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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 3 years

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destiel, 2.4k, mild hurt/comfort, happy ending. for @wormstacheangel who wanted a fic with anemic!Cas <3

"Cas?"

Dean hears a flump from the direction of the bedroom right as he finishes shaving his left cheek. It takes him about five seconds from there to dashing out of the bathroom, sink hastily turned off and half of his neck still covered in white, wearing an expression of worry that doesn't quite go with the foam beard.

Cas seems to hold the same opinion because his face splits in a wide grin the moment Dean enters the room.

A grin almost distracting enough for Dean to not notice that Cas is back on the bed, and suddenly wearing a blanket.

Almost.

"Goddammit, Cas." He sighs, huffing as panic slips away to make room for exasperation. He walks up to the bed, sets about righting the blanket around Cas.

Cas lets him.

"I should've known -"

"- Dean, I forgot -"

"- you were going to ditch your meds the first night after I stop bugging you 'bout them." Dean mutters, ignoring Cas completely as he makes weak attempts at protesting when Dean tucks one corner of his blanket all the way round at the other side, effectively turning him into what he mentally likes to call a Cas-burrito.

He doesn't like to call it anything at the moment though, cause right now, it's just proof of how Cas doesn’t listen.

Friggin' ex-angel of the lord, billions of years old, with libraries worth of stories and history in his head — but taking his meds when they're supposed to be taken, he forgets.

"It wasn't on purpose." Cas insists in a small voice, and Dean shoots an annoyed look at him before stepping back, finally finished with the blanket routine.

If you could call it that.

Well, Dean does call it that.

Because it happened often enough times after Cas's return from the Empty, human as the day Dean was born, to prompt both a title, and a reason to investigate why in the first place.

And not a lot of road to cover from typing in Cas's symptoms in a search engine — headaches, spells of dizziness, fatigue and feeling cold in general (things Cas had dictated to Sam who was typing, while Dean seethed from the next chair at not having been priorly informed of most of those things that warrant being informed about) — to ending up at the conclusion of a few billion (but actually just the first four) results, just minutes after.

Cas had anemia.

(The doctor Dean took him to the very next day, and Sam's completed research on the Novaks' medical history by the time they got back, confirmed it.)

Now, as far as the Winchesters were concerned, that was practically a relief — especially since their next place to look would've been old, tired books of curses, and the meekest of those would've been several times more worrying than the awfullest case of anemia one could possibly get - and Cas's, thankfully, wasn't even that bad.

However, curses are reversible. Or at least, equally as destroyable as their curse-rs are — who, usually, tend to be pretty destroyable when it comes to Sam and Dean.

Mineral deficiencies, on the other hand, are neither.

So supplements it is, as the doctor said and then prescribed — or so it should have been anyways, except for how the love of Dean's life was a giant baby when it came to taking pills.

"Sure it wasn't." Dean rolls his eyes, continuing in his exaggerated 'Cas' voice. "You just forgot."

Cas squint-frowns at Dean with all the ferociousness of a tired, cold and anemic four-weeks-old human, and Dean perches next to him on the edge of their bed with a sigh, the exasperation wearing off too.

(If he hadn't already wrapped them up, this would've been about the time Dean would've taken Cas's hands in his own.)

"Cas," He says, softer now.

Truth be told, Dean can't imagine what it must be like to go from being a - a being, that can heal itself and everything else, to a human who gets shivery and lightheaded cause of things inside of him he can't even control.

It's got to be terrifying, and obviously awful, and Dean's proud of Cas for the way he's been handling all of it — but dammit he's supposed to do the things that make it easier.

Just like he's supposed to let Dean take care of him.

"Dean," Cas replies, looking sideways at him with most of the stubbornness melted from his expression as well. "I'm a little cold but it's okay. I'm fine." He says, like he can still tell exactly what Dean needs to hear.

What he needs Cas to be.

There's a pause and Dean looks down at his hands. He can't help his next question, it's been on his mind for some time.

"What about the first time you were human?"

Cas noticeably withdraws into himself on hearing him, and Dean feels immediately a pang of guilt. It may have gotten easier to read him since he became human, but an accidental display of emotion was still a novelty. (Being difficult to read was apparently more of a Cas trait than an angel feature.)

"What about it?"

"Shouldn't you, uh," Dean pauses. "Shouldn't you also have been anemic then?"

Cas turns away from him, slow enough that Dean knows he's not taken offense, deliberate enough that he's thinking.

He finally answers, facing the wall ten feet away instead of Dean.

"I guess I was."

"But," Dean frowns. "I thought you had no idea you had anemia until last week."

"Dean, I didn't even know there was anything wrong with me until last week." Cas returns, his tone steady. "And back when I was human for the first time, I didn't either, because I'd never known what healthy felt like before, so I had no idea if I was or wasn't it. Of course I knew in an objective sense, say, the ideal temperature of the human body, but the ordinary amount of chilly one should feel on the streets in winter, or how hard or easy falling asleep is supposed to be, I couldn't have told you."

"Oh."

"And I still wouldn't have been able to," Cas turns back to him. "Had you not been the one to point it out."

Dean scoffs.

All he'd done was ask why Cas had been shivering in the middle of the day. That was it. Honestly, how could he not have seen it sooner?

"So you just," Dean lets out, afraid of the answer. "You just thought the cold spells and the, uh," he falters. "The being tired all the time — you thought that was part of being human?"

Cas smiles wryly. "It is for a lot of people."

"But —"

"And it was, Dean, anemia or not, for a lot of the people I lived with back then."

Dean's stomach bottoms out. He knows Cas is right. Six years ago, he'd been living on the streets, living in a bus. Dean remembers him — homeless, cold, sleeping on the floor of a Gas 'N Sip in his only set of clothes, Cas. And he knows he's responsible for it — knows he deserves to be hated for it, and it messes with him everyday that Cas doesn't — but did Cas really not even know what Dean had done to him? What Dean had — and Jesus, he detests himself — made him go through?

"You really thought all of us were going through that," Dean blinks. "And none of us was saying a thing?"

Cas doesn't look away this time and Dean goes on.

"I mean, I know you put humanity on a pedestal it doesn't deserve, and you think we're all capable of things you're capable of, but Cas, I can't believe you associated being human with being cold and tired, and —" Dean scrubs his face with a hand. "Goddammit, Cas! How could I have let you go out there on your own when you — h-how did I not see it, and — and you should never have had to deal with it all alone, I should've —"

"Dean."

It's not until Cas interrupts him that he realizes he's been rambling. Ranting, really, because it's not fair that Cas only got to see the worst of humanity, and it's not fair that Cas was so used to feeling awful that he just figured everyone felt that way all the time. That Cas was all alone at a time Dean should've been there for him, should've been at his side, been there to make sure he was warm, and make sure he ate spinach and seafood and whatever the hell else is rich in iron — hell, Dean should've looked it up sooner — and Dean should've been able to tell that Cas was sick, even if Cas couldn't, because that's his job.

He hasn't felt this way in a while — this particularly familiar fear of failing Cas, and losing Cas, entwined horribly, returning to him; seeping back in through his skin, and settling on his bones like the vast sediments of guilt and loss he's been carrying for most of his life.

Cas is supposed to be okay, and Dean's supposed to make sure he is.

But so far as upto here, turns out Dean's just been failing in more ways than he'd even known.

"Dean," Cas repeats, pulling him out of his reverie with determination in his voice, and a hand on Dean's left arm, his blanket now hanging off of one shoulder.

Dean immediately reaches to make it right but Cas holds him right where he is. Physically and not-drowning-in-his-own-head wise, and he's the only one who can do that.

"You're not listening to me."

Shit, Cas had been speaking this entire time, hadn't he? "Sorry, I was -" Dean looks Cas in the face to apologize, and lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, cause thank god, Cas isn't that pale. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Cas smiles, and it's not lopsided anymore, it's just Cas.

(Dean wonders if he should try to mirror it.)

"I was just saying that now I know that that's not the only part of being human."

"What do you mean?"

"The pain and the suffering, Dean. That's not all." Cas says. "There's also love, and kindness, and worry of the non-lifethreatening kind that dissipates with a smile, and warmth."

Dean stares at him.

"And sure," Cas shrugs. "I knew those things before too — I've read books, I've watched you and Sam — but now I've felt them as humans do, for the very first time, so it's a different kind of knowing."

Cas takes Dean's hand in his, and Dean's the one who squeezes.

"I believe the human expression is 'knowing it in my bones'."

Dean lets out a strained laugh in spite of himself. "Dunno, man. I don't think that's exactly what that means."

"But I do know it in my bones." Cas says simply, and Dean's heart does that thing where it feels too big for his chest. How Cas could go through so much, and still be so full of kindness and good, is one of the mysteries of life Dean's never going to solve — but it doesn't stop him from falling a little bit harder every time it happens.

"You should've gotten to know it the last time too, Cas." Dean tells him, sighing again. "I'm just — I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Well, you are now." Cas tilts his head. "And I prefer the things I'm learning this time over the last time anyway, and I believe it's you who's always taught me that the present is what matters the most. I'm just glad you're here this time."

"And I'm not going anywhere." Dean squeezes their hands tighter, and Cas's smile grows. God, he deserves the world and he keeps settling for Dean, doesn't he — and Dean hates it, and loves it, and couldn't live without it. He puts his other hand on Cas's face, gloving his cheek. Cas leans closer.

"I love you."

Dean's throat constricts. "You're too good to me."

"I think that's the point."

Dean can't help but smile, and he really can't help the tears.

"I'm okay." Cas says, once more. "Are you?"

There's only one answer, and nothing to fight this time.

Dean closes the gap.

"I love you too."

It's not their first kiss, nor is it the first time they've ever said it — but it feels more significant than anything's felt before. It's more them, too — not sickly-sweet or angry and fighting, just them, coming around to the end of a hard talk, falling into each other's arms with an ease they reserve for each other only, and sinking into each other, slow and perfectly synced, like they're made for it.

When they pull back, a moment later, Dean leans his forehead against Cas's and licks his lips. Breathes.

"There's so much more to being human," he hears himself saying. "Than you'd ever find out just living here in the bunker with us."

"Dean," it's Cas's turn to sigh. "I've already found everything I need."

Dean's cheeks heat up. "I thought it was never too late to learn."

"It isn't." Cas leans back, hands falling back to his sides from where they were wrapped around Dean's neck. "But sometimes, practising old things is more important."

Dean immediately dissolves into laughter. "Yeah, no, great going. Call me old before you go to town practising on me."

Cas ignores him save a twinkle in his eyes. "And some things, I'd like us to learn together."

Dean grins.

"And some things," Cas concludes, with a wide smile. "Aren't taught anywhere else in the world."

"Yeah?"

Cas shrugs.

"Why so?"

"Well, rumor has it the teacher's afraid of flying."

Dean freezes for a moment, silent, and then snorts — because yeah, that's funny, Ha Ha, but okay, if Cas is fit enough to make jokes, then he's fit enough to take his meds now, and Dean tells him that gleefully, resulting in Cas's grin immediately turning upside down as he tries to scoot away from Dean, except Dean's kinda expecting it so he's prepared to launch himself on the bed if he has to — and he does have to, cause Dean might love him for his heart, and his courage, and his kindness, but remember how Cas is just a baby in a trenchcoat?

Yeah.

(And that is just a regular morning in the Winchester household.)

#destiel #destiel fic #angst with a happy ending #destiel kiss #deancas fluff #cas angst #well. minor angst.#long post #i really hope you like it Rubi <33 #it got considerably longer (and sadder in the middle) than i'd expected it to be?? but oh well :'))#nyrawyra #userpris #userdee #spncreatorsdaily #dean pov #kashmircastiel #friendshapedcastiel #rambleoncas #oh writing my writing

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

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Craving

Spencer Reid x (female) Reader

Word Count: 1465

Warnings: Withdrawal symptoms, addiction recovery, mentions of (canon) violence. Angst with a happy ending.

A/N: For the “dream sequence” square on my @cmbingo card!

It’s not the cravings that almost break him, and it’s not the physical withdrawal symptoms. It’s the insomnia, and then it’s the dreams.

Spencer can’t sleep for two days. Those first forty-eight hours are a blur of sweat and nausea and wanting.

Spencer is used to that part: wanting. He’s used to wanting things he can’t have — wanting them so badly it feels like he’s being crushed by the weight of it — because he spent so much of his life wanting impossible things. The cravings are just an echo of the ache that used to be a constant companion.

He wanted children to be less cruel. He wanted to understand them, to make himself understood, to communicate and connect in that easy way they seemed to connect with each other. He wanted his father to come back and his mother to get better. When he gave up on those things, he wanted someone — anyone — to help him. He wanted someone to share the weight, on her bad days, and to tell him he was doing the right thing.

He was never much of a hugger, but sometimes he wanted to be held, just for a moment. Sometimes everything got so heavy. Sometimes he wanted someone there to help him carry it all.

He curls up on the couch and shivers, sweats, waits for it to pass, and when he finally closes his eyes he can’t tell whether he’s dreaming or hallucinating.

Substance abuse affects dopamine production. Dopamine regulates sleep, and withdrawal interferes with sleep architecture, Spencer recites. Sleep architecture: the structure of the phases of normal sleep, as shown on a hypnogram. He draws it on the chalkboard, sketching out the peaks and valleys.

This graph is all wrong. He stares at it in horror, tries to erase it, but he made a mistake and he can’t fix it. The class is laughing at him, and he turns to face them. He’s naked, of course, and tied to the goalposts, and he can’t get away from his mistake. He thrashes with all his might, but he can’t move.

He opens his eyes and he’s back on his couch, but there’s something heavy on top of him. Tobias: eyes glazed and lifeless, with a bullet that had been meant for Spencer lodged in his chest.

Spencer can’t move. Every cell in his body wants to get away.

When the paralysis fades he’s choking, scrambling away from the couch, trying to run for the bathroom, but he’s tangled in blankets and tripping and stumbling — and he falls, gags, but there’s nothing left in his stomach anyway.

He doesn’t have the energy to drag himself to his feet, and he can’t shake the image of the corpse pinning him to the couch, so he just wraps himself in a blanket and sits on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, wondering when it’ll end. Everything hurts.

Make it stop, he thinks, and shivers, because that’s what he thought that last time Hankel pointed the gun at his head: I’ve had enough. Please make it stop.

He closes his eyes and Tobias is there, smiling a little sadly.

Welcome back, he says.

This is a dream, Spencer tells him.

Maybe. Maybe not. Morphine is named for Morpheus, the god of sleep, you know. You prayed. I answered.

Spencer is in the chair again, aching all over — stripped naked and tied up and left alone — and maybe he should fight harder, but Tobias is holding a syringe and Spencer’s too tired to fight any more.

You’re weak, Tobias says, in his father’s voice. And I’m leaving.

Please don’t. Please don’t leave me. Spencer’s squirming away from the needle, writhing against the restraints —

You’re weak. Look what you did, boy.

— but when he looks down he doesn’t see anything holding him in the chair after all. There’s just the spidery threads of blood spreading from the hole where the needle was.

Spencer’s holding the syringe, and when he looks up, it’s the team walking away, shaking their heads, leaving him alone, leaving him to die here.

He thrashes and screams and the chair falls over, lands with a thunk that knocks the breath from his lungs, and Spencer wakes up, dragging in deep uneven gulps of air, sitting up on the hard cold floor with his head spinning and his muscles screaming.

He wants to shout, don’t leave me, but his apartment is empty; it’s too late.

Time has passed. He can’t be sure how much time, but it’s dark now. Twelve hours since he fell asleep, maybe, but he feels more exhausted than ever. It takes every bit of his energy to drag himself back to the couch.

Hotch had just nodded when Spencer said he needed a little time off. The team knows, in an abstract sort of way, but nobody has talked about it. They won’t talk about it; they can’t. They can’t say it out loud — addiction — because… plausible deniability, really, is what it boils down to.

The first step is admitting you have a problem. Spencer has to take that step alone, and all the other steps too.

Loneliness is a familiar feeling. He should really be used to it; he spent most of his life lonely. This should be scar tissue, by now, but apparently it was just a scab, and Spencer’s never been good at leaving those alone. He has the pale craters of his chicken pox to show for it.

Spencer hasn’t been lonely for a couple years now — not like this — because as much as he still feels like the odd one out more often than not (it’s never easy, even if he’s gotten better at communicating) he’s part of a team. He has a place there. There’s somebody who feels more like a father than his own father ever has, albeit in a grouchy, scowling kind of way. There’s an older brother who ruffles his hair and calls him pretty boy. There’s a girl whose smile looks like the sun coming out after a storm.

And there’s Hotch, who found him in that cemetery because he knew Spencer well enough to hear the coded message, because he understood, and that’ll never take away the memory of all the blank stares over the years, but it felt like a turning point.

He closes his eyes and Hotch is peering down into the grave Spencer dug for himself. Hotch shakes his head sadly. You got yourself into this mess and you have to get yourself out of it again.

Spencer tries to speak but there’s dirt in his mouth.

I don’t know what you’re saying, Spencer.

Help me, he tries to say, but all the other kids are just watching and laughing.

We can’t help you, Spencer. You’re on your own.

He tries to climb, but there’s too much dirt. Hotch keeps shoveling, and it’s too heavy, on top of him. It’s weighing him down.

Spencer. Look what you’ve done.

Spencer. Spencer!

Consciousness sneaks up gradually. He’s tangled in his blanket, soaked in sweat, but there’s someone banging on the door.

“Spencer!” she’s shouting. “You have five seconds and then I’m picking your lock!”

He opens the door just as she raises her fist again. Her eyes go wide when she sees him, and her mouth drops open, and Spencer’s cheeks burn when he realizes how he must look.

“What are you doing here?” he croaks, mouth too dry to form the words, like he’s still choking on grave dirt.

“I’m going to make you some tea,” she informs him. “And maybe some soup, if that goes well. Okay?” She shoulders past him before he can insist he’s fine.

“You don’t have to,” he mumbles.

“Bullshit. That’s what friends are for,” she says briskly. He closes the door and trails after her as she marches into his kitchen. She pours a glass of water and hands it to him, standing there with her arms crossed as he drinks it down. His hand trembles as he gives the glass back, and she sets it in the sink.

“Why—” he tries.

“Because you’re my friend,” she says, jaw set stubbornly, but her eyes are sad. She wraps her arms around him, pulls him close, fingers clutching the thin sweat-soaked cotton of his shirt, and she lets out a slow, shaky exhale. He’s swaying, but she supports him and keeps him steady.

“I didn’t mean to make you worry, I’m sorry. I haven’t showered, you don’t have to—” He tries to make himself step back, but she squeezes him closer.

“Please let me help,” she whispers. “Please don’t try to do this alone.”

Spencer clings, burying his face in her neck, and holds on.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message!

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer x reader fic #spencer reid x reader

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reidgraygubler · 4 years

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a different type of high (pt 7) spencer reid/reader

Title: A Different Type of High (part seven)

Request: no

Couple: spencer reid/gen-neutral!reader

Category: angst, with the tiniest bit of fluff

Content Warning: mentions of dating while recovering an addiction, mentions of drug use, attending narcotics anonymous, struggling with sobriety, withdrawal and symptoms of withdrawal, mentions and allusions of sex, Swearing, mildly ooc spencer, spencer’s pov,

Word Count: 3,202

Summary: The team confronts Spencer about how close he and reader are getting and are worried about their health and safety.

