#this idea has been brewing in my mind for a good while | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gf2bellamy · 5 months ago

Text

mistake — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer overhears you and derek talking and he misunderstands your conversation, causing him to distance himself from you. content warnings: mention of being held at gunpoint, biting lip + lip bleeding, spencer being cold a/n: this idea has been stuck in my head for so long !!! i hope you guys like it <33

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the breakroom as you stood by the counter, suppressing a yawn behind your hand.

Derek Morgan leaned casually against the counter, his coffee mug in hand, watching you. “You okay?” he asked, concern flickering in his tone.

You glanced at him, offering a crooked smile. “If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that today…” you trailed off, finishing your coffee preparation.Moving aside to let Derek reach the machine, you took your first sip, savoring the warmth against your lips. “I’ve been saying the same thing all morning—I’m fine.”

Morgan arched a skeptical brow, filling his mug. “You were held at gunpoint two days ago,” he pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee.

You shrugged, attempting nonchalance. “And nothing happened. I’m fine,” you repeated.

“Tell that to Pretty Boy,” he said, his voice laced with a teasing edge.

Confused, you turned to face him fully, eyebrows raised. “Why?”

Derek chuckled, leaning against the counter as he studied your reaction. “He was driving everyone insane while you were in that house. Emily nearly bit his head off.”

The image of Reid pacing anxiously, rattling off statistics and scenarios, flashed in your mind, and you couldn’t suppress a faint smile. “Hotch got me out. There’s nothing to worry about anymore.”

At that moment, the sound of footsteps and muffled voices drifted from the hallway as other team members began filtering in, but Derek’s gaze stayed locked on you, serious now. “You know Reid would do anything for you, right?”

You froze, his words hitting like a direct shot to your chest. The air in the room seemed to thicken, your grip tightening around your coffee cup.

“Yeah,” you mumbled after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper.

Derek didn’t look away. “Good,” he said simply, though his tone suggested he wasn’t convinced you fully understood the weight of it.

You took another sip of your coffee, your gaze fixed on the countertop as the warmth seeped through the ceramic into your hands. The thought of Reid’s concern, his constant, almost obsessive worrying, made your chest ache. It was a strange sensation, both comforting and upsetting, like being wrapped in a blanket too tight to breathe.

“I don’t like it,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Morgan’s sharp ears caught it instantly. He raised an eyebrow, his posture shifting as his curiosity piqued. “What’s there not to like?”

You hesitated, the words tangling in your throat. The memories flashed unbidden in your mind, situations where Reid had thrown himself into danger without hesitation, his only concern being you. The way he’d rushed headlong into harm’s way, ignoring all logic and training. The sleepless nights where you’d caught him pacing, the worry etched so deeply into his features that you couldn’t shake the guilt.

“It worries me sometimes that…” you started, trailing off as your grip tightened around the mug.

Morgan tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That…?” he prompted, his voice softer now, coaxing the rest of your thought.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat stubbornly refusing to go away. “That he cares too much,” you admitted finally, though the words felt heavier than you expected. “He’s put himself in danger for me before. More than once. And I don’t like making him worry. I…” You stopped yourself, realizing you were about to reveal too much. “I don’t know,” you finished lamely, shaking your head and taking another sip to avoid meeting Morgan’s gaze.

Derek didn’t respond right away, his silence stretching just long enough to make you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He was studying you. Derek opened his mouth, a reply forming on his lips, but before he could speak, Emily poked her head into the room.

“Hey, we’ve got a case,” she announced, disappearing just as quickly as she’d arrived.

Relieved by the interruption, you exhaled quietly and gave Derek a quick smile. “Guess we’ll finish this later,” you said lightly, already moving toward the door before he could reply.

Derek watched you leave, his expression unreadable, before standing and following at his own pace. You entered the briefing room, greeted by the sight of Garcia standing at the front, beaming as usual. Her bright pink outfit, complete with colorful accessories, added an air of cheerfulness to the otherwise somber atmosphere.

“Hi, you two,” Garcia chirped as you and Derek walked in.

“Hey, Garcia,” you said with a small smile, settling into your usual seat at the table. Derek took the chair directly in front of you, glancing at his phone.

Moments later, Spencer entered the room. Your eyes instinctively flicked to him, your lips parting to greet him, but he didn’t look your way. Instead, he avoided your gaze entirely, his expression carefully neutral as he chose a seat farther away, one that was decidedly not next to you. You blinked, surprised. Confusion prickled at your thoughts as you watched him pretend to bury himself in the case file that Garcia handed him.

Normally, Spencer greeted you with an enthusiastic smile or a quiet, thoughtful comment. This coldness was unlike him. Your eyes shifted to Derek, silently seeking an explanation. He met your gaze, one eyebrow raised, but said nothing.

“Here you go,” Garcia whispered, slipping a file into your hands. She leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Did you two argue?”

“What? No,” you whispered back quickly, shaking your head.

But as the team slowly trickled into the room, it became clear you weren’t the only one noticing the strange tension. One by one, each team member did a double-take when they saw Spencer’s choice of seat. Everyone knew the two of you were close. Sitting next to each other during briefings was practically tradition. Yet there he was, pointedly looking at his file as if he hadn’t broken that unspoken rule.

You tried not to let it show, but your heart sank a little as you flipped open your own file. The questions swirled in your mind: Was it something you said? Something you did?

For the rest of the meeting, you forced yourself to focus on the case, determined to push the nagging thoughts aside. But every now and then, your eyes drifted toward him, hoping for a hint of what was wrong. And every time, Spencer Reid refused to meet your gaze.

Once Garcia finished explaining the details of the case and the team had hashed out the initial plan, Hotch’s voice brought the meeting to a close.

“Wheels up in 20,” he said, and everyone began gathering their things.

You hesitated, lingering in your seat as the others started filing out of the room. Your eyes flickered toward Spencer, silently willing him to look your way, to give some kind of indication that everything was okay.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he moved quickly, clutching his file tightly as he left the room in a rush. His long strides carried him away before you could even think of stopping him. You bit your lip, frustration and confusion bubbling up as you watched him disappear down the hall. Shaking it off, you grabbed your things and followed the rest of the team, trying to focus on the case rather than the knot of uncertainty twisting in your chest. By the time you boarded the jet, you weren’t surprised anymore when you saw Spencer seated far away from his usual spot next to you. He was already absorbed in his file, his profile turned slightly away, making it clear he wasn’t about to acknowledge you.

Your heart sank a little, but you forced yourself not to dwell on it. Instead, you slid into your regular seat, pulling out your file to prepare for the mission. If Spencer wanted to play distant, you’d let him, for now.

Emily settled into the seat across from you, her eyes scanning your face with curiosity. You tried to ignore her, keeping your focus on the pages in front of you, but her gaze burned into you. Minutes passed, but Emily didn’t look away. Finally, you sighed, snapping the file shut as you met her stare.

“Emily,” you said, your tone equal parts exasperated and pleading.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice low.

“Nothing,” you replied too quickly, shaking your head. “It’s fine.”

“Don’t give me that.” Emily leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “You and Spencer haven’t looked at each other once since this morning. That’s not normal. Did something happen?”

You hesitated, your lips pressing into a thin line as you considered how much to say. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the file. “He’s been… off. Avoiding me.”

Emily tilted her head slightly, her expression softening. “Did you talk to him?”

“I didn’t exactly get the chance,” you said with a bitter laugh, glancing toward the back of the jet where Spencer sat. He hadn’t looked up once, his focus seemingly glued to the pages in front of him. “And even if I did, I don’t know what I’d say.”

Emily followed your gaze, her brows knitting together in thought. “He’s probably overthinking something,” she said. “You know how he gets.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, but doubt lingered in your voice.

Emily reached across the table, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “Give him time. And if he doesn’t snap out of it soon, you’ll have to be the one to say something. He’s not exactly known for his social bravery, you know.”

You managed a small smile at that, grateful for her attempt to lighten the mood. But as you glanced toward Spencer one last time, the knot in your chest only tightened. You stared out the window, watching the clouds stretch across the sky.You didn’t notice Derek slip into the seat next to you until his voice cut through your haze. “Hey, pretty girl.” He nudged your shoulder lightly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, focusing on his familiar face. “Hi,” you smiled softly at your friend, grateful for the distraction, even if it was brief.

Derek’s expression shifted from playful to serious. “I talked to him,” he said quietly.

Your interest piqued immediately. You turned your head toward him, eyes searching his face for any hint of what had been said.

“What’d he say?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting anyone else to hear.

Derek leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he glanced toward Spencer at the back of the jet. “Nothing,” he said simply, his tone flat.

You frowned, your gaze following Derek’s to Spencer. For the first time today, Spencer’s eyes met yours, just for a moment, but it felt like an eternity. He quickly looked away, like he was ashamed to have caught you looking.

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” you pressed, feeling a pang of frustration twist in your stomach.

“I mean, he said there’s nothing wrong,” Derek replied, his voice low. His eyes followed Spencer again, and you could tell he wasn’t buying it either.

You shot Derek a skeptical look. “He can’t seriously think anyone would believe that.” Your voice was laced with disbelief. Before Derek could respond, Emily, who had been quietly listening from the seat in front of you, leaned back and added her voice to the conversation. You bit your lip as you listened to the two debate. The uncertainty was overwhelming, but the more you thought about it, the more it hurt.

“It's okay,” you said quietly, offering Derek a small, appreciative smile. “Thanks for asking anyway.” You tried to sound convincing, but your heart wasn’t in it. You didn’t want to delve deeper into this conversation, not now. Derek gave you a long look, as if he wanted to press the matter further, but instead, he nodded and leaned back in his seat. Emily, too, remained silent, though you could tell she wasn’t ready to drop it.

The rest of the flight passed in a heavy quiet. You kept your attention on your file, reading the same paragraph over and over without really processing any of it. Hotch glanced briefly at his team before issuing instructions.

“Derek and Emily, I want you to speak with the families of the victims,” Hotch said, his eyes meeting the two of them briefly before shifting toward Rossi. “Rossi, you’ll be with me at the morgue.”

Your stomach sank at the mention of your assignment. You knew what was coming, and so did Spencer. You exchanged a fleeting glance.Then came Hotch’s eyes, locking onto yours. “You two will handle the geographical profile,” he said, his voice leaving little room for argument.

Your breath caught in your throat at the assignment. Hotch knew that you and Spencer worked well together, but today, it felt like he was trying to push you into a situation that neither of you were ready for. The jet seemed quieter now, as if everyone could sense the unease simmering beneath the surface. You glanced at Spencer once more, but he was already looking down at his file again, his brows furrowed in concentration.You wanted to say something, ask Spencer what was going on, but you didn’t know where to start. The jet had finally touched down, and after gathering your things, the team made their way to the station. Once inside the conference room, the rest of the team split off to tackle their individual tasks.

The police officers handed you and Spencer a stack of maps, offering their best attempt at providing the information you needed. You nodded and murmured your thanks before walking back toward the table where Spencer was already settling in.

You placed the maps down , but before you could sit, you glanced at Spencer. His eyes were fixed on the maps in front of him, his hands already sorting through them mechanically, as if the world around him didn’t exist.

“Spence,” you said softly, almost hesitantly. You had hoped this moment wouldn’t come, that the silence would resolve itself, but you couldn’t keep pretending anymore. He barely looked up at the sound of his name, but you caught the brief flicker of his eyes, a fleeting glance that was almost too quick to notice.

“Hm?” he responded absently, his focus still on the maps as his fingers traced over the lines of streets and neighborhoods.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Maybe it wasn’t you. Maybe it was something else. Something outside of you that had put this strange distance between the two of you.

Spencer’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for the briefest moment, you saw it. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t frustration.

It was hurt. Pain that you hadn’t expected to see in his eyes.

He seemed to freeze for just a moment, and you felt your heart hammer in your chest, suddenly unsure of what to say next. He shook his head, his face hardening slightly, as if he was trying to pull himself back from whatever had just flickered in his eyes.

“Talk about what?” he asked, his tone a little colder than usual. His voice was quiet but firm, too firm, almost as if he were trying to put up a wall between you and him.

You felt a lump form in your throat. "Did I—"

Before you could finish, Spencer cut you off. “We have to get started on this,” he said. With a slow exhale, you nodded, though it didn’t come easily. "Right." You lowered your gaze, your fingers gripping the edges of the map in front of you as you tried to focus on the task at hand. Spencer didn’t say anything more. Instead, he reached for a marker and started drawing a rough outline on one of the maps. You both busied yourselves with the task at hand. Every time you glanced at him, Spencer’s face remained unreadable, his gaze focused solely on the maps.

The others trickled in later that night, the sound of the door opening followed by the rustle of bags and the smell of fast food wafting through the room. Derek and Emily both carried bags filled with food.

"Seems like it’s gonna be a long night," Rossi sighed. He dropped down into one of the chairs around the conference table. You barely looked up, your stomach growling in protest. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the smell of food hit you. Without a second thought, you grabbed one of the boxes of fries from Derek’s hand and sat down, your back against the cool metal of the chair as you dug into the food.

“Thanks,” you murmured around a mouthful, not looking up as you continued to eat.

The others began settling in, the murmurs of conversation filling the room, but there was one sound that was noticeably absent, the sound of Spencer's voice. It had been hours since the awkward exchange between you and him, and you hadn’t had a chance to talk since.

You barely noticed when Spencer walked past the table until he mumbled something under his breath. "I'm not hungry."

You kept eating, trying to distract yourself, but your heart ached in a way you couldn’t explain. You missed Spencer’s warmth,the way you’d work side by side, always in sync. But now, there was nothing. You had no idea what had happened, what had gone wrong. And that uncertainty gnawed at you.

You glanced up, watching as Spencer’s figure slipped quietly out of the room, his back to you as he moved toward the hallway.

Rossi, who had been watching the scene unfold, raised an eyebrow at the silent exchange. Derek, who had been digging into his food, finally looked up at you.

“Hey,” Derek said, his voice gentle but direct. “You alright?”

You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice to answer. You were trying so hard to hold it together, to focus on the task at hand, but all you could feel was Spencer’s absence.

"Yeah," you finally murmured, forcing a small smile. "Just hungry."

The case was wrapped up by the next day after a grueling night of work, punctuated by greasy fast food and a few stolen naps here and there.You sank into one of the plush seats on the jet and fell asleep almost immediately, your exhaustion taking over the moment you closed your eyes.

Spencer sat across the aisle, his book open in his lap, though his eyes weren’t scanning the pages.

Instead, they were fixed on you.

The rise and fall of your chest, the way your head tilted slightly to the side as you rested, he couldn’t help but watch. It was a habit he’d developed over the years, this quiet observation of you.

He missed you.

Usually, these flights home were his favorite part of the job. You’d either challenge him to a card game, always finding new ways to try and outwit him (and sometimes succeeding), or you’d sit beside him and attempt to read over his shoulder. He could still hear your exasperated sighs whenever he turned the page too quickly, knowing you barely managed to finish the first paragraph before he’d already moved on.

He could only sit there, the book forgotten in his hands, as he replayed the words that had been haunting him since the case started.

“I don’t like it.”

He hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation between you and Derek, but he had. The way Derek had said, almost teasingly, that Spencer would do anything for you, it had been the truth. Spencer would do anything for you. He cared about you in ways that he couldn’t fully articulate, in ways that went beyond logic or reason. But it was your response that had cut through him like a knife.

“I don’t like it.”

Those four words had been replaying in his head, over and over again, like a broken record. At first, he tried to rationalize it. Maybe you were just joking, or maybe he’d misunderstood the context. But no matter how he tried to spin it, the meaning stayed the same.

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like him caring about you.

The realization had been like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t meant to be a bother, hadn’t realized that his presence, his actions, his feelings, might be unwelcome.

It tore at him, the thought that his care might have been suffocating, that it might have pushed you away instead of bringing you closer. He closed his book with, unable to focus on the words anymore. His gaze drifted back to you, still sleeping.

He wondered if you had any idea how much you meant to him. If you knew how much he valued every moment you spent together, every smile, every laugh.

But maybe that was the problem. Maybe he’d cared too much, given too much of himself. And in doing so, he’d crossed some invisible line, made you feel something you couldn’t say aloud. Spencer sighed quietly, leaning back in his seat as he stared out the window. He wanted to talk to you, to ask what you’d meant, to understand.

But the fear of hearing the truth,that he was a burden, that you didn’t want his care,kept his words locked tightly inside. So, he sat in silence, watching you sleep from afar.

Emily’s gentle touch on your shoulder roused you from your nap. The jet engines had stopped, and as you blinked yourself awake, you realized that nearly everyone else had already left. You grabbed your bag groggily, trailing after Emily as she led the way off the plane.

Once back at the BAU, you headed to your desk to grab a few last-minute things before heading home. The bullpen was mostly empty now.

But your steps faltered when you noticed Spencer still seated at his desk, his focus seemingly glued to a stack of papers in front of him.

You hesitated, debating whether to say something. But you couldn’t stop yourself, it was instinctual, this pull to check on him, to make sure he was okay.

Because you cared about him.

“You should go home, Spence,” you said softly, standing at your desk across from his. The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, and you winced, worried it might irritate him further.

Spencer’s head jerked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before they darted back to the papers on his desk. “Still need to get some paperwork done,” he mumbled, his voice low and distant as he picked up his pen again.

That was it. That response,cold, dismissive, and completely unlike him,pushed you to your breaking point. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Spencer, did I do something? Or did��” you started, your words tumbling out in a rush, driven by the desperate need for answers. His hand froze mid-sentence, the pen hovering above the page. Slowly, he set it down, his movements deliberate as he leaned back in his chair. For the first time in what felt like days, he looked directly at you. His expression was a mix of weariness and pain, and it stopped you in your tracks.

“Did you do something?” he repeated quietly, almost as if he couldn’t believe you’d asked the question. A bitter laugh escaped his lips, but there was no humor in it. “No, you didn’t do anything. Not really.”

“Then why—” You gestured helplessly between the two of you, your frustration bubbling over. “Why are you acting like this? Like you don’t even want to be near me?”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, and he glanced away, staring down at his desk. “I don’t wanna seem like I care too much,” Spencer said, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and hurt.

You stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying.“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, your voice trembling slightly.

Spencer stood abruptly, his gaze sharp as he grabbed his bag, avoiding your eyes. “Nothing,” he muttered, his tone flat.

“Hey, no,” you said, walking toward him, your steps firm despite the tightening in your chest.

“No, you don’t get to do this, Spencer.” You stood in front of him now, blocking his path, your heart racing as he glared down at you. “You can’t just shut me out and then expect me to move on like nothing happened.”

He didn’t respond at first, but you could feel the tension rolling off him, his anger simmering beneath the surface. You bit your lip hard, the pain sharp as you tried to keep your composure. Blood welled up, a bitter tang on your tongue, but it barely registered as you looked into his eyes, searching for something, anything, that would tell you where you stood.

Spencer’s gaze flicked down to your lip, his eyes softening for a moment as if the sight of you hurting made him hurt too. He closed his eyes briefly, taking in a slow breath. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

“You said you don’t like it,” he murmured, his words hesitant.

Your heart skipped a beat.You had no idea where this was going. You swallowed, your eyes flitting nervously across his face as you stepped closer to him.

“Don’t like what?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid of pushing him further away with a raised tone.

Spencer’s gaze fixed on you, his disappointment clear. “You don’t like that I would do anything for you,” he said, his voice breaking just slightly.

The words struck you like a punch to the gut, and you took a step back. Memories of your conversation with Derek came flooding back, his words, the concern in his voice. You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you barely registered Spencer’s disappointed stare.

“I heard your conversation,” he added, his voice distant, wounded.

“Did you hear all of it?” you asked, your eyes searching his, the confusion on your face undeniable.

“What?” he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“The rest of what I said,” you clarified, your voice softening as you felt the distance between you begin to close. You gave him a small, tender smile, one that barely reached your eyes. “I assume you didn’t hear what I said after that.”

Spencer's shoulders slumped slightly, the tension draining from his body, but the disappointment remained. “I heard enough,” he replied.

You sighed, your hand reaching out to gently touch his.

“I also told Derek that you care too much.” Spencer flinched at your words, as though they pained him, and you felt a flicker of guilt. But you weren’t done yet. “I’m not finished.”

He looked at you, eyes wide with something close to fear, as if bracing for the words that might break him.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your emotions. “I said that I’m worried you endanger yourself for me. Look, Spence…” you hesitated, your throat tightening, “I don’t like making you worry. That’s why I said what I said. It scares me that you put yourself in danger. For me.”

As your words lingered in the air, Spencer’s face softened, and his eyes flickered with a sudden realization. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, and for a moment, he looked almost fragile, as though the weight of everything had suddenly hit him.

“I… I didn’t mean—” His words caught in his throat, and he stumbled over his apology. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood everything. I should’ve listened better. I shouldn’t have assumed…” His voice broke. “I'm sorry.I shouldn't have pushed you away like that. I care about you so much, and I… I just… I’m sorry.”

The rawness of his apology struck you harder than you expected. You could feel the sincerity in every word.But before you could say anything, the urge to comfort him overwhelmed you.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, your arms reaching around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. You buried your face in the crook of his neck. Spencer stood still for a moment, clearly surprised by the sudden closeness. But then he hesitantly wrapped his arms around you, his grip tightening as he pulled you closer. You could feel the rapid beating of his heart against your chest, mirroring your own.

You closed your eyes, as you spoke into his neck. “Spence… I care about you more than you’ll ever know,” you murmured, your hand gently stroking the back of his head as if to comfort him. “I don’t like being away from you. The thought of you putting yourself in danger for me… it’s just too much.”

You felt Spencer's breath hitch against your skin, and he tightened his arms around you.

“I know I should’ve said it better,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t care.”

Spencer’s grip tightened. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.Finally, he pulled back slightly, his hands staying on your waist. His eyes searching yours. “You mean everything to me, you know that? I just… I just don’t want to hurt you. I don’t know how to stop myself sometimes.”

You smiled softly. “I know, Spence.”

He nodded slowly, a faint but genuine smile tugging at his lips as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, but you shook your head.

“Yes, you do,” you whispered back, holding him even tighter, as if reaffirming your place in each other's lives.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

2K notes · View notes

reidmarieprentiss · 7 months ago

Text

Depollute Me

Summary: You join the BAU and Spencer is a smitten kitten.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: mentions of morgue details from a case, mentions of struggle from a case, alcohol consumptions

Word count: 7.2k

a/n: lol so this has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS i have not read it since then but i feel so bad for never posting anymore so please accept this while i get my life together !!!

Spencer walked into the bullpen on what seemed to be a very typical Monday morning. The hum of chatter and the rhythmic clicking of keyboards filled the air, as it usually did. Without much thought, he placed his well-worn satchel down on his desk, the familiar weight leaving his shoulder as he began his habitual routine. His focus was singular: getting to the breakroom for his morning coffee. The scent of freshly brewed coffee guided him, and within moments, he returned to his desk, ready to dive into the day's work.

As he settled into his chair, Spencer reached for a stack of files when a voice interrupted his concentration. "Reid, did you not notice the new girl?" Morgan's tone was laced with curiosity and a hint of amusement, causing Spencer to pause mid-motion.

“Huh?” Spencer finally looked up, his mind still partially entangled in the tasks he was about to undertake. His routine had been so ingrained that he hadn’t even glanced around the room.

Morgan smirked, nodding towards the far side of the bullpen. "Over by JJ’s office."

Spencer's gaze followed the direction Morgan indicated, and for the first time, he noticed you. A young woman, probably in her mid twenties, was standing near JJ's office, dressed in a sharp, well-tailored pantsuit that hugged her figure in a way that was both professional and undeniably flattering. Your presence was commanding, yet you seemed approachable with an air of confidence.

“Who is that?” Spencer asked, his curiosity piqued as he observed the new arrival with a mixture of intrigue and surprise.

Before Morgan could answer, Hotch, who happened to be walking by at that moment, interjected in his usual calm, authoritative manner. “Agent Y/N Y/L/N,” he informed them, his tone as steady as ever. “She’s from the Sex Crimes Unit, a promising young agent.”

Morgan, ever the one to tease, leaned back in his chair with a playful grin. “Looks like you’re not the baby anymore, pretty boy.”

Spencer, though still focused on the new agent, managed to respond with a slight shrug. “I’m okay with that.” His voice was soft, but there was a hint of relief in his words. Perhaps the idea of no longer being the youngest on the team was a comforting thought.

Hotch, who was moving on to another task, paused briefly to add one more detail, as if to settle any lingering questions. “She’s older than you, Reid. Actually.”

Morgan, not missing a beat, raised an eyebrow. “How old? She looks good,” he remarked, his eyes still on you, appreciating your composed demeanor and striking appearance.

Hotch, always the voice of reason and decorum, shot Morgan a warning look. “Morgan,” he cautioned, before continuing, “she’s 28.”

“I’m almost 28…” Spencer mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, as if to rationalize his place on the team.

“Okay, baby,” Morgan teased, chuckling as he reached over to playfully ruffle Spencer’s hair. The affectionate gesture was a typical part of their dynamic, one that Spencer had grown accustomed to over the years.

Spencer gave a small smile, shaking his head slightly at Morgan's teasing, but his mind was already drifting back to the new agent. There was something about you that intrigued him, and he found himself wondering what it would be like to work alongside you. The idea of no longer being the youngest wasn’t as unsettling as it once might have been.

“Agents, round table, five minutes,” Hotch’s voice cut through the usual hum of activity in the bullpen. The announcement was direct, as always, leaving no room for delay or distraction. Spencer, along with the rest of the team, immediately began to gather their things, each of them accustomed to the rhythm of their work.

As the team filed into the conference room and took their usual seats around the round table, there was an undercurrent of curiosity in the air. Eyes subtly darted towards the new face at the table, though the attempts at being inconspicuous were, in truth, anything but. It was clear that everyone was eager to learn more about the person who would be joining their tight-knit group.

Hotch, standing at the head of the table, wasted no time in addressing the elephant in the room. “As you have all noticed, we have a new member joining the team,” he began, his voice steady as he motioned towards you. “This is Agent Y/N Y/L/N. She’s joining us from Sex Crimes.”

A chorus of greetings filled the room, each team member offering their version of “hello” or “welcome.” Despite the collective effort to make you feel at ease, Spencer couldn’t tear his gaze away from you. His usual reserved nature gave way to an inexplicable fascination with your confident yet soft demeanor. The way you met each person’s eyes with a small, genuine smile only deepened his curiosity.

As Hotch briefed the team, Spencer’s thoughts kept drifting back to you. He noticed how attentively you listened, your calm focus suggesting you were already a step ahead. His mind wandered, wondering about your experiences, your approach, and who you were beyond the BAU walls.

When your eyes briefly met his, Spencer felt a jolt of something unfamiliar. The room seemed to fade as he quickly looked down, warmth creeping up his neck. It was unusual for him to be so distracted during a briefing, but there was something about you that he couldn’t quite place.

As the team dispersed, Spencer hesitated, glancing at you again. He wondered if you had noticed his lapse in concentration, but your calm, professional expression gave nothing away. Now, he couldn’t help but feel both eager and off balance, curious about how you would fit into the team—and what that might mean for him.

—

It was your first away case with the team, and as you boarded the jet, the weight of newness settled on your shoulders. The BAU team moved with the ease of seasoned travelers, each member instinctively knowing their place and routine. You, on the other hand, hesitated, unsure of where to sit, not wanting to take anyone's usual spot and disrupt the unspoken order.

As you stood there, trying to decide, Emily caught your eye and offered you a warm, reassuring smile. "Hey, why don't you sit next to me?" she suggested kindly, patting the seat beside her.

Grateful for her understanding, you nodded and made your way over, sliding into the seat she had saved for you. The small gesture of kindness made the moment feel a little less daunting, easing the nervousness that had been creeping in since you’d learned about the case.

As the team engaged in a lively discussion about the case, you tried to focus on the file in front of you, but a strange sensation crept over you—a shiver that ran down your spine, leaving a trail of unease in its wake. It felt as though someone was watching you, and the thought was impossible to ignore.

Lifting your eyes from the file, you glanced toward the couch on the jet. There he was, Doctor Spencer Reid, as you'd been introduced to him earlier. His gaze was unmistakably fixed on you, a quiet intensity in his eyes that you could feel even from across the cabin. The moment your eyes met, his gaze snapped away, almost too quickly, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

It was curious, to say the least.

—

The team had just settled into the bustling Milwaukee precinct, the air thick with the tension of a new case and the quiet hum of police activity around them. Hotch stood at the center of the room, efficiently handing out assignments with his usual calm authority.

“Reid, Y/L/N, you go to the morgue,” Hotch instructed, his voice steady as he looked between the two of you.

Spencer felt a jolt of nervousness shoot through him at the assignment. The idea of spending time alone with you set his mind racing. His thoughts spiraled through a thousand different scenarios—what he would say, how he would act, whether you would notice his awkwardness. He tried to hide his unease, but the tightening in his chest betrayed how out of sorts he felt.

You, on the other hand, felt a surge of excitement at the prospect. The morgue wasn’t exactly a thrilling destination, but the chance to spend time with Spencer, the quiet and enigmatic doctor, piqued your interest. You’d been curious about him since you joined the team, drawn to the way his mind seemed to work in layers, each one more complex than the last. This was an opportunity to maybe get to know him better, to see beyond the brilliant profiler and into the person behind those thoughtful eyes.

As the two of you gathered your things and prepared to head out, Spencer gave you a small, tentative smile, his nerves still bubbling just beneath the surface. You returned the smile with genuine warmth, hoping to ease the tension you sensed in him.

“Ready to go?” you asked, your tone light and encouraging.

Spencer nodded, his voice just a little tight as he replied, “Yeah, let’s do this.”

As you both made your way out of the precinct, the silence between you was comfortable, filled with the potential of what this small assignment could reveal. For Spencer, it was a chance to navigate the unfamiliar territory of getting to know someone new; for you, it was an exciting step toward understanding the mystery that was Doctor Spencer Reid.

“Do you, um, do you mind driving?” Spencer asked, his voice carrying a slight edge of hesitation as the two of you stood by the car.

You smiled, already finding his nervousness endearing. “No, not at all. Do you not like to drive?” you asked as you unlocked the car.

“I find it helps me focus more on the case if I don’t also have to focus on the road,” he explained, his words coming out in a rush as if he was worried about how you might take it.

You couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “Oh, so I don’t need to focus as much as you?” you joked, throwing him a playful glance as you slid into the driver’s seat.

But Spencer, usually taking things quite literally, didn’t catch on to your teasing. His eyes widened slightly as he quickly tried to clarify. “No, no, not at all. I only meant that my mind is so busy all the time, and I—I just, I need to think a lot and—” His words tumbled out, his voice growing a bit more frantic as he tried to explain.

You immediately felt a pang of guilt for having flustered him. “Doctor Reid, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out,” you said softly, cutting off his rambling. “I was only joking.”

There was a moment of silence, then Spencer took a small breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Spencer,” he corrected gently, his tone more composed now. “You can call me Spencer.”

You smiled, nodding as you started the car. “Alright, Spencer,” you agreed, feeling the ice between you start to melt just a little as you pulled out of the parking lot.

—

The sterile, cold air of the morgue enveloped you both as you walked through the doors, the metallic scent of antiseptic mingling with the faint, almost imperceptible odor of decay. The medical examiner, a middle-aged man with weary eyes, greeted you with a curt nod before leading you to the body you were there to examine.

As the examiner began to explain the preliminary findings, you focused intently on the details, your eyes scanning the body and the evidence laid out on the stainless steel table. Spencer stood beside you, his attention divided between listening to the examiner and observing your reactions.

As the examiner pointed out a series of bruises on the victim’s torso, you leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes at the pattern. Something about it struck you as odd, but familiar. “These bruises,” you started, gesturing to them, “they’re not random. They look like they could be the result of a struggle, but not just any struggle—these marks here,” you pointed to a specific set, “they’re consistent with someone trying to defend themselves against a chokehold. The position and depth suggest they were made by the victim’s own hands, trying to pry off an attacker.”

The examiner paused, blinking in surprise. “I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted, clearly impressed by your quick assessment.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his curiosity piqued by your insight. He leaned in closer to examine the bruises, following the line of your observation. “You’re right,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and intrigue. “That makes sense, given the angle and the force. It would explain the bruising pattern on the victim’s neck as well.”

He looked up at you, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “That was a good catch,” he said, his tone genuinely appreciative. It wasn’t often that someone impressed him with such a sharp, on-the-spot observation, especially in an area where his own expertise usually dominated.

You smiled back, feeling a warm flush of pride at his acknowledgment. “Thanks, Spencer,” you replied, the use of his first name feeling more natural now, as if that small barrier had already begun to dissolve.

