day you woke up feeling like the luckiest woman on the planet.

but sometimes you just loved to push them.

your previous partners had been rather... uncompromising, when it came to your dramatic style. they didn't understand how you managed to wear makeup nearly every day, why you bothered wearing such bright and girly outfits, not to mention the maintenance costs just for your hair.

but when you met caitlyn and violet it just seemed to click. caitlyn had grown up around the upper echelon, already accustomed to the intense grooming and pampering that went into your looks.

vi had seen it done, was used to living around and with people who had to get crafty to upkeep with the latest trends, but she hadn't seen it done to your scale. you could still remember the first time you slept over and the bewildered but curious expression she wore when witnessing your extensive skincare routine and the process of wrapping up your hair for the night.

"you're not exhausted after all that?"

"why, are your propositioning me?"

"well i wasn't but now i am-"

yet no matter what, they remained completely supportive of your lifestyle. they helped move in all of your pink and pastel furniture and knick-knacks into their shared apartment, caitlyn routinely buying you your favorite flowers to decorate the space. you even somehow managed to rope the two of them into attending a pilates class with you, barely holding in your amusement when you returned home, only for the both of them to flop onto the couch.

but as selfish as it sounded, you really loved when they paid for your stuff.

vi had more of a hands-off off at first when it came to your beauty and upkeep, sending you a quick cash-app payment every other week and telling you to 'do whatever it is that makes you always look so pretty, and send me a few photos after'.

you had attempted to include her in the process of it all more, showing her a lost of nail shapes and styles and asking which she thought would look best on you.

"soooo, what do you think?"

"uhhhh...whichever you like best."

"cmon, vi!" you groan, nudging her shoulder with yours.

"alright, alright! then how about...these ones?" her finger points to the screen, hovering above the first shape.

"vi, that's 'natural', that's what my nails already look like!" you groan.

"and they're pretty, just like you are." she presses a comedic and sloppy fat kiss to your cheek, giggling when you squeal about her messing up your makeup.

you decide on your own, hiding your nails after your appointment until you drag her into your bedroom, laying her down on the bed and gently commanding her to stay in place. she's excited at first, cocky smile gracing her face as she watches you remove your clothes, until she spots them.

she never thought of herself as the most possessive person, but seeing your fuschia colored fingers tugging down your panties and dragging them up and down your cunt, your wetness visible even from the other side of the bed.

you wore that nail color often after that, always with the knowledge that it'd end up with vi's face buried in your pussy as your hands gripped onto her hair, begging and thrashing as she kept begging for you to cum just one more time. if you were lucky she'd even let you rub her clit until it was nearly unbearable, the sight of your bright pink nails bringing her to a hot release making it all that more intense.

caitlyn, on the other hand, understood your beauty practices quite well. she had been born and raised in a world where appearances were everything, so she wasn't at all surprised by your constantbeauty and fashion regimens. she would even participate on occasion, both of you helping each other with your daily makeup looks and planning spa days so you could relax together.

and, when she was feeling extra indulgent, she sponsored your extravagant shopping sprees. you could confidently say a fourth of your closet was paid for by your girlfriend, the blue haired woman dismissing your unserious insistence that you could pay for your own things with a wave of her hand, a kiss to your cheek and a firm 'get in the car, love." before you were both off.

but just because she had control over the spending didn't mean she had control over you.

when it came to your sex life, you were definitely a bit of a princess. it wasn't like you didn't enjoy watching your butch and femme fall apart underneath or above you, but when they constantly insisted on bringing you to your peaks first it wad hard to flip the tide over the two of them.

but you had noticed the shift in caitlyn as soon as you woke up, how her long limbs held tighter to you to silently persuade you to stay in bed just a little bit longer, how she stayed shoulder to shoulder with you in the kitchen while she prepared some morning tea for the both of you, and how her face seemed to flush when you asked her to come into the first dressing room with you.

caitlyn was feeling needy, you were feeling horny, and there was a victoria's secret just down the way of the mall. was there a better combination?

"let's go in here, cait. i still need some new bras after a certain someone we know tore some of mine off too roughly."

caitlyn giggled at the memory of your girlfriend ruining your underwear, but you could feel her arm tense under the hold of your hands.

"if you say so, my love. you know i'll buy you whatever you need or want."

"awww you're too sweet to me. but i think i'm gonna need you to come try them on with me."

"you cant be serious."

"please, caity? for me?"

and when your hands came up to either side of her face and brought it down just the slightest bit, standing on your toes so you could press a slow kiss to her lips, you already knew she wouldn't be able to say no.

"well, i suppose if it's what you need..."

it was just too easy. just as easy as it was to pick out some matching bras that you knew would look great on the both of you, and just as easy as it was to sneak caitlyn into your dressing room and get her like this.

"darling please, i don't think i can, f-fuck-"

your response is muffled by your mouth being buried into her cunt, tongue wiggling around inside her hole until her hand is coming down to your head and digging into your hair. for a second, you think about how cute it is that she's having a miniature dilemma about her pleasure, at one moment yanking you away before pushing you right back into her.

you decide to test her by lifting your face away from her pussy, already yearning for her taste to be back in your mouth but settling for licking off the remnants of it that sit around your lips.

"c'mon, caity. aren't you and vi always telling be to 'be good and take it'? what, can dish it but you cant take it?"

a high-pitched whine bubbles out of the brit before she's raising one hand to brush her hair out of her face and the other hand up to her mouth, one knuckle between her teeth as she helplessly tries to muffle her moans lest you both get caught and banned from the store.

your teasing wasn't pulled out of thin air, though. you'd need multiple hands to count the amount of times cait had brushed off your pleads and mewls when she insisted on bringing you to come just five one more time, to be a good girl for her and vi and listen without crying.

it was completly empowering and sent a rush of heat to your head and your cunt to see just how badly she took the roles being reversed.

cait's never been the quickest to bring over the edge, requiring a bit more finesse and care before she had a lengthy and powerful release. neither you nor vi minded it, always delighted to see her shake and bite her lip as she gradually felt the pleasure you'd brought her increase over the span of a beautifully drawn-out minute. but right now, you genuinely needed her to come, because yeah, you really weren't trying to get kicked out of this store before you got to buy your cute new sets.

so you start to work her even harder, gently adding your fingers to the mix as your manicured nails curled and prodded inside of her tight heat. you immediately noticed the shift, how her long legs start to tremble and her breath starts to stutter while still in her chest. in desperation her hand that's not muffling her sounds comes back down to your hair and digs in, pushing you back and forth as she downright fucks your face.

and oh, do you take all of it, tongue sticking out for her to grind into as your eyes look up at her, because if one person loves to lock eyes during sex, it's caitlyn kiramman. you make eye contact as her eyebrows scrunch up and she mindlessly starts nodding since she's unable to whisper out any pleas for you to keep going, like you'd even think of stopping now.

your fingers crook and push against that spot deep inside her, thrusting in and out as your other hand circles at her clit, happy little giggles ringing from your throat when she finally comes in your mouth. she fucks into your mouth harder, eyes squeezing shut as her hand that was in your hair slaps on the door to hold herself up and her orgasm absolutely wrecks her.

it's a beautiful and delightful minute of having your gorgeous girlfriend release and shake as she tries her hardest to be as quiet as possible, ending when she un-gracefully plops down onto the dressing room seat.

you peacefully lick her release off of your fingers, making sure to clean off whatever is left on your face before fixing up your clothes and hair. by the time you finish, you turn to cait, only to see her still looking downright shell-shocked. you giggle when she wistfully blinks up at you as you carefully move some streaks of her navy hair from her face, pressing a lingering kiss to her bitten lips and smiling when she follows your mouth after you pull away.

"you look so pretty all fucked out for me, caity."

she groans, resting her head in your shoulder. "please don't rub it in. you're so...tempting, do you know that? i swear one day you'll be the death of me."

"well i sure hope not, that means i wouldn't get to make you tremble like a leaf for me again."

after a few more teases and helping make sure caitlyn looks and walks presentable enough to leave, you gleefully wrap your hands around her arm and head to the checkout counter, placing the items on the counter and perkily swiping caits card over the reader.

when you return home you feel like you're floating on air, skipping through the doorway before squealing and jumping into vi's arms when you see her standing in the kitchen.

"woah there, muffin. looks like someone had a good day, huh?"

you nod up at her, taking a glance back at cait who totally not suspiciously rushes into the bedroom with your bags still in her hands.

vi raises an eyebrow, looking at your girlfriend's retreating body before turning back to you, waiting for your answer.

and yeah, you could play coy, spare caitlyn the embarrassment, and pretend she was just feeling tired from a long day out shopping. but when the memory of her pretty face looking down at you buried in her cunt runs across your mind again, you decide you'll take your chances.

"caitlyn took me shopping so i ate her out in the dressing room."

vi's staring at you with her mouth agape, at first unbelieving, before she hears a loud accented groan from deeper in the apartment that only confirms your statement. she begins trailing after you when you start to head into the bedroom to take a relaxing bath after such a long day.

"oh, so this is what i miss after passing on your bra shopping? you two better invite me next time, and i mean it. i'll cram all of us in a dressing room if I have to."

#yeeeeah #need that femme #need that butch #arcane #arcane x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman smut #vi #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi smut #caitvi #caitvi x reader

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alisonsfics · 2 months ago

Text

what about me?

pairing: bucky barnes x ex-gf!ex-avenger!reader

summary: as an ex-avenger and the ex-girlfriend of james bucky barnes, you’re shocked when you see the new avengers announcement on tv. so, you decide to pay avengers towers a visit to reminisce, until you run into bucky. then you both realize you’ve been holding some grudges.

word count: 2k

warnings: ⚠️thunderbolts* spoilers⚠️ angst between you and bucky

You were having a peaceful start to your day. Or as peaceful as it could be. The past couple years had really messed you up. You’d basically lost everything. The Avengers. Your friends. Your boyfriend. Your home.

Nothing had felt the same since then.

You tried to start over. You weren’t exactly built for the real world. You had telekinetic abilities. Your father was a successful scientist, but after you were born, he became captivated by the idea of superheroes. Then, he started to experiment on you, accidentally giving you abilities.

When you became an Avenger, you learned to harness your powers. You also blossomed into a great fighter, training with both Steve and Natasha.

Your skill set was very specific. And it didn’t exactly suit a corporate life, or any kind of regular life.

A couple of months ago, you got a call from Sam, whom you hadn’t spoken to since Tony’s funeral. He said it was about Ross going out of control. You were happy to help, and for the first time in years, you felt like you were doing the right thing with your life.

But nothing had happened since then. You started hanging out with Sam more often, craving any tie back to your previous life.

That’s where you were right now, out for lunch with Sam.

“So, is our new President showing any possibility of turning into a raging Hulk of a new color?” You joked, earning a chuckle from Sam. He quickly shook his head.