A/N: there won’t be an update next week, i have a very special/important announcement coming later today that’ll explain why. This is also the last part before the fun parts begin >:) so im also going to take the quickest break for a week and a half. But don’t worry, other things will be post! anyways, thank you all for the love and support! check out my masterlist!

last part series masterlist next part

{***}{***}{***}

I looked down at the person sleeping beside me. Their small body was curled into my side and one of their arms was languidly thrown across my body as if I was a stuffed animal. Part of me wondered if they were scared I'd disappear. I wish I could tell them that they didn't have to fear, I wasn't going anywhere unless they wanted me to. Well, other than work, I won’t be leaving them.

I tried to not let my thoughts be just about them, and my worries and fears. But it was hard. They were the first good thing to happen to me in a long time.

I’m sure their thoughts were consumed by me too. In fact, I know their thoughts were filled with me. They’re an addict. They have an addictive personality, and I’m their new addiction. They probably don’t even realize it either. Of course, why would they? They probably don’t even realize it. They live in their own little bubble, with their own rules, and I’m just a part of it. I was glad I was a part of it too. Because, I’m also an addict, and they’re my new addiction.

"Hey," their soft voice pulled me from my thoughts. I looked down at them with a smile. "What're you thinking about? You got that look in your eye," they smiled as they tried pulling the blanket over their body, and tried to hide into my side.

"Nothing special," I retorted, feeling a warmth spread through my body as they continued to cling to me. "Why? What are you thinking about?" I asked, resting my hand on their back. They rolled so my hand was on their stomach.

"You," they beamed, sticking their head out from under the blanket. A bright smile grew on their lips as they looked at me. Their hair was a mess and covered their eyes just right. The light from the lamp on the nightstand lit them up just right, showing each imperfection on their face. A blueish-purpleish spot on their neck caught my attention, and I couldn’t help but smile when I saw it.

"Good things I hope," I watched as they sat up, the blanket pooling around their waist. I tried not to stare at their bare body, but they made it hard as they stretched their arms in the air before turning to look at me. They leaned closer to me, a sly smile growing on their lips.

“Only the best thoughts of you fill my head,” they whispered before not so gracefully pressing their lips to mine. I laughed as I rested my hands on their shoulders to try and steady their body.

“That’s good, I think,” I raised an eyebrow as I looked back at them. They smiled before slipping out of the bed and grabbing the shirt I wore from the day before.

“I’m going to the bathroom… Don’t go anywhere,” they looked at me before leaning across the bed. I looked up at them with a smile before kissing them softly. “Promise,” their whisper was soft and innocent, as if they were asking their parents a promise not to break.

“It is my apartment,” I furrowed my eyebrows as I watched them walk away. They looked over their shoulder and right at me before slipping into the bathroom. I pressed my head into the headboard behind me as I waited for them to finish up. It’d be a matter of moments before they returned and I’d have to tell them I’d have to leave for work. I knew they wouldn’t have anything better to do today, other than hanging out at my apartment. Which, I was fine with. They could stay here for as long as they wanted.

“So,” their voice came from the bathroom, causing me to look towards them. They were walking out of the bathroom, looking down at the ground as they walked. I wondered what was going through their head, and I wondered what it was like to be in their mind on a good day. “What are the plans today,” they finally looked up at me with a smile. Their smile was quick to vanish when they saw the pout on my lips.

“I have to go in today,” I wrapped my arms around their body as they sat beside me. They looked up at me with sadness in their eyes. “Will you be alright without me today?” I asked as I lifted a hand to hold their head against my arm.

“Can I stay here?” they looked up at me through their eyelashes and a pout on their lips. I looked back at them and nodded. “I have some errands to do anyways… But, can I stay when I’m done?”

“Of course you can, I have no issue with that,” I whispered and nodded. They looked at me and smiled before pressing their lips to both my cheeks. They were quick as they moved to straddle my legs and wrap their arms around my neck.

“Thank you, Spencer,” they spoke in a soft whisper. I returned the smile and rested my hands on their hips. “I wish you didn’t have to work today. Wish we could stay here… together,” they whispered as they played with the hair on the back of my neck.

“Oh, I’ll be home before you even know it,” I looked up at them with a small smile on my lips. Their pout slowly turned into a smile as they looked at me. There was a certain joy and excitement in their eyes as they looked at me. And, I wondered what it was that they saw in me. I was in no way, shape, or form perfect. I don’t want to make it seem like they are, because they aren’t. But, some parts of them are. Maybe in another timeline, they were absolutely perfect, and nothing bad was happening to either of us.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard, Spencer,” they laughed at me. I looked at them and shook my head.

“I was just thinking that I should get ready for work. I want to get coffee on the way and I don’t want to be late,” I lifted a finger and poked their nose. Their nose wrinkled as I withdrew my finger from their face. A sneaky smile grew across their lips before they stuck their tongue out at me.

“I can’t believe you’d rather leave early and get coffee than hang out with me a little bit longer,” they placed a hand over their heart, feigning pain and heartbreak. I couldn’t help but laugh again. “Hurt, really, truly hurt by your laughter, Spencer,” they sighed, dropping their shoulders and tilting their head to the side.

“Maybe next time, if you wake up early enough, you can come with me to get coffee,” my hands ran up and down their arms as I looked up at them. They sighed before falling into my body, becoming a heavy lump as the seconds passed. “But, I seriously have to get ready,” I groaned as their weight stilled on me.

“But, what if you didn’t have to get ready and go in,” they spoke into my chest. I sighed, resting my hands on their back.

“C’mon, I can’t be late,” I tried to get them off me. And with a deep sigh and cry, they climbed off my body. “We can blame Hotch,” I laughed as I stood up.

“Stupid boss. Making you go to work,” they grumbled as they grabbed their jeans. I watched as they tried to reach for one of my cardigans. Part of me almost told them not to take it, but I knew they’d put up a fight and win it anyways. So, I let them.

“Just this once, I do like wearing my sweaters at work,” I watched as they slipped the sweater onto their arms. They looked at me and smiled, hugging their arms around their body.

“I’ll bring them back, promise,” they replied, watching as I got dressed.

“Part of me doesn’t believe you,” I looked over at them as I began to tie my tie. They stepped up to me and smoothed out my tie as I tried to reach for a different cardigan.

“That’s fair, but… Think about it, Spencer, this is the first sweater I’m stealing from you,” they smiled as they began to button the cardigan I was wearing.

“I am thinking… And… Still waiting for the jacket I gave you the first night we met,” I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at them. Their smile faltered slightly as their fingers continued to button my sweater. It was obvious they were trying to keep their eyes off me, looking at my sweater instead of looking at my face.

“Well, you see, I…” they closed one of her eyes as they tried to come up with a lie. I lifted my hand and brought it up to rest under their chin. “Okay, okay, I still have it… I just… don’t want to give it back,” their words trailed off as they spoke. I smiled and pulled my hand away from their face. “But, if you really want it back… I can return it,” they sighed as they looked up at me. I looked down at them and cocked my head to the side.

“I’ll think about it. Now, I definitely don’t have time for coffee,” I smiled before pecking their lips. They smiled before allowing me to go put pants on.

“That was my plan the whole time,” they smiled before leaving the bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

They were in my kitchen, and they were probably acting like it was our kitchen, like it was our home. I was honestly okay with that too… Hell, they even slept in the same bed as me (and done a little more than just sleep in said bed some nights). They basically lived with me at this point in time, without them having their belongings here. The thought of asking them to move in with me had passed my mind. But, a part of me wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Although, I’d love it if they lived with me. We’re each other’s distractions. Accountability Buddies, as they would put it.

Maybe I should just ask them? The worst they would say is no, right? But, I know them enough to know they wouldn’t say no.

Just as I finished putting my shoes on, the sounds of clatter came from somewhere out of the room. I could only assume they were in the kitchen, making what I could only hope was coffee. Knowing them, they probably felt bad about delaying my leaving. I don’t blame them. I felt bad for leaving them. But, they didn’t have to go out of their way to make me coffee...

“You still like a lot of sugar and cream, right!?” Their voice carried from the kitchen to my room as they shouted. I raised an eyebrow as a loud crash, followed by a list of profanities, came from the kitchen. “Everything is okay!” They shouted. I furrowed my eyebrows as I finished tying my shoes. When I stood up, I looked at my reflection, making sure I looked acceptable for the workday, and once I was pleased with how I looked, I made way for the sudden disaster in the kitchen. I’d be lying if I said I was looking forward to seeing what mess they had made.

“Made you coffee,” they smiled at me as they held up a plain white porcelain mug. I smiled before taking it from them and bringing it to my lips.

“You’re the best person in the world,” I looked at them as I took a sip. Part of me almost included ‘In fact, you’re my favorite person in the world,’. But, I figured that was for a different time. They smiled before stepping in front of a pile on the ground. My eyes looked between the shattered mug, and their ‘I’m not guilty’ expression.

“I’ll clean it up,” they muttered once they realized I saw the shards of a broken mug, “Have a good day,” they bounced up to me before pressing their lips to mine. They hummed as they wrapped their arms around me to hold me close.

“You too,” I whispered before pecking their lips one last time. They looked up at me as I succeeded sliping free from their grip and to leave. I looked down at my watch. At the rate I was moving, I’d be only a few minutes late. Hopefully no one at the office will be mad that I’m late. They shouldn’t care too much, right? There have been times Derek was late, or Emily… It shouldn’t be too much of a problem… I hope.

When I finally did arrive at the office, I dropped my empty mug off at mydesk, before finding my way to the conference room. And, just as I had thought, everyone was already there, and the briefing had already started.

I tried to not feel embarrassed that everyone stared at me as I took a seat beside Jennifer and Emily. But it was hard when their stares felt judgemental. They hadn’t treated me any different since I told them about my problems and addiction. In fact, they 100% supported me. I just think they were happy that I was getting help instead of suffering in silence. I didn’t have it in me to tell them that I suffered for the better part of a year after Tobias Henkle, I just got scared.

“Sorry I’m late,” I muttered as I sat. Aaron looked over at me with a mildly worried look in his eye. “We slept in a little and then I started running late.” I made up, even though it wasn’t a total lie.

“Says the mark on your neck,” Emily looked down at the table, her eyes scanning the file she had. I glanced over at her, feeling a flame grow over my neck. I found myself looking down, my hands instantly went to my neck to cover the marks that were put there last night by a certain someone.

“Oh! My man! You getting some?” Derek looked over at me with a smirk. I looked up at him with wide eyes, my hands slipping away from my neck.

“Shut up,” I muttered before looking back down at the table. I sighed deeply before flipping the case file. “Frankly, it’s none of your business,” I glanced at him for a moment before looking back down at the file.

“Spence,” Jennifer looked at me, her voice soft. I had to hold back from snapping, because I almost did. Just because she’s my best friend, doesn’t exactly mean she, or anyone for that fact, gets to ask about my sex life or what happens at home.

“I don’t know what you guys want me to say,” I shrugged as I looked at everyone, “I’m obviously not going to lie, but, I don’t want to tell you that. That’s private,” I wrinkled my nose as I spoke. The room fell silent for a moment before Jennifer spoke.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with-”

“I don’t know what you're talking about, Jennifer,” I looked at her with a mild annoyance on my face.

“You’ve gotten pretty close to them, that’s all,” Jennifer looked over at me. I lowered the file I was reading and looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. Derek was the next person to look at me.

“I never said anything about a relationship with them… With anyone actually,” I spoke sternly.

“So what? We just hang out with each other. We’re each other’s accountability partners. That’s it,” I stated, feeling the lie burn up my throat and through my teeth. I could sense that they knew it was a lie too. So, no one said anything for a moment. Until Emily did.

“Spencer, you know this. People who are recovering from an addiction shouldn’t be in a relationship. It can be dangerous for both people in the party,” Emily looked over at me. I looked back at her, trying not to attack her as I’ve done in the recent past. But, she keeps talking to me like she knows me. She doesn’t know me. Not like the other members of the team. Not like the person at home knows me.

“They… they make me feel better,” I whispered, my words trailing off before looking away from everyone. I could feel their stares and silent judgments drilling into my body. No matter what I would say to them, they’d have a comeback. “We’re just friends,” it was a lie. Everyone knew that it was a lie too. I’m not sure what we were, but we weren’t just friends. I didn’t want to risk losing them though. I didn’t want to tell the team that they'd further judge me.

“I think that’s a conversation for another day,” Jennifer looked at me, almost like she was reading my mind. I looked back at her, feeling my heart slow to a near stop. I hoped she’d forget about having a conversation about this. But, it’ll probably be on her mind for the rest of forever.

However, I was grateful the pain-staking conversation came to an end when my phone began ringing. I was quick to pull it out of my pocket, only to see that it was my home phone calling me. I furrowed my eyebrows for a moment before realizing who it was calling me.

“Excuse me, I have to take this,” I looked back up at each individual person before stepping out of the room.

“This is Doctor Spencer Reid,” my voice was low as I spoke. I didn’t want anyone around to listen in on my conversation, though it’d be one-sided for that person.

“Hey,” their voice was just as low as mine, and I could tell something was wrong, “Hey, I... I, uh… I know you don’t like it when I call… When you’re on, uh… You’re at the office. But I think… I think someone was followin- Spencer, I think someone’s trying to break in,” their voice was shaky and that confirmed there was something wrong.

“Spencer, what… What do I do?”

“Don’t… Listen, don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. Okay?” I tried to not let a shakiness grow in my voice. But it was clear something was wrong. I swallowed roughly before shaking my head.

“Spen-Please.. Please hur-” and then the line went silent. I furrowed my eyebrows before pulling my phone from my ear, looking at the screen that once had an on-going call.

I quietly whispered their name after I pressed my phone to my ear. When it was quiet, I took a deep shaky breath before turning to re-enter the conference room.

“That was… Someone… Someone broke into my apartment… While…” my words trailed off as I looked at the people around the table. Everyone looked at me as they realized what I was saying, without actually saying it. “I don’t know if they’re okay… Please… Help me,”

series taglist: @shameleswhorehourstm , @itsametaphorbriansblog , @bxtchboy69 , @sammypotato67 , @seninjakitey , @thatsonezesty13 , @thebluetint , @honestlystop , @herecomesthewriterwitch , @mediocrity-atitsfinest , @honeyboysteezy , @aluna190 , @mggsprettygirl , @vampiracontessa , @takeyourleap-of-faith , @cielo1984

tags that didn’t work: @mediocrehamiltrash @exilereid

if you want to be apart of the series taglist, please let me know :)

#shadow writes stuff #masterlist #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid #criminal minds #mgg #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #doctor spencer reid fan fiction #doctor spence reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #a different type of high

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rivkael · 3 years

Note

Hi, I'm sending this to you because you're one of the few major soft Illidan fans I know of; it occurred to me recently that without the well, Illidan likely would have withered. And that just sucker punches me in the gut. That connection is never made in canon (that I know of) and I really wish we could have gotten a moment where Malfurion or Tyrande realize what they almost condemned him to instead of the shitty reactions to the messages.

FUN FACT I WROTE A SHORT FANFIC ON THE TOPIC

@apocketsizedace helped!!!

Craving

He can scarcely believe that the Legion was gone. The nightmare has ended and the Well has been destroyed in the process-...

Malfurion takes a deep breath and clasps his hands. In the few days since the destruction, they’ve all felt the cravings begin. Some worse than others, but every kaldorei has been affected.

He worries for Illidan. The mages had it by far the worse from what he’s witnessed, and Illidan hasn’t been seen since they worked together to destroy the Well. Their bond is held fast, and he is unable to get any idea of even how Illidan is. The only thing he knows is that his brother is alive.

He needs to search for him, but he is the leader of the druidic school and he has to look after his students. The magical addiction runs deep through all their veins. All need his support.

His hands shake.

And then the barriers in Illidan’s mind slip. Not intentionally, but because he is tired and ill. Malfurion reaches out slowly, not wanting to scare his brother into throwing his walls back up and making himself sicker.

Little brother?

Illidan’s returning Big brother is a relief and a worry. How ill is his twin?

Safe? He sends quickly, walking to seat himself somewhere more private.

Sick/lost/tired… is the worrying answer. They cannot quite communicate using words, but Illidan’s nausea is tangible through their bond. He worries even more now, Illidan isn’t even being looked after like he had guessed. He’s alone somewhere struggling with a terrifying withdrawal sickness.

Where could Illidan be?

He thinks back to the Well, to their parting of ways. All of that has sunk beneath the ocean, the land parting in the wake of destruction.

Big brother? It’s pleading, calling. Malfurion doesn’t resist, walking into the forest of Hyjal, out of the vague camp boundaries and into the wilderness.

He follows the call for an hour, perhaps two, before he comes upon a rocky cliff face. Burrowed into a shallow crevice against the cliff face, he finds Illidan.

Soaked in sweat and shaking, curled up in a ball and with skin leached of healthy colour, Illidan looks awful. He doesn’t react when Malfurion approaches, head tucked down behind his arm and half-coated in hair.

“Illidan?”

“Mal?” The croaked response as Illidan tries to push himself up is painful to watch. It’s clear he has no strength in his body at all.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Malfurion murmurs, crouching down to push Illidan’s hair from his face. “Goddess, Illidan… why did you not let me find you sooner?”

“S’nothing-...” Illidan pauses to cough. “Nothing you can do ‘bout it.” He tries to pull himself from the crevice and Malfurion hurries to help him, supporting most of Illidan’s weight as he gets him out in the moonlight.

“I’ve been easing the pain of multiple mages since the destruction of the Well,” Malfurion says with a sigh. “I know how to help.” He places a hand on Illidan’s damp forehead and channels some druidic healing magic, soothing aching muscles and calming the obvious headache.

Illidan slumps against him with a sigh of relief. He stays there for some long moments and Malfurion wishes he could do more. He knows Illidan has more than just addiction troubling him- his eyes, for one.

He reaches up to tidy Illidan’s hair again, and in the process runs a finger over the blindfold. It’s damp with sweat, and he sighs. “May I remove this?”

His dark-haired twin shrinks somehow in his hold and doesn’t speak for a long moment. Then, “Okay.” It isn’t comforting.

Malfurion nudges Illidan’s head forward and carefully unknots the blindfold, shaking out the fabric and then handing it to his brother. Then he looks up-

“Oh, little brother,” he reaches up to run a fingertip over the burn scars. They’re deep and layered and barely healed over, the way a wound gets when it keeps getting injured again and again. The felfire eyes - the cause of the deep scarring - aren’t intimidating, just another reminder of how Illidan’s been torn apart by the world.

Ironic, considering he’s part of the cause of the Sundering.

He wants to weep for Illidan. Instead he takes a pouch from his belt and pulls a clean bandage from it. He then (with his brother’s assent) re-wraps Illidan’s eyes with a cleaner, drier material. “There.”

Illidan has barely said a word while the blindfold is off, shoulders pulled in, but Malfurion recognises the defensive tilt to his head and chooses to not comment on the eyes. Instead he touches Illidan’s forehead, then his cheek, then his neck. “Have you vomited?”

Illidan shakes his head tiredly and then coughs again.

His brother is feverish and his heart rate is faster than normal. All of these are symptoms Malfurion has seen over the past days but never this severe. Especially considering the cough.

“I should get you back,” he mutters, half to himself. “Can you stand?”

It turns out that Illidan can stand, supported, but he can barely walk. Malfurion instead lifts Illidan up, it’s easier on all of them, and turns to follow his trail back.

One interesting thing folk don’t often know about druids is that they are excellent trackers. Their sense of direction is impeccable, especially in a wooded area. This is because of the plants around them, and the way their energies move. It’s very complicated but the long and the short of it is that Malfurion makes it back with no trouble, despite the fact that he hadn’t known where he was going when he left.