—

As you and Spencer drove back to the precinct, the earlier tension from the morgue had dissipated, leaving behind a more relaxed atmosphere.

“So, Spencer,” you began, glancing over at him with a playful smile, “I have to ask, how did you get so good at noticing the smallest details? I mean, do you practice in your free time? Like, do you just walk around analyzing random people for fun?”

Spencer chuckled softly, clearly amused by the question. “Not exactly,” he replied, his tone light. “It’s more of a habit at this point. I’ve always been observant, even when I was a kid. I guess it just… developed naturally over time.”

You tilted your head, pretending to be impressed. “Naturally, huh? So, it’s like a superpower then? I bet you can tell all kinds of things about a person just by looking at them.”

Spencer smiled, his gaze flickering between you and the road. “It’s not quite that dramatic,” he said, modest as ever. “But, yeah, I can usually pick up on a lot of details that others might miss.”

You decided to push the playful banter a little further. “So, what about me, then? What details have you picked up?” you teased, leaning in slightly, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Spencer blinked, taken aback by the question. He clearly hadn’t expected you to turn the tables on him like that. “Um, well,” he stammered, his mind racing to formulate a response that wouldn’t sound too personal or invasive. “I’ve noticed that you’re very passionate about your work, that you’re observant, and that you care a lot about doing the right thing.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his answer, even though it was far more earnest than you’d intended. “That’s sweet, Spencer,” you said softly. “But I was thinking more along the lines of what color my eyes are, or how you noticed I always play with my jewelry when I’m thinking.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly as he processed your words, clearly not catching on to the flirtatious undertone. “Oh, well, your eyes are a very nice shade of y/e/c,” he said earnestly. “And I did notice that you play with your jewelry sometimes when you’re concentrating. It’s a subconscious gesture, probably something you do without realizing it.”

You bit back a laugh, charmed by his obliviousness. “You really are good, Doctor Reid,” you teased lightly. “But I was just messing with you. I didn’t expect you to take me so seriously.”

Spencer looked over at you, a bit of confusion in his expression, though it quickly gave way to a small, sheepish smile. “Oh… I guess I missed that,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in that endearing way he did when he was flustered.

You grinned, feeling a strange sense of affection for his sincerity. “It’s okay, Spencer. It just means you’re genuine—and I like that.”

As the car pulled into the precinct parking lot, the playful exchange left both of you feeling a little lighter. Spencer might have missed the flirtation, but in the process, you’d managed to break down some of the walls between you, leaving the door open for more conversations, more connections, and maybe, just maybe, something more down the line.

—

Penelope had extended one of her famously warm invitations to the entire team, promising a night of lively conversation, good food, and the kind of camaraderie that only the BAU could understand. Her apartment, as always, was a bright and eclectic haven, filled with quirky decorations, cozy seating areas, and the unmistakable aroma of something delicious wafting from the kitchen.

As the evening wore on, the sound of laughter and animated chatter filled the room. Drinks were poured, stories were shared, and the general atmosphere was one of relaxation and enjoyment. Penelope, ever the gracious host, moved through the crowd like a butterfly, making sure everyone was comfortable and having a good time.

You found yourself in the middle of a conversation with JJ and Emily, the three of you discussing everything from recent cases to more lighthearted topics. Spencer, meanwhile, was across the room, engaged in a deep discussion with Hotch and Rossi. Yet, despite the separate conversations, you couldn’t help but notice how often your gaze drifted toward him—and how, more than once, you caught him glancing back at you.

It seemed you weren’t the only one who noticed. As the evening continued, you began to pick up on a subtle undercurrent among the team, a shared look or knowing smile exchanged between your colleagues whenever you and Spencer were in close proximity. It was as if everyone had collectively decided that tonight was the night to push the two of you a little closer together.

“Hey, Y/N,” Emily said, her voice carrying a hint of mischief as she casually steered you toward the couch where Spencer had just sat down. “Why don’t you grab a seat? Looks like there’s plenty of room.”

You shot her a playful glare, fully aware of what she was doing, but you didn’t resist. With a small smile, you took the spot next to Spencer, who glanced up at you with a shy, yet pleased expression.

“Hi, Spencer,” you greeted him, settling into the seat and feeling the warmth of his presence beside you.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice soft but with a touch of warmth that made you feel at ease. The two of you exchanged a small smile, and for a moment, the noise of the party faded into the background.

Before you could say anything more, Morgan appeared out of nowhere, a wide grin on his face as he handed both you and Spencer a drink. “There you go, pretty boy, Y/N. You two look like you could use a refill,” he said, his tone far too innocent to be sincere.

You accepted the drink with a raised eyebrow. “Thanks, Morgan,” you replied, your tone matching his in playful suspicion. You knew exactly what he was up to, but you decided to play along, taking a sip of your drink as you glanced at Spencer.

Spencer, for his part, seemed slightly oblivious to the team’s not-so-subtle matchmaking attempts, though there was a faint blush on his cheeks as he took his drink from Morgan. “Thanks, Derek,” he mumbled, clearly trying to avoid the knowing look in Morgan’s eyes.

The team's subtle matchmaking efforts became more apparent, each of them playing their part with a touch of mischief. Rossi, always one for a good story, managed to draw you into a conversation about a particularly tricky case the team had solved a few years back.

“So, Y/N,” Rossi began, a twinkle in his eye, “have you ever encountered a case where the suspect used historical ciphers to communicate with their victims?”

You tilted your head, intrigued but knowing exactly where this was going. “No, I have not. Why do you ask?”

Rossi leaned back, gesturing towards Spencer with a grin. “Because our very own Dr. Reid is an expert in ciphers, and I’d bet he could tell you all about the time he cracked one in record time.”

Spencer, who had been quietly listening, perked up at the mention of his expertise. “Oh, well, it wasn’t exactly record time,” he said modestly, but Rossi’s encouragement had already drawn him in. “But it was a fascinating case. The unsub used a modified version of the Zodiac cipher, which was particularly challenging because—”

As Spencer launched into a detailed explanation, you couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly Rossi had managed to pull you both into the conversation. The discussion flowed naturally from there, and you found yourself genuinely interested in Spencer’s insights, occasionally offering your own thoughts, which Spencer seemed to appreciate.

Not long after, Penelope gathered everyone together for a game she had prepared. “Alright, everyone, time for a little fun! We’re playing ‘Celebrity!’” she announced, holding up a bowl filled with slips of paper. “And wouldn’t you know it, Y/N, you and Spencer are on the same team!”

You caught Penelope’s wink as she handed you the bowl, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “What are the odds?” you joked, taking your seat next to Spencer.

Spencer looked a little surprised but quickly smiled, clearly pleased by the arrangement. “I guess we’ll have to work together,” he said, his tone light.

Throughout the game, the team’s delight in pairing the two of you together was obvious, with Emily and Morgan offering exaggerated praise whenever you and Spencer managed to score points. “Great teamwork, you two!” Emily called out with a grin. “It’s like you can read each other’s minds!”

Spencer flushed slightly at the comment, but he seemed to enjoy the playful camaraderie, even if he wasn’t entirely sure why everyone was making such a big deal out of it.

Later, even Hotch joined in on the subtle matchmaking, calling both you and Spencer into the kitchen to help with an entirely unnecessary task. “I need a hand in here,” Hotch said, waving you both over. “This cake isn’t going to cut itself.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the already-cut cake sitting on the counter, but you went along with it, smiling as you grabbed a knife. “Looks like we’ve been drafted,” you quipped.

Spencer smiled awkwardly but followed your lead, picking up a plate. “Yeah, it’s… good to be useful,” he said, his tone a little unsure but genuine.

The two of you worked side by side, the conversation light and easy. You couldn’t help but notice how comfortable it felt to be around him, even in the most mundane tasks. And as you laughed together over something trivial, you caught Hotch’s subtle nod of approval from the corner of your eye.

As the party began to wind down and people started to gather their things to leave, you and Spencer found yourselves standing near the door, alone for the first time that evening. The energy of the night had brought you closer, and the playful encouragement from the team had only served to make that connection feel more natural.

“I had a really good time tonight,” you said, your voice soft as you turned to Spencer.

He looked at you with a gentle smile, his nervousness from earlier in the night long gone. “I did too,” he replied, his tone sincere. “It was nice… spending time with you.”

You couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your chest at his words. “I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?” you teased lightly, echoing Emily’s earlier comment.

Spencer’s smile widened just a little, though he still seemed a bit oblivious to the underlying meaning. “Yeah, I think we do,” he agreed, his eyes meeting yours in a way that felt significant.

There was a brief moment of silence between you, comfortable and filled with possibility. The evening had left you with a sense of warmth, the connection between you and Spencer deepening in ways that felt both unexpected and natural. “Goodnight, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice lingering with a hint of something more, your eyes meeting his in a way that made the simple farewell feel like it carried more weight.

Spencer hesitated for a second, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before he spoke. “Can I, um, can I drive you home?” he asked, his tone a little shy but hopeful, as if he wasn’t quite sure if it was okay to ask.

You blinked in surprise, then remembered that you had seen him with a drink earlier in the evening. “You were drinking too, Spencer,” you pointed out gently, not wanting to put him in an uncomfortable position.

Spencer’s lips quirked up in a small smile as he shook his head. “I don’t drink alcohol,” he explained, his voice calm and reassuring. “They were nonalcoholic.”

You felt a smile tug at the corners of your mouth, warmth spreading through you at his thoughtfulness. “Oh, well in that case,” you said, your voice softening as you looked at him, “I’d really like that.”

His eyes brightened at your response, and he gave a small, almost relieved nod. “Great,” he said, the awkwardness from earlier replaced by a quiet confidence. “Let me just grab my keys.”

As you waited for him, you couldn’t help but feel that this simple offer—this small, thoughtful gesture—was a sign of something more, something that might grow between you. And as the two of you walked out together, the night air cool against your skin, you found yourself looking forward to the drive, and to whatever might come next.

—

While guests began to filter out of Penelope's apartment, Hotch and Rossi found themselves lingering in the cozy living room, the buzz of the evening winding down. The two men exchanged a glance as they noticed you and Spencer leaving together, Spencer opening the car door for you with his usual quiet charm.

Rossi chuckled softly, taking a sip of his drink as he watched the scene unfold. “You know, Aaron,” he began, a hint of amusement in his voice, “I think those two might just be good for each other.”

Hotch followed Rossi’s gaze a small, rare smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly, his tone thoughtful. “They would make a nice pair.”

Rossi nodded, setting his glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Spencer needs someone like Y/N—someone patient, who sees the world a little differently, but isn’t afraid to challenge him.”

Hotch tilted his head slightly, considering Rossi’s words. “And anyone could use someone like Spencer,” he added.

Rossi smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “It’s not often you see something like that—a connection that just feels… natural.”

Hotch chuckled softly, a sound that was more a breath than a laugh. “It’s about time Spencer found someone who really gets him.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. “And maybe someone who can keep up with that brain of his.”

Hotch’s smile grew a little wider at that. “She’s got her work cut out for her, then.”

They shared a knowing look, they’d both be quietly rooting for you and Spencer.

—

As Spencer opened the car door for you, you slid into the passenger seat with a smile, appreciating the small but considerate gesture. He walked around to the driver’s side and settled in, adjusting the mirrors and checking the controls with his usual meticulousness. The quiet hum of the engine filled the space as he started the car, and soon enough, you were on the road, the city lights passing by in a soft blur.

For a few moments, the two of you were content with the silence, letting the calm of the evening settle over you. But then, curiosity got the better of you, and you turned slightly in your seat to look at Spencer, your gaze soft but inquisitive.

“So, Spencer,” you began, your tone light, “you don’t drink alcohol at all? Or just not tonight?”

Spencer glanced over at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not at all, actually,” he admitted. “I’ve never really liked the way it makes me feel. Plus, it’s kind of a personal choice—helps me stay sharp, especially with work.”

You nodded, finding that very much in line with what you’d learned about him so far. “That makes sense,” you replied, your voice warm. “I can see how that would be important for you. You always seem so… focused.”

Spencer chuckled softly, a touch of bashfulness in his tone. “I try to be,” he said. “But it’s not always easy. My mind tends to wander a lot.”

You smiled at that, sensing an opportunity to tease him just a little. “Wander? You? I would’ve never guessed,” you said with playful exaggeration, giving him a sideways glance.

He laughed, the sound quiet but genuine. “Yeah, well, it happens more often than you’d think. Especially when I’m trying to solve a problem or figure something out. My brain just… runs in all these different directions.”

“I’d love to see that in action,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. When you realized how it might sound, you quickly added, “I mean, it must be fascinating to see how your mind works.”

Spencer glanced at you again, this time with a slightly more serious expression, though there was still a hint of that shy smile. “I guess I’ve just always been wired that way. It’s part of why I love what I do. But it can be… isolating sometimes, you know? People don’t always get it.”

You nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. “Yeah, I can relate to that,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “I think a lot of us in this line of work feel that way at times. It’s hard for people outside of it to really understand what we go through, what we see.”

There was a moment of shared silence, both of you reflecting on what you’d said. Then, wanting to lighten the mood a bit, you turned the conversation back to something a little more playful.

“So, what do you do for fun, Spencer? When you’re not solving crimes and noticing everything that no one else does?” you asked with a teasing lilt to your voice.

Spencer seemed to relax a bit more, the serious tone easing as he thought about your question. “Well,” he began, “I like to read, obviously. I’m a bit of a collector when it comes to rare books. And, um, I also enjoy magic tricks.”

“Magic tricks?” you repeated, intrigued and a little surprised. “I didn’t expect that.”

Spencer smiled, the warmth in his expression growing. “Yeah, I picked it up as a kid. It’s something that stuck with me. I guess I like the challenge of it—figuring out how to manipulate perception, how to create something that seems impossible.”

You leaned in a little, genuinely fascinated. “That’s actually really cool. You’ll have to show me a trick sometime.”

He glanced at you, a spark of excitement in his eyes at the idea. “I’d like that,” he said simply.

As the conversation continued, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, exchanging stories and little details about your lives. You learned that Spencer had an insatiable curiosity for nearly everything, and that he was just as eager to hear about your interests and experiences. There were moments of gentle teasing, of light laughter, and as the night wore on, it felt as though the distance between you was closing, replaced by a budding connection that was both comfortable and exciting.

By the time Spencer pulled up in front of your place, you felt like you’d gotten to know him in a way that few probably had—a glimpse beneath the layers of the brilliant, sometimes awkward genius to the kind, thoughtful person underneath.

“Thank you for the ride, Spencer,” you said as you unbuckled your seatbelt, turning to face him. “And for the conversation. I really enjoyed tonight.”

Spencer’s smile was warm, and this time, there was a hint of confidence in it. “I did too,” he replied, his voice soft. “Maybe we could do it again sometime?”

You felt your heart skip a beat at the suggestion, a smile spreading across your face. “I’d like that,” you said, letting the sincerity of your words hang in the air for a moment.

With one last smile, you stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing your skin as you walked to your door. Glancing back, you caught Spencer’s eyes; he gave a shy wave before driving off without hesitation. As you unlocked your door, it struck you—you’d never met a man who didn’t try to make a move in such a moment.

It was refreshing, and his sincerity left you smiling. There was something deeply endearing about how content he seemed just to share your company. As you settled in for the night, a warm feeling lingered.

—

Monday morning arrived with the usual hum of activity in the bullpen, but there was a new kind of energy in the air—one that had you exchanging sweet, shy glances with Spencer across the room. Every time your eyes met, it was like a quiet acknowledgment of the evening you had shared, a soft connection that lingered between you.

As you settled into your desk, organizing your files and preparing for the day ahead, you were pleasantly surprised when Spencer walked by, gently placing a mug of coffee on your desk. The familiar aroma wafted up, and you immediately recognized it as your favorite blend, made just the way you liked it.

“Spencer… thank you,” you said softly, picking up the mug and taking a tentative sip. It was perfect, just as you expected. You looked up at him, curiosity tinged with warmth in your eyes. “How did you know?”

Spencer’s lips curled into a small, almost bashful smile, his hands fidgeting slightly. “I pay attention,” he replied simply, his voice just above a whisper, as if the words held more meaning than they seemed.

Your heart fluttered at his response, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. There was something incredibly endearing about how Spencer had noticed something so small, yet so personal. It wasn’t just the coffee—it was the care and thoughtfulness behind the gesture that made your heart skip a beat.

Smitten might have been an understatement for how you felt in that moment. You held his gaze for a moment longer, the unspoken understanding between you growing stronger with each passing second.

“Thank you,” you repeated, your voice soft and full of appreciation.

Spencer gave a quick, shy nod before retreating to his desk, his own heart racing from the brief but meaningful exchange.

—

Wednesday morning, you made your way to Spencer’s desk. In your hand, you held a donut topped with colorful sprinkles, a small token of your growing affection.

Reaching Spencer’s desk, you gently placed the donut in front of him, your hand brushing against his arm ever so slightly. The brief contact sent a spark through you, a tiny thrill that lingered as you stepped back.

Spencer looked up, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into a smile. “Y/N? Thank you,” he said, his voice tinged with both gratitude and a hint of that shyness you found so endearing.

You smiled back, your eyes meeting his. “A sweet treat for a sweet man,” you replied, your tone light yet full of sincerity.

For a moment, Spencer just stared at you, his cheeks flushing slightly as he took in your words. It wasn’t often that he received compliments like that, especially not from someone who meant as much to him as you were beginning to.

“Thank you,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were trying to savor the moment.

You gave him a soft smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It was such a small gesture, but the way he looked at you made it feel like so much more. As you walked back to your desk, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, catching him as he carefully picked up the donut, a faint smile playing on his lips.

—

“I think I’m going to ask her on a date,” Spencer said, his voice filled with a mixture of determination and nervousness as he spoke to Penelope in the breakroom.

“Y/N?” Penelope’s eyes lit up with excitement, a grin spreading across her face. She had been hoping for this moment for a while now.

Spencer paused for a moment, then, with a rare touch of humor, he replied, “No, Emily.”

Penelope blinked, caught off guard by his response, before quickly catching on to his teasing. She narrowed her eyes playfully at him, placing a hand on her hip. “I don’t think that would go over well, my love.”

Spencer couldn’t help but smile, feeling a bit more at ease with the banter. “Y/N or Emily?” he asked, his tone just as playful, though there was a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice.

Penelope laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think Y/N or Emily would take well to you asking Emily on a date,” she said, her voice softening. “But, Y/n would be over the moon if you asked her out, Spencer. Trust me.”

Spencer nodded, a bit more confidence building inside him as he imagined what it might be like to take that step. “Yeah,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Penelope. “I think you’re right.”

Penelope gave him an encouraging smile, her eyes twinkling with excitement for her friend. “Go get her, Reid,” she said gently, patting his arm. “You’ve got this.”

Spencer took a deep breath, feeling both the weight and the thrill of the decision he was about to make. “Thanks, Penelope,” he said, giving her a grateful look before heading back to his desk, his mind now focused on how he was going to ask you out.

—

You stood in front of the elevator, the thought of a relaxing Friday evening at home making you eager to get out of the office. Your couch was practically calling your name, promising comfort after a long week. Just as the elevator doors began to slide open, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Y/N, wait up!”

You turned with a smile, spotting Spencer hurrying toward you. “I’m not moving, Spencer,” you giggled, teasing him lightly. “I’m waiting for the elevator.”

“Right… right,” he stammered, laughing awkwardly as he reached you, his hand instinctively going to the back of his neck, a gesture you had come to find endearing.

“What's up, weirdo?” you asked, still smiling as you watched him struggle to find his words.

Spencer took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with determination and nervousness. “Will you go out with me?” he blurted out, the words tumbling out faster than he intended.

You didn’t hesitate for even a second. “Yes.”

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard by how quickly you responded. “I don’t want to make things awkward, but I love spending time with you and—wait, what?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, his genuine surprise making the moment even sweeter. “I said yes, Spencer,” you repeated, your voice warm and reassuring.

Spencer’s eyes widened, a mixture of relief and joy flooding his expression. “You did? I mean, you did!” he stammered, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Wow, okay… this is great!”

The elevator doors opened just as he finished speaking, and you both stepped inside, the excitement of the moment bubbling between you. As the doors closed, Spencer couldn’t stop smiling, and neither could you.

“So, where are we going?” you asked, leaning slightly toward him as the elevator began its descent.

Spencer glanced at you, his smile softening into something more tender. “Anywhere you want,” he said quietly.

—

The evening unfolded exactly as you had hoped, with one delightful twist. You and Spencer ended up on your couch, both of you dressed in comfortable pajamas, a warm pizza box resting on the coffee table in front of you. The aroma of melted cheese and spices filled the room, adding to the cozy atmosphere.

Spencer was leaning back into the cushions, a slice of pizza in hand, his long legs stretched out comfortably. You were nestled beside him, your feet tucked under a soft blanket, feeling utterly content. It was the relaxing Friday evening you had been craving, only now it was even better with Spencer there beside you.

“This is nice,” Spencer said softly, breaking the comfortable silence as he took another bite of his pizza.

You glanced over at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “It really is,” you agreed, reaching for your own slice. “Exactly what I needed after this week.”

He looked at you, his eyes warm and a little shy, as if he couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. “I can’t believe this is what you wanted to do tonight,” he admitted, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “But I’m really glad it is.”

You laughed softly, nudging him with your elbow. “Spencer, this is perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted—good food, good company, and no pressure to do anything but relax.”

He smiled at that, clearly relieved and happy. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, his voice gentle as he looked at you with that familiar, earnest gaze.

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed easily between bites of pizza and sips of soda. You talked about everything and nothing—cases, hobbies, favorite books, and the little things that made each of you laugh. It felt natural, effortless, like this was where you both were meant to be.

Eventually, you found yourself leaning into Spencer’s side, your head resting on his shoulder as you both watched the TV, a movie playing softly in the background. He wrapped his arm around you, his touch light and careful, as if he were still marveling at how right this felt.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you. It was the relaxing Friday evening you had wanted, with the added bonus of the guy you wanted right there with you. As you snuggled closer, a contented sigh escaped your lips.

This was perfect.

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

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005

1K notes · View notes

mcflymemes · 4 months ago

Text

AS SAID BY KARLACH * assorted dialogue from baldur's gate 3

i can't tell if you're flirting or threatening me. i'll take either one.

don't want the youths to think i'm not, you know, up with the times.

sometimes i look at you, and i just don't have words for this feeling. you are everything i ever hoped for. everything i thought i could never have. never deserve.

i just love listening to you speak.

i know i can make you melt.

i want all of you.

i don't think i have it in me to share.

will you stay with me? when it's time.

what the fuck is happening to us?

you know, [name], i'm not sure i can trust you anymore. you're... different. a bit scary, to be honest.

i'm sweating bullets. what if i blow our cover?

it's good to see you smiling, [name].

look at you. the years have been good to you.

we're in the city on some urgent business, but can i come find you when it's all settled?

whose idea was this? was it mine? am i insane?

i'll rip your tongue out, you liar.

you can't possibly believe this shit.

what i wouldn't give for another hour together. another minute.

i can't believe you saw that. you're too young for that.

once you start, it's hard to stop.

now there's a name i'd hoped never to hear again.

this is it. i can practically taste his blood from here.

you're asking a lot. but i can wait - for a while, at least.

i don't want to put you in harm's way either. i'll wait for now.

now you're speaking my language.

sorry i haven't visited. i've been... away. but i'm back now! and i brought friends.

i miss you so much. but i'm happy. and getting up to some really important shit.

i just want to understand. i just want to know why.

the fucker has to die.

this handwriting looks familiar.

do you know what you're doing?

sorry, i think you have the wrong person.

would you believe me if I said i've got to save the city?

i love good news.

glad to see you're so well set-up here.

if we can help them, we will.

could i see your wares?

you'll still be able to do your wizard thing, though, right?

i wouldn't mind doing a little shopping in the city.

to have someone who cares about you and throw them away... i don't know how you do it.

sounds like more your thing than mine.

i was just thinking the same thing, but less poetically.

you're good at staying in character. i'll give you that.

i was just being nice.

what a pesthole. can't wait to clear this place out.

i smell a fight brewing.

care for a dip?

it looks good on you.

good to know love is on the table though.

how could we let this happen?

let's just keep moving. i don't want to talk.

this place is absolutely beautiful. what a wonder.

hey, can i try something on you?

my heart isn't a toy, got it? treat it like one and you're going to get burned. badly.

my heart is telling me i love you.

if i didn't know better, i'd say you're falling in love.

will you excuse me?

you'd better step away before i do something i regret.

i'm glad you chose me.

you give me chills, baby.

i'm not going anywhere. i've got plans for the future, you know. and they involve you.

to be honest, i'm kind of shocked you chose me.

if i can have you back, i've got a place for you here. cozy. warm. safe. and you can stay as long as you want.

it sounds like you really meant it.

revenge sounds so sweet until you've taken it. then all you have is... no one left to blame.

you know, for a while there, i wasn't sure you'd come back. but look at you. you've done what few could ever do - created your own path.

is it almost time for dinner?

don't tease me. my lonesome heart can't take it.

you really are the best of the best. of the best.

you know i'd do just about anything for you.

if he lays a finger on you, i'll break it off. that's a promise.

what's on your mind?

you and me. let's imagine. we have a whole life ahead of us. what do we do?

i'd love for you to show me where you came from. hear your stories. meet your people.

no moment is guaranteed. except this one. and this one. and maybe this one too.

i'm going to live. i get to be alive. i get to stay.

i've never felt better. like i'm finally complete.

and here i thought you had half a brain. how wrong i was!

i love you. and i know you'll choose your destiny, and choose it well.

you're lucky i love you.

you hear me? you're all i could ever ask for.

come on. there's something i want to show you upstairs.

i will miss you. but i wish you luck.

#mcflymemes #baldur's gate 3 #karlach #rp meme #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #rp starters #ask meme #roleplay prompt #ask memes #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox meme #inbox prompt #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters

393 notes · View notes

solbaby7 · 5 months ago

Note

I love the idea of the drink menu for the requests! It's brilliant ✨️

Could I please get an Old Fashioned, salt rim, neat? Take your time 💋

[ “no, no, leave your clothes on for me.” + smut + az ]

thank you so much for the request and being patient with me 💕💕the vibe of this one is giving situationship that yearns to be more, been watching too much scandal🫣

-> BLURB BAR <-

—

You’d learned pretty early on in life that asking for forgiveness was better than begging for permission.

It was just easier, usually made things less complicated which is why you significantly downplay the importance of the dress purchase that had half a dozen seamstresses prattling about your bedchambers. One of them promptly shoos Azriel away once they notice him eyeing the divider you strip behind, ushering him up and out of the doorway. He’s adjusting his pants when the door shuts behind him, vividly recalling the glimpse all that tight fabric and the way it cinches at your waist, accentuating the full curves concealed beneath. It leaves him hungry; wanting—salivating like starved wolves that scavenge through the Middle for mere scraps.

“Hot date?”

Azriel’s brows furrow, still a little dizzy from the sight of you and your lingering scent; his body annoyingly attuned to your own. “No, why?”

Rhys lazily points in the direction of your room, eyes trained on the array of chilled whiskeys at the bar cart before him. “The dress she’s wearing is designer—exclusive; one of a kind. Need to book an appointment a year in advance as well as having a good word with the owner type exclusive.”

“So?”

“So,” Polished crystal clacks heavily against metal, one, two, three ice cubes fall inside before a hefty pour of some smoky whiskey that’s been sitting around longer than you’d been alive. “They don’t sell a single dress without taking specific measurements for alterations, making multiple appointments for fittings.” The lack of response makes Rhys turn, fingers brushing at the crease in his dress shirt as he takes his brother in. Hazel eyes are clouded with curiosity, a million possibilities being pinned up on a board as the hunter within him collects pieces of a puzzle. “My point is, no male in his right mind lets the woman he wants go out in a dress like that without having some sort of claim on her first.”

Suddenly, it makes sense why people of power are urged to be of sound mind; to have a level head so that advice like that didn’t send one into a spiral.

Azriel quickly learns that he is not of sound mind. A harsh truth that he realizes seconds after Rhys leaves him alone to settle with those words. They echo in his brain, repeating in his mind like some curse that’s dead set on haunting him.

Sure, the two of you hadn’t exactly put a title on all the secret moments spent scuffling off to some dark corner for a few frenzied kisses. The times where group nights at Rita’s leaves two bodies disappearing out back for his hands to hike up some skimpy dress enough to get a good grip of your ass. But that alone had to count for something at least, didn’t it?

No way some other male would get the chance to see you how Azriel did, right? His hands twitch at the uncertainty—jealousy lighting a fire in his ass that has him bee-lining it to your room like he fucking owns the place.

It’s almost comical, the way your door bounces off the wall under the pressure of his palm once he’s finally reached it. Too bad he’s too honed in on his target to take in the true humor of six attentive ladies shooting daggers at the towering interruption that keeps making your arms fidget or hips shift while they try to work. “Az?”

“We need to talk.”

“Oh, can it wait? They’re nearly finished with the—“

“No, I’m sorry. It needs to be now, it’s urgent.” Shadows are already following their masters will, urging the ladies out of the room and into the hall, the door shutting before their disgruntled words could breech the barrier. He turns, a speech brewing at the tip of his tongue but it all goes blank when he looks at you—really looks at you. “Wow, you look….wow.”

You preen under the attention, one arm holding up the bodice as you give him a spin. “I just knew when I saw it, it had to be mine.” There’s a few loose threads, buttons waiting in a little dish to the side to be sewn on properly but he gets the gist. Fully understands the intent of such fabrics when he sees it holding onto the shape of your curves. “Fits like a glove.”

“I can see that.” Grace is granted when you fully return to face the mirror, too entranced in the little details to even notice the way Azriel eats up the picture you paint. All soft lines and pretty shadows casted by the flickery golden light emitting from the candles you favor. Warm notes of vanilla and honeysuckle fill his nose and he commits every bit to memory; latching on to whatever he can of you. “A little skimpy for Starfall, don’t you think? Or is there a matching coat I’m not seeing?”

The cutting look you throw his way is felt through the reflective glass. “I’d never waste a dress like this on a familial event.” A neat brow raises as you carry on with your hair, hands holding it in a pony. Twisting it into a neat bun. Letting it all free and tousling it messily, lips pouting at the sexy bed head texture it creates.

“Then, what’s it for?”

“To get laid.”

Raw jealousy is injected into Azriel’s veins faster than he can even comprehend the attack. It shoots through his bloodstream, gobbling up all sensiblities while simultaneously planting seeds of doubt. Every inch of him goes rigid, lids narrowing and pupils dilating. Acid pools on his tongue, singeing through the words he speaks, “What gave you the impression that anyone else could touch you while you’re fucking me?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe, it’s the lack of exclusivity?” Mascara is brushed through your lashes. Lipgloss smeared across supple lips. “Or maybe it’s because I’m just too fucking pretty to be always second guessing why you won’t make a move already.”

A muscle ticks along his jaw, “I thought it was obvious enough that you and I—you belong to be.”

“Says who?” He abhors the way you laugh around your words. “Because, that conversation doesn’t ring a bell.”

Azriel’s shoulders shift, frustration lingering in his stance and you find yourself annoyingly attracted to the entitled way he begins to fill up the space of your room. Outside shoes sink into the soft plush of your rugs until he’s standing behind you, one finger flicking at your dress as if it were personally offending him. “Says me.”

A scoff passes glossy lips, a hand waving absently in his direction as if shooing off an insect. “Save the brutish male bullshit for a female who favors it. This dancing around your feelings thing is growing tiresome and borderline pathetic.”

You’ve gone too far.

The absence of his reply makes you sure of that. Too many seconds pass in silence, long enough for the mood to grow awkward. Lips part and close, the heat in Azriel’s stare too ambiguous to go off of.

Fingers fiddle with dainty gold rings held snug against your knuckle. “Az, I’m—“

“—In need of some clarification, it seems.” Every syllable comes out alarmingly even, forcing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand at attention. “Go to the bed and bend over.”

“…is this a joke?” You question over a tense laugh.

Not a single thing about him indicates so. “Does it feel like one?” He leaves no room for a response, jaw jutting out towards the bed. “Bend over.”

You swallow thickly, moving to comply while shimmying the dress down your torso.

“No.” Azriel’s voice cuts through like an arrow through the night, shadows curling around the curve of your shoulder, teasing through your hair. Goosebumps kiss your flesh, neck craning as your body melts to mush under his attention. “Leave your clothes on for me. You spent so much money,” Every step he takes is as silent as a whisper; the only way you can tell he’s directly behind you is because of the foot that nudges between your ankles, widening your stance. “Let me appreciate it how it deserves, yeah?”

