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eupheme · 8 months

Text

— Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On

Hancock (FO4) x Sole Survivor!F!Reader

Rated E - 5.8k

Tags - 3rd person very loose pov, sole survivor!f!reader (no descriptors), canon-typical raider violence & death, mutual pining, teasing, partners to lovers, two idiots in love, waiting out a storm, mention of food/eating, SS!reader gets dicked down wearing Hancock’s coat, the hat stays on, fingering, oral (f receiving), spitting, manual restraints, multiple orgasms, PiV, creampie, mention of a cigarette/smoking, references to chems

started this while doing research for wasteland, baby - and was consumed with thoughts of a slightly softer “oh fuck, I’m in love” Hancock

It’s a dangerous thing - to have feelings for the person you’re traveling with. Too many things can go wrong in an instant and yet… here they are. Steadfastly ignoring the something that has been building, thick enough to taste.

Luckily, an incoming rad storm might just be the push they need.

He’s fucked.

Figuratively, not literally. Unfortunately.

That’s part of the problem, if he could call it that. And he probably shouldn’t - because it’s not her fault. Just his.

It was a rookie move, falling for his traveling companion. Should have kept it just professional - strictly business. No ‘get to know you’s, no inside jokes.

But he had never been the professional type. Not his style.

And somewhere along the way - between getting the shit kicked out of them, the close calls, the long miles of barren road - something had started to grow. Curling around his ribs and filling his guts up like ripe tarberries.

Letting it grow and flourish.

Unable to shake it.

It hadn’t been long before he had known something was up.

That it was something besides that urge to get away from it all, to wander, that kept him sticking with her.

That along the way, the idea of this stranger having his back became comforting. That he knew he had hers - even if he half-thinks she have a death wish, with the way she rushs into things half-cocked.

He can’t understand, but he tries. The bits he’s gleaned from late nights - passing the bottle of whisky back and forth even though it makes her grimace. The pieces of her past that have slowly been revealed, forming a half-completed picture.

It’s enough to make his blood boil, that scorching feeling of vengeance curling in his chest, eating up his insides. It’s been a long time since he felt that way - making him think back to the night where he had stained his hands with all that red.

He’d do it again, for her.

It’s that realization made him think that just maybe - he cares.

And not just in a friendly kind of way.

He thinks it began in the middle of a firefight.

Bullet whizzing past their heads. A nest of raiders flowing out from a jutting wreck of scaffolding they had missed.

Several downed already, lost among the ruins. A souped-up pistol in her hand, as the other shielded shrapnel from a hand-made grenade.

Missing the two that snuck up, flanking them.

He had taken one down. A nasty shot to the gut, the Raider gurlging as his legs gave out. Her shot going wide - he can still remember the look on her face as she reached for the gun on her back.

The other Raider taking the moment to bowl him over, a padded shoulder to the chest. Knocking them both against a piece of metal fencing that creaked under their weight - his shotgun clattering to the pavement.

An arm pressed against his throat, choking him - as the other fumbled for a knife. Ironic, he thought, that he’d be gutted, after all he’s done.

But she had swooped down. Fingers twisted around the barrel and forestock of her rifle. Bringing it down on the raiders head like it was a louisville slugger, snarling like she herself had gone feral.

Her hand, warm in his as she hauled him up, the other splaying across his chest. Face streaked with grease and splattered with blood but in that moment, she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

“Thanks, sunshine.” He had murmured.

Her smile had been small, as she pressed the gun back into his hand, “Can’t have you getting stabbed. I’d miss that mouth of yours.”

Such a small thing - her own joke. The way he filled the space with chatter on the road. But he’d been smitten.

He had been good looking, before. He wasn’t half-bad now. Charisma could get you a long way, and his silver tongue hadn’t rotted like the rest of him.

Charming words - flirty and sometimes filthy - slid easily from him in the heat of battle, the wind-down after. When he was feeling good about things, the words coming without thought.

Choking on them, when she turned to give him a look - embarrassed, sometimes. So goddamn cute and flustered, it made him want to do it more.

Other times - a look, that was soft and lingering.

“Yeah?”

Almost a challenge in the way she said it.

He could never follow it up.

Follow through.

Because back home, it wasn’t an issue. A rejection meant nothing other than a soft blow to his ego. Brushed off with a hit of a favorite indulgence, finding company in another.

But here - it had a weight. It could ruin something he truly has enjoyed. Throwing in with her had been one of the best decisions he had made. He couldn’t fuck that up. Not this time.

So he swallowed his words - before she was racing off, and he was following at her heels. Off to trouble that could be their last, and here he was - that clever tongue tied in a knot.

That’s when he knew that he had it bad.

Bad enough that out of the two of them, he had been the one peering up at the sky overhead. Where the muted hazy grey was rolling into a sickly green, rain starting to drop down. A rumble of thunder.

The first to suggest stopping at the next place they could, as the spaces between the raindrops started to dwindle.

“We can make it.” She had shrugged, as his jog slowed to a walk.

Catching her arm at the elbow, gesturing with the muzzle of his shotgun to the side.

“Not if you don’t want to end up like me, sister.”

Ignoring - but not missing - the chastising look she shot him. His head tilting towards the roof that looms just over the ridge.

An old diner - rusting chrome and shattered windows, but it would do. Well past soaked by the time they scrambled over the hill and down. Grateful to find that it was abandoned.

Picked over, for sure - but as long as there was a roof over their heads, he hadn’t cared. Combing through junk was her thing, anyways. He was just the pack mule.

Now - he’s multi-tasking. Trying not to think about what he’s thinking about.

About her changing in the room behind him. Peeling the patchwork raider gear off her curves. All that soft, smooth skin underneath.

Distracting himself by eyeing the radroach that is skittering across the pavement outside the front door - just out of range of his shotgun.

Because of course, out of everything in the wasteland, that was the thing she was scared of. Not super mutants, not even the pack of mirelucks that had them cornered, just the week before.

A goddamn bug.

He laughs, a soft hushed thing. Catching himself with a grimace.

Because, like he said.

He’s fucked.

The rain that patters overhead would be calming - if it had been 200 years ago, and not dripping with radiation.

She shivers, draping the tattered pants and worn shirt over the back of two rotting, wooden chairs - a makeshift drying rack. Missing that insulated warmth of her Vault Suit, trading it back at Sanctuary for worn clothes - old and salvaged Raider gear.

It had become hard to blend in, in all that blue.

It had made sense at the time, but in the dark and chilly backroom, she finds herself regretting it. Thinking that next time - she’ll pack it with her.

Trying to find the dampest parts of the packed gear to lay out, next. Lining up the bedroll next to the glow of the lantern.

Don’t need any more must or mold than there already was.

Pawing through her bag afterwards, coming up with something to pass for dinner. A can of cram, their only good fork wedged between two knuckles. A sweet roll split in two - the sticky crumbs clinging to her fingers as she nudged the door open.

Feeling vulnerable in the faded undergarments she wore underneath. Dreading facing him, not because of what he’ll say - that part, she is actually curious to hear.

She’d given up on the idea of modesty long ago. Traveling on the road and through the dirt and blood and grime will do that.

It was almost freeing.

No. It’s because - it makes her hope. Makes her think that dressing down might actually get him to notice her, in a way that’s more than the surface-level, flirty conversation she’s seen him have with dozens of people.

In the old world, maybe she’d wear a dress for him. Something red and cut low in the front - bare arms and legs.

Now, it’s faded cotton and vulnerability.

A “I can trust you like this” and a “Maybe if you like it, it will make me brave enough to ask.”

Rejection dressed like this would sting, surely. Even if it’s her fault, for having a crush on someone who doesn’t see her that way.

Her eyes linger on his back, where he stands watch. Where he hadn’t heard her open the door just yet, drifting to the other side of the counter to watch the rumbling, green storm roll in.

The tin clatters on the counter, drawing his attention. A flicker of lightning illuminating his profile as he turns, eyes widening.

Hancock’s eyes drop automatically. Quickly and then a slow drag - it’s like watching him after she’s taken a hit of Psycho.

Dark and glittering under her own careful watch, before they’re snapping back up, and he’s blinking.

Pulling himself back.

“Is that dinner?” He asks, clearing his throat when the words come out rough and low.

Her face falls, just for an instant. A small smile replacing it, as she scoops up the tin of cram before tossing it his way. He catches it neatly - popping the lid open, plucking the fork from her fingers.

She should have known better.

Hancock was just a flirt, never taking her bait. It was a good thing, she thought. Honorable, despite the grey that’s soaked into both of their moral codes.

He digs the fork in, breaking off a piece of the preserved meat. Handing the first bite to her, unable to help another quick look as he lowers himself to one of the stools that curves around the diner countertop.

Not that he hasn’t seen her before. Never quite this bare - but close enough, from the quick times they’ve had to change clothes.

It didn’t mean anything.

“So uh, what’s with the getup?” Hancock can’t resist asking, his tone deceptively light, “Or should I say, lack thereof?

“Clothes are soaked,” She snorts around the mouthful, trying to sound disinterested, “Besides, you’re always telling me it’s not good to let the rads soak in.”

He’s curious now, catching that slight edge. Not usually so defensive - that expression she makes when she’s flustered. It makes him want to nudge at it, poke at that little crack.

“Hey, you don’t hear me complain’, sister.” Hancock grins, taking the fork back, “That’s a real good look for you.”

Always a joke.

Her eyes roll as she sits down on the stool to his left, her knee knocking against his. The halves of sweet roll balanced on the curling, discarded tin, for after.

They share the makeshift dinner. Passing the fork back and forth, trying not to think about how easy it feels to be like this.

Companionable silence, beneath the rumbling, dark green sky. Tucked away and sheltered from the storm.

She stares out across the wasteland, lost in thought. Moving on to other things, already planning for the morning. If there’s any stops they need to make on the way back to Sanctuary.

While his eyes wander - a sideways glance that drifts down her form greedily, only to shift away when her own lift.

A breeze cuts through the building where windows once lived, making her shiver. Arms moving from the countertop to wrap around a bare middle, curling in on herself.

“You cold, sunshine?” He asks with concern, bringing her back.

She hadn’t noticed, but now she does. The chill starting to sink in, now that she’s not moving, not covered in the layers and padded armor.

Goosebumps raise on her skin. Arms crossing tighter across her chest, as her lips part to answer.

But Hancock is already shrugging off his maroon frock, swiveling in his seat to swing it around her shoulders.

She rarely seen him without it. Fuck, he even sleeps in the damn thing - a prized possession, if he ever had one.

“Thanks.” The word is layered with sincerity, as she pulls it close around her, the high collar brushing her cheek.

Warmer already. The inside is soft against her skin, the fabric worn and stained and smelling like him.

Silence lingers for a moment, as they stare at the darkening sky. The heavy blanket of rain that still patters on the rooftop, a slow drip down to the tile floor on the other side of the room.

"Hope this lets up by morning," She says as she leans, warmer now - elbows pressing into the stained laminate counter.

Eyes out of focus, thoughts already running off without her. "Stop by Sanctuary, pick up some things for Tenpines. Haven't been there in a bit, been wondering how they've been holding up."

He mirrors her - feeling bare without his coat. A heavy lean on his left elbow, the swivel of the chair bumping his knee against hers, "’m sure they're fine. Gotta be better off than they were before."

A smirk crosses his features, a glance from the corner of his eye, "'Sides, not every day you get saved by the fearless leader of the Minutemen. That oughta keep 'em going for a while."

There's a groan as she slumps, the heels of her hands pressing into her eyes. Garvey's enthusiasm and her recent promotion to General a source of embarrassment, even if she bore the weight of it well.

"Yes, the fearless leader," She mocks, her head turning his way. Pushing herself up, her arms spreading wide, "If only they could see me now."

And they might not be able to, but he can.

Not just the soft expanse of her skin, peeking out from beneath his coat. The hollow of her throat, the curve of her breast and the strain of her tits against worn fabric that will be forever seared into his mind.

Not only just that, though. That something that he can see inside her - that was there when he had decided to leave Goodneighbor. That lingers with him, tethering them together as he follows at her side. And yes, he does stretch the truth - who doesn’t? He wouldn’t make half as many deals, otherwise.

But he’s isn’t, now.

She is unaware of the thoughts that tumble through his mind, quick as old snapshots. A curling amber film strip, tucked into a canister.

Instead, there’s a roll of her eyes as her comment of "really, only you could pull this coat off" lands on ears that had been muted, in the way his mind drifts. How the low pooling of warmth in his belly turns sharp and cramps, at the thought of Preston Garvey spending time in such company. Like this - without him.

"I wouldn’t say that." He hears himself saying. Voice a little lower, raspier, than usual.

Maybe it's bravery. Maybe it's him finally seeing her intent - maybe it's the moment where he's realizing that after tonight, she's no longer just his again.

His eyes drag over her again, slower this time. And he lets her catch them.

"From here, things are looking pretty good."

She stills, eyes rounding. A swivel of her chair until knee-to-knee becomes thigh-to-thigh- something akin to hope slipping into her tone.

“Yeah?”

He reaches - fingers tracing the collar of his coat, thumb rubbing against the hollow of her throat.

“I’d say so.” Hancock tells her, “Look like a goddamn dream, if I’m being honest.”

She’s tired of waiting. She’s done enough of it. Eyes on his as her chin tilts up, just hovering.

He’s tired, too.

With a lean, he takes the offering. Ruined lips press against soft ones. Ones that part for him, a soft sound at the greedy dart and swipe of his tongue, until she’s meeting him.

She’s sweet - he can taste the sugar on her tongue, melding with the taste of her. Fingers press against his chest, where his heart hammers. Sliding over lithe shoulders until they’re wrapping around, pulling him closer.

He’s stronger than he looks. The seat squeaks when he leans, his palms tracing her waist, her hips. Tucking beneath her thighs - right against the curve of her ass as Hancock lifts his hips, taking her with him.

She moves, his name a soft sound in her throat. Letting him lead, letting him ease her onto the edge of the counter. A sense of relief and hope floods through her, dripping down to settle warm and wanting between the thighs that spread open so he can step between them.

His cock swells, where it’s trapped inside his pants. Easing the ache with a roll of his hips, pressing himself against the thin fabric covering her core. The breath she inhales in response is shaky. Another soft sound, so different than the assured tone he’s used to.

He wants to hear it again.

It’s easy to set the pace - the pointed press of his hips. Her hand finding his, drawing it up to her breast. Letting him cup her, the soft weight. Letting him press his thumb against that tight peak, catch it between his fingers until she’s gasping against his grinning mouth.

Her mouth drops, catching his chin. The tip of a tongue between parted lips press against his cheek, warmth breath against his jaw making him growl.

“Please-” She’s murmuring, against his skin. Against muscle and sinew, as his own lips follow.

Fingers biting into his skin, as his teeth graze her jaw. Her head tilting back, baring her throat to him, as her hips rock to meet his. Eyes fluttering shut as her chest heaves, as his other hand curls against the curve of her hip, keeping her close.

His tongue peeks out, dragging against sweat and rain-dewed skin. A groan rattles in his throat, his own voice distant and rasping.

“Fuck, I need to taste you.” He can feel her moan, against his lips at his words, “Lean back for me, doll.”

She’s soft, pliable. Unwinding herself from him as she obeys, only for those hazy eyes to open - meeting his beetle-black ones.

“Wait,” She’s protesting, hands slipping to press flat against on his chest. A sudden realization - shoulder curling back so his coat slides off it, “Let me take this off.”

“Leave it.” Hancock’s head lifts to kiss her again, his hand curling around the back of her neck.

She huffs against his mouth, before it turns into a sigh. His tongue brushing against her lower lip, before she pulls back again.

Not wanting to forget her train of thought.

“What if I make a mess on your coat?”

He groans at that, the hand on her hip drifting lower. Cupping her over the thin piece of fabric, fingers pressing down.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He husks, “I’d fuckin’ love that. Never gonna take it off.”

It makes her scoff, cheeks burning, “You never do, anyways. You-”

He shuts her up with his fingers - tugging at the elastic waistband, pulling them down until she’s bare. Letting her kick them off, before he’s pushing her back against the counter.

Arching over her soft form as his mouth wanders, his hips grinding against hers. Teeth nipping at her throat, lips brushing where her heartbeat flutters. Clever fingers tracing the seam of her sex, brushing over soft lips - teasing.

She’s so fucking wet, he can feel how his fingers glide over her skin. How it smears on her thighs, as they spread wider for him.

“What do you want?”

It makes her sigh - that voice, so low and rasping - and she’s clenching around nothing already.

“You,” She’s unable to help but whine, “Please, you-”

His laugh is rough, a rattling chuckle in his throat, “You have me, sunshine.”

Middle finger parting her, teasing at her entrance, the calloused pad of his thumb circling around the bud of her clit. Sinking into the wet heat as she groans, starting a slow pump of his textured finger.

Pressing deep with a slow thrust. Another, and then another, until she’s taking a second. Stretching her wide, as her fingers twist in his stained shirt. Grasping for his shoulders as her hips buck into his touch.

“Should say how do you want it?” The kiss he presses against her throat is almost reverent, “Because I don’t think I have it in me to go slow right now.”