Illidan has worsened over the journey but only slightly, and when Malfurion makes it back he lays his brother in a cot in the medical wing. A few other cots are also taken but most of the druids are hardly affected, untouched by the arcane as they are.

Malfurion takes a seat beside Illidan and rests a hand upon his brother’s forehead again, healing him of his pain temporarily and then beginning the slow process of calming his immune system. He doesn’t want his twin getting another illness on top of this.

“-Mal-,” Illidan whines, shivering. “C-cold…”

“Okay, it’s okay,” he murmurs, tugging the blankets up and over his brother’s form. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here,”

()

Illidan doesn’t ever really learn to deal with the cold that has settled in his bones. He wraps himself in cloaks and drowses beside warm fires because he’s so empty and cold.

He and the other mages become the tragic martyrs in Tyrande’s campaign against all things Arcane. Him most of all, the best and brightest now permanently ill and struggling.

None of them has been able to cast a single arcane spell. Illidan can control some fire magic, but his mana pool is pitiful.

He’s constantly weak, constantly ill, constantly cold. He’s had to move back in with Malfurion because there are days on end where he needs someone to help him around the house.

He cries and rages but none of it changes his reality. It was for the good of Azeroth, to stop the Legion.

He regrets it now, during dark nights when he can’t climb from his bed without pain. He regrets everything.

#illidan stormrage #writing #illidan #malfurion stormrage #tw addiction #mana addiction #malfurion #fanfiction #warcraft fanfiction #warcraft fanfic

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iamtrebleclefstories · 4 years

Note

How are your creative juices going now? Inspired again? I love whenever you post so just mentally preparing myself for withdraw ahah /// No but seriously I do love your fics. I think you should write one where Jo suspects she is pregnant again soon after having their first child and has to tell Alex

Hi! So I really wasn’t going to write anything. I was just going to thank you for your kinds words and attempt to write one of my ongoing stories but for some reason this prompt really got me inspired. So... I have have written a little something for you!

Can’t Say I’m Surprised

“We have a problem!”

“What?” Meredith furrowed her brows as a frantic Jo dragged her into a supply closet. “What is going on?”

“I messed up, Mer. I messed up big time and I don’t even know how I’m gonna begin to tell Alex,” Jo paced back and forth between the racks full of bedpans, blankets, and betadine.

“Jo, I need you to slow down if I’m going to help you,” Meredith grabbed Jo by the shoulders, forcing her to stop pacing.

Jo let out a belabored sigh and looked down at the floor, “I messed up, Meredith. I knew I shouldn’t but I wanted it so bad, I wanted him so bad that I didn’t even stop to think of the consequences. The alcohol in my system didn’t help either.”

Meredith’s eyes widened, “Hold on. Jo, are you saying what I think you’re saying? Did you cheat on Alex?”

“What? No!” Jo exclaimed, a mildly offended expression on her face. “I would never cheat on Alex. Why would you even ask me that?”

“I’m sorry, but you have to understand what it sounded like from my end. You pulled me in here and started walking like a chicken with your head cut off talking about how you wanted someone so badly and didn’t think of the consequences,” Meredith replied.

“Yeah I see where you could’ve gotten the wrong idea from that,” Jo winced. “I didn’t have sex with another man. The problem is that I had drunk sex with my husband.”

“I’m not following here. Why is that a problem?” a confused expression crossed Meredith’s face. “He’s your husband, have all the sex you want.”

“No, Meredith you don’t get it,” Jo shook her head.

“Obviously not.”

“I haven’t been on any birth control since I had Max. I had an IUD that I got removed when we started trying. I never got it replaced. We started using condoms again, which we stopped using three months into our relationship, so we’re aren’t exactly good at using them. And a few weeks ago, I had drunk sex with my husband. I wanted him so badly that I completely forgot,” Jo explained nervously.

Meredith gasped, “Oh my God. Are you pregnant?”

“Maybe? I don’t know,” Jo leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “I have all the same symptoms I had with Max. I’ve been nauseous, I have weird food aversions and cravings, and I’ve been getting dizzy.”

“You haven’t take a test yet?” Meredith looked at Jo who shook her head. “Well then, we’ll draw your blood right now and have the results within the hour.”

Meredith took Jo by the arm and led her out of the supply closet into and empty exam room, “Okay. I will be right back. I’m going to get the stuff to draw your blood.”

A couple minutes later everything was done. Jo was putting pressure on the needle stick as she pulled it out and laid a bandaid on it. She let out a breath, “Mer, what am I going to do? What if I’m pregnant again? It’s too soon. Max is only four months old. How do I tell my husband that we’re having another baby months after I gave birth to the first one? We’re just starting to get used to a routine.”

“First of all, you need to calm down. Let’s not worry about anything until we have answers,” Meredith attempted ease Jo’s worries. “And secondly, a baby is a good thing. You and Alex both want lots of kids, you know that. Yeah, it might be earlier than you expected, but he won’t be mad. So don’t be scared about that. He’ll be ecstatic.”

“Yeah. You’re right. He’s been trying to knock me up for years. Ever since my fourth year of residency. He’ll be happy,” Jo tried convincing herself that it would all be okay.

“Come on, let’s go. We’re going to be late for rounds. The results should be in my the time we’re done and I’ll be with you when you find out,” Meredith rubbed a comforting hand on Jo’s shoulders as they walked out into the hallway.

*****

Jo had just finished rounding on her last patient when she quite literally bumped into Alex. Alex held out his hands to steady her, “Woah, careful princess. Be glad you ran into me and not a patient.”

“Sorry,” Jo offered. “I’m just... in a rush. You haven’t seen Meredith have you?”

“Nope,” Alex shook his head. He narrowed his eyes and looked at Jo for a moment. “Are you okay? You seem... distracted. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” Jo forced a smile on her face. “I do really need to find Meredith, though, so I’m gonna go...”

“Uh huh,” Alex nodded as his wife ran away awkwardly.

Jo ran off to the supply closet where she and Meredith first met that morning in hopes of finding her there. She waited for a couple minutes before Meredith ran through the doors with an envelope, “I’ve got the results back from the lab. Do you want to do it or should I?”

“You do it,” Jo released a nervous breath. “I don’t think I’ll be able to open it.”

“Okay,” Meredith gave Jo a short nod and proceeded to open the envelope. She unfolded the paper and ran her eyes over the lab work with a blank expression on her face. Finally, Meredith looked up. “Well, Jo. You are most definitely pregnant.”

“Holy shit,” were the first words to leave Jo’s lips. She clasped her hands over her mouth, gasping at what she’d said. “I mean... actually, yes I mean holy shit. I’m pregnant?”

“Yup,” Meredith smiled sympathetically. “Probably somewhere around the 4-5 weeks range from your levels.”

“Freaking Karev and his weirdly fertile sperm,” Jo grumbled. “This is the second time he’s knocked me up on the first try. Except this time, we weren’t even actually trying.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Meredith laughed. “He’s been talking about all the kids you guys will have since you got married. He’s very eager.”

“Well, if he keeps doing what he’s doing, at this rate we’ll end up with like six kids,” Jo rubbed a hand on her forehead. “I need to lay down. But I have surgery in 30 minutes.”

“How about you go take a nap in an on-call room and I’ll take your first surgery. I don’t have anything scheduled until 2pm anyway and was going to see if I could scrub in with you,” Meredith suggested.

“Thanks,” Jo nodded and made her way to an on-call room. She’d been sleeping for what must’ve been an hour when she heard the door creek open.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize there was anyone in here,” the person apologized. “Hold on... Jo is that you?”

Jo turned and came face to face with her husband. In his arms was their four month old son, “What the hell? Do you do this? Take him out of daycare during your free time to hang out in the on-call rooms?”

Alex looked like a kid who’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “Yeah... usually I walk around the peds wing with him strapped to my chest, but there’s a clown going around and he doesn’t deserve to be traumatized from such a young age.”

Jo busted out in laughter, “That might just be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. You are the best dad.”

“Thanks,” Alex said, a shy smile creeping onto his face. He never planned on telling Jo about his routine of taking Max out of daycare, but honestly, it felt good knowing that she thought what he did made him a better dad. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a surgery this morning?”

“Oh... um, Meredith took it. I was feeling tired so she offered to take my surgery so I could lay down,” Jo explained.

“Are you sick?” Alex sat down next to Jo and placed a hand on her forehead.

“No. I just... didn’t sleep well last night,” Jo admitted.

“Yeah I noticed,” Alex nodded. “You were really restless all night long. You only get like that when you’re stressed. What’s bothering you?”

As much as Jo loved how attentive her husband was, this was one of those moments where she wished that he’d just turn a blind eye. Taking in the quiet of the on-call room and the calming sensation of holding her baby in her arms, Jo figured that there were worse places to disclose this information. She took a deep breath, “I’m pregnant.”

Alex raised his eyebrows and grinned, “I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out.”

“Wait... what?” Jo scrunched her face in confusion. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew,” Alex scoffed. “I figured it out a week ago. I was trying to see how long it would take you to realize.”

Jo’s jaw dropped in disbelief, “You thought something was up and you didn’t tell me!”

“I didn’t want to freak you out,” Alex confessed. “Max is only four months old and we weren’t planning on having another until he was at least two years old. So when you started having symptoms, I kept my mouth shut because I felt bad for knocking you up again so soon.”

“I was scared to tell you because I was afraid you’d freak out that I got pregnant not even six months after having the first one,” Jo laughed. “Oh my God. We’re having another baby.”

“We’re having another baby,” Alex smiled widely and took Max into his hands. “You hear that Max? You’re gonna be a big brother pretty soon.”

“He has no idea what’s coming for him,” Jo chuckled. She reached out to stroke Max’s hair and then leaned her head on Alex’s shoulder. “I love you. I know this wasn’t supposed to happen so soon, but I’m happy about it because I know that we can do this. We can do it together.”

“Hell yeah we can,” Alex kissed Jo’s forehead lightly. “And for the record, I love you more.”

#jolex #jolex fanfic #alex karev #jo karev #jo wilson #greys anatomy #jo x alex #grey's anatomy #greys fanfic #greys au #jolex fluff #jolex babies #jolex forever #meredith grey #Meredith x Jo #merjo friendship #accidental baby acquisition #unplanned pregnancy

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ajokeformur-ray · 5 years

Text

Aching soul, bleeding heart // Arthur Fleck x Reader // fluff + angst.

Summary: You find him climbing into the fridge at 3 AM. What choice is there but to stay awake with him?

Fun fact: all of my writing is emotionally driven so when I’m done with a piece I’m usually pretty sleepy/tired. I have so much love for Arthur Fleck it keeps surprising me. Also this GIF made me sad so what I intended to be pure fluff now has angst in it, too. Sorry.

Tw: swearing, smoking, unhealthy elements to your relationship which reader admits to privately but doesn’t care about. Mentions of implied NSFW - past and future.

Word count: 2, 548.

The feeling that something was really wrong woke you up from your deep slumber. Languidly did you stretch an arm out, fingers probing the cold air for Arthur’s warm body. You met only air and it was with a sleepy groan that you sat up, opening your eyes. The bedroom door was wide open and from where you were in the bed could you partially see Arthur leaning against the counter top, the blue lights illuminating his emaciated features eerily.

You were up and out of bed almost as soon as you realised that his insomnia was acting up again; it was one of those nights in which neither of you would get any sleep. There was no way that you would leave Arthur alone with his thoughts tonight, especially if you caught sight of his joke book. His journal making an appearance always meant that his negative thoughts were a little darker, a little louder, and a little more obnoxious. On those nights were you tested; your patience usually only stretched so far but with Arthur, it was pushed further still. He always made it up to you, though, well aware of how his bad behaviours could try you. You had your own behaviours which tested him, and it was with silent understanding that you accepted the other for all that you were. Together would you find new ways to be yourselves, and in your personal growth would your relationship strengthen as a couple.

Before you could make it to the doorway did you hear the sound of the fridge being opened, then a terrible series of dull thuds, grunts and crashes. Your ears were met with the sound of the fridge closing after a brief pause. The second time the door opened and closed was it slammed shut harder, and in confusion did you slowly walk into the kitchen; wondering if you were going mad or if Arthur had actually just... climbed into the fridge. You knew that he expressed himself in odd ways sometimes when it seemed that nothing else would show how he was feeling, but this was definitely one of the more worrying impulses he had had of late. If this was going to become a late night habit of his, you would need to keep a closer eye on him.

You wasted no time in rushing through the small, cramped space to wrench the fridge door open. You paused, your brain still trying to shake off sleep. Arthur was crouched with his head tucked between his knees, his hands over his ears. At the rush of cold air and the light inside the fridge turning on did he look up at you. Sorrow quickly turned to a small rush of happiness as his eyes fell upon your cautious form in the doorway.

“Arthur, what... what are you doing in there?”

“I, I, uhh - I c-couldn’t sleep so I... I just wanted to stop feeling. The f-fridge is c-cold so - so it would make me stop.” His next broken whisper, which you could barely hear over the humming of the fridge, made you drop to your knees, uncaring of the shelves which had been haphazardly tossed across the floor, “I just want it all to stop.”

You cooed sympathetically and reached out with both hands, your fingers curling around his thin wrists. Shit, he was cold. His hands were almost frozen through. It was lucky that he had barely been in there for a few minutes before you got to him if his core temperature had dropped so fast in such a short space of time. Hurriedly did you leave his side, calling out a, “I’ll be right back!” as you darted into the living room and ripped the big, thick blanket off the back of the armchair which Penny used to sit in, before legging it back into the kitchen, almost skidding to a stop. You crouched, reached for Arthur again, exhaling heavily through your nose as you helped him slowly out of the fridge. You wrapped the blanket around his frame and ran your hands all over his upper body, desperately trying to, at the very least, chafe some warmth into him.

Arthur tilted forward to rest his forehead on your shoulders. With shaking fingers did he peel back your shirt, pressing dry kisses to your bare shoulder with cold lips. You closed your eyes to just enjoy the moment, your arms wrapped around him. Just at the point you were ready to take Arthur to bed for a different reason, reality slammed into you and you pulled away from Arthur, doing your best to think on your feet. Your exhaustion and other bodily needs could wait. Briefly did you feel irritated with how you weren’t already wide awake.

“Go sit down, darling.” You watched Arthur go. He didn’t even bother picking up his feet, walking with a shuffle and a slight limp, his head tilted to one side. It was really bad tonight, whatever it was that had made his insomnia flare up. Quickly did you reassemble the fridge’s insides, a part of you wishing that you could do the same to Arthur’s head; opening him up and rearranging the parts so that, when you were done, he was less broken, happier. You shook off the thought, though, slightly disgusted with yourself. Arthur was fragile, this was true, but he wouldn’t be Arthur without all that he was, all that he had been through. He was perfect just as he was. It wasn’t that you wanted to reach inside Arthur and fix him, but you wanted to be able to reach those darkest, rawest parts of him, and heal them. If you could take his pain for your own, you would do it in a heartbeat.

With the fridge fixed, you peeked through the small built in gap in the wall to look at Arthur. He was sat staring at the floor, his brow furrowed and his hands tightly clenching the soft material of the blanket which you had wrapped him in. Quickly did you make some sandwiches, grabbing the nearest things you found to make him something. You cared little for what Arthur ate, just so long as he did. You also grabbed the pack of Marlboro's which you had bought on your way home from work. Arthur had run out earlier this evening and wouldn’t be paid for another few weeks, and you wondered if he wasn’t experiencing some nicotine withdrawal symptoms on top of everything else. He hadn’t been shaking that badly just from the cold in the fridge; he hadn’t been in there long enough.

With two plates in your hands and his cigarette pack in your mouth, you made your way over to him. You set the plates down somewhat awkwardly - you didn’t want to lean over too close to Arthur because he had issues with personal space sometimes and you didn’t know if he would be okay with you practically leaning over him at the moment. It was so hard to read him sometimes, but your instincts were rarely wrong when it came to Arthur. Still, you remained stood just off the side of him as you took the pack from your mouth and went about opening it, removing one and lighting it easily.

“Here.” You held it out to him, filter first, and watched his eyes light up. You smiled. Such a simple gesture meant so much to him, and it was one of the things that you treasured the most about him. “You gotta eat, too.” You put the plate on his lap and sat down to eat yours. Eating sandwiches at three in the morning with your insomniac significant other had always seemed like a far off dream to you when you had been somewhat younger and more impatient to start living despite all the time you still had in front of you, but here you were. You couldn’t think of a better person to spend your life with, if you were being honest with yourself. With all his challenges and conditions, he was still the purest, kindest soul you had ever encountered and you would hold onto him tightly. Never again would he go through a day without you right there with him. You would tear the world apart if it meant keeping him happy and you knew that he would do the same for you.

Arthur looked at the two plates and then back at you, a look of childlike curiosity on his face. “W-what are you doing?”

You smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Arthur leaned into the touch, his eyes slipping closed; a soft smile on the corner of his mouth. You kissed his forehead, hummed against his skin happily, and pulled back. Arthur’s hand caught yours before you could lower it, and he kissed the back of your hand just once. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette and his eyes fluttered shut as he exhaled with his entire body.

“Thank you,” He murmured. You knew he wasn’t just talking about the cigarettes. Who were you to deny him anything? You had never been able to say no to him for anything. If he asked you to jump, your next response would be, “how high?”. You could admit that there were unhealthy elements to your relationship, but you didn’t care enough about that to change it. You were both obsessed with each other and you both loved it.

“Of course. Come on,” You tapped his plate with your finger, “Eat.”

Arthur frowned, then. “Oh, yeah.” He sounded like he had just been reminded of something, his voice lighter towards the end of his sentence. “Why are you up?”

You couldn’t help the look of ‘duh’ on your face. It was three in the morning and you were tired. “I’m staying up with you. If you’re gonna be up all night, then so am I.” You didn’t tell him that you were also up because you couldn’t sleep without him beside you. The bed was too cold, too big, too empty. You had gotten so dependent on Arthur for so many things and you knew that you were ruined for anyone else in your life, ever. You were Arthur’s first and last everything and he would never let you go for anything.

“No,” Arthur sighed, “I don’t want to be a - “

You cut him off. You could admit that you really were too tired to censor yourself, even given the circumstances. Arthur had always appreciated, always craved total honesty, though, and so you weren’t all that bothered by what he would think of your being sharp with him. As long as you didn’t actually snap at him, he could handle a little terseness. Goodness knew that he was sometimes the same with you when everything was too much for him and you wanted something from him that he didn’t have the mental energy to give to you. “Don’t you even think about finishing that sentence.”

Arthur shifted, guilty, and he took a small bite of his sandwich. You watched him chew before you started to eat your own. You felt a quiet hum of satisfaction towards yourself for how well you had managed to pull Arthur out of his mood. Sometimes it was almost impossible to get through to him. You had done well this night to help him. You could admit to yourself that you were proud of yourself, and you were proud of Arthur too. Only he knew just how bad things were inside his head, but still he fought each and every day.

You ate without speaking, the thunderous silence ringing in your ears. When Arthur was done, you took your plates into the kitchen. You would deal with them in the morning. You heard the quiet noise of paper rustling and a lighter, the deep and relieved inhale, and when you turned to look, Arthur had dropped his head over the back of the sofa, the arm not held to his lips draped over the edge, too. He looked so at peace now. What had you done this night to so completely soothe him?