He’s not really asking for a response but you nod along either way.

Anticipation burns beneath your skin, warms your belly, makes toes curl in expensive shoes when you hear the shift of his clothes as he crouches down to his knees. Shadows hold up the hem of your dress, preventing you from seeing exactly what Az is doing, but your imagination fills in the blanks when you feel his breath against the back of your thighs. "Pretty," The muscles in your legs jump at his touch, cool fingertips trailing up your calves, squeezing at the thickness of upper thighs while running his thumb under the fat of your ass.

You get the feeling he isn't referring to the intricate lace detailing or near invisible line along the side that concealed the zipper running from hip to rib. Not when he spreads you open, a deep hum rumbling in his chest at the wet sound of your cunt separating beneath thin cotton.

“Now there’s a warm welcome,” A hooked finger peels it away, revealing bare sex and dripping arousal. Calloused skin dragging against a sensitive clit has your hips jumping at the sudden attention.

Teeth bite at supple lips, a moan crooning free as pleasure licks up your spine—it’s not enough. You shift from foot to foot, heels forcing a strain in your hamstrings while bent over in this position but Azriel doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. “Beating around the bush, as usual.” He’s perfectly content exploring around with your sex, circling around your clit and teasing his fingers into a warm hole that all but weeps in rejoice at the attention.

“Don’t rush me.” Your throat rolls with a thick swallow at the authority in his tone, brows pinched with pleasure as he works you open. “A male can spend all day tinkering away with his toys if that’s what he pleases. Don’t you agree?”

It should bother you more that Azriel plays fucking dirty.

He’s just daring you to deny him while he’s got you so exposed—so vulnerable. Fingers abusing at a sensitive spot that has your legs shaking and pelvis bulging a little at the intrusion. Arousal pools in his palm, fingers coaxing your mind to mush; pulverizing all the fight you have as he works you to your high.

“Yes!” You all but shout, back arching into the orgasm that washes over you. Incoherent little babbles follow, choppy encouragements and whispered pleas for reprieve but all Azriel can hear is ‘yesyesyes’ ‘yoursyoursyours’.

Someone of his own to covet. To kiss and love and fuck and ruin.

Something like satisfaction coats his cadence. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

[lol a lil bonus part i couldn’t make fit but refused to delete]

“Pathetic, hm?”

A satisfied grin spreads along flushed cheeks, hair messy and lipgloss smudged. “You do your best work when provoked.” Something like realization bleeds back into your eyes and in seconds you’re flailing from his arms, slipping off the mattress and using the discarded dress as coverage when you rush to the door.

There’s a few seams loose, string hanging out haphazardly and wrinkles all over but your smile is bright—damn near dopey when you drop a thick velvet bag in their palm. “Final payment plus tip—the dress is perfect.”

“It’s ruined!”

“Trust me,” Fabric whispers as it moves, legs shuffling to tuck your frame better behind the door. “It served its purpose.”

345 notes · View notes

generalsmemories · 1 year ago

Text

sensitive

✧ sunday x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: the wings by his ears are far too sensitive for what you're both about to do to them.

✧ contents: just a lil scenario for the piercings on sunday's wings. and the hc (that has probs become every writers canon take) that his wings are oh so sensitive. established relationship, mildly suggestive cause why not, uhh, mentions of blood? sunday being utterly weak against his lover. ooc sunday cause goddamn i have NOTHING on this man.

✧ a/n: breathes in. listen i don't believe in any god but good lord i would start praying for this man if he asked me to.

jing yuan wips still in order, i just want to be on my best self mentally when writing for my eepy general so have this brainrot so i can function this week at my work and hopefully i'll write something more <3 thank you once again for your patience!

NOT BETA-READ THIS WAS WRITTEN WITHIN AN HOUR CAUSE THIS BRAINROT HAS BEEN BREWING INSIDE THE MIND FOR A MONTH, IM SORRY FOR THE ALL OVER THE PLACE WORDS - I HAVEN'T WRITTEN SINCE THE LAST JING YUAN ANGST PIECE.

Your fingertips have barely grazed the very edges of the feathers when the distinguished leader beneath you flinches in surprise. The fingers that grip your hips tightening further which causes your body that was previously hovering above him to settle down on Sunday's leg. You can hear a tiny sigh leaving his lips before you feel his head rest against your shoulder, the action causing you to chuckle.

"The longer you delay this, the more nervous you'll get, you know?" you muse, threading your fingers through his hair in an effort to coax him to lay back in the same position he previously was in. You're barely able to touch his right wing again before a gloved hand shoots up from his side and you feel a sharp nip at your neck in warning - causing you to immediately halt all of your actions.

"It would've gone a lot faster have you decided to not do it in such an orthodox method, dear." Sunday retaliates with a sigh, pecking the bite mark as some sort of apology, an apology that you knew was not sincere in the slightest.

You giggle once again, settling down comfortably on his legs whilst slightly leaning back to fully look at your lover. Your arms loop over his neck while cocking your head to the side in slight confusion, although said confusion doesn't reach your mischievous eyes or the huge grin on your face. "Why I thought this would help calm you? It was your idea to pierce these wings of yours after all," you remind him, tapping the piercing gun that you're currently holding onto on his shoulder.

The man before you sighs, seemingly in exasperation over your usual antics whilst shrugging away the piercing gun that you're continuously tapping him with. You can however clearly see the slight reddening on top of his ears, while his wings tuck a bit behind his ears - clearly a signal that he's feeling a bit embarrassed.

"You're well aware of the effect you have on me, my love." he admits, the hand on your hip moving from its spot to instead rest against your neck. "Hmm? Then I suggest that you hurry along to let me pierce your wings before said effect makes you lose your patience," you tease with a quiet laugh. "I do have a lot of experience with this lil' gun of ours after all." you cheekily say - causing Sunday to direct his gaze towards your own ears, which have a few more piercings than your average person.

"... I'm well aware." Sunday replies.

Well aware of how sensitive your own ears are, almost as sensitive as his own wings that have yet to be pierced. He could let out a breath beside them which causes you to tremble, a small peck would make you gasp softly, but if he were to use his tongue-

"You're thinking of inappropriate things again, dear." you mutter into his ears before unlooping your arms from his neck to rest against your sides, your whole weight supported by the singular hand Sunday has on your hip.

"Hardly."

For someone not of Halovian descent, you're somehow able to discern his thoughts immediately - quite a hassle to be honst.

"Well then, my dear? Why don't you relax so we can get this over with so you can return to your duties?" you whisper, moving your body to sit between his legs so that you can get a closer look on his right wing, where he preferred the piercing to be on.

"... Just- don't say anything when you're about to do- Ah!"

The single clicking noise of the needle piercing his wing before retracting back to it's original spot makes Sunday jolt in surprise, the grip on your hip increasing in pressure, but you're too busy looking at the placement in glee to care for your distraught lover right now.

You notice the edges of the piercing reddening a bit, extending your finger to gather the tiny bits of blood that had escaped from the wound. Glancing at Sunday, you notice his slightly glossy eyes that immediately diverts from your gaze.

The quiet laugh you let out makes Sunday glare at you, but his eyes widen slightly when you lick his blood away from your fingertips with closed eyes. "It wasn't that bad, was it?" you ask, opening your eyes again to lock eyes with Sunday, diverting your gaze slightly to his right wing.

You decide not to comment on his glossy eyes, deciding to instead scoot closer to peck the corner of his eyes, "Sorry that I surprised you, but as you said - Doing it this way is far more convenient for the both of us," you explain, lips pressing against Sunday's to coax him into relaxation.

"Mhm, thank you for indulging me, dove." he whispers, arms wrapping around your waist, the tension in his shoulders finally leaving.

"Although..." you murmur in between various pecks against Sunday's lips, your lover raising an eyebrow up in confusion and imploring you to continue speaking.

"I think you said you would go for 2 of the same piercings if the first one looked nice, no?" you say before pressing your lips against his once again. Sunday was barely able to understand the meaning behind your words before he could feel the same pain of the needle shoot through his already overly-sensitive wing.

The loud gasp he lets out is swallowed by your lips, his open mouth letting your tongue slip inside while the piercing gun in your hand slips away from your lips now that you've done your part of the deal. Your hands settle themselves against Sunday's cheeks now- wiping away the few tears that have now slipped down from his glossy eyes with your thumb.

There's a certain desperation in Sunday's hands by your waist. He had first bunched the material of your clothes upwards by surprise, but now he's slipping his gloved hands beneath them and quickly traveling further up - he moves in a way that you don't know if he's trying to push you away to scold you, or press you closer to him to feel your warmth.

He eventually decides to push you away. His cheeks are reddened and he's heaving for breaths while he's glaring down at you in mild disappointment and a hint of excitement - and yet the hands that's dragging the buttons of your shirt from inside to snap them open tells another desire from the esteemed leader of Penacony.

The same mischievous smile is present on your lips when you part ways, your lips are a bit swollen but it doesn't stop their journey from grazing against his now incredibly sensitive right wing, the jerk of his entire body not bothering you in the slightest as your lips glide over his feathers, your lover shuddering a bit when you let out a breath right over his newly pierced wings.

"All done now, my love," you mutter into his ear, shrugging off your now ruined shirt off of one shoulder, "Do I get any reward for doing this so smoothly and quickly?"

Sunday lets out a scoff, rolling his eyes at your triumphant expression before shoving you down onto the couch the two of you were previously resting on. "I'm thinking a punishment is more fitting for how you didn't warn me of your actions twice, no?"

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #sunday x reader #sunday honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr imagines #star rail x reader #star rail x you

1K notes · View notes

pushingdaisies1 · 11 months ago

Text

Its never too late baby . . . ♡

(✧ ˚.) PAIRING-> James "Logan" Howlett {A.K.A} Wolverine x Mutant Reader >_<

(✧ ˚.) SUMMARY -> You were always someone who utilized your strengths. Physical and mental, you were a jack of all trades. You were a true hero to the students you taught within the school. Amongst the other X-men, you would always be one of them. But you had this little tick, that always annoyed Logan no doubt. You were a secretive person, too secretive for even his "standards." For others, you were a pillar of nurture and guidance. He saw your well-meaning nature from miles away. It was almost sickening to him how you would stretch your capabilities out to no end. He would never deny that he could be selfish. Sometimes it's more worth it to save your spine, than risk it for someone else. Though with the problems being thrown the team's way as of recent, he always saw you spinning your wheels. You wouldn't reason with him even when he of all people would lend you a shoulder to cry on. Even the students at the school could see it. With their childish snickers and big-eyed looks at your comfortable banter with Mr. Howlett whenever he helped with class. You were in love with the Wolverine. Again, out of all the Canadians - him? It wasn't something like a schoolgirl crush. It was an infatuation sort of deal. You burned for him mind body and soul. You would pretty much follow this scoundrel to the ends of the earth, even the end of your life if prompted. Which causes something to break between you two after you risk your livelihood for your family. The people that made up your heart, including Logan.

(✧ ˚.) AUTHORS NOTE -> hi party people!! I saw so much of the sweet reception for my first ever logan piece , so tysm!! Genuinely from the bottom of my heart the love means so much. As I’m currently going through my x-men marathon time if you will , I’ve had this idea brewing for a while. Thankfully the resurgence of logan content has given me the push needed to formulate this yk! This isn’t a part two to my previous logan post. That will be coming very shortly, but this is its own thing. Timeline wise... erm.... idrk a good place to put this SIGH. I'm thinking like in between x2 and the last stand. also one last final note , the title I took from Chemtrails over the country club. specifically the one lyric - "it's never too late baby so don't give up." felt like an appropriate whimsy title, nd I have been hearing that song everywhere lolz. Anyways, toodles!!! ᐢᗜᐢ (✧ ˚.) CWS (?) -> Descriptions of blood and graphic injury , they/them pronouns for reader !! , mentions of major character deal , Logan cares too much ... which could mean nothing , ur comatose for like the good first chunk of this , Jean and u have LORE!!!!! (not rlly but u and her have backstory beefers/her "passing" affect reader 100%) , mourning/grief, And that's on having no healing powers!! Buh-dun-csh!!

Your fall from grace was quick on the battlefield. This was supposed to just be any regular mission. You were using it as a way to clear your head after all. But you took a leap too far and now here you were, plummeting. The issue at hand was apprehended, sure. But you didn't leave the fight unscathed. Your vision grew too spotty for you to even make out your surroundings. Your hearing too even started to fog. Looking down, somehow or some way a large-sized piece of shrapnel metal had made it into your torso. Right in the sweet spot that was not in the lungs. Your legs began to wobble, losing your footing slowly but surely. You didn't realize your body was falling to the ground. The warm feeling rushing through you was the blood exiting from your hefty wound. It was ironic the last thing your eyes met before collapsing. Logan turned back around immediately once he noticed you weren't clamoring to the jet. His heart sunk to his stomach as he immediately sprung over to you. By the time your head had smacked against the ground, you went out. Your fingertips began to buzz, your fatigue lifting all of a sudden. All of the hurt and weight on your shoulders lifted? You felt freer than before, with a piece of debree stuck inside of your body no more. Even if some people regarded mutants as the next step in human evolution, a majority were still stuck with fleshy bodies. If only you were made out of steel. In this momentary unconsciousness, you thought about everything that went wrong. Your existence as a whole, joining the school. Moving up from student to teacher at Professor Xavier's school, like Scott and Ororo you were one of the first. Regarded as maybe one of the most useful of the bunch. No one could ever compete with Storm, the literal incarnate of a goddess. You thought of her as your eyes closed, embraced with the warm memories of your early days within the school.

The professor was never one to play favorites among his students. But when he searched you out and arrived with a less conniving Magneto at your door, it was clear you were special to him and his cause. From that day forward you were seen as a pillar of hope to a lot of the students. To some, you were like a mother, to others a guardian who would save them no matter the risk. To Logan Howlett - "The Wolverine", you were a coward. A coward that he admired. A coward he respected due to the ways you handled... stress in the simplest of terms. From the day he met you, he wandered around the halls of the mansion bewildered and confused. Something about you stuck out. He would've done something with this urge sooner if his eyes weren't honed in on another.

From day one you were not surprised how fast he fell and yearned for Jean. The woman you saw as your confidant, your best friend, she was magnificent. Smart and poised all in one with a strong set of mutant abilities. She was on the same power level as the professor, which made sense for their connection.

For living in Jean's shadow, you didn’t hate it. You were her right-hand man. Your balance was comforting, she was like your sister. The professor in small quiet moments of honesty to you liked to compare you to him and Magnus. When times were simpler they weren’t at opposing ends of the mutant kind spectrum. Yours and Jean's dynamic made you feel at ease with yourself. How could you worry? Your identity became a part of hers a long time ago. Logan saw more to that with you. Sure you could nag a lot of the time, and you always barked up his tree whenever he found ways to smoke on school grounds. But you just had this pull for him. He'd always find his way to see you first whenever entering a room. His brash and gritty attitude always got all mushy around you. He over time grew a lot more fond of the smallest details when it came to you. He was an amnesiac, his past only bits and pieces. But you made him feel grounded. You cherished his growth in ways no one else had. You were the reason why he was so drawn to the "now" of life. He needed that in times like this. He couldn't keep up for long after the realization that Jean was gone finally sunk in. Drowning at his one-sided attraction, the longing that he could've done more, you pulled him right out from that rut. Thank god that the two of you combined had horrible sleep schedules. His nightmares still stirred while you were suddenly afflicted with these with the memories of being on that jet when it wouldn't take off. That same pain rocketed through you every night as you were haunted by the sight of Jean finally swept into the oncoming flood. The feeling of grief ricocheted throughout the entire school. But you found your way to stay afloat. It was Logan, which you never thought of yourself admitting. But truth be told it was him. He was the most anchoring thing around you. Ororo distanced herself for the first month, while Scott cracked under the pressure of grief. Late nights dashing around the campus halls to the kitchen, out to the court where you two just talked. You had never seen him talk so much until you two became each other's support. It made you feel better seeing him smile more. Especially when it was at you. Again, you would never utter that truth EVER. At least that's what you thought. But his smile was a nice reminder of all of the light he held inside of him. As much as he despised ... everything, he was still so nurturing in his own ways. Nightmares were an excuse for him to be next to you. Nightmares were his excuse to hold you tight to his chest. The pain of loss was a collective "excuse" between the two of you to just .. be close.

Soon though, this ideal predicament between you both started to crack. Because even though she was dead, you still knew you would always be inferior. It may be all in your head but the hate kept you driven. It kept you driven but also mad. Small things would set you off soon enough. You knew deep down whenever he'd look into your eyes, it was a nice reminder of Jean. Even with how much he denied it when you came to him in tears, your bitter pain and grief clouded your judgment.

Logan saw that even with his help you were still hurting. He didn't want to get involved in it entirely as some of it was your own demon. But he saw how bad your spiraling was and still wouldn't accept his help. Not even from Ororo or Scott, not even the professor. Neither of you would admit who started the argument. It was late, and you were tired from pushing yourself to grade papers. Logan couldn't sleep and wandered his way to your classroom of course. The conversation was fine until he mentioned the problem. Your problem which you didn't want to deal with right now. As you were only running on a few hours of sleep. But even with Logan's usual "take and give no fucks" attitude, he knew he needed to push. You were slowly shutting yourself off this time, and he didn't expect himself to be a part of that mix. It was all a misunderstanding, but the two of you were angry and fire was thrown.

Your shared feelings were complicated. This whole ordeal with him brought out the "worst parts" of your love for him. He too was dealing with his internal dilemma. How could he move on from Jean and you were still latched onto the idea of her? It was a stupid question that was brought up in a Logan way, which of course caused the spat to escalate. His poor mistake was what he shouted. Already with the fear of waking one or even all of the students, you hated what he even dared to utter. "We're friends, you need to calm down about this whole obsession thing bub!" Originally you were thinking of just heading to bed. You were too tired to continue on with this constant bickering. But that's when you exploded on him. You regretted every last word you said to his face. Because it was you speaking your honest truth. About what you felt for him, about your hurt and your pain. How Jean was practically your lifeline. Losing her was like losing a piece of yourself. Especially since you rubbed it in about the kiss he and her shared. That you had seen and that made you sick to your stomach. A couple hours later she was dead. Your heightened emotions make you feel almost dizzy. The more you talked the more you realized his expressions distinct shift. As he was reaching out for you, you immediately swatted his arm askew. He didn't realize he hated to see you cry as much as he did until now. With broken sobs, you ran out of your classroom. The papers once stacked neatly were now laid messily all over your desk. You made sure to keep quiet. What broke your heart even more was a half-awake Rogue you ran into. She looked even more awake seeing your distraught state. Her feet tip-toed against the wooden floors of the hall before she looked at you. A big reason you and Logan were so close too, was because of Rogue. She was a good kid, he always rubbed off on her. He told you everything about how he and Rogue met. You were so enamored hearing him recount even the foggiest of memories. It could even be arguments with Scott he had, you'd just sit there with wide eyes as you listened. His word became your gospel. It warmed you to your core hearing him almost sound like a dad. He had looked out for her from the beginning. You always tried to do the same even when he left for Alklai Lake for answers.

It was so silly when she had practically pushed you and Logan to talk. She was just a kid and you two took up the almost suto role of her protectors. Friend or parent, she too found two trusted people to confide in. So you immediately went into "teacher mode" as soon as she saw you with watery eyes. She looked puzzled when her face met yours. You calmed down her storm of questions as she sputtered on and on. What's wrong? , is something happening? Are you okay? The hug you shared was one of the last meaningful hugs you had with another living being. You practically cradled her in your arms as you helped her calm down. She looked up at you, her larger brown eyes almost like the ones of a puppy. "Please don't be lying to me... y'know ah don't like liars." She whispered softly, her bubbly southern accent quiet. Your heart broke into a couple more pieces as you lied through your teeth. With a content nod, you bidded her a goodnight. Turning back to your room to drown your sorrow in god knows what. It had only been a good couple of months after Jeans' death that a mission arose. The X-men were laying low after everything at the base. For the school's and students' sake. But it was always on time when something bad happened for the team to fix. Old enemies came a-knocking and this time it wasn't Magneto. It was all supposed to be an in-and-out operation. You immediately clamored to get your hands dirty once again. You and Logan hadn't been talking for the last couple of days. Not even meeting in the dead of night to speak to another. You longed to hear about his afternoons subbing with Storm. This was your chance to regain some well-needed level-headedness. The thrill of doing what's right for a better tomorrow always made you feel better The mission even got Scott to come out of his puddle of mourning. Making you feel even better seeing your good friend so triumphant as he quickly clamored for his uniform. You and Logan didn't even brush shoulders as Storm and Scott dashed off to prepare the jet for takeoff. Everything should have gone fine. You should have all made it out alive. Every single one of you, that's what you had planned. Your lapse in judgment will always be your curse. Because now here you were, in the lap of the man that made your stomach churn. That made you feel LIKE that silly schoolgirl feeling you despised. Snapping back to reality, you realize where you are currently laid. Logan's eyes eased from his previous panicked look of fear as he saw you conscious. You were still bleeding but it seems that with quick medical attention either one of them got it to lessen. Your heart raced as you felt the warmness of his hands as they pressed against your cheeks. "Come on, there you go. Just focus on me." He cooed to your heaving chest. In the far back of the jet, you couldn't see Ororo or Scott. What you could see though was the remnants of blood on Logan's suit. He must have carried you off of the rubble and into the X-jet. Your smile was nothing compared to the horrid wince that left you. Finally, after this long moment of ease, the pain set in.

Going down to hold your gut, you shuddered as your vision all of a sudden wavered. You took in a sharp breath as finally, you noticed how in bad shape you were. Red filled your palm as you shuddered. Thankfully Logan noticed you and your shaky breath and immediately gripped your hand. Even in this state, you were currently in, you would always be able to focus on him. "I know, I know it's scary. You got hit pretty bad, but it's okay. Just focus on me and you'll be okay? I have you." He encouraged softly with that comforting rasp in his throat. His eyes were shaken and his lip was firm. Though his mood lightened somewhat because at least now you were awake.

You tried to speak but you were so weak. That same fatigue stung you as you stumbled over your words. He cradled you in his arms as he kept his eyes only on you. Your weary mind still around belittling you, another one of your eerily humane curses. He saw your chest quicken and lip quiver as your eyes began to lull, you were struggling. "Hey .. don't strain yourself - what is it?" He too began to worry as you saw his vulnerability bloom. Finally your chest steady as you took in one big breath of air. You let out the one thing keeping you from slipping back into rest in one huff. "Don't let me die, asshole." The asshole part came out more garbled from you after you coughed out your last words. Your last words before your eyes fell closed. For some reason, your hearing stayed for just a while longer. In and out, you could hear him cursing under his breath. The last thing you hear is Logan's panicked shouting at Scott, "Can this hunk of metal go any faster?!"

Finally, after so much pain, there was quiet. Peace and quiet after your constant heartache. You felt freed from the chains of reality. From birth to now, now seemed like your death. You left your current reality with a bitter-sweet smile as you felt consciousness swarm over you.

You couldn't feel how long you were out. Oh, but Logan could. Six weeks you lay in the infirmary. With some sort of miracle and hope, Ororo was barely able to stabilize you. The team rushed back into the mansion in panic as your wounds were assessed. But no, you couldn't feel the panic that coursed through your loved ones as you lay so peacefully. You didn't know your heart rate was being tracked. You were stable but anyone could guess it'd take you a while to re-reach consciousness. That your accident broke the barely well Scott Summers. But most of all it affected Logan to the core. He felt his world shake under him as he finally realized what had just happened. Something snapped in a man so stuck in his ways. Those words you said to him before you went back down. They were short but in the moment meant so much. Not to mention the fact that even Logan, so careless and free, was guilty. Every time he came back just to see you, he wanted to curl over and into you. Just like how he mourned Jean, he mourned you. Though .. he couldn't because you were technically still here. He may have not noticed it but everyone else could. The lack of your presence hindered him the worst. He missed the way you'd bother him out of the blue during the quiet time around the school. He missed you telling him about your life. He missed the shitty snort you did when you laughed too hard at one of his bad jokes. He missed seeing you happy. He missed seeing you move around. Pestering students for turning in assignments late or cheating. He missed the feel of your lips against his forehead when his nightmares of Jean flared up. He missed the way you looked at him. The way you saw him not only as a man but as himself. He didn't know how to admit it but he.. missed you. He missed you so bad and it was eating away at him. He spent hours out of his day visiting you. Like what you two always did when you were alone, he talked. About his day, what he ate, and even the lessons he overheard. The school got even quieter with you gone and he hated it. He felt bitter and broken, he didn't want to feel like that. He especially missed the way he felt with you. Almost like being on cloud nine. He finally understood the pain you felt when Jean died. This time on a more intimate level than he'd like to admit. He felt like the moon was ripped away from him after the sun. Now he was just the lonely tide, washing away against the shore until you returned. Ororo did all she could to help. All she could do was maintain your physical well-being as your body healed with rest. Logan hated the wait. The time you spent not walking around the halls of the school was maybe one of the worst times in his life. Since it hit him so deep on a real level. In this array of pain and even more guilt, he felt something dawn on him as you were still comatose. He was in love with you, Logan was in love with you. He felt like an idiot but the realization would always stay true. No matter how stupid he felt. As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew. In the middle of his thought process, he heard the swift slide open of the infirmary doors.

Right now he was standing over you. The one thing that kept his spirits high about your recovery was the gentle rise and lower of your chest. He didn't have to look behind him to know it was Storm. She too had taken her time checking in on your unconscious form. He sighed as she walked up right beside him. She gently cupped the examination table where your body would lay. She looked down at her hands with a bitter-sweet smile on her lips. She looked over to Logan, who was at a pause with himself. She decided to finally break the long silence. "You know they'll be fine, right?" She hummed as she glanced up to look over you. He chuckled softly as his brow pinched. His chuckle came out more like a rugged scoff. "I know, this just feels weird." He sucked in a breath of stale air. "It was funny the first night you arrived at the mansion.." Storm drew up a memory of that fateful night. "As soon as I and Scott brought you in, they immediately volunteered to help Jean down here with your examination. They were always enamored with your set of abilities. You were one of a kind to them especially, I suppose." Now his hands gripped into the sides of the examination table. He looked down, in pity of you and himself. How could he be so blind? Storm butted in once more as she noticed his demeanor shift. "All I'm saying is, they'd be happy to know how much you worried." He nodded in response, reminiscing when things were good. From your first encounter to now, his heart warmed. "I'd do it for anyone else." He gritted out as he bit back a smile. The truth was he was still in agony about Jean's loss. It felt wrong to love you as he had longed for her after all of this time. But you felt like a whole different story. He didn't have to sit in agony knowing that no matter what his love would always be with another. You always gave him the time and day, hell even down to the minute to just be honest. He needed you at his side no matter what you were to him. Maybe you were more than a friend, maybe he was crazy about you, but you understood him. In a way maybe Jean never had. Ororo knew he needed more time so she complied with the awkwardness in the air. "I'll give you some more time. Rest easy Logan, they'd want that." She insisted before making her way out of the infirmary. He immediately looked down back at you, before looking back at the monitor tracking your heart. He sighed, biting into his lip. He stuttered the only thing that had been keeping him sane since he last felt your eyes open. "Don't fail me now dimples... I need you." He gritted as his teeth were practically ground into his gums. It has become a regular part of his routine now. Once the students were back in their dorms for the night, down to the infirmary he goes. He could never be tired of seeing you at rest. Seeing you okay and not in pain. He just wished he could hear you speak. He hoped that you could hear his pleas for you to wake.

As much as he longed for you he just bided his time. Like the fool he was, like the idiot he felt like when you made him so weak. You made him feel the most human he ever could feel.

That day was supposed to be a normal day. Classes had been more and more brief. After the loss of Jean and you being "put out." But he did not expect to see what he did next. Going into the elevator to head downstairs, to of course see you as always. He was ready to talk about what you missed away and so on. His chest tightened once he saw what was right in front of him. It was you, you were walking? You were awake and on your own two feet. Your midsection was still bandaged but at least you were standing up straight. But then it finally clicked. Wait, you shouldn't even be walking around right now?!

He immediately ran to steady you once your expression went more absent. "Welcome back to the land of the living." He roughly inquired with a small, pleased grin. "I feel like shit, so don't start with me Wolvie." You gritted out with that smile that made him too feel all good on the inside. Quickly, his arms calmly wrapped around you. He longed for your embrace for too long. It wasn't like you were fighting him when he enacted this. You wrapped your arms around him too. He made sure not to squeeze too tight with your bandages and all. A gentleman must stay mindful, he could recall you poking at him as he had a beer bottle half hidden in his jacket.

Your head gently rested in the crook of his neck. That quiet he hated so much before when seeing you in the infirmary was warmer now. He liked the peace and quiet between the two of you when you were there WITH him. After some minutes passed, you met him back face to face. You eyes lingered as you watched the way he swallowed in with composure. You had longed for him to see you. Finally, all the puzzle pieces were clicking, and with your luck all at once. You knew before this would have never happened. It felt wrong and almost hurtful for you to be doing this. But go big or go home I guess. It was you who initiated it, and he gratefully complied. Still keeping you steady, once your lips met his hand immediately went to cup your cheek. In the bliss shared, all of a sudden it felt right. The tender embrace of your lips with his felt good. It was hungry and it was liberating. You could feel his heart beating out of his chest as quick gasps for air were taken. "I'm sorry." He uttered out, forehead against yours. "I know." You said with a sanguine look in your eye. "I love you." He uttered again at a rapid pace. "I know." You purred, your eyes looking back into his hazy ones. Things would always be complicated between the both of you. But deep down you had hope. Maybe not now, someday things could just be normal between you and The Wolverine. That's all you wanted and that's all you dreamed of. Yours and his timing by all means was horrible. So it wasn't surprising this delightful moment got interrupted by Scott of all people. You and Logan looked back, hands immediately darting off of one another. Time to address THAT later.

Scott's mouth fell agape as he began to regret coming down here in the first place. He readjusted his glasses with a small scowl. "Well hello to you too, and Logan." He turned his head to give him that same look. "Wanted to check on you but clearly -" He made sure to put a specific emphasis on 'clearly.' "That job has been overtaken by him.. I'll get Ororo." Before either you or Logan could interrupt him, Scott was already pressing buttons up to the main floor. Now that it was just the two of you bubbling laughs were shared. You felt finally okay. You felt like yourself after those months of nothing but remembrance. You and The Wolverine wormed back into conversation as you could finally talk BACK to him. Another thing you wouldn't ever admit was that yes, you did hear him. His gentle words would always be your favorite secret. After that display of affection though, your and Logan's bond never stayed just a little secret after that. Even after all the trial and error, and the more soon to come, you finally had another moment. Another moment that you could look at when you are older and with more grays on your head. Logan Howlett was yours, no matter how much the universe wanted to throw you around a loop. You'd always have him by your side, till the end of time. Nothing would stop you from cherishing this connection. Not even the burning phoenix crackling over the horizon. You and Logan against time baby.

ꔫ✉ reblogs/interaction is appreciated <3

735 notes · View notes

zepskies · 2 years ago

Note

Hi, how are you?

I was wondering if you could write something like "Dean reads you wrong" but with Sam Please

Hey, lovely!

I'm doing well, thank you. 💜 I hope you are too! Hmm, I'm still working through my current bank of requests, but since "Dean reads you wrong" is so fresh, it got me thinking about how Sam would go about this...

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: It's hard for Sam to admit he wants you...when he thinks you might want his brother.

Song Inspo: "If You're Gone" by Matchbox Twenty

Word Count: 1,600 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, fear of unrequited love, mutual pining

Imagine: Sam reads you wrong.

When Sam falls for someone, he's...well, what he would call self-aware.

But also cautious.

He knows his own track record with women. He knows the life he leads, and has resigned himself to giving up most kinds of normalcy or domesticity.

And maybe, a part deep in the back of his brain has given up on the idea of love.

That's why it's so damn confounding...how you've managed to take him by surprise.

He's always been able to rely on you. Whether it's sharing the brunt of the research with him when Dean loses focus, or staying up with Sam on late nights, sharing mugs of tea and quiet conversation, bonding over familiar tastes in books, and '90s grunge music, of all things.

You also confessed to him, late one night, that you have a growing collection of mugs, fuzzy socks, and vinyl records, despite the fact that your record player has collected more dust than the bunker's old storage room.

You're wonderfully weird.

And you're unfailingly loyal to who you consider "your people." And Sam thinks (knows) he's fortunate enough to be included in that small circle.

Sam also knows, deep in his gut, no matter how much he tries to "rationalize" it away, that you're special. And special to him.