“Nope. All clear, but if it happens again, trust me, you’ll be the first one I call.” He told you. The thought of another president turning into a Hulk shouldn’t have comforted you, but it did. Because it meant having a purpose again.

“How have you been? You’ve seemed a little distracted since the whole Ross thing.” Sam asked, switching into counselor mode.

You laughed to yourself, thinking about the best response that would make Sam worry the least. “I don’t know, Sam. I feel like I’ve forgotten what being okay feels like.” You said, honestly.

“Just a professional opinion, maybe it’s cause I’m the only person you talk to. You can’t isolate yourself.” He mentioned. You switched your gaze to the ground. Of course you knew he was right. It wasn’t the first time you’d thought about it.

But all your friends, your family, were scattered around the globe or dead. You were alone.

Before you could respond, you both heard commotion around you the patio of the restaurant. You could hear the sound of phones dinging all the way down the street. Hushed whispers grew louder.

You felt heads turn towards you and Sam.

“Sam, what’s happening?” You asked, quietly. He glanced down at his phone. “Oh, shit,” he mumbled under his breath, before flipping around the screen for you.

You immediately recognized Val, and then you noticed Bucky. He was bruised and bleeding and standing behind her. The headline scrolled across the bottom: “Welcome the New Avengers after NY Attack.”

People started to rush towards you both. As two ex-Avengers, everyone wanted to know why you both weren’t on this new Avengers group.

“C’mon,” Sam said, quickly standing up and rushing towards you. He tapped a button on his watch and his flight pack appeared on his back. He grabbed you, and you wrapped your arms around him.

Your feet lifted off the ground as Sam flew you both to a nearby rooftop. You stepped away from him as soon as your feet hit the concrete.

“You alright?” He asked, watching you begin to pace. The words “New Avengers” repeated over and over in your head. And the image of Bucky bruised.

Sam repeated your name, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I don’t understand. There was an attack? Why didn’t he call me? Or you? He could’ve been hurt. He’s like family to me, and he’s just moving on? Why do we all act like the Avengers didn’t happen? I mean, everyone is moving on, and I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know who I am if I’m not an Avenger. And I just— I need to go home, Sam. I really need to think.” You rambled.

Sam nodded, understanding where you were coming from. “Come on, I’ll bring you home.” He said.

You spent the next two weeks sitting in your apartment, basically wasting away. You’d always struggled to cope with change, but you felt yourself being tugged back to the good old days.

Then, one day it was different. You woke up and felt yourself being pulled out the front door. You didn’t know where you were going until you got there.

You stood on the cold street, looking up at the tall building: Avenger’s Tower. It had been your home for years, and now it was a building you hardly recognized.

You walked up towards the front gate. The security guard immediately recognized you and brought you inside. He gave you a security pass, so you could freely roam the building.

You took the elevator up to the top floors where most of the rooms were. It was a path you’d taken so many times before.

You stepped out of the elevator and were met by a million memories. Memories you hadn’t thought of in years came rushing back to you.

A loud metal door slammed shut, bringing you back to reality. You jumped and turned towards the noise.

Then, you saw him.

Bucky Barnes.

“Hi,” you stuttered. His eyes met yours. You saw his eyes soften and the weight lift off his shoulders. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, breathlessly.

“I don’t know. I think I just wanted to see you.” You admitted.

He walked towards you, closing the distance. “It’s nice to see you, really. I’ve been thinking about you recently.” He said, sincerely.

“It’s definitely not because you moved back into the place we used to live. Don’t think that would make you think of me at all.” You quipped, sarcastically. A soft smile spread across his face.

“It’s been too long.” He said, his voice only coming out at a whisper. He felt every memory of you come rushing back to him at once. He remembered movie nights with the rest of the team. And the first time he kissed you, after a mission. And sneaking out of training to be with you.

“Yeah, it’s been a couple years. Y’know, since the world almost ended and you dumped me a few months later.” You said, your tone coming out harsh.

You had really missed Bucky. But you were also mad at him because it was his fault that you’d had to miss him. He’d gone radio silent for years, and you lost your best friend.

Bucky wore a pained expression. “I’m sorry about the way I handled everything. I was in a really bad place with Steve leaving and everything.” He apologized.

“C’mon, Bucky. Of course I understood that, but what you didn’t understand was that my world was also turned upside down. So many of our friends died or left, but I thought I’d always be able to rely on you. I loved you so much, and you left me like it was nothing.” You argued.

Each word felt like a cut to Bucky’s heart. He’d never wanted to hurt you.

“It wasn’t nothing. Do you really think that wasn’t the hardest thing I ever had to do?” He shot back.

“Then why did you do it? Nobody forced you into that, Bucky. And if you regretted it, why haven’t you reached out to me since then?” You asked. Bucky was growing visibly frustrated. He ran his fingers through his hair. You noticed the way the light bounced off his metal arm.

“I can’t do this. I can’t have this conversation right now.” He huffed, turning away from you and starting to walk in the opposite direction.

Before your brain could even process it, you were yelling “Yeah, go run back to your new friends and leave me behind with all the problems of your past” at him.

He stood still before slowly turning back towards you. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“You’re talking about being sorry that you abandoned me before and now you’re doing it again.” You accused.

Bucky scoffed and shook his head. “Well, you should know a thing or two about abandoning people. I heard about you and Sam taking on the Red Hulk.” He snapped.

“What does that have to do with anything? I helped out a friend.” You said, defending yourself.

“Neither of you thought to call me to help, and you know I would have been there in a minute. And you didn’t exactly show up to help me when the Sentry almost destroyed all of New York.” He said, finally letting it out even though he promised himself he wouldn’t. He knew it was petty, but he couldn’t help that he’d been so affected by you helping out Sam and not him.

“I didn’t show up because I didn’t know it was happening. And you know how I found out? I found out while also learning that apparently there was a New Avengers team.” You argued.

“That wasn’t my idea, I swear. That was all Valentina. I was just as surprised as you were. But why do you care so much if I’m on a new team?” He asked you, and you realized how close you both were standing.

He was close enough that you could smell hints of cedar wood from his cologne. You focused your gaze on the floor to avoid looking him in the eyes. “Cause it means you’re moving on and leaving the Avengers in the past. And what about me? What if you decide to leave me in the past too?” You asked, softly.

His metal fingertips grazed your hip. His touch was soft and unsure, like he was waiting for you to pull away. When you stayed still, he used his other hand to pull your chin up, so you were looking at him.

“I actually asked the team if you could join because it wasn’t the same without you. I promise, I am not leaving you in the past.” He whispered.

He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. You leaned into his touch, and it was like he never left. His arm snaked around your waist, while your fingers found their natural place weaving through his hair.

The kiss was soft but also hungry. Bucky had missed having you in his arms, and he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon. A warmth started in your chest and spread throughout your body.

Bucky's grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer to him until there wasn’t any space between the two of you.

His lips explored yours, taking the time to refamiliarize himself with everything about you: the taste of your strawberry lip gloss, the way you smiled as he kissed you, and the way that your fingers tugged on his hair.

Bucky nipped at your bottom lip, smirking cockily when you lightly gasped. “I’ve missed you, sweets.” He mumbled against your lips.

You both jumped when you heard someone clear their throat down the hall.

“I see you’ve got a friend, Barnes.” The man scoffed, smirking at Bucky.

“Walker, this is my old friend—” Bucky started to introduce you to the man.

“I know exactly who that is and all about your friendship.” Walker responded, smirking and using air quotes around the word “friendship.”

“Now, who do we have here?” Another voice came from behind you. You and Bucky spun around, his arm wrapping around your waist until your back was pressed up against his chest.

A blonde woman with light blue eyeliner under her eyes stared back at you. She smirked at you and Bucky. “Well, we’d love to stay and chat, except we wouldn’t. So, we’ll see you guys later.” Bucky said, steering you towards the stairs.

“You’ll have to introduce me at some point.” You whispered in Bucky's ear.

“That’s a later problem, darling. We have some catching up to do.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

taglist: @laurakirsten0502 @miraclesoflove @nathaliabakes @millipop18 @lillyssh-tposts @shyinadarkplace @vanteguccir @missroro @guiltandguitarstrings @sw33t-cupid @ice-dtae @leyannrae @sia2raw @nyx2021 @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @shyconversationalbookworm @shadowhuntyi @iamavailablesstuff @ruzannetheseahorse @superdeath @wandaswifeyforlifey @spookyqueen @mcuswhore @astheskycries @n3ssm0nique @peakascum @cjand10 @namsey1987 @supernaturalstilinski @stephv213 @sunwardsss @studentville-struggles @impossibleapricotlampbat @infjkiki @weirdfishy @lickmymelaninn @eternally-timeless @andreasworlsboring101 @glassesandthunderthighs @holding-on-to-my-youth @fanofalltheficsx @spiderstyles04 @mostly-marvel-musings @madisondelstan @spookyparadisesheep @beyondthesefourwalls @basicfangirlx @rivirox @i-wish-i-knew-what-i-was @reniescarlett @multiplums @alotofrandomfangirling @bbl32 @bob-fucks @stressydepressyandlemonzesty @faykyrie @dorothea-hwldr @cherryyxbabyy @lovethemfictionalboys @starsdancegirl @akumune @harrysthiccthighss @warriormirkwood @one-sweet-gubler @narliesstuff @bibissparkles @stupiidfrogs @navs-bhat @marvelcasey05 @velyssaraptor

Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my imagines or for a specific character/fandom!!

#bucky barnes #thunderbolts #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x ex!reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagine #thunderbolts spoilers #thunderbolts fic #thunderbolts*

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iinthehexcore · 7 months ago

Text

talks and views

summary: You and Steb spent more and more time together. He even asked for your recommendations - but he would only get them if he gave you a review afterward. part 1 - pages and books

content: our favorite fishman steb, more scenes outside the library, hopefully it will be all fluffy and sweet! not familiar with actual names of stuff so forgive me for that </3

wordcount: 3,309

a/n: thank you all so much for all the love on my previous steb fic! glad to see so many steb enjoyers!!! this idea came from @cae-core so big thanks to them! hope you all like it :)

⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

'My favorite librarian.'

Even through your feverish state, you could still hear his voice. Thankfully, the medicine he had so caringly put together for you worked wonders. After two days, you felt as good as you always did - maybe even better. His favorite librarian? It made your cheeks heat up even thinking about it. The first few sentences that he had spoken to you - something you had already dreamt of hearing - were so sincere, so sweet. You thought about Steb saying the words so often that the sentence was nearly engraved on your brain.