Sitting beside him did you rest your head on his covered shoulder. You let your eyes drop closed, your tiredness threatening to overwhelm you. You were just so tired. Your eyes were burning even when they were shut and you had a headache brewing behind them. When the sun rose in just a few hours, the long day ahead of you would be made all the worse by your scant handful of precious hours’ sleep. You would definitely both suffer with sore backs, too. The sofa was well past its time but you couldn’t afford to replace it.

Arthur’s pressure beside you eased off. Just as you were about to open your eyes to look for him, hands pulled you into a lying down position; one tender hand lifting your head up gently, just enough to put a pillow underneath you. You let Arthur arrange you as he saw fit, and then his weight was on you as he nestled into your body; his blanket coming to shield the both of you from the cold atmosphere. It wasn’t cold, as such, but without a jumper was it chilly. Arthur snuggled into you, his head over your heart, his legs tangled with yours. Immediately did your fingers find their way into his hair, and you threaded the strands through your touch carefully, comforting him even on the edge of sleep as you were. Arthur moaned quietly and without even looking at him could you see the sleepy smile he had to have on his face. You knew him so well that you could recall his facial expressions in your mind’s eye from a single noise. You knew what every laugh meant, what every noise meant, what every silence meant. He was your entire world.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you so, so much.” Arthur slid up your body clumsily to kiss you softly, gently, his lips barely touching yours. You opened your eyes just enough to see him pull back. You used your grip on his hair to pull him back into you for a proper kiss which left your toes curling into the sofa, breathless with love. You felt a brief arousal pool low in your stomach but you were just too tired to do anything about it. Arthur would be there in the morning and you were sure that he would be in the mood to satisfy you, especially if he stayed lying on top of you the whole night through.

“I love you too. You know I do.” Your words were slightly slurred, your voice soft, and the last sound you heard before Morpheus swept you away for a nap (for that was all the time you could have this night to sleep again) was Arthur’s quiet happy laughter. You slipped into sleep like you would ease into a warm bath, and with Arthur all around you did you dream with a smile upon your face. Arthur was there waiting for you in your dreams, too; there was nowhere you could go that he wouldn’t follow.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @mapreza1 @insomniabird @mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft @help-i-am-obssessed@autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99@misstgrey92 @that-s-life @dopey-girl-blogs @seeking-dreamland @sweetheart-syndrome @heartxfdesire @xmusichealsthesoulx @0callmejude0 @the-one-that-likes-riddles @hannibalsslut @folliaght @freeeshavacadoo @bingewatchingmylifegoby @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything @okamiredfoxx @sp0okysp0oky @the-pandorabox @mardema @jibanyyan @honeyflvredcoughdrop @emissarydecksetter @jokerfleckk @epidendroideae @chuuntas @stillmabel @pumpkinpeyes @onehystericalqueenposts @the-jokers-wolf @nalsswa @justahyena @arianatheangelworld @soullessblondbitch @gothamslittlejester @twentyonestarrynights @sirianfromsixties @kissmeclownman @joker-is-my-hero @lazyloosah @lovesickkloxx @ladylovelyluna @live-love-loki @clownerybbxx @tragicarthur

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catharticdevice · 3 years

Text

maybe life is not for everyone

I’ve been meaning to translate these jumbled mess of thoughts into coherent sentences. Just to see them from a distance. I don’t know why I think it matters—it really doesn’t. But here we are.

Come on in, everyone. Welcome to my version of a ✨spiraling free fall ✨

I’m okay, by the way—I think? If we share some commonality in terms of how we define okay, it really is not that serious. My suicidal thoughts have all been passive and my brain hasn’t lost its chemical capacity to perform my role as a functioning adult. In all honesty, I’m a bit wary of using the word depression; it’s such a blanket term that’s too intimately linked with the clinical branch of depression. The more nuanced lower end of the spectrum gets slided onto the back burner, because it’s not pressing—which is a perfectly sound logic. Given that none of my symptoms directly point to major/clinical depression, I’m more inclined to stay away from it altogether. My episodes are never debilitating to the extent that I ignore hygiene or fail to keep my job. So it feels stupid to be open about my minor inconveniences. I’d much rather invalidate my own mental struggle before someone can say to my face “You’re just faking it for attention—”

You know how people sometimes say “I haven’t been feeling myself lately,” More often than not, it indicates a varying degree of emotional disturbances—be it gloomy, anxious, in despair, discontent, bitter, or what have you. You recognize what your normal behavior looks like and you get a sense when it deviates off the course. In contrast, I can’t really tell if my low-spirited nature is just a part of a temporary mental distress or is it actually me. It has been my default state for as long as I can remember that it successfully assimilated into my personality traits. So much so that if I were to say “I haven’t been feeling like myself lately,” it would mean a good thing.

I learned to make peace with the way life works; how to navigate through the challenges while keeping my head above water. The secret is to give up all your hopes and be okay with not thriving. Life is not actually that bad when you feel apathetic. I’ve fully embraced my apathy and made it my home—very comfy here, 10/10 would recommend. Because who the fuck got time to do some thriving? Also, why must we thrive as humans? Why is that a necessity? Who decided that? Why can’t we just survive? How is it not enough to survive?

Not quite sure what else there even is to life that makes me willingly choose it every single day. But surviving has to be enough for now. I am not putting any more effort into this bullshit.

Anyway, that’s the baseline. That’s what my good day looks like. Lukewarm, with a hint of melancholy. Now, on to the good stuff—

Every time something drives me over the edge, my go-to coping mechanism has always been limited to safe non-lethal strategies, which include social withdrawal (textbook self-sabotaging behavior) and restrictive food intake (an effort to regain some sense of control apparently). It wasn’t until recently that my brain got a bit more creative and incorporated suicidal ideation into the mix. Whenever I only have my thoughts to keep me company, it’s incredibly easy to spiral into a self-destructive existential conundrum. Although the problematic eating behavior has now also progressed into a more frequent pattern. Anxiety is no longer needed to spur the action. I just need a win sometimes. And running on two cups of coffee and nothing else all day is the most instantaneous way to earn a sense of accomplishment. (PSA: I don’t recommend it though. It’s ok for me and me only, it really is not good for you, kids.)

I wonder, why has nobody told you that as you get older, cutting your life short is becoming a more and more interesting option? It really feels like I’ve maxed out on my lifetime serotonin quota—it’s all spent. I’m done. At this point I’m not even living anymore; I’m just wasting everybody’s time. The thought of having to endure 20-30 more years of this fucking non-consensual existence is such a nightmare. (Actually, with the rapidly accelerating climate change and billionaires continuing to play gods, 30 years is probably too generous.)

When it comes to the subject of suicide, some people’s prevention approach is to say stuff like “...think about how that makes your loved ones feel,” or “There’s so many things you’re going to miss out on,” First of all, let’s think about how I feel, ok. This is about me—focus up! Secondly, I don’t know where you got your biology lesson from, but you actually don’t have to worry about missing anything if you don’t wake up tomorrow. Because when you’re flatlined, your neurons stop firing. Ergo you can’t think, you can’t feel—so you wouldn’t have any function left to miss anything. Win-win.

I’ve been told countless times that it’s temporary; that there will come a time when I won’t feel this way anymore. But man...when you’re swimming across any large, deep body of water and then around mid way you’re slowly feeling your energy level is plummeting below zero, we all know how that’s gonna end. There’s no way you would ever be able to make it to the shore. Even if it’s only a few feet ahead of you. There’s nothing you can do except to let the water take you in.

I’ve been enjoying looking into how body donation works lately. Interesting hobby—quite niche if I do say so myself. Unfortunately Science Care does not currently operate where I live. Also, in Mass you have to sign a consent paper that’s called Instrument of Anatomical Gift. But there has to be two witnesses. Urgh...! Ideally, I’d like my heart to stop beating at the exact place where they would actually store the bodies before they’re being used. Dying in my apartment room doesn’t really appeal to me. I don’t want to create a hassle where somebody has to schlep my body around. Can you imagine being dead and still be a burden to someone? Also, where do people buy body bags? I wonder if they do like a prime 2-day delivery. In the event of a demise-causing-amount-of blood spurting out of my person, I wouldn’t want to leave a mess for someone to clean up—that would be rude. It should be much cleaner and easier to manage if everything is contained within a cadaver bag.

...

Ok, you know what, never mind—too many things to be mindful of. Fuck. I can’t believe being too polite is the only thing keeping me from actually executing any plans. Nope. Let’s be honest, you’re just a wimp, Sash. One day, maybe.

Again, let me reiterate: I am A-OK. I assure you, you’ll still see me being miserable and think about dying tomorrow and the day after. But other than that, everything’s fine.

Peace out, homies.

#suicide tw #ed tw

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crqstalite · 4 years

Text

in autumn.

OCtober prompt ‘autumn’. yes! i am four days late as of publishing this 10.4.2020 at one in the morning but i digress. the prompt wouldn’t leave me alone, so here it is lol. just a fluff piece about a bit of reflection and one cold elf girlfriend.

ship: marzeyna lavellan/cullen rutherford word count: 2,060

Skyhold in autumn.

Creators, it was beautiful.

Or at least, Marzeyna thought so. Sure, she’d experienced it year after year with Clan Lavellan in the Free Marches, but it made her smile at the fortress they’d moved into earlier this year. The shades of red and orange and the hues of yellow that had slowly taken over the trees as the year wore on, she couldn’t think of any other place that she’d want to be. Other than back in Wycome to assist with rebuilding, sure, but she was happy enough to wander the place on an off day.

Of course, nothing ever just lasted forever did it? She’d also be ripped away from it in favor of visiting Halamshiral -- damned place within the next few weeks to prevent an assassination. Beyond the fact she would be the first of her living Clan to be there in their lifetimes, she would also have to endure nobles.

Plenty of human nobles. With all their fancy dresses, and all their fancy wines and the Games they liked to play with the people who attended the event, and their distaste for elves.

To say the least, she wasn’t particularly excited.

Evidence of their impending trip being the overly complicated ‘art’ Vivienne had done to her hair earlier this afternoon. She trusted the woman with anything and everything presentation (the dress she’d commissioned from Val Royeaux was nothing short of show-stopping, something Marzeyna would have to get used to the idea of but was still drooling over hours later), but she’s still picking the glitzy pins out of her hair nearly three hours after the afternoon spent bathing in the cooling sun in Vivienne’s loft. Relaxing, sure. She rarely had time to talk about the mundane with anyone.

By the time they got back from Orlais, chances are the snow would start to set in and it’d be Haven all over again. No more crunching leaves under boots or the off-chance she’d see a stray cat lounging on a window sill, just the freezing cold (well, more than usual at least) starting to set in to her bones and making her grateful she could get out of the mountains.

Then again, there’s also the impending doom of Corypheus.

But for now, she could enjoy the cool and crisp air whipping around the battlements, playing with her hair like flames fanned by the wind. She loves it, and there haven’t been enough moments as of late to take solace in what she likes. For the first time in weeks she’s actually sat down in her own desk, and for the first time in other weeks, she’s sat down with Josephine to go through every diplomatic issue she’d missed since she set out for the Arbor Wilds.

(They could not pay her enough to do that again, Inquisitor or not she did not have the attention span or willpower. There are still stacks of reports left for another date in her quarters. Under a paperweight, because she hasn’t gotten enough of the beautiful autumn breeze and has left the windows open. If a few blew away, well, nobody would be any the wiser.)

A door clicks open on her left, and she turns from scenic view of the snowy valley, pushing another rogue curl behind her ear and blowing another out of her face. Marzeyna had come up to the battlements mostly just to walk, but also to pull another diligent person away from his work, as she typically did whenever she was back in Skyhold. She smiles to herself anyway, as annoying as the rest of the world could be, at least she still had Cullen Rutherford by her side.

As tired as both of them have been as of late, it is still good to see him. Since they’d been decidedly moving further and further out from Skyhold, the more and more he had to deploy soldiers and the like. Another thing that not even Varric could pay her enough to do -- that wasn’t her favorite thing to do and she was not interested in learning.

“Long day?” She asks, leaning against the half wall while he runs a hand through his hair, “Looked like you could use a break.”

“I could, yes. Though--”

“Though nothing. Look how nice of a day it is out, it’s already autumn here.” Marzeyna replies, grinning.

That pulls a smile out of him, “That it is. I’d assume you like the change in weather?”

“Well, it’s no longer sweltering but it’s not freezing just yet either. Like a lull in the storm,” A leaf flutters up from one of the trees in the courtyard, dancing in the wind before disappearing back down the wall, “Relish in this, I’m sure we’ll come back to snow by the time Orlais has had it’s way with us.”

She nearly pouts at the smirk he gives her, mildly offended he’s taking amusement in her dislike of the coming snowfall, “Then the Inquisitor isn’t a fan of the winter months?”

“Just because you have the fluffy mantle and heavy armor doesn’t mean the rest of us can compensate nearly as easily,” She teases, just barely holding herself back from crossing her arms, “It gets so cold at night, there’s no using a fireplace to offset it.”

“Didn’t Josephine requisition more of the down blankets?” Genuine concern, that was sweet the way he asked.

“She did. But it’s also been weeks since I’ve been back in Skyhold. I got used to the warmth in the Wilds and the Plains,” She pulls at her overcoat as if to wrap it tighter around her. It wasn’t like she could drag them around the fortress either, collecting dirt and who knew what else on the tail of it. She really needed to find a proper coat that didn’t hinder her magic if she intended to make it through the winter, “It’s not a fair comparison.”

“Isn’t it?” Her look must be that sour that it’s at least amusing, “Fine then.”

Marzeyna pauses again, letting them bask in the quiet for a bit, admiring the changing colors of the leaves and wind blustering around them. It’s been nothing but fighting Venatori for the last few weeks, that and the undead and whatever giants they can imagine. No more running for now, and she’s not kept to Cassandra, Blackwall and Dorian for company anymore (not that she doesn’t adore them, but...well). It’s good to just sit and acknowledge how much they’ve gotten done, how much things have changed.

Cullen looks at peace at least, a far improvement from how he’d been just before she left the last time. He notices her smiling directly at him, and visibly flushes.

“I did...miss you,” She offers, pointedly looking up at him. She pulls her hair over her shoulder, standing properly again, “Were things okay while I was gone?”

He knows what she’s referring to -- more withdrawal symptoms, “Not as many, no. A minor improvement, I assure you. You needn’t worry.”

“I will worry regardless, Cullen, I don’t want you in pain,” Another pause, “But...that is good to hear.”

“Most likely only because you pushed to keep me off of it.”

“That was all you, and you know it. I can’t fight that battle for you, but you’re still winning it.” She offers. That much was true, she may have been another opinion in the situation, but he was recovering, little by little.

He sighs, glancing out to the horizon for just a moment, “Yes. I suppose you’re right, and I thank you for the strength to go on.”

“I do what I can,” She steps closer, gauging his reaction, “And yet? No one can quite replace you, as I’m finding. I was wanting to be back sooner than this -- letters are just not the same. Surely you understand?”

“As much as you love to write them.” He responds, surely referring to her inability to write the shorter reports than the others of the Inquisition are capable of. She likes to go on and on and doesn’t even realize it until she’s run out of parchment paper. Usually she only has enough room to squeeze in her own name at the bottom of the page in the loopiest handwriting.

“You read them?” She asks, surprised, and maybe a tad embarassed now -- considering they aren’t always the most academic. She would’ve thought they’d go directly to Leliana, considering just how much sneaking around they’ve done as of late, “I thought you were only getting the shorter ones.”

“The ones you send to me directly?” He smiles to himself, “Yes, I read those as well.”

An arm snakes around her waist, careful, tentative as she goes on, gently leaning into the touch and placing her hands on his chestplate, “You know it’s almost been a year, Cullen. Since all of this started, and now we’re here. Could you have imagined we got all of this done in such a short time?”

“It has been an experience, yes. Demons, Venatori, among other things. I don’t believe my past experiences would’ve prepared me exactly for that.” He responds, only slightly flinching when she leans her head against his chest.

“You’re telling me there wasn’t anything on what to do if demons started falling out the sky in the Templar instruction book?” She’s got such a stupid grin on her face again, but he chuckles anyway at her joke, “I’m surprised, they really didn’t teach you enough to be effective.”

“I don’t believe such a manual exists, but should you wish it, I’ll write one and distribute it to our Templar allies,” And now she’s chuckling herself, as halfway serious as he sounds.

Oh why does she care for him so? A mage and a Templar, for Creators’ sake.

The humans’ Maker is probably throwing some sort of fit right now, wherever up in the sky He is.

“I’m serious though, Cullen. It seems like just yesterday Cassandra was content to yank me out of the chantry’s dungeon to force me to answer for the Divine’s death,” That was one downside to the mostly...interesting memories, “And here we are, such an international power that we’re being invited to make an appearance at the Winter Palace.”

“Believe me, I am aware,” He muses, “You’re a very capable leader, Lavellan.”

“I didn’t do half of this -- you know the Inquisition would simply fall apart if any of you just walked away,” She rolls her eyes, sighing, “I just close the rifts with the glowing hand, not much else.”

He’s quiet for a moment, “You act as if this isn’t a result of your determination to save the world. It is. I would say you’re doing an admirable job.”

She highly doubts she would get the same flood of affection with anyone else, or that anyone else’s compliment would feel nearly as genuine as his does.

“Thank you, Cullen. We made it to Kingsway, I can’t say anything else about the rest of the year though. That’s decidedly still up in the air.”

Marzeyna feels distinctly...tingly. The good kind, like just before her magic would flare again during a fight, except the fight or flight response doesn’t accompany it. She’s just undeniably happy, and if anything arcane flickers under her fingertips, she doesn’t notice. Her ears are twitching though, probably moreso than usual when he presses a tentative kiss to her forehead.

It was much too pretty a day out, but she was content to rest her for just a moment, letting the world continue on.

The wind gusts around them again, and she shivers, audibly chilled by the cold and trying to press herself further into his embrace, the fur of his mantle tickling her cheek, “It’s much too cold out here.” Marzeyna barely keeps the whine out of her voice, she wasn’t a child, but she also didn’t feel as if she had to hide the fact she was having no fun dealing with the change in seasons from him either.

“Would you like to go inside then? You...could come and sit for while, there isn’t much work to be done this evening.” He offers.

“I...would like that. As long as you don’t want me reading any reports,” She makes a face, “I would be happy to spend the evening in your presence.”

#marzeyna lavellan #cullen rutherford #cullavellan #oc #original character #dai fanfiction #marzeyna/cullen

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dontshootmespence · 5 years

Text

The Most Natural Thing In The World

Part 7

Summary: An experienced Dom and a virgin meet in a bar. Can he introduce her to a world she’s always imagined but never known before? Is it everything she wanted?

Words: 1,770

Warnings: Lots of lots of edging and teasing and then some serious spanking, leading to the reader experiencing subdrop.

A/N: My next entry for @cm-kinkbingo run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt. This fills my subdrop square.

The first five hurt more than anything that ever hurt before, but you revel in it so you ask for another five. Five more strikes with the cane, but as nine strikes your skin the pain is overwhelming. “Red!”

Spencer drops the cane to the floor and crouches at your side, cradling your face in his hands. “Are you okay?” Before his eyes had been filled with confidence, determination, arousal, but now they’re filled with fear. Fear that he’d gone to far and truly hurt you. The truth is that you took a few extra hits to impress him. You failed as a submissive.

“I’m okay. Just…that last one put me over the top.”

He kisses you and stands up to grab you carefully, placing you down on the bed before grabbing some lotion. When you move, you wince, the pain truly showing itself. You should not have let it go that far.