“Slow, later.,” She moans, as his fingers press deep, “Need you.”

He grins, “Love how you think, sweetheart.”

Hancock’s head ducks, moving down to her collarbone, then lower. She’s already reaching to tug the cups of her bra down, baring the curves of her breasts to him.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” He hums, fingers brushing over the soft weight again, cupping one in his hand. Still fucking her open with the other, curling and stroking until she’s panting.

Tongue peeking out to flatten, and then drag across the tight peak of her nipple. Her hands grasping for him again, as there’s the briefest pinch of teeth.

“Hancock.” She grits out, a swivel of her hips against his, grinding into his fingers.

His own rocking against the back of his hand, where he’s hard and aching. Never thinking he’d know what it’s like to have his partner begging like this.

He wants to hear more. Every little sound she makes, as his mouth moves lower. Licking wet stripes against her stomach and abdomen.

Until he’s plunking down on the padded chrome stool he’s been straddling. Gazing at where she’s wrapped around his glossy fingers.

Watching how she twitches and bucks and gasps when his thumb swipes across her clit, his name on parted lips again.

“Love hearin’ you say my name like that.” He purrs, “Can’t wait to hear how it sounds when you come.”

Leaning forward, inhaling her scent before his tongue swipes above his fingers. Her hips leave the countertop, the moan loud as he laughs - his other hand pressing flat against her stomach.

Holding her down, as he teases her again. Short, pointed licks against her throbbing clit. Her cunt is as sweet as her mouth, his own groan caught in his throat as his tongue dips inside her.

Mourning all the nights he could have spent like this. Spending the time as evening turns to night, then again as night turns to dawn. Drowning in the taste of her instead of clenching his teeth until his jaw aches, as he tries to keep quiet. Dreaming of this.

He leans back, just enough to press a wet kiss against her clit. The soft suck a sharp contrast with the texture of his rough fingers as he fucks her open.

She was right - it’s messy. Dripping down the curve of her thighs, the damp stain mixing with others on his weathered coat.

Everything is so dry, in the wasteland. Dirt roads and dead trees. He relishes in the wet suck of her cunt, how it’s this way right now because of him.

His cheeks hollow, a swirl of his tongue before he’s adding to it. Leaning back to let his spit drip down, his thumb dragging it across the tight bud.

She’s whimpering. It’s been ages since she’s had anyone - the low throb in her belly swiftly building.

In the before - she thinks she’d be embarrassed to be splayed out like this. Stripped near-bare on the counter of a diner, thighs spread wide as his fingers pump into her aching cunt.

But he eats her like a meal, left hand moving from her belly. Wrapping around a thigh to tug her closer, hiking it over a shoulder.

Groaning into her pussy as his tongue flicks against her clit, smearing slick across his chin. Pressing closer, unhindered by the usual curve of cartilage and flesh as he molds himself against her.

“Hancock.” His name is a sharp gasp, as she clenches around him. Breath held in her throat as she watched with half-lidded eyes.

Focused on the tight string that winds with each careful curl of his fingers. He slips in a third and she all but sobs, chasing her pleasure with a needy rock of her hips.

Chanting him name as it curls low in her belly.

“Hancock. Hancock-”

And then, the prettiest of all.

“John. Fuck, John, I’m going to come-”

It’s goddamn music to his metaphorical ears. Better than that - better than the sing of gunfire in his favor, of the sweet rush and hum of that first hit of Jet.

He watches through those dark eyes as she falls apart. Her cry loud in the empty diner, as she’s struck - the livewire crackle of her orgasm ripping through her.

Better than she can ever remember. Thighs squeeze around his neck but it only makes him moan - breath hot against her cunt as his fingers continue to pump. And his tongue dips to taste her, slipping between knuckles.

The pleasure throbs - the stained ceiling spinning, looking like the clouded stars high above them to her hazy mind.

A disbelieving and dazed laugh caught in her throat as his mouth moves. Pressing against her mound, the sensitive curve where thigh meets hip.

It’s only then that she’s unhooking her thighs - a heat blazing in her cheeks at the brazenness. Too caught up in the moment to see herself - splayed out across the countertop, heels digging into his spine.

But she does see him - the need etched across his face under the tip of his hat, the wet shine against his lips and chin. Deadly in a new kind of way, mixing with the prowess he shows on the battlefield.

There’s another low throb, deep inside her. The lithe way he moves, rising - a hand planting next to her hip, the other working the heavy buckle open.

She meets him - pushing herself up. A hand coming to cup him, feeling the hard length that strains against his trousers. Tasting herself on his tongue when her head ducks to kiss him, swallowing his groan as her fingers palm and squeeze.

“Drivin’ me crazy, sunshine.” His voice is like gravel, as he works at the zipper - her fingers slipping past to wrap around hot skin, “Enough to make a ghoul go feral, you know that?”

Her smile is pretty - pleasure-drunk, and he hasn’t even fucked her yet. Her hand soft and warm where she eases him out, the brush of her thumb over the head making his cock throb.

“Me too. I need you.” She begs, and he knows it’s more than that just that.

That it’s not just fucking, right now. That a line has been crossed, that they’ll never be able to not want this again. More than ready to tumble over into the unknown, together.

“My mouth wasn’t enough?” Hancock grins. Fully intending to have her every way she’ll let him. Unable to resist making her squirm.

The look she gives him makes him chuckle - the gentle pull of her fist, the little frown. The way her thighs spread again, aiming the flushed tip of his cock over slick skin. Against the tight nub of her clit as she shivers, lips parting with a gasp.

“Hancock, don’t tease-” Some of that bite is back, desperate. Not begging but it’s close, as her hips lift against him again.

“I’ll give you anything you want.” He promises, “Just like hearing you say it. Come on, sweetheart.”

It’s hard to hold himself back, when she’s notching him against her opening. His hands sliding to her hips, liking the way his fingers sink into her skin.

How it dents around his calloused ones, soft as the rest of her.

“Fuck me.” Her eyes are on his, watching where they drag from his fingers to her pussy. Watching how his chest heaves beneath his vest, where his chest peeks from loosened buttons.

“I need you in me. I need you to fuck me, I want to come on your cock-”

“Fuck.” He groans, and then his hips are snapping forward. Feeling the tight, warm squeeze as he buries himself in her, as she cries out at the intrusion.

“Goddamn, sunshine.” He has to hold himself there for a moment, hilted inside her. Feeling the way she clenches down around him, fingers mirroring it where they wrap in his shirt.

Almost sharing a breath as he inches out, only to press deep again. Again, and then again - until there’s the slick slap, the creak of the floorboards beneath his heavy boots as his feet spread wider.

It’s better than his fingers. He’s deeper, filling her completely, stealing her breath. Those hands tugging at her hips, urging her to meet each thrust, as he picks up speed.

Hearing the changes in her pretty sounds - the gasps and the scrape of fingernails against his skin. Spearing her on his cock, where she can feel the worn and rough ridges gliding against a spot that has been sighing.

But, he wants more. Wants her like before - splayed out. At his mercy, in a way that he knows she’d only do for him. Knowing that she trusts him - wondering if he would be worried that the thought makes his cock jerk inside her.

“Give me your hands.” He rasps - and slowly, her finger uncurl from the edge of the counter, the vice-like grip on his shirt.

Hancock grasps at her wrists, joining them together with one of his own. Pushing her back, dragging them above her head and pressing them down hard against the countertop.

Arching over her as his eyes sweep over soft curves and bare skin. His coat spread out beneath her, the worn red so pretty next to her skin. Better than his best fantasy, and he’s already thinking about a next time.

The choked out “oh!” she makes with the next rock of his hips shoots straight to his cock - knowing full-well she could break free if she wanted.

Instead, she lets him take.

Giving up the control as he ruts into her, spearing his cock deep again and again. Trying to meet the messy swipe of his fingertips that drifted down to press against the bundle of nerves - her pleasure in his hands.

“Look good like this, sunshine.” His eyes drag over her breasts, still shining from his tongue.

“Real fuckin’ good.”

Down to where her thighs tighten around his hips, arching into him, “Should keep you like this all the time. Just in my coat. Wear it better than I do.”

A sharp edge to his voice, one that fuels the aching pressure that builds and builds. Her head thunks back against the laminate counter, eyes falling shut.

The words starting slow, growing louder, then running together.

“Feels so good-”

“Hancock don’t stop. Oh my god-”

There’s an electricity in the air that has nothing to do with the storm. His hand biting into her wrists so hard that it hurts, but the pain only loops into her mounting pleasure.

It’s different than his dalliances before.

Before, it had filled his time. Finding someone to spend the night with a couple times a week, enjoying the shared company with another.

That frequency dwindling after they joined up, though he hadn’t been the type to stop. He just no longer had the time, that same desire.

Finding that he no longer focused on chasing his own pleasure. His interest shifting - until there was only one face that drifts through his mind, in the stolen moments at night when his hand slipped beneath his trousers.

Embracing the crave of a new kind of addiction, the urge hooking its claws into his brain.

“Say my name again.” He tells her, feeling his own release winding and tightening. Trying to stave it off, as he tries to think about anything else, “Fuckin’ scream it for me.”

Her eyes are on his when she says it.

“John.”

First soft, and then pitching up - louder.

And in the moment, he’s just John. The John before and the John now, man and ghoul and so focused on the circle of his fingers, on her cries.

It’s too much - all she can do is lean into it. Never realizing how much she’d like letting go for him, knowing that just like in the Wasteland, he had her.

Always liking his quips and rasping tone but never experiencing it like this - honey-sweet and hungry.

Learning so quickly what she likes - how quick he was to adjust the angle, the slick swirl of his fingers.

His name is on her lips again as he brings her over the brink. More like a prayer this time, her body stringing taut beneath him, eyes wide. Mouth rounding on a high gasp as the pleasure shudders through her, radiating up her spine and down her limbs.

Seeming to reach across from where they’re joined, that steady rhythm stuttering as she flutters tight and warm around him.

“Fuck. Fuck, sunshine. You feel so fucking good, gonna make me come-” His teeth grit, a silent question.

Her answer coming in the way her thighs tighten around him. Keeping him pressed deep inside her, until his thrusts turn short and sloppy.

“Oh, fuck yes.” His grin is closer to a snarl, “Thank you-”

His fingers bite into her hip. Her name hissed through clenched teeth as the pressure builds, before spilling over.

As his hips rut until he’s pressed as deep as he can, a choked groan as he comes. His cock twitching with each throb of his orgasm, as he fills her. Emptying himself into her heat - until she’s milked him dry. Until he slows, leaving himself buried, deep and warm.

His eyes drop, as he comes back down. Where she’s watching, just as hungry as he was.

Leaving them staring at each other. His back arched over where his hand has slipped. Loosening on her wrist, until her fingers has twined with his.

There’s no going back.

His cock hangs heavy between his thighs. It’s night - dark now, but the flickering of lightning following the peals of thunder cast green shadows over her body. Eyes drifting up to where the rain patters on the metal roof.

A languid exhale, breathing out the smoke from the cigarette he fished out of the coat pocket. Dangling between two fingers, the cherry gleaming in the dim light.

Then back down, to where she still rests - beautifully drowsy and limp-limbed. Thighs still parted, where she gleams with him.

He’s certain he’ll be dripping into those clothes of hers for days.

It does something to him, an interested twitch from his cock. Stepping closer to fit himself back between those thighs, where they close to bracket his hips again.

“Didn’t you say somethin’ ‘bout slow, later?” Hancock asks, his hand petting down a hip, thumb brushing against her skin.

Stubbing the rest of his smoke out on the counter, letting it fall to the tile below.

Her smile is sweet as she pushes herself up. No use leaving while the storm raged on - and she’s pretty sure the bedroll was well on its way to dry by now.

Fingers catch on the collar of his ruffled shirt, starting to push it from his shoulders. His own hands tugging at her, until he pressed snug against her again.

“Mm. Is it later, now?” She asks - as more of him is a bared - her hands running across rough skin.

Hancock grins.

“I sure as hell hope so.”

I know this dropped out of nowhere for a 9 year old game but I can’t get the mayor out of my mind 💕 thanks for reading!!!

#the tags on this are going to sound cursed ->#john hancock x reader #John Hancock x sole #John Hancock x Sole Survivor #hancock x sole survivor #hancock x reader #john hancock #fallout 4

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frantic-fiction · 7 months

Text

Tension 18+

Pic: littlelovelore

Astarion x f!reader

Summary: During a solo mission, Astarion takes the opportunity to indulge in some "depraved carnal lust".

Warnings: 18+ MDNI Slight enemies to lovers, sex bent over a desk, sex with clothes on, mild choking, rough sex, reader handles her crush like a fifth grader (by being mean) Astarion is his smug self

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Back-to-back posts brought to you by Bree's insomnia...Enjoy!

"Do you want me to do it?" Astarion smugly asks, flicking his wrist sharply, sending a dagger into the wood beam before him. He's leaning against the cracked wall of the tunnel. A condescending smile stretches across his pale lips.

"Shut the fuck up!" You snap, twisting the lockpick violently, it's stuck on something, and it is pissing you off.

"My my, someone's testy today." The Vampire pushes off the wall to retrieve his dagger, only for you to hear the same thud of the knife hitting the abused beam once again.

You clench your jaw, wanting nothing more than to drown the bastard in the small stream of gray water. See him try to be a smartass when he's choking on sewage.

No! Just breathe.

As soon as you get this damn door open, all you need is to grab the stolen lease for the damn butcher, and the party will have a nice payout. Then Astarion's snarky comments and teasing jabs can be ignored behind a glass of ale and a nice meal.

Well, if you don't kill him first.

The relationship between you and the Vampire is a complex one, to say the least. Astarion is an arrogant, pompous dick. You're a temperamental stubborn asshole. It made for a messy mix of harsh insults and constant attempts to belittle the other.

It would have been so easy to hate him completely, but Astarion can be sweet under the cloak of night, and you could almost pretend he's a tolerable person when he speaks those honey-coated words. And when you let him feed from you, everything became so much more complicated.

The pick snaps, and you drop your head, groaning in frustration. You stand up and kick hard against a crate; the decayed wood breaks against your boot. Sighing in defeat, you motion to the rogue.

Astarion laughs smoothly, tucking the knife away, and exchanges it for his thieves' tools. Giving you a wink, he bends down to examine the lock. You pretend not to admire the swell of his ass, but who are you kidding Astarion is extremely attractive.

With little to no fanfare, the lock turns over, and Astarion opens the door. "After you."

"I fucking hate you." You grumble, pushing past, making a point to shove your shoulder hard into the rouge.

"Keep telling yourself that Darling,"

You flip him off.

The sewer system is a winding path of tunnels leading to various places. The two of you walk in silence for a few minutes.

"Are you sure we are going the right way?" Astarion asks, breaking the peace.

"Of course, this is the right way." You hiss, glaring over your shoulder. "I can read a map."

"Just like you could pick a lock, yes?"

You don't think you've ever seen a more punchable face. You're almost tempted to smack him just to see his reaction. Instead, you practice a semblance of self-control and ignore him.

After a few more turns, you hit a dead end. It's nothing but a damp brick wall. Scanning the map, you're sure you followed all the proper steps; there should be an entrance. Stowing the stupid paper away, you begin feeling the brick for any invisible button, unwilling to admit defeat in front of Astarion. All hideouts have secret levers. Right?

"Well, sweetheart, I think you've gotten us lost."

"No, I didn't, jackass, now be useful for once and help me." You bend down and begin trailing your fingertips against the rough bricks near the floor.

"I don't think I will. I'm quite enjoying the view from here."

You look back towards the rogue, "What are you talking about–" you choke on your words.

Astarion is shamelessly eyeing your form. A fang tugs at his bottom lip, hunger darkening his eyes. You swallow hard, and a flame ignites low in your stomach. You have a sudden urge to press him against the wall. That thought startles you. This is Astarion. The obnoxious, arrogant, attractive–no, stop that. You stand up and shake your head, willing your thoughts to clear.

"You're ridiculous," you sigh and dig through your bag.

Retrieving the knock scroll, Gale scribed for you. Repeating the steps he told you to do, you mumbled the incantation, and soon enough, what was once a solid brick wall cracked open to reveal a hidden path.

"Told you I knew where I was going," you boast, sticking your tongue out childishly.

Astarion smirks, "Yes, a broken clock is right twice a day."

Scoffing, you shove him hard, causing him to take a few steps to correct his footing. The entrance leads to a broken-down ladder and a worn wooden hatch. Astarion steps up to pick the lock and lifts the hatch barely to survey the room. He pushes the trapdoor open and enters.

Following suit, you find yourself in a dusty broom closet. Astarion is already at the door to the hallway, a sliver of light pouring through the crack. Closing the trapdoor, you cross your arms and wait for Astarion to turn back to you.

"It's abandoned."

"Are you sure?"

Scoffing, Astarion doesn't answer. He pushes the door open and begins down the hall. You follow after him.

The small hideout is plainly decorated, the common room has a dingy sofa and a coffee table. The fireplace is dead; not even embers remain. Good. In the corner, there looks to be an unfinished game of cards. The faded carpet runner leads down the hall to a large ornate door.