You've managed to do more than just slip under his skin. When he thinks too hard on it, he can admit it (just to himself). You've infiltrated all four corners of his heart so deeply, he doesn't have a prayer of scooping you out.

Some days, it's all he can do not to reach out while you're chatting away, filling the silence.

He can picture it like a scene in his mind: of interrupting your mouth with a gentle hand on your cheek, tilting your face up to his and showing you, with or without words, that he wants you...

And yet.

He can't help but watch how you are with Dean.

You two tease each other, bicker and gripe over coffee grinds left in the coffee pot and who ate the last of the leftovers. You fight with Dean over the remote on movie night (once, damn near smothering him with a pillow).

But you also dote on him, making sure Dean has one of his favorite desserts every time you go out to buy groceries. You swap his beer out for water when he's not looking. (And though Dean frowns and grumbles, he doesn't argue with your raised brow and imploring look.)

It's not quite flirting, but it's not quite platonic either—at least in Sam's eyes. You and Dean seem to have something.

And sometimes, your playful banter with his brother makes Sam sick to his stomach.

Like today, when Sam’s sitting at the kitchen table reading while you're making a cup of tea. The silence between you two is amiable, like usual.

Sam steals a glance at you and has to smile.

"Going with purple polka dots today?" he asks.

You look over with knitted brows of confusion, until you follow his gaze. You laugh sheepishly and wiggle your toes through your fuzzy socks.

"The floor is cold as hell," you defend yourself.

Sam's smile deepens a fraction as he turns back to his book.

"They're cute," he adds.

You turn your face to hide your blush. The mild thunder of heavy boots announces Dean's presence as he pops into the kitchen.

"Oh good, you're cooking. What's for dinner?" he asks. You turn to give him a familiar narrowed look.

"Who says I'm cooking?" you counter.

"Well, you're doing something on the stove..." Dean peers over and catches a whiff of the concoction you're brewing. He grimaces. "Second thought, I'm good. That smells like ass, whatever it is."

You roll your eyes at him. "It's just green tea, Dean. You know, health?"

He levels a deadpan expression at you as he opens up the pantry.

"I see your 'health' and I raise you...Doritos," he says. He digs his hand into the bag he's just pilfered and crunches a mouthful in your face. You can't help but splutter a laugh and push Dean away.

"You're ridiculous. If you catch a heart attack at 50, don't come crying to me."

"Hey, at least I'll die happy."

"Oh, right. A silver lining there. I'd hate to see what your arteries look like," you tease.

"Has anyone told you that you're unsavory?" Dean asks, continuing to crunch with an open mouth.

You smirk. "Is that your way of calling me sweet?"

He snorts. "Sure, sweetheart. We'll call it that."

"You know, I'm not your sweetheart," you point out.

Dean discreetly glances his brother's way with a sly glint in his eyes. Sam doesn't see it; by now he's trying his damndest to keep his eyes in his book and ignore the way his stomach is clenching, chest tightening.

Dean shifts his attention back at you and reaches down to brush your chin with his thumb.

"Not yet, but you could be," he says, in a flirtatious edge that he's never quite taken with you.

You're wide-eyed for a moment. In the end, though, you choose to take it as teasing. You push his hand away and give him an annoyed look.

"God, you're such a clown. Order a pizza if you're that hungry," you rejoin, and you pour two mugs of freshly brewed tea. "I won't even bother offering you one."

"Nope," Dean says, popping the "p." He walks out of the kitchen, giving Sam a firm slap on the back. Sam coughs and shoots his brother a frown.

Dean has the gall to wink at him before he walks out. Like he's having his own little private joke.

Well, Sam isn't laughing. He stares down hard at his book. He tries to ignore everything he just heard and saw out of the corner of his eye.

It becomes too much. He takes up his book and heads out of the kitchen.

He just doesn't see the way you frown as he walks away. There you stand, left holding two mugs of tea for you and him.

Sam returns to his room for a while. He's not hiding. He's...reading.

There's a knock at his door, and if it's Dean, he swears he's going to open his mouth and tell his brother to leave him the hell alone, like he's some kind of moody teen.

But it's you.

"Hey," you greet, after the door creaks open. Sam softens.

"Hey," he says, clearing his throat. "What's up?"

"You," you reply. You bring him his hot mug of tea and set it down on the desk where he sits.

"Thanks," he says.

You nod and place your mug beside his (Lord of the Rings themed, of course), and cross your arms as you lean against his desk.

Sam turns toward you in his chair. His hands rest on his thighs. His gaze travels back up to your face as he tries to keep his neutral, but welcoming to whatever you want to ask him. (He buries his heart deep, as he instinctively does whenever you're near him.)

"You okay?" you ask. Your brows furrow the longer you gaze down at him. Just staring, like you know he's hiding something. Like you can see straight into him, into the shadows where he keeps most of his thoughts of you.

This is perhaps the only area of his life where he's a coward.

"Yeah, I'm good," Sam replies, in a tone that suggests, Why wouldn't I be?

You quirk a smile. "Why don't I believe you?"

Sam swallows. For once, he's not sure what to say to you.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" you say softly. You take a subtle step into his orbit, almost between his open legs. Your demeanor says that you'd gladly listen, do whatever he asked of you. Because you're just that kind.

Sam's mouth twitches upward. "I know. I'm fine, really."

"You're fine, or you're Winchester fine?" you raise a brow.

Sam chuckles then, showing a flash of his smile. It lightens you.

"Maybe a bit of the second one," he admits.

You smile and inch closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah? Tell me," you say. Your voice is soft, but not quite a whisper.

It leads Sam to sigh. He grasps your hand where it lies on his shoulder. For a moment, he debates internally. He realizes then that Dean's antics earlier might've been more than just teasing. Maybe it was a subtle nudge—to stop wasting time.

Damn it, just do something, Sam thinks.

When you squeeze his hand back, it's just the small push he needs. He glances up at you.

Then he takes your hand and holds it between both of his, with care. He tugs you forward, surprising you as you step forward between his legs. Your mouth parts in soft surprise when he reaches a hand up to your cheek.

You still look surprised, blushing up to your ears, but you're not pulling away. In fact, your widened gaze moves from his eyes to his lips.

Sam smiles. He tugs you down to him and enacts a living daydream, finally kissing you with everything he has. Everything he’s had locked inside.

You respond to his mouth in kind; the subtle gasp of breath against his lips sharply cuts off as you sink into his kiss. Your trembling hand comes to his cheek, grazing the dull prickle of stubble. When your fingers dive into his hair next, it’s his turn to take a deep breath.

With each new kiss, he explores more of you. His hands find your waist, and he gathers you against his chest. You find purchase on his strong shoulders and give into the opportunity to straddle his hips, sitting in his lap while he continues to make your heartbeat wild in your chest.

Sam slows the kiss, only because his brain is starting to catch up with his heart. He wants to see your face, to make sure this is what you want.

He finds that and more when he looks up at you.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, tenderly brushing his thumb against your cheek.

"Does that answer your question?" he asks, with a soft laugh. You join him and press your forehead against his.

"I don't know,” you tease. Your eyes are dancing, both with amusement and relief. Because your heart has wanted this for even longer than Sam's.

You lean back in to whisper close to his lips. “Maybe I need a little more clarity."

Sam takes you at your word.

AN: It's been a long time since I've written for Sam! 💜 I got in another request for him a while ago. I may dust that one off soon... Until then, let me know what you think of this!

(And don't worry. I didn't forget about the Soldier Boy imagine I promised. That will come out at the end of this week, most likely!)

Read Dean's version: "Dean reads you wrong."

Sam Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SW Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @tipthejar

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @siampie @violetlilysunshine @nic-kolas @hobby27 @pizzagirlxnsfwx @malindacath @brujaporfavor @katherineann83 @torchbearerkyle

@sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @deans-daydream @adoringanakin @sanscas @pap3rtigers @kaleldobrev @nix-rose

#Sam reads you wrong #Sam winchester imagine #Sam winchester x reader #Sam winchester x you #sam winchester x female reader #angst #reader requests #ask me stuff #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester fic #spn #supernatural #zepskies writes

1K notes · View notes

httpvomitello · 3 months ago

Note

Okay so I've had this idea in my head and I bet you'd be able to write it beautifully because all your works are just amazing. But a George Weasley x Reader (I know you get alot of those I'm sorry) where he introduces her to his family and Molly doesn't like her because she liked George's ex even though she treated him horribly, so she's snarky and passive aggressive towards her and stuff and George is just done after a while.

Hello, hellooo! You know what surprises me? English is not my first language, so when someone compliments my writing, I feel really happy that I am able to bring that feeling to the readers. When I write, I am afraid of making a mistake, but when I see people complimenting what i do, I think I can never find enough words to describe how happy I truly feel! And don't worry about asking for more for George, he, besides Fred, is one of my favorites! So I'm always happy to write about him hehe ~ ♡

Not Good Enough? .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Meeting the Weasley family was supposed to be a nice experience. George had been talking about introducing you to them for months, promising they’d adore you. What he didn’t mention was that his mother, Molly Weasley, had a favorite when it came to his past relationships—and unfortunately, it wasn’t you.

george weasley x f!reader

You knew meeting George’s family was a big deal.

He had been gushing about them for weeks, promising that you’d fit right in. That his mother would love you. That his siblings would immediately adore you.

So when you finally stepped into the Burrow, you expected warmth.

What you didn’t expect was for Molly Weasley to barely look at you before plastering on a stiff smile.

“George has told us so much about you,” she said, her voice just a little too sweet.

You smiled nervously. “All good things, I hope?”

She hummed. “Well, I suppose we’ll see.”

George stiffened beside you, squeezing your hand. You could feel the tension radiating from him, but before you could say anything, Mrs. Weasley had already turned away, calling for the others.

You exchanged a glance with George.

He forced a smile. “She’s probably just tired. Been cooking all day, you know how she is.”

You nodded, choosing to believe him. Maybe she was just in a mood. Maybe she’d warm up to you.

But as the day went on, it became painfully obvious that Molly Weasley had already made up her mind about you.

The first time it happened, you let it slide.

“I just hope you’re keeping up with George,” she said over dinner, watching you as she served another helping of mashed potatoes. “His last girlfriend was so supportive of his business.”

You forced a smile. “I love what he does. He’s brilliant.”

Molly hummed. “Well, she used to stay up all night helping him with inventory.”

You blinked. “I—”

“I don’t need anyone to do that, Mum,” George cut in, giving her a look. “And I hated when she did, actually. She never let me do things my way.”

Molly ignored him. “It’s just so nice when a couple can support each other fully.”

You swallowed thickly.

Fred, who was sitting across the table, raised an eyebrow. “Mum, you do realize his ex was a nightmare, right?”

Molly shot him a sharp look. “She was lovely.”

Fred snorted. “She threw a cauldron at his head once.”

“She cared,” Molly insisted.

You stared down at your plate, poking at your peas.

George sighed. “Mum—”

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive, George. I’m just saying.”

And with that, she turned back to her food, completely oblivious to the storm brewing beside her.

The second time, you started to get annoyed.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable here, dear?” Molly asked when George left the room for a second. “The Burrow can be a lot for some people. George’s last girlfriend just adored it here. Anne was so sweet. Always helping around the house, so thoughtful—”

You clenched your jaw.

“I love it here,” you said, forcing your voice to stay even. “It’s wonderful.”

Molly smiled, but there was something sharp behind it.

“Well, that’s good then.”

You knew exactly what she was implying.

But by the time the third backhanded comment rolled around, you weren’t in the mood to keep your mouth shut.

“She was always so supportive of George’s ambitions,” Molly mused, handing him a plate.

Your jaw clenched.

“Oh, you mean the same girl who constantly put him down? Who acted like she owned him?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, sounds lovely.”

Molly’s eyes narrowed. “She pushed him to be better.”

You scoffed. “She pushed him to be miserable.”

Fred let out a low whistle. “Finally, someone says it.”

George exhaled sharply, setting his fork down. “Mum, I’m serious. Stop bringing her up.”

“I’m just saying,” Molly said, a little too innocently, “it’s nice when someone really understands you.”

That was it.

You pushed your chair back, standing up.

“Molly, I don’t know what your problem is with me, but I’m done pretending it’s okay,” you said, crossing your arms.

The room went silent.

Molly blinked at you, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You keep bringing up George’s ex like she was the best thing to ever happen to him, but guess what? She wasn’t.” Your voice was steady, unwavering. “She treated him like a bloody project, not a person.”

Molly huffed. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Oh, is it?” You raised an eyebrow. “Then tell me—why did George break up with her? Tell me, why am I here and not her? Why does everyone else here agree that she was awful for him?”

Molly opened her mouth, but for once, she had no immediate response.

George stood up beside you, his face tight with frustration. “I don’t know why you liked Anne so much, Mum, but I didn’t,” he said firmly. “I love Y/N. And I don’t care if you don’t see it—she treats me better than my ex ever did.”

Molly pursed her lips. “I—”

“I’m not asking for your approval,” you interrupted. “But if you can’t even try to be decent to me, then I don’t need to be here.”

Molly’s face shifted—guilt flickered in her expression. She looked around, realizing that the rest of her family wasn’t backing her up.

Arthur sighed. “Molly, dear… maybe it’s time to let go of the past.”

Molly hesitated, then let out a slow breath. “…I suppose I may have been a bit unfair.”

George scoffed. “A bit?”

Molly shot him a look, then turned back to you. “I’ll… try.”

You stared at her for a long moment.

You could tell she wasn’t fully apologizing—this wasn’t her admitting she was wrong. It was her trying to keep the peace.

But at least it was something.

“…Good,” you said finally. “Because George deserves better than to feel like he has to fight for the person he loves to be accepted.”

Molly nodded stiffly, then turned back to the table. “Well. Who wants dessert?”

Fred leaned over to George, whispering, “Mate, you really know how to pick ’em.”

George grinned, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Yeah,” he said proudly. “I do.”

#reader #x reader #y/n #f!reader #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #weasley family #george weasley #fred weasley #arthur weasley #weasley twins #molly weasley #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george weasly x reader #george weasley x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader

161 notes · View notes

the-autistic-vulcan · 1 month ago

Text

Live in the Breath (Thranduil x GN!Reader Headcanons)

Request: Hi! I hope you’re having a good day… I have a request. What about just… fluff from Thranduil when his reader is so stressed, crashing out, and utterly scatterbrained from the situations they are in? Btw congrats on being free form university, I know that can be super stressful. 💖 - @goth-fauna

a/n: thank you for the lovely message! it has been a bit stressful this year and I'll do my best to do justice for your request! No warnings other than just crashing out and stress in general

gif credit: @tlotrgifs

It is a not-so-well-kept secret that Thranduil is the drama queen of Middle-Earth

Bro acts like he's dying when he catches a cold - but when he sees you're stressed and borderlining on absolutely losing your mind, he does not. play. around.

You're fairly good at keeping it together - spending your time with him taught you patience and you are really grateful for that

But there are days when you can't keep yourself as compose - this was one of those days

You were in your shared chamber and feeling miserable

You've already screamed into your pillow three times, clawed at your clothes because you just want something to still be in control and now you're lying down, quietly crying

Thranduil, to your obliviousness, was observing you for a while

He noticed something had been off all week, and like the good man he was, he was worried

The first thing he does is just politely make a special tea - one he brews himself, and leaves it on the bedside table without another word

Then he sits next to you, his hand coming to gently stroke your back, your sniffling only driving him to despair

He then gently lifts you up to hold you against him, letting your tears fall on his robes

He's not upset with that, he has plenty more

He take you by the chin, lifting your head up - "I'm here, dearest."

That alone feels like all you need

You then reached for the tea, taking a sip and you both just sit together for a while in comfortable silence

After a bit, and when you're ready to talk, he's there. He let's you vent, politely nodding and touching you gently (with permission of course), letting you have your moment rather than bottle it up

He loves you so much - but he'll still make a scene when he gets a paper cut

But he never treats you without seriousness - he cares too much. And that, in effect, is his greatest virtue.

End notes: Wow it has seriously been a while since I've written for him! Hope you enjoyed! Like, comment and reblog. If you have any ideas, leave them in my request box at the top of my page!

#thranduil #thranduil oropherion #thranduil x reader #thranduil headcanon #thranduil oropherion x reader #lee pace #the hobbit #an unexpected journey #the desolation of smaug #battle of the five armies

125 notes · View notes

novaursa · 10 months ago

Note

Hello:) I love your writing and I saw that you're still taking requests, so I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in writing about my idea??

So the whole idea is Cregan x wife!reader where (before her marriage) she was from a more southern house that's closer to Kings landing (Tyrell, Lannister etc. you can choose)

Now, the main plot is that she wants to help during the war, but she's not that good at fighting and also has no dragon. However, she wants to prove that she can help.

So she fakes/has a little argument with Cregan and then, after a cute goodbye, infiltrates the greens in Kings landing.

There, she acts as if she's no longer close to cregan because he is a black supporter and because of her previous house, she's a green loyalist (in reality, she's team black and a true lady stark)

While she's there, she infiltrates them and sneaks information to cregan and rhaenyra etc. While both of them (or at least cregan worry about her)

Larys and aemond are obvi kind of suspicious of her.

You can choose how you want this to end. If it's angsty because she gets caught or happy even though she got caught, or maybe she doesn't get caught at all. You can choose, with your writing, I'm sure you'll find a great solution:)

The whole scenario is inspired by "She Wolf" by shakira (I hope you know the song😅)

For the rating 16+/18+ depending on the violence/gore/sexual themes.

(Also I wanna thank you for actually considering and writing about my idea for your harwin story "chasing the inferno". I was the anon)

I hope the idea isn't too confusing. Have a great day :)

The Silent Game

- Summary: When your family took the side of King Aegon II, the usurper, you felt the need to support the rightful Queen and your husband, the Warden of the North. No matter the cost.

- Pairing: lannister!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 8 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I hope this is what you had in mind. 🙂 That idea you had (about Chasing the Inferno) was brilliant. And just what I needed to continue the plot, as my imagination was at the halt at that time. And I know that song. I was in my Shakira era when it came out. 😄

The North had always been a place of bold contrasts: the cold and the warmth, the silence and the howling winds, the dark nights and the flickering lights of Winterfell. You were still adjusting to these contrasts, even after months of marriage to Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North. Your union had been one of strategy, a lioness from the Westerlands joining forces with the wolves of the North. But in time, your marriage had grown into something deeper, something that transcended the cold calculations of politics.

Yet now, as the war between the Greens and the Blacks brewed, you found yourself increasingly restless. Winterfell felt like a prison, even with its ancient walls and the comforting presence of your husband. You longed to be more than just a silent supporter; you wanted to take action, to show Cregan that you were his equal in all things, that you could be the lioness who fought alongside the wolves.

But Cregan’s attention had shifted, as it often did with the coming of autumn. The Wall and its endless duty had consumed him, and the war in the south seemed a distant concern compared to the threats of the North. It was a reality you understood but did not accept. You needed to contribute, to show your devotion to him and his cause—Rhaenyra's cause.

Tonight, as you sat by the fire in your shared chambers, the flames casting long shadows across the stone walls, you decided to act. You would provoke Cregan, force him to send you away, to the very heart of the enemy’s territory—King’s Landing. There, you could serve as his eyes and ears, a lioness among snakes, sending back crucial information to the Black faction and to your beloved husband.

The plan was simple in theory, but your heart clenched at the thought of deceiving him, even if it was for a greater purpose. You had to make him believe that you no longer wished to stay in Winterfell, that you felt suffocated and out of place in the North. The thought of causing him pain was unbearable, but you knew it was necessary.

Cregan entered the chamber, his dark hair still damp from the cold air outside. His grey eyes softened when they met yours, and he offered you a small smile as he moved to sit beside you. His presence was comforting, a reminder of why you had fallen in love with him.

"You've been quiet tonight," he observed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate with the very stones of Winterfell.

You looked into the fire, gathering your resolve. "I’ve been thinking, Cregan. About our place in this war."

He frowned slightly, not out of anger but concern. "Our place is here, in the North. The Wall needs me, and Winterfell needs its lady."

His words were reasonable, grounded in the reality of your lives, but they ignited the spark of frustration you needed to fuel the argument. "And what of the war in the South? What of Rhaenyra? Do we not owe her our loyalty? Our support?"

Cregan’s brow furrowed further as he regarded you. "We support her, but our duty is here. The North is vast and unpredictable; it cannot be neglected."

You stood up, letting your anger seep into your voice, even as it tore at your heart to speak such words. "I am a Lannister, Cregan! My brothers are in King’s Landing, one serving on the Small Council of the Greens. How can I sit here, idle, while they plot against Rhaenyra and our cause?"

Cregan stood as well, towering over you, his expression a mix of surprise and hurt. "You would leave Winterfell? Leave me?"

The pain in his voice nearly broke your resolve, but you pressed on, knowing this was the only way. "If it means contributing to this war, then yes! I am not some helpless maiden to be kept in the North while the world burns. I want to fight, to serve, to show that I am as much a Stark as I am a Lannister."

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you feared you had gone too far. "You think I don't need you here? That I don’t want you by my side?"

You softened your tone, taking a step closer to him. "I know you do, Cregan. But I need to prove my worth, not just to you, but to myself. Send me south. Let me be your eyes and ears in King’s Landing. I can be of more use there than I am here."

He looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his desire to protect you and his understanding of the larger game at play.

"I cannot send you into the lion’s den, not when your brothers are part of it," he said finally, his voice strained.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "They are my brothers, yes, but they are also men who have chosen the wrong side. They may not trust me, but they will allow me close enough to gather information, to play the part of the loyal sister while serving Rhaenyra and you."

Cregan’s gaze returned to you, searching your face as if trying to find any hint of doubt. "This is dangerous. You know that."

"I do," you whispered. "But I am willing to take that risk for you, for our house, for our future."

He closed his eyes, his grip on your hand tightening. "You ask too much of me," he murmured. "But how can I deny you when you speak of duty and love in the same breath?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushed away before he could see. "Then you will send me?"

Cregan opened his eyes, the decision made but the weight of it clear in his expression. "I will. But promise me, when this is done, you will return to me. I cannot lose you."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I promise, Cregan. I will return."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you would slip away then and there. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent, committing this moment to memory.

When he released you, his expression was one of determination mixed with sorrow. "I’ll make the arrangements. You’ll leave within the week."

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart heavy with the knowledge of what you were about to do. But you reminded yourself of your purpose, of the love that drove you to this decision. You would prove your loyalty, your devotion, and your love for Cregan Stark, even if it meant walking into the lion’s den to do so.

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of your chamber, casting a muted glow over the room. The warmth of the fire had long since faded, leaving a chill in the air that seemed to seep into your very bones. You had spent the night sleepless, lying in the large bed you shared with Cregan, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Today was the day you would leave Winterfell, your home, and your husband, to embark on a dangerous mission to the South.

The thought of leaving him, of being apart from the man you loved, filled you with a deep ache. But this was necessary. For Rhaenyra, for the Blacks, for Cregan. You had to believe that.

A soft knock at the door drew you from your thoughts. You sat up, wrapping your robe tightly around yourself as the door creaked open, revealing Cregan. His expression was a mixture of sadness and resolve, a reflection of your own emotions. He entered the room silently, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other.

"You’re leaving soon," he said quietly, his voice rough from the early hour.

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond. You knew that if you spoke, your voice would betray the turmoil inside you.

Cregan crossed the room to stand before you, his large hands gently cupping your face. His touch was warm, comforting, and you leaned into it, closing your eyes as you savored the moment.

"I wish there was another way," he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. "I wish I could keep you here, safe, by my side."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. "I know, Cregan. But this is what needs to be done. For Rhaenyra, for the North...for us."

His jaw clenched, and you could see the struggle in his eyes. "I hate that you have to do this, that I have to send you into danger."

You placed your hands over his, squeezing gently. "You’re not sending me into danger, Cregan. I’m choosing this. I want to help, to do my part. And I know you would do the same if our positions were reversed."

He pulled you into his arms then, holding you close against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath, and you closed your eyes, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. The thought of being without him, of not feeling his warmth beside you at night, was almost unbearable.

"You must be careful," he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Promise me you’ll stay safe, that you’ll come back to me."

You tightened your hold on him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. "I promise, Cregan. I will return to you. I will always return to you."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his expression serious. "If you find yourself in danger, if things become too perilous, you must come back. The war, the cause—it’s not worth losing you."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. You needed to be strong, for him, for both of you. "I will be careful, I swear it."

Cregan leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a kiss full of love, of longing, of a desire to hold on to this moment for as long as possible. You returned it with equal fervor, pouring all your emotions into that kiss, as if it was the last one you would ever share.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you," he whispered, the words carrying the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely more than a breath.

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, holding each other, neither wanting to let go. But eventually, you knew the time had come. You stepped back, breaking the embrace, and Cregan’s hand lingered on yours as you moved away.

"I’ll be waiting for you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Winterfell will be waiting for you."

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart heavy with the knowledge that this might be the last time you saw him for a long while. But you had to stay strong, for both of you.

Cregan escorted you to the courtyard, where a horse had been prepared for your journey. The Northern wind whipped around you, biting at your exposed skin, but you barely felt it. All your focus was on Cregan, on the way his hand gripped yours, as if afraid to let go.

As you approached the horse, Cregan helped you mount, his hands lingering on your waist, his touch warm even through the thick layers of your clothing. Once you were settled, he stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You’ll have a small escort until you pass the Twins, just enough to keep you safe without drawing too much attention," he said, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "I trust you, my love. I trust you to do what needs to be done."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "And I trust you, Cregan. I will send word as often as I can."

He gave a small, tight smile. "I’ll be waiting for your letters, but more than that, I’ll be waiting for you to return."

You looked down at him, your heart breaking at the thought of leaving him behind. But you steeled yourself, knowing that this was the path you had chosen.

"I will come back to you, Cregan," you promised, your voice firm. "No matter what happens, I will return."

He reached up, his hand brushing against your cheek one last time. "Goodbye, my lioness. Until we meet again."

With a final nod, you urged the horse forward, the sound of hooves on the stone courtyard echoing in your ears. You didn’t look back, knowing that if you did, you might lose the resolve to go through with this. Instead, you focused on the path ahead, on the journey south, on the mission that awaited you.

But as Winterfell disappeared behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of you was being left behind, with the man you loved.

The towering walls of the Red Keep loomed ahead as your carriage (courtesy of Lady Frey when you rested in the Twins) rolled through the gates of King’s Landing. The familiar, oppressive weight of the capital settled on your shoulders the moment you crossed into the city. You had grown up in these streets, and while the grandeur of the Lannister seat at Casterly Rock had always called you home, there was something about the Red Keep that felt equally like a gilded cage and a battlefield. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what lay ahead.

The journey south had been long and grueling, but that was nothing compared to the task you now faced. You had to convince your brother, Tyland, that your presence here was born out of desperation and exile, not strategy and loyalty to Rhaenyra. Every word, every gesture would need to be calculated, yet natural, to ensure he believed you were truly the sister he thought he knew.

The carriage came to a halt, and before you could fully prepare yourself, the door was pulled open by a Lannister guard. You stepped down, your legs stiff from the journey, and barely had time to straighten your skirts before you saw him—Tyland, rushing down the steps of the Keep, his face etched with worry.

"Sister!" His voice was strained with concern, and he reached you in a few quick strides, enveloping you in a tight embrace.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace. It had been years since you’d last seen Tyland, and despite everything, despite the sides you had chosen, he was still your brother. The scent of his familiar cologne brought back memories of a simpler time, before the realm had been torn apart by dragons and treachery.

"Tyland," you breathed, your voice trembling as you wrapped your arms around him, drawing on the emotions you needed to sell your story. "I didn’t think I’d ever see you again."

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he scanned your face, searching for any signs of harm or distress. "What happened? Why are you here? Why are you alone?" The questions came in a rapid, breathless stream, his eyes wide with worry.

You looked down, feigning shame and sorrow, before meeting his gaze with a carefully crafted expression of despair. "Cregan found out about our family’s support for King Aegon. He was furious, Tyland. He said he couldn’t have a Lannister—a traitor, he called me—living in his house. He… he exiled me. Sent me away with nothing but a few guards and this carriage. I had nowhere else to go."

Tyland’s face darkened with anger, his grip on your shoulders tightening. "That bloody Northern savage," he spat, his voice low and dangerous. "How dare he treat you like this? How dare he?"

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes as you allowed yourself to lean into the role you had to play. "He said he never wanted to see me again, that I was nothing but a stain on his honor. I begged him to reconsider, but he was adamant. I had no choice but to come here, to you."

Tyland’s expression softened, his anger giving way to concern as he pulled you into another embrace. "You’re safe now," he murmured against your hair. "You’re with your family, where you belong. We’ll protect you, I promise."

You nodded, clinging to him as if for dear life, even as your mind raced with the lies you had spun. "I was so afraid, Tyland. I thought he might… I thought he might harm me. The way he looked at me…"

Tyland pulled back, his eyes fierce with a protective fury you hadn’t seen in him before. "He’ll pay for this, I swear it. But you’re safe now. I’ll make sure of it."

You allowed yourself to sag against him, letting out a shuddering breath as you feigned relief. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice shaking. "I didn’t know where else to turn."

He stroked your hair gently, guiding you back towards the Red Keep. "You did the right thing, coming here. The war… it’s tearing everything apart, but you’re safe with us now. We’ll figure out what to do next."

You let him lead you inside, your heart pounding with the fear that he might see through your act. But Tyland was focused on comforting you, on reassuring you that you were home now, that you were safe. The gods old and new were merciful, it seemed, as he didn’t question your story, didn’t probe deeper into your supposed exile.

As you walked through the familiar halls of the Red Keep, Tyland kept a protective arm around you, guiding you towards the chambers that had been hastily prepared for you. His anger at Cregan, his love for you, were palpable, and you leaned into that, praying silently that you could maintain this charade.

When you reached your chambers, Tyland dismissed the servants, wanting a private moment with you. He led you to a chair by the fire, urging you to sit, and then knelt before you, taking your hands in his. "You don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ll protect you. The Greens will win this war, and when they do, you’ll be safe, and you’ll have your place in the new order."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on his as you forced yourself to believe in the role you were playing. "I just want to do what’s right, Tyland. I want to support our family, to do whatever I can to help."

He smiled, a hint of the boy you once knew shining through the hard exterior he had built over the years. "And you will, sister. You will. We’ll make sure of it."

As he stood to leave, you squeezed his hand, forcing yourself to look vulnerable, desperate for his protection. "Please… don’t let anyone else know what happened. I don’t want to be seen as a failure, as someone who couldn’t hold onto their marriage."

Tyland nodded, his expression serious. "Of course. We’ll keep this between us. No one will think less of you for what that Northern brute did. You’re a Lannister, and you’re my sister. That’s all that matters."

You nodded, offering him a weak smile as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The moment he was gone, you allowed yourself to collapse into the chair, your hands shaking with the weight of the deception you had just woven.

The Red Keep was your tie to home, but now it was a den of enemies, a place where every word, every action, could spell disaster if you were not careful. You prayed to the gods old and new, begging them for strength, for cunning, for the ability to play this dangerous game.

You had convinced Tyland, but there were many others who would not be so easily swayed. You had to be vigilant, careful, and above all, you had to keep Cregan in your heart. You would send him word when you could, slip information back to him and to Rhaenyra. But for now, you had to be the lioness among lions, playing your part in this deadly dance.

And all the while, you prayed that Tyland, or anyone else, would never see through the mask you had so carefully donned.

The grand halls of the Red Keep were as cold and imposing as ever, despite the ornate tapestries and blazing hearths that lined the corridors. You had grown accustomed to the hollow echo of your footsteps as you navigated this labyrinth of stone and secrets, but today, the weight of your task felt heavier than ever. The shadows seemed to cling to you, whispering of the dangers that lurked behind every corner.

In the privacy of your chambers, the faint scent of burning parchment still lingered in the air. You had just destroyed a letter—one that had arrived under the cover of darkness, smuggled into your hands by a loyal servant of the North. The letter had been from Cregan, your heart's anchor in this sea of deception.

You could still feel the warmth of his words lingering in your chest, a reminder of the love that bound you to him, even across the distance. He had written of his worry for you, of the nights he spent staring out over the frozen landscape of the North, wishing you were there beside him. He thanked you for your courage, for the sacrifices you were making, even as he admitted how much it pained him to have sent you away. His words were full of love, but also fear—a fear that you would be caught, that the game you were playing would turn deadly.

My brave lioness, he had written, I know the strength you carry within you, but I cannot help but worry for your safety. Every day, I pray to the old gods to watch over you, to keep you safe in the den of our enemies. You are my heart, my soul, and I am so proud of what you are doing, even though it tears at me to think of you so far away. Return to me, my love, when this is all over. Until then, be careful, and know that my thoughts are with you always.