Determined, Spencer glides back and forth across the room, looking for everything he’ll need to take care of your very sore bottom. There’s the pain of an initial strike and then the pain that blooms after nerve endings that were compressed before return to normal. It’s white hot. And while it was enjoyable for the first five, you’d overestimated your tolerance on the last five.

You feel Spencer sit on the mattress, your body dipping toward his. He carefully applies an antibiotic cream to areas on both cheeks that you assume are slight cuts or abrasions. When he lays an ice pack across your ass, you hiss at the sting, but after a few seconds it eases, feeling so much better. Spencer lies down beside you and grazes his hand through your hair. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Did you do that on purpose? Take more than you thought you could?”

Ashamedly, you nodded. “The first five were great and I underestimated what the next five would do. I thought I could take it. And I wanted to. But I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I should’ve realized what you were doing and –“

“It’s on me, too, Spence. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Okay, only five at a time from now on.”

You sidle up against him, arm around his waist and head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he tells you how to care for your bottom over the next few days. “You have to ice on and off over the course of the next 24 to 48 hours. Fifteen minutes at a time. Okay?”

“Yes, Sir,” you say sleepily, mind numb and loopy and happy, free of anything but the sound of his voice and the beat of his heart. “And Tylenol for pain, no ibuprofen because that can prolong bleeding.”

“Good girl.” He floats his hand across the small of your back as he continues. “You’ve heard of subdrop right?”

“The concept yes, but I’m not sure of what it is exactly.”

Cradling your face, he ensures he has your attention as he describes what it is and how it can manifest. “It doesn’t always happen. You may never experience it, but I want you to know what it is just in case it does happen.” Apparently, subdrop involves your body releasing all sorts of endorphins and enkephalins. They make you feel like your pain tolerance is higher and can have an almost morphine-like effect on you. “The thing is that all that happy endorphins come out all at once during a scene like that and typically they trickle out over the course of a day with little bursts during exercise or something like that. You can only replace those endorphins at a normal rate, so that in between time can feel like a drug withdrawal without the drugs.”

“Oh, wow,” you reply, stunned. You smile into his chest while he continues info-dumping about the side effects – tired, feelings of loneliness and insecurity, mental exhaustion, possible tremors, bruising. “So I shouldn’t sit a lot tomorrow if I can help it?”

“Yea, you’ll feel that tomorrow, not like a normal spanking, and that pain will exhaust you over time because your body spent all those happy hormones and can’t replace them fast enough. The worst symptoms are the emotional ones though,” he says, gathering you into his arms and lifting you onto him so your skin is flush with his. “That lack of hormones can make you feel abandoned or depressed or unloved. And I never want you to feel that way, so if something happens, please text me or call me and as soon as I can reply, I will, and I’ll help you through it. It can hit you like a ton of bricks during the most innocuous tasks, so just really keep aware of how you’re feeling.”

It sounds like a lot – though it’s a possibility, not a given. Even so, the possibility is worth it for the intense pleasure you experience at his hands. “I love you, Spence.”

“I love you, too, Y/N,” he says softly. “I think I might pass out.”

“Me too.” You fall asleep in seconds, a satisfied smile across your face.

----

Spencer has to leave for work the next day and at first it’s no big deal. You go about your day just as you normally would when it hits you – that bone deep feeling of insecurity. Why would he want to stay with you when he couldn’t do all the things he wanted to do with you? Were you being selfish for staying with him? Not allowing him to find someone that fit with him perfectly? Your heart begins to race, thumping so hard against your ribcage that you’re afraid it might burst it.

Swallowing hard, you grasp your specialty coffee from the barista – a peppermint mocha – but the sweet taste you wanted is now bitter. You’ve heard of people saying they can “taste” certain emotions because they’re so powerful, but before this moment you hadn’t understood what that meant. But now you know. This is fear.

----

You attempt a walk in the park to calm yourself down, but all it does is allow your mind time to wander, so instead of watching the couple in front of you walk hand in hand, laughing like they hadn’t a care in the world, you head back to the apartment and wrap up in a blanket.

Spencer says he loves you. He wouldn’t lie. You have to hear his voice. Pulling out your phone, you ask him to call you as soon as he can.

I’m not feeling great, Spence. Really…alone.

You place the phone back in your pocket and wrap the blanket tighter around yourself as you curl into the couch. Slowly, your eyes close and the voices get louder - the ones that tell you you’re not good enough, the ones that convince you Spencer’s going to dump you the moment he finds someone better.

It felt like seconds later, but apparently it was nearly an hour when the phone buzzing startles you awake. “Hello?” You ask sleepily, not bothering to check who’s calling.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He sounds terrified. You’ve never heard him like that before. “Y/N, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here. I just…I was grabbing coffee today and I got this feeling. Like you didn’t really love me. That you’d dump me when you found someone better. I went for a walk to try and clear my head but that only made it worse and then I remembered you telling me to call you or text you if I felt that way, so-“

“Breathe,” he interrupted. “I love you more than anything or anyone I’ve ever loved before. I’m in my hotel room for the night. I’ll stay here and say it over and over again if that’s what you need.”

Smiling to yourself, you shiver a bit, the insecurity still there in waves despite his affirmations. “I wish you were here.”

“I do too,” he says sincerely. “Next time we want to experiment with something we haven’t done before, it needs to be when I don’t have to go to work the next day.”

“Yea,” you sigh.

“Hey, why don’t you go into my closet? Right side in the back.”

Without much thought you get up and meander toward Spencer’s room. “Why?”

“I have something in there for you.”

Bending down, you push a few items of clothing to the side – a pair of pants that fell from a hanger, a random dress shoe – and there sits a box that says ‘in case of emergency’ with a little heart next to it. “What’s this?”

“Open it.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

Inside is a Disney movie, Moana, one of your favorites, a box of macaroons from a local store Spencer had taken you to before, some lavender oil and a piece of folded up paper with ‘For the Woman I Love’ written on it. “Now go put in the movie, sit on the couch, eat some chocolate and read the letter to me.”

You do exactly as he says, popping an entire chocolate into your mouth as you unfold the letter.

“Read it out loud. It’ll sink in more that way.”

I hope that you’ll never have to read this and that I’ll just be able to say it all myself, but if not, here it is. After prison, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be the same. It kind of felt like my heart had been strangled to death. I moved through life in a different way. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to let someone in. And then I saw you and I just knew. You had my heart. It was hiding with you all along.

Our dynamic is amazing and everything I’ve ever wanted in that aspect of a relationship, but apart from that you’re still everything I need. My confidant. My best friend. My happiness.

I love you. You’re everything to me.

“Spence,” you whisper as you wipe a tear from your eye. “I love you, too. So much. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. But I’ll be home soon and tonight I’ll stay on the line until you fall asleep.”

The waves of insecurity from before fade further and further away as you sink back into the couch and start singing. Maybe those feelings of un-lovability will linger for a while, but with Spencer on the other line at least you won’t have to fight them alone.

#cmkinkbingo #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #dontshootmespence #the most natural thing in the world #part 6

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spartanguard · 5 years

Text

sick of love (3/3)

Summary: If Emma’s not careful, she just might bump into her soulmate. Physically. And while she might like the idea of what comes with that—an almost psychic connection whenever they make skin contact—she’d rather not deal with the awful withdrawal sickness that can come when they inevitably leave her; she’s got a son, so she doesn’t have time for that. So she keeps herself covered and thinks she’ll be okay. Until she meets Killian, who does the same thing. Will their barriers protect them, or just hurt them more?

A/N: LAST CHAPTER AH. I meant to have this done sooner, but I didn’t get much writing done at camp—so here we are on Friday! It ended up much longer than anticipated, but this is where it earns the M rating. I hope this was worth the wait, and thank you for sticking with it!

As stated before, this story was inspired by this tumblr post. Thank you again to the organizers of @cssns for putting on this awesome event and to @sherlockianwhovian for making that AMAZING art up there!

Wrong.

So fucking wrong.

More wrong than any other time in her life.

That first night after the collision on the train, she got drunk on Sam Adams and blamed that on why the barrage of text messages from Killian mysteriously disappeared from her phone.

By Thursday, Henry had asked why they hadn’t yet had dinner with Killian that week. “Because you have school now, mister,” worked as an excuse.

And thankfully, she managed to hide her sigh of relief when Killian wasn’t at dinner at the Nolans, supposedly because he was called into work.

Halfway through the next week, Henry asked if they had a fight or something. “Yeah, or something,” was her lame, mumbled response. “It’s an adult thing.”

That was enough to get him to stop asking questions, though he had plenty of comments after the following Friday’s dinner—she decided that would be the best time to track her latest skip and dropped Henry off to stay with Snow and Dave for the night, and her resolve hardened when she saw the Chevelle in the driveway.

“You know, Killian seemed kind of mopey,” Henry told her when she picked him up the next morning. “Kind of like he did when we first met him.”

“He just gets like that sometimes; maybe it was something at work.”

“Maybe; I dunno. It seemed different. He says hi, though.”

He’d said more than that in the texts she kept deleting. Though those were usually something along the lines of Please, Swan—just talk to me.

What she wouldn’t admit was how much those broke her heart.

She wanted to; she really did. She missed him, dammit. But that would mean acknowledging whatever had passed between them as something real, that the whole idea actually had merit, and she wasn’t ready for that level of anything yet. She wasn’t even ready to kiss him, for fuck’s sake; even the title “boyfriend” held more weight than she was ready to carry.

And part of her still was in denial, sure that she’d imagined it because of that little romantic part of her that wanted something more.

She’d learned long ago to ignore that small voice, and she could shut it up again.

She didn’t do soulmates.

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

A couple more weeks went by and fall arrived—her favorite. She wrapped up in a scarf on that first day, inhaling the chill in the air and making sure to stop for a pumpkin spice latte. Part of her wondered what kind of scarf Killian was wearing, if he even had one on—and then the rest of her put that idea to rest.

His texts became more sporadic; she never saw him on the train. He hadn’t been at Snow and David’s the last couple weeks and apparently had been stuck on the night shift for the last month. She was getting better at not thinking about him, but her mind generally wandered in his direction without her realizing it had.

There was a near run-in a week ago at the Chinese place; she saw his name on the receipt of the bag next to hers, and never paid so quick in her life. But otherwise, she’d been Killian-free for a month and was feeling just fine.

See? Nothing to worry about, she assured herself. Maybe in a couple more weeks, she could seek him out again, apologize, and they could carry on like that scare never happened.

But that thought got delayed when she came down with a cold a few days later.

She had a headache that wouldn’t go away and was tired a lot more than usual. The kitchen lights seemed especially harsh and there was a lingering bit of nausea that never quite sent her running for the toilet, but was definitely annoying.

“Are you feeling okay, Henry?” she’d ask every day, checking for a fever and his skin for any clamminess. She just needed to touch him, to make sure he was okay; or maybe she was being clingy because he had just started middle school.

“I’m fine, Mom,” he’d say, shrugging her off. “Are you?”

“Yeah, totally.”

Part of her wondered, when the nausea continued for a week without abating, if she was somehow pregnant again. It felt a lot like the early stages. But immaculate conception had only happened once, to her knowledge, so she had probably just picked up the flu somewhere.

She tried to power through it—even going on desk duty at her bail bonds firm (which she rarely, if ever did), but then her hands started cramping up from all the typing and kind of stayed that way. And good lord, that was terrible coffee in there, but she was so parched that she’d take it. She complained about it to Snow, who gave her a sidelong glance that fell somewhere between pitying and knowing, but amazingly gave no lecture. She just gave her a box of rose-flavored tea and a hug.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been sick in Henry’s lifetime—no one had that good an immune system—but she felt terrible that it was putting her so out of commission (in addition to, you know, feeling terrible).

“What kind of flu did you give me, kid?” she asked, voice hoarse, when Henry brought her tea in bed on her birthday.

“Maybe it’s something worse, Mom,” he said, and she could see how scared he was. “Maybe you should go to the ER?”

Cold dread washed over her at the mention of the place (or maybe it was just a chill resulting from the recently developed fever; it was hard to tell). “No; I’m not that bad,” she promised, despite how awful she sounded. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll go to urgent care.”

There was one on their block, but she didn’t even have the energy to walk that far. Just getting to her car was draining. Her hand struggled to cooperate with the pen while filling out forms, which included firmly checking the “no” box next to the question asking if she had lovesickness. She had the flu—that was it.

(Not that lovesickness had any true treatment; even at hospitals, all they could do was put a person on an IV of fluids and pain killers until it was done. So there was really no point in an urgent care even asking. Jerks.)

The doctor asked the usual questions—symptoms, how long she’d had them, and a whole bunch of other stuff that was already on the forms—before actually reading what was on the clipboard, squinting, then looking up at her skeptically. “Are you sure you don’t have lovesickness?”

“Positive,” she snapped back.

He gave her another incredulous look, shook his head, and wrote her a prescription for a generic antibiotic—which was all she needed, she was sure, and not the judgment of some two-bit doctor with bleached hair.

She felt better the next morning, after medicine and rest; good enough to go to work, so she started to get ready. See—she’d been right! It was just a bug. Nothing crazy or earth-shattering, just a run-of-the-mill thing.

Or, at least, that was her last thought before the world turned on it’s axis and she passed out on her bed.

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

“Emma, are you sure I can’t take you to the hospital? You passed out, for crying out loud!” She could always count on David’s brotherly instincts to border on paternal.

“I’ll be fine; I promise. I just need to ride it out some more.”

David huffed, clearly not pleased with the situation. She wasn’t thrilled with it, either, but she wasn’t fit to be Henry’s mom until this thing had ran its course, or the antibiotics stopped making her dizzy—whichever came first. Henry was the one who found her unconscious, though she roused quickly; but it shook him enough that she didn’t want him around while she was still this sick. She’d never forgive herself if she got him sick, too.

“And you’re sure it’s just a bug?”

“Yes! Oh my god,” she rasped out, though it didn’t sound as convincing with her weakened voice. “Go! Have fun! Make sure he gets to school on time, does his homework, et cetera.”

David sighed again, but she could tell from the slump of his shoulders that he’d relented. “Alright; but make yourself some tea and get some rest. We’ll check in on you—no complaints. And if you don’t answer your phone, we’re coming to get you.”

“Fine,” she huffed; that was fair. Henry shuffled out from his room then, with an overstuffed duffel. For a moment, it reminded her of being a kid and her entire life fitting in one of those as she was moved from home to home; her eyes watered at the memory, but she—and Henry—knew he had a home to come back to; this was temporary. “Be good for your aunt and uncle,” she told him, and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead (which seemed a lot closer to chin than it had the day before).

“I will. Please get better soon, Mom,” he said, worry in his voice and his big brown eyes.

“I will. I promise.”

She couldn’t get worse, right?

Why did she keep saying that? Famous last words, no doubt.

Because she’d hardly settled on the couch after they left before another wave of vertigo struck and she nearly spilled her tea (of course, Snow had sent another box over). Though it might not have been that bad if she had, because she was also feeling awfully chilled, despite having two fleece blankets draped over her. (If she just gave it an hour, she’d be dealing with a manic hot flash instead.)

But this was better, she knew—Henry would be looked after and she’d be able to heal without anyone bothering her. And it was kind of nice having the apartment to herself for a couple days; that didn’t happen often.

It got dull fast, though. And quiet, oddly enough, even though she was able to watch whatever she wanted on Netflix (Henry hated Outlander; she didn’t).

It was...lonely. Again. Possibly more than ever in her life. It was one thing to not have anyone, like she had when she was a kid. But now that she had people—David, Snow, Henry...Killian, she had to admit—the solitude felt bigger without them there.

And, really, she had no one to blame but herself there. Old habits die hard and all that. As much as she tried to tell herself it was better if they weren’t around her germs, she could also really go for a hug right about now; wrapping her arms around herself didn’t quite cut it.

But this was her bed (well, nest of blankets on the couch) and she had to lay in it until this all passed. At least she had Jamie and Claire to distract her.

So she pulled the blankets a little tighter around her and settled in.

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

The next few days passed in a haze of tea, takeout, and the Scottish highlands, though she had to rewatch multiple episodes due to her worsening state and the fact that she kept passing out in the middle (always right before the good stuff, annoyingly). She managed to reply to all of David’s messages fast enough to not cause worry on his end, but that was almost all she had energy for. Bless whoever came up with Door Dash.

And she wasn’t just tired in general—she was tired of being sick. How much longer could one body take to fight off...whatever this was? It had been nearly 6 weeks, all told. The antibiotic script ran out without taking the illness with it. The tea helped a bit, but getting as far as the kitchen to make it was a challenge with the nausea, vertigo, and tunnel vision she was fighting against.

Thank goodness she had an escape on the TV.

(There were a few strange instances, though, where her foggy mind twisted Jamie’s Scottish brogue into Killian’s accent; and damn did their blue eyes look similar, even if the rest of them didn’t. She may have had a couple of vivid dreams along that line, though.)

But then Jamie and Claire both got lovesickness in season 3. And art started imitating life a bit too much for her liking.

Annoyed, she turned off the TV and pulled herself up from couch so she could shuffle into the kitchen and get more tea.

Fucking Outlander. Fucking sassenach. Fucking soulmates. Fucking lovesickness. Fucking Killian.

Not that kind of fucking, though.

Wait, why did her train of thought go there?

Trains...soulmates...lovesick...Killian.

Dammit.

She shook her head as she plopped down on the floor of her kitchen, still wrapped in blankets while waiting on the tea kettle. That was probably a burned bridge, if she was being honest. She hadn’t heard from him in at least two days, so she had to assume he’d given up; it wouldn’t be the first time someone did that to her, but it was probably the most deserved. Try as she might, she still hadn’t forgotten what happened on the train, and she still had no logical explanation for it...save for one.

The kettle was starting to hiss but she ignored it. Had she overreacted? In an effort to avoid what she’d feared for so long, had her own stubbornness and walls just pushed her right into it? Was she really in the same position she’d just seen on her screen...was she lovesick?

A knock on the door jolted her from her thoughts, though; it was probably the pizza delivery. She wasn’t even really sure why she’d picked that to order, though it probably had something to do with Killian being on her mind. It took some struggle to pull herself up off the floor, her stiff muscles protesting each movement, but she managed to get upright with only a minor amount of vertigo; maybe she was getting better, after all?

There was another knock. “I’m coming,” she tried to shout, but her voice could only go so loud. As fast as she could manage—which wasn’t very—she limped to the door, brushed her hair behind her ears in a weak attempt at looking presentable, unlatched the lock, and opened it.

But she wasn’t greeted by the smell of dough and melted cheese, or by an annoying teenage delivery boy—no, that was taking its sweet time, as usual. Her heart actually stopped for a brief moment, because on the other side of the door was Killian.

And he looked as awful as she felt.

“Emma,” he breathed, a faint smile pulling at his weary features, but it faded fast as a cough took over and nearly rattled him off the door frame he was leaning on.

“Killian.” She nearly choked on his name. “How...how did you find my address?” They’d somehow never been to each other’s places.

“David,” he answered. Normally, he would have shrugged, but it probably hurt too much right now. Like her, he had dark circles under his eyes and sheen of sweat on his forehead that his hair was clinging to. He had on a pair of scrub pants and a black sweater under his usual leather jacket, under which his chest was heaving after no doubt climbing the three flights of stairs to her apartment. Oddly, he didn’t have his prosthesis on. “Can we please talk, finally?”

Even the blue of his eyes was faded, and that was probably what broke her the most. She nodded and stepped aside, leaving a wide path for him to come in.