Astarion is already opening the door by the time you reach him. By the looks of it, this is the boss's office. A large oak desk sat in the middle room. A plush chair pulled slightly away as if someone hadn't bothered to move it back. Bookshelves line the back wall.

"Secure the door," you say as you move to the window to the left of the door. You hear Astarion mumble something but don't quite catch his words.

The window is a short drop good for a quick escape if needed.

You move to the desk and begin rifling through the papers on the desk. Tax documents, random notes, crappy doodles, and a cringey love letter, but not what you're looking for. You rip open the first drawer. Nothing. Second drawer. Nothing. Third, nothing.

"Astarion, did you find anything?"

"Nothing important." His sultry voice is deep and so very close to your ear.

Your heart drops, but you suppress any other signs of distress, knowing that is exactly what he's looking for. Sighing In annoyance, you turn around to face Astarion and cross your arms over your chest.

"Are you even trying to look for the damn paper? We need to get what we're here for and get the fuck out!"

Astarion's mouth cracks into a cheeky grin, and he closes in on you. You back against the desk instinctually, reaching a hand up that lands on his firm chest. Astarion has you caged against the desk, each hand on either side of your hips. You know Astarion can hear the thrumming of your heart and the shaky inhalation of your breath, and you curse your body for betraying you.

He bends his head down to press his mouth against your ear. "What if I'm looking for something else?"

You freeze. What did he mea–

The thought is forgotten because he's slamming his lips onto yours. You gasp in surprise, and Astarion wastes no time, delving his tongue into your mouth and claiming it as his.

The slight metallic taste of blood that lingers on his tongue should repulse you but has you moaning desperately for more. You grip your fist tightly into the fabric of Astarion's armor. His body is flush against yours, but you need more. You scratch your nails up his neck and tangle your fingers into his hair. Astarion groans into your mouth, biting at your bottom lip.

Everything is hazy, and you're lost in the kiss. Your thoughts are slow to catch up with the situation, too consumed by the taste of his lips. Astarion's lips. Astarion.

You push him away, chest heaving in rapid breaths. "What are you doing?"

"I'd hope my intentions would be obvious by now." He grins and dives back to kiss down your neck, dragging his teeth against your skin. "I could be more obvious if that would clear things up."

A sharp bite of his mouth at your throat drags a choked gargle from your swollen lips. You feel dizzy from the scent of rosemary and bergamot invading your nose. Lightheaded from the sudden turn of events. Astarion presses a knee between your legs, applying firm pressure against your burning arousal.

Gods, what was he doing to you?

Needing to gain any form of control, you tug sharply at the roots of his silver curls, drawing a hiss from the man.

You finally manage to gasp out, "We hate each other." As if that would somehow clear up your raging thoughts.

Except, could you hate someone who is making you feel so good?

Cold fingers trail against the skin between your leather armor and trousers. Astarion's deft hands start pulling at the lace of your pants. Another wave of arousal warms your body, and you feel drunk on the pale elf.

"You say that, yet I don't think you want me to stop." He purrs, halting his movements, and meets your eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head, desperate for more. Your dignity couldn't live with letting Astarion reduce you to a begging mess. However, if you were honest with yourself, you're already halfway there. Reaching out, you grab for his belt.

Astarion was having none of that. He's quick to twirl you around and press your torso flush against the top of the desk. A stack of paper flies off and scatters to the ground, but neither of you put much care into it. Astarion grinds his front roughly against your ass, and you moan at the feeling of his hardening cock against you.

"No, no, no, my dear, use your words."

"Gods, are you always so fucking annoying?" You whine pressing back and rolling your ass against him. Astarion grunts, gripping your hips tightly. "Are you going to fuck me, or should I just take care of myself?"

Astarion groans, rocking against each roll of your hips. "There's my spitfire."

"I'm not yours."

Astarion tugs at your pants and underwear, pulling them over your rear and letting them pool around your ankles. You kick off your boots and free yourself, leaving your lower half bare to the open air. A shiver rushes up your spine as the cold air hits your dripping heat.

Astarion's slim fingers trail down your folds, and you bite your lips to stifle a cry. Tilting your head back, you see the rogue admiring the slick coating his fingers.

"You might not be mine, darling." Astarion slips his drenched fingers into his mouth, and you watch, mouth agape, as he swirls his tongue to clean each digit. "But who else has seen you bent over a desk looking as desperate and delicious as you do now?"

"I could name a few," you say cheekily, earning you a smack on the flesh of your backside.

Astarion gropes the reddened skin and bends down, blanketing you with his body. You feel the soft pants of his breath cascade over your neck as Astarion brings his lips to your ear.

"Then it seems I'm just going to have to ruin you for anyone else." Astarion practically growls and licks along the shell of your ear before taking the lobe in between his mouth and teasing it with his teeth. You don't recall hearing Astarion unclasp his belt, but when you feel his bare cock rub against your back, all you can do is arch your back and moan.

"Astarion," you part your legs more in silent invitation.

"Yes, my dear," His voice is smug as he rocks against you. He knows what you want but wants to hear you say it.

The head of his cock parts your folds and moves to tease your desperate clit; a collective moan fills the room, but it is not enough for either of you. And knowing that the two of you are currently in the middle of dangerous territory means there is no time to play.

"Stop being a prick and fuck me."

"Have I ever told you, you always have such a way with words." Astarion chuckles before plunging deep into your cunt.

A shaky cry leaves your lips, all air seemingly ripped from your lungs. Astarion is bigger than most men you've slept with prior - though you wouldn't dare voice that out loud in case it inflates his already-inflated ego. The stretch holds a delicious sting, and you feel the beginning of the burn of tears at the corner of your eyes.

Astarion's still his hips for a moment, letting you collect yourself. His thumbs are rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back and peppering kisses across your neck. Once the sting of his initial entrance simmers to a stirring heat, you tell him to move.

"Hells you're so tight." Astarion groans as he sets a teasing pace, dragging the rugged ridges of his cock out before plunging back in at the same agonizing pace.

A pace you could imagine sharing intimately with Astarion all night somewhere secluded. Perhaps your tent or an isolated clearing, not a random gang's currently empty hideout. And since you're not one to play nice, you decide to play with fire instead.

Pushing up on your elbows, you move your head to look back at Astarion, a playful smirk on your lips. "You say you're going to ruin me, but I think Gale could be doing a better job of it right now."

Astarion's body freezes just as you hoped he would react. He shoots you a look full of daggers and bares his teeth in annoyance. Without comprehending entirely what's happening, Astarion pulls out of you and, with a strength you have not seen from the Vampire (the same Vampire who asks others on multiple occasions to carry his pack because it's too heavy), flips you over and has you seated firmly back on the desk leaving you dizzy but feeling giddy as a schoolgirl.

"Oh darling, you're going to regret that."

Astarion rams back into your pussy and begins to thrust quick and brutally deep into your body. His cold hand is wrapped around your throat, holding it firmly enough to keep your eyes locked onto him.

Your legs link around his lean hips, pulling him deeper into you. Moaning desperately, you run one of your hands up under his leather armor, splaying it across his stomach. You grab his face and pull him into a kiss, all tongue and teeth and perfection.

The desk is groaning under the movement of your bodies. Random knick-knacks are clanging to the floor. A bottle of whiskey shatters, and the pungent aroma wafts into the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and slick.

"You and that mouth of yours." He breathes deep into your ear. "Always so confident, so snarky, so bratty."

"M-more…" you choke, clenching around his length, desperate for anything and everything he will give you.

"Do you think the wizard could handle you?" The hand not firmly holding your neck snakes between your legs and begins to play with your clit.

"Gods A-star.." You gasp, eyes rolling back.

"Could he or anyone else make you feel this good?" Astarion's hand tightens slightly against your neck, and the lack of oxygen leaves you feeling dizzy and euphoric.

"N-no…please."

"After me, no one will ever be able to satisfy you." His thumb is now rubbing fast, tight circles against your clit. "Fuck, that's it, squeeze me just like that."

Gripping onto the desk, you shift your hips, and Astarion is now hitting deeper into your abused cunt. You tighten your legs around his waist, urging him to go faster. That delicious coil is beginning to burn deep in your stomach, and you know you won't last much longer.

"Tell me, who's making you feel this good," Astarion demands, voice husky.

"Y-you,"

"And when you come on my cock, I want you to scream my name." He grunts, and the thrust of his hips is beginning to become sloppier. "I want to hear just how good I make you feel."

Everything is too much. Astarion's sinful words, the harsh thrust of his hips combined with the tight circles of his thumb on your clit, the musky smell of Astarion's sweat mingling with yours, and the intense fragrance of the spilled whiskey.

You don't remember the details, just the wave of euphoria as the coil snaps and your orgasm washes over you. The words that spill from your lips hold no meaning in your clouded mind. The only thing that holds context is the feeling of Astarion stuttering thrusts of his hips as he chases his release from your spent body.

And when he stills, and the world falls silent apart for your combined pants of breath, all you do is brush the curls off his forehead and kiss his cheek. Why? You're not sure, but that's something you'll ask yourself later.

Once you return to relatively normal breathing, Astarion moves from his slumped position against your body. He stares at you in astonishment.

"Well, that happened." You offer because what else were you supposed to say?

Astarion breaks out into a genuine laugh, full belly and joyful as he tucks himself away. You couldn't help but join in as you move to put your clothes on.

"Yes, my sweet, I suppose that did happen."

"So where-"

The two of you jump at a commotion coming from the hall. Someone is jingling the doorknob, trying to open it; when it doesn't budge, there is a loud bang followed by an even louder shout of anger.

"Fuck!" You quickly finish tying your boots and collect your gear.

"Seems like our friends are back from their trip. I believe it's time to go." Astarion says as he moves to the window and opens it. Without waiting for you to respond, he gives you a devilish smirk and jumps out.

"Shit, the paper." You sigh, knowing you'll never hear the end of it.

By the time you make it to the window, the door is being busted in, and a very angry-looking dwarf is storming into the room. You smile at him and give him a salute before diving out the window, knowing Astarion will be there to catch you.

***Later at camp***

"What do you mean you didn't get the document?" Gale yells, the others equally baffled by you and Astarion's failure. "That was the only thing you needed to get!"

You shrink in on yourself looking to Astarion for help. "I...I don"

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Stealing objects from heavily populated hideouts is harder than you might think, wizard."

"That's why we sent you two!"

"Then perhaps next time-"

"HOLY SHIT!" Karlach interrupts, drawing everyone's attention. She's pointing straight at you with a look of bafflement. "Soldier's got a fucking hickey."

You clamp a hand over the spot Astarion was biting at earlier, wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.

Shadowheart's face scrunches up in disgust. "Please don't tell me, we're not getting paid because you two idiots decided to fuck?"

"Darling, it would seem the cat's out of the bag." The bastard has the audacity to look proud.

"I hate you all." You groan and storm off to your tent, contemplating just how bad it would be to join the Absolute.

Feedback always makes my day so let me know what you guys thought. And if you're looking for something sweet to balance out the spice check out my last post right here.

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rileyslibrary · 1 year

Text

Ghost rushes to your aid, only this time, it's to help with a pickle jar.

———————————————————————

“C’mere.” He orders, motioning with his hand.

You roll your eyes at him, although a slight grin forms on your lips.

“No!” you retort as you turn your back to him.

He sighs, leans back into the kitchen chair, and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Although he still wears his skull mask, you can imagine a smug expression on his face as he observes your failed attempts at opening that pickle jar.

You wipe your hand on your trousers, then grasp the lid, using your other hand to stabilise the jar. You take a deep breath and hold it in as you squeeze and twist with all your might. But the darn thing doesn’t budge—an oddity since you opened that jar fairly easily yesterday.

“You look like you’re about to fart.”

“Shut up, Ghost.” You snap through gritted teeth.

“What you do clearly doesn’t work,” he states firmly. “Just give me the fucking jar.”

You exhale, relax your grip and shoot him a threatening look.

“No,” you snap again, pointing at him with the jar. “I got this.”

He lifts the fingers that are resting on his bicep and shakes his head.

“It’s too tight, love.”

“It’s not tight,” You reply and knock on the jar’s lid twice. “It’s stuck.”

“Knocking on the bloody lid?” He chuckles softly. “What’s next? Asking the pickles to open up from the inside?”

“Stop making fun of me!”

“I’m not,” he replies softly. “It just needs...”

“-a knife.” You interject.

He follows you with his eyes as you march over to the utensil drawer. You slide it open and pull a knife out.

“That’s a bread knife.” He states.

“So what?” You say, waving the knife, “Bread knives are still knives.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he replies. “There are other ways to open that jar.”

“I’ve tried other ways.”

“You haven’t tried mine.” He murmurs, seemingly unmoved, brushing lint from his thigh.

You roll your eyes again and place the jar on the kitchen counter. Ghost leans further back in his chair to get a better visual of what you’re about to do.

“You’re going to get hurt.” He warns you.

You brush his statement off and focus on the jar. You stabilise it with one hand and put the bread knife between the glass and the lid with the other. You pull on the knife, trying to pry open a small opening. However, the knife loses grip and comes flying dangerously close to your ear.

Ghost pushes the chair with the back of his legs and mutters a sharp “fuckin’ hell” as he rushes towards you.

“You alright?” He asks and grasps your wrist.

“I’m fine,” You reply, defeated.

His hand lets go of your wrist and travels up to your neck. He inspects your ear, making sure you’re not hurt, then grasps your shoulder.

“Why won’t you let me try?” He asks softly.

You sigh, grasp the jar, and slam it on the counter.

“Because you’ll make fun of me just like the others,” you murmur.

“They make fun of you,” He says, pointing at the jar, “for this?”

“For my strength!” You elaborate. “Why do you think this jar is so tight? They’re doing it on purpose, so I ask for their help.”

He chuckles and tightens the grip on your shoulder.

“Nobody is doing that to the lids.” He comforts you. “The refrigerator cools the container and makes the lid shrink.”

You shoot him a threatening side-eye.

“Don’t gaslight me, Lieutenant.”

He throws his head back and sighs.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, “even if they’re purposely tightening the lids, there’s always a better way to unscrew it than hurting yourself.”

“Let me guess,” you sneer, “the solution is to ask you to do it for me instead?”

“No,” he replies, turning the faucet to the hot water. “If you don’t have the muscle—”

“Hey!”

“If you don’t have the grip,” he corrects himself, “you should use your brain instead. As a matter of fact, you should always use your brain first.”

He removes his glove and puts his hand under the faucet. He takes the jar and places the lid under the tap, allowing the water to run on it for a few seconds. Finally, he turns the faucet off, wipes the cap with a towel, and hands it to you.

“Here,” he says, “try now.”

You take the jar and place your hand on the warm lid. You twist it, and it pops right open. You look at the loosened cap and throw it on the counter.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“No need to thank me,” he replies softly. “You did it.”

You study his eyes behind his mask; they’re smiling. You extend that pickle jar to him.

“Want a pickle?” You ask and shrug one of your shoulders.

He shakes his head. “You can have ’em,” he says, gesturing towards the door. “I need to start the induction for the recruits.”

You nod as you watch him gather his belongings. He is one of the most ruthless operators on base, and you’ve experienced the violence he is capable of causing on the battlefield. Yet, here he is, offering gentle guidance, advising you to ‘use your brain’ instead of brute force. Not only that, but once he managed to work his way into the jar—clearly twisting the cap with that towel and loosening it—he praised your ‘efforts’, claiming that ‘you did it.’

You take a pickle from the container and put it in your mouth.

How many times has he assisted you behind the scenes, making things easier for you and rushing to your aid, only to later praise your work and efforts, even though he was the orchestrator behind it all? Is that the reason the other soldiers make fun of you?

You take another pickle from the jar and drive it to your mouth, only to stop midway.

The question you’re trying to answer is not how often he acted chivalrous towards you, but...

“Why?” You shout as he walks towards the door, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He stops and turns to you, gripping the door frame. His eyes still smile, but another emotion is lingering behind them this time. He lifts his hand and points to the side of his head.

“Use your brain,” he replies before returning to the door and leaving the kitchen.

———————————————————————

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hoe4hotchner · 11 days

Note

Can I get an imagine where the reader is married to Aaron and gets hurt by an unsub and he’s worried about her and races to find her or whatever. I just want to be rescued and held by Aaron!!

Solace | [A.H]

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘈𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘊𝘞: 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘺, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤, 𝘏𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘠/𝘕 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘞𝘊: 0.9𝘬

𝘔𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮😭😩

The deafening sound of sirens filled the air as Hotch raced through the chaos, his heart pounding in his chest. His usually calm, collected demeanor was fractured, barely holding together under the crushing weight of his fear. The flashing lights of police cars and ambulances cast harsh shadows across the scene, but all he could focus on was one thing: finding you.

He didn’t care about the unsub, the case, or anything else at that moment. All that mattered was you - his wife, the love of his life - somewhere out there, hurt, possibly worse. The thought twisted like a knife in his gut, each second stretching into eternity as he pushed past the swarm of agents and EMTs.

"Where is she?" Hotch's voice came out sharp, breathless, as he grabbed the arm of the nearest paramedic, he looked panicked.

"We’re treating victims inside—"

"Where is my wife?" His tone cracked, unrecognizable even to himself. The fear coursing through him was real, raw, and it took everything in him to keep from shouting. He didn’t want to think about what might happen if you were too late.