You had read the letter several times, allowing yourself a few moments of vulnerability as you traced the familiar curves of his handwriting. But you knew that every word was dangerous, that keeping such a letter would be a risk you couldn’t afford to take. So, with a heavy heart, you had burned it, watching as the flames consumed the last tangible connection to your husband.

Now, as you walked through the Red Keep, you carried the memory of that letter with you, tucked away in the deepest part of your heart. You had to be careful, more so than ever before. The walls had ears, and the slightest misstep could unravel everything.

As you rounded a corner, heading towards the private dining chamber where you were to meet Tyland for dinner, you caught the tail end of a conversation that sent a chill down your spine.

Aemond Targaryen’s voice, sharp and filled with frustration, echoed down the hallway. "It’s impossible that Rhaenyra could have known about the ships. Someone must have tipped her off. The fleet from the Free Cities was our best chance to cut off her supply lines at the Gullet!"

You slowed your pace, your heart beginning to race as you listened. Larys Strong’s voice, oily and calm, responded in a tone that made your skin crawl. "It is troubling, my prince. We must consider that there may be a leak within our ranks, someone feeding information to the Blacks. We cannot afford any more missteps."

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized the gravity of their conversation. Rhaenyra had been warned about the ships—a piece of information you had managed to send north discreetly through one of your own messages. If they suspected a spy in their midst, it would only be a matter of time before they began to scrutinize everyone, including you.

As you continued down the hallway, forcing yourself to remain calm, you felt a pair of eyes on you. You turned your head slightly and saw Aemond and Larys watching you from the shadows. Aemond’s single eye glinted in the dim light, his gaze sharp and assessing. Larys’s expression was unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to set your nerves on edge.

You met their gazes briefly, offering a small, polite nod as if nothing was amiss, before continuing on your way. The chill that ran down your spine was unlike anything you had felt before, a cold, creeping fear that settled deep in your bones. They had seen you, and you could only pray that they did not suspect you of anything more than passing by.

As soon as you were out of their sight, you quickened your pace, eager to reach the safety of your brother’s chambers. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to maintain a composed exterior. You couldn’t afford to show any sign of fear or guilt—especially not now.

When you finally reached the private dining chamber, you found Tyland already seated at the table, a glass of wine in hand. He looked up as you entered, his expression softening into a smile.

"Sister," he greeted, rising to embrace you. "You look troubled. Is everything all right?"

You returned his embrace, taking comfort in the familiar scent of your brother, but the tension in your shoulders refused to ease. "I’m just tired," you lied smoothly, offering him a weary smile. "The journey was long, and the atmosphere here… it’s oppressive and difficult to adjust in a few months."

Tyland nodded, leading you to the table where a simple but elegant meal had been laid out. "The war weighs heavily on all of us," he said, pouring you a glass of wine. "But you’re safe here, with family."

You accepted the wine, taking a small sip as you tried to push the encounter with Aemond and Larys from your mind. But the memory of their scrutiny lingered, a constant reminder of the precarious position you were in.

As the meal progressed, you made light conversation with Tyland, discussing family matters and memories of your childhood at Casterly Rock. He seemed genuinely pleased to have you back in his life, and his presence was a balm to your frayed nerves. But even as you laughed at his stories and shared in his plans for the future, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking on a knife’s edge.

Every word you spoke, every gesture you made, was calculated to keep up the facade. Tyland must not suspect anything—nor could anyone else. You were playing a dangerous game, and the stakes were higher than ever.

As the night wore on, you excused yourself, claiming fatigue from the journey, and Tyland kissed your cheek warmly before you left. "Rest well, sister," he said, his voice filled with affection. "We’ll speak more in the morning."

You nodded, offering him a final smile before retreating to your chambers. Once inside, you closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. You had made it through another day, but the fear remained, gnawing at your resolve.

You crossed the room and knelt by the hearth, staring into the dying embers of the fire. Closing your eyes, you whispered a prayer to the gods old and new, asking for their protection, their guidance. You needed every ounce of strength and cunning to survive this—to complete your mission and return to Cregan’s arms.

As the night deepened, you crawled into bed, but sleep eluded you. Instead, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your deception pressing down on you like a heavy cloak. The memory of Cregan’s letter played over in your mind, a reminder of why you were doing this, of who you were doing it for.

No matter the danger, no matter the fear, you would see this through. For Rhaenyra, for the North, and for the love you carried for the man waiting for you in Winterfell.

But as you drifted into an uneasy sleep, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep the truth hidden, how much longer you could play this deadly game before someone discovered the lioness in their midst was indeed a wolf.

The skies above King’s Landing were thick with the smoke of burning ships, the sound of clashing swords and the cries of the wounded echoing through the streets. The city had fallen, its walls breached by Rhaenyra's forces, and now the Blacks had taken control of the capital. The Red Keep, once a symbol of power and authority under the Greens, had become a battlefield, its halls filled with the triumphant and the defeated.

You stood in the throne room, surrounded by the black and red banners of House Targaryen, your heart heavy with a mixture of relief and dread. The mission you had embarked upon months ago had finally reached its conclusion. You had done what you had set out to do—played your part in the fall of the Greens from within their own stronghold. But the price of your success now weighed heavily on your soul.

At the far end of the hall, Rhaenyra Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, her dark hair cascading down her back, her gaze as fierce as the dragons she commanded. Daemon stood beside her, his presence as menacing as ever, his eyes glittering with the thrill of victory. The throne room was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and soldiers alike, all of them awaiting the queen’s judgment on those who had opposed her.

As you approached the throne, your heart pounded in your chest, knowing what was about to happen, dreading it. Tyland had been captured along with the other members of the Green council, and now they awaited their fates. You had pleaded with the guards to see your brother, to speak to him, but they had refused. You had been kept away from him, kept in the dark until this moment.

"Your Grace," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you as you curtsied before Rhaenyra. "King’s Landing is yours, and the Greens have been defeated. I am at your service, as always."

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened slightly as she looked down at you, a rare moment of warmth in the midst of the chaos. "You have done much for our cause, my lady. Your loyalty and bravery have not gone unnoticed. It is thanks to your efforts that we were able to anticipate their moves, to strike where they were weakest. For that, you have my gratitude."

You bowed your head, accepting her praise, but the words felt hollow. Gratitude could not ease the tension that coiled in your gut, the fear that gripped your heart as you awaited her next words.

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened again as she turned her attention to the prisoners being brought before her, shackled and defeated. Among them was your brother, Tyland, his face pale but his expression resolute. He had always been a proud man, and even now, in chains, he refused to show fear.

"Tyland Lannister," Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, echoing through the throne room, "you stand accused of treason against the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You served the usurper Aegon and conspired to destroy House Targaryen. For your crimes, there can be but one punishment."

You felt the blood drain from your face as the words you had feared most were spoken. "No," you whispered, barely audible, before finding your voice and stepping forward, your heart in your throat. "Your Grace, please, I beg you to spare him."

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath as you spoke, all eyes turning to you. Rhaenyra’s gaze was sharp, questioning. "He is a traitor, my lady. His actions led to the deaths of many, and he must answer for them."

You sank to your knees, desperation in your voice as you pleaded for your brother’s life. "He is my brother, Your Grace. He may have been misguided, but he did what he believed was right, just as we all have. I know his loyalty was to the wrong cause, but I beg you to show mercy. Let him live, and I swear he will never pose a threat to you again. He is all I have left of my family."

Tyland’s eyes met yours, and for the first time since you had reunited in King’s Landing, you saw something break in his stern facade. The love and concern in his gaze were unmistakable, and you felt your heart wrench as you saw your brother—the man who had always protected you, who had stood by you when no one else did—now reduced to this.

Rhaenyra’s expression remained impassive, but you could see the conflict in her eyes. She was a queen, but she was also a mother, a sister. She knew what it was to love and to lose, to be torn between duty and family.

"You ask much of me, my lady," Rhaenyra said slowly, her voice measured. "Tyland Lannister’s hands are stained with the blood of my loyal followers. Mercy for him could be seen as weakness, a precedent that might encourage others to rise against me."

Daemon’s gaze flickered to you, then to Tyland, and back to Rhaenyra. His voice, when he spoke, was cold and calculating. "Mercy is a luxury we cannot afford in these times, Rhaenyra. Traitors must be dealt with swiftly, without exception."

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t afford to be weak now, not when your brother’s life hung in the balance. "Please, Your Grace," you implored, "I will do anything you ask of me. Anything. Just spare him. I will leave the capital, return to the North, or anywhere else you command. I will serve you however you wish, but please, do not take him from me."

The silence that followed your plea was deafening. Rhaenyra looked at you, truly looked at you, and you could see the wheels turning in her mind, weighing your words, considering the options. You held your breath, praying that the love you had for your brother, and the service you had given to her cause, would be enough to sway her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rhaenyra spoke. "Tyland Lannister has committed grave crimes against the realm, crimes that warrant death. But in recognition of the service you have rendered to my cause, I will grant him his life."

A gasp of relief escaped your lips, and you bowed your head in gratitude, tears now streaming down your face. "Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you."

"But know this," Rhaenyra continued, her voice stern and unwavering. "He will live, but his life will be one of exile and dishonor. He will be stripped of his titles and lands, and he will be sent to the Wall. He will live out his days in the service of the Night’s Watch, far from here. He will never again set foot in the South."

You nodded, unable to speak, overwhelmed with a mix of relief and sorrow. It was a harsh sentence, but it was life. Tyland would live, and for that, you were endlessly grateful.

Tyland was led away, his eyes lingering on you until he disappeared from view. You rose to your feet, still trembling, and Rhaenyra gestured for you to approach the throne.

"You have done much for me, and for that, you have my thanks," she said quietly, so only you could hear. "But remember, this mercy I have granted comes with a cost. Loyalty must be earned and maintained. See to it that you do not waver."

You met her gaze, understanding the weight of her words. "I will not forget, Your Grace."

With that, you turned and left the throne room, your heart heavy but filled with a sense of purpose. Tyland would live, and that was more than you had dared to hope for. But the road ahead would be long and treacherous, for both of you. You had made sacrifices, and you would have to make more. But as long as you could keep the people you loved safe, it would all be worth it.

As you walked through the halls of the Red Keep, the echoes of your footsteps accompanied by the distant sounds of a city under new rule, you prayed once more to the gods old and new. You had survived this day, but there would be many more challenges ahead. And through it all, you would need to stay strong, for yourself, for your brother, and for the North that still awaited your return.

The road to the North was long and arduous, the chill of autumn creeping steadily into the bones of everyone who traveled it. The once green fields had turned to barren landscapes, the sky a constant blanket of grey. You sat in the carriage, wrapped in furs, the bitter cold seeping through the heavy fabric. Beside you, Tyland sat quietly, his expression unreadable as he stared out the window at the bleak countryside.

The silence between you had stretched on for days, the weight of everything that had happened in King’s Landing hanging heavy in the air. You had saved his life, but at a cost. Tyland had lost everything—his titles, his lands, his place in the South. And now, he was being sent to the Wall, to a life of exile and duty in the farthest reaches of the realm. You knew he struggled with the reality of his new fate, and the words he had not yet spoken weighed on your heart.

As the carriage rumbled along the rough road, you finally mustered the courage to speak, breaking the silence that had settled between you like a shroud. "Tyland," you began, your voice soft but steady, "I know this is not the life you envisioned for yourself. I’m sorry for what has happened, for the choices that led us here."

Tyland turned his gaze from the window to you, his eyes searching your face for a moment before he sighed, a heavy sound filled with all the emotions he had kept bottled up. "You did what you thought was right," he said finally, his voice tinged with bitterness but also a hint of resignation. "You always were the clever one, the one who saw the bigger picture. But I can’t say I’m not angry, or that I’m not filled with regret."

You nodded, understanding his feelings all too well. "I had to make a choice, Tyland. I couldn’t let you die, not when there was another way. But I know the Wall is not what you wanted, and for that, I am sorry."

He leaned back against the cushioned seat, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the weariness of the past few months. "The Wall," he muttered, almost to himself. "It’s a place for criminals, for bastards, for those who have nothing left to lose. And now I am one of them."

"But you’re alive," you said gently, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "And you’re still a Lannister, no matter where you go. The North may be harsh, but there is honor in serving at the Wall, especially now that winter is coming. The realm will need men like you, strong and capable, to defend it."

Tyland looked at your hand in his, then back at you, a shadow of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You always did have a way of making the worst situations seem bearable. I suppose that’s why you’re still alive, too."

You smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "We do what we must to survive, Tyland. But that doesn’t mean we have to face it alone."

The rest of the journey was spent in a tentative peace, the bond between you and Tyland slowly beginning to heal, though it would never be the same. He had accepted his fate, though with a heavy heart, and you had accepted the burden of knowing that your actions had brought him to this point. But as the carriage drew closer to Winterfell, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief.

When Winterfell finally came into view, its ancient walls standing tall against the sky, you felt a wave of emotion wash over you. This was home now, the place where you had found love and purpose, and where you would begin the next chapter of your life. As the carriage rolled through the gates, you could see the figures waiting in the courtyard—Cregan among them, his tall, broad-shouldered form unmistakable.

The carriage came to a stop, and before you could even step out, Cregan was there, pulling the door open and helping you down. His hands were warm, his touch grounding you as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of pine and cold air that clung to him.

"I missed you," you whispered, your voice muffled against his furs.

"And I you," he replied, his voice thick with emotion as he held you close. "Every day, every night, I thought of you. But now you’re here, and that’s all that matters."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up into his eyes. "I brought Tyland with me. Rhaenyra spared his life, but she sent him to the Wall."

Cregan’s gaze shifted to where Tyland was stepping out of the carriage, his expression unreadable. He nodded in acknowledgment, though there was no warmth in his eyes. "Lord Lannister," he greeted, his tone respectful but formal.

Tyland straightened, meeting Cregan’s gaze with a mixture of pride and resignation. "Lord Stark," he replied, bowing his head slightly. "I’m here to serve, as ordered."

Cregan studied him for a moment, then nodded. "The Wall is not a punishment, Tyland, but an honor. The Night’s Watch may be seen as a place for those with no other options, but the truth is, it’s a place for men who understand the weight of duty. The realm needs protectors, especially now, with winter coming. You will find purpose there, and in time, perhaps even a sense of belonging."

Tyland’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he nodded in agreement. "I will do my duty," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of determination. "If this is my fate, then I will embrace it."

Cregan’s expression softened slightly, and he extended his hand to Tyland. "Then you have my respect, and the respect of the North. You are welcome in Winterfell until you take the black."

Tyland accepted the handshake, and for a moment, the two men stood in silent understanding. You felt a sense of relief wash over you—there was no animosity here, only a shared understanding of the burdens they both carried.

As the three of you made your way inside Winterfell, the warmth of the great hall enveloped you, the familiar scents of wood smoke and roasted meat filling the air. You felt a sense of peace settling over you, knowing that you had done what you could to protect your family, and that here, in the North, you would find the strength to face whatever came next.

That evening, you and Cregan sat together by the fire, the weight of the past few months slowly lifting as you shared stories of what had transpired. Tyland joined you, his demeanor more relaxed than it had been since his capture. The three of you spoke of the future, of the challenges that lay ahead, but also of the hope that lingered just beyond the horizon.

As the fire crackled and the shadows danced on the stone walls, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The North was harsh and unforgiving, but it was also a place of honor, of loyalty, and of love.

The warmth of the fire had long since faded, leaving only the soft glow of embers to illuminate the room. The heavy furs that covered the bed provided a cocoon of warmth, sheltering you from the cold that seeped in through the stone walls of Winterfell. Outside, the wind howled, a reminder of the harshness of the North, but here, in Cregan’s arms, you felt only the warmth of his body against yours.

The two of you lay entwined beneath the blankets, your skin still tingling from the intensity of your lovemaking. It had been so long since you had been together like this, since you had felt the press of his body against yours, the way his hands knew every curve and hollow of your form. You had missed this—missed him—with an ache that had grown unbearable during your time apart.

Cregan’s fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, his touch light but possessive, as if he was reminding himself that you were truly here, that you were his once more. You pressed closer to him, your head resting on his broad chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was a sound that had become your anchor, a reminder that you were home.

"You’re quiet," Cregan murmured, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. "What’s on your mind, my love?"

You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch, the safety of his embrace. "I’m just… grateful," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Grateful to be here, with you. I missed this, missed us."

Cregan shifted slightly, rolling onto his side so that he could face you, his dark eyes searching yours in the dim light. "I missed you too," he said, his voice low and full of emotion. "Every day you were gone, I thought of you. Wondered if you were safe, if you were thinking of me as much as I was thinking of you."

You reached up, your fingers brushing the stubble on his jaw, feeling the roughness beneath your fingertips. "You were always on my mind," you confessed, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of your emotions. "There were times I didn’t know if I’d make it back, but the thought of you, of us… it kept me going."

His expression softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. "You’re here now," he whispered against your skin. "And I won’t let anything take you away from me again."

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, needing the reassurance of his presence. "I don’t want to be apart from you ever again," you said, your voice fierce with determination. "I’ll do whatever it takes to stay here, with you, in the North. This is where I belong, where we belong."

Cregan’s hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down your cheek. "You’re my wife, my love," he said, his voice steady and sure. "Nothing will keep us apart again. We’ve been through too much, and we’re stronger for it. This is our home now, and we’ll face whatever comes together."

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. It was true—together, you could face anything. The challenges you had overcome, the dangers you had braved, had only strengthened the bond between you. And now, here in the safety of Winterfell, in the warmth of Cregan’s arms, you knew that you could finally allow yourself to rest, to trust that you were where you were meant to be.

Cregan’s lips found yours again, the kiss slow and tender, full of the love and longing that had built up during your time apart. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss, wanting to lose yourself in the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closed as you savored the closeness between you. "I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out as naturally as a breath.

"I love you too," Cregan replied, his voice rough with emotion. "More than anything. More than the North, more than duty, more than life itself."

You smiled, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within your heart. There was nothing more important than this, than the love you shared, the life you were building together. And after everything you had been through, you knew that you were ready to face whatever the future held, as long as you had him by your side.

The two of you lay together in silence for a while, simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence, the quiet intimacy that had been so hard-won. The world outside might be harsh and unforgiving, but here, in this moment, you were safe. You were loved.

As you drifted off to sleep, your head resting on Cregan’s chest once more, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them with the strength of the North in your veins and the love of your husband in your heart. And that, you knew, would be enough.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #cregan x y/n #hotd cregan #cregan x you #cregan x reader #cregan stark #house lannister

370 notes · View notes

beepboopkek · 2 months ago

Text

— Steady as Stone Chapter 1, A Study in Patience

Including: Zhongli x GN!Reader (for now) c/w: multi-chapter fic, will be NSFW later on, established relationship, non- $3xual BD$M, k1nk n3g0titation, fluff and smut, t0p!d0m!Zhongli, sub!bttm!reader, soft zhongli, reader is NOT traveller, reader has anxiety, gentle d0m zhongli (lmk if i missed anything) w/c: 8.6k

a/n: HALLO EVERYNYAN!!! we r so barrack !! life has put me through the ringer lately but cock waits for no one so here we r !! hopefully if this is well received chapter 2 will be out sooner than my other neglected fic (shh) anyway hope u enjoy!! sorry if the tags r a lil innaccurate im still learning,, i also kept my own self insert (whos dating zhongli akshually) in mind while making this but no features are described so go crazy imagining !

CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

It was a rare occasion—one of those few times where Zhongli chose to stay in with you, rather than spend his day off wandering through Liyue, making purchases, conversing with vendors, and reconnecting with old friends. You had long come to understand his love for these leisurely strolls, and though you were more of a homebody, you often accompanied him.

Late into the morning, you stirred his favorite tea, carefully carrying the pot over to the low table in the center of the living room. Zhongli sat across from where you stood, reading glasses perched low on his nose as he scanned the morning newspaper, one hand resting thoughtfully against his chin—a small, yet endearing habit of his.

The soft clink of the teapot being set down caught his attention. Without hesitation, he folded the newspaper to the side, reaching for his cup with one hand while adjusting his glasses with the other. A gentle smile graced his lips as he looked at you.

“Thank you, dear.”

No matter how many times he used these affectionate names, they still made you blush. Humming in acknowledgment, you lifted your cup in an attempt to hide your flustered expression.

Zhongli closed his eyes briefly, savoring the tea. Then, with a teasing lilt to his voice, he remarked, “This pot of tea is just as exquisite as the person who brewed it.” A sly smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he watched for your reaction.

You ducked your head slightly, mumbling, “It’s really no different from the one you get in Liyue, but… thank you.”

Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you inwardly cringed. How was it possible to be this smitten every time he praised you? Something was terribly, terribly wrong with you.

Casual conversation carried on—you asked Zhongli what he wanted for lunch, whether he preferred to go out to Wanmin Restaurant or cook something at home.

“I was thinking we could stop by Wanmin today,” you suggested, idly swirling the tea in your cup. “It’s been a while since we’ve eaten there, and I don’t feel like cooking.”

Zhongli nodded, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “That sounds agreeable. Chef Mao’s hotpot is particularly good this time of year.”

“Hotpot?” You perked up, resting your chin on your hand. “That does sound tempting. But do you think we’ll be able to get a table? You know how busy it gets during lunchtime.”

Zhongli’s lips curled into a small smile. “I am certain we will find a way. Perhaps we could also take a stroll through the harbor afterward.”

You hummed in thought. “That sounds nice. Maybe we can stop by Third-Round Knockout and pick up some tea leaves on the way back.”

“A fine idea,” he agreed, fingers tapping lightly against the porcelain of his cup. “Though I suspect you’re more interested in their osmanthus cakes than the tea.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. “How dare you call me out like that?”

Zhongli chuckled, deep and rich, and the sound alone made your heart stutter. “Merely an observation.”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head with a small smile. “Fine, guilty as charged. But if we’re getting tea, we should also get some almond tofu for later.”

“That would be a welcome addition.” He exhaled softly, pausing as if in thought. Then, in a slight shift of tone, he continued, “However, before we finalize our plans, there is something I wish to discuss with you.”

His voice was calm, steady as always, yet something about the way he said it made your stomach do an uneasy flip. The casual air between you both seemed to still, anticipation creeping into your veins.

“…What is it?” you asked, sitting up a little straighter, shifting uneasily in your seat. That sentence never led to anything good in your experience. Maybe Zhongli had caught onto your sudden bout of anxiety; if he did, he made sure not to show it. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we can always stop.”

You nodded as you blew air on the edge of your cup, trying to cool the tea down, before taking a sip. “I have noticed a few things about you when we fornicate.” You choked.

Barely managing to swallow before coughing violently, you slapped a hand over your mouth as if that would somehow undo what you just heard.

Fornicate? Who even used that word anymore?!Zhongli simply waited, watching you with his usual patience as you tried to collect yourself.

“Okay, first of all—please, never say it like that again,” you blurted out, still recovering from your near-death experience with tea.

Zhongli arched a thick brow, looking completely unbothered. “Would you prefer ‘make love’?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Oh, Archons—just—anything but ‘fornicate.’”

“Duly noted.”

He set his cup down and folded his arms—a signal that he was about to launch himself into a monologue. A signal you had long since come to understand. "You respond exceptionally well to praise, and, if you'll forgive my bluntness, you also seem to enjoy being given instructions. I've observed how you react when guided—how your breath hitches, how your gaze fogs up, the way you instinctively follow without hesitation. It’s not just obedience; it’s something deeper, something that seems to bring you a distinct sense of comfort… and perhaps even pleasure." Zhongli paused, taking in your wide eyes and timid posture. He sighed softly, realising he had to wrap up his side quickly or else he would scare you off. "What I’m saying is that I think you might enjoy a more in-depth exploration of BDSM. It seems to resonate with you on a deeper level, even if you haven’t fully acknowledged it yet. I believe it’s something worth exploring together, at a pace you're comfortable with. Do you know what that entails?"

You stared at him for what seemed like several minutes, but Zhongli, as patient as ever, only looked at you with reverence in his eyes, awaiting your response. You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, trying to force the words out of your throat, but to no avail. “Take your time.” Zhongli spoke, the baritone of his voice grounding you. You shut your mouth for good this time, collecting your scattered thoughts as you tried to piece together a response. After what seemed like an eternity, you quietly spoke. “I—um, I’ve never experienced it,” you admitted, gripping your cup a little tighter. “I’ve read about it, but… that’s it.” Zhongli regarded you with his usual composed expression, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—curiosity, perhaps even understanding. He nodded slowly, unfolding his arms before speaking again.

"That’s perfectly alright, it is nothing to be ashamed about," he reassured, his voice warm and even. "Knowledge is one thing, but experience is another entirely. It’s not something one can rush into, nor is it something that should be done without trust and mutual understanding. If it’s something you’re willing to explore, I would be honored to guide you through it… but only if you truly want to."

His words sent a shiver down your spine—not from fear, but from something else entirely. Excitement? Anticipation? You weren’t sure, but the weight of his gaze, steady and patient, made your heart race. "Truth be told, it has always interested me," you admitted, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup. "I, um… I’ve read a lot about it in fanfiction, but I highly doubt it’s anything like the real thing."

Zhongli let out a soft chuckle, his golden eyes filled with quiet amusement. "Fanfiction, you say? While I admire your dedication to research, I suspect much of what you've read may be… dramatized, if not entirely inaccurate."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "I knew you were going to say that."

His voice took on a gentler tone as he continued, "That being said, curiosity is a natural first step. What matters most is ensuring that any experience is based on trust, communication, and a deep understanding of each other’s boundaries and desires."

You peeked at him between your fingers, your face still hotter than the Pyro Archon herself. "So… if I wanted to try, where would we even start?"

Zhongli’s lips curled into a knowing smile as he leaned forward slightly. "We start with a conversation—one where you tell me everything you’re curious about… and everything you’re unsure of." You groaned, covering your eyes with your hands again, feeling your skin burning with embarrassment beneath your fingertips.

“Do we… really have to talk about it?” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Zhongli replied, his tone calm yet firm. “I would prefer to have this discussion openly. Communication is key in matters like these.”

You continued to watch him from in between your fingers, observing as he took a slow sip of his tea before continuing.

“As for desires and boundaries, those can be outlined in a contract—on paper. That way, there is no room for uncertainty.”

Your hands dropped slightly as you gave him a wary look. “A contract?”

Zhongli simply smiled. “Naturally.” He set his teacup down with deliberate care, his golden eyes meeting yours with steady patience. “To put it simply, BDSM is built upon three fundamental principles: everything that happens must be done with clear consent; there must exist mutual understanding; and finally, there must be a focus on both partners’ well-being.”

You swallowed, nodding slowly as he continued.

“There are different dynamics within it—dominance and submission being one of the most common. In such a relationship, one partner takes on a guiding or commanding role, while the other follows and submits to that authority. However, submission is never about weakness; it is about trust. The submissive has just as much control as the dominant, if not more, because their comfort and boundaries dictate everything.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you listened.

“There are also elements of sensation play, restraint, discipline, and psychological aspects that may or may not appeal to you. It is never a one-size-fits-all experience. Every dynamic is unique, shaped by the needs and desires of those involved.”

He leaned back slightly, his expression softer. “That is why a discussion like this is essential. Before anything can be explored, we must first understand what intrigues you, what you’re uncertain about, and what you absolutely do not want.”

You hesitated, processing everything he had said. “And… the contract?”

Zhongli inclined his head. “A written agreement outlining boundaries, preferences, and limits. It ensures that both parties are respected and protected. Think of it as a set of guidelines rather than a rigid document—flexible, evolving, and entirely up to us.”

You bit your lip, heat creeping up your neck again. “This is… a lot.”

His lips twitched up into a knowing smile. “Take your time, my dear. As I said before, curiosity is merely the first step.” You fidgeted with your cup, your thoughts swirling as you tried to wrap your head around everything. Zhongli’s explanation made sense—his calm, steady voice had a way of making even the most complex ideas seem approachable—but there was still so much you didn’t know.

After a moment of hesitation, you finally spoke.

“So… how do you know what someone likes? Or what they don’t like?”

Zhongli’s gaze softened, as if he was pleased by your willingness to engage. “Communication, first and foremost,” he said, chuckling as your face soured again. “Some preferences may already be known, but others can only be discovered through discussion and, if desired, gradual exploration.”

He paused briefly before continuing, “For many, this is done through a checklist—a tool to help identify interests, limits, and curiosities. Some things may intrigue you in theory, but feel different in practice. That is why it’s important to start slow and build trust.” You nodded slowly, processing his words. “And… what if I don’t know what I like yet?”

Zhongli gave you a small, reassuring smile. “Then we discover it together.”

You swallowed, feeling your face heat up again, but curiosity pushed you forward. If you were going to have this conversation, you might as well understand all of it.

“What about you?” you asked, voice quieter than intended. “What’s… your preference?”

Zhongli studied you for a moment before answering, his tone even, yet unwavering. “I prefer the dominant role.”

You felt a shiver crawl down your spine at the unwavering certainty in his voice. “Why?”

Zhongli’s expression remained calm, but there was something deeper in his gaze now—something knowing.

“There are many reasons,” he began. “For me, it is about guidance and control—not in the sense of restriction, but in offering structure and security. I take great satisfaction in learning my partner, in understanding their needs even before they voice them. A good dominant does not simply command—they observe, anticipate, and ensure their partner feels both safe and desired.”

His gaze held yours as he continued. “More than that, it is about trust. To have someone place their faith in me, to surrender control knowing that I will never overstep their boundaries—that is something I do not take lightly. I enjoy the responsibility, the care that comes with it… and, of course, the pleasure of watching my partner unravel under my attention.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his last words, a warmth spreading through your chest. You weren’t sure what you had expected, but his answer—so thoughtful, so Zhongli—only left you with more questions and a racing heart. You shifted in your seat, trying to steady your thoughts before speaking again. “About the contract… how detailed does it have to be?”

Zhongli gave you a small, approving nod, as if he was pleased you were asking thoughtful questions. “As detailed as we need it to be,” he replied. “Some contracts are simple—outlining only the most important limits and expectations—while others are more comprehensive, covering everything from specific boundaries to preferred forms of aftercare.”

His fingers traced the rim of his teacup as he continued, “The purpose of a contract is not to restrict but to clarify. It ensures that both partners are fully aware of each other’s needs and limits, so there is never uncertainty. It is not a binding document in the legal sense, but rather a mutual agreement—one that can evolve as trust deepens and desires shift.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. “So… if I agreed to this, we would write one together?”

Zhongli’s lips curled into a small, gentle smile. “Yes. Together. Every line, every detail would be discussed, ensuring that you are comfortable with every aspect before anything begins.”

A flutter of nerves, mixed with something else—anticipation, possibly?—settled in your stomach. The way he spoke, so patient and assured, made the entire concept feel less intimidating… and far more intriguing. You sat in silence for a long moment, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of your teacup again. Every word Zhongli had spoken replayed in your mind—his patience, his steadfast nature, the weight of trust in his voice. He wasn’t just offering you an experience; he was offering you a foundation, a partnership built on understanding and care.

The idea should have been overwhelming, but instead, you felt something unexpected—a sense of clarity. A slow, deep realization settled within you.

“I…” You took a steady breath, lifting your gaze to meet his. “I think I want to try.”

Zhongli’s expression remained unreadable for a beat, as if gauging the depth of your conviction. Then, his lips curved into something softer—not just a smile, but something deeper, something proud.

“Very well,” he said, his voice smooth and warm—as if he had known you would reach this decision, but had been content to wait until you arrived there on your own. “Then we will take our time, discuss everything thoroughly, and move at a pace that feels right for you.”

His reassurance settled any lingering nerves, and you nodded. This was unknown territory, uncharted and vast, but you weren’t navigating it alone.

The next step arrived quicker than you anticipated, it was only a few days after your conversation that he presented you with a small stack of papers—each page neatly filled with columns of words you didn’t entirely understand. Your heart pounded as you took the documents from him, fingers ghosting over the crisp parchment. You had known this was coming, but knowing and experiencing were two very different things. You were hesitant at first, to sit down with Zhongli and understand each and every kink outlined, but you pressed through your hammering heart and went ahead. He had reassured you that there would be no pressure, no expectations. So, swallowing your nerves, you sat with him and turned your gaze to the words. The columns of words were all written in Zhongli’s neat handwriting, clear to read and immediately identifiable. What surprised you most, however, was the sheer amount—almost eight pages of kinks, limits and instructions, all painstakingly handwritten.