That next Tuesday, you were strolling through the library again, a stack of books in your arms as you put them all in their original spot. You could tell that certain classes had exams coming up - all of them came from the same row of bookcases. Only a few of the tables in the library were taken up with students working hard, but you were no exception. You had your own fair share of essays that needed to be finished. It was your last year at the Academy, and you hoped you could at least still work at the library after graduation. However, you had changed your work schedule - only one day instead of the two (and sometimes three) you did before. It left you with a little bit of time to study in your own dorm. Originally, your boss scheduled you for Sunday - that way, you would have enough time to focus on school on weekdays. You begged to switch with one of your coworkers, saying Tuesday would be a better fit, and thankfully, he was fine with it.

All the books were now neatly placed on the shelves, and as you looked at the clock, you realized there were only two hours left until closing. Time had flown by so fast - you barely even realized it was this late.

The heavy doors opened again, a gust of wind flowing through the library as you turned around. And there, at the other side of the library, walked Steb. His posture was as straight as ever, and a big bag filled with books on his side. Last week, much to his dismay, he had loaned a new list of books on Wednesday. But now, a day early, he stood in the cozy library again, another laundry list of books tucked into his pocket. He did not have a big list every single week - for a few weeks, he only had one or two books. This week though, he had his bag full. If anyone else in the library would take hold of his bag, it would probably drop to the floor from its weight.

"Steb!"

He could feel his ears twitch as he turned around, seeing you walk over to him. The table filled with students did not even blink, much too distracted by their work as their heads rested in their hands. With a deep breath, he nodded, opening his bag as you hopped behind the counter, already placing your journal and pen in front of Steb.

It was a wonder that the sparkly pink pen survived as long as it did. Not only did Steb use it to scribble down sentences, but you also used it to doodle, do your homework, and even make grocery lists. But, with every drop of ink now on paper instead of in the cartridge, you decided it was time for a new pen. Back then, you had bought the pink one because the color reminded you of sweet candy and flowers. But this time, instead of leaning to the pinkish tones again, something else caught your eye.

A pen, silver shimmers with a blue color underneath. At the time, you did not quite understand why you wanted it so bad, but now, as you looked into Steb's eyes, you understood.

He took every single book out of his bag, placing them on the cart that stood at the side of the counter. You had told him before that it was no problem for you to do it, but he waved you off. 'Too heavy', he wrote in your notepad. Last week, his list was filled with books on either side of the paper. But now, the slip was small, and all it said was 'Any recommendations?'

You hold it in your hands, your eyebrows shooting up as you looked back at the man.

"My recommendations?"

He nodded, adjusting the beret that said atop his head. Your recommendations? Well, you still had the mountain of 'to be read' books. Surely, something in there must be to his liking!

"Well, you came to the right person!" You placed the paper on your desk, turning around, "Let me see..."

Steb's eyes fell to the pen in front of him, an amused look on his face, combined with the tiniest smile. He breathed in deeply as you rummaged through the bookcase behind you.

"I sure hope you don't have a maximum," you said, turning around with a stack of books in your arms, "Let me see here..."

With a big 'oof', you dropped them on your desk, leaning against the counter as you put the books on it one by one.

"An autobiography, history... Cooking, if you are into that. Oceans," you chuckled, "And this one!"

'Piltover: The City of Progress. Most beautiful architecture!'

"I can't help but keep coming back to this one. I just can't believe how beautiful Piltover actually is," you smiled, placing it on top of the mountain, "I wish I could see all these buildings once! I mean, some of them I have heard of before, but wow, imagine sitting here!"

You flipped through the book, stopping at your favorite page. On it were multiple pictures of the Piltover Council building. It showed the views from the roof, the hallways that looked out over the city - even every minuscule detail down to the door handles. To Steb, this was not too special - it was his workplace. He wandered here many times before. But to see you so enchanted by merely the pictures made him feel something deep inside.

You let out a deep sigh, closing the book with a smile before looking up at the taller figure in front of you.

"Well, these would be my picks! Any that pique your interest?"

Steb's gloved finger tapped the Piltover book and you excitedly nodded, grabbing the form to fill all his information in. By now, you did not even need to ask him for the simple and basic information anymore.

"Good choice! I would love to hear which one was your favorite!"

And so, he left.

You did see him on your day off again though. After finishing your classes, you immediately left, papers still in your hands as you rushed down the stairs in front of the building. You did not necessarily have to rush, but the sooner you could go to your favorite cafe, the better. With - what would hopefully be the last - essay you finished, you officially wrapped up your last year at the university. In celebration, you felt like you deserved your favorite drink and a treat.

But, as you stuffed your paper in your bookbag and rounded the corner, you saw sights that were all too familiar. Yet, the combination was something unexpected.

Steb, in his full officer uniform complete with a helmet instead of the beret, walking out of your favorite cafe with a small, paper bag in his hands. You raised an eyebrow as you quickly walked toward him.

"Hello, Officer!"

You chuckled as he looked up confused, not expecting your voice to be there, much less to be calling him 'officer'. He had gotten so used to hearing his name from you that this felt unusual. Thankfully, the street was nearly empty with the exception of Caitlyn and Maddie who stood at the far end of it.

"I didn't know you liked this cafe!"

You stopped walking when you reached him, fiddling with the hem of your academy uniform. He swallowed as he nodded. Well, he didn't like the cafe. At least, he had never gone there before.

"It's for you."

His smooth voice filled your ears. His speaking voice was something that you wish you could hear every single day. Not that he had never spoken out loud - but every single time he did made it feel like fireworks going off in your chest. Steb blinked once, the scales on his cheeks twitching as he held out the paper bag to you.

"Vanilla strawberry cake, fruit tea. For finishing your essay."

Your hands stopped pulling at the fabric of your vest as you looked at his outstretched hand and back to his face.

"Was planning to come toward the Academy. Had not expected you here."

"No... No, I -" You were at a loss for words, "Yeah... I was... walking."

With a raised eyebrow, Maddie looked at you and Steb.

"Is he... talking?" she nearly laughed at her friend - she had barely heard his voice before, "To the librarian, no less!"

Caitlyn looked back over her shoulder, seeing the officer standing right next to you.

"Leave him be, Officer Nolan."

He nearly chuckled at your flushed state, taking hold of your hand to wrap it around the handle of the bag itself. You were unable to keep your eyes off of him, taking in each and every detail of his sparkly, silvery blue eyes.

"Tuesday?"

You only nodded in response, your hand still tingling from where he held you as you watched him turn and walk toward his colleagues. It was impossible to keep all the giggles inside as you just skipped back to your dorm, a big smile on your face as you placed the paper bag on your table.

It was a surprise to even see him today, let alone see him holding your favorite treats. After throwing your bag to the side, you sat down in your chair, humming as you opened the bag. Inside was the tea and the cake, but also another object.

'Thought of you. - Steb'

A small booklet with even more pictures of the view over Piltover, taken from countless different buildings. You nearly dropped the cup of hot tea as you slowly stood up from your chair, flipping through the pages. Piltover Academy, the Councilor building, the library. During sunset, during the night, in both summer and winter.

You looked over your shoulder, the (slightly crumpled up) note next to the cake. He had thought of you? It made your heart jump as you ran your fingers over his neat handwriting. No matter how many times you had seen it, it felt just as special as the first time.

This... friendship came so unexpectedly, yet you wouldn't change it for the world. Steb, his stoic yet friendly face - a constant in the chaotic world you lived in. He made your heart beat faster. Was that something that friends did?

You liked to think that you knew him pretty well by now - when his ears twitched or his scales fluttered, you could point out exactly why. He did not talk often, and when he did, he was fairly straight to the point, though his smooth voice never made it sound malicious. No, instead you replayed those moments over and over, making sure to never forget what he sounded like.

And, as you could see by the contents on the table, he knew you pretty well, too. This was not the first time he had brought you something or that he remembered a small fact you had told him.

Tuesday.

While walking through your hall and toward the door, you glanced at the bulletin board that you had hung on the wall. Receipts, pictures, written notes. One last smile as you saw '- Steb' before slinging your bag over your shoulders and walking out.

You had not seen Steb since he gifted you the tea and cake, but you knew he would be at the library today. Every single Tuesday, exactly at 3pm. So, after organizing all the books, you patiently waited.

No one was in the library today. The weather was not great, even with the sun shining.

You had picked up another book, sitting at the window with a cup of cold water, sipping it as you turned a page. The opening and closing of the door grabbed your attention as you immediately looked up, seeing Steb walking in with a bag slung over his shoulders.

No uniform today. No beret hiding his hair and no gloves covering his hands. Instead, he wore something much more casual. A buttoned shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark blue pants, and simple boots. In his hand, he held a jacket. Huh, he must have been warm, then.

"Hey!"

A small smile formed on his face as he nodded, walking closer to the window before pushing one of the chairs back, sitting down next to you.

"I can't believe you made it today," you hummed, leaning over to pour him a glass of water, "The weather doesn't really call for it. Though, I don't mind it much. Actually quite like the clouds!"

Steb glanced around the library, seeing that it was completely empty, before looking at the glass of water.

"Thank you," he spoke, nodding, "I have my day off."

He took a sip, enjoying the cold of the liquid as his ears moved back.

"When are you finished?"

"Not long from now," you closed the book, "It's already getting late. Around an hour, maybe?"

The man nodded, his hand still wrapped around the glass.

"Can I walk you home?"

"Are you sure?" you furrowed your brows, looking back at him, "It's a long wait."

"I can read in the meanwhile. It's already getting dark out now."

"You don't mind?"

He shook his head.

"Need help putting anything away?"

So, for the rest of the hour, you and Steb roamed around the library, putting away the last few books. You pointed out some of your favorite books that you had read as Steb listened, sometimes asking a question or two just to see you light up again. As you looked over at the clock, you saw that it was only five minutes till closing. This entire time, no one had come in, so what were those extra minutes?

You put on your coat as Steb had already taken your bag, slinging it over his own shoulder before following you out. You made sure that the door was locked behind you before pushing the key into your pocket, walking next to the man.

It was quiet for a minute. Piltover had not been this empty for a while now. The weather was not quite perfect for a stroll, but even with the cold nipping at your fingertips, you still enjoyed it. Any minute spent with Steb was an enjoyable one.

"It seems like I have forgotten something," he spoke up, his voice as soft as a summer breeze, "Is it okay if we stop somewhere?"

"Of course, lead the way!"

He turned to his left as you followed, looking around as you tried to distract yourself from walking alongside the one person who seemed to always be on your mind. His cologne or perfume - whatever it was, it smelled good.

As the two of you stopped in front of a door at the side of a big building, he turned to you.

"Close your eyes?"

"I... what?"

"Do you trust me?"

You let out a chuckle, looking up at him.

"Steb, you can't just use that against me."

He silently raised an eyebrow which made you laugh even harder, nodding your head as you finally closed your eyes.

"Okay, okay!"

You felt his hand take hold of yours, hearing the door open and close back behind you. Where was he taking you? You heard buttons being clicked and doors sliding open as Steb softly tugged you along. Were you in an elevator? It dinged as you heard the doors again, the warm hand in yours slowly guiding you forward.