He stumbled in and she pointed him towards the couch. “Tea?” she offered, trying to be a good hostess.

“Yeah,” he sighed as he fell against the cushions.

As she poured the tea, she didn’t let herself think of the implications of him being as sick as her. Her walls started to go up and she began to rationalize—he probably picked it up at work; god only knows what kind of stuff he was exposed to there. Maybe she’d gotten it from him when they had their collision?

Very carefully, she moved into the living room and set his mug down on the coffee table, before gently sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. “So, you pick up a nasty virus in the ER?” she started, then took a sip.

He cast her an almost annoyed look before reaching for his cup. “I think we both know that’s not the case, love.”

“You don’t know that,” she murmured. “It could be anything.”

He took a sip, then stared at the tea in disbelief as he swallowed. “Where did you get this?”

Now she was the one confused. “Snow; why?”

He snorted derisively. “And it makes you feel better, right?”

“A bit, I guess.”

“Emma, don’t you know what rose tea is for?”

What the heck—did he come over just to fight? She’d understand if he was angry about her ghosting him, but to be so combative? Her hackles were rising. “No, I don’t, Doctor Jones; enlighten me.”

He cautiously set down the mug and then scooted a bit closer to her; she reflexively tried to melt into the arm of the couch. “It’s an old wives’ tale, but said to ease lovesickness.”

She shut her eyes and turned her head. That couldn’t be it—it just couldn’t. Whatever personal revelation she’d been having before his arrival had ran away, buried under her blankets and armor where it belonged.

She didn’t do soulmates...right?

“You can deny the truth, love, but that won’t make it any less real. And like you just said, I’m a doctor—I know what’s going on. Has anything else helped?”

Not opening her eyes, she shook her head. She didn’t know if she could handle whatever emotion was likely simmering in Killian’s gaze.

“Just what do you think happened on the train that day?” he asked softly, though it didn’t sound like he had another volume.

“I don’t know—maybe we said it under our breath,” she tossed out half-heartedly.

“That’s not true and you know it.”

She opened her eyes to glare at him. “Well, what if I don’t want it? What if I don’t want the universe telling me who’s right for me—what if I want to be chosen instead?”

Despite their dulled color, a spark of fire ignited in Killian’s eyes. “What are you calling the past few months, then?” he spat. “I don’t know about you, but those were some of the happiest of my life, and it was all because of you and Henry. I want to be chosen, too—you know that. But you can’t tell me you’re so dense that you didn’t notice us doing exactly that. And you can’t deny you’ve been happy, too; you’re too much of an open book.”

He had her there—it was impossible for her to refute it. Even now, despite the distance she was trying to keep between them, she could feel the pull towards him—she’d missed him so much. But was it just because something was pulling strings somewhere out in the cosmos? Could she trust her own feelings?

“Tell me, love: were soulmates not even a thing, would you hesitate like this?”

That took her by surprise—but then again, everything about Killian had, since the day they met. She couldn’t deny the thoughts and fantasies she’d had about him; those were decidedly romantic in nature. But in her decision to rebel against the entire system, she’d never considered a scenario in which it didn’t exist. There were plenty of people out there who fell in love without it and were happy, but given what she thought she’d had with Neal, she figured it’d be all or nothing for her.

The longer she thought about it, though, her answer became clear: “No, I wouldn’t.”

Cautiously, he smiled, and it looked like he was blinking back tears—but that could have been due to her own fuzzy vision, and she wasn’t sure if it had to do with her emotions or current physical state. “Then why fight it?”

“Because,” she said in a small voice. “What if it’s wrong?”

“Darling, I think we’re well past that.”

She was scraping for excuses now, she knew, and could feel her walls crumbling under his sweet gaze. They weren’t gone yet, though. “What about Milah?”

His brow furrowed. “What about her?”

“I thought you didn’t want anyone else.”

He slumped a bit, but she couldn't tell if that was due to physical or emotional duress; probably both. “Aye, I had thought for a long time that I didn’t want anyone else, that I’d never be capable of letting go of my first love, of finding someone else.” He chewed on his bottom lip and then looked up at her. “That is, until I met you.”

Her breath hitched. There was no going back from a confession like that.

Silence settled over them for a long minute, during which the revelation washed over her. He wanted her—and had for a while, before they made skin contact and ended up here. And the more she reflected on it, she wanted him, too.

She wanted...all of it. Soulmates, happily ever after, the whole shebang.

Oh, who was she kidding? She fucking loved him.

But she was terrible with words—sincere ones, at least. How did she tell him that?

Gingerly, she shifted closer to him; he flinched a little, likely out of the same reflexes she’d honed over the years, but didn’t back away. His right arm was closest to her, and though he was still wearing his jacket, his hand was uncovered. It was a handsome hand, she had to admit—long, graceful fingers, with well-trimmed nails and fine dusting of dark hair on the back. She wondered if the rest of his was just as good-looking. And now, she was determined to find out.

She reached out and tentatively touched the back of his hand; there was an immediate spark at the contact, though, and she pulled back quickly in shock.

Killian’s eyes grew wide and he stared at his hand for what felt like forever; time seemed to freeze around them. But then, slowly, he turned up his palm and looked at her with an encouraging nod and a soft smile.

Emma sat up straighter, as if that would somehow firm her resolve, and took a deep breath. She could do this, totally. (She hoped.)

With a bit more confidence, she again reached for him, and this time, wrapped her delicate fingers around his broad hand. There was still a jolt, but she was ready for it and held tighter instead of retreating. It was immediately followed that same surge of emotion she’d felt on the train: concern, a bit of fear, but most of all—love.

Though she had no idea how this thing worked, she gave it a try. «I love you,» she thought, intensely holding Killian’s stare.

His eyes somehow got even bigger and his mouth parted in surprise, but it only lasted a moment before he was grinning. «I love you, too, Emma.»

Okay, now she really was crying. She never thought she was that kind of sappy girl and usually made sure her tears were reserved for moments that deserved them (Henry’s birth, Snow and Dave’s wedding, and maybe a handful of TV episodes since then). But now? When she was staring at her apparent true love, once she stopped fighting it? All the waterworks.

«Come here,» she heard over their connection, and he pulled her tight to him—though she may have also launched herself at him at the same time, resulting in an audible oof from both of them as they collided against the cushions.

She nestled her head into the crook of his neck and breathed him in. He smelled faintly of rose tea, a lot like sweat, and then, just...Killian. She couldn’t describe it—it was just...him. And it felt like home.

«You smell good, too.»

She winced. «Oh, shit. You weren’t supposed to hear that.»

«You were thinking it rather loudly, love.»

«This is definitely going to take some getting used to.»

«Aye, but I’m up for the challenge if you are.»

«Definitely.»

She sat up, breaking the connection—and found herself immediately missing it. She hadn’t expected that. As soon as skin contact had been broken, her aches and pains began to come back; she hadn’t even noticed they were gone. But that was how it worked, right? The more intense the lovesickness, the longer it took to go away, even when you reconnected.

She was probably going to have to get him naked, wasn’t she?

While the idea of that, and seeing what hid under all those form-fitting layers, was more than appealing, it also made her panic. It’d been so long since she did anything like this; god, did she even remember how to kiss?

Killian had been watching her intently and must have noticed the panic creeping across her face. Cautiously—as if he was approaching a wild animal—he reached up and caressed her cheek. «It’s okay, Emma. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.»

She huffed. «I don’t even know what I want. It’s been so long; I’m rusty with this stuff.»

«Well, that’s convenient.» He gave her a gentle smile. «So am I.»

She took a deep breath and relaxed a bit, but there was still an urge to do—something. It itched under her skin, the desire to be close to him, especially after he let his hand fall away.

So, slowly, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

There was no hesitation on his end; his lips were firm and insistent against hers, and warm—so warm. Any lingering chill from lovesickness melted away at the brush of his soft lips and the feel of his solid form next to her. Which, if she was being honest, was too far away. Using more energy than she had in weeks, she shirked her blankets and moved to straddle his lap. He groaned at the movement, but made no effort to pull away or stop what they were doing. And really, it gave her a bit of a self-satisfied thrill that she could draw that reaction from someone; guess she did still have a bit of game.

«You have plenty of “game,” love—I assure you,» he told her as his tongue flicked against their pressed-together lips.

«Okay, that was a little weird,» she thought; talking and kissing at the same time would definitely take some getting used to.

«Good weird, I hope.»

«Duh.»

They continued to snog like teenagers on the couch, just like she’d once imagined, until the pizza delivery actually did show up. She pulled away to catch her breath, but left her forehead connected to his. «Hope you feel like Pizzeria Regina.»

«With you, darling—anything. Actually, I’m famished.»

«Who knew making out worked up such an appetite?»

He chuckled out loud and it seemed to reverberate through her entire body; that was something that bore revisiting. But she was starving, too, so she hopped up to get the door before the kid inevitably left.

In the few minutes it took her to pay and get plates from the kitchen, she could feel the lovesickness settle back in at an almost alarming rate. She thought it was just the lingering fatigue, but she must have turned to fast after getting dishes from her cupboard because the next thing she knew, the world was spinning and she was on the floor. The nausea was back full-force and food was the last thing she wanted to think about; all she wanted was—“Killian,” she called out, but it was more of a weak moan than a yell.

From her prone position where the living room carpet met the kitchen tile, she could see him hop up from the couch, alarm tensing his entire body. “Emma!” he shouted, voice similarly weak, and took long strides to get to her—but she could see the moment it hit him, too, when he had to grab for the back of the couch to stay upright.

He took a deep breath but then fell to the floor, seemingly intentionally but she couldn’t quite tell—her vision was swimming again, and she closed her eyes against the blur. She could hear him, though, and a moment later felt his rough palm cupping her cheek.

He was speaking out loud, but she could feel his panic through their connection. “Emma, love, are you alright? What happened?”

She blinked a few times before staring up at him; he was hovering on all fours, his eyes darting as he looked her over for injury. The longer he touched her, the better she felt; she wasn’t surprised, but damn, they needed to kick this bullshit.

«Agreed,» came his the echo of his voice in her head, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. «Don’t scare me like that again.»

«I’ll try,» she said, «and I’m sorry.»

«You couldn’t help it, love; no need to apologize.»

«No, not just for that—for everything.» The truth of it was that it was that moment that sealed the deal for her. Other than her family, no one had ever worried about her like that, and the surge of love she felt—both from him and her own feelings—when he gave her that gentle kiss was greater than she’d ever felt. «For ignoring you, for fighting this, for letting us get like this. I’m sorry.» A tear started to fall down her cheek; god, she was officially a sap now.

«Oh, Swan—don’t.» He relaxed down to the floor to lay next to her. «I get it—I nearly did the same a few times, too.»

«You did?» She was surprised how much that shocked her; she was used to it from most people, but not him.

«You should have seen the tests I had my friends in the lab running. Everything from cancer to mono.»

«I nearly bought a pregnancy test at one point,» she giggled. «Don’t we make a pair?»

He smiled back. «We do, love,» came the soft voice, and he ran a hand through her hair. «We do.»

She couldn’t help it anymore: the combination of his emotions and thoughts were mixing with hers and threatening to drown her; she hadn’t felt anything this intense since...well, since Neal, but now she realized how wrong she’d been then. Killian was coming to a similar conclusion, she could tell, but she didn’t want to think about anyone else right now—just him.

So she hitched a leg over his hips, closed the space between them, and proceeded to kiss the living daylights out of him. And maybe grind up on him a bit. (Was that still a thing people did? God, she was so rusty.)

«I don’t know, and I don’t bloody care as long as it’s something we do.» Even his voice in her head was wrecked, to match the way he was panting. He tangled his legs with hers to bring himself closer, mirroring her gesture; she forgot how good dry humping felt.

Hell, all of this—it was like her body was coming back to life after a decade of disuse. Killian’s touch, minimal as it was through the layers of clothes they still had on, was sending those same sparks from earlier through her whole being, inside and out. She wanted to feel everything he could make her feel—she needed him, desperately. And if the growing bulge his scrubs failed to hide was anything, he did too.

«Only if you want to,» he assured her, taking a break from their game of tonsil hockey to catch their breaths, but he still pressed his forehead to hers. «I know you wanted your pizza,» he teased.

«To hell with the pizza.»

She held him tight with her leg one more time, feeling the press of his growing erection against her core—where a fair amount of those sparks had settled—before pecking his lips, sitting up, grabbing his hand and forearm, and somehow managing to untangle their legs without hitting any sensitive areas. He followed her to standing, and she quickly tugged him down the hallway to her bedroom; if she giggled a bit at the idea of having a boy in her room after so long, well, that would stay between them.

They’d no sooner crossed the threshold than she was back on him, pressing him against her dresser on the adjacent wall and probably knocking some books or something off, but that was the last thing on her mind; she was too caught up in finding the perfect way to grip his hips and the way his fingers were toying with the hem of her baggy T-shirt, grazing the skin underneath. She was starting to understand how a sparkler felt, with the way his every touch drew a spark.

As they continued to kiss, her hands began to wander, too, and found the edge of his sweater (she had no idea when he’d ditched the jacket, but that was also low on the list of concerns at the moment). His palm was resting warm and heavy on her waist, so she followed suit, letting her touch slip under fabric to his skin, and started to slide upwards.

To her shock, though, he flinched away, putting distance between them—though not enough that she couldn’t still see the way his chest was heaving under his (extremely well-fitting, she saw now) sweater. His eyes were cast on the floor and he was clenching his jaw nervously.

«Hey, what’s wrong?» she asked gently, but didn’t want to make a move if it might jar him more.

«It’s nothing; it’s just that...no one has seen me like this since...since the accident.»

Oh, god—she hadn’t even thought about that. Here she was worrying about her own skills when there were much bigger issues to be dealt with—on both ends, probably. «We don’t have to.»

«No, I want to,» he assured her, finally meeting her gaze again. «I just remembered all of a sudden, and...I’m afraid it’s not all that pretty.»

Well, she knew a thing or two about having scars. But she hadn’t given them much thought until now; they didn’t really bother her all that much. Which, she supposed, meant only one thing.

«Then let me go first.»

He tried to protest, but she ignored it as she guided his hand up her side, encouraging him to go higher. They both stilled when he reached her bare breast—she’d forgotten she hadn’t bothered with a bra in several days, and he wasn’t expecting the lack of obstruction when his thumb grazed her nipple. She sensed an odd combination of panic and thrill coming from him, and a polite apology started to form, which was when Emma found the lone downside to having an almost telepathic connection with her soulmate: she couldn’t shut him up with a kiss.

«But you can keep trying,» he suggested, winking terribly. His deep chuckle echoed in her mind and goosebumps rose on her skin.

He left his hand on her breast while she shimmied out of her top, moving only far enough away to slip it off and toss it aside. The cooler air plus her growing arousal were evidenced by her peaked nipples, and she didn’t miss the way his gaze drifted south.

And in one swift motion, she slid off her oversized pajama pants, letting them fall to the floor and leaving her completely naked.

His hungry gaze darted around, scanning her body, and for a moment, the same self-consciousness he was feeling slipped in—no one had seen her naked in ages, either, not since before Henry was born; she was by no means out of shape, but pregnancy had left its marks, in addition to all the other ones she’d acquired over the years. For the first time in a long time, she felt somewhat exposed—but the feeling evaporated under his reverent stare.

«You are bloody stunning, love; every part of you.» He pulled her closer and placed yet another soft kiss against her temple; she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of those, or the accompanying wave of love that threatened to drown her with each one. He took a deep breath, then, «I suppose it’s my turn, then?»

«Only if you want.»

He swallowed. «Lend me a hand?»

She giggled. «Of course, but you have to promise to never make a hand joke again.»

«We’ll see.»

She could kiss the smirk off his face, at least, and proceeded to do so as her hands made their way back to his waist and slipped beneath his sweater. Slowly, she dragged upwards, his sweater bunching at her wrists as she uncovered his stomach. She was curious to look, but didn’t want to pull away until she needed to.

Her fingers were the first to discover the hair on his chest as they slid through it; it was thick and soft to the touch—a contrast to the firm muscles beneath. Despite all her dreaming, that was a detail that never quite worked its way into her fantasies—she’d never much cared for it before—but now, it seemed to perfectly fit him. And she was anxious to see it.

She’d gone as far as she could on her own, her hands coming to rest on his collarbones, her thumbs settling into the dips there. Killian took over then, lifting his arms to tug off his left sleeve above her head and not breaking the kiss until he was pulling the shirt off altogether—and then her breath was nearly stolen.

Killian may have said she was stunning, but he was fucking gorgeous. He wasn’t one of those ripped gym rats, like she had once thought he’d be, but he was clearly strong—a solid core and lean muscles, with biceps that looked like they could both hold her hips tight in the throes of passion and then cuddle her close after. Dark hair perfectly covered his pecs and drew a trail down the center of his stomach, disappearing into the scrubs that he absolutely needed to take off. And there were scars, yes—scattered around his upper body, but most obviously at the end of his left arm—but if anything, they just made him more...real.

«Did you doubt I was?» he ribbed. (Which, speaking of ribs, she could just see the outline of his, and knew hers were on similar display—a reminder of how bad things had gotten for both of them; never again, though.)

«I dunno; this all kind of seems like a strange dream come to life.»

He stepped closer and placed his hand and wrist on her waist. «A good dream, I trust?»

«An incredible one, but one that I never really dared to hope for.»

He placed his forehead on hers—another gesture she was coming to adore. «I know the feeling.»

For a long moment, they just breathed each other in and floated in the swirl of their shared emotions going back and forth; she was starting to lose track if the love she felt cresting in her heart was her own for him or his for her. It seemed endless, though, so as long as it never ran out, it probably didn’t matter what belonged to who.

«I can assure you, it won’t run dry.»

«Good.»

She reached for his shoulders again and pressed against him, finding his lips for what felt like the hundredth time—and she hadn’t had enough, not at all, nor would she likely ever. But, as she arched her pelvis up against too many layers of cotton, she knew she’d had enough of these damn scrub pants.

His laughter rang in her head as she ignored any rules of propriety and ran her hands down his back until she hit the elastic band of his pants and dipped under them, right to his bare (well, slightly fuzzy) cheeks and gripped. That brought him even closer to her, his chest hair brushing against her nipples and his erection pressing into her core.

«These really need to come off.»

«There’s nothing stopping you.»

«Thank God.»

She wasted no time in slipping them off his narrow hips, barely waiting for them to hit the floor before she was changing their direction, only pausing long enough for him to step out of the legs lest he trip, before she was pushing him in the direction of her bed. The back of his legs hit the edge of the mattress and he tried to sit, but she stayed on top of him until he fell back against the bed with her straddled over his hips. She could feel his cock pressing against her waiting entrance, but not at all in the way she wanted—no, needed him.

«Can’t I properly lavish you, my love?» he enquired coquettishly as he massaged her breast with his hand and brought her closer to his level with the other arm. «I want to make you feel good.»

God, that sounded amazing, and she wanted to reciprocate. But him pulling her flat to his chest had just made it more painfully obvious that he wasn’t inside her, and that was all she wanted. She was more than ready—he had to be aware of that—and logically, she knew that was the fastest way to dispel whatever was left of their lovesickness. (That, and she’d gotten a good look at his shaft when she’d pulled his pants off and—damn.)

«Next time—I promise.» She was panting with want. «But right now, I need to feel you.»

He nodded; he was just as breathless. «Okay; where do you want me?»

«On top.»

«As you wish.»