A shiver ran down your spine at the realization. Zhongli had spent considerable time crafting this list, ensuring every possibility was accounted for. The thought of him, sitting alone and carefully writing down all of these things with that signature patience of his, made something flutter in your chest. You snuck a glance at him. He was calm, composed as always, as if he hadn’t just handed you something that had your face burning. Meanwhile, you had barely skimmed through the first few lines, and already, heat was creeping up your neck. Some of the words on the page were unfamiliar, some made your stomach twist with curiosity, and others—others had you pressing your legs together beneath the table.

Zhongli, noticing your silence, tilted his head slightly. “If anything is unclear, you are welcome to ask,” he offered smoothly, as if he was discussing something as ordinary as a grocery list.

You exhaled, steadying yourself. This was fine. This was just a conversation.

“…Okay,” you said, voice a little weaker than you’d have liked. “Let’s go through it.”

Zhongli’s lips curled into something small, something approving. “Very well. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

…It was indeed not ‘just’ a conversation.

Zhongli remained calm and patient through it all, effortlessly composed as he explained each term with the same measured tone he used when discussing historical texts or the finest tea blends. Meanwhile, you—well. You were a blushing, overheating mess barely holding yourself together.

At some point, you had abandoned any attempt at dignity, sliding further and further down your seat until you were practically sinking into the floor, face buried in your hands.

“Are you feeling overwhelmed?” Zhongli asked, his voice laced with the barest hint of amusement.

You peeked at him between your fingers, your face burning hotter than the sun. “Overwhelmed is an understatement,” you groaned.

The list was thorough—painfully thorough. Every kink, every act, every dynamic was detailed in that elegant script of his, with small notes in the margins explaining anything that might be unfamiliar. You couldn’t even begin to wrap your head around his unwavering composure— as solid as the element he governs.

“I—I just—” You flailed slightly, struggling to form a coherent thought. “You actually wrote out all of this?”

Zhongli nodded, entirely unaffected. “Of course. Proper communication is essential. It is important that you understand each possibility before making any decisions.”

You groaned again, pressing your forehead against the table. “I don’t know if I’m more impressed or mortified.”

Zhongli chuckled, a soft little sound. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about, my dear. This is simply an exploration of interests. Whether you find something intriguing or wish to rule it out, every reaction is valid.”

Easy for him to say—he wasn’t the one barely holding onto their composure.

You took a slow, deep breath, willing yourself to pull it together. “Okay,” you murmured. “I can do this. Let’s… keep going.”

Zhongli’s smile was subtle but unmistakably pleased. “That’s the spirit.”

After he’d explained each item on the list iin-depth, it was time to move ahead. Taking another deep breath, you straightened in your seat—or at least tried to, despite still feeling like you’ve melted into a puddle of embarrassment. Zhongli patiently waited as you gathered yourself, his golden gaze warm yet expectant.

“So… what now?” you asked, voice only slightly wobbly.

Zhongli gestured toward the stack of papers in front of you. “We will go through each item one by one once again. If it is something that interests you, or something you are certain you wish to explore, we will mark it with green. If it is something you are unsure about, hesitant on, or feel neutral toward, we will mark it with yellow. And if it is something you do not want under any circumstances, we will mark it with red.”

You nodded slowly. It sounded simple enough. But as your eyes flickered down to the page again, scanning the long list of kinks, a wave of heat crawled up your neck. Simple or not, actually deciding on these things was another matter entirely.

Zhongli, ever perceptive, seemed to catch your hesitation. “We are in no rush,” he reminded you gently. “You may take as much time as you need. Moreover, if you wish to understand what something entails, I will be more than happy to explain it again.”

You exhaled, nodding again. “Alright.” You picked up the pen he had placed beside the papers and, after one last moment of internal screaming, placed a careful green mark beside something that made your stomach twist in interest.

Zhongli hummed approvingly, his sharp eyes noting your choice. “A fine selection,” he murmured, voice low but undeniably pleased.

Your hand tightened around the pen, snatching the paper away from Zhongli’s piercing eyes as you looked at him from the corner of your eye, face burning. “D—Don’t say it like that! And don’t look!”

His lips twitched in the faintest trace of amusement, but he said nothing more, simply gesturing for you to continue.

And so, you did—marking red for hard limits, yellow for things you weren’t sure about, and green for things that sent a thrill through your body. With each mark, you noticed that Zhongli was also filling his list alongside you, albeit much faster than you. You had to remind yourself that it wasn't a competition. Zhongli remained patient, never rushing, never pushing, only guiding. And by the time you had reached the last page, your heart was still racing—but now, it was more with anticipation than mortification.

Once the last mark was made, you set your pen down with a relieved sigh, leaning back in your seat. Zhongli, ever composed, waited for you to collect yourself before he slid his own identical stack of papers toward you.

“We will now exchange sheets,” he said smoothly, as if this was a standard contractual agreement rather than an intimate discussion about deeply personal desires.

You swallowed, your fingers hesitating for a moment before you slid your own sheets over to him in return. The weight of the moment settled in as you each took in the other’s markings—your own list now in his hands, and his in yours.

Your eyes scanned over Zhongli’s paper, taking in the familiar crisp handwriting, now marked with green, yellow, and red. Some of the things he had marked green made your breath hitch slightly, heat prickling at your skin. Others, especially the ones marked yellow, sparked curiosity. But it was the red marks that truly held your attention.

Zhongli, who had already begun reviewing your own sheet, glanced up. “If there is anything that stands out to you, do not hesitate to ask.”

You bit your lip before tentatively pointing to one of his red-marked kinks. “This one… ‘Blood Play’, you marked it as a hard limit. Can I ask why?”

Zhongli set your paper down, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he met your gaze. “Of course,” he said without hesitation. “This particular act does not align with my personal preferences, nor do I believe it would bring either of us enjoyment. Boundaries exist for a reason, and I expect you to uphold mine just as I will uphold yours.”

His words settled something deep within you, a reassurance that this was truly an equal exchange. You nodded, understanding. “That makes sense.”

He studied you for a moment before his own curiosity flickered across his expression. “And you?” His eyes dipped briefly to your sheet before returning to you. “I noticed you marked ‘Switching’ as yellow. Are you uncertain about it?”

You followed his gaze, spotting the term he was referring to, and felt your face heat up. “I—yeah,” you admitted. “I don’t know if I’d like it or not. I just… haven’t really thought about it much before.”

Zhongli hummed in thought. “Then it is something we can discuss further in the future,” he said simply. “There is no need to make a decision now.”

The ease with which he spoke, the lack of pressure, made you relax a little. This wasn’t a test or a negotiation with strict terms—this was a conversation, one meant to foster understanding.

You nodded, a small smile forming at the corners of your lips. “Okay. That sounds fair.” You spent a long moment going over his sheet, your fingers fidgeting slightly against the edges of the paper as you took everything in. Seeing his interests and boundaries laid out so clearly made everything feel real in a way that even your initial conversation hadn’t. This wasn’t just some abstract discussion anymore—this was him, his preferences, his desires.

And the fact that he was sitting here, openly sharing all of this with you, trusting you with it, made something warm settle deep in your chest.

Still, curiosity won over hesitation. You tapped your finger against another mark on his sheet—a very clear green—before looking up at him. “And this? You marked ‘Kneeling’ as a strong interest. Can I ask why?”

Zhongli’s golden eyes flicked down to where you were pointing, and for the first time since this discussion began, you saw something shift in his expression. It was subtle, but the corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly—not quite a smirk, but something close.

“You may,” he answered, his voice carrying the same smooth confidence as before, but now laced with something deeper. “That particular dynamic appeals to me for a number of reasons, but primarily because it aligns with my natural inclinations.”

You swallowed, feeling an odd mix of anticipation and nerves. “Which are?”

His gaze held yours, unwavering. “As I mentioned a few days back, I find great satisfaction in structure, in guidance. I enjoy providing my partner with direction and watching them flourish under it. There is a certain intimacy in control—not as a means of restriction, but as a way of deepening trust.”

Your breath caught slightly, and you tried not to shift in your seat. How was he saying these things so effortlessly?

“I see,” you mumbled, eyes darting back to the paper, more as an excuse to look away than anything else. You could feel his gaze on you, patient yet knowing, as if he could already see the way his words were affecting you.

Zhongli let the silence linger for a moment before speaking again. “And you?”

Your head snapped back up. “Huh?”

A glint of amusement danced in his eyes. “You marked the same with yellow.” He tapped a finger against your sheet, the slight smirk still playing at his lips. “Are you uncertain because you lack experience, or because you are unsure whether it would suit you?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. “...Both,” you admitted. “I mean, I think I’d like it, but I don’t know for sure. I’ve never had someone actually… take control like that before.”

Zhongli nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Then it is something we can explore carefully, should you choose to. There is no need to rush—only to communicate.”

His calm, measured response should have eased your nerves, but instead, it only made you hyper-aware of the weight of his words. “Should you choose to”. The choice was yours, entirely, but the way he spoke made it clear that if you did choose to pursue this… he would guide you through it with the same meticulous care he approached everything else.

The thought sent a full-body shiver through you.

You took a shaky breath, nodding. “Right. Communication.”

Zhongli’s lips twitched, but he said nothing else, simply waiting for you to continue.

Your eyes flickered back to his list, scanning over the remaining marks. The conversation had already gone deeper than you expected, but there was one last thing you needed to ask before you could fully process it all.

Taking a steadying breath, you pointed to a specific line near the bottom of the page—one of the few things he had marked yellow. “And, ‘Breath Control’?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Why are you unsure about this one?”

Zhongli studied your expression for a moment before answering. “Because,” he said slowly, “it would depend entirely on my partner.”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I have no personal aversion to it,” he explained, voice even as always. “However, its enjoyment is derived from the response of the one I am with. If my partner finds it pleasurable, then so do I. If not, I would have no particular attachment to it.”

You blinked, absorbing his words. “So… you’d only be into it if I was?”

A single nod. “Precisely.”

Something about that answer sent another wave of warmth through you—this time, not out of flustered embarrassment, but something softer. Zhongli wasn’t just interested in his own preferences; he was interested in yours. In you.

You swallowed thickly, nodding as you let the information settle. “That… makes sense.”

Zhongli watched you for a moment longer, then set the papers aside. “I believe we have covered the majority of what needed to be discussed.”

You blinked. “Oh.” You glanced down at the pages, realizing that, somehow, you had made it through all of them. You still felt like you might spontaneously combust at any moment, but you had done it.

Zhongli’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

That was a loaded question.

“…Overwhelmed,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “But also… kind of relieved? I don’t know, I just—” You sighed, shaking your head. “I was so anxious about this conversation, but you made it feel… safe.”

Zhongli’s expression softened, and he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so gentle, so intentional, that it nearly made your breath catch.

“I am glad,” he murmured. “That is the most important thing.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering against your ribs.

This was really happening.

And you were starting to think you wanted it more than you’d ever realized.

A few days had passed since your conversation, and while the initial overwhelming fluster had settled, the thoughts had not. Every now and then, your mind would drift back to the discussion, to the words written in Zhongli’s neat script, to the way he had patiently answered each of your questions, to the way his eyes carried more warmth and love for you than anyone else, and his unending patience through all your self-doubt and anxiety.

You had agreed to take your time—to ease into things rather than rushing headfirst. But tonight, as you sat beside Zhongli in the quiet glow of your shared space, sipping on tea that had long since gone lukewarm, you felt the weight of unspoken words between you.

Zhongli noticed, of course. He always did.

Setting his cup down with careful precision, he turned to you, studying your expression. “You seem lost in thought.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around your cup. “…I guess I’m just trying to picture it,” you admitted. “What it would actually be like.”

Zhongli hummed in understanding, his golden gaze holding yours. “Would you like me to describe it to you?”

Your breath hitched slightly. “You mean…?”

“A scene,” he clarified smoothly. “A glimpse of what you could expect,”

Your heartbeat stuttered. It was one thing to read about it, to theorize and wonder. But to have him—the man you trusted, the man who made you feel both safe and utterly unraveled—describe it in his own words?

You swallowed hard, then gave a small nod. “Okay.”

Zhongli’s gaze darkened slightly, though his expression remained composed. He leaned forward just enough that the space between you felt smaller, more intimate. When he spoke, his voice was low, as smooth as polished Cor Lapis.

"Then picture this,” he murmured.

“You stand before me, anticipation thrumming beneath your skin. You do not yet know what I will ask of you, only that you have entrusted yourself to me for the evening. I take my time—watching you, observing the way you respond to my presence, the way your breath hitches when I step closer. I do not touch you yet. Not until I am ready.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You shifted slightly, pressing your thighs together, but Zhongli didn’t acknowledge it. He simply continued.

“When I finally reach for you, it is deliberate—one hand at the back of your neck, the other tracing the length of your arm, slow and measured. I tilt your chin up, making sure you meet my gaze.”

His voice dipped, the weight of those words settling deep in your bones. You could almost imagine him doing these things to you, almost see the way his golden eyes would bore into you, unwavering.

“Pleased with your obedience—I reward you. Perhaps with my touch, perhaps with my voice, whispering praise against the shell of your ear. I let you feel the restraint, the control. I give you direction, and you—” His lips quirked slightly. “—you follow beautifully.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers digging into the fabric of your clothing as your eyes remained trained on your legs. Your entire body felt like it was burning.

Zhongli watched you closely, his gaze flickering over your face, as if memorizing your every reaction. And then, just as smoothly as he had begun, he leaned back, his expression once again composed.

“That,” he said calmly, “is merely one possibility.”

You exhaled shakily, your entire world narrowing down to him—his voice, his presence, the lingering heat of his words still settling into your skin.

“…Oh.” It was all you could manage.

Zhongli’s lips curled slightly, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You seem… affected.”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan. “You think?”

A low chuckle rumbled from him, warm and indulgent. He reached out, prying your hands gently from your face, his gloved fingers cool against your overheated skin. “There is no need for embarrassment,” he murmured. “I only wish for you to understand what this dynamic might entail.”

You met his gaze, your pulse still racing. There was no teasing in his expression, no judgment—only patience. You swallowed. “I… think I understand.”

Zhongli tilted his head slightly, watching you. “And do you wish to take the next step?”

Your breath caught. You had spent days thinking about this, about whether you were truly ready. But after hearing that—after feeling the effect his words alone had on you—was there really any doubt left?

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself. Then, finally, you nodded.

“Yes,” you murmured. “I do.”

“Good,” he said, voice rich with quiet satisfaction. “Then we shall begin a discussion for our first scene together. I wish to plan something that is not inclined entirely towards something sexual, since it is your first time. We can have this as a trial run to see how you like things. What do you think?”

You nodded slowly, your mind still catching up to the gravity of the moment. A trial run. Something meant to ease you into the dynamic without pushing you too far, too fast. The idea was reassuring, grounding you in the knowledge that Zhongli would guide you at a steady pace.

“That… sounds good,” you admitted, voice quieter than you intended.

Zhongli’s eyes softened just slightly, a glimmer of approval settling in their golden depths. “Then let us discuss what this scene will entail.”

He sat back, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he regarded you. “To begin, I want to establish a structured environment—one where you can focus entirely on obedience and discipline, without the distraction of intimacy. This will allow you to explore the dynamic fully before we proceed any further.”

You swallowed, nodding again. The way he spoke—so composed, so sure—only reassured you further.

Zhongli continued, his tone smooth and deliberate. “For our first scene, I propose a few simple tasks. One: posture training. Learning to hold yourself properly under my instruction, maintaining discipline in both mind and body.”

You could already feel the phantom weight of his gaze, the way he would watch you, correct you.

“Two,” he went on, “obedience drills. Simple commands that will help you understand what it means to yield—not out of obligation, but by choice.”

His words sent warmth curling through your chest. You had already felt it, the pull of his authority, the way it settled over you like a comforting weight.

“And finally,” Zhongli said, voice dipping just slightly, “endurance.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Endurance?”

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “Yes. The ability to hold a position, to follow instruction without hesitation, to listen even when the silence feels overwhelming. Discipline is not simply about following orders—it is about understanding them.”

You exhaled shakily, processing everything he had said. It all made sense. He was creating a foundation, a structured experience that would allow you to explore without feeling lost.

Zhongli observed you for a moment before speaking again, his voice gentle yet firm. “Does this sound like something you would be comfortable with?”

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “Yes.”

His gaze flickered over you, assessing. “Good. Then tell me—would you prefer for this scene to have a set timeframe, or shall we go until you feel you have reached your limit?”

The question took you by surprise. He was giving you control over the structure, ensuring you had a say in how this would unfold.

After a moment of thought, you answered, “A set time, I think.”

Zhongli nodded approvingly. “Very well. An hour, then. Enough time to explore, but not so much that you feel overwhelmed.”

Zhongli’s voice drew you back to the present. “Then we will begin tomorrow.”

Your breath hitched. “Tomorrow?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and indulgent. “Yes. I want you to have time to process, to prepare. Anticipation is a powerful thing, my dear.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling low in your stomach at his words.

Zhongli’s golden eyes glowed with quiet amusement as he reached forward, brushing his thumb under your eye. “Rest well,” he murmured, his fingers lingering for just a moment. “You will need it.”

The next day could not have arrived faster, you thought to yourself, as your jittery hands unlocked the front door with Zhongli’s pair of extra keys that he had given to you. The door unlocked with a resounding click and you stood motionless at the door for a moment, collecting your thoughts.

Zhongli had made it abundantly clear that you could back out of this scene at any time you felt uncomfortable and he would be entirely okay with it. But, something about seeing Zhongli’s glimmering eyes and soothing voice was driving you to at least try your best. Zhongli had instructed you to prepare—wear something comfortable, ensure you were hydrated, and most importantly, come with an open mind. You took a deep breath as you pushed the door open and stepped in, setting down your bag and timidly waving at Zhongli, who was seated on his usual seat. You also noted the lack of the center table and the stack of books next to the sofa he was seated on along with a pillow placed on the ground. “Come,” he said simply, noting how your mind was already wandering

You obeyed without thought, stepping around the sofas until you stood right before him— Peering down into amber eyes.

Zhongli studied you in silence for a moment, as if assessing something unseen. Then, he reached out, his fingers ghosting over your wrist, grounding you.

“Are you ready?”

You swallowed, nodding. “Yes.”

A small, approving smile graced his lips. “A few instructions, we will follow the tricolour dango system for this scene. When I ask you what colour you’re feeling, you respond with ‘green’ for good, if you are okay to continue; ‘white’ as a warning, if some discomfort is present; and finally, ‘pink’ to completely stop the action. Is that understood?”

You swallowed again, nodding in affirmation. Zhongli’s gaze remained steady, but his brows furrowed slightly. “I would like you to provide as many verbal confirmations as possible. It is important for both of us.” “...Yes, I understand.” “Good.” Then, he continued, his tone calm yet firm. “If at any point you feel overwhelmed, even after signaling ‘green,’ we will use our safeword. I trust you remember what it is?” “Yes, Glaze Lily.” “Correct. You’re doing exceptionally well so far.” You ducked your head at that, blushing as he chuckled at your reaction. He closed the book he was reading and cleared his throat. “We will begin now. Do you have any questions you would like to ask, or any other preparations you want to make?” You hesitated, your stomach twisting in anxiety at the thought of what you were going to say. You cringed, but decided to ask anyway. "Yes... what do I… call you?"

Zhongli tilted his head slightly at your question, his amber eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Ah. I see you have given this some thought.”

Your face burned, but you nodded. “I mean… I’ve read things. In fanfiction.” You hesitated before continuing, voice growing softer. “There are… titles. Honorifics. And I wasn’t sure if you had a preference.”

Zhongli let out a thoughtful hum, stepping closer. “It is true that certain titles are often used in dynamics such as these.” He regarded you carefully, as if weighing his words. “However, what truly matters is what feels natural for you.”

His voice dipped lower, more deliberate. “Would you prefer something formal? ‘Sir’ is a common choice, one that carries both respect and structure.”

Your breath hitched at the way he said it.

“Or something more personal?” He paused, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “I must admit, I have always been rather fond of ‘Master’.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the weight of the word.

Zhongli’s gaze remained steady. “But the choice remains yours, my dear. I won’t enforce anything. At least not now, for our first time doing this together.” You whispered a muted ‘okay’ as your skin crawled with embarrassment, but before you could spiral into your own thoughts, a firm voice broke you out of your stupor. “Kneel.”

Zhongli’s voice was steady, unwavering, yet never forceful. It was a command, yes, but one laced with patience.

“Slowly,” he reminded you, his tone soothing. “Gently, onto the pillow. Move with intention, and above all, be mindful of your own comfort.” You swallowed hard, obeying as you carefully lowered yourself onto your knees. Your movements were stiff, uncertain, and your skin prickled with self-consciousness.

You adjusted yourself onto the pillow, foam dipping underneath your weight, You placed your hands on your thighs for balance, your breath uneven as you settled into the position.

“Now,” Zhongli continued, leaning closer towards you. “Spread your legs—just enough to remain comfortable.”

Your face grew impossibly warm, and for a moment, hesitation gripped you. The vulnerability of it all sent your thoughts into a spiral, but before you could get lost in your own self-consciousness, Zhongli spoke again.

“You are overthinking this.”

Your eyes flicked up to him, startled.

His expression was calm, unreadable, but there was an undeniable softness in his gaze. “This is not a test. There is no right or wrong way to feel. I simply wish for you to be at ease.”

You took a shaky breath, nodding, and forced yourself to relax. Slowly, you parted your knees, shifting into a position that felt natural.

Zhongli observed you in silence for a moment before offering a small nod of approval. “Good. Now hold this position.”

You did as instructed, the weight of his gaze pressing into you like a silent force. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just new. Different.

“Tell me,” he murmured, “How do you feel?”

You wet your lips before answering, voice barely above a whisper.

“…Exposed.”

Zhongli let out a thoughtful hum. “That is to be expected.”

You heard the rustle of fabric as he moved slightly, still seated across you. “And yet, you are still here. Still listening. Still following.”

The words sent a shiver through you.

Zhongli exhaled softly, his voice a velvet murmur that wrapped around your nerves like silk. “You are doing well,” he said, approval thick in his tone—quiet but grounding, like a weight that anchored you in place. “Shall we continue?”

You nodded at first, but then remembered his earlier request for verbal confirmation. Your throat felt dry, your heart beating a little faster as you forced your voice past the lump in it.

“Yes… Sir.”

There was a beat of stillness. His amber eyes flickered with something—surprise, perhaps?—just for the briefest moment. But it passed just as quickly, fading back into the steady, composed expression you had come to rely on.

His smile softened, warm and reassuring, and he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

“Good,” he said, voice low and fond. “You may use my legs for support, if that will help you stay comfortable.”

He adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter as he reached for the book beside him, flipping it open with deliberate ease.

“I am going to read now,” he continued. “You will stay where you are, relaxed and present. If anything feels off, you will tell me immediately. Is that understood?”

You nodded again, more firmly this time. “Yes, Sir.”

The corners of his mouth tugged upward ever so slightly in approval before his gaze shifted down to the pages in his hands.

And just like that, the silence enveloped the two of you like a weighted blanket. Zhongli’s eyes scanned the pages with the same graceful attentiveness he applied to everything he did. His presence, calm and composed, exuded a quiet authority that filled the room. You shifted slightly, careful to maintain your position, adjusting your weight against his legs as he’d allowed.

The rustle of the paper as he turned a page was soothing, almost meditative. There was something oddly comforting in the silence that followed—being still, being watched over. His hand occasionally moved, brushing idle circles against the back of your head, never distracting, only grounding.

“You’re doing very well,” he said after a few minutes, his voice low, almost like an afterthought—but it made your chest flutter nonetheless. “I’m pleased.”

You weren’t sure what made you more placid—his praise, the closeness, or the simple, deliberate rhythm of his movements. But you basked in it anyway, quietly proud that you hadn’t panicked or shifted away. Time passed slowly, though you did not count the minutes. The silence between you was never empty—it was full of breath and thought and unspoken affection. His hand would occasionally leave the top of your head to turn a page or adjust his posture ever so slightly, his calm energy keeping you anchored, a silent reassurance that he hadn’t forgotten you were there—he never would.

You stayed still, adjusting slightly only when your knees began to ache, always mindful of the position, of your breathing, of the atmosphere that wrapped around the two of you like velvet.

After what must have been the agreed upon timeframe of an hour, Zhongli gently closed his book and placed it to the side. The soft sound of the cover meeting wood brought you back to the present like a gentle chime. His hand moved to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly along your skin as he coaxed your sleepy gaze upward.

“You did wonderfully,” he said, his voice low and warm, thick with praise. “How are you feeling?”

You blinked up at him, eyes slightly dazed from the quiet headspace you’d slipped into. Your body felt heavy, but not unpleasantly so. Relaxed. Tethered. You offered a small nod, followed by a whispered, “Good… I feel good.”

A rare smile touched his lips, one that reached all the way to his eyes.

“Let us bring this scene to a close, then,” he said gently. “You’ve done enough for now.”

His hands moved with care as he helped you sit up on the sofa, guiding you slowly to avoid any sudden discomfort. He handed you a glass of water, fingers lingering against yours in a touch that felt as intimate as any embrace.

Zhongli remained close as he took a hold of your legs, gently stretching both limbs as your knees protested from being locked in the same position for so long. As you winced at the feeling returning to your legs again, you felt a pair of lips on your knee. “You listened to every word, and you stayed with me. I’m proud of you.”

You felt your throat tighten with emotion. A breath caught. All of it—your effort, your nervousness, the fluttering thoughts you tried to push down—felt worth it just to hear that.

“You did not falter,” he continued softly, reaching out to cup your face. “You respected your own limits while offering me your trust. That is no small thing. I want you to know how much I value it—and you.”

You blinked quickly, overwhelmed, but nodded.

“I… I wanted to do well for you.”

Zhongli’s expression softened. “And you have. More than well. I am exceptionally proud.”

He helped you shift positions slowly, guiding you up with steady hands so you wouldn’t strain anything. Every movement was careful, deliberate, as though you were something precious—because in his eyes, you were.

“You may rest now,” he murmured. “You’ve earned that much and more.” You nodded numbly, mind still clouded as you were led to his bedroom. You barely registered how his hands moved with practiced care—helping you tug off your clothes, guiding you under the covers as if you were made of something fragile. All you truly noticed was the pleasant ache still blooming in your knees, the distant hum beneath your skin, and the warmth that clung to you like a second blanket.

He didn’t speak much—he didn’t need to. His presence alone was grounding, quiet and constant. The mattress dipped slightly as he sat beside you, brushing your hair away from your face with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

Then, a kiss—soft, reverent—was pressed to your forehead.

“You did so well,” he murmured, the weight of his voice pulling you deeper into the warmth of the moment. “Rest now. I’m right here.”

Your fingers curled faintly into the blanket as sleep tugged you under, slow and sweet.

And the last thing you felt was not the ache, not the nerves, not the uncertainty…

But safety. Wholeness.

And love, quiet and unwavering, resting just behind the press of his lips.

#zhongli the man that u are #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader #zhongli genshin impact #zhongli x you #reader insert #reader x character #reader x genshin impact

84 notes · View notes

fanfic-wonderland · 2 years ago

Text

Not Just Friends {Coriolanus Snow}

Synopsis: After your breakup with Felix Ravinstill, you go to Coriolanus Snow for help and comfort. When you ask him to go to the Winter's Ball with you so you can make your ex-boyfriend jealous, he's hesitant. He has his reasons...

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.6k

Read part two here.

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

When you arrive at the Snow residence one chilly afternoon, bawling your eyes out, nearly everyone is immediately worried. Coryo’s grandmother does not stick around for long to listen to your problems, claiming that she’s tired and will lie in bed for a while. However, Coryo, who looks the most concerned, guides you to their dining table, sitting beside you while Tigris heads directly to the kitchen to make you a cup of tea. “What happened?” He asks immediately.

You try to quiet down your sobs, taking a few deep breaths before answering him. “You were right. Felix is a no-good jerk. I should’ve listened to you.”

Coryo’s eyes darken at the mention of Felix’s name. He’s never been fond of him, much less when you started dating him a few months ago. You thought that he was just playing the role of the overprotective best friend when you first told him that you and Felix started seeing each other, and that he was being ridiculous when he had said that Felix was “the worst option for a boyfriend”. If only you had listened to him back then, you wouldn’t be crying over a broken heart right now. “What did he do?” Coryo asks in a low dangerous tone.

“He—” You shake your head as more tears fall down your cheeks. Coryo takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and grabs your chin softly, wiping them away. “I found him making out with Arachne in one of the classrooms.”

Coryo stops his movements, a hard look on his face. You try not to lose it again after the words leave your mouth but the image is freshly imprinted in your mind. The way his hands were all over her, while she grabbed at his hair… and how their mouths devoured each other…

You snap out of your thoughts when Coryo suddenly stands up and begins heading to the door. “Where are you going?” you ask frantically, following him.

“I’m going to kill him,” He answers but does not stop walking. “And her. I’ll kill them both.”

“No, Coryo, wait!” You grab him by the arm and pull him back. He finally turns back to you; his eyes are practically flames at this point. “They’re not worth it. Just… stay here with me, please,” You practically beg him. You feel your voice on the verge of breaking, again. “Please. I need you here with me.”

Coryo’s expression softens at your words and your glossy eyes make him silently give in. His arms wrap protectively around your figure and your cheek is pressed against his chest. You cry some more while he holds you, and it makes you feel a tad bit better.

A few moments later, the three of you are back at the table while you’re sipping from the tea that Tigris had brewed for you. The crying has finally stopped; the tea and the company were a big comfort. “I do want to ask you a favor that doesn't require killing anyone,” I direct my words to Coryo, who is already looking at me.

“Anything,” he says.

You sigh. “I want you to come with me to the Winter’s Ball.”

Coryo groans. “Anything but that,”

“Oh, please, Coryo,” You plead, clasping your hands together. “Both of them will be there and I just know that they'll be fuming if they see us together. Felix always hated the idea of us together and I just want him to see that I—”

“(Y/N), I already told you that I'm not going—”

“I know what you said,” you cut him off. Coryo typically does not mind going to social gatherings but the Winter’s Ball is different. He’s not fond of attending a dance filled with students who love to flaunt their wealth through over-the-top gowns and suits he cannot afford. At least not for now. “But if you could just do this one thing for me I will be forever grateful. I'll even pay for your suit, I have no problem doing—”

“Don’t,” He warns you. “Do not try to bribe me with that.”

You lower your head when you realize that you've made him angry. “Sorry.”

Silence follows and it feels like it goes on for too long. “Coryo,” Tigris chimes in. “Maybe it could be a good thing that you go with (Y/N). Aside from helping her out, it could also be a nice way to get your mind off things. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately.”

He narrows his eyes at her but before he can say something else, you beat him to it. “No, It’s okay. It was a dumb and petty idea anyway. Maybe I should just endure it as it is,” I stand up. “I should get going now. Thanks for the tea, and for listening. I'll see you guys later.”

Tigris walks you to the door while Coryo stays seated, keeping his eyes away from you. Moments later, Tigris comes back with a frown on her face. “Would it be so bad for you to go to the Ball?” She asks him softly.

Coryo closes his eyes and sighs. “You know how I feel about these things, Tigris.”

“I know. But you'd be helping (Y/N) out,” She points out. “Coryo, she's your best friend. How many times has she helped you without asking for anything in return?”

Countless times. And Coryo is sure that you'll keep helping him for as long as you can. It's only one of the many things he loves about you. “Tigris, you don't understand,” Coryo takes a moment before he confesses. “It’s not just about the Winter’s Ball. The mere thought of helping (Y/N) to make that good-for-nothing Felix Ravinstill jealous is…”

Tigris observes her cousin, the pained look on his face as he talks about you and your ex-boyfriend, and her eyes widen in realization. “Oh,” Coryo looks down at his hands, unable to say much. He’s already said enough. “Were you planning on telling her?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not worth it. She clearly doesn’t feel the same way.”

She places her hand on top of his. “I know it looks that way now, but there’s no telling what she truly feels unless you talk to her. You guys have known each other for so long that there may be something unspoken on her part, as well.”

Coryo doesn’t know what to say to that but the thought of you reciprocating his feelings stirs something inside him. He shouldn’t give in to them —he needs all his focus shifted to his studies to stay top of his class— but Tigris’ words make him reconsider his priorities, whether that’s a good thing or not.

***

You regret coming to the Winter’s Ball by yourself.

Everyone you see in the room is either coupled up or chatting away with other people. The people from the Academy who you once considered your ‘friends’ have taken Felix’s side after you guys broke up— all except one, but he's not here, so you're left sitting at an empty table on your own.

You've spotted Felix and Arachne a few times already, dancing together, and you try to distract yourself with a plate of food and a few drinks, but It's hard to look away when he's kissing her as if you aren't there. As if you guys hadn't dated at all.