It was hard to keep your eyes closed as you so desperately wished to see what was so secret, but you trusted him. A gust of wind hit you in the face, making you gasp and nearly open your eyes, but Steb beat you to it. His hand quickly covered your eyes as his arm wrapped around your shoulder, taking small steps to get you exactly where he wanted. Then, after what felt like ten minutes of a secret mission, you felt his hands move.

"You can open them."

You blinked a few times, shaking your head as you looked at the view in front of you. With your mouth open and your eyes wide, you stepped forward, hands resting on the railing that was set in place.

There, right there, was Piltover. Every shimmering light that resembled a home, every streetlamp that lit up the way, the water in the far distance. All the pictures you had admired in the architecture book seemed to have sprung to life, moving right in front of your very eyes.

You could not believe it. Was this a gadget made by some scientists to make you experience your dreams? It was simply impossible to tear your eyes away from the sight, yet you did.

Right there, already looking at you with a tiny smile on his face, was Steb. Steb, the man who guided you up to this spot. Steb, the one who made your dreams a reality. Steb, who held your heart.

Steb, the one with his face dangerously close to yours.

Your eyes flickered from his lips to his sparkly eyes as you were simply unable to speak. Every single detail on his face seemed to have been crafted by only the most talented hands, and you nearly felt like you had been blessed to even see him.

Slowly, you inched closer, and somewhere in the middle, you touched.

Fireworks, the sun, sparkles, glimmers. All at once, they surrounded you. His hand softly placed on your cheek, his lips soft and warm. It was sweet, it was truly as if you had fallen asleep only to experience your biggest desire.

"How did you..." you whispered, softly pulling back yet still staying in his arms, "Where are we?"

"You asked for my favorite," he smiled, his eyes slightly crinkling, "This is it. Piltover's Councilor building."

And then you finally recognized it. The golden details, the dark blue accents, the tile floor. It was the Councilor building.

"Steb!" your mouth fell open again, your hand on his chest, "How did you sneak us in here!"

He snorted, shaking his head before turning his face to the skyline. He was serious - this was his favorite view from any Piltover building. Even if he was here more often than the usual person, he almost had a newfound appreciation for it. Be it formed from the book you had recommended him, or from the sparkles that would appear in your eyes whenever you looked up at it.

You also looked out to Piltover, your hands still holding onto one of his as you softly rested your head against his shoulder.

"Commander Kiramman authorized our access," he said, "I know you asked for me to tell you about my favorite from the book. What better than for me to show you?"

And so you stayed, watching over Piltover as Steb watched over you. That was, until your eyes could not keep themselves open anymore, sleep pulling at your sleeve yet you refused to leave. You did not want to - you wanted to stay here, with the view, and with Steb.

"It's time for you to sleep," he whispered, his thumb rubbing your hand.

"Come home with me?"

#arcane imagine #arcane #steb arcane #steb imagine #steb x reader #arcane fic #arcane x reader #steb

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melloeyed · 2 months ago

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More Gaslight District X Mom!Reader

(Mostly Ken x Wife!Reader Headcanons)

Warning: There are spicy parts in here!🔞

Part One

(A/N: I’m actually glad you guys liked the previous post, so I guess I’ll make another one! Man, so many people liked it-🫀🫀)

• You and Ken’s relationship was the perfect example of unhinged and wholesome. Two proud parents of a big, happy psychotic family. You both have never been more happier in your lives.

• You were always the calm to Ken’s storm. Whenever the gears would shift in Ken’s head, you would always be there to calm him down during his random wrathful outbursts.

• You always thought losing his temper was cute, but work was too hasty for him to flip shit every 5 seconds. Ken would always feel ashamed whenever his wife would calm him down whenever he got too wrathful.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! I SWEAR I’LL-!”

“Shh, Ken! You’re yelling again. The kids are sleeping!”

“…oh…sorry, honey.”

• Of course, you’re always there for your husband whenever he needs a hand. Being a father and a don of a mafia is never easy, so you’re always willing to switch places with Ken if it means that your hubby gets the rest that he deserves.

• Marrying Ken was the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you. In all of your undead years of living in The Gaslight District, you’ve never thought you’d find someone to finally complete you. Ken has always felt the same way.

• Your wedding night with him was absolutely unforgettable, too. Instead of saying wedding vows at a chapel, you and Ken completed your vows by bombing the building of the rivaling gangs. You still remember how the remains of the victims rained down upon you and Ken while you two kissed, nearly staining your wedding dress.

• The honeymoon was even better. You two nearly spent the entire day gushing over one another and loudly bumping hips (much to Mud’s dismay). In bed, in the car, on the kitchen table, in the shower, even on the floor. Ken was always rough with you and you loved it.

• Ken knows how much of a hold he has on you and he loves it. To his deep and attractive voice, his handsome strongfat body, and his loving personality. This delicious man leaves you weak to the knees with the littlest effort.

• You also tend to do the same to him, only unintentionally. Wearing his favorite perfume makes him more clingy to you than ever, soothing him with your sweet voice leaves him all flustered, and bending over while at work can guarantee that he’ll leave a hard smack on your ass.

• Ken has a secret little hobby of flustering you out of nowhere. Watching you perk up and blush by his words really strokes his ego.

“You know, Ken. Considering how much beefy you were back in the day I’m not surprised you stretched your old clothes out!”

“Heh, that’s not the only thing I’ve stretched out, hon...”

“O-Oh, my…”

• The last thing you expected was starting a family with Ken. Sure, kids are great and parenting was a beautiful yet, difficult thing, but you never really saw yourself being a mother, considering how violent your life is.

• Although it has been hard for you to decide, you immediately changed your mind when you first saw Breadhead and then Mel as babies. Two beautiful bundles of joy that you would destroy the world for.

• When Breadhead was first born, you and Ken were all over him. Your firstborn son, fresh out the oven, joyfully being held in a bundle by his new tearful parents.

“Oh, Ken! He’s perfect! Look at his cute little bread head…”

“I know, look at him! Our son! Our little roll of joy…”

• After you and Ken became parents, you began to stay behind at the Butcher Shop to take care of baby Breadhead. Ken and Mud were bummed out that you couldn’t go with them, but someone has to babysit.

• Your favorite memory of Breadhead is when he first ate a Rotling in one bite when he was 3. You still have a picture of that moment.

• Watching Breadhead grow up was a wild but enjoyable experience. From his first steps, his first word, and his first kill, you were nothing but a sweet and loving parent to him. Hence, why he became such a mama’s boy.

• But when Mel came into the family, so much has changed in your life. You weren’t fully aware what kind of bad blood Ken had with the Virtues and he never really wanted to talk about it. You remembered how shocked you were when Ken arrived at the shop with the human baby in his arms.

• Like others, you were fearful of the legend of the human child that would end The Black Hand’s curse of immortality throughout The Gaslight District. You first had thoughts of getting rid of Mel out of panic, but you then stopped yourself after seeing her for the first time.

• You remembered how her small pale head poked out of the bundle she was wrapped in with her precious round red eyes looking up at you in wonder. This beautiful human baby girl gazed at you with no fear regardless of your deathly appearance and immediately your panic was replaced with love.

• Ken was unsure whether or not he could trust you with the secret that Mel is the human, but when you slowly walked up to him, with you’re eyes glued to baby Mel, relief was what he nearly expected.

“(Y/N), please just-“

“…She’s beautiful…”

“…I knew I could trust you.”

• Words couldn’t describe how relieved and overjoyed Ken was when you agreed to keep the secret with him without hesitation. You two both knew that he couldn’t carry that burden alone and you completely moved by the fact that he believed that he could trust you with such a thing. You and Ken became much closer while raising Mel.

• Unlike Breadhead, Mel would always want to spend more time with Ken, but unfortunately he would always go on missions with Mud and Breadhead so she was mostly stuck with you in the Butcher Shop.

• Mel barely admits it, but she thinks you’re way cooler than Ken. As much as a daddy’s girl she is she can’t get enough of you being badass. Especially the time where she watched you traumatize the hell out of a creep.

• Ken absolutely loves it when you and Mel have precious mother-daughter moments together. Nothing makes his heart burst more than seeing his two favorite girls having a great time together.

• Ken nearly cried tears of joy when he watched you two slaughter a gang of Rotlings trying to rob the store with absolute glee together. When the entire gang was practically mincemeat, you and Mel’s similar deranged laughs echoed through shop as Ken heart melted at the sight of his wife and daughter together.

• Like mother, like daughter, right?

“Ken, are you crying, mate?”

“With pride, Mud…with pride…”

• Even though your marriage is perfect, it’s not unheard of you two getting into fights. Usually it happens when it comes to regarding Mel’s safety from The Gaslight District. Of course, it would never get physical though.

• The outcome of these fights would never be pretty, but in the end, you and Ken would always make up and apologize for the conflict you two put each other through. Parenting is never easy, but you two always needed each other to keep things straight.

“Look, (Y/N)…about the things I’ve said before I-“

“No, no. It’s alright, Ken. I know you want what’s best for Mel. It’s just that…it’s really difficult…”

“I know. But, all I know is that we’re together in this and I know you have my back…”

• You and Ken would always love to go back on old memories together. You two would usually sit on the couch looking at old pictures of the family and talk about your favorite old times together.

• Mel, Breadhead, and Mud would often join in on these conversations. Mud really took time to remember each and every moment you, him and Ken spent together. Of course, he would always poke fun at you two being gushy over one another.

• And everyday, you and Ken always take the time out of your day’s to remind each other how much you love one another. You two would usually find romantic ways to pass up the time whenever you two were alone, either in a sweet or spicy way.

•You can’t imagine yourself being with another man other than Ken. Your life has changed so much for the better with your amazing husband. As for Ken, he feels the happiest man on earth whenever he sees you every day. Proposing to you was the best choice he’s ever made in his life.

• As the killer couple of The Smiling Dead, you two have made quite a reputation together. Every Rotling in the Gaslight District knew better than to oppose one of you two, knowing that you have each other’s back always. A mafia couple so strong that not even death could bring you two part.

#horror #the gaslight district x reader #gaslight district x reader #the gaslight district mel #ken the butcher x reader #tgd breadhead #breadhead #the gaslight district mud #tgd x reader #tgd ken #tgd mud #tgd melancholy #tgd #mel the gaslight district

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haologram · 4 months ago

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wish you were here 🪻 j.ww [m]

synopsis: you don't do long-distance. you never have, and you never will. not unless it's jeon wonwoo - and those chances are slim, as it is. genre: situationship au ; fluff, angst, suggestive themes. pairing: situationship!jeon wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 6.5k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, alcohol. drunken confessions, pining. kissing...that's about it. what to listen to: completely - jaehyun ; love of my life - harry styles ; sleepwalking - james arthur ; can't get you out of my head - johnny goth ; wish you were here - superm. author's note: after receiving that horrible enlistment message from pledis, i've decided to hurt myself even more! welcome back to haologram, where we wallow in despair. i know this might be similar to my previous wonwoo fic, except it's not at all because it's 10x shittier and if you say that then you hate me and you don't have to read this ♡ i'm so SAD AUGH !!! anyway, floral dividers are by @/saradika-graphics ! enjoy.