The paramedic’s eyes softened, and she motioned toward the building in the distance - smoke still rising from its shattered windows. "They brought her out a few minutes ago. She’s over there—" The paramedic had worked with Hotch several times before and knew who he was referring to.

Hotch didn’t wait to hear the rest. His legs moved on instinct, feet pounding against the pavement as he sprinted toward where the paramedic had pointed. Everything around him became a blur as he neared the edge of the chaos, his eyes scanning desperately for you.

Then he saw you.

You were lying on a stretcher, surrounded by EMTs, your body battered and bruised. Blood stained your clothes, your face ghostly and covered in small cuts, and for a moment, Hotch felt his heart stop. His world narrowed to just you - lying there so still, so vulnerable.

"Y/N," he whispered, almost afraid to say your name, as though speaking it aloud would make the reality of your injuries too real to bear.

You blinked slowly, your head turning toward the sound of his voice. Despite the pain etched across your face, your lips trembled into a small, fragile smile. "Aaron…"

He was beside you in an instant, kneeling next to the stretcher, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "I’m here. I’m right here." His voice was soft, but the tremor in it betrayed how close he was to breaking.

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and Hotch's heart skipped a beat as he panicked, his hand tightening around yours. "Hey, stay with me. Please, stay with me."

You opened your eyes again, your gaze locking with his, and you gave the smallest of nods. "I’m okay… just a little… shaken."

The sight of you, injured but still fighting, broke something inside of him. He felt his throat tighten, his chest constricting with emotions he hadn’t let himself feel since Haley. Fear, helplessness, love - all of it swirled inside him as he pressed his forehead gently against yours. "I was so scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I’d lost you."

You squeezed his hand weakly, your eyes searching his. "You didn’t lose me… I’m still here."

His breath hitched as he pulled back slightly, taking in every inch of your face, every bruise, every cut. The sight of you in so much pain, and yet still trying to comfort him, made his heart ache. He gently brushed his thumb across your cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped down your skin. "You’re going to be okay. We’ll get through this."

But the guilt weighed heavily on him - he hadn’t been there when you needed him most. He had failed to protect you. The thought gnawed at him, threatening to pull him under, but you tugged weakly on his hand, grounding him back to you.

"Don’t… don’t blame yourself," you murmured, your voice thin. "I knew you’d come. I knew you’d find me."

Hotch's jaw tightened as he blinked back his own tears, his heart swelling with love and relief. You trusted him, even when he doubted himself. He bent down and kissed your forehead softly, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual as if that would somehow keep you safe.

"I love you," he whispered against your skin, his voice filled with a desperate tenderness.

"I love you too," you breathed, your smile small but genuine, even through the pain.

The EMTs moved in to check your vitals again, and Hotch stepped back, his hand never leaving yours as they worked around you. He watched them carefully, not willing to let you out of his sight for even a second. He couldn’t shake the fear that something might happen, that he might lose you if he blinked.

But as the minutes passed and your condition stabilized, the panic that had been clawing at him began to ease. The doctors said you’d be okay - that your injuries, though serious, weren’t life-threatening. Relief washed over him in waves, but the fear lingered, the memory of almost losing you haunting him.

When the EMTs finally finished, Hotch sat beside you again, his hand cradling yours gently. He could see the exhaustion weighing heavily on you, your eyelids fluttering as you struggled to stay awake.

"It’s okay," he said softly, brushing your hair back from your face. "You can rest now. I’m not going anywhere."

You gave him a tired smile, your hand weakly squeezing his once more before your eyes closed, finally succumbing to sleep. Hotch watched you for a long time, his heart still heavy, but you were safe. You were alive.

And that was all that mattered.

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dmysterioblog · 10 days

Text

I’ve Missed You

Paring: Dark!Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: You and Agatha had a twisted history. She had kidnapped you into Wanda’s distorted reality to make you into her perfect wife. She had you under a spell until Wanda freed you. Wanda promised you Agatha would never hurt you again and helped you find a new home where Agatha wouldn’t be able to find you. You had your little house in the middle of nowhere, where you were safe…or so you thought. (This is also based on the one clip of Rio pinning Agatha to the wall.)

Warnings; kidnapping, magical manipulation, manipulation, metal abuse, fingering, strap on use (r receiving), mommy kink.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/n: All these Agatha All Along trailers and teaser have motivated me to write after four months. I am so ecstatic for it to come out already! I have waited two years for this! 😭

You and Agatha had a twisted history. She had kidnapped you into Wanda’s distorted reality to make you into her perfect wife. She had you under a spell until Wanda freed you. You told her everything about Agatha’s sick plan and Wanda then was able to trick Agatha and put her under spell, trapping her in Westview. Wanda promised you Agatha would never hurt you again and helped you find a new home where Agatha wouldn’t be able to find you. She even casted runes around the house.

A couple months after those events you found out about Wanda’s death. You grieved her death little, she was the closest thing you had to a friend ever since Agatha stripped you from your friends and family, but most of all you felt fear. Fear that Agatha would come out of the spell and go looking for you especially because Wanda’s runes had disappeared.

You were paranoid for months until you had confirmation that she was still in Westview under the spell. You spent the next three years in hiding. You had your little house in the middle of nowhere, where you were safe…or so you thought.

It was around mid day when you found yourself in the kitchen making some coffee. You were just wearing a robe and your hair was laying wild over your shoulders. As you were pouring the milk into your coffee, you heard a noise outside. You frowned and walked over to the window and saw nothing. As you were about to get back to your coffee, you heard it again. You grabbed a knife and walked over to the front door. Before you could even open it, the door burst over and someone pinned you against the wall, making you drop the knife.

“I’ve missed you, sweetheart.” That voice…you hadn’t heard it in so long, it made your skin crawl.

“A-agatha?” your voice trembled as you said her name. You looked into her eyes, she looked the same, she hadn’t aged a day yet she looked older in a way. Maybe it was the dark circles that laid under her eyes. She gave you a sinister smile moving her hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear.

“You look as beautiful as the day you left me.”

“How did you free yourself? And how did you find me-”

“I had some help,” she simply said, moving her hand to your neck and squeezing lightly, “I didn’t appreciate you betraying me and running away. Did you really think you could get away from me?” she pouted mockingly.

“Agatha please-” you wrapped your hand around her wrist.

“Say that again, you know how much I love to hear you beg.”

“P-please don’t hurt m-me…” your voice cracked. You were terrified of this woman’s power, of what she could do. Agatha dismissed your pleas and started kissing down your neck, surprisingly gentle.

“God, I missed you so much,” her hand sneaked underneath your robe to grip onto your waist, “Wanda did quite the number on me but now she’s not here to save you,” she whispered harshly into your ear and a tear silently ran down your cheek.

“Shh, baby, there's no need to cry,” she wiped the tear away, “I promise to take my time with you.” She started dragging you to your bedroom and you just let her, you knew better than to fight back. She pushed you on your bed and started undressing. Even if she was manipulative she was still very attractive. Something you would never admit. When she was done, she crawled on top of you, still leaving your robe on.

“Look at me,” she said when you looked everywhere but her. You just wanted this to be over with. “I said look at me,” she demanded, cupping your face, making you look at her. Usually when you looked into her eyes, all you saw was lust and possessiveness but this time, there was something different.

“Tell me you missed me, Y/n. Tell me you missed my touch.” she pleaded. This was very out of character for her. She never showed vulnerability. Ever. Yet, here she was asking you if you missed her as if her life depended on it.

“I…” she started to kiss your neck again, nipping at it, “I missed you too,” you finally said. It wasn’t a complete lie, a small part of you did miss her. She did kidnap you but she still took care of you and gave you everything you had ever wanted.

“Good girl~” she finally started to untie your robe.

“Aggie-” you tried to protest, gripping into her wrist but she pinned your hand above your head with her magical binds.

“Shh, just relax,” she took off your robe, leaving you completely bare, “I’m going to take care of you.”

“All you do is h-hurt me…”

“That’s because you disobeyed me. I had to discipline you,” she said, manipulating you into thinking it was your fault, “If only you just did as you were told, I wouldn't have had to hurt you bunny…” she softly ran her nails down your waist and hips, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. You remained quiet, not saying a word as her fingers moved closer to your core.

“I can’t wait to have you all to myself again,” she finally dipped her fingers into your wetness, chuckling at the fact that you were absolutely soaked for her. She started to slowly circle your clit, her breath hot against your ear.

“You were always so ready for me, baby. Your body still remembers me.” You whimpered when the pleasure caught up to you. You hadn’t touched yourself for so long. Your thoughts undoubtedly went to Agatha every time you tried so you gave up trying to find relief.

She chuckled at your reaction, clearly amused by your whimpers. She started to move her fingers faster, applying more pressure to your clit.

“I bet you haven’t touched yourself since you left me. You were too afraid to think about me, weren’t you?”

“…yes.” You replied, biting your lip when she sped up her movements.

“That’s what I thought. You knew that no one could make you feel as good as I do. No one can satisfy you like I can,” she smiled and leaned down to suck on your neck, leaving a dark spot.

“N-no one can…” You said, your brain turning into mush as she slipped her fingers inside you.

“I’m the only one who knows you better than you know yourself. You can barely take care of yourself, baby. You need me.” Agatha was doing what she knew best, manipulating you. She could put you under her spell again but she wanted you to willingly submit to her. She could feel your body starting to tense up as she continued to work her fingers inside you. She moved her lips to your jaw, placing gentle kisses along the way.

“You’re so close, aren’t you baby? Do you remember the rules?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed in response, tugging at the binds slightly.

“What do you say then?” she slowed down her movements, loving to see you so desperate for her touch.

“Can I cum please?”

“Beg me, baby. I want to hear you beg for me.”

“Please mommy? I promise to be a good girl!” And there it was. She finally had you exactly where she wanted you. She smirked at your words, her eyes darkened with lust.

“That’s my good girl. You always know how to please me. Cum for me, baby. Cum for mommy.” She freed your hands and you clung to her as you rode your high, moving your hips against her hand. She spoke sweet nothings into your ear, encouraging you before finally pulling her fingers out and kissing your forehead. You thought it was over until you felt something poking your entrance again.

“Mommy?” You mumbled again, trying to clench your thighs together. She smiled and gently caressed your face.

“I’m not done with you yet, baby. You still have a lot to make up for~”

“No more-” you tried to push her away but she didn’t budge. She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“Don’t tell me no, darling. You’re going to be a good girl and take whatever I give you. Understood? Don’t you want mommy to feel good too?” She started rubbing the tip of her enchanted strap against your pussy lips. She’d fucked you with the strap many times and she could feel everything which is why it was her favorite toy to use on you.

“But I’m too sensitive.” You whined.

“You can handle it, baby,” she chuckled and slowly pushed the tip of the strap inside you, “You’ve done it before…” she started to move her hips, pushing the strap deeper inside you. The strap slipped right in, your juices making it quite easy.

“Fuck, baby. You still feel so fucking tight. You’re taking me so well. You’re such a good girl~” Agatha groaned. Your pained whimpers soon turned into pleasurable moans and the knot in your stomach started to build up again. She continued to thrust into you, her movements becoming more erratic as she felt her own pleasure building up. She leaned down and whispered in your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Keep making those pretty sounds for me. I want to hear you scream my name when you cum.”

“A-Aggie-“ You dug your nails onto her back. She let out a low growl, her grip on your hips tightening.

“Say it again, baby. Say my name again.”

“Agatha!” You came again, your pussy pulsing around her strap as your legs started to shake. Agatha let out a moan as she felt you cum around her strap, her own orgasm washing over her. She continued to thrust into you a few more times before pulling out and collapsing on top of you.

“That’s my good girl. You did so well, baby,” she started petting your hair as if you were a pet. She pulled you closer, holding you in her arms. She ran her fingers through your hair, her voice soft.

“You’re mine and no one else’s. You’re going to be a good girl and obey me, understand? You don’t want mommy to have to hurt for not listening, do you?” You frantically shook your head, burning your face in her neck. She gripped your hair and pulled your head back, forcing you to look at her.

“I said, do you understand? You will do as I say. You will obey me. You are mine to control and use as I please. Don’t make me punish you, baby.”

“I u-understand…” your eyes watered a bit, now you were really trapped. She smiled and released your hair, her hand gently stroking your cheek.

“Good girl. I knew you would see things my way. You’re so much more compliant when your brain is turned into mush, isn’t that right? Maybe I’ll have to fuck you more often so you don’t fight me,” she kissed your forehead and pulled you closer to her, wrapping her arms around you possessively. Agatha held you tightly, enjoying the feeling of having you in her arms again. She ran her fingers through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. She could see the gears turning in your head and spoke up again.

“Don’t worry, baby. You’ll get used to it. You’ll learn to love being mine again. And I’ll take good care of you, I promise. You won’t want anything as long as you’re with me…”

#fanfic #smut #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #dark!agatha #agatha all along #agatha harkness smut #agatha x reader #x reader #rio vidal #wandavision #wanda maximoff

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divinesolas · 15 days

Text

CAGE.

summary: requested; you think its easy enough to hid a secret this big from your mother until you can figure out a plan but one day when theres no blood on your sheets shes able to put atleast some of the pieces together. you had sex. she just has no clue you slept with and married the enemy.

w.c: 2.1k (this was supposed to be short.)

perm jace taglist ! (open) @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @earth4angels @itsemohours @valdezthg @cecestea

You look up from your book in confusion as your mother stormed into the room with your bed sheets in hand. Only more lost when she tossed them in front of you. “do you see this?”

you look them over, “my clean sheets?” “yes, clean!” you flinch at her tone and shrug at her simply looking back down at your book no longer interested in your mothers rampage. “do you wish for me to put them on my bed myself?”

“you have not bled in two moons.” her final words come out harsh and in a fateful whisper. Your eyes widen in horror and you finally look up at her angry face. “mother-“ “i do not wish to hear it.” you cant bare to watch as she brings her nails up to her lips and begins to pace so you turn to the window as memories begins to flood into your mind.

The night you could no longer bare your pushed down feelings and you flew to dragonstone. It had been raining and late his mother looking more than lost to see you but when you begged to speak with him a knowing look crossed her face and she smiled, fetching someone to go wake him. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes when you blurted out that you loved him. you had no clue how it had happened, it had to have started when you were a child. Despite your mothers warnings you couldn’t help but spend your time with him and he always had a cheery grin when you were around.

You’re almost sure your feelings were cemented the night you lost your families love. you sided with them inside of your brother that fateful night on driftmark, you had thought it was unfair of your brother to take vhagar and you knew Aemond probably would have killed someone that night if Lucerys didn't take his eye. You saw the look your mother gave you when Jacaerys wrapped his arms around you and clung onto to you and your relationship has never recovered.

You had almost hope the time apart without a single letter shared would clench the feelings from your heart completely but distance truly only makes love grow and you ended up not being able to stop thinking about him all these years later. You were nervous when his eyes widened and he said nothing to you for a good few moments. When you were nearly ready to turn back on your tail and act like you never came he took some careful steps towards you and confessed he felt the same way.

You had no clue how they rushed to prepare a small ceremony in the way of the ancestors but it happed at the shores of dragonstone and you were married. You knew your mother would be furious and you vowed to not tell her until your family had settled a bit more . You remember the way his hands felt on you, the way his breath in your skin, the sounds he made, the whole night was so vivid in your mind.

You finally turn back to your mother when she finally stands in front of you once again your stomach churning. You could see her face well up as a look of desperation crosses her face. “tell me it is not true.” You do contemplate it. lying to her, telling her maybe simply something is wrong with you and you should get checked up by the maesters, but you cant. “I will not lie to you as others have mother.”

You see a saddened look upon her face at your words as they clearly twist a knife her stomach. She turns and leaves without another word. you knew this was a losing game for her, especially when you did not drink the moon tea brought to you dumping it on the floor in front of her or the maesters. You expect maybe she’ll lock you in some tower far far away and leave you to rot and die. though maybe she can tell that would be a preferable fate for you. you had no way to contact jace, knowing ever message you sent would be shot down you’re left to stare at the window hoping one day you can one day see him again.

You should have left that night he died. or any night you could have but from Aegon losing his son to Aemond going on a rampage you have been locked in your room since the start of all this mess. Every day the same repeat of you sitting by the window staring out towards dragonstone, your mother walks into the room with a moon tea and attempts to get out of you who got you pregnant and get you to drink the tea, she leaves after hours of you refusing and you go back to staring out there longing for your husband to come and rescue you and then you sleep dreaming of your prince.

Today is different. Once again you’re sitting by the window reading a book but when your mother walks in shes empty handed. you lets a small smile on your face as it seems shes given up and close the door. “what is it?” She crosses her arms wearing a clearly angry face. “since you continue to refuse me you have given me no choice. a week from today will be your wedding outside the city,” you stand up alarmed a look at her in disbelief, “you lie.” “

She shakes her head, a stoic look on her face as you approach her, a tremble in your steps. “Lord unwin will make a fine husband-” you cut her off with a loud scoff, “lord unwin? that old man? mother he is twice my age!” She steps closer to you and grabs your jaw in her hands angrily and you freeze. “and he is a man who will not care my foolish and ignorant daughter is with child!”