You really shouldn't have come.

The plate is not even halfway empty but you've already lost your appetite. Your head is spinning and your chest feels heavy; the best thing you can do is leave. No one will notice anyway.

So you quickly stand up from your seat but when you turn to leave you almost run into someone had you not realized sooner. “Sorry,” you say before looking up at their face. You nearly stumble backward when you take in those familiar blue eyes. “Coryo! You’re here.”

“Where you just leaving?” Coryo asks.

You shrug. “I didn’t feel like being here by myself.”

“Well, you’re not anymore,” He offers you his hand. There’s a hint of a smile as he says, “Would you like to dance?”

You’re speechless for a moment, not truly believing that Coriolanus Snow, one of the most persistent people you’ve ever met, is attending the Winter’s Ball with you. You almost pinch yourself to make sure that you’re not dreaming. The only thing you can do is nod and place your hand in his, and then he guides you to where everyone else is already dancing. People begin to turn their heads in your direction; some smile (at Coryo), some glare (at you), and some whisper to the person next to them, but you find that you don’t care.

That is until you reach the center of the dancefloor and catch Felix and Arachne watching the both of you closely. His blazing stare almost succeeds in making you crumble, but you're brought back to reality when you feel Coryo’s thumb softly grazing the back of your hand. “Don’t pay attention to them,” He says close to your ear. You notice that he's smirking proudly at them and maybe that's the reason why Felix looks like he wants to kill someone. He's always had this crazy idea that you and Coryo were going behind his back, so this must feel like a slap in the face to him. You try to brush those thoughts aside and focus on the feeling of Coryo’s hand holding yours, how it makes you feel so warm inside.

The both of you turn to each other. You wrap your arms around his neck and he pulls you close by the waist. Your bodies begin to sway to the music naturally; it feels like you guys aren’t just pretending. The other students certainly seem to believe so, seeing how, unlike when you first arrived, everyone’s attention is fully on both of you. After a few moments of dancing, you start to forget where you are, and it feels like It’s just you and him in the room. He makes you feel that way effortlessly just by the way he’s looking at you, and only you. It’s like nothing else matters to him in this one moment.

You only break eye contact with him when you’re suddenly spun around by someone behind you. “I knew it,” Felix spits his words out like they're venomous. “How convenient that right after we break up you’re here with none other than the guy you’ve always denied being involved with.”

You fold your arms across your chest, scowling up at him. At that moment, you beat yourself up for crying over a guy like him. “I've always been truthful. I never went behind your back. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for you.”

“You act like you're so innocent, right?” Felix scoffs. “You always said nothing was going on between you and Snow but here you are throwing yourself at him in front of everyone.”

Your blood begins to boil. Before you can say anything else, Coryo steps in front of you. “Watch your mouth, Ravinstill,” He warns. “I’d think carefully about what to say if I were you.”

Felix laughs dryly. “This doesn't concern you, Snow.”

“It does because she's with me tonight and I won't tolerate you addressing her like that.”

Coryo steps closer to Felix, practically hovering above him. Although Felix is slightly shorter, he doesn't seem the least bit intimidated. “Right. Figured you would play hero and jump right into defending your little whore from—”

Coryo’s fist meets Felix’s face before he can finish talking, sending him straight to the ground. Everyone who is watching the scene gasps in horror. Once he recovers, Felix manages to connect a punch to Coryo’s jaw, but it will take more than that to take him down. Coryo’s much stronger than him— and much angrier.

You call out Coryo’s name in panic, trying to get him to stop, but he keeps grabbing at Felix and punching him numerous times until his knuckles are stained with Felix’s blood. You begin to think that he might kill him. “Coryo, stop!” You cry out again, trying to hold him back by the arm.

He finally listens but his attention is still on Felix, who is lying on the floor and whose face is more than messed up now. A few students try to help him out and you take that opportunity to drag Coryo outside.

You figure he needs some fresh air. You know you certainly do. So both of you walk around the Academy grounds for a bit, arms linked with each other and neither of you saying anything until you find a bench right across from the fountain and you sit down. By the time you do, Coryo has calmed down a bit, although he still looks shaken up. You notice the bruise starting to form across his jaw, and you have a sudden urge to run your fingers through it, to do everything you can to make it go away.

Coryo catches you looking. “It doesn't hurt much,” He reassures you. “You probably hit harder than him.”

You chuckle, too exhausted to pretend to be offended. “Are you alright, though?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“I think so,” You nod, fiddling with your fingers.

You break away from his gaze but you can still feel him staring. “Hey,” he places a hand on your cheek to get you to look back at him. “Nothing that he said is true, and I hope you know that.”

A fluttering feeling forms in your stomach. His eyes have always been your weakness.

“I know that, It’s just…” You shake your head. “I feel like all of this is my fault. I shouldn't have asked you to come with me, because clearly, it was a horrible plan. And now I probably fucked things up for you— your reputation might be deeply affected now that you beat up the president’s son.”

Coryo doesn't say anything. His lips remain a thin line on his gorgeous face. “I should really start listening to you from now on, huh?” You try to joke.

You guess it works as Coryo smiles faintly. “I think that's the best idea you’ve had so far,” he agrees. “But I could care less about my image right now. He deserved that—no, worse. No one talks about you like that and gets away with it. Not if I can help it.”

His words make your insides jump. You try to control it because since when does Coryo have such an effect on you? Your relationship has always been nothing but platonic. “The thought of you hurting over a guy like him pains me so much because he doesn't deserve you. Fuck, even I don't deserve you, but I would never, ever do something to hurt you like that,” You swear he’s leaning his face closer to yours. “You're the most important thing to me, (Y/N). You’re so precious and I don’t think you see just how much. But I do. I’ve always seen it.”

You gape at him. “Coryo…”

You were not expecting him to say something like that. Coriolanus Snow has always been far from the romantic type. Charming, absolutely, but you have never heard him express any desire to be romantically involved with someone, let alone yourself. You don’t know how to answer to him. “You don’t have to say anything right now,” He tells you. “I just needed you to know how much you truly mean to me.”

And then he stands up and walks away, leaving you cold, confused, and alone with your thoughts.

702 notes · View notes

deadhands69 · 8 months ago

Text

A New End: The Bet

this one is sfw but the series contains eventual smut

Tomura Shigaraki x reader

Warnings/Content/etc: gn/eventual afab reader, swearing, mentions of violence, destruction destruction destruction, eventual spoilers, and eventual smut.

previous - this is part one - next [series masterlist]

|\/\/\| the bet |/\/\/|

A quiet chatter meets your ears as you enter the open living area. A few more people have joined in the few weeks after you’d moved into the league of villains headquarters which really livened up the place. For a room of villains, they’re a lot more entertaining to be around than you would have expected. You were worried it would be similar to your time at UA, but people were actually nice to you here.

Most of them.

The leader, Shigaraki, still hasn’t warmed up to you. Tensing every time you enter the room. Never quite looking you in the eyes. Your ideas were always held under higher scrutiny than the others. You’re not sure if he has higher expectations of you because of the information he expects your quirk to provide or if he just hates you, but with how he treats everyone else you've started leaning towards the latter. Fortunately, he rarely leaves his room - still recovering from some injuries earlier in the year.

In any case, your quirk hadn’t warned you away from him which allowed you to hold out some hope that maybe he just needs time to get to know you.

Considering that half the league are practically homeless, it had become a daily occurrence to wake up to a full house. No one seemed to mind, especially Kurogiri who is currently brewing another pot of coffee for the group. You still weren’t close friends with anyone but the company is nice.

“I’ll bet it’s a boyfriend,” you overhear Toga exclaim, “I wonder if he’s cute!”

“Or she. Could be a girlfriend,” Twice adds.

“What’s your bet?” Compress asks someone just behind the wall out of your sight, “where do you think [y/n] goes every night?”

From your vantage point in the door frame, they don’t realize you’re there yet. You pause at the sound of your name to listen a bit longer.

“Don’t know and don’t care,” Dabi retorts, “not my fucking business.”

“What if he’s the boyfriend?” Toga grumbles under her breath.

“Fuck off, I have better shit to do every night than date anyone.” And Dabi has a trail of bodies as alibis, you note to yourself if anyone tries to suggest that again.

“Alright,” Compress announces theatrically, “and now that everyone’s placed their bets-”

creakkkkk

The floorboards announce your presence as you shift your weight.

Fuck. Eavesdropping time is over.

“Morning,” you say as casually as possible to the group of villains, most of them looking anywhere but you.

“Good morning,” Toga responds cheerfully. Without missing a beat she adds, “do you have a boyfriend?”

“What? No…” you mumble while pouring yourself a cup of coffee and taking a seat at the empty spot between Spinner and Shigaraki.

“How about a secret love?” she presses again, this time nearly leaning over the table for an answer.

You laugh at the thought of announcing any secret over a crowded table before shaking your head and becoming very interested in the coffee mug in front of you. “Dirt-Cheap Donki-Oote” it reads.

Shigaraki scoffs to your right. Clearly he's bored of this conversation. He'd never come to your defense so you know he’s not changing the subject for your sake, but you’re still glad when he brings up the next mission instead.

That night, you sneak out a bit more quietly than usual. You had to wait longer for nightfall, considering that it's midsummer, but it should be worth it. Following the dark streets in the industrial area you’ve been living in, there are still a few new places you’d like to check out.

It was a silly hobby, really. You took it up years ago during your time at UA when you really needed it - you just never stopped.

Upon arriving at your destination, you pause. No premonitions, safe.

Carefully, you cross the footprint into the demolished structure. Steel beams wrap up around you, twisted from failing to keep the concrete upright.

Up to now, your life was always planned out for you. Even more so with your future-based quirk. Getting glimpses of what’s to come always leaves you waiting for life to happen. Or worse, on stand-by until you know if you’ve successfully changed your fate or not. After a while, it felt like your whole life was being lived out ahead of you without a break.

These buildings aren’t like that at all though. There’s something calming in the rubble that draws you into the present and keeps you here. It feels final. Finished. Everything that was waiting to happen here did, now it’s a modern ruin. A reminder of things that have already come to pass. There’s tranquility in that destruction. Some people touch grass, you prefer crumbling concrete.

Finding a nice spot in the wreckage, you settle in for a while.

The following night, you debate going out again. It was a long day of mission planning and you’re exhausted. You won’t be able to join said mission as your quirk was deemed to be more useful from afar, but regardless, you’re expected to sit in on all the meetings in case any visions present themselves (they didn't.) Sinking into your bed, it’s warm and comfortable. You could easily stay but the lure of tranquility calls to you.

Out the door you go.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re nearly there. Footsteps echoing through the empty street, you glance around the abandoned buildings for your specific destination. A bush rustles behind you, causing your head to snap back.

Nothing.

Probably just the wind.

Suddenly, a vision strikes you. Alarmed. Yet you don’t feel any danger. If you keep walking, Tomura Shigaraki will follow you down the street and enter the building behind you. Knocking a rock off a concrete block, startling you just enough that your quirk is giving you the heads up. Not the most exciting prophecy, but you know he’s there now.

“You can come out, Shigaraki!” you call out in the general direction of his hiding place, “I know you’re there.

Slowly, he rises. A few leaves tangled in his hair.

“How?”

“Quirk,” you respond. Surely, he is who the group sent to follow you and confirm the guesses from their bet yesterday morning.

“Come on.”

Hesitantly, he follows.

You wonder how he managed to keep up earlier, considering that both of his legs are still recovering from being shot. He's not limping but certainly doesn't look like he's having an easy time walking. You slow down a bit.

Approaching the address, you're starting to feel nervous. This is all to calm down, but the prospect of an audience is daunting. On second thought, he's wearing a literal hand on his face so he's not really in a place to judge. And even if he does think less of you, he couldn't hate you much more than he already does. Right?

Surprisingly, his presence doesn't affect your experience much. He gives you space, sticking to the other side of the caved-in shell of a warehouse.

“Why?” Shigaraki’s crimson eyes follow you through the space. Watching your fingers as they trace over fractured pillars and contorted metal.

That question. You’ve dreaded anyone else finding out what you do every night for that alone and here he is asking like it's not a big deal. What are you supposed to say, ‘I like being around demolished shit’? On second thought, yeah. That could work.

“It makes me calm, being here.”

“You like…decay?” he asks incredulously.

“Yeah, I guess so,” considering your audience, you decide it wouldn't hurt to elaborate.

”There’s nothing to wait for - it’s already been destroyed. This is it.”

His face doesn't give anything away, peering between fingers before staring back at his feet while he shuffles through the open area.

“No wonder you’re here,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Did you win the bet?” you ask on the walk back home.

“Bet?” he considers for a moment, “Oh. No. No one won.”

“What was your guess?”

“Being alone,” he winces slightly after stepping over a curb too quickly for his injured leg to keep up, “but they said that wasn't specific enough so I changed it to ghost hunting.”

You laugh, “ghost hunting??”

“It's not the worst guess. Magne thought you were an exotic dancer.”

“She has a lot more faith in me than I do,” you snicker mostly to yourself, “could you imagine?”

He says nothing.

Suddenly, you remember you're talking to your fairly stern boss and not a friend your age. It's easy to forget when you're also roommates, the lines blur easily.

Change of topic.

Unfortunately, decay is all that comes to mind so you go with it.

“Tell me about your quirk, how does it work?”

“You actually want to know?” he replies in the same incredulous voice as earlier.

“Yeah. You decay things but obviously not everything. You were holding your phone earlier.”

“My pinky was off.”

“Huh?”

“I have to touch things with five fingers.”

“Got it. Did it take a lot of practice to learn your quirk?”

He laughs eerily, “No, definitely not. I never really practiced, I just kind of used it.”

Ah. Got it. Not asking on that one, you catch the implication.

This conversation has to be so boring to him but at least you diffused some tension.

“I could show you, sometime,” he says quietly, still not looking directly at you. “If you want.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“That works.”

“Sounds fun.”

“You would say that.”

Maybe you're imagining it, but you almost think he's smiling under that hand.

After last night, you thought you made some headway with Tomura Shigaraki but your working relationship remains the same as ever. All day, he laid into you for your ideas. Glowering over the table every time you so much as looked at him. When it came time to leave for the evening, you were absolutely convinced he’d back out - remembering how much he can’t stand you. But that wasn’t the case. Here he is, closely following you for the second night in a row.

“Where do you want to go?” he asks.

“I have three places saved to check out on this street,” you bring up the saved places map on your phone, “does that work for you?”

“Why not one of these?” he gestures towards the rows of abandoned buildings surrounding you, “doesn't have to be destroyed already, that's the point right?”

Oh. Yeah. That could work.

You nod.

“Pick one.”

“Wait, really?”

“It's all the same to me anyways,” he watches as you consider your options.

“Uhm, that one,” you point, “the one with a lot of windows.”

“Okay, stay back here.” He's already halfway across the street.

Reaching a hand out, he touches the building as nonchalantly as he approached it. Cracks fracture from his fingertips, spreading over the entire structure. Within half a minute, the whole thing collapses loudly. A cloud of dust hangs in the air above him. He looks unphased. And it's… Hot?

No, you think to yourself, it's just surprising. That's all. You'd just never seen him use his quirk before.

Still, you have to admit - he's powerful.

Quickly, you cross the street to join him.

The freshly dusted concrete reminds you of the smell before rain, just sharper. Shards of glass glisten across the space,

You spend a few minutes taking it all in.

He simply watches you.

“We've gotta go,” his quiet but direct voice urges as he shoves the hand from his face into the front pocket of his sweatshirt.

“Hey!” you hear in the distance, as the two of you break into a sprint.

You don't think it's a hero, probably some low level security guard but it's still best to not get caught. Especially with a wanted villain. Of course, Shigaraki could easily take him out but he's probably already called for backup so it doesn't really fix the issue.

Running down the street, you're about to round the corner before your quirk screams at you to take another way. Yanking the shoulder of his hoodie, you pull him to the first door you run past. It's not budging but he dusts the lock quickly, pulling you inside. You thread a piece of rebar through the inner door handles just in case.

Footsteps grow closer and you realize just how many windows your chosen hiding place has. Your quirk didn't warn you against it though?

A pull on your arm brings you to a dark corner. Shoulder to shoulder, you're huddled out of sight. The street lights illuminating just enough to cast a streak of light over his face.

It occurs to you now, you've never really seen his face. Especially not this close.

He's younger than you thought. Considering that he's the leader and Giran introduced you, you assumed they were around the same age. Turns out, Shigaraki is a lot closer to your age.

When he's not glaring at you, his eyes are really pretty. Dark red and striking against the pale of his skin. The thin skin around his face is dry and littered with scars. You hope it doesn't hurt.

A minute passes as you admire his beauty, completely forgetting not to stare.

Based on his expression, you'd think he was bored but the nervous itching and chewing the skin on his bottom lip gives away some anxiety. It's nice seeing he's actually human.

With this new realization, you're acutely aware of the closeness. The way his shoulder brushes against yours. You can practically feel the warmth of his body through the fabric of both of your clothes.

“What?” he asks, bringing you out of your trance.

“Nothing,” you respond, feeling your cheeks burn.

“We should probably go,” he jumps to his feet, “sounds like he went that way so let's find a door on the other side of the building.“

You follow him through the maze of hallways before coming to a way out. An old fire exit sign hangs from the ceiling above, long since burned out.

Locked again.

He shrugs and effortlessly crumbles the entire door for you to pass through.

You had it right earlier: he's definitely hot.

next chapter - a new end masterlist - bnha: masterlist

[this was originally two parts but they were both short so it made more sense to make it one]

146 notes · View notes

magicalbats · 2 months ago

Text

Kinktober 2023 Day 28: Kabukimono x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7362

Warnings: Afab!reader, mommy kink, infantilization/baby play, breastfeeding, nursing handjob, mentioned breeding

A/N: A very lovely reader was asking me about this fic so I said I'd go ahead and preemptively post it here on Tumblr. There are a few days still missing before this one so I'm going to hold off on adding it to the collection on AO3 just to make sure it doesn't mess up the chapter order or anything. But other than that ... please enjoy! 🫶

⭐

It’s incredibly easy to forget what he is sometimes.

A puppet so lifelike and so beautiful in its perfection that you find yourself thinking of him as human more often than not. This should probably disconcert you more than it does, or at the very least it should tickle something in the back of your mind that stands at attention and warns of danger found only in the uncanny. That which is just ever so slightly off. Such a farcical impression of human life can only mean trouble brewing not far off on the horizon, after all. Maybe not today or perhaps not even tomorrow, but some day the wrath of the gods would stand at your doorstep and demand what had been taken from them.

But Kabukimono’s smile is so sweet and unassuming when you open the door that you think absolutely nothing of it. You invite the blessed doll into your home. Accept the basket of lavender melons he offers with a word of thanks and a gracious bow. Showing him to the dining room of your humble home, you announce his arrival to your older sister who looks up from the swaddled bundle in her arms. She, too, seems not to give it a second thought and greets him with neither hesitation or wariness to edge her tone.

Everyone in the village knew what he was, what his presence might mean for the future of Tatarasuna and all who inhabit it. But looking at him now as he bends to get a closer look at the baby, you wonder how any one of you could ever truly distrust someone as sincere and endearingly inquisitive as this. There’s a love, an appreciation for life in his deep, rich blue eyes that only seems to spark and glitter all the more while he takes in the tiny upturned face of your niece. An innate respect for the existence of mere mortals, even so pale and drab in comparison to his own, that further softens his already kindhearted expression.

You wonder, not for the first time, what purpose he had been created for. What role he was meant to fill. You could only speculate that it had not been for the purpose of child rearing, but the way he regards your sister's daughter like he’s never seen anything more precious or worth protecting assures you he would be exceptionally good at it all the same.

“I’ll go put these away.” You announce to the room, jostling the basket in your hands for emphasis.

“You didn’t have to bring us a gift to come visit, Kabukimono.” Your sister tells him gently. “You’re welcome to stop by any time.”

He gives his head a brief shake, that serene smile as eternal as it is unwavering. “Niwa told me it’s customary to bring congratulatory offerings after a new member of the family has been born, and I wanted to respect that tradition. It was my pleasure.”

Your sister laughs softly in response as you inch towards the door and ask, “Would everyone like a cup of tea while I’m in the kitchen?”

You receive two affirmatives and a wet gurgle in answer, and a smile curves your lips as you step out into the hall. Crossing over into the kitchen, you quickly store the lavender melons away in the neatly organized pantry then set to work preparing the kettle to boil. You’re halfway through the process of arranging three sets of cupware on a small wooden tray when a faint whimper rises up in the next room over. It doesn’t take long to escalate to a full blown wail as your sister's voice joins in, quietly coaxing and cooing in tender soft tones. It sounds like your niece is having none of it though, and you internally wince at the idea of poor Kabukimono stuck in the epicenter of all that racket but being too polite to excuse himself from it. You should probably go rescue him.

Dropping everything, you hurry back across the hall only to stop dead in the threshold. The puppets expression, usually unfalteringly kind and patient, has morphed into one of abject confusion as he watches your sister offer her breast to the screaming baby in her arms. That tiny mouth latches on and starts to suckle, quieting plaintive wails, but you can’t seem to tear your startled gaze away from Kabukimono. His lack of understanding is clear, and it suddenly has all of your attention. You’ve never seen someone look so jarringly perplexed over a feeding infant before.

Your sister glances up then, as if only just realizing in her instinctive reaction to the baby’s cries that she hadn’t stopped long enough to consider the comfort or sensibilities of your houseguest. She pauses at the odd look on his face though, and you rush to intervene for the sake of both parties as much as your own.

“Sorry to interrupt. Would you mind helping me in the kitchen with something?”

With an almost mechanical slowness, he turns his head to glance up at you. A shiver promptly races down your spine, and you blindly reach out to grasp the edge of the doorway. Not once in all the time you’d known him had he ever left you feeling so uneasy and discomfited with just a glance.

“Kabukimono?”

He appears to snap out of it at the sound of his name. Pretty eyes going big with surprise, he quickly moves to stand up. “Yes, of course. My apologies. I must not have heard you the first time.”

You don’t think that’s what it is. In fact, you’re sure of it as he crosses the room and steps out into the hallway, but you don’t say anything until you’re both standing in the kitchen where there are two sets of walls separating you from your sister's keen hearing. For good measure, you even quietly shut the door.

Taking a moment to choose your words with care and consideration, you start to prepare a small plate of rice crackers to accompany the tea. “She’s cute, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is.”

“Have you spent much time around babies?”

He hesitates behind you. “None, in fact. Of course I’ve met some of the younger children in the village but not …”

“None as young as that?” You helpfully supply.

Kabukimono breathes out a soft, disheartened sigh. “That is correct. I’m sorry. I should have known better than to stare like that. It was — rude of me, wasn’t it?”

“It’s nothing to apologize for.” You get it. Really, you did. But where were you even supposed to begin explaining such a thing to a divinely created puppet if even his own maker hadn’t had the talk about the birds and the bees with him? It’s not as if you were an expert on the topic either … but it was obvious you still knew more than him, and the unmitigated fascination on his face had been plain as day. Almost painfully so. If Niwa had been there you would have simply deferred all responsibility to him but you decidedly hated the thought of explaining what had happened to him even more than you did talking to Kabukimono about it directly.

Still, that didn’t exactly give you a solid starting point to work off of.

“Maybe I should just go.”

You whip your head around to look over your shoulder at him, noting the abashed pinch of his expression. Still so beautiful but clearly ashamed of his own actions even though he really had no reason to be. Or at least you didn’t think he did. “That’s not necessary, Kabukimono. I’m just not sure how to explain something like this. Does Niwa ever get stumped with anything?”

He cautiously lifts his gaze to regard you with such a hopeful, searching gleam in his eyes that you feel your heart give a sudden wrench in response. “He does, sometimes. Is it really something so complicated though?”

“Complicated isn’t what I would call it.” You try to laugh it off, turning back to put the finishing touches on the arrangement of snacks. Keeping your hands busy should help you get through the next few minutes relatively unscathed, or so you hoped at least. “Let’s see … I guess I should start by saying that babies under a certain age can’t digest anything other than their mothers milk, so that’s how they need to be fed. I promise you’ll see it often if you start spending more time around newborns. Until they’re older that’s just the way of things.”

He hums a soft sound of acknowledgment as if he were actively fitting the pieces together in his mind, and that serves to embolden you somewhat. Knowing that he was listening to what you had to say and further applying it to the rest of his baseline knowledge of humans was oddly validating, like you were helping him in some way. You liked helping people.

You also liked Kabukimono, even if you were loath to admit it out loud. Although he’d thrown you off for a moment there, any sign or trace of that stark uncertainty seemed completely gone now. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know these things. It also technically wasn’t your responsibility to educate him on such matters but you were glad for the excuse to talk with him like this. No one could say for sure how long he’d be able to stay in the village, after all, and these opportunities didn’t present themselves every day.

So you tell him everything you know about the topic. Which admittedly isn’t much, just this or that which your sister and the other girls in Tatarasuna had told you, but he seems to hang off every word. The pot over the fire starts to boil in that time and you finish preparing the tea before handing him the tray to carry while you take the one with the crackers. Together, the two of you make your way back to the dining room where you’re surprised to find your sister quietly gathering her things.

“Sorry,” She murmurs, sending you an apologetic look. “The baby fell asleep so I should probably put her to bed and run down to the market while I can. I should be back before she wakes up.”

“That’s alright, take your time.” You give her a quick smile. “I’ll take care of everything here while you’re gone.”

“Thank you.” Her gaze drifts to Kabukimono and, like you, she seems to realize he’s back to his usual self again. The subtle tension in her shoulders slips away to leave her as relaxed and unbothered by his presence as she always was. “Forgive me for not staying for tea and for … earlier, as well. I’m so used to being around family and close friends when she needs to be fed that I didn’t even stop to think first.”

The puppet shakes his head. “Please don’t give it another thought. I’m the one who should be apologizing for my rudeness. I’m still learning these things but your sister has already explained how it works so I have a much better understanding now. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

Your cheeks warm slightly when she sends you an unreadable look but, thankfully, she decides to save any commentary for later. All she does is nod her head in acknowledgment before shuffling off to put your niece down for her afternoon nap.

While she gets the baby situated in the quiet bedroom in the back of the house you and Kabukimono set the trays down and get seated at the table. She stops on her way out to say goodbye and a moment later you hear the front door slide shut behind her. Left alone with him, you reach out to take your steaming mug and give your hands something to do. It wasn’t that he made you nervous, you just weren’t always sure what to say to someone who you knew was neither human nor of mortal construct. What did the gods usually converse about, you wondered.

He doesn’t seem to know what to say either and for a long stretch the both of you just sit there, not speaking and not looking at each other. If it had been just about anyone else you were sure you wouldn’t be having this problem right now but try as you might you just couldn’t quite come up with an appropriate conversation topic. Would he want to continue the discussion from earlier or was it time to talk about something else?

Much to your relief he eventually clears his throat with a polite cough and makes the decision for you. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.” You turn, giving him your full attention.

Kabukimono does the same, evidently more interested in whatever was on his mind than the tea or the rice crackers, as he’d touched neither of them yet. “What we were talking about before … does it hurt?”

Your brows lift in genuine surprise. How were you possibly supposed to answer that? “I’m not so sure myself, since I’ve never had to do it, but I don’t think it does. Not usually, anyway.”

He tips his head in question, and you scramble to piece what knowledge you had at your disposal into an articulate explanation. You probably should have anticipated this on some level though. His curiosity seemed to know no bounds but it was usually aimed at Niwa and you didn’t have as many ready answers as you would have liked.

“What I mean is — based on what I’ve heard, it can hurt if the baby’s teeth have come in and they bite you. I think it can also be uncomfortable if the milk gets backed up but I don’t believe the feeding itself causes any pain.”

“I see.” He murmurs, glancing down at his lap now. A stretch of quiet falls over the room and it seems to last for a rather long time before he finally draws another stilted breath. “Is it wrong of me to ask questions like this?”

“No.” You don’t even hesitate. “If there’s something you don’t know then it’s normal to ask about it and learning is a good thing. It’s only natural to be curious.”

Kabukimono brings his head up then. “Natural?” He echoes you, the look on his face making your chest give another harrowing wrench. You aren’t sure what to call it exactly but he looks at you almost like someone who has found hope in his lost existence. It disconcerts you a little bit, though not as much as the way he’d looked at your sister and the baby. This was different somehow.

It seemed less startled and more … reverential, in a way.

You have to swallow your nerves before you can speak again. “Do you have a mother, Kabukimono?”

His expression shutters slightly and he glances away as if you’d struck a nerve. “In a sense, I suppose. I have my creator, of course, although I never met her.”

“Not even once?” You can’t quite keep the sadness out of your voice and it only becomes even more pronounced when he gives his head a solemn shake. “I’m so sorry. That’s awful. No wonder you don’t know anything at all about this sort of thing.”

He sends you a slow, considering look before shyly scooting closer to the corner of the table. Closer to you.

You can see the hesitance in his shoulders but that bright flash of interest is still clear as day in his eyes, and it makes your breath hitch. It’s impossible to predict what he’ll say next when everything about this discussion was so resoundingly unexpected, but somehow what he does finally say turns out to be the very last thing you could have ever guessed to come out of his mouth.

“I think I’d like to learn, if you would be willing to … humor me for a little while?”

Your stomach drops like a lead weight. “I … I can’t make milk.” You feel like an idiot saying it but it’s the first semi coherent thing that formulates on your tongue. He almost seems to pout even as he nudges himself just a pinch closer, slowly inching around the table.

“That’s alright. Human milk wouldn’t do anything for me anyway, right?”

You numbly turn that over in your head for a moment before realizing that that was hardly the most pressing issue at hand here. What he was asking you for …

“Kabukimono, do you … do you want me to play mommy with you?”

He doesn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed or a little bit sheepish about it, which was the exact inverse of your own reaction. You could feel your face growing unbearably warm and your palms start to get clammy, but all he does is give you an affirmative nod. No hesitation, no shame. Just a deep, intrinsic compulsion. You might even call it a yearning, the way he just stares at you with such a hopeful gleam sparkling across the blue of his irises. It was too much.

Your resolve could never hope to stand up against that look no matter how awkward and self-conscious such a suggestion made you feel.

“W - well,” You glance elsewhere, undeniably anxious with jittery nerves now. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt anything. If you never even met your mother then … I guess it makes sense that you would want to experience something like that for yourself. Not that I really have much practice with this sort of thing either but …”

“It’s fine.” He assures you, almost right on top of you now. If he got any closer he’d be sitting on your lap — and you weren’t so sure that wasn’t his ultimate goal at this point. “I’m not quite sure how to describe it but … it looked nice, didn’t it? Being held like that and tended to? Cared for …”

You understood what he meant about this, too. It had been a very long time since you yourself had been cradled and babied by your own mother, and yet not so long that you’d entirely forgotten how comforting it had been. How safe you’d felt. To think that he’d never known that feeling in any capacity very nearly breaks your heart and irreparably shatters any lingering reservations you still had. You were embarrassed at the thought of doing this, yes — it seemed almost perverse somehow, if you were being honest — but your sympathetic heart ultimately overrides that.

You did like helping people.

And you also liked Kabukimono.

So you shyly turn your head with a cautious motion, surprise registering in your mind when you find him mere inches from your face. His expression is some indecipherable amalgamation of hope and wanting, and solemn anguish bred from rejection and sorrow. It’s clear as day that he wanted more than anything to have even a taste of what it’s like to be wanted and cared for. You think, distantly, that you could probably give that to him a different way, if he would allow it. But that’s not what he’s asked for. Not today.

Bringing your hands up, you gently cup the back of his head with one and tug on his shoulder with the other. He noises a soft sound of surprise, reminiscent of a wounded little thing, but he allows you to pull him in against you without any resistance at all. Soft hair tickles the exposed strip of your neck as his forehead settles against you. He doesn’t say anything though, and he doesn’t move. Recalling what your own mother used to do, you carefully wrap your arm around him so you can rub comforting circles across his back.

“There, there,” You whisper to him. “It’s alright. I’m here for you.”

He almost seems frozen in place for a moment, and then he abruptly shivers. Stiff and halting, it feels like the physical manifestation of long suppressed emotion violently bubbling up to the surface.

You clutch him all the tighter to you in response and, tentatively, Kabukimono lifts his hands to lightly place them on your waist. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with them beyond that but the longer you hold him and murmur soft nothings into his hair the more he seems to come alive against you. With a quiet slither of fabric, he slides his arms around you in a loose hug. It slowly becomes more and more fervent until he’s all bit clinging to your waist like a lost, frightened child. Your head spins with the sudden surge of sorrow that rises in you but you can’t quite tell if the emotions were your own or if you were simply absorbing them through him.