– TUESDAY, 10:52PM.

Message From: Jeon Wonwoo [Yesterday] [11:49PM] i know i don't deserve to tell you this [11:49PM] but i miss you [11:49PM] and i know you're asleep but i wish you were here.

You're barely reading your messages from the night before.

You turned your phone off when Mingyu started spam calling you. You saw, from Tzuyu's location, that they had all gathered at their favorite bar, likely buying hoards of liquor to drown the sudden plummet in their chests when Wonwoo dropped the bomb on them.

A bomb he dropped on you – over text.

A singular text message, less than a week ago.

Message From: Jeon Wonwoo [4 Days Ago] [9:21AM] hey…i'm leaving town next month for a while. i got a good job offer overseas, and i took it without considering anything else. i'm sorry, and i think we should end whatever this is. at least for now.

You hadn't replied, only sat on the edge of your bed and felt your chest constrict.

His job wasn't the issue. It'd never be the issue, you wanted him to succeed. You wanted him to feel fulfilled.

The issue was him…well, it was…

Ugh.

"Stupid men." You muttered to yourself, taking a swig out of the bottle in your hand. It was the nasty bourbon he liked, the one that burned your esophagus all the way down. Your stomach wasn't empty, per say – there was a bag of chips sitting next to you on the couch. It wasn't as enticing as it usually was, but you didn't care that the salt and vinegar didn't pair well with your drink of choice. A drink that reminded you of Wonwoo, and would be the only thing that would once he was gone.

Unless you counted the smell of his cologne in your sheets. Or the hoodie that's draped over your shoulders, the plaid boxer shorts that belong to him covering your upper thighs. Or the champagne mustard you keep in your fridge specifically for him. Or the toothbrush he keeps at your apartment, despite the two of you being nothing more than friends.

Friends that kiss. Friends that undress each other in a frenzy, aching to feel the warmth of each other's skin. Friends that risk it every time, the raw feeling of skin on skin far too euphoric to give up.

Friends that say I love you in mumbles as they kiss, as they undress each other, as they give themselves to each other without a second thought.

Friends that had each other at arm's length for the last three years: you, because you were afraid of being too much.

And him, afraid of not being enough.

"I hate him." You mumble wearily, fumbling with the remote to flip through shows. You don't like anything, your eyes stinging with tears as you switch streaming services. Your Amazon Prime screen is too bright, and you flip through your Continue Watching…

Only to see his favorite movie sitting there, right after the last episode you'd watched of Bad Girls Club – Dead Poets Society.

Sighing, you toss your remote to the side and slide the bottle of bourbon onto the coffee table. You lean your head back onto the couch, feeling the effects of the liquor start to sink into your bones as you rustle the bag of chips. Popping one in your mouth, you chew lazily as the tears begin to slip down your face, rolling into the shells of your ears as you swallow.

"Wish you were here. What a fucking sadist."

You don't do long distance. You never have, you never will. And now, knowing that Wonwoo was leaving – the chances of you ever giving it a go were slim to fucking none.

Knock knock.

You jolt, coughing around the remains of the chip. The bag tips over, kettle chips scattering over your couch as you curse under your breath. You swipe them all back into the bag, dusting your couch off and scrunching the bag at the opening. You take a quick swig of the bottle, making a noise of disgust as it goes down.

Knock knock.

"Coming, I'm coming! God." You're wobbly on your legs, and you force yourself to concentrate as you toss the bag of chips onto your dining table. Not bothering to look through the peephole, you unlock your door to an apologetic Kim Mingyu holding a tipsy Jeon Wonwoo tight to his hip.

"No." You shake your head, moving to close the door when Mingyu gives you a pleading look. "Please, Y/N. He won't stop crying about you, and I don't know what to do anymore. I'll literally wait in the parking lot if you can't calm him down. Please, help me out." "Mingyu, I'm too drunk for this right now." You pinch the bridge of your nose, holding onto the frame of your door to keep steady. You're lying – you're not even near drunk. You're probably just as tipsy as Wonwoo is, and that's enough for you to not want him in your apartment. It would only end badly.

"Please, Y/N." Mingyu begs, and Wonwoo is seemingly staring straight through you. "Don't hate me." He mumbles, and you can't help but look up at Mingyu through teary eyes. "I'll be right downstairs, Y/N. I promise." He assures you gently, carefully shoving Wonwoo into the threshold. Wonwoo stumbles into your apartment, toeing his boots off in the foyer and disappearing into your kitchen. "I promise, Y/N. I think he just misses you." "He ended things, Mingyu." You whisper, hearing the door to your refrigerator open. You hear him jostling around the jars of condiments, and Mingyu runs a hand through his hair as he nods.

"I know, sweetie. He told me." He winces, before rubbing his face in frustration. "I think…maybe just talk. I'll be here, I swear." He holds out his pinky, and you weakly link your own as he ruffles your hair with your other hand. "I got you." "Thanks…" You murmur, before moving back to shut the door. Mingyu takes his leave, quietly clambering down the wet stone steps as you turn back into your apartment. You peer slightly into your kitchen, seeing Wonwoo holding a butter knife between his teeth as he fumbles with your jar of strawberry jam. He's got the bag of bread open on top of a plate and your toaster is on, peanut butter rolled on the counter haphazardly. You roll your eyes, watching as he stares at the jar with confusion before sighing.

"Y/N!" He calls, taking the butter knife from his mouth. He leans against the pantry door, his cheeks flushed as he calls your name again. "Y/N! I need your help!" "Idiot." You mutter to yourself, walking into the kitchen. He doesn't say anything as you grab the jar, spinning the top off with ease and holding it back out to him. He holds the knife out to you.

"It tastes better when you do it." He mumbles, his eyes low as you scoff. "Please? I didn't have dinner." You grumble inwardly as you turn away from him, fishing another knife out of the drawer as he slides the other one into the sink. You tuck your chin into your chest as you take the bread out of the toaster, chewing your cheek as you spread the jam thickly.

"This is mine." He tugs on the hem of the hoodie you're wearing, and you glance down at the brown material covering your torso. You shrug.

"So?" "So, I want it back." "You're in my apartment, not in my good graces and I'm holding a knife. I wouldn't test your fucking luck tonight, Jeon." You grit, before swiping the knife on the edge of the bread to get the jam off. You open the peanut butter, flicking the cap towards the backsplash of your countertop when you feel his hands fisting the fabric as he leans into you.

"I want you back. You're mine, too." He rests his head on the back of your neck, and if he feels your shoulders tense, he says nothing. "I want you. Always." "You're drunk." You mutter, feeling tears sting your eyes as you swipe a thick layer of peanut butter onto the toast. He groans, his breath warm against your neck and you can smell a light layer of grapefruit tequila on it. You liked the taste of it off his tongue, not so much out of the bottle.

"I need you." He tugged absently at the hoodie, "I need you to know that I love you, Y/N." "You're drunk, Wonwoo." Rolling your eyes, you stick the bread together and slice the tip of the knife diagonally, making two triangles. He was an iffy guy, never one to finish a sandwich alone. "Here. Eat." He doesn't take the sandwich, and you feel his hands grip your hips before turning you around with ease. Your face screams disinterest, but you can feel your chest heating at his proximity and the way his peachy cologne fills your nose. You meet his eyes, raising a brow as you take in the glassy look of his. "You're drunk." "I've had three shots and a beer, I am not drunk. I love you."

"Stop saying that." You shove the sandwich closer to his face, a pointed look in your eyes. It's like the bourbon you'd been drinking did nothing, because you're hyper aware of his every move and the very feeling of your blood coursing through your body. "Stop saying things you don't mean." "I've always meant it. I'll always mean it and I'll always feel it. I love you." He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he kneads his hands into your hips. You swallow a sob, feeling the ache in your throat as you look up to will away the tears threatening to fall.

"You dumped me." You forced your voice not to tremble, cursing yourself internally as a tear slipped. You wipe it away quickly, and he nods frantically. "I know, honey. I know, I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry." He buries his face into your neck, and you can feel his own tears begin to soak through the thick fabric. You sniffle, letting yourself breathe out around the lump in your throat shakily. "Please, forgive me. I'll beg. I'll do it, just don't leave me." "I've never left you, idiot." You scoff, staring at the sandwich in your hand. You make no effort to comfort him, to run your nails down his back in soothing spirals like you would before you would fall asleep facing each other. You make no effort to soothe him, his shoulders trembling as he cries into your (read: his) sweater. You let your tears stream freely, feeling Wonwoo's arms wrap tightly around your waist and pull you impossibly closer to him.

You've always been weak when it comes to Wonwoo. You proved it time and time again: when he needed you to fill the girlfriend role at his graduation party a few years ago so his aunt would stop trying to set him up with one of the neighborhood girls. When he kissed you in a fit of jealousy at a bar in front of a nice boy who was trying to buy you a drink, and you let him take you home. When he undressed you with ease in the comfort of his bedroom and sank his teeth into any part of your body he could reach in bouts of possession, any time you'd go over.

Something you never understood, because you weren't his. Not really, not ever.

"I love you, Y/N." "You're drunk. Sleep on the couch, we'll see how much you actually 'love' me in the morning." You mutter, shoving him off your body. You can't bring yourself to look at him, so you hold the sandwich up to his face, "Open." He pushes your hand away, "I love you." "Wonwoo–" "No, Y/N. I love you. I love you and I'm sorry. Please, let me love you the way you deserve and if I can't live up to it, I'll walk out of your life forever." His arms are still loosely wrapped around your waist, and he pulls you close. Your hands are squished between his body and yours, and you sigh inwardly. He plucks the sandwich from your hand, putting it back on the plate as he sniffles.

"Please. Just give me another chance." "You're leaving, Wonwoo. You're leaving me behind."

"Come with me. I'll buy your ticket, I'll even get someone to take over your lease and we can be together, I promise–" You cut him off with a shake of your head, closing your eyes.

"You're leaving. That's enough to want to move on, isn't it? You don't love me, Wonwoo. You love the thought of me." You mutter, "You love knowing I'm always here. You love knowing that I wait for you, time and time again. You love knowing that even when you fail, I show up." You open your eyes, peering up at him with a bit of poison dripping in your voice.

"You love having someone, it doesn't matter who it is. So find someone else." He doesn't reply, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he tilts his head to the side. His eyes narrow slightly, his arms loosening around your body. You move back a bit, your lower back hitting the edge of the counter as you cross your arms and look away. "How can I prove to you that that's not true?" You scoff, rubbing your face with one hand. It feels hot, and you're not sure if it's from the alcohol or the closing proximity between his chest and yours.