You would think you imagined the slap on your face from her if not for the harsh stinging on your cheek and the ringing in your ears. You simply hold your growing swollen cheek in disbelief as he faulters, as if she herself cannot believe she just hit you. She toughens up her face however, and simply glared at you. “you will do your duty.”

you shake your head as tears well up in your eyes. mind drifting to jacaerys. your husband. you cant tell her, she would never believe you at worst she would probably have you hung for having a ‘bastards baby’. “please do not subject me to the same fate as you mother i beg of you.” Her face falls completely, a look of horror crosses it as well. you think you almost have her taking her words back but she shakily inhales and takes a step back, “the king demands it.”

Its her final words before she swiftly turns and exits the room without sparing a glance. you fall to the fall as it feels like the weight of the entire world has just crashed down onto you. you sob. unable to do anything but think about jacaerys and your impending doom. that night you dream of him swooping down and saving you, your knight in shining armor. its a deluded dream.

You never leave the room as usual until one day you’re dragged out for a dress fitting. the maids ignore your tear stricken face and the swelling on your cheek. Everyone knows that youre clearly miserable, though none can do more for you other than pitiful looks.

You dont speak to your mother or your sister while in that carriage out of the city. it will probably be the first and the last time you escape the cage you’ve been locked in. you miss him. you think about him as you stare out at the sky, imaging him on vermax the dragon he clearly loves so much. you imagine him smiling as he flies around and your eyes gloss over. and while your eyes are glassed over and foggy as you stare out the sky its almost like you can see him.

You spend the whole time while they were fixing you up, praying that the gods are not cruel to you and this is just some cruel dream. yet as you walk down the aisle in the small cathedral with blank faces staring at you the horror grows more and more into reality. hes so much older than you thought. He smells of old when you stand in front of him and you press down the whimper that grows in your throat as you think about having to be any closer to him gods forbid kiss or fuck him.

unable to continue looking at the old man while the maester recites his speech you find yourself looking around. your mother unable to even lift her head to truly look at you and heleana seems to be staring off into space. what really catches your attention however is off fidgety the guards look, shifting around as if they know something is going to happen.

Your attention is snapped back when the maester says your name and you gulp. closing your eyes and praying one final time for jacaerys to appear and rescue you from this cruel, cruel fate before you open them.

You can barely open your mouth to speak before a loud road is heard outside the doors and the wall is smashed down, screams fill the room and people scrabbling around. you look towards the danger in shock and gasp, a familiar green dragon stands tall in the middle of the rubble and roars. the dragons head tilts down and there you see him.

Jacaerys. He had come for you.

You can barely believe it, you stand frozen as you see him wave his hand to you. He wants you to go to him. You eagerly rush towards him without a care for anything else. You can hear them calling for you, your mothers voice in particular rings out louder than most but you see the ‘kingsguard’ holding them all back from reaching you.

You hear him say your name softly as he reaches down to help pull you up. You feel lighter than you have in months while wrapping your arms around him, happily breathing in his scent while he quickly files out of the building. you dont spare your mother another glance, too worried you’ll feel sick at her face despite everything.

Neither of you speak until youre high enough in the skin. He turns to you happily and cups your face. “my love im so sorry im late.” you grin and shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes, “ how could you have known?” “many of the guardsmen are still loyal to daemon and they had reported that you were to be married outside the city.” his face hardens slightly as the memory must fill his mind but he softens as you run your hand along his cheek, “i had to go. you are my wife. i should have came soon. should have stole you away the day this awful war started.”

You shush him, clearly able to tell he was about to go on a tangent and press a soft kiss against his cheek. “i am just happy you came at all my love. my heart and soul have ached for you terribly.” he presses his forehead against yours and lets out a deep sigh of relief. “as have mine my love. i do not know if i could ever go without your presence again. “you will never have to.”

as a small silence fills you you suddenly perk up causing him to lean back and look at you. “is something the matter?” he looks even more alarmed as your eyes well up with tears but you simply grab his hand and drag it down to your stomach, “i am with child.”

His eyes widen and he looks so shocked, for a split second you’re worried he will be angry but soon enough a large grin covers his face. “truly?” you nod eagerly as a smile finds its way to your face as well as he looks down at your joined hands on your stomach. “i have not bled in two moons now.”

He has never looked happier you’re certain of it. he did not even look this happen on your wedding day. “i love you so much.” “i love you more.”

as dragonstone comes into view you finally feel what you’ve been craving for so long. free.

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gubsbuubs · 9 months

Text

Trophy wife

Pt. 2 is out - It´s Mutual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4.5K

Warnings: Typical case descriptions, kissing and petting, enemies to lovers, a set up for a smut. Summary: When an unsub targets trophy wives, (Y/N) is asked to go undercover with her nemesis, Spencer Reid, posing as a couple to lure the killer. As they navigate a high-stakes operation, tensions escalate, blurring the lines between their professional and personal animosity.

Preview: "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “And I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

A/N: Hi everyone, this is my first-ever fanfiction. I initially wanted to write smut, but to add depth, I decided to craft this background story. English is not my first language. I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒

“Are those poker chips?” Derek asked as the images from the most recent crime scene appeared on the screen behind Garcia.

"Bingo, my lucky charm! Those are poker chips, and you've hit the jackpot," Garcia continued. “This is the second woman to be found in a motel room stabbed and extremely beaten in the last two weeks.”

“The Vegas police have requested our help,” Hotch informed as he analyzed the pictures.

Ross quirked up his eyebrows as an amused smile played on his lips. "Well, either he really likes poker, or he's on a mission to prove that crime can be a high-stakes game…"

"Well, he's certainly raising the stakes in our investigation," I added, my remark eliciting another round of chuckles.

"Children, behave, please," JJ attempted to redirect the team's focus to the situation at hand.

As I scanned the pictures, my index finger reached above the image on the table. "The persistent appearance of poker chips as a signature strongly suggests a connection to the unsub’s personal experiences, perhaps indicating a deep involvement with poker, possibly even as a player. Maybe…”

“While symbolism is intriguing, we should prioritize empirical evidence. Jumping to conclusions based on perceived patterns might lead us astray." My brows furrowed in annoyance as I turned my head, hearing him cut off my train of thought. His tone carried a subtle bitterness, as if questioning the validity of my analysis.

And there he fucking was again, Dr. Spencer Reid, incessantly questioning my every move, as if my mere presence irked him to no end.

Our "relationship," if you could really call it that, was basically just a constant back-and-forth of arguing, interruptions, and tension you could practically cut with a knife. We tried to keep it professional for the team's sake, but it was obvious we weren't exactly best buds.

And what kept his skepticism going wasn't just about work competition; it was personal. He had this lingering grudge because I had stepped in after his buddy, Alex Blake, bailed on the BAU, leaving him behind.

To be honest, his animosity seemed mostly one-sided. At first, I admired Spencer's intellect and respected his dedication to the job. Plus, let's be real, I wasn't blind—I definitely noticed he was a good-looking guy. But his hostility kind of pushed me to throw up walls and respond with a guarded attitude. And then, well, naturally, I found some twisted enjoyment in getting under his skin and making him lose his cool.

"How can you have an IQ of 182 and yet be so clueless?" I scoffed, laughing. "Sure, you're intelligent, but common sense seems to elude you at times."

Reid stared for a moment, a mix of shock and rage flickering across his otherwise monotone, expressionless face. His eyes narrowed, and he responded curtly, "It's 187, and (Y/N), I would advise you to mind your manners when addressing me. My intelligence surpasses yours by far more than a number could explain." As he stood there, staring into my eyes, arms crossed by the presentation board, a surge of irritation pulsed through me. I was poised to respond, the words itching at the tip of my tongue, but before I could unleash them, Derek intervened. With a subtle shift in his posture, he leaned in towards the table, effectively redirecting our focus. A deliberate clearing of his throat signaled the shift in conversation. "The sheer brutality of these killings unmistakably points to an unsub fueled by intense rage. The way the victims were forcefully and repeatedly stabbed suggests a perpetrator with considerable physical strength and stamina.”

"The messy and disorganized scene adds another layer to the unsub's profile. Women just tend to be cleaner, so we are definitely dealing with a man,” JJ added.

“They are waiting for us, we can discuss the rest of the preliminary profile on the jet, wheels up in thirty,” Hotch said as he stood up, the team following right after.

--x--

As I focused on the files spread out in front of me, the sound of the door swinging open abruptly pulled my attention away. "We've got another body," Hotch announced, his voice cutting through the silence that lingered in the small meeting room lent to us by the Las Vegas police.

By now, we had successfully linked the unsub to the world of poker. Our victims, all married, had been last seen with their partners at casinos during poker nights, forming a clear pattern. Despite our breakthroughs, the mystery surrounding his identity and motive remained unsolved.

"Rebecca Miller, 29 years old, was last seen with her husband at Riverside Casino," Hotch added, his tone steady as he placed the picture of the victim on the board. "Witnesses report they were very affectionate. Her husband mentioned she went to get them drinks before she disappeared," he continued, his gaze scanning the room, inviting any additional insights or comments from the team.

"She definitely fits the victimology—young, beautiful, and married to an avid poker player," JJ remarked casually as she got up to take a closer look at the picture.

Rossi gazed into the distance, lost in thought. "They must be raking in serious cash playing poker. Why else would these stunners be tying the knot with someone clearly out of their league?" he mused aloud.

As I scanned the pictures of the victims, a realization began to form in my mind. Each photograph depicted a strikingly beautiful woman, always beside her husband, who often appeared much older or less attractive in comparison. "They're trophy wives," I exclaimed, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

I glanced to my left, where Reid stood, scoffing and shaking his head. "Trophy wives?" he immediately questioned, his focus remaining fixed on the board as he continued drawing lines for the geographical profile.

"Well, think about it," I elaborated, gesturing toward the pictures of the women. "These women, young and beautiful, carefully curated for a certain image, accompanying their husbands to the poker games, spending the entire night all over them. How had we not seen this glaring pattern before?"

"That's a rather simplistic and uninformed view, (Y/LN)," he countered. "These women had successful careers. Assuming they're merely trophy wives diminishes their individuality."

"Just because they have successful careers doesn't negate the potential of being used as accessories," I countered, locking eyes with Reid as he turned to face me. "It's not about undermining their achievements but acknowledging the potential for a specific dynamic in their relationships. We need to explore all possibilities, not just those that fit neatly into your rational worldview."

"Acknowledging possibilities is one thing, but chasing baseless theories is another," Reid retorted, his tone measured. "We can't afford to indulge in wild conjectures without solid evidence."

"Sometimes you're so buried in your 'facts' that you miss the human element of the cases," I remarked, chuckling dismissively as I shook my head to the side.

"It's called objectivity, (Y/LN)," he asserted, stepping closer until he stood before me, his hands slipping into his pockets in a gesture of dominance. "Something you might want to consider before letting personal biases cloud your judgment."

"I'm the one who lets personal biases cloud my judgment?!" I retorted, my voice rising as frustration bubbled up within me.

He remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"You've got to be kidding me," I continued, my tone escalating gradually. "You're the one who's been acting like a little bitch to me since I joined the team, so don't lecture me about taking things personally here."

Still, he said nothing, his hands now clenched into fists at his sides.

"You've had a problem with me from day one," I pressed on, "and it's about damn time you admit it instead of acting like such a child about it."

"This is about doing our job objectively," Reid retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "Your presence doesn't change the standards we uphold in the BAU, but clearly you don’t meet them."

"That's enough!" Hotch's voice boomed, commanding attention as he intervened. His gaze shifted from Reid to me, a subtle warning in his eyes. "I think we should explore that possibility," he acknowledged, nodding towards my earlier suggestion. "It seems reasonable. Apart from that, are there any more leads we need to consider?"

Spencer turned on his feet, his movements purposeful as he approached the board. "Actually, I've been working on the geographical profile," he began "And it seems that, looking at the last victim’s place of abduction, he is moving in a straight line." With a marker in hand, he started drawing on the board, "Look at this: the first victim was last seen at the Lotus Casino Central, the second victim at the Charlaton, and now Rebecca at the Riverside. It's a straight line, which means..."

"He's heading for the Bellagio next," JJ chimed in, seamlessly connecting the dots of Spencer's thoughts. Spencer nodded in confirmation, acknowledging her insight.

Rossi rose from his seat and joined Spencer by the board. "Now that we know where he's likely to strike next, perhaps we can set up an operation to catch him; he’s been striking on poker nights."

Hotch leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered the strategy. After a moment of contemplation, he straightened up and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the team. "Yes, an undercover op might be our next chance." His gaze fell on me, lingering for a moment as he addressed me directly. "Y/n," he began,"You have experience as an undercover agent, and you actually resemble the victims," he observed, "Would you mind going in?" The room fell silent as the weight of the proposition settled among us.

"Yeah… sure," I responded quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Derek immediately sensed my apprehension and offered reassurance with a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly. "You're not going in alone. It has to be a couple, so you'll have someone to have your back."

"Can you come with me?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and hope.

"Actually," Hotch interrupted, straightening in his chair, "I want Reid to go with you." My head fell into my hands as I sighed, dreading the complications that might arise. The weight of Hotch's decision settled heavily on my shoulders, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the thought of partnering with Reid for this undercover operation.

"Sir, with due respect," Spencer began, but Hotch raised his hand to stop him from continuing.

"(Y/N) needs a poker player husband; you’re the only one who could actually pass as an avid poker player," Hotch explained simply, as if it were that straightforward. "I trust you can both behave professionally and put your differences aside?" His tone sounded more like an order than a question.

"Let's get to work then," Rossi said, his tone decisive, as I let my head rest on the table. It dawned on me that this was the only option to ever catch this guy.

--x--

JJ pulled out all the strings, ensuring we had everything necessary to play our roles seamlessly. With meticulous attention to detail, she provided a stunning black dress that hugged my curves perfectly, matching pumps that elongated my legs, and exquisite jewelry that added a touch of elegance to the ensemble. Among the glittering gems, she placed an engagement ring and wedding band, enhancing the authenticity of our charade.

As I admired my reflection in the mirror, a wave of mixed emotions washed over me. The thought of spending the upcoming night with Spencer made my heart race, a strange feeling stirring within me.

My mind constantly drifted towards the way we were supposed to behave, thoughts swirling with anticipation. I imagined his touch, knowing that as a couple, he would have to be close, his hands possibly lingering on my body. How would it feel? Would I be able to maintain eye contact as he stared me down during our conversations?

I sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Despite this being an undercover mission, it felt strangely intimate, as if I was gearing up for a date with him. The prospect of going out and spending time with Spencer was something I'd never experienced before, and it left me feeling nervous, even though I couldn't quite admit it to myself.

Maybe if things hadn't unfolded as they did, Spencer and I could've found common ground. Perhaps we could've forged a genuine connection, evolving into friends, or even something more meaningful. But fate had a different plan for us.

From the moment we crossed paths, our destinies seemed entwined in conflict rather than harmony, and I remember the day I met him all too well. We had just finished the tour, and Derek was now showing me to my desk.The ding of the elevator caught my attention, and there he stood. I've heard of Dr. Reid, everyone talked about him – his genius IQ of 187, his remarkable accomplishments at such a young age. But amidst all the praise for his intellect, no one ever mentioned how good-looking he actually was.

"Pretty boy," Derek exclaimed with a grin as he welcomed him. I couldn't help but agree silently. It was indeed a fitting nickname, Spencer was undeniably attractive. "Come meet our new member, Y/n Y/Ln."

With a smile I reached out my hand instinctively, ready to greet him, but to my surprise, he took a light step back. "Sorry, I don't shake hands," he said dismissively, his tone somewhat curt. "Did you know that the average person carries about 4,000 bacteria on their hands? It's a breeding ground for germs. It's actually safer to touch a toilet seat."

I stood there, utterly dumbfounded. Did he genuinely suggest that touching a toilet seat is cleaner than shaking my hand? "You really know how to make a girl feel special, Agent Reid," I retorted, rolling my eyes as Derek chuckled at the situation.

"It's Doctor, not Agent," he corrected, his tone matter-of-fact as he swiftly made his way to his desk. My mind raced, attempting to conjure a response, but he had already moved on, leaving me standing there, still processing what had just happend.

"Are you ready, or should I tell the unsub to wait because you need to keep fixing your lipstick?" a voice spoke from the darkness of my room.

“Jesus fucking Christ Reid, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I jumped from my place, surprised to see him standing there, leaning on the frame of my bathroom door. "No one ever taught you how to knock on a door?" I muttered under my breath.

"First of all, your door was unlocked, and second of all," he shook his head disapprovingly. "That's a very foul mouth you have, you should really watch your tongue," he chided. I felt his gaze lingering appreciatively on how the dress hugged my curves and accentuated my breasts.

From the corner of my eye, I lightly took in his appearance. The tailored suit fit him like a glove, different from what he wore every day. He looked more relaxed, better, hotter.

I was taken aback when I saw him move and enter the bathroom. My heart started racing as he stood by my side, exchanging a glance with me in the mirror.