Smoothly, he flipped them over so that she was flat on her back and he was hovering above her, propped on his left forearm. He placed one last, long kiss against her lips, then sat back on his haunches to ready himself.

A bit of nervousness snuck in here—she really hadn’t done this since...well, probably not since Henry was conceived. She knew she needed to lift her hips up a bit and would need to help him out, but did she remembered how to set the rhythm? How to meet him thrust for thrust?

«We’ll figure it out together, love,» he said with a soft smile and gentle caress of his blunted wrist on her thigh. He was a bit nervous, too, but knowing they were in the same boat made it all the easier.

And then she watched as he stroked himself and anything other than desire faded away. Her own fingers unconsciously drifted to her clit and began stroking, needing some sort of relief.

When he was ready, he shifted forward into the open embrace of her legs. «You ready?»

«So.»

«Can you…?»

“Yeah,” she breathed out loud; it still took some conscious effort to communicate nonverbally and her brain power was becoming increasingly limited. But she sat up enough to take her own hold of his velvety cock—one she could not wait to take in hand and mouth at a later date—and guided it to her entrance, circling it gently.

They were both a bit anxious about what came next—would it feel like the first time all over again?—but she nodded at Killian to go ahead, and he slid inside in one smooth motion.

Oh, God—she’d forgotten what this felt like. Yeah, she had her toys, but nothing could replicate the feel of the real thing: the heat, the smell, the emotion. This was exactly what she needed—exactly who she needed.

«You feel bloody amazing, darling.» They hadn’t even started moving and already, he sounded wrecked.

«So do you, oh my god.»

She pulled him down by the neck to kiss him again, taking a long moment to get used to the feel of him, even though in some ways, he felt familiar—like he was a perfect fit.

«I mean, we are soulmates,» he reminded her.

«Yeah, but I didn’t think that applied to body parts, too.»

«I fail to see any negatives here.»

«Oh, definitely not.»

He turned the attention of his lips to her neck, tickling her with his stubble, which made her squirm—and then gasp, because it drew just the slightest bit of friction where they were joined together. And it felt incredible.

«That good, eh? We barely did anything.»

She wrapped a leg around him and pressed her foot against his ass, moving him again. «No more teasing; just move.»

It took longer than she’d care to admit for them to figure out the right pace—being soulmates didn’t mean they were automatically in sync (which was probably descriptive of their entire relationship)—but they eventually got there, to a point where she could meet him at every push and he found the perfect angle to hit every sensitive point inside. He groaned when she clenched, and she moaned whenever he pressed hard enough to brush her clit. And in no time at all—but also possibly forever? Time was weird—she was near the edge of release, so close to falling off.

«Let go, Emma; I want to see you come.»

«I want you to go with me.»

He let out a deep exhale. «I’ll try.»

He picked up the pace and her already racing heart struggled to keep up with it, but in the end, she couldn’t; she reached her peak and crested it with a shout, fireworks going off behind her eyes as he continued to thrust into her.

It didn’t take much longer for him to follow her, though, and even though she was caught up in her own rapture, she could feel him stutter as he climaxed and spilled into her. (Good thing she still took the pill, if only for the cycle regularity.) He was dangerously close to collapsing on top of her but still, she held him tight with her legs, as if he might disappear if she didn’t.

But he was done depressingly soon, and her legs were no match for the dead weight that was leaning against them as he fell to her side on the mattress. Every part of her was tingling, as if each cell in her body was renewed after that. She cracked an eye open, and despite the dim light coming through her bedroom curtain, Killian was nearly effulgent as they lay there in the afterglow. She knew they needed to clean up, and probably text David so that he knew they weren’t dead, but that could be dealt with later; right now, she just wanted to soak this in.

Killian reached across the short distance between them and pulled her tight to his chest; she was right—those biceps were perfect for being held. «How was it?» he asked shyly.

«Only the greatest orgasm of my life; how about you?»

He smirked. «Roughly the same, I think.»

She placed a gentle peck on the scar on his cheek. «I love you.»

«I love you, too.» He sighed and snuggled into her neck. «Now what?»

«We’ll deal with that later,» she sighed. «Right now, this is perfect.»

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

«You were wearing this when we met,» he thought as he wrapped himself around her from behind, adorably resting his chin on her bare shoulder.

She was getting dressed—after round 2, where they did get to lavish each other, then round 3 in the shower—into a very familiar blouse and rather unseasonable pair of shorts; he’d only gotten as far as his pants.

«Mhmm. This is what I was going to wear, until I found out some random guy was gonna be there. Couldn’t run around exposing myself like that, now could I?»

«I don’t know; might have saved us a lot of time.»

She turned in his arms and hugged him tight, loving the feel of his warm skin under her palms. «No, probably not. I was nowhere near ready then.»

«And now?» he asked; even if they weren’t communicating verbally, his facial expressions—including the signature quirk of his eyebrow—remained the same.

«Ready for anything.» She emphasized it by rising on her toes to give him a quick kiss. «But if you don’t get a shirt on soon, David is gonna send a search party.»

«Let him,» Killian smirked, and made a move to plant a kiss on her neck that she narrowly dodged, only by jumping away; of course he’d noticed she was ticklish there.

“I’m serious, Killian!” Now that she was getting used to their telepathic connection, it felt like was the first time she’d used her voice in ages; at least she was laughing as she chastised him. “I walked in on him and Snow enough and as much as I might like the idea of revenge, I do NOT want to subject Henry to that.”

He brushed a tendril of hair off her shoulder, but left his hand there and gave her a beyond cheeky smirk. «It’s bound to happen at some point.»

She just rolled her eyes. «Put your damn shirt on.»

Somewhere in there, they had let David know they were alive and would be heading over shortly. They made no mention of the other, though; Killian would join them later, after he went home to change, and honestly—they just wanted to see the reaction, especially from Snow. She did worry a bit about Henry, but knowing how good they were together kept her concern to a minimum.

After Killian pouted some more but eventually complied with her request for clothing (one of the few times she’d ever have to ask, she hoped), she drove him over to his building—which really was close, but he’d taken a Swyft to her place. They shared a quick kiss goodbye and then she was alone.

It was surprising how quickly that empty feeling came over her again now that she was by herself—how quickly she’d gotten used to his presence, particularly over the last few life-changing hours, but the past months as well. Hopefully, the cops weren’t around, because she pressed the gas pedal a little bit harder—she couldn’t wait to see everyone again. Now that she knew for a fact there was someone else on her side—that she didn’t have to isolate herself anymore—she didn’t want to at all.

At least it was a short drive, and Henry was waiting for her on the front porch when she pulled up to the house. “Mom! I missed you!” he shouted as he ran for her, then grabbed her in a bruising hug. God, it seemed like he’d grown half a foot in the last few days.

“I missed you too, kid.” But it took the same amount of effort as usual to kiss the top of his head, so at least she hadn’t missed anything.

She did feel a bit guilty that she’d still managed to succumb to the one thing she’d worked so hard to avoid, but at least she knew it would never happen again.

“You’re all better now?” he asked in a hopeful voice.

“Yup; all better. And I promise to not let myself get that sick again.”

“Good. I was ready to sick Killian on you.”

She snorted; that was not something she was going to try to verify nor dispute. And he didn’t notice, thank God; it was bad enough he knew what cockblocking was. He just dragged her to the backyard, where Snow and Dave were waiting.

Their immediate grins turned over to a bit of shock, probably at her outfit; she was definitely dressed for summer, and while it was unusually warm for the last week of October, it was barely 70 degrees. But she hadn’t felt the breeze on her skin in so long, and hey—she had a point to make.

“Well, don’t you look...summery,” Snow assessed as she gave her a hug; David was, per usual, at the grill. “Oh, but I forgot to tell you: Killian’s coming too.”

Snow was a terrible liar: she hadn’t forgotten at all. If the not-so-hidden gleam in her eye was any hint, this was yet another matchmaking scheme. But Emma could play along this once.

“Oh, okay,” she shrugged, feigning disinterest. “I’ll keep my space.”

Henry was catching her up on what he’d learned at school that week and the latest drama with his friends when Killian arrived. She was trying her damnedest to keep up with what Henry was telling her about his science class, but Killian’s presence was exceedingly distracting—especially with the way he sauntered in wearing a form-fitting t-shirt that both hugged his biceps and revealed a peek at his chest hair, and khaki shorts that showed off his calves. Even though she knew what lay underneath all that, she could still feel the pull of arousal.

She turned her focus back to Henry as Killian greeted Dave and then Snow, trying her best to play it cool. If that was a thing she could still do (probably not). But it was like every part of her was in tune with him now, and couldn’t help but react when he made his way over to the table they were sitting at.

“Is this seat taken?” he enquired, nodding at the chair next to Emma.

“Go ahead,” she said, unable to keep a hint of a smile off her face.

But he didn’t get a chance to sit before Henry had hopped up and wrapped him in a hug, too. Any lingering worries about Henry’s potential reaction immediately disappeared as she watched the tender interaction between them, on both their ends—they’d both clearly felt the absence of the other, so now she was feeling a bit guilty instead.

Like she’d told herself earlier, though: it wouldn't happen again.

They took their seats on either side of her—Killian on her left, Henry on her right—and Henry relaunched his stories. Aside from some light footsie, they hadn’t made contact yet, though his arm resting on the surface of the table was only inches from hers. Eventually, Henry realized that all the parts of Killian’s prosthesis were exposed, so that gave her an opportunity to make a move, when Killian was leaning over the table to show it to Henry.

Surreptitiously, she let her forearm touch his, where he was bracing himself on the table with it. The only indication he gave that he noticed was the brief straightening of his spine, but she immediately sensed his emotions again—happiness, a bit of hunger, but mostly love.

«I missed you,» he told her while Henry was inspecting the mechanics of the prosthesis.

«It wasn’t even an hour,» she teased.

«Are you trying to tell me you don’t feel the same? Because I can tell that’s not true.»

«No, I definitely missed you, too.»

The connection was broken when he sat back down—when Snow brought the food over. She proceeded to mother hen them as she distributed the food, making sure they were both feeling better—and asking some pointed questions about the rose tea.

“Yeah, it did help a lot,” Emma gushed.

“Aye; thank you, milady,” Killian added, ever the gentleman.

Snow seemed pleased, but there was still a level of concern in her manner that anyone could see; she didn’t think her plan was working, to which Emma hid her smirk in a bite of hot dog. (She could see wheels turning in Henry’s head, though.)

She and Killian continued to act cool to each other through the meal, save the occasional brush of the leg under the table (which was mostly to laugh at Snow’s matchmaking attempt).

Finally, Snow left with Henry to take the dishes inside and David cleaned up the grill, leaving them alone. She put her shin against his leg again while pretending to look at her phone.

«Do it when she comes back?» she proposed.

«Yeah, but wait for her to set the pie down; I’d hate for her to drop it.»

«Good point.»

And so, casually, once Snow had brought the pie to the table and made the first cut, Emma wrapped her hand around Killian’s and waited for everyone to notice.

“Emma, do you want ice...OH MY GOD.”

There it was: the reaction they expected from Snow. She’d dropped the serving knife, which landed with a clatter on the table, and was staring at their joined hands with wide eyes and jaw hanging open. Eventually she blinked and slammed her mouth shut, but continued to stare at them.

“But—you were—” she stammered, a pointed finger drifting between the two of them. “I thought—I didn’t—”

Emma was trying really hard not to laugh and could feel how amused Killian was, too. David just looked confused, and Henry was a bit slack-jawed, though she could tell it was in a good way.

Then it was like a lightbulb went on in Snow’s head, and she turned to David. “I called it! I totally called it!”

She then fell into girlish squeals while David, instead, levied a wary eye on Killian. “Is this why you wanted their address?”

“Um, yeah.”

David squinted. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not,” Killian answered.

Henry piped up. “Do I wanna know?”

“Absolutely not!” Emma cut in.

All eyes were on Henry, though, as he stood and walked around Emma’s chair to Killian.

“Do you love my mom?” he asked, with all the severity a 10-year-old boy could muster.

“I do,” Killian said, and it almost sounded like a vow.

“And you promise not to hurt her, or to run away on us?” She didn’t miss the way he said “us”; she was a little surprised they hadn’t discussed it, but Killian knew he was getting a package deal—he had from the beginning.

“I’d rather be sent to the depths of Hades.”

«Drama queen,» she told him, but Killian’s eyes only flickered over to hers for a moment as he continued to hold Henry’s stare.

“Okay then,” Henry nodded, then seemed to think for a moment before launching himself at Killian again. “Welcome to the family.”

She didn’t need their connection to know how that made Killian feel: his eyes grew wide for a moment, but then they closed and he returned the hug full-force. She’d had the same reaction when she was adopted all those years ago; and though this was a totally different situation, it was still the same emotion.

Snow wanted all the details, obviously, and David and Henry wanted none, so they complied until the sun set and it was time to go home, both of them feeling the chill in their weather-inappropriate wardrobes.

They stood by their cars, locked in an embrace—both because of a desire to stay close and desire to get warm.

«Well, that went reasonably well,» he decided.

«Yeah, pretty good. I expected a bit more screaming though.»

«Same,» he chuckled.

«When can I see you next?» This was the part she wasn’t looking forward to; they weren’t in any danger of lovesickness again—not if she had anything to say about it—but there was still the reality that they had different jobs and different homes. (For the time being, at least.)

He shrugged. «We never got to enjoy that pizza. Maybe we try again tomorrow night?»

«Sounds perfect.» She underlined it by rising to her toes to place a lingering kiss on him.

“Are you guys gonna be like this all the time now?” Henry called out from the other side of the Bug, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

“Yup,” she yelled back. “Get used to it.”

“Ugh, fine,” he grumbled, but it was half-hearted; she could hear the happiness in his voice.

«Well, we shouldn’t try to scar him too much.»

«That’s a change in tone from earlier.»

«I didn’t have his approval yet. Didn’t you hear? I’m part of the family now.» She could really fell his joy at that now.

«You already were; you know that, right?»

«It’s nice to have confirmation.»

«Yeah, I know.» She kissed him again. «And I hope you never doubt it again.»

He was the one to pull her close this time, stealing her breath with a kiss that she hoped would get her through the next day. «Not as long as I have you. I love you.»

«I love you, too,» she sighed. «Onto the next adventure?»

«After you, love.»

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

It wasn’t like a switch was flipped and they were just happy-true love all the time. There were still bumps in the road, they had their share of fights, and their past fears and walls still haunted them on occasion.

Several months passed before they moved in together—months that didn’t look all that different from the previous ones, save for the regular sleepover. They couldn’t decide whose apartment to move to, but Henry was the one to quash that dispute when he found a house for sale a couple streets over from Snow and Dave.

They were almost always touching when they were together, and even more so once they lived together—and their connection only grew. She didn’t realize that it could, but the longer they were together, the more impossibly in tune they became.

And she finally got to experience shared dreams—for real this time. And it was mostly amazing, but people with baggage like theirs didn’t only have sweet dreams; they had nightmares, too. More than once, she saw the crash that took Milah, and Killian saw Neal’s death several times. The worst ones were when the two became melded together and they dreamed about losing each other; those were the nights they came together to make sure the dreams weren’t real—to feel the other there.

Granted, that wasn’t the only time they got it on—they did that fairly regularly and with vigor, which was probably why their daughter, Hope, came along sooner rather than later.

(But not before Snow got to plan their wedding, at least. They’d been right: she started the binder the day they met.)

All told, it was...perfect. It was both everything she expected and nothing like it, and she wouldn’t have it any other way, even if it had taken her so long to warm up to the idea.

«You just hadn’t met me yet,» Killian teased, standing behind her on their patio and looking out over their backyard. Snow and David were there, with their son Leo toddling after Hope and Henry chasing them both around. Maybe it was a cliche, but she was pretty sure this was what happily ever after looked like.

«Nope, I hadn’t,» she confirmed, and pulled his arms a bit tighter around her. «I love you.»

«I love you, too.»

*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*――*☆*

thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!

tagging some peeps: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks@mryddinwilt@cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @fergus80@pirateherokillian@bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @killianmesmalls@effulgentcolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @stubble-sandwich @killian-whump @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @distant-rose @athenascarlet @kmomof4@ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose@snowbellewells@idristardis @scientificapricot @let-it-raines @shireness-says@courtorderedcake @its-okay-killian @captainsjedi @a-faekindagirl

#cs ff #cssns 2019 #cs soulmates au #sick of love #my ff

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misstring · 5 years

Text

The Secret I Almost Uncovered (Tim Drake x Reader)

Reader Gender: There is no mention of any gender.

Warnings: Nothing particular that stands out.

Synopsis: Security guards at museums working graveyard shifts have one of the most reports to do with broken glass, burglaries, and vigilantes falling through the glass roof.

Other notes: Reader is working as a security guard and at a cafe.

Working at a museum is like working in another world, all of the tools, mummies, paintings, and other priceless artifacts take you back into time. Working a graveyard shift as a security guard in a museum that is located in the heart of Gotham is like working with electrons. An electron can be anywhere at any point of time, likewise, at any moment, lights can flash by the windows, a window can crack, or even, on occasion, a vigilante, not Batman, will fall through the ceiling.

Tonight, it was a Ti--I mean-- Drake that fell through the ceiling. At least I think it is. All I see is brown and going from process of elimination, Batman--dark blue or black--, Nightwing--in Bludhaven but otherwise blue, very blue--, Red Hood--red and gray, generally--, and the little guy, Robin,--bright red and green, to the point you can see him from across the city if you are high up enough-- it is. There is also the fact that he stayed on the floor for 15 minutes before he actually got up and took a deep breath in and sighed.

I brought over a first-aid kit but by the time I managed to gather up the courage to speak to him, he vanished leaving a note reading 'Sorry, will have a check sent to fix it later'

I mean, sure. They all did that and who sent the check? Batman? No. Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne. Since when did they have a connection with him? Is it part of the job? There were times when the Waynes would donate large sums of money to help out organizations and there were stories of when someone from that family helps out an average citizen in Gotham, struggling to make a living.

Ah, Gotham. I call it the City of Perpetual Darkness. It can be night and it'll be dark, during the day when the sun is shining down as bright as it can, the pollution is enough to darken the sky. People cough, left, right, and center, there is crime happening behind every building, in alleyways, and, ever since Batman showed up, a crazy lunatic rallied up a bunch of people and used the symbol of fun and laughter for fear and terror--an author wrote a horror story of one in the sewers, luring kids in--haven’t read it, heard it was good.

I finished brushing up the shattered glass, which scattered the floor. After taping the location off and writing the report, I ended my shift as the next guy started. I nod, my eyes already partially closing as I haven't been able to sleep with the mayhem the past couple of days. He sighs out as he reads my report. I sign out and leave.

Gotham is never safe for anyone. You can be Oswald Cobblepot and still be in danger. Last I know, someone saw him fighting Red Hood. That was a while ago, though. See, there's a danger for everyone, yet no one wants to leave. It has this addictive aura where once you are hooked, the symptoms of leaving are withdrawing into oneself, looking off into the distance towards Gotham City for extended periods of time, and feeling like a part of your soul is missing.

I look up. People scream all the time, but this one was different. It was not the normal scream of fear or joy, rather a yell of frustration. I'm intrigued. Watching people in pain? Not my thing. Trying to help out someone in trouble? Last time I did that, I was sent to the hospital for several weeks and undergone several surgeries. I am perfectly healthy now and I do not want to ruin that streak. Do I dare, though, a quick glance as to the source of this cry?

The alleyway comes up. I dare, more than a quick glance.