"Tell me. I'll do it. I'll do anything." His hands are on either side of you now, gripping the counter gently as his teary eyes scan your face. For a hint, for an emotion, anything that says you want him too.

You shake your head, feeling your chest constrict as you clear your throat. "There's nothing you can do, Wonwoo." "I'll rescind my offer. I'll drop it." He tested, and you shook your head slowly.

"There is nothing, Wonwoo. And I wouldn't want you to lose out on a major opportunity just because–"

"You are the major opportunity I'm missing out on. I took the fucking job because I couldn't stand the idea of not being enough for you. I couldn't stand laying in my room and thinking that one day you'll realize what a fucking coward I am and pick someone else. It was never about the fucking job, Y/N. It's about me not being enough for you, but still wanting to have my cake and eat it, too."

His eyes are full of sincerity, but something inside you burns.

"How can you say that about yourself?" You whispered, your eyes filling with tears as you looked up at him. "How can you think that, Wonwoo? Not enough? For me?"

He breathes out, looking at the ground between the two of you. Your socks are his, too.

"How can you not? How can you stand here, in my sweater and my boxers and my socks and tell me that you don't? Tell me that I'm a coward, tell me that I keep running from the things I love because I want to be enough and when I finally return, it'll be of no use. I'm trying to…I want…This is hard for me. Tell me it's not enough just to love you, and I'll do whatever it takes. Please." You can hardly see him through your tears, the vision of the broken man in front of you blurred just like many of your drunken memories with him. But you remember every single one. Every kiss, every caress, every drunken I love you. Every sober I love you.

Every single time Wonwoo showed up for you – when you needed a date to an office party so your coworkers would stop hounding you about going on a date with Hyesung from Finance. When you went on a trip with your sister and got stuck in the woods, and he drove over eight hours to get to you. When he picked you up from the shittiest date known to man, and drove you to his apartment – only to change you out of your uncomfortable dress and take you out for ice cream.

When he said I love you, every single time you needed him. Even if no one else was listening, even if you were both fully clothed and sitting in his car listening to music.

"Please." "We should talk in the morning. I'm tipsy, you're tipsy…" You trail off, your hands coming to rest on your eyes. The cool feeling of your fingertips was enough to get you to stop crying, "This is too much for right now. You're still leaving." "You're the only reason I'd stay." He admits quietly, his voice thick as you cross your arms again. You stand upright, tilting your head towards the sandwich on the plate. "Eat. I'll clean up the couch for you." He lets you slip out of the kitchen without a word, but you can feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your head. You're silent as you walk around your apartment, gathering your thickest blankets and a few pillows for him to rest on when you hear your phone buzzing incessantly on the coffee table.

Incoming call: Kim Mingyu

"Hello?" You tuck the phone between your shoulder and your cheek, and hear a sigh of relief.

"You okay? You didn't tear each other to shreds?" His voice is meek, making you snort. "It's fine, he's just tipsy. He's sleeping on the couch. I'll call you in the morning?" "You sure? I can come get him right now." You glance up, seeing Wonwoo staring at the calendar on the wall in your dining room. "Nah. Goodnight, Mingyu." "Keep me posted." You hang up, tossing the phone over your shoulder and moving the cushions around. You don't pay him any mind as he walks towards the bathroom, figuring he's going to brush his teeth. Fluffing pillows, you listen quietly as the water turns off and on, and the sound of the toothbrush moving back and forth.

You cap the bottle of bourbon and put it back on the second layer of the coffee table, where Wonwoo usually left it. You turn your television off, leaving the remote on the arm of the couch in case he wanted it or woke up in the middle of the night and wanted something to entertain him.

You turned off your lights, leaving the overhead stove light on for Wonwoo. It was odd to make up the couch for him – he never slept there, always in your bed. He'd wash his face, brush his teeth and snuggle into your side.

Walking towards your bedroom, you see him fishing out a pair of sweatpants from your last drawer and undoing his belt simultaneously. You roll your eyes, ducking into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. You let your mind wander as you do so, quietly doing your night routine and hearing Wonwoo walk about.

It brought you some comfort, hearing the floorboards creak under him.

Sighing, you looked at yourself in the mirror as you wiped the wet sink down. Eyes swollen and red from the tears, the shoulder of your sweater damp from Wonwoo. Wrinkled around the waist, from his grip on it.

You turned the light off, tucking your hands into the pocket of the hoodie and slipping into your bedroom.

Only to see him lying on your bed, under your purple duvet. His glasses are still on, but his eyes are closed.

"Wonwoo." "Mmh." "Wonwoo, go on the couch. You're not sleeping here tonight." You tapped his shoulder, only for him to hum in response. "Wonwoo. I'm serious." He peels an eye open, "I never sleep on the couch. I didn't sleep on the couch that one time everyone stayed over because they were too drunk to drive, you got me used to a life of luxury. Don't take it from me." You huff, crossing your arms on your chest as he closes his eye.

"Get in and shut up." "Yeah, right. Wonwoo, out." "No." "Wonwoo!" You groan in frustration, stomping your foot petulantly. You knew him. You knew he was stubborn as a fucking mule. "This is my apartment, I am not sleeping on the couch!" "Wow, crazy." He replies lazily, before plucking his glasses off his face and sliding them onto your nightstand. "Goodnight, Y/N." "Jeon Wonwoo, so help me God–"

He turns on his side, bringing the duvet further up on his shoulder as you gape at him.

Rubbing your face angrily, you round the bed and slide in. You turn your back to him, "Stay on your side." He doesn't respond.

– WEDNESDAY, 2:48AM.

You can't fall back asleep.

Instead, you're laying in bed facing Wonwoo – who did not stay on his side. Your leg had been pulled over his hip, his hand splayed across your lower back, under your sweater.

You were counting his eyelashes as he slept.

"You're a pain in my ass, you know that?" You start, your voice soft so as to not stir him. "You're a pain in my ass every single day, Jeon Wonwoo. You come into my life right when I'm going through one of the biggest transitions of my life, and you kiss me in the backseat of an Uber Pool. But no, you couldn't let it stop there, could you? You had to help me move into my apartment. You had to welcome me to the neighborhood, you couldn't just be the weird one-night-stand I met at a bar while celebrating my big move to the city. I would have never thought you'd be so outgoing." Your hand moved to gently brush his hair out of his face, your thumb moving down his sideburns gently before you traced the shell of his ear.

"And then you just kept coming around. I don't know what it was that made you keep coming over, and at first I thought nothing of it. I was fine with the sex, with the shared meals, and having a companion. You were nice, and you showed me a bunch of places, and you took pictures of me and helped me get them framed. Then you introduced me to Mingyu, and oh God. He's a whirlwind, isn't he? I love that guy." You sigh, lightly swiping your knuckles across his cheek as he breathes in quietly. "I love knowing you. I think it took me a minute to understand you better. We were never really just friends, but you made it feel like one of the most fulfilling friendships I'd ever had when we weren't fooling around. You engaged me, and you shared your passions with me. You drove me around when I didn't have a car, and I'll never forget when I called you scared out of my mind during that trip with my sister. You came. It took you eight hours but you came and I can't imagine ever not having you." Tears well up in your eyes, and you wipe them quickly before they can drop onto him.

"I love you, Wonwoo. Even if you're leaving. Even when I think I'm too much, you don't hesitate to calm that storm before it's even come to the surface. You've always been so gentle, and I can't imagine someone like you looking at someone like me, the complete opposite of you, and wanting that. I won't say for the rest of your life, because you're still going to be gone in a few weeks. But right now, at this moment, you're here. With me. And I love you."

You sniffle slightly, pressing your lips to his hairline in a featherlight kiss before closing your eyes. Your nose barely brushes his as you do, and you feel more tears slip out as you mumble again.

"I'll miss you." You don't see the crystalline tear slide down his face and sink into the pillow.

– WEDNESDAY, 3:15AM.

"I hate it when you cry. You always say you look bad, but you don't." Wonwoo's eyes are glued to your face, so close to his he can count every eyelash you have. His lips touch yours slightly as he speaks, but he can't bring himself to move back and risk waking you up.

"You'd never be too much for me. I was made to love you, even if you don't believe me. I said I'd walk out of your life forever if you didn't believe me, but I lied. I could never do that, and I've never felt more seen by someone in my entire life." He can't touch your face like you did him, because your arm is wrapped around his shoulder and your hand is nestled in his hair. He's satisfied with the warmth of your back on his palm, his thumb tracing light circles into it. He's satisfied with this, wanting to kiss you so deeply that he's the only thing you can taste for days.

He wants to be the only one who kisses you. For the rest of your life.

"I gave up the offer. You're going to be mad when I tell you, but I'd rather ask your forgiveness than have you think I wouldn't give up everything to have you. I'd give the shirt off my back in a winter storm in the middle of Minnesota if it meant I'd have you forever…but that would also probably mean death, so. I guess I'm saying I'd die for you." Your face scrunches suddenly, and you shift in your sleep. Your hand in his hair slides down, your fingertips breaching the collar of his shirt. He stops breathing as you run your nails across his skin gently, before it snakes back up to his hair. Your thumb moves in a circular motion behind his ear, before it stops and he feels a soft exhale from your lips.

Years of confessing to you in your sleep tell him you're still out.

"I love you, more than anything. I love that you keep champagne mustard in the fridge for me after I said I liked it once. I love that you called me when you needed that date to that office party, even if it was to get your coworkers off your back. To call you mine, in front of other people and even just have a taste of the idea…it ruined me. I can't think of anything else, with anyone else but you. Being in love with you feels like I'm constantly unwrapping a gift, but the wrapper is the gift. It makes you, it's everything you are." Wonwoo sighs, and your face shifts closer to him. Your forehead touches his, and he's sure if he says anything else, he'll be kissing your lips.

A reward so sweet, that he has yet to deserve.

But he speaks anyway, and hopes your heart hears him.

"You don't have to miss me. I'm here. Please, only miss me when I'm at work. Only miss me when I'm not able to come over because Mingyu conned me into going out with him and the guys. Only miss me when I'm asleep and can't talk to you, but know I dream of you. Know that everything I am is you, and even when you're asleep next to me, I wish you were here. Talking, telling me every thought that comes across your mind. I love it, I love knowing you. I love you, Y/N." He adjusts slightly, his nose bumping yours slightly but his lips no longer aligned with yours.

"Please, only miss me when I'm actually gone. Wish for me and I'll appear, my love." His eyes close, the sting of tears overwhelming as he buries himself into you as best as he can.

"I love you. Please, love me, too."

He doesn't see the pout on your lip when you hear him sniffle.

– WEDNESDAY, 5:53AM.

You're awake again, despite your protests to whatever God was out there.