"Honestly?I don't think he'd mind waiting for me” I straightened up, finally satisfied with my lipstick.

"Too bad he won't get to see it," he said, chuckling. His left hand met my hip, swiftly turning me around, and I gasped as the small of my back hit the bathroom counter. His own body caged me in, his intense gaze never leaving mine as I looked at him, confused yet strangely drawn to him. His right hand reached for a wipe, and he gently cleared any remnants of the red lipstick. I felt the cold, wet cloth on my lips, erasing any traces of the vivid stain. "If we're going to act like a couple, I don't want your lipstick all over me," Spencer remarked dryly, his expression unamused. "It's not my fault you don't know how to kiss a girl with lipstick, Doctor," I retorted, my annoyance evident in my tone.

"You look good enough," Spencer remarked with a smirk. "I'll be waiting for you in the car." With that, he turned and headed out, leaving me to gather my thoughts before joining him. "Well, this is going to be a long night," I sighed.

--x--

As Spencer drove us to the casino, we found ourselves going over the details of the plan. It was simple; our initial objective was to seamlessly integrate into the casino's scene, mirroring the couples we were emulating.

The plan dictated that Spencer and I had to project the image of a couple deeply in love, sharing glances, engaging in affectionate gestures, and creating an atmosphere that would draw the unsub's attention. Spencer would transition to the poker tables, just as the husbands of the previous victims had, all while showcasing his "trophy wife."

As the night progressed, I would strategically separate from Spencer to lure the unsub into action.

Inside the casino, Rossi and Morgan were playing their part as players, keeping an eye out. The rest of the team was in a van, ready to jump in if things went south.

The objective was clear – act like a couple. How hard could that be?

The tension in the car was palpable, and we exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the complexity of our roles. The success of the operation hinged on our ability to draw the unsub's attention, making him believe we were just another couple enjoying a night out.

The atmosphere in the casino buzzed with energy as Spencer and I entered. The dim lights, the soft murmur of conversations, and the distant chiming of slot machines created a captivating ambiance.

As we made our way to the bar, I reached for Spencer's hand and intertwined my fingers with his.

His eyebrows immediately shot up, a silent question evident in his expression as he glanced at me, perhaps surprised by the sudden display of affection.

"The more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention," I replied, my voice hushed but determined.

His gaze flickerd between our intertwined hands and my face. "Yeah," a small grin playing on his lips. "Just make sure you don't take it too far and end up falling for me."

"That's a good one, Dr. Reid," I chuckled softly, a hint of sarcasm lacing my words. "I'll try to contain myself."

We approached the bar, and Spencer took a seat on a stool. As I moved to stand by his side, he surprised me by pulling me closer, guiding me between his legs. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me snug against him. I was taken aback, but I didn't say a word. Acting like a couple—that was the plan. It was just all part of the plan.

"So what should I call you?" Spencer cut through our silence, his gaze focused on mine. "What should you call me?" I echoed, my voice filled with confusion as I furrowed my brows.

"I'm not going to address you by your real name," Spencer said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We need undercover names. So, what's it going to be?"

His eyes scanned my features, awaiting my response, while I took a moment to ponder. "How about pretty girl?" he proposed with a smirk, his gaze lingering on me. My expression must have betrayed my surprise, but before I could respond, he continued, "Or how about Angel?" The endearing term rolled off his tongue, and I felt a flutter in my chest at the sound.

"Angel seems to resonate with you," he teased, a chuckle escaping his lips, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he awaited my reaction. I felt the heat rising to my cheeks, rendering me momentarily speechless.

I closed my eyes, disbelief washing over me. Was this real? Was Spencer really saying these things to me? And during a mission, no less?

"You seem awfully quiet for someone who doesn't know how to shut the fuck up," he said, his lips brushing against the side of my neck. "If I'd known all I had to do was call you angel, I would've done it sooner."

"Sweet names will only get you so far," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. Despite the warmth spreading through me at his words, I couldn't shake off the sense of disbelief at the way he was acting. "Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, his tone amused, as I felt his breath tickling my neck before his lips brushed against my skin, leaving a small kiss on my pulse point. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded in my chest as he slowly moved his hands along my waist and lower back. I couldn't focus on anything but the warmth of his body pressed against mine, sending shivers down my spine.

"Doctor Reid, this is highly inappropriate," I managed to utter.

“On the contrary, my sweet Angel," he spoke softly as his small kisses traveled up my neck. "See, this mission requires us to act like a couple, so I'm simply enjoying my time with my wife,” he lightly chuckled as he reached my jawline. “As you said, the more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention”

Suddenly, Hotch's voice disrupted the moment as he barked over the wire in my ear, "Guys, great job. We've got a male in his late 30s to early 40s staring at you; he's moved closer since you arrived. He could be our unsub."

I heard Hotch's words, but my brain struggled to process them as I was too focused on Spencer's eyes, his gaze fixed on mine while his hands lightly pressed me closer.

"Come on, Angel, let's give him a show," Spencer pleaded, his voice laced with a confidence that both shocked and intrigued me. It was unexpected to witness this side of him, but there was something undeniably exciting about it. Perhaps it was his confidence and assertiveness, or maybe it was the way he was taking control and leading the interaction. "Yeah.... let´s.... let´s do it" I lightly nodded my head, I swear he could feel the pounding of my heart against my chest from how close he stood to me.

His right hand reached my face, his touch gentle against my skin. "Angel," he spoke quietly against my lips, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll only keep going if you give me permission."

His eyes were dark, his lips plump, inviting, calling for my attention. I couldn't even form a "yes," but he knew what I wanted. I pulled him closer by his tie, and our lips collided in a hot, messy kiss. I was taken aback by his skill and technique, completely unable to resist him as the heat between us intensified.

Spencer pulled away and wrapped his arms around my body, embracing me in a hug. His warmth was comforting, and I felt a sense of security in his embrace. "He's standing right behind you, gray suit, red tie, black hair," he whispered in my ear, his voice low enough not to be noticed by anyone standing nearby. Suddenly, I was snapped back to reality. The mission. The unsub. He was standing right behind me

"Should we join them?" I asked softly, glancing over toward the tables of poker and motioning for Spencer to start playing, continuing with the plan. He was supposed to hit the games, and I needed to find a way to get myself alone.

"Absolutely, my love," Spencer said with a smile as he rose from his seat.

Still a little dazed from that kiss, my mind was on fire, and my panties were ruined. How was I supposed to continue my life after knowing the effect Spencer had on me? My racing thoughts were only interrupted by the sight of the suspect following us to the tables. Instinctively, my body reacted, and I found myself clinging to Spencer's arm, seeking comfort and reassurance in his presence.

As planned, Spencer sat down at the closest table and began playing, our actions subtly conveying intimacy to onlookers. I wrapped my arms around his neck, planting kisses occasionally, making it clear to everyone that I was his prize, and he was proudly showing me off as his trophy wife.

As he played, I showered him with praise and encouragement. "You're doing so well, baby," I whispered, my words laced with admiration. It was evident that he was enjoying the attention, his gameplay slightly faltering under the distraction of my praise. Despite being a skilled and experienced player, known for his prowess and banned from multiple casinos, he seemed momentarily thrown off his rhythm by my words of encouragement. It was a small victory, a slight advantage gained in my favour.

Feeling the need to draw the unsub away, I leaned in close to Spencer and murmured, "I'm going to step out for some fresh air on the balcony, honey. I'll be back soon."

Spencer nodded, his attention still on the cards. "Okay, sweetheart," he replied with a smile, not once lifting his gaze.

Before I turned to leave, I couldn't resist the urge to plant a quick kiss on his lips, just as part of the plan, playing my role as the devoted wife. After all, that's what a wife would do, right?

The fresh air hit my face, sending shivers down my arms. I didn't need to turn to know he had followed me outside; I could feel his presence on my right side. When I glanced over, he gestured to a drink in his hand, offering it to me. "You look like you could use a drink," he said.

My heart raced, and my breathing quickened as he got closer, but I kept a cool, confident attitude, determined not to let him see my nerves.

"(Y/N), don't drink that. It's laced," Morgan's urgent voice snapped through the wire, jolting me into alertness. "Just keep him talking so Garcia can check him."

My blood ran cold as I registered Morgan's warning. Without missing a beat, I forced a smile and nodded, "Thank you, handsome, but I've had enough tonight," I replied smoothly, declining the drink with a casual wave of my hand.

"That's a big rock on your finger," he pointed out, glancing at my, unknowingly, fake engagement ring. "Why are you here all alone? Where's your husband?" he continued, raising an eyebrow and asking the question directly, as if he didn't already know the answer.

"Well…" I laughed, injecting a flirtatious edge into my voice. "I could ask the same thing," I continued, "Where is Mrs…?"

"Mrs. Desmond? She stayed at home; she doesn't really like poker," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm Steve, by the way," he added, reaching out to shake my hand.

I shook his hand, my heart quickening as I heard Garcia speak from my wire: "Steve Desmond, a 39-year-old banker, is divorced; according to court files, his wife left him after he lost all of their money on poker.” The sound of clicking keyboards could be heard in the background. "The divorce dates coincide with the killings,” Garcia added.

“That sounds like a trigger,” Hotch's voice chimed in.

"Holy moly, he also assaulted a prostitute a couple of years ago, but the charges were dropped and he was never convicted," Garcia spoke nervously.

"That's our guy, (Y/N). Keep him talking; we're on our way,” Hotch said, his voice steady and authoritative.

"Is everything okay?" Steve spoke, his tone taking on a hint of aggression as he grabbed my attention. "Maybe you should take that drink."

“I'm not thirsty, thanks,” I replied firmly, stepping back in an attempt to keep my distance. However, he refused, reaching out and gripping my arm to keep me from moving.

"I'm telling you," he said angrily, his grip tightening. "You're clearly nervous. Just a tiny sip won't hurt." I tried to break free of his grasp, but he was stronger than me and refused to let go

"FBI!" Suddenly, I saw Spencer coming up behind him, his fist connecting with the guy's face with a solid punch, knocking him back into the wall. He was strong and quick; the unsub didn't stand a chance against him. Spencer swiftly pulled out his handcuffs, cuffing him without even breaking a sweat.

"Steve Desmond, you're under arrest for the killings of Amanda Crane, Juliet Sand, and Rebecca Miller,” Spencer announced, his voice firm and authoritative.

Morgan and Rossi soon appeared, Morgan helping the unsub up from the ground and carrying him out as he spoke, "Steve Desmond, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford it…” His voice faded as they left, escorting the suspect away from the scene.

Once they were out of sight, Spencer came up to me and reached for my arm, his expression filled with concern. I winced as he touched the red marks left behind by the unsub's grip.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern and care, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.

"Um, yeah…" I replied softly, my voice shaky. "I just need a moment to process this." My heart was still racing from the encounter, and I needed a moment to collect myself. Why did he step in like that? I thought to myself, a mixture of gratitude and confusion washed over me. I could've handled the situation on my own—I was trained for this, after all. Yet, there he was, interfering in my work.

After the quiet ride back to the motel, Spencer led me to the door of my room. As we stood there, I realized I could no longer contain the annoyance for how he had handled the situation. The tension of the evening had been building inside me, and I needed to let it out. "Spencer," I began, my voice tinged with frustration. "I appreciate that you were trying to help, but I had it under control. I didn't need you to intervene so quickly," the frustration bubbled inside me, I couldn't help but wonder why Spencer felt the need to intervene. I felt like I had done a great job handling the situation, and his actions made me feel as though he had robbed me of an opportunity to take down the unsub myself.

Spencer's eyes widened in shock as he opened his mouth to speak. "Oh, really?" he said incredulously. "I didn't realize you had everything under control. I just figured that the guy having his hands all over you and aggressively grabbing your arm was cause for concern. But clearly, you didn't need any help."

"Oh, right, because clearly, I was in so much danger," I snapped sarcastically.

"I'm not going to sit around and watch some creepy-as-hell psychopath put his hands all over you," Spencer said firmly, shaking his head in disbelief. His brows furrowed in concern, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and genuine worry. "I won't let him put you at risk of being hurt … or worse." His tone was sharp "Get it through your head; I'm not going to let that happen."

"Oh, right, I wasn't aware this situation called for a 'white knight' to swoop in and save me from myself," I retorted, my tone laced with bitterness. Crossing my arms defensively, I met his gaze head-on. "Since when did my safety become your problem?"

"Since the moment we met, you stubborn brat," Spencer snapped back, his frustration evident in his tone.

"Since the moment we met? That's so much bullshit," I shot back, my voice rising with indignation. "Since when did you care about my safety so much?" I challenged him, my eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You've never shown me any compassion before, so why now? Hun?"

And then, suddenly, his lips crashed against mine, his body pressing mine firmly against the door with a resounding thud. I felt the heat of his body press on mine, the tension that had been building between us explode in an instant.

His kiss was messy and sloppy, but damn, it was hot. There was an urgency in the way our lips crashed together, fueled by a raw desire that couldn't be tamed. As the kiss deepened, the air grew thin, and I felt myself getting breathless. With a gasp, I had to pull away,

“What the fuck was that about?” I whispered, not being able to back away from his hold.

"When I kissed you at the casino, I finally understood," he muttered, his forehead resting against mine. "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid imagine #mgg x reader #mgg smut #spencer reid x you #mgg x y/n #mgg fanfiction #mgg

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loganhowlettsmybf · 2 months

Text

hated desire

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

warnings: almost smut, swearing, fighting, knives, mention of blood

summary: you hate logan howlett. especially when you can see his, sweaty and naked muscular upper body while you two are training.

word count: 500+

a/n: aghh i’m literally shaking, i hope you like it🫶🏻 also everyone here is so sweet and supportive😭 so thank y’all for encouraging me

[english isn’t my first language, so sorry if there’s any mistakes but i still hope it’s enjoyable<333]

(also my requests are open, so feel free to ask one-shots that comes to your mind or just message me anything🫶🏻)

you hated him.

you hated his arrogant attitude, his ego. just because he has a body of a god and he knew it, that doesn’t mean he has to be an ass.

but the thing you hate the most about him is how wet he makes you, when you two are training together and he doesn’t wear a shirt so you can see all his detailed muscles.

like in the exact. same. moment.

you snapped back into the reality, daydreaming is for later, right now you have to kick his ass.

“ready to lose again, howlett?” you taunted, flipping a knife effortlessly between your fingers.

logan snorted, a smirk curling his lips. “you wish, sweetheart. let’s see if you can keep up.”

you lunged at him with a swift, well-practiced strike, but logan blocked it with his claws.

"you fight like a little girl," logan smirked, feinting a strike.

"it is so much better than fighting like an old man," you shot back, while one of your knife is grazing his side, a little blood dropping out of him. but that was just for a moment, he healed immediately.

oh how much you hated his healing ability too.

“fuck,” logan grunted, more annoyed, than hurt. He spun, catching your wrist and twisting it just enough to make you drop the knives. the closeness of your bodies sent a shiver down your spine. you could feel his breath on your neck, his muscular frame pressing against you.

“is that all you got?” logan growled, his voice low and husky. he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “i thought you were tougher than this.”

in a swift motion, you freed yourself, your knives flashing as you launched another attack while logan blocked you effortlessly.

you pushed back, using your agility to twist away, but not before grazing his side with your blade.

“did I just cut you? again? ohh, you're getting sloppy,” you say while trying to steady your racing heart.

logan’s eyes darkened. he advanced with a ferocity that matched your own. in a swift, fluid motion, logan disarmed you, pinning you against the wall with his claws dangerously close to your throat, your faces inches apart.

"you think you can keep me against the wall?" you breathed.

logan's lips curling into a dangerous smile. "i think you like it when i do," he murmured, his face so close you could feel his breath. “you think i don’t know how wet you’re everytime you see me. just like right now. and how this position with my claws, against your throat turns you on,” he whispered in your ear.

you started to panic. you didn’t know what his next action will be. the tension between you was growing, and before you could even say something he was kissing you, hard and demanding. at first you were surprised, but you responded with equal fervor, you hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed you even harder against the wall.

your kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. logan’s claws retracted, and he lifted you easily, your legs wrapping around his waist. you felt yourself melting against him. your hatred mixed with an undeniable hunger.

just as things were about to get out of control, logan pulled back, his breathing was heavy.

"this ain't the place," he growled, though his eyes were filled with the same desire that burned in you. he brushed his thumb across your swollen lips. “but don’t think even just for a minute, that this is over.”

#deadpool and wolverine #the wolverine #wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine fic #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #james logan howlett #hugh jackman #wolverine x reader #logan howlett oneshot #wolverine xmen

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cherrylovelycherry · 26 days

Text

𓂅new order. "tarte aux fraises and a pain au chocolat."

Contracts and preferences pt.1 pt.2

pairing. Aventurine x gn!reader x Dr ratio (poly) cw/genre. angst, argument, some slow burn again, slight being left out, some nsfw in pt.2, negligent attitudes synopsis. you went from being “decoration” and “ partner” to “ servant” and “assistant”. full menu

The more you gave, the more they seemed to demand, leaving you feeling like you were slowly sacrificing your own identity in the process.

Each passing day brought a new chore, a new task to complete.