It didn’t really matter though. You couldn’t bear the thought of turning him away when it was so obvious how meaningful this was to him. You would have felt like a monster shoving him from you now.

“Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you. Shh.” Bending close, you press your mouth to the crown of his head in a lingering kiss. “Would you like to lay in my lap, Kabukimono?”

Slowly, he nods. Still, he doesn’t speak.

You aren’t sure what to make of his continued silence but he straightens up and gets shifted around entirely of his own accord, so you think it’s probably fine. Maybe he just doesn’t know what to say. You’re in much the same boat as you guide him down to rest the upper half of his body across your legs with his head cradled in the crook of your arm for support, and you take a moment to just look at him. His face really is beautiful. Far beyond any human concept of simple symmetry or fashionable looks. He’s perfect, in fact, and you idly start to wonder how any creator could abandon a puppet so beyond compare.

Noticing then that his cheeks were a little flushed, which strikes you as decidedly odd, you bring your free hand up to tenderly cradle one side of his face. The skin is smooth and flawless, and cool to the touch, but you can still pick up the faintest note of heat coming off him. It is rather curious, isn’t it? You almost hadn’t expected him to have any warmth at all. Although, now that you considered it, was it his own or was he merely reflecting your body heat back at you?

With a great amount of reverential care, you trace fingertips over the apples of his cheeks to just brush the dark, doleful eyelashes where they’re fanned out across his skin. They flutter slightly at the contact and then slowly open to peer up at you. There’s a shy uncertainty reflecting in his eyes that reminds you of how he’d looked when Niwa first brought him to the village. It felt like a whole lifetime ago now and the part of you that longs to protect him, see him safe and sound, and this precious spirit of his kept intact, further softens at the vulnerability you see staring up at you.

“Would you like me to just hold you, or …” Words catching, you valiantly stamp down your nerves and look inward for the courage to go through with this. You didn’t know how to be a mother but for him, for this flawless creation of the gods, you were willing to try. “Or would you like me to nurse you as well?”

Something you can’t quite give name to flashes across his expression and he demurely lowers his gaze. Kabukimono seems to think about it, perhaps weighing the odds; the gain and the risk he would be taking by crossing this line. You allow your thumb to caress over the roundest part of his soft cheek while you patiently wait for him to make his decision. Then, at length, he stirs to life again.

But rather than a verbal response, he half twists his upper body towards you and brings his hand up. The way he softly paws at your chest is tentative and seeking, not unlike how you’ve seen your niece blindly seek out the only source of nourishment she’s ever known. It’s like an instinctive drive, and you don’t hesitate to give into it as you reach up to tug at the collar of your kimono and pull it open.

Whimpering softly in the back of his throat, Kabukimono’s expression takes on a truly needy edge now while he closes his fingers around the breast you're not currently working to free from your clothes. He squeezes and kneads it with an idle fascination that makes your breath start to come a little quicker. You’re certain this isn’t quite how playing at this role should make you feel but there’s no denying the way your body starts to grow warm when the fabric sags over one shoulder, allowing your breast to spill out. A distant shudder ripples up your spine at the same time his eyes go big and round.

It's like he’s spellbound and, as if on command, that perfect mouth falls open to accept that which had long been denied him - either through the cruel negligence of his own creator or the simple lack of organic need for such things. None of that mattered anymore though. You could provide him with it in the here and now, even if it was only a small fraction of the real thing, and you actively ignore how very flushed you feel as you hunch closer to offer your nipple to him. For a split second you think you see a sheen of glistening moisture in his blue, blue eyes but then he closes them at the same moment he seals his mouth around the tip of your breast and forever hides the truth from you.

Your breath catches with a dull jolt. The hot, wet, somewhat tingly sensation is a complete unknown to you and you’re not entirely sure what to make of it at first. Then he gives your teat an experimental suck and you promptly decide it’s not a bad feeling at all. In fact it even pulls a low breath up from deep within your lungs, prompting you to sigh as you relax into it.

And it’s a shame, really, that you can’t make milk for him because Kabukimono quickly gives in to the hunger that appears to claw up from the darkest recesses of his heart — or whatever constituted for one in his manufactured body. He voraciously suckles and nuzzles his face up against you until the swell of your breast is pressed tight against his nose. It would have made it difficult for a normal person to breathe, but he is neither normal nor a person. The lack of air doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest, and you shudder when his tongue nudges up to lathe the stiffened bud as if he could encourage it to give him what he wanted if he just worked at it enough.

Somewhat dizzy at the sensation, you turn your head to warily glance over at the doorway but something else catches your attention instead. You follow the line of his body down to the front of his pants and your pulse jumps at the tented fabric you find there. It startles you a great deal, not having expected a puppet to have such a human reaction and that was to say absolutely nothing of the fact he even had such anatomy in the first place!

Feeling abashed and a bit self-conscious, you peer into his face again but he’s completely lost in whatever hazy, defenseless fog has come over him. He doesn’t appear to notice anything amiss at all, and it makes you wonder if he could really be this oblivious to what was happening with his own body. Or … could it be that he simply didn’t know what to do with it?

Your heartbeat hammers a wild rhythm against your ribcage as you regard the front of his pants again. This is quite beyond what he’d initially wanted or asked for, and yet the thought of leaving him unattended didn’t appeal much to you. Gathering your courage, you carefully reach down and brush the bottom hem of his top out of the way before placing your palm over the faint bulge. He twitches and whines into the meat of the breast he’s latched onto, becoming almost fussy as he starts to half heartedly wriggle in your lap. His mouth just keeps suckling though, and the suction is so forceful that your nipple feels raw and tender in his mouth now. You’re very aware of how damp you’ve gotten between the legs over just the last few minutes and that emboldens you to close your fingers around the press of him to massage his length through his clothes. If it was affecting both of you like this then surely it wouldn’t hurt anything to indulge in it?

But it quickly becomes apparent that he’s far more needy than you would have thought him to be, his squirming becoming more pronounced and desperate as the seconds tick by. He won’t let up on your teat though, nor does he reach down to help alleviate his current predicament himself. That left you fully in control of the situation and, surreptitiously, you peer over your shoulder at the doorway. It would be bad indeed if your sister came home to find the two of you like this so you had to make it quick if you were going to do it at all.

Decision made, you reach for the tie on his pants and tug it loose with trembling fingers. Kabukimono noises a soft sound of question around his insistent sucking but you softly shush him as you work his bottoms down with some amount of effort in this position. “Don’t fret, I’ll take care of you. Just relax, okay?”

He softly groans into the swell of your breast. Then, to your relief, he somewhat shyly angles his hips up off the floor to help you relieve him of his pure white pants, so virginal and fitting for the holy doll held in your arms. It almost seems like a mockery as you pull them down, revealing more of his lower body to the room as well as to your voracious eyes with every hushed rustle of fabric. The cock that at last springs up with a muted bounce makes your cunt flutter around nothing and he whines, very quietly, but it’s this part of him that strikes you as perhaps the most farcical of all. You’d never seen anything so perfectly shaped to not only match his lean, borderline dainty build but even compliment it too. Neither small nor large, it’s something in the middle that strikes you as ideal.

Heart in your throat, you wrap your fingers around that length and give it a muted squeeze.

Kabukimono sucks in a sharp breath, stiff and halting when he at last lets up on your teat for a moment. You’re acutely aware of the tremor that races through him as his shuddering lips loosen and then fall away completely to issue a threadbare moan against the spit lathered, aching nub. The sensation makes you mirror his response and, trembling against one another, you hunch further over him.

“Shh.” You whisper again, stroking his cock with a steady hand. “I’ve got you, sweet boy. I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

“T - that’s …”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Brows knitting, he seems to struggle to find a response before giving up and offering a stitled little nod instead. His squirming becomes increasingly fitful but you just clutch him all the more fervently to you with the arm wrapped around his shoulders while the other works his length. It’s vaguely fleshy under your palm, yet so firm and unrelenting that the manufactured quality of his physical vessel can’t be overlooked. He clearly isn’t a real boy despite how very human he looks, and rather than discouraging that impression this unexpected anatomy of his just further highlights the fact. People weren’t perfect like this, but dolls were. Only puppets could be this hauntingly alluring, if their creators wanted them to be. The unnatural origin of his creation didn’t mean he wasn’t just as deserving of being nurtured and cared for as any other person though. And he was a person. Of that you were sure.

In fact the artificiality of his body, so obvious and unavoidable when you were looking at him like this, touching him like this, only makes you want to see him tended to and coddled all the more. With your pulse jackhammering a wild rhythm, you timidly push your chest out to offer your breast to him again and coaxingly prod his warbling mouth with the stiffened tip. Kabukimono looks truly dazed and even disoriented when he finally cracks his eyes open to peer up at you again. There’s a question on his face, an unspoken oath that lingers just behind his lips, but still he can’t quite seem to find his voice.

He was overwhelmed, that much was clear, and you carefully bend your head close to press another kiss to the crown of his head. “What’s wrong, sweet one? Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” He croaks out immediately. “P - please … don’t stop.”

His slim hips give a weak, twitchy jolt under your hand as if to emphasize what he was requesting of you. Practically begging you for it. Of course you were happy to oblige.

Issuing a low mewl into the statically charged air, Kabukimono lets his head loll back against your supporting arm as you tug on his cock with more certainty in the repetitive motion, sighing quiet moans up at the ceiling. He doesn’t quite seem to know what to do or how to process what’s happening but some instinctive part of his mind must kick in a moment later because he haphazardly starts to nudge his pants the rest of the way off. You keep pulling on his cock the whole time, secretly delighting in the way he fiercely shudders in your hold, and you especially like the way he spreads his legs wide once he’s finally freed himself of those hindering clothes.

Left naked from the waist down with only his short kimono all askew and rucked up around his delicate waist, he cranes his neck and latches onto your offered breast again. You can’t stop yourself from softly groaning when he starts suckling with a new found voracity borne of an intense, insatiable hunger that makes the molten heat in your belly curl tight. Your chest gives a dull throb at the desperation you can feel bleeding off him now and your cunt quickly follows suit with a sympathetic flutter of its own.

Emboldened with undeniable arousal, you release his cock long enough to reach up and yank the other shoulder of your top down. Then you gently take his hand so you can guide it to your neglected tit where he eagerly grabs and paws at you without needing any further encouragement to do so. His thumb clumsily brushes your soft nipple, as inexperienced as he is uncertain, but his innate enthusiasm more than makes up for any lack of technical skill. You felt like you were teetering dangerously close to the edge, and this was the first he’d touched you in true reciprocation. It was maddening, in a way.

“Ooh … Kabukimono, if you do that —“

Curiously, but without any apparent hesitation, he pinches the bud between thumb and forefinger to give it a tentative tug. The intense tremor that bolts through you like a vicious lightning strike has you sitting up a little straighter, actively fighting the urge to start squirming too. Your pussy thrums with it as hot, coaxing pulses wash over you despite the total lack of forethought he gives the gesture but you still recognized it for what it was.

An innocent, inquisitive touch that did not stem from prior knowledge or experience in such matters. All he likely understood was that touching you like this made your breath come quicker, your heartbeat pounding such an erratic war drum crescendo it seemed likely to burst right through your skin at any moment. You were sinking in it, grateful for the unrefined, almost shy way he tweaks one nipple while deeply feeding from the other with his mouth.

And through it all, you just keep dragging your hand up the exquisite length of him before making the slow descent back down to the base again. At some point you curl your hand lower to gently cup his balls in your palm, and you’re admittedly quite surprised he has these too. You were far from any kind of doctor but you’d heard whispers about how these were what truly defined a man and made them different from women, but Kabukimono wasn’t a man. What use did he have of this firm yet pliable sack between his legs? You didn’t understand it. Not really, but you gently massage them anyway because men seem to like that and Kabukimono does too.

Weak and hazy, he halfheartedly kicks at the floor with a restless agitation that makes his pelvis lift higher, as if begging for even more of your attention. Your own excitement was making it difficult to draw a full breath now as you give him a faint squeeze before brushing your fingers lower still. Teasing over the softly raised ridge between his legs, you marvel at the way his expression pinches to accompany the tortured groan he lets out. He was so malleable and vulnerable in your lap that you think you could have probably done anything at all to him in that moment and he would’ve accepted it without question.

“Do you like that, little love?” You ask, prodding into his taint with a bit more pressure. “Does that make you feel good?”

Unable to keep his trembling mouth latched on any longer, Kabukimono releases your nipple and tips his head down to look at where your hand disappears between his thighs. He practically wheezes at the sight — either at his own nudity or the sensation of your fingers touching him in such an intimate way — and he offers a quick, stilted nod. “Y - yes … it feels good. I — I feel so good, mommy. Please don’t stop.”

You gasp at the vertigo inducing shock that slams into you all at once. You’d never been called that before, nor had you expected him to say such a thing either. What surprises you most of all though is how much your body positively flares for him because of it, and you hurriedly bring your hand back up to grip his cock again. When you drag your stiff fingers to the tip and find sticky slick beading there you give a dull, startled little jolt. He was even excreting fluids here too?

“I won’t stop, lovely boy. Don’t worry about that and just relax. Let me take care of you, okay? You’re safe here, I promise.”

He’s panting so hard he can’t seem to formulate a coherent response, so he just nods his head again. The distracted hand on your breast eventually falls away entirely to clutch at your side in tugging desperation while you steadily work him over at the same steady pace as before. You can see the mounting tension in his body as much as in his face, and your own arousal seems to ratchet up and mirror his with near alarming accuracy. By the time Kabukimono’s narrow hips start to judder a few moments later you too feel like you’re going to find release any second now.

You valiantly try to shove such thoughts to the back of your mind though, for you had a role to play and a perfect boy to tend to, and you could feel his cock warmly pulsing against your palm in warning. “Are you getting close? What a good boy you are, Kabukimono. Go ahead and cum for me. Cum for — cum for mommy and then we’ll get you cleaned up, alright?”

He chokes on a harsh intake of air, as if he’d been sucker punched and the sound got stuck in his throat. Hips bucking and pitifully mewling, he wraps his trembling arm around your middle so he can clutch you fiercely against himself and seal his mouth around your throbbing teat again. You seethe through your teeth at the heightened sensitivity, toes curling against the tatami mat underneath you, but you just keep tugging at his twitching length even when you felt like you could just sob. Never before had you been so terribly, achingly aroused, and the way he almost frantically suckles at your teat certainly doesn’t help.

You know the moment he’s reached his peak because his lower body gives one last, agonizingly stiff lurch up into your hand before going completely still. The vibrating tension that runs through him travels straight up his cock, internally flexing under your fingertips, until it materializes out of his dainty slit in a rush of creamy white. Pulse after pulse, it rushes up out of him and oozes down your knuckles to drip onto his pelvis, and you just stare in rapt fascination while he moans into the meat of your breast. You almost hadn’t thought anything at all would come out, and that he’d simply experience the same kind of twitching orgasms you did when you rubbed your cunt in the middle of the night or in the bath. But this was clearly real ejaculate, as if it had come from a real man. Was it just as potent too? Could he seed you the same way your sister had been seeded by the husband out working on the open sea?

And far more importantly — for what purpose had he been made to so closely resemble a human male that even his testes would produce this kind of discharge?

You had so many questions. A boat load more than you’d started with, if you were being honest, but now was not the time to give voice to any of them. Not yet.

With his cum sticky and cooling on your knuckles, you glance down into Kabukimono’s face again and you’re glad to find his expression relaxed now. His fine brow was no longer knitted with high strung tension or distressed yearning for something he’d never had but wanted oh so very badly. There was no trace at all of that lingering uncertainty you’d seen earlier, and he seemed perfectly at ease now. Comfortable.

You have to stamp down the urge to reach up and brush some of those silky forelocks back from his face, deciding it could wait until after you’d wiped your hand clean. He just looked so content lying there in your lap, snuggled deep into your chest with his lips gone slack but still idly working around your puffy nipple, like he couldn’t quite stop. Like he really was just a baby in your arms — albeit a much too big, far too mature to be believable baby, but a babe nonetheless.

It was precious and sweet, and oddly satisfying in your mind even though this, too, probably should have been disconcerting to you. But it was simply yet another uncanny facet of the altogether preternatural existence he represented. Something that was human and yet not. A man but a boy, but not a real boy, and just as with everything else that was unsettling or just ever so slightly off about Kabukimono you were willing to overlook it. All too happy, in fact.

For you could not play the role of mother if you looked at him with doubt or uncertainty in the back of your mind. You would baby him, if that was what he wanted, and you would do it well.

You swore you would.

⭐

Not crossposted (yet)

#genshin impact #kabukimono #kabukimono x reader #self insert bullshit #scaramouche

57 notes · View notes

97keanu · 2 years ago

Text

John Constantine x f!Reader

Premise: As Constantine's assistant, he tests your limits often. You know you're a smart, good girl. So when one wrong placed bet has you on your knees for Constantine as he enacts only your wildest fantasies, you don't know where you two stand anymore. You thought your little crush on him was buried deep, but it turns out you are willing to do much more than you ever want to admit. Tonight, he pushes you farther than you thought he ever would...

Tags/CW: MEAN!Constantine, bratty!reader, princess coded!reader, reader who thinks she's too good for you, leashed!reader, pet play, puppy!reader, bimbo-fied!reader, bdsm, age gap, p in v, f!reader, crybaby-ish!reader, crying kink, choking, AGGRESSIVE, oral (m receiving.), dub-ishcon, degradation, humiliation, praise kink, girl on top, raw, edging.

Be added to my tag lists here! Read more of my works here!

You knew making a bet with Constantine was never the right move. Your pride got ahead of you, trailing behind it your ego, and your intelligence, that you love to portray in yourself, nowhere to be found. You knew there was no way you would be able to figure out how to hunt a demon all by yourself, you should have never accepted a bet that if you did, Constantine would start treating your training seriously. Now, you've lost, and on top of it, you agreed to do whatever Constantine said from now on. And that does mean, whatever he says, you soon realize...

"I am not doing that, Constantine!" You stomp a chunky heeled foot and fold your arms, trying to look mean and serious the way he does, but failing.

"What's wrong, you're such a 'goody-two-shoes' that you can't have some fun every now and then?" He takes a long draw from his cigarette, he's so close you can smell the cologne mixed with smoke coming from him.

It was bitter and spicy, only the smallest hint of sweetness.

"Fun? You think leashing me is some sort of 'fun' for me?" You scoff and glare as he blows smoke into your face, batting it away with one hand.

"Yeah, it'll loosen you up a bit. Maybe you can turn that bright mind of yours off while I tug on your leash and make you sit pretty." He gives you a thump in your forehead when he mocks your smart tendencies, and you feel anger rising even more.

Your cheeks go red and you know you just look even more pathetic when you're mad at like this.

"I don't see how any of this has to do with learning to hunt demons or helping you." You scoff and turn your eyes from him, completely baffled by the whole idea.

"It might teach you that you can't just go off on your own trying to slay a demon before you're ready. It also might show you where you fit in all of this..." He teases you, pull a lock of your hair between two of his fingers.

"And where's that? Beneath you?" You say it with disdain, but the truth is that you wouldn't mind that so much. The heat between the two of you has been brewing since you started the job with him. It was only a matter of time...

"Lighten up, Princess. It's just my way of pay back for you losing the bet. Besides, I might even give you a treat if you're a good girl." He pulls your chin up, forcing your big doe eyes to look into his deep brown ones.

And that's how you ended up here. On your knees, a leather collar around your dainty little neck, looking up at Constantine as he tugs you towards him. You can't believe you've been brought so low. You started this job because you thought you had the smarts and academic research to help aid in finding demons. Now you're looking up at your own personal demon.

"Crawl." Constantine commands, and pulls on your leash, forcing you to follow if you don't want to be choked.

You feel so humilated. Your cheeks heat to a level that you didn't think possible, and your lip quivers as you try to force down your sudden feelings of inadequacy. Constantine is not stopping until you really know your place.

"Sit." He finally says once he's dragged you to the bedroom, yanking on your chain when you don't do so fast enough.

You feel tears welling up, and soon enough, you know it's not just because of how embarrassed you feel about the situation. Instead, you feel yourself beginning to like being commanded as such. Deny it all you want as tears roll down your cheeks, but you like giving up all the control you fight for.

"Don't cry," Constantine laughs at you, his cruelty knowing no bounds. "You don't know how much more it turns me on to see you cry..."

"You're sick..." You whisper and look at the ground, but Constantine's yank of your leash stops you from looking away.

"Don't act like you're not enjoying this, Princess. I can see it in your eyes." You gaze at him and hate how easily your rising arousal is seen.

Constantine sits on the bed, watching as you sit on your knees before him. The hard wood floors are leaving your knees aching already, and somehow that pain is sending heat between your legs in waves.

"I want you to undress." Constantine commands you.

You want to resist. You know resisting is almost as bad as admitting defeat, however. And since you've already lost once, getting you into this situation, you feel like the test is on now.

"This is completely ridiculous..." You grumble, your hands folding over your chest.

"Is it?" Constantine laughs while he looks down at you, cheeks hot and wet. "You're the one who agreed to let me test your limits however I desired. You knew what you might be getting yourself into. I'm sure you secretly hoped it would come to this."

His voice chides you like a child, making you feel even lower, and the worst part was, he was right. Fantasies of Constantine doing whatever he pleased with you had floated through your head when you agreed. You never thought it would involve treating you like a bad puppy, however.

"You're so cruel to me..." The last part comes out in a whisper as your arms move, lifting your shirt to reveal what you have on underneath.

"Interesting how such a prude as yourself has such sexy lingerie underneath..." Constantine's eyes eat you up.

He watches with hunger as you kneel there, your lacy, black bra the only thing that covers your chest, which is heaving with the nervous and aroused breaths you take.

"I..." You try to think of something smart-assed to say, but end up short.

The truth was, you started wearing such lacy and tempting things beneath your clothes soon after you started working for him. You know why.

You know that you wanted to be ready, just in case...

And now here you are, all blush and embarrassment, tear stained cheeks and anger for being brought to this, laid almost bare in front of him. This man you have claimed to his own face to dislike. You feel such a fool as yourself probably deserves to be treated as such as he pull your chain nearer to him.

"Don't be so pathetic, puppy..." He gives another yank. "I think you'll find if you're a good doggy for me I might just give you a treat."

You glare at him as you sit so perfectly between his legs. You can see the huge bulge pressed up against his black suit pants, and you shift your thighs uncomfortably as you realize how badly you want to take him into your mouth. When your big eyes look up at him, lashes batting and confused, Constantine smirks.

"You don't have to hold yourself back, go ahead, take it out." And despite yourself, your hands are moving to the zipper and buttons of his pants, so slowly.

You let Constantine's cock take over your view, flopping out of his pants and easily into your hands. You're tired of fighting it. The ache deep in your stomach and between your thighs has gotten too persistent to ignore, and now here you are, leashed and stroking your boss's cock.

You know how much he's enjoying this, beyond even just the pleasure you're feeding him right now with your hand. He likes this feeling of domination over you, likes seeing you finally let go. You can't help but feel like this is where he thinks you belong. Beneath him and doing what you're told.

"That's it..." He sighs, leaning his head back ad your hand warms his cock for him. Even just the smell of it from how close you are, is filling your pretty little head and driving you mad.

You bite your lip and look up to him, he's loosening his tie and pulls your leash again, leading you even further to do what he wants. Your mouth waters as you think about putting something as big as his cock in it. You don't even know if you could fit it all, to be honest...

You hear him let out a small moan, obviously not wanting to do so. And as he does, you realize he needs this, this release, just as much as you do. You may be the one leashed and collared, but he's the one who's needing his cock touched so badly right now.

You bring the tip to your pouty mouth, and Constantine's warm brown eyes look down at you. You look into them sweetly and tease him with your tongue. He seems to be responding well, until goes on too long, and he reached a hand up and takes it behind your head.

"I can't wait that long, puppy." His voice is filled with need, and as he pressed on the back of your head, you can't help but open up, taking his cock into your mouth.

What really surprised you was how deep he pushes you, taking in way more than you thought possible and still having more left over. You choke for a moment, and it's clear Constantine likes hearing it. He continues to bob your head for you, his grip tightening and getting rougher just to hear your muffled cries. You feel the tears welling up again, this time involuntarily, caused by how rough he's fucking your throat and face. You grip his thighs, hands against his pants, and look up at him like the pretty princess you are, being all used up by such a wicked man as him.

"God, you've got such a cute face when you take my cock like that..." He groans out, head falling back once more as he loses himself in you for a moment.

You feel how tight he has you pulled by your leash, and you know you couldn't stop if you wanted to. He has you so perfectly trapped right now, and somehow being so restrained makes your pussy even wetter. You had no idea you needed to be tamed like this.

Suddenly, he pulls your head violently from his cock, spit trailing and eyes blinking out a few more tears. You look up at him with your big wet puppy dog eyes, trying to catch your breath and stop from choking on your own spit that's accumulated.

"Alright, princess," he starts with a heavy breath of his own, pulling your lead and your hair as he moves you up on to the bed with him. "I want to see what else you can do."

Constantine perfectly places you on top of him, his cock underneath your pussy, your thin piece of underwear being the only thing stopping him from slipping inside of you.

He's kept most of his clothes on, and somehow it makes you feel even more degraded knowing that he doesn't even feel the need to get that naked and open to you. It feels quick, it feels easy, it feels like fucking a stranger in a seedy little hotel room. You adore it...

You don't even have to be told, your mind is taken over by your own needs, and you begin to rub your soaking pussy against his solid cock. Constantine smiles and seems to be praising you for your good slut abilities.

"Such a good whore for me..." He whispers, grabbing your hips and rocking you into him in just the right way.

You're so much smaller on his frame as you needily grind yourself into him. He seems so much bigger, and the fact that he's so much older than you, so much more mature, adds to the fact that you feel humiliated and used by him. You're sure he feels the same, and enjoys seeing your young little body using herself up on his cock. You can tell by the way he's looking at you right now, like a hungry wolf waiting for the perfect moment to slaughter the poor little lamb.

"Move them to the side..." He says with a husky breath, not even trying to be kind or nice in asking.

"Y-yes..." You muster out, and reach down, moving your panties out of the way to expose your wet little slit.

Constantine easily lifts you up, and in one solid motion, not waiting to let you acclimatize to such a large cock. You cry out, loud and long, and he cuts it off with a quick pull of the collar, that choking feeling back and the pain and domination mixing with the pleasure of being so perfectly full. You let out a few choked noises as he grinds you in as deep as humanly possible.

Your mind reels from how much has been taken from you already tonight, and a small bit of fear settles in you as you wonder what you've gotten yourself into. How aggressive could he possibly be? You have no idea, but right now, despite being on top, you've never felt so inferior to Constantine, and with the way he's cruelly enjoying your pain, you shudder.

He only let's you remain still like this for a moment, obviously admiring his handy work on you. Soon enough, he's quickly lifted you again, and slammed himself back into you. You feel as if you may break into two, his cock splitting you so deeply. He continues this, hitting the deepest parts of you with such pleasurable pain that you pant out, breaths shaking and mixing with your cries. Your cheeks are stained with your mascara as more salty tears find their release and you begin to wonder where a fucking like this was all your life.

"I love seeing you so sloppy and your perfect little make up your work so hard on completely fucked like this." You hear Constantine say as he continues to use your body however he likes, fucking you harder and faster as he goes.

One of his hands finds your clit, rubbing circles that cause you to double over into him, your hands gripping his white button down and tie, face so close to his now.

"A good whore doesn't come out of the bedroom without a mess on her face." He whispers to you, so close now, he can see all the pain and desperation, all the need and pleasure on your face as your mind is completely fogged.

You keep letting him take you, slowly becoming more and more malleable in his hands, becoming a moaning little mess of a girl that is being fucked on his cock, making a mess of that as well as you get wetter and wetter, his hand bringing you closer with every stroke against your swollen and needy clit.

All you can do is close your eyes and lose yourself on him. You feel yourself edging closer and closer, and your lip trembles, your teeth finding it and biting to keep yourself from cumming to fast, but it's no use.

"F-fuck...I'm going to..." You can't stop the whisper that comes, and you begin to unwind.

You feel him stop suddenly, and then laugh.

"I'm not doing all the work, princess." He says, and leans back, putting both his hands behind his head, one still holding your leash of course.

"Wh-what?" You blink, breathing trying to regulate, looking up at him like a lost little puppy.

"That's right, I wanna see you work yourself on me. It's time you do some of the work if you want to cum, that is." His stupid, mean, cocky face tells you there's no getting out of this, but your lip pouts anyways.

"Hey! That's not fair, I was so close..." You see that it doesn't matter what you say, and his accompanying laugh doesn't make you feel much better anyways.

Your aching and throbbing cunt gets the better of the situation, and you put aside your stubborn nature for the prize of more friction.

You lean up, one hand out stretched as far as it goes, keeping your balance on Constantine's chest. Your hips rock, slowly, then picking up speed and losing awkwardness in favor of deeper thrusts of his cock into you. You begin to moan, finally finding the ultimate pleasure you were missing, free hand moving to your clit once more and giving the needed attention.

"Don't you dare cum without asking me, puppy." Constantine has sat up a bit, so he can pull you closer and say this while looking directly into your eyes. His intensity let's know their will be punishments if you don't do as he commands. You nod your head, willing to do anything right now.

You continue on, fucking yourself perfectly, and feeling your pussy tighten on it's own around him. He's harder than ever, his hips bucking into a bit despite saying you needed to get your own cum from his cock.

"I love seeing you work so hard for it." He whispers, his hand reaching out and wrapping around your neck, moving your head to keep eye contact despite wanting nothing more than to close your eyes and relish in the pleasure.

"Constantine, please, I need to cum..." You whisper out, eyes pleading and messy with running mascara.

"You'll have to do better than that. I need you to beg like the good dog you are." He responds with a wicked grin, eating up all of your desperation with glee.

"Oh god, please, I can't keep this up," you try to get out of it, but his grip on your throat tightens.

"I decide when you cum. Get that through your pretty little head, princess." He scoffs.

"Fine," you cry as he digs his cock deeper right where you need it.

"I'm begging you, please let me cum, I'll do anything, I'll say anything, just let me cum..." The words come out whiney, and breathy, and fast, need building beyond what you ever thought, your hand having to take breaks on your clit, knowing if you don't you'll fall over the edge.

"Anything?" Constantine replies, and you have a bad feeling about the look on his face.

"A-anything..." You whimper out, grinding relentlessly like the needy little bitch you are.

"Fine." he licks his teeth. "Bark like a dog for me, and I'll let you cum."

You look at him stunned for a moment, not wanting to do something so humiliating, cheeks burning hotter than they already are.

"You're kidding..." He stops fucking you and tightens his grip on your throat further, choking out the second word, he doesn't need to say that he's not.

You feel so close, and you need this so bad, but you have never felt so degraded...

Moments pass, and the loss of friction and the need for more builds.

You hold your breath, trying not even to breathe right now, trying not even to give him anything after he's taken so much from you tonight.

When you do breath, you feel utterly embarrassed about what comes out.

A whimper, then a bark. From the look on his face, you know it's not enough. You continue, your bark growing louder and louder until you're desperately crying it out. When you look back, he's laughing at you, and you feel like a school girl again, getting bullied. Somehow, that makes the need grow even more.

"Alright, alright," he says between laughs. "You can cum..."

And then, it's you that holds him down, your muscles tighten and Constantine let's you take him for the first time tonight however you want. You get the power right now, you've earned it after what he's put you through, and he freely let's you fuck him and use his cock however you need. And you do, and you feel yourself spilling, spilling, spilling...

You release on him, and he tells praises you as you do, your walls tightening and bringing him to his own release. You feel his cum, hot and sticky, filling you up more and more with every stroke.

"God, you're so pretty when you take what you want. What a pretty little puppy you are..." He breathes, keeping up with an endless amount of praise that you so desperately needed as you finish, coming down slowly from everything and finally resting, exhausted on his chest, cock still inside you, twitching.

You two say nothing for a long time, laying just like that, and to your surprise, sleep gets the better of you, and you find Constantine's arms wrapping around you to keep you from falling off his chest, and cock. You drift off to the most peaceful, dreamless sleep, you've had since starting this job. Maybe he was right. Maybe you did enjoy this more than you thought, but you'd never let him know that.

Taglist: @worldsgreatestsinner @discoscoob @nwheregirl @slutforsoldierboy @sughcashsaiki @sebastianstanisahotmf @iovesia @brooxie3

Ask to be taken off anytime, be added to the tag list here!

#john constantine x reader #constantine x reader #constantine fanfic #constantine 2005 #my writing

593 notes · View notes