Wonwoo is also awake, his eyes glued to your necklace. A chain, actually, that you stole from him a year ago. Classic. You're both frozen in position, your fingers tangled in his hair and his still on your back. Neither of you have said anything, and you're waiting for your alarm to go off so you can have an excuse to worm yourself out of his grasp. You have nowhere to go. You work from home, Wonwoo knows that.

"You work today." Your eyes glance down, seeing Wonwoo still staring at your neck. His voice is nice and raspy in the morning, and your fingers tighten in his hair out of reflex. He winces, and you grimace, rubbing the back of his head in apology.

"I do." He doesn't say anything, instead wiggling slightly to meet your eyes. He looks up at you, tired eyes scanning your face before he closes them. He hums. "Can we talk before you jump out and run with the excuse?" He murmurs, and you nearly scoff – when you realize he knows every trick in your book. You frown at yourself, before sighing. His eyes open, and you reach behind him to grab his glasses. He doesn't budge as you silently brush his hair out of his face, sliding them over his ears before settling back.

"...I suppose." "I love you." You feel your breath hitch in your chest, and you move to pull away from him when he shakes his head, holding you tightly to him. "Please, stay." His lips are too close to yours for you to say anything without brushing them. The ache to kiss him is deep in your stomach, but you will it away with a sigh.

"I love you." "I know, Wonwoo." "I love you so much, Y/N." He mumbles, his hand sliding out from under your sweater to your thigh, high on his hip. He pulls you impossibly closer, "It'd be selfish of me to want a life without you, when I know you feel the same."

You look away, your eyes glued to your headboard as you try to speak around the lump in your throat.

"What does it matter? You're leaving." His hand moves to your jaw, gently squeezing your cheeks together when you glance back down at him.

"I'm not, I won't be making that mistake again."

He presses his lips to yours, inhaling your soft sob as you kiss him back as best you can. He pushes you onto your back gently, never disconnecting his lips from yours as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him flush to you. Your fingers find home in his hair, earning a soft groan into your mouth as you tug lightly. "I love you. Please, please believe me." His forehead is pressed to yours, lips brushing yours as he speaks. Your eyes dart all over his face, and you choose to swallow your insecurities. You choose to allow it – if he wants to love you, flaws and all…

It's his prerogative.

"Please." He begs, his hand cradling your jaw gently as he molds his lips to yours chastely. He holds you like you'll break, with such care as you look up at him. "Love me, too. Please."

"I heard you, earlier. When you said you rescinded the offer." You murmur, watching as he nods carefully. "You need to fix that. You need to take that job." He shakes his head, "No. I want to–" "You need to take it, Wonwoo." You repeat yourself, your eyes pointed as your hand wraps around his wrist. His eyes are full of worry, ignoring the way your thumb against his wrist tickles and the way your warmth against him is making his head spin. You look hesitant, but breathe out gently as you speak.

"I'll still be here. I promise, I'll still love you then." You whisper, watching as he nibbles on his lip before ultimately shaking his head. "I can't." "You can, and you will, Jeon Wonwoo."

"I can't. You'll be here and I'll be there…I couldn't even go a week without seeing you, what makes you think I can go six months?" He groans, slumping his forehead against your collarbone. You hum, running your hand through his hair.

"Well for one, I'm hoping things are more than just this–" "They are! They are, I love you. Please, be mine. Be my girlfriend." He jolts up, making you snort as he squishes your face with his hands, "Say yes. Say yes right now, before I lose my mind." "You could ask me over breakfast, at least. We could shower–" "Can you just answer?" "Together." His insistence stops, and he acts nonchalant as he leans back, his hands sliding on your thighs. He shrugs, tonguing his cheek, "I mean, if you insist. Together, and all." "You're such a fucking loser." You kick his hip lightly, making him huff as he pushes your foot away. "Go, start the water." You shove him away gently, and he casually slides off the bed, stretching his arms over his head. You look at the clock on your nightstand, 6:17AM. You furrow your brow, reaching for your phone and seeing your alarms had been turned off.

"What the hell?" "Oh, I turned them off last night when you were brushing your teeth." Wonwoo squeals as he sprints out of your bedroom, followed by a throw pillow being chucked after him. It hits the doorway as he skids into your bathroom.

"Missed me!" "You're dead when I get in there, Wonwoo!" It's silent for a second, before you hear the water start running…

And the lock click.

"I love you, too!"

– 2 MONTHS LATER: CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.

"Whoever said long distance was easy fucking lied." Wonwoo grumbles into the phone, "My paid week off isn't for another three weeks and I feel like I'm losing my mind. I wish you were here, sweetheart." He leans back in his desk chair, the clock reading 9:32PM. You're on the subway, he thinks. You've got a Pilates class you take during your lunch hour.

"I know, honey. Hey, on the plus side, I sent you a care package! There's lots of good stuff in there, it should arrive soon. I checked the tracking." Your voice is kind of strained as you talk, and Wonwoo frowns.

"The time difference is also a bitch. I'm about to go to bed and you're not even halfway through your day. You've got Pilates today, right?" He clicks around on his laptop, pulling up your shared calendar. He squints, seeing an added red section marked MINGYU lasting through the next three weeks. "What's going on with Mingyu?" "The time difference does fucking suck, I agree. As for Pilates, my instructor actually overbooked my session. She won't refund me, that old hag." You scoff, "Mingyu is going out of town, and he wanted me to see if Tzuyu needed anything. Tzuyu told me in the politest way possible that she wanted me to fuck off because she's going to spend her entire week sleeping. God, I wish that were me."

"Agreed. I've gotta get going, honey. If I don't go to bed now, I'll fuck my sleep schedule and this weekend is the only free one I have. I might go some places, pick some stuff up for you." He nods to himself, and you hum in response.

"I miss you."

He feels his heart sink. "We agreed we wouldn't say that, Y/N."

"I know, it's just…ugh."

"I'll be out there in three weeks. Before you even know it, I promise." Wonwoo rubs his eyes, seeing his doorbell pick up some movement on the app. "Hang on, I think your care package is here." "Ooh, unbox it with me! I wanna see the reaction." He laughs, "I'll send you a video. You need to get your camera fixed, this phone call shit is ridiculous." "Pay for it to get fixed, man! All that work abroad and nothing for the lonely sugar baby at home." You chide, making him snort.

"The most I've got to give you is all going to the ticket back to Seoul. You'll get some sugar soon. Hang on." He stands up, stretching his hands over his head as he walks to his door. He can still hear your disgusted sound from the foyer, and he peeks out his peephole to see no one on his doorstep but the box. He opens the door cautiously, the hinges in desperate need of ointment when he feels someone looking at him. He glances up, seeing you leaned against the wall in his brown hoodie, with your duffel bag swung over your shoulder. "Think you can give me that sugar now?"

He gapes, "You…I'm…Y/N." "Is that a no? After I flew all this way here?" You fold your arms across your chest, rolling your eyes with a flair of sass. "God, Wonwoo. You are the one that said wish for me, and I'll appear. I am here! I appeared!"

You're right, he did say that.

"Your phone camera isn't broken, is it?" He crosses his arms, and you grin, holding out your phone that's in perfect condition. "And Mingyu's at your place, isn't he?" "He wanted to deep clean my apartment! What was I supposed to do, say no?" You shrug, and Wonwoo just scoffs as he reaches for you, pulling you towards him by your belt loop. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "I missed you, Wonwoo." "I missed you, too. How long are you here?" He pushes the two of you into the apartment, inching the care package into the foyer before slamming the door with his foot. "Three weeks." You murmur against his lips, moving your arm to slip your duffel bag onto the floor. He hums in response, his hands gripping your waist as he maneuvers the two of you to his bedroom.

"Hungry?" "Nope." "Tired?" "Maybe when we're done."

Wonwoo doesn't do long distance. He never has, and he thought he never would. And now, knowing that you are the distance away that he needs to brace himself for – the chances of him ever giving it a go were undeniable.

He'd go days without seeing you, as long as you still loved him. He'd go weeks, months even, without seeing you as long as he still heard your voice before he went to bed and as he made his commute to work. He'd go years without seeing you, as long as he could wish you were there and you'd appear.

Yeah. Wonwoo does long distance. And so do you.

1K notes · View notes

misserabella · 1 year ago

Text

through your clothes

spencer reid x fem! reader

summary; it was supposed to be professional in between the two of you, but a night alone in the BAU makes it difficult for the two of you to keep your hands off each other

cw; +18 content!, minors dni!!, previous kissing, making out, lots of sexual tension, two idiots pining for months, age gap (about ten years), post! jail! spencer, teasing, voyeurism(?), lots of lingering glances, sex over the clothes, dry humping, almost getting caught, switch spencer and reader!, dirty talking, hair pulling, spencer cums in his pants, non-graphic oral sex (fem! receiving), praising….

along the last couple of months in which you’ve become part of the BAU, this… tension with one of your coworkers had grown. it was a craving, a crush. he was handsome, always prancing on his tight suits, curls perfectly combed and his glasses on the bridge of his nose. he was intelligent, too intelligent, a true genius. his grand knowledge attracted you, made you shaky and hot, your eyes glued to his lips when he would rant about scientific facts. it was impossible to not like him. not want to take him from his tie and pull him down against your lips, kiss him until his glasses would fog up and his mind would go absolutely blank.

but he was your superior. you shouldn’t feel this way about him. you should make no move towards or to him. you needed to keep it professional.

it was late at night, around 3AM. you’d stayed behind to continue working in this case… it was difficult to say the least, really challenging. there were a lot of pieces that didn’t fit. you were leaving your brains on it, your eyes heavy with sleep. but your body was tense. cause he was there too.

things had been a little uncomfortable since a night out with the whole team turned in the two of you having a couple of drinks and unknowingly ended up making out in a secluded space to not get caught. you two had brushed it off as a little tipsy mistake. you two had a great age difference, about 10 years, so it was clear that it most likely was a slip. but it was clear that things had changed.

the lights on his office were lit. seemed to be a late night for him as well. you sigh, yawning.

coffee. you needed a coffee.

while on the kitchen you decided to be kind and bring him some as well. he’d most likely needed it. something you liked about him was how much importance he gave his job and how hard he worked, even after jail. his life hadn’t been easy, but he still tried hard, and that was admirable.

you add his usual amount of sugar. if you were to try the beverage you’d most likely scrunch your face at its sweetness. but he liked it that way. he was a man with a sweet tooth. maybe that’s why spencer found himself being so attracted to you.

you were sweet. sweeter than his coffee, intelligent, attractive… a whole sunshine coming down on him after a hard time of pure rains and cloudy skies.

you take a sip of your coffee as you made your way towards his office, basking in the warmth of the liquid down your throat. you knock twice, waiting for his voice to ring in your ears and give you permission. when he does, you creek the door open.