You longed for a moment of understanding or appreciation, but it felt like your efforts were going unnoticed.

But you always pushed these thoughts and feelings down, telling yourself that it was just part of the job, part of being their assistant.

You were already managing to hold it mentally, even feeling a little calmer.

But it all went to hell.

You were currently in bed, trying to rest after a busy day.

Both Aventurine and Ratio were there, on the other side of the bed.

Your body was turned, looking at the wall, you've always liked that place.

About an hour, it was only a damn hour before you started hearing faint sound of kissing and movement in bed.

Your body stiffened as you heard the sound of their make-out session in the bed, right beside you.

You tried to ignore it, telling yourself it was normal.

But the sound of their movements and sighs of pleasure filled the room, making it impossible to escape the intimate atmosphere.

You clenched your fists, feeling a mix of discomfort and frustration.

Every kiss, every touch they shared felt like an invasion of your already limited space.

You desperately wanted to shout at them to stop, to show some respect for your feelings and the boundaries of the relationship.

But you lay there, frozen in place, your body tense and your nerves on edge.

The sound of their voices filled the room, intertwined with whispers and panting.

"Ah, wait, not that...not yet," Aven muttered.

You felt a flash of frustration, but you held your tongue.

Each moan and gasp seemed like a knife twisting in your heart.

You tried to block out the sound of their pleasure, but it was like a damn torment.

"Are you sure they're asleep?" you heard Aventurine ask, keeping his voice low.

"Yeah, just be quiet," Ratio responded, his voice hushed.

Your heart sank at his words, realizing that they thought you were sound asleep, oblivious to their intimate moments.

How many times had they done this before, assuming you were asleep?

The realization hit you like a punch in the gut.

Their voices became more hurried, their movements more urgent.

You hated this.

Their breaths, their moans filled the room, mingling with the rustling of sheets and the creaking of the bed.

You clenched your jaws, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes.

Each sound seemed to mock your presence, disregarding your feelings and boundaries.

Damn, it'd be a long night.

…

It was a long night.

You barely managed to get the dream together.

You stayed all night in the same position you were in, so you felt your body sore and numb.

When you tried to move, you felt something was attached to your back.

Aventurine was curled up against your back, sleeping peacefully.

You were trapped in his embrace, unable to move without waking him up.

You felt a mixture of irritation, struggling to untangle yourself from his grip.

But Aventurine seemed to cling to you, his arms wrapped possessively around you even in his sleep.

You gritted your teeth, frustration and frustration growing.

Ratio lay on his back, still sound asleep.

You didn't even notice that they had settled like that.

Aventurine's embrace was warm and tight, but it felt suffocating.

You tried to carefully wriggle free, but his grip only tightened, pulling you closer against his chest.

You cursed silently, feeling trapped.

Each futile attempt to move only made him snuggle tighter against you, his breath tickling your skin.

Their sleepy murmurs and sighs only added to your frustration.

Aventurine murmured something unintelligible, his head nuzzling against your shoulder as he slept.

You tried to contain your frustration and desperation.

You didn't want to make a scene, but the longer you stayed stuck like this, the more your irritation grew.

The feeling of being trapped, both physically and emotionally, was unbearable.

Finally you couldn't take it anymore and with one hand you shook his shoulder a little.

Aventurine muttered in his sleep, stirring slightly at your touch.

He let out a groggy mumble, his grip loosening slightly.

"Hm... what..?" he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.

Ratio stirred too, waking up due to the disturbance.

He blinked clearly, rubbing his eyes.

You took the opportunity to break free from Aventurine's embrace.

With a slight push, you managed to move away from him, freeing yourself from his grip.

Ratio groggily sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking sleepy.

"What's going on?" He asked, His voice still groggy.

"Nothing, nothing," you said, once you had finally freed yourself from his arms.

"You can go back to sleep," you added, as you moved down the bed, getting up.

Ratio raised an eyebrow, noting the tension in your movements.

"Are you alright?" He asked, genuinely confused.

Aventurine mumbled incoherently, his arm still outstretched as if trying to find you in his sleep.

"Better than ever," you said, with some sarcasm in your tone.

Then you left the room, to go to the bathroom and then start doing your things.

Ratio watched you go, a mixture of concern and confusion etched on his face.

He glanced at Aventurine, still asleep and mumbling in his sleep.

"What the hell was that...?" Ratio muttered, running a hand through his hair.

For your part, you were still in a bad mood, because of the bad night and everything that was starting to come together.

You left the bathroom, somewhat refreshed, starting to go to the kitchen, to prepare the damn breakfast, as always.

You entered the kitchen, feeling a pang of frustration as you began preparing breakfast.

The motions felt mechanical, your mind preoccupied with the events of the night before.

You couldn't shake the feeling of being ignored and underappreciated.

Every task felt like another responsibility piled on your shoulders, another item on a never-ending checklist.

As you went about making breakfast, the kitchen slowly began to fill with the aroma of food.

The sounds of frying and sizzling filled the air, a familiar routine you had grown accustomed to.

After some time, Ratio entered the kitchen, still a bit sleepy.

He approached you, leaning against the counter as you continued to work.

"What's on the menu today?" he asked, stifling a yawn.

You replied without looking at him, focusing on preparing the food.

"Toast, scrambled eggs, and sausage."

Ratio hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze following your every move.

He opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it soon after, noting your distant behavior.

Ratio stayed for a moment, observing you in the kitchen, noting the slight detachment in your demeanor.

The silence between you was palpable, as you continued preparing breakfast without meeting his gaze.

Ratio shifted his weight, leaning against the counter.

"You seem quiet today," he finally said, breaking the stillness.

"As always, love," you said, as you continued to move the sarten a little.

Ratio's eyes narrowed slightly at your response.

"Is everything alright...?" He inquired, his voice laced with concern.

You shrugged nonchalantly, continuing your tasks without lifting your gaze.

"I'm just focused on the breakfast," you replied, dodging the question.

Ratio let out a thoughtful hum, studying your demeanor.

"Are you sure? You seem... tense now."

He tried to catch your eyes, wanting to gauge your mood.

"Nah, you think too much," you said, turning the eggs.

Ratio sighed, realizing that you were not going to give in easily.

He leaned his head slightly, his eyes fixed on your back as you continued cooking.

"Sweetheart, you know you can talk to me, right?"

He tried to sound reassuring, hoping to draw an honest response from you.

Meanwhile, Aventurine appeared in the kitchen, still a bit disoriented.

"Morning," he chimed in, approaching Ratio.

Ratio glanced at him, his expression conveying a silent message.

Aventurine, still half-asleep and disheveled, shuffled closer to Ratio.

He yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes, unaware of the tension in the air.

"What's for breakfast?" he asked, his voice gravelly with sleep.

Ratio looked between Aventurine and you, noting the contrast in your demeanors.

He turned his attention back to Aventurine, trying to divert his attention.

"They're making eggs and toast," he responded, keeping his voice neutral.

Aventurine hummed in approval, the scent of breakfast rousing him further.

He took a seat at the table, still a bit groggy.

"Sounds delicious," he commented, his stomach grumbling.

However, Ratio's eyes lingered on you, his concern growing.

He observed you as you moved around the kitchen, noting the subtle signs of frustration in your movements.

Ratio cast a glance your way, noticing the way you seemed to be deliberately avoiding looking at Aventurine.

He furrowed his brow, mentally noting the subtle cues of discomfort.

He needed to tread carefully here.

"Sweetheart, can you make me a coffee?" Aven asked, from the table, lying down a little on this.

You paused your tasks, turning your gaze towards Aventurine, who was leaning on the table.

His request was a routine one, yet today it felt like another demand added to your already overflowing to-do list.

You let out a soft sigh.

"Sure, love," you responded, forcing a neutral tone.

You tried to keep a neutral expression, though the irritation was bubbling just beneath the surface.

Ratio watched the interaction with a keen eye, sensing the subtle tension in your response.

He observed as you moved to prepare Aventurine's coffee.

The silence in the kitchen was punctuated only by the sounds of brewing coffee and the sizzle of eggs frying.

Ratio continued to study you, noticing the small telltales of your frustration, the slight clenching of your jaw.

Aventurine, blissfully unaware, hummed in appreciation as he waited for his coffee.

He approached you, with calm steps, before taking your waist and attaching his body to your back.

You froze for a moment as Ratio's body suddenly came into contact with your back.

His hands on your waist were a usual gesture, but today felt like an invasion of your personal space.

You tried to conceal your discomfort.

His breath tickled the back of your neck, but instead of comfort, it only heightened your discomfort.

"Uhm... could you?" You said, as you moved your arms a little. Waiting for him to catch the hint.

Ratio seemed to misunderstand your meaning, thinking you were gesturing for something else.

He leaned in a bit more, his presence enveloping you from behind.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice soft and intimate.

Frustration welled up within you as his grip tightened, his body pressed closer against your back.

You let out a forced laugh, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy.

"I need to finish cooking," you explained, your voice slightly strained. "Can you... give me some space, please?"

Ratio seemed a bit surprised by your request, but he immediately released his grip, stepping back to give you some space.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression showing a hint of concern.

"Sure, of course," he said, his voice laced with understanding.

You let out a sigh, something relieved.

"Can you take this to Aven?" you said as you pointed your hand at the fresh cup of coffee.

Ratio nodded, picking up the cup of freshly brewed coffee.

He approached Aventurine, who was still sitting at the table, and placed the cup in front of him.

"Here you go," Ratio said, his tone soft, while kissing him on the head.

Aventurine let out a slight laugh at his actions.

"Thanks," he said, recording the cup and taking a sip.

Ratio smiled back at Aventurine, watching him save the coffee.

Meanwhile, you attempted to return to cooking, trying to suppress the turmoil of emotions welling up inside you.

However, Ratio's eyes remained fixed on you, his observant gaze taking in your every movement.

Once you finished preparing breakfast, you walked to the table, holding their plates for them to eat.

You left them and also left yours in your place.

Ratio and Aventurine began to eat, the sound of their forks clinking against the porcelain creating a gentle rhythm.

However, Ratio couldn't shake off the unease he felt as he observed your behavior.

He could see the subtle signs of tension in your body language, the small gestures that hinted at your inner turmoil.

Ratio tried to engage in light conversation, hoping to ease the tension.

"The food is delicious, as always," he commented, his gaze flickering towards you.

Aventurine nodded in agreement, devouring his food with enthusiasm.

"Yeah, it's really good. You always make the best breakfast," he said, with his mouth still somewhat full.

"I'm glad you like it," you said, and before you started eating, you got up from the table, to head towards the bedroom.

They watched as you got up and started to leave the table.

His eyebrows furrowed, knowing that something was off by your abrupt departure.

"Sweetheart, you're not going to eat?" Aventurine asked, his voice tinged with concern and confusion.

You paused in your steps, turning slightly to look at them.

"Huh, yeah," you replied, your voice soft. "I'm just going to change the sheets in bed,"

"'cause I don't think you two changed it," you muttered between your teeth, before continuing on your way to the bedroom.

Ratio and Aventurine exchanged glances, realizing the hidden meaning behind your words.

"Right..." Aventurine murmured, a slight hint of embarrassment in his tone.

Meanwhile, Ratio pursed his lips.

Now, more relieved to change the dirty sheets, you left them in the washing machine.

And again you headed towards the dining room, sitting in your place.

When you arrived, you hadn't realized that your plate was now in your hands and suddenly you were now sitting on Ratio's lap.

Ratio, taking advantage of your moment of surprise, had gently pulled you onto his lap without you noticing.

A small gasp escaped your lips as you found yourself sitting on his thighs, the unexpected move leaving you momentarily flustered.

Aventurine chuckled, amused by the sight of you on Ratio's lap.

Ratio wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you snugly against his chest.

"Okay, sweetie," Aven said as he turned a little in his seat.

"Open your mouth," he added, as he approached your fork with food toward your mouth.

You felt a mixture of surprise and slight resistance as Aventurine tried to feed you.

Ratio's arms held you firmly on his lap, preventing you from moving away.

"I can feed myself," you protested, trying to push away Aventurine's hand with the fork.

Aventurine smiled mischievously as he brought the fork closer to your lips.

Ratio let out a soft chuckle, holding you tighter against him, enjoying the playful interaction.

"Come on, sweetheart, don't be so difficult," Ratio said.

"Let Vasha feed you."

Aventurine nodded in agreement, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

"That's right. Let us pamper you a bit," he added, bringing the fork closer to your lips again.

You moved something inconsulate, as you pulled your face away from the fork.

"No, I can do it alone," you said again, with some tension in your voice.

You were trying to control yourself so that frustration and irritation wouldn't consume you.

Ratio tightened his grip around your waist, keeping you firmly seated on his lap.

He leaned in closer, his voice now a soft murmur in your ear.

"Sweetheart, relax," he said, his breath against your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

"Just let us take care of you."

Meanwhile, Aventurine continued to attempt to feed you, enjoying the little game he had initiated.

He brought the fork gently to your lips once again, his eyes fixed on your stubborn expression.

"C'mon, just one little bite," he coaxed.

Your irritation grows more and more, your patience slowly reaching its limit.

Ratio's firm grip on your waist and Aventurine's persistence to feed you were driving you to the edge.

You gritted your teeth, trying to control the feeling of frustration that was coursing through you.

"I don't need to be pampered," you snapped, your voice strained.

You tried once again to push Aventurine's hand with the fork away, but Ratio's hold kept you firmly on his lap.

Ratio's grip remained steadfast, his arms firm around your waist.

Aventurine let out a soft chuckle, enjoying the challenge of trying to feed you.

"Oh, but we want to pamper you," Ratio said, his voice low and persuasive.

"Just one small bite, sweetheart," Aventurine echoed, attempting to force the fork into your mouth.

You were trapped between the two of them, their insistence to pamper you clashing with your growing frustration.

You couldn't hold back anymore.

The feeling of being controlled and restricted was overwhelming.

You snapped, your frustration finally exploding.

"No!" You exclaimed, pushing Aventurine's hand away forcefully, causing the fork to fall to the floor.

"I don't want to be pampered! I just want to be left alone and do things myself!"

Ratio and Aventurine froze, their playful expressions changing to surprise at your outburst.

Ratio's arms loosened around your waist as he was startled by your outburst.

He exchanged a glance with Aventurine, both of them taken aback by the force behind your words.

"Sweetheart, we..." Ratio began to say, his voice soft, but you interrupted him before he could continue.

You pushed away from Ratio's lap, standing up abruptly.

"I don't need your pampering. I can manage myself just fine," you said, your voice still tinged with anger.

Aventurine stood still, watching you get up, his eyebrows frowning a little in an hurt way.

Ratio wasn't going to keep quiet, first you push Aven's hand hard and now you behave like that?

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He asked as he got up from his chair.

You spun quickly, meeting Ratio's gaze, your frustration and irritation still visible.

"What is wrong with me? What's wrong with you two?" you retorted, your voice rising.

Ratio stepped closer to you, his eyes narrowing.

"We just want to take care of you," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "Can't we even do that?"

"Oh," you let go, almost lowering your tone, sarcastically. "of course, of course, now you both want to take care of me,"

"How funny, really," you added, letting out a slight laugh without grace.

Ratio was getting exasperated by your attitude, his patience wearing thin.

"What the hell does that mean?" He demanded, his voice raising in volume. "We've always taken care of you, so why are you acting like this now?"

Aventurine, who previously was watching the argument, finally spoke up.

"He's right, sweetheart," he intervened, "we're just trying to be nice, why are you getting mad?" his voice soft but still carrying a hint of offense.

"Oh, aeons," you let go, smiling a little as you ran your hand across your face.

At this point you didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Although you two had great jobs, apparently never learned the meaning of a few words," you snapped.

You meant the word 'always', by Ratio's words, since according to him, they always took care of you.

Ratio's irritation only grew in response to your sarcasm.

"Oh, please, enlighten us then," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "What words do we need to learn?"

Aventurine, now with more upset in his facial expressions, frowned.

"Yeah, I'd like to know too," he echoed Ratio's sentiment, "since apparently we've been doing a terrible job of taking care of you."

You let out a frustrated sign, your emotions boiling over.

"Do you really want to know what words?" You asked, your voice rising.

"Alright. Let's start with always. Apparently, you define 'always' as 'sometimes'," you exclaimed, your voice filled with bitterness.

"Ha! Or even like 'almost never'."

They exchange surprised glances, taken aback by your response.

Ratio crossed his arms, his irritation still palpable.

"What? We take care of you all the time," he retorted, his voice defensive.

Aventurine nodded in agreement, adding to Ratio's defense.

"Yeah, we do everything for you. We look after you, we're kind to you, and make sure you're comfortable. How is that not 'always'?"

You let go of another laugh, as a mockery.

"Oh guys, you are for each other" you said.

"Seriously, you two are completely oblivious."

Before they could answer, you kept talking.

"Oh, but let's see," you said, as you put a hand on your lips, as if you were thinking.

"Because you two are so kind and considerate to me, surely thought it would be a good idea to fuck next to me, while I was 'sleeping,'" you said as you made quotation marks with your fingers.

"Oh right," you said before clearing your throat, ready to mimic their voices.

"'Are you sure they're asleep?','Yeah, just be quiet'."