Brown, that almost blended in with the dirt but the shine of the golden stripes gave him away. I stay silent and watch as he taps the brick wall and asks "Why?" He looks up again and aims a gun towards the sky. A grappling hook shoots out of the open end, into the sky and grabs onto the top of the building. He pulls on it and it falls off the building. He falls on his back and sighs. He moves his hand towards his ear and says "Will be late, taking a nap," before falling asleep in the middle of Gotham.

Where are his parents?!

A small figure scales down the building and lands next to Drake. He looks down, slaps Drake a bit and says, "Drake, get up," rather loud and it echoes off the wall. The little figure looks at me. "What do you want? I will kill you if you take another step towards us."

I look around me, no one. Who is he talking to? Oh, wait. He's talking to me!

"Yes, I am talking to you, " he had a sword out in front of him. "Stop looking around like a bumbling idiot."

Okay, he's a rude one.

Before I can answer, Drake gets up and stops the little one from charging at me. He looks at me with recognition and smiles, “You’re that security guard from the glass-roofed museum. Thank you for always bringing us the first aid kit when we fall through the roof.”

The little one exclaims something, but I do not listen; my phone is ringing. I answer my phone and my boss yelled at me, asking where I was. I glance at the time, I ran.

I got into the shop 10 minutes later than usual, but I managed to sneak in a small nap before starting my shift. One of my co-workers had taken cover for an hour into my shift and I started later than usual. He hands me a macchiato with four shots of espresso, my favorite. I thank him and I clock in. It was still dark outside, a couple of hours before anyone in the city would even start to trickle in.

“Hello, what would you like today?” I say, as a small figure comes to the front. I recognized him, Robin, or the little one.

He looks at the board and then at me, “May I have a--” his face showed surprise before it was replaced by his normal scowl, “Oh, it’s you.”

I nod.

He just sighs and asks, “May I bring in Drake so he can rest in the corner?”

I looked to the back, no one was there. Everyone left and I was the only one in the store, aside from the little one. “Yes.”

Relief spreads through his otherwise tense expression. He goes outside and half carries a partially unconscious man. “Come on, Drake,” he whispers out, trying to carry the taller man, but only succeeding in keeping him upright and dragging across the floor. I hurry over and help him onto a bench, bringing him a blanket I kept in my locker for my naps.

His head turns towards Robin and he asks, “You promised to get me coffee.”

Robin clicks his tongue and scowls, “Tell me that when you slept for more than 20 minutes per night. I do not care if your friends are in danger, or if you have to solve this case to save hundreds. If you cannot take care of yourself, you cannot take care of anyone else.”

“Dami,” He whispers out before falling asleep.

He turns towards me and apologizes for the inconvenience. I offer him a cup of hot chocolate and he deepens his scowl. “I am not a child.”

“I never said you were,” I say, fixing myself a cup of hot chocolate alongside the other one. I place the cup in front of him and as I drink my drink at the front. No one really cared except for the owner, who was not in at the moment.

Police sirens whiz by and Robin stands up, “Someone will be back for him,” he says, leaving the café through the front door.

I collect the two empty cups. He may act like an adult but he still had his childlike innocence within him, minuscule, but prevailing. What an interesting turn of events.

I wash the dishes and as I set the cups on the drying rack to dry, Tim-- I mean-- Drake sits up and shouts, “Damian!” He looks around with his eyes wide as he realized two things: 1. He wasn’t in his safe house or wherever he goes after the vigilante work, and 2. He just gave away Robin’s secret identity. Or maybe more, but I wouldn’t know.

“Good to see that you are alive. Robin said someone would be here for you soon,” I say, picking up my Wonder Woman blanket from the floor--she is a great person, Princess Diana, if you ever get the chance to meet and talk with her.

“I-- Where am I?” he asks me.

I smile and point to the top of the menu which had the store name.

“Who are you?” he asks me, looking intently at my face.

“I can ask the same for you, Timothy Drake-Wayne. You aren’t what you show yourself to be.”

“Actually,” he says without missing a beat, “My name is Drake because Tim Drake gave me my name. He insisted that I use Drake. What am I, a duck?”

I burst out laughing. “What? Is your name Alvin, or something silly like that?”

He looks at me with seriousness coated over his face. “How did you know?”

How did I know? How did I know what? His name? “It was a random guess,” I still my laughter.

He sighs and as sirens whiz by in the opposite direction, he says, “Well, I’ve got to go. Hope business is well,” He leaves through the door calling out, “Thank you for letting me take a nap here.”

“Wait!” I call out behind him, but it was too late.

Gotham has many secrets. Some are buried with people, others buried through lies. I tried to uncover them. The mystery shrouding the vigilantes; I was so close to uncovering one, so close to blowing out the cloud from my vision before my one chance slipped through my fingers.

Why do I still love this city?

---Fin.

Thank you for reading! This is also published on wattpad and ao3.

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mssjynx · 5 years

Note

Ohmtoonz , #31 & NSFW por favor i just think it would be so perfect :)

alpha / beta / omega au

ohmtoonz drabble

31. You just walked in on me. I’m pissed off. I’m nesting. But you’re here now so get your ass in my nest or get the fuck out.

warning: nsfw

a/n; reminder that these arent really being edited- i apologise for mistakes ^.^

Luke’s phone had died halfway through the day. It was only an irritation as he worked, tucking the useless device away. He knew he’d be able to get a charger at Ryan’s house as he was going to be meeting his coworker in the afternoon.

They were both programming a game together and Luke was sure it was going to be an Ace. He knew his audience and he knew that the game was perfect. It was the first time the two had met up outside the office but they both knew it would need a lot of extra work. Luke had some coding he wanted to input but wanted to make sure his coworker agreed.

It was a team job; they didn’t make decisions without one another.

When he made it to the man’s apartment, he didn’t wait to knock on the door. Ryan had told him in the past that he was often wearing headphones and was one to miss the sounds of someone at the door. He’d let the alpha know that his key was sitting in the fake pot-plant to the right of the door so after a few minutes of waiting, Luke fetched it and opened the door himself.

“Ryan?” he called as he stepped into the dark apartment. It was unusually quiet, no light in the living room or in the kitchen. He noticed the scattered pills across the kitchen bench and stress tickled at his nerves. “Ryan, are you here?”

He walked down the hall, flinching at the musky scent of discomfort and frustration. It wasn’t difficult to follow it, reaching a door that he slowly pushed open. The scent slammed him and his eyes were swept up by a pair of sharp, angry greys. “I told you not to come today,” Ryan growled, the words low and harsh from where the omega was curled up in a tangle of blankets and pillows. Luke gawked.

“You’re an omega?” he exclaimed. He’d never caught the man’s scents before, unable to read him like he could the other omegas he came across. He’d just assumed that Ryan was an omega. “My phone died, I’m sorry- I didn’t- How did- Are you okay?”

“Suppressants,” he grumbled, dropping his head and burying his face into the blankets. Luke caught sight of the bare skin of his shoulders, shiny with sweat. When he lifted his head, there was a daring look of anger in his eyes and Luke couldn’t help feeling awed at the emotional, sharp air of the room. He’d never seen Ryan angry before and couldn’t help himself from tasting the spicy emotion in the air around him. “Well you’re here now. Either get in my nest, or get the fuck out of my place,” he snarled, baring his teeth in a territorial growl.

Yet he’d invited Luke in. The alpha blinked. “Get in?” he questioned, unsure if he’d heard the omega right.

A sharp nod was his give away before Ryan was burying himself in the blankets again and huffing. Another moment of hesitation; should he get in? It was definitely breaching the line of just coworkers. But Ryan looked stressed and frustrated, he was probably starting his preheat. But leaving him alone to deal with his symptoms was not an idea he liked. The very thought had him stepping into the room, closing the door behind him.

Ryan only grunted, his back heaving with a deep breath. Luke shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes. “Where do you want me?” he asked, dropping his bag by the bedside before crawling onto the bare mattress and not touching the nest. He knew how some omegas could be extremely territorial and he wanted to follow Ryan’s rules.

As much as the alpha liked to be in control of himself, he knew this situation belonged to Ryan. Thankfully, the omega rolled over, revealing his bare torso but also letting Luke know he was wearing boxers. His burning hand caught Luke’s wrist and tugged. “Do you care if I scent you?” was the mumbled question as Luke crawled into the nest, flopping down beside the omega and chuckling as he climbed atop him immediately.

“Not at all,” he allowed, letting his head fall back so Ryan could press his warm face against the alpha’s cool neck. The nose against his scent gland wasn’t shy at all and with a heavy sigh, the body atop Luke’s melted. “Am I allowed to ask what’s going on with you?” He was hesitant in lifting his hand, carding fingers through Ryan’s sweaty hair and rubbing little circles at the top of the man’s neck.

Ryan purred softly, nuzzling closer. “Pre-heat,” he murmured. A bolt of electricity passed from Ryan’s hot lips to the soft skin of Luke’s neck but neither reacted as the omega hummed to himself. “I get like this for my two days before it eases off. Then the heat is ten times worse.”

Luke frowned at the ceiling, fingers crawling down to the base of Ryan’s neck where he continued his little massage. “Sounds shit,” he muttered, blunt in his drowsiness. It was Ryan’s scent, he decided, that was putting him to sleep. It was delicious and sexy and addictive all at once and he couldn’t take a breath without another dosage of the drug. A hum of agreement and Luke was all too aware of Ryan’s fingertips running up and down the inside of his forearm. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be nesting with you?” he asked, unsure if it was a question he was allowed to ask into the heat of the room. But Ryan’s scent was overwhelming and he could feel his body reacting to the heat and closeness with the omega. The last thing he wanted was to make a mistake with Ryan. Not only was the omega an incredibly smart and helpful coworker, he was someone Luke wanted to befriend and keep around long after the game had been produced.

The omega only shrugged, not lifting his head from Luke’s neck. “You’re hot, I’ll think about it later,” he slurred. “You smell too good to leave me.” Those words were groaned against his jaw and Luke shuddered as that nose brushed over his pulsepoint again. Heat flooded his veins as a hot, wet tongue pressed flat to the gland, tasting Luke’s scent and committing it to his memory.

The sensation was mind controlling and Luke couldn’t stop the low growl that sounded from his throat as he closed his eyes, focusing on the tongue that massaged the soft skin. “Ryan, that’s- you can’t be doin’ that,” he groaned, refusing to open his eyes. Yet instead of drawing away or withdrawing the intimate contact, Ryan didn’t even seem to hear him as he trailed his lips down the centre of Luke’s throat. Whether he meant to or not as he shifted downwards, his hips squirmed, thighs closing around Luke’s hips and grinding his pelvis down on Luke’s.

The alpha couldn’t stop the strained moan from seeping past his bared teeth, fingers crooked as they traced hard lines up the omega’s bare back. As Ryan arched into the touch, he pressed his groin down against Luke and let out a whisper of a moan against the base of Luke’s throat.

Those fingers continued until they hit waistband, sliding around to grasp Ryan’s hips as the omega rocked back and forth. “Ryan, you ain’t thinkin’ straight,” he tried again but the coil of pressure lining his insides fought for him to draw the omega closer.

The thought of rolling them over and grinding against him, of nothing between bare skin, of the pretty sounds Ryan would make. The omega hummed, sounding drowsy and careless as he brushed off Luke’s remark. It wasn’t like Luke could hide the effect that Ryan was having on him. He was hard where Ryan rocked against him and by the way the omega kept his nose tucked up beneath Luke’s jaw, he assumed his scent was thick with a wanting he hadn’t ever considered he might have.

With Ryan so close, to hot, so addictive; there was no stopping the way the heat and electricity was passed between them.

“I don’t wanna spend my heat alone again,” Ryan murmured, sounding far away as he dropped his face to Luke’s shoulder and nipped at the cool skin. “Want you to stay with me.”

And of course that made sense. Luke had heard from his friends about how terrible omega heats were, especially when spent alone. The thought of leaving Ryan to deal with the pain of being alone and unmated was one that Luke was eager to ignore, but he couldn’t help the way his heart twisted at his coworker’s choice of words. Did he want Luke to help him through his heat or did he just want any old alpha? Was it just a convenience matter? Why should that bother Luke in the first place seeing as they didn’t know each other any further than gaming coworkers?

“You sure it’s me you want here?” he asked, rubbing little circles into the burning skin of Ryan’s hips. The omega dragged his pelvis against Luke’s with a breathy moan.

“Yes, you,” he assured. That tongue flattened against the muscle of his shoulder and Luke bared his teeth at the ceiling as little sharp teeth pressed into the skin. It was an intimate touch, a bite like that, and Luke didn’t realise he was pushing up to meet Ryan’s grinds until the omega was whimpering softly against his collarbone.

And with too much lust crowding Luke mind, he accepted that Ryan did want this and that if it became a problem in the future, he would sort it all out. His hands drifted down to cover Ryan’s ass, squeezing and dragging him down so Luke could grind up into his heat.

It was when Luke pushed up, moving to roll Ryan under him where he could have better access to the omega’s gorgeous body, a better angle for him to rut against him, to kiss him, to- He didn’t even get to think about it as Ryan shoved his body up off Luke’s chest, poised above him and meeting his eyes with an aggressive snarl.

Luke’s hands fell off the man’s ass, raising in the air beside him to show his lack of intent as Ryan’s glare froze him still. It was unexpected for the omega to get so furious all of a sudden and the last thing Luke wanted to do was piss him off enough to get thrown out. If Ryan didn’t want him there, he would leave right away but the way those dark green eyes were locked on his own had a different type of anger and Luke couldn’t help his curiosity as he stared right back up.

Another low growl from the omega, sounding more like a warning than a direct threat.

“Tell me what I did wrong,” Luke said, voice low and undemanding. He poised it as a statement, calling Ryan to respond but didn’t use any touch of aggression or power to force an answer out of the man. Ryan glared for a second longer, top lip twitching to flash his sharp white teeth.

Then he was shuffling down, fingers worming under Luke’s jeans and jerking them down. Luke, still confused, reached between them to unbutton his pants, moving slowly as Ryan snarled again, before redrawing so the omega could pull the pants off by himself. It was a bit of a challenge, Ryan cursing the denim as he pulled and tugged before he was yanking them of Luke’s feet and throwing them to the side.

“Did I do something wrong?” Luke asked, more question in his tone as he held his breath. The sharp look from Ryan had his worry lingering, not wanting to pull the omega close if it would only anger him again.

“My nest. I’m in charge.” Those gorgeous eyes fell to Luke’s boxers, unashamedly tented, and Luke watched the anger drain in replace of a hazy lust. He could smell the want on Ryan’s every breath and had to hold his hands in fists to restrain himself.

But from those five words, he understood.

He could remember speaking with Jonathan after the man had helped Evan through his first heat of their relationship. The other alpha had told him how in heat, his omega (like most) was mostly submissive and vulnerable around him, not wanting anything more than to be fucked and pampered until the fever and frustration would leave him be.

But during the preheat was when omegas were different, the two days before a heat where they were irritable, frustrated and anxious to do something. It was hard for omegas to sit still or be comfortable when they could feel their symptoms starting. Jon told him how Evan got would get aggressive and controlling in preheat, especially when it came to sex.

And Ryan was the same. In his nest, in his home; it was his territory and Luke was in it. Ryan wasn’t going to be submissive, he wanted control and if that’s what would make him happy, Luke realised he wasn’t going to mind.

“Fine by me, then,” he murmured, unable to pull his eyes away from Ryan as the omega eyed his boxers with a look of hunger. When those pretty eyes drew up to Luke, he felt a shiver drive down his spine as he sat up atop Luke’s thighs and slipped his own hand slowly between his thighs. He didn’t look away from the alpha as he fingers slipped beneath his boxers and as his hand disappeared from Luke’s sight, the omega let out a breathy whine. Heat burned in Luke’s stomach.

With Ryan’s gaze on him, he didn’t move or touch the omega, helpless to the sight of Ryan fingering himself open. He moved slowly and deliberately, rolling his hips with his own movements as he bit back little gasps and moans from the touch. The scent of his slick slowly filled the room until Luke couldn’t take a breath without feeling the strain in his arousal.

The smile that twitched at Ryan’s face, breathless and flushed, was one of tease and humour as he continued his slide of his fingers. He tilted his head, balancing on one hand as he bent down to press a biting kiss to Luke’s jaw. “You can open me up next time,” he purred, the words far too seductive and far too dirty for the usually shy and reclusive omega.

Luke palmed himself, unable to keep his hands still as Ryan nipped at his jaw and panted in his ear. The thought of drawing those sounds out of Ryan with his own fingers was a delicious one. The thought of fucking him with his fingers, with his knot, with his tongue. He wanted to stay with Ryan in his heat and fuck him through it; see how many different ways he could bring the omega to orgasm.

“Next time?” he asked, letting his calloused fingers trail up the milky skin of Ryan’s thigh. Goosebumps rose beneath his touch, the muscles in his legs shaking as the omega continued to work himself open. With his eyes roaming the gorgeous body of his coworker, he allowed both hands to settle on his thighs, thumbs kneading the tense muscle. “You think there’ll be a next time?”

A hoarse laugh slipped from Ryan’s lips, his breath hitching with a whine as he hung his head for a moment, forehead brushing against Luke’s. “If you think that after this I’m gonna go through my heat alone, you really are a sadist.”

The flush that was brushing along his cheekbones was far too heated, lips pink and slick from how much he’d been biting and licking them. As he drew his bottom lip between his teeth again, Luke felt his breathing become shallow. Ryan’s body was shaking as he pushed three of his fingers into himself, eyes rolling back as he gasped and panted.

The self control Luke had to hold onto was physically exhausted, hand on himself as he pushed his hips down into the mattress. “C’mon Ry,” he managed, pushing words through his teeth as Ryan gazed down at him in a hungry haze.

He couldn’t explain the relief when Ryan drew his fingers out of himself, sigh shuddering through his entire body as he shifted above Luke. His fingers were hasty with tugging at Luke’s boxers, tongue flicking out at the sight of the alpha’s arousal. He was swollen and dripping, the little display Ryan had given him had had its desired effect.

“I’m in control.” The warm hand pressed flat to Luke’s sternum, not allowing the alpha’s attention to stray. A reminder. A command. Luke nodded, hips jerking at the hand that curled around him. “Rip my boxers off.”

Luke wasn’t going to hesitate, flicking out his claws and tearing through the cloth so he could rip the fabric off and away. Ryan purred at the action, not stopping Luke from fitting his hands around the omega’s hips. No more words were exchanged, Luke watching every flex and ripple of Ryan’s lean muscle as the omega positioned himself above the alpha, slick dripping down to coat Luke’s arousal before he began to sink down.

Not even fully seated, Luke was drawing blood from Ryan’s hips, the omega gasping and whimpering as Luke stretched him open. The elastic band of self control in Luke’s gut was stretched to its length and he feared he wouldn’t be able to keep it from snapping much longer.

Especially as Ryan ground down to seat himself, sitting full and heavy as he keened. Luke sucked in are through his teeth and let his head fall back, hand still pressing down on his heaving chest. “My nest.” A rough reminder.

Luke bared his teeth, growling at himself as he flexed his arms. Then Ryan began to move, a breathless laugh falling from his lips, and Luke couldn’t help but wonder if the omega was trying to see how far he could push him.

#anon #ohmtoonz #fic #fanfic #sm.ut #ns.fw #omegaverse #alpha/beta/omega #alpha beta omega #abo #a/b/o #banana bus squad #alpha! luke #omega! ryan

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