“hey…” you meet his hazel eyes framed by his glasses. he looks tired. exhausted even. and tense. “brought you some coffee, thought you might need it.” he gives himself a moment while you talk to compose and focus himself, putting on his most professional face and pretending to be completely focused on work. he looks up at you, watching you enter the room and trying to pretend he's not already affected by the way you look and the way your outfits fits your body.

you’re wearing an office black skirt that almost reaches your knees and shows the curves of your hips and thighs along with a button up shirt, which’s upper buttons are unbuttoned to give yourself a breath and more comfort. the heels you wear seemed comfortable as you’d been wearing them the whole day, and added to your stature. they made you taller, but even with them you still had to look up at him to meet his eyes, something he found truly endearing.

“oh. thanks.” he gave you a soft smile as you handed him the cup of coffee, taking a sip. “i actually needed some, i was about to fall asleep.” he joked, and you giggled.

“working on the case?” he nodded. you took some of the files on his desk, leaving your cup of coffee aside. “doctor reid…what do you think about this unsub?” you question, taking a look at his profile. “i think something's definitely not right... something doesn’t fit…”

"yes, I was thinking the exact same thing..." he says, looking up at you as he leaned back in his leather chair to get a better look at the papers spread in front of him. he's trying his best to be professional, but can't help his eyes trailing quickly over your body as well. he cleared his throat. “his behavior is confusing. on some scenes he’s methodical, doesn’t commit mistakes, whereas on others he’s frantic, irresponsible and impulsive.”

you looked down at him, at his spread legs. his black suit pants perfectly fitted to his now more muscular thighs. he seemed to had gained strength while in jail. your mind wandered to the possibility of sitting down on them, on the muscle of his thighs in between your legs. “his mind is scattered…” you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to trail back to the matter.

he caught the way your eyes darkened as they settled over his spread legs. it was almost as if he could tell what you were thinking, his brown puppy eyes reading you like an open book. he had to bite back a groan at the sight of you pressing your teeth into the full flesh of your lip. he could almost remember taste the alcohol out of them he had been craving for weeks after your kiss.

"mhm...” he nods, humming. his tone sends shivers down your spine. you seem to have more on mind. “what’s on your mind?" his fingers come up to his glasses to push them up the bridge of his nose, your attention drifting to his large slim fingers before you got back to your trail of thought.

“uhm... well. he seems to be obsessed with his victims...” your words were dying quickly, your body crumbling underneath the tension that slowly drowned the two of you. your eyes trailed down to his crotch. there were so many scenarios running through your mind…

he feels heat pour into his veins under your gaze. your voice is getting rougher, your eyes glued to him. he wants to stand up and pull you into him, but he stays fixed in his seat. he can't take his eyes off of your darkened ones as he speaks.

keep it professional, reid.

"yeah... and?"

“and... uses them. like toys, just before dumping them.” a shiver runs down your spine at your words.

haring the shiver in your voice sends one up his spine in the same way. “he plays with them. enjoys the power of submitting them under him before his game ends.”

and even though he shouldn’t, he thinks about how it would be to use you like a toy, for you to submit to him.

"mhm..." He responds in a low hum, watching as you start to tremble before him. he leans back, getting more comfortable in his seat as he stares up at you. you don’t longer think the two of you are in the right space to talk about this murderer.

“doctor reid...” you called for him, his hazel eyes catching the last on yours as you stared at his spread legs. he watches from under hooded eyes as your gaze trails over that obvious bulge that has you so entranced.

“what is it, agent y/l/n?" he inquired letting the words escape low in his chest. his heart beats faster at the sound of you breathing in that title as you look down at him.

“what are you doing?” you breathe out, your whole body tingling with the need to move closer, to touch him.

"me?" He echoes back as if he's innocently confused, his tongue running over his lips as he looks up at you with feigned innocence on his face, on his hauntingly beautiful face. "just taking a seat, getting comfortable... working..." he's trying desperately not to give away the game, the hunt and teasing, even as he sees the way your eyes get even darker and more intense.

“yeah...” you coughed, looking away from his lips as his tongue dampening them had caught your attention. you could almost feel them against yours, feel his tongue in your mouth. “then maybe i should... i should get back to my desk. there's a lot of work i need to do and...”

he's practically shaking in his chair as you speak, his breath coming in a shudder as he hears you struggle to maintain your composure, the words you speak seeming to do nothing to keep that desire out of your voice.

"no... you should stay." he says gently, cutting you off, his voice dropping to a huskier tone as he looks up at you.

“what?” you shake, your throat drying up.

"just... stay. sit." he softly reached out and touched your hip to gently pull you in front of him. he lets his hand trail down your thigh, his touch making the skin under your skirt prickle.

“w-where...? there are no more chairs...” you stutter, your nervous eyes scanning the room. he was still moving into the office, he was lucky he had gotten a chair and desk.

he looks up at you through dark eyes, a tiny smirk on his face as he sees the effect his touch is having on you. he wanted more. he wanted to drive you crazy.

“i think you know exactly where, agent.” he softly says. “come, sit..." his hand trailing around to the back of your thighs to pull you as he speaks, moving you to settle comfortably in his lap. your cheeks flush, a whimper leaving your chest as your pussy lands right against his crotch.

he shivers at the feeling of your warmth and your weight against his thighs, having to bite down on his tongue to keep from groaning out loud at the feeling of your body His hands trace over your thighs, fingers digging into the skin of your legs as he relishes the feeling of you on him.

“we shouldn't be doing this...” you tried, breathing heavy. “that kiss... it was a mistake...”

he shook his head immediately at your words, his eyes still fixed on you as he watches the way your chest rises and falls with every breath, the way your body trembles like you're already falling apart on top of him.

"no... you weren't a mistake. this feeling isn't a mistake..." he whispered breathlessly, hands slowly slipping to the edge of your skirt as he looked up at you with eyes full of nothing but complete desire and need for you.

“spencer...” you moaned, biting down on your lip, your hands on his shoulders.

hearing you moan his name sends him over the edge, any ability to hold back completely gone as he feels you start to melt on top of him. he looks up at you hungrily under his lashes before he's finally closing the distance between you, his hands snaking up your back to pull you closer as he presses his lips firmly to yours.

you gasped at the first contact, your hands hurriedly coming up to his hair, kissing him hungrily. he tastes just like you remembered, although now there’s a tang of sweetness on his lips.

he lets out a deep groan as he feels your hands in his hair, his body practically trembling under your touch as he kisses you deeply. he lets one hand slip up your spine to the back of your neck to keep you close, the other trailing down to your waist as his tongue slips forward to press hot and insistent against your bottom lip until your mouth opens for him, your tongues meeting as you tug on his hair.

“doctor…” you sighed, hips thrusting against his in need, making his mind go absolutely hazy and a deep groan coming from his mouth as he feels your desire rubbing so wantonly against him. “this is bad... oh god. we should stop...”

he's so lost in the bliss of your body against his that he can barely process your words, but even as you try to speak them his hands are pulling you tighter against him. “no... don't stop... don't..." he practically begs in a gasp, his head tilting to trail kisses and bites down the side of your neck, humming contently when your head tilts backwards to feel more of his kisses. “anyone could come in... they could catch us.” and it was true, anyone wanting to start early could come into the BAU earlier than normal and hear the two of you.

he moans with your words, the sound of your voice even more delirious with desire only serving to make his mind fuzzy. he knows you're trying to stop this, but his body feels too good, too incredible.

"let them walk in... let them hear you..." he said huskily, his teeth gently nipping at your skin as he moves to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

you can't help but whimper, feeling his cock growing harder against you as you roll your hips against him, what makes him let out a deep groan, his head tilting back and his eyes squeezing shut as his mouth falls open around the low sound.

"s-stop... you're going to kill me..." he groans the words out in a gasp, his body growing hot at the friction you're creating with your body.

“you want me to stop?” you whisper on his ear, and he bites down on his lip, shaking his head. “no... no... don't ever stop..." he says gruffly, letting his hands trail up from your waist to your sides, feeling your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. you kiss his jaw and neck. he feels like he's starting to lose his mind at the feeling of you grinding against him, his breath shuddering out in a groan as he feels his body start to shake. "oh my god..." he moans, his chest rising and falling faster and faster with the way you're moving against him. his eyes squeeze shut as he tries to keep himself together, his hands starting to clench around your sides.

“spencer...” you cry out, feeling your stomach tightening at the constant rubbing of your panties against your clit. “feels so good... you feel so good...”

he moans desperately at the sound of you saying his name like this, biting down hard on his lip as he feels you grinding against him so deliciously, your voice so wanton and full of desire for him

"yeah...? feels good?" he shudders out, his eyes flickering behind his closed lids as his head falls back even further against the chair.

you knew you shouldn't. your relationship was meant to be strictly professional. you were supposed to be just team mates, but you wanted to make him cum on his pants. you wanted to make a mess out of him, and that's why you ground your hips harder against his crotch, whining.

he chokes out a groan as he feels you working against him, his hand clenching around your thigh as he tries desperately to keep some modicum of control, fighting the shuddering waves of pleasure that start to roll through him at your motions. his breath comes in sharp through parted lips and they sit against your neck. "oh god... oh god..." he moaned helplessly, desperately trying not to give in right there in the chair.

you leaned on his ear, like the devil on his shoulder. “cum for me, doctor, i'll clean it all up later with my mouth.”

he's already on the edge, his head swimming with the words and the way you keep moving against him. he's never been so far from in control. “fuck.” he groans as he feels himself starting to reach his limit, desperately fighting his body, which only craves release.

“you close, spencer? gonna come for me in your pants?” you mutter only for him to hear against his neck, leaving wet kisses on his skin and tugging at his hair.

he chokes out another moan at the way you taunt him, his body starting to shake under your touch as he nods. "oh god... yes, please..." he whines, his moans starting to sound more and more desperate, even as he can hear the sounds of the crew finally getting in for work, moving around outside the door.

"go ahead doctor. be good for me.” his whole body starts to shudder as you speak, hearing the way you're talking to him like this undoing something inside him. his head falls back with a long, deep groan that you have to quiet with a kiss as his eyes squeezed shut, the force of his orgasm overwhelming him.

you moaned at the warmth of his load spreading through the front of his pants and in between your thighs, your hips grinding down on him to help him ride out his high.

he's breathing hard by the time the rush is over, his mind starting to come back to reality again as he feels your hips and body against his. he keeps his eyes closed for a moment before he's looking up at you with a shuddering groan, his eyes dark and full of satisfaction as he shakes his head.

"you're evil... you know that?"

“you were the one who asked me to not stop, doctor.” you smirked, gasping when his strong arms picked you up and places you on top of his desk, his knees hitting the floor as he positioned himself in between your thighs. “what are you doing?!” you whisper-yell when you feel his fingers tug at the hem of your underwear, his lips leaving a soft wet kiss on your inner thigh.

“returning the favor.”

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