They both froze, their eyes widened in surprise at your revelation.

Ratio's expression turned from annoyance to a mix of surprise and sheepishness.

"Oh come on, it's not like we were intentionally—"

Aventurine interrupted Ratio, trying to defend themselves.

"You... you weren't asleep?," he said, his voice hesitant.

You raised an eyebrow at their words, not letting their words diminish your anger.

"Surprise, surprise! No, I wasn't sleeping," you retorted, "It's hard to sleep when the bed is shaking violently and there's moans all night long."

Aventurine's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, realizing the implications of your words.

Ratio's annoyance returned, trying to defend their actions.

"Well, we didn't realize you were awake," he said, "We just thought you were a heavy sleeper or something."

"Bullshit," you released.

"Oh, Aven, how is your back?" You asked, pretending to be concerned.

Aventurine's embarrassment only deepened.

"Uh, it's... fine," he muttered, his voice quieter than usual.

Ratio, however, was not about to back down.

"What's the big deal anyway?" he said, his irritation seeping into his voice. "We're in a relationship, it's normal for us to be intimate."

You let out an exasperated sign, your frustration growing even more.

"The 'big deal' is that it's disrespectful and inconsiderate," you said, your voice growing louder.

"You two made all that noise and didn't even bother to check if I was asleep or not."

Ratio rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed.

"Oh, come on now," he said, "you're blowing this out of proportion. We just forgot to check. It's not a big deal."

"Yes, it's a big deal, because I'm also your partner!" you snapped, with a heavy annoyance in your tone.

Ratio seemed unfazed by your assertion.

"Yes," he responded, his tone not matching your annoyance. "You are our partner, but we have our own relationship too."

This only fueled your irritation even more.

"So what? You think I'm just an accessory to your relationship?" you snapped.

Aventurine, sensing the tension, tried to intervene.

"Sweetheart, that's not what he means," he tried to mediate.

"Shut up," you let go, as it was starting to irritate you to want to appease the situation, as if it wasn't anything important.

Aventurine's attempt to intervene was abruptly shut down by your sharp words.

Ratio, feeling provoked by your reaction, shot back.

"Hey, don't talk to him like that," he snapped, his irritation reaching its peak.

You, on the other hand, were not backing down.

"Why not? I'm tired of you two treating me as if my feelings don't matter," you said, your voice rising once again.

Ratio's defensive attitude was not waning.

"Your feelings do matter," he retorted, "but you're overreacting. It's just a small example."

You were becoming more and more frustated by Ratio's dismissal of your feelings.

"Example?" you asked.

"You want more examples?, of course," you let go, getting a little closer to both.

"Maybe that 'decoration' and 'partner' stuff isn't the best term for me."

Ratio's annoyance turned into confusion, as he exchanged a glance with Aventurine.

"You know what should be the term that describes me?" You asked rhetorically before answering yourself.

"Assistant who is more of a servant,"

Ratio and Aventurine fell silent, shocked by your words.

Ratio seemed taken aback, his expression turning dark.

"Assistant? Servant? What are you saying?" He asked, his voice low.

Aventurine, on the other hand, seemed saddened by your words.

"Is that really how you see yourself?" He asked, his voice soft.

"And you still ask, Kakavasha?" You snapped, as you looked at him, after asking that stupid question.

"Now all I hear are petitions, petitions and more petitions." You kept talking, not waiting for them to respond. "Even some become orders,"

Ratio was becoming angry at your comparison.

"That's not true," he argued, "we don't treat you like a servant."

Aventurine was already getting tense again, bothered by the tone you were talking about and how to say things that, to him, made no sense.

"We just ask for your help with small things sometimes," he said, his voice steady.

But you continued to express your frustration.

"It's not just 'small things,'" you said, "It feels like that's all I'm there for, to do whatever you ask, whenever you want."

You saw that Ratio was going to speak again, you supposed to dismiss your words, so you didn't let him answer, speaking first.

"Put this in the washing machine, did you change the bath towels?, Pass me this, pass me that, You have the agenda tomorrow and in the past?, Wash the clothes, Clean the house, Wash the dishes, Order our belongings, Make me a coffee, Is breakfast ready?" You said suddenly, several examples of what they were asking for. "And the list goes on,"

Seeing their faces, you mocked, "A little more and I'm ordered to make an appointment for you two."

Aventurine was starting to get defensive, but he was still trying to control himself.

"We just ask for your help because we need it," he said, his voice rising. "We're busy with other things."

You, on the other hand, weren't accepting their excuses.

"You two are always too busy," you said, your own voice rising. "What about me? I'm busy too, I have things to do, you know?"

Ratio, who had been quiet for a few moments, suddenly interjected.

"Are you really that busy?" He asked sarcastically. "You're just at home, doing nothing all day."

That stung hard.

You felt a stab of resentment at his words, as if he had dismissed all the hard work you did day in and day out to keep their life together.

"Doing nothing all day?" You echoed, your voice filled with a mixture of hurt and anger. "You really think that?"

Ratio held his gaze, his eyes cold as he spoke.

"Well, what else do you do?" I've inquired.

"Ha, right," You let out a bitter laugh, "I don't do anything and you're both so busy, so I have to be always on call to wait on you."

Ratio's expression hardened, not appreciating your sarcasm.

"We're not asking you to be on call," he said, his voice growing louder. "We just expect you to help out around the house and with other matters. It's a partnership."

"You live here too, so you should pull your weight," Aventurine added, echoing Ratio's words.

You felt your frustration boiling over.

"Pull my weight?" You repeated, your voice rising. "I already do-"

"How much you complain about, if that's what you signed the contracts for, that's what you're our assistant for." Ratio interrupted you, coldly in his tone.

Your irritation shot up even outside, fueled by Ratio's words.

"And there it is," you snapped, "the real reason you two want me here, right? I'm just your little helper, your assistant, here to do the dirty work while you two play."

This time, Ratio didn't deny anything. "Yes, because that's who you are."

You felt a pang of pain at his confirmation. It was as if he had just confirmed all your fears, that you were nothing more than a convenient presence in their lives.

Aventurine chimed in, his voice trying to defend Ratio.

"It's not just about that," he said, hesitantly. "We value your company, and we enjoy spending time with you-"

You cut him off.

"As long as I'm useful, right?" You said, your voice tinged with bitterness.

The realization that your relationship with them had been reduced to a transactional, one-sided partnership hit you hard.

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, but you pushed on, refusing to back down.

"Is that really all I am to you?" You asked, your voice shaking slightly. "Just a convenience?"

Ratio's Demeanor remained cold, unfazed by your emotional display.

"You knew the terms when you signed the contracts," he stated matter-of-factly.

Aventurine, a little quieter up to that point, chimed in.

"We told you what the arrangement would be from the start," he said, his tone less harsh than Ratio's. "But that doesn't mean we don't have a relationship."

"Right, a 'relationship,'" you repeated, with a touch of sarcasm. "Is that what you call this? Because from where I'm standing, it feels more like you two just want a live-in maid."

Ratio's expression darkened even more, clearly not appreciating your tone.

"We're not forcing you to stay here, you know," he said. "If you're so unhappy, you can always leave."

His words were like another knife in your heart.

You weren't sure how to respond. The thought of leaving them had never crossed your mind. Despite everything, you loved them. But the way they had just treated you, like you were nothing more than a convenience, had hurt deeply.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Veritas?" You retorted, your voice quivering slightly.

But as much as you tried, you couldn't stop the tears you were trying not to shed from falling.

Ratio shrugged nonchalantly, as if to say that's what he really thought. Aventurine, on the other hand, remained silent, unable to defend you.

It was so unfair.

You looked at Ratio with displeasure, no matter that your vision is blurred by tears

You stopped looking at him, to look at Aventurine, waiting for him to say something, to take your side in this.

But seeing that he wasn't going to say anything, you were instantly agitated.

"I met you first," you said, almost in a plea.

He looked down to one side.

"Vasha...?" You asked, something fearful about his action.

"...I met him first." He said, in a low tone.

Your heart sank further. It was as if Ratio's words had just confirmed everything you had feared. It was clear that they valued each other more than they valued you.

Oh, you felt so stupid.

You started sobbing, with that, humbling yourself more in front of both of you.

You didn't want to do that, but after suppressing your feelings for a long time, it made it difficult for you to control yourself a little.

Both Ratio and Aventurine seemed uncomfortable at the sight of your crying. Ratio looked away, clearly not interested in dealing with your emotional outburst. Aventurine, on the other hand, looked conflicted, torn between comforting you or respecting Ratio's attitude.

He took a step closer to you, but Ratio stopped him with a gesture.

"Don't coddle them," Ratio commanded, his voice still firm. Aventurine hesitated, looking conflicted, but ultimately stayed put.

"You're being cruel." Aventurine mumbled, looking at Ratio with a certain disapproval for his way of acting.

Ratio shot a sharp glance at Aventurine.

"They're just being overly emotional," Ratio said, dismissing Aventurine's concern.

Meanwhile, their words and lack of compassion only deepened your sobbing. You felt completely alone in this.

Maybe you were from the start.

Even standing there in front of them you tried to cover your face, with your hands you tried to clumsily wipe your tears, to stop humiliating yourself.

Ratio's coldness contrasted sharply with Aventurine's visible concern.

"Oh, stop," Ratio said, rolling his eyes.

Aventurine protested again.

"They're obviously hurt," he said, his eyes flickering to you, "We can't just ignore that."

Ratio shrugged indifferently.

"They'll be fine," he said. "They're just being dramatic."

Aventurine looked at Ratio with a mix of disbelief and disappointment.

"You're unbelievable," he mumbled.

Meanwhile, Ratio looked almost annoyed.

"Now, come on, it's been late," he said, starting to walk into the bedroom, to change and get out.

Aventurine watched Ratio leave the space and then turned his gaze to you.

You kept wiping away your tears as best as you could, still trying to compose yourself, but the hurt and frustration were deep-seated.

When he approached you, you took a step back, feeling vulnerable and a bit defensive after the previous argument.

His voice was softer than Ratio's had been.

"Here, let me…" Aventurine said, gently reaching out to help you wipe your tears.

You didn't refuse, but it wasn't like you accepted or made the slightest attempt to stick to him.

Aventurine tried to be gentle as he dabbed away your tears.

But you were still feeling raw and hurt, and it was difficult for you to feel comforted. You kept looking down, avoiding his gaze.

You didn't feel special or anything, at that moment you could just continue sobbing and letting the tears soak your face.

Ratio, impatient and already on his way to the bedroom, called out to him. "Vasha, come on."

Aventurine shot a concerned glance at you before looking back at Ratio.

"What about them?" he asked, gesturing towards you.

Ratio didn't even look back.

"They'll be fine," Ratio repeated, as he opened the bedroom door. "They just need a moment to calm down."

Aventurine let out a sigh, torn between staying with you or complying with Ratio's demand. He seemed torn, as if he didn't want to leave you in that state, but also didn't want to ignore Ratio's call.

He looked at you again, his eyes reflecting his conflict. Finally, he spoke in a hushed tone, as if he didn't want Ratio to hear.

"We'll talk later, alright?" he said, trying to give a small reassurances.

Then, without waiting for your response, Aventurine reluctantly followed Ratio into the bedroom.

The door closed behind Aventurine, leaving you alone in the hallway.

The silence echoed in your ears, the only sound being your shallow breathing as you tried to contain your sobs.

You felt so alone and unimportant. It seemed as if your emotions didn't matter to Ratio, and even Aventurine's attempts at comfort seemed half-hearted.

The apartment was now quiet, and you were left with your thoughts. The realization of Ratio's harsh words, his casual dismissal of you, and Aventurine's inability to defend you or at least stand up for you, weighed heavily on your heart.

You remained standing in the hallway, the sobs still making your chest ache with each deep breath.

You managed to go and lock yourself in the spare room next to the master bedroom, seeking solace in that bed.

After locking the door, you climbed into the bed and curled up in a ball under the covers.

The tears continued to fall, your body trembling from the force of your sobs. The room was dark, and the silence around you seemed to amplify your pain.

The conversation with them played over and over again in your mind, their words like poison in your heart.

They just see you as their little helper, someone who serves their needs.

You clutched a pillow tightly, burying your face in it as you tried to muffle your sobs. The pain of their indifference was almost physical, like a weight pressing heavily on your chest.

It was as if the bed enveloped you in a cold, embraced the loneliness you felt in your core.

But just being there and allowing yourself to cry felt good, you didn't hold back.

You don't know how long you were there, sobbing and sobbing, but at some point, tiredness made you practically faint, falling sound asleep.

Even at night, when they had both already returned home, you were still in that room, sleeping.

As they entered the apartment, they noticed that the table was still with the dirty dishes and your breakfast plate that you did not even arrive to eat.

Ratio and Aventurine exchanged a knowing look as they noticed the untouched breakfast.

Ratio spoke first.

"They didn't eat anything all day, huh?" He said, a hint of indifference in his voice.

Aventurine nodded, a mix of guilt and shame on his face.

"I guess not," he mumbled.

Ratio let out a sigh, as he squeezed the bridge of his nose a little.

Ratio walked a little further through the apartment, his expression hard to read.

Aventurine followed him, his footsteps echoing behind Ratio's.

"Maybe we should have checked on them," Aventurine said, his voice tinged with guilt.

Ratio remained silent, while frowning somewhat hesitantly.

Aventurine spoke again, his voice was low.

"Do you think they're still upset?" he asked Ratio.

Ratio let out a sigh again.

"Of course they're upset," he replied, "We literally said hurtful things to their face, Vasha."

Aventurine looked even more guilty as Ratio stated the obvious.

"But I thought you said they were just overreacting?" He said, almost defensively.

Ratio looked to the side, somewhat annoyed by Aventurine's comment. "And I think they are," he said, "But that doesn't mean we didn't hurt them."

There was a moment of silence between the two, before Ratio spoke again. This time, his voice softer than before.

"We may have to find a way to apologize," he said, sighing again.

Aventurine nodded in agreement, seemingly glad that Ratio had considered some kind of reconciliation.

Ratio continued to look at the dirty dishes, the ones they had left there before going out and the breakfast that you had prepared but not touched. That made him feel a new pang, a pang of guilt, but he refused to dwell on that now.

Aventurine spoke again, breaking the silence.

"We should talk to them, right?"

Ratio considered for a moment before nodding.

"Yes, we can talk to them."

Aventurine seemed to take a silent sigh of relief, glad that Ratio agreed to the option.

"When?" he prompted.

Ratio looked at the bedroom door, clearly aware that you were in there.

"Now," Ratio answered, his voice firm.

Aventurine stared at Ratio, slightly surprised by the response.

"Now? But they might be asleep..." he muttered, hesitantly.

Ratio's expression didn't change, as he was resolute.

"It's still early," he replied, "And they are probably awake."

Ratio started walking towards the bedroom door, Aventurine following close behind.

As they approached the door Ratio paused, listening for a moment to see if he could hear any sounds from inside.

Meanwhile, Aventurine stood by, his heart racing a little.

In the finals, he ended up knocking on the door, not too loud.

There was no response after five minutes.

Aventurine shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe they really are asleep," he said hesitantly.

Ratio sighed, a slight trace of worry crossing his expression.

"Maybe...we should check on them," he suggested, his voice tinged with a subtle concern.

Aventurine nodded, agreeing with Ratio's suggestion.

"Yeah,"

Ratio took a breath, then reached for the doorknob and slowly turned it, opening the door a crack to peek inside.

Ratio slowly opened the door and looked inside.

The bedroom was dark, the only light coming from the lamp in the hallway. However, it was enough to see you lying on the bed, your face buried in the pillows.

A soft, regular sound betrayed the steady rhythm of your breathing.

Ratio pushed the door open a little further, his eyes still fixed on your sleeping form.

Aventurine peered over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of you.

"Are they...?" Aventurine whispered, looking at Ratio.

Ratio answered, still observing you. "Yes, they are asleep."

Aventurine let out a sigh, relieved to know that you were indeed asleep.

"That's good, right...?" he said, half expecting Ratio to agree with him.

Ratio, still looking at you, however, didn't answer immediately.

He simply stood there, watching you sleep silently, a strange expression on his face.

Ratio's sudden silence confused Aventurine. He looked at Ratio's face, trying to understand his expression.

"Veritas?" Aventurine murmured, his voice a little higher than a whisper.

Ratio turned his head slightly, his eyes still fixed on you.

"Hm?" he responded, almost as if he had forgotten that Aventurine was there.

Aventurine looked at Ratio and then at you again, starting to realize that Ratio was strangely contemplative.

"Are you...ok?" Aventurine asked, a note of hesitation in his voice.

Ratio seemed to come out of his trance, snapping his eyes back to Aventurine.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said, though there was a slight hesitation in his words.

Ratio slowly closed the door, then turned to Aven.

Who grabbed his face, somewhat worried.

"Tomorrow we will talk to them and everything will be fine," he said, rubbing his cheeks gently.

"Yes, tomorrow," he repeated, more as if assuring himself than Aventurine.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting Aventurine's hands remain on his face for a while.

It was somewhat comforting, but Ratio's mind was still occupied with the previous argument.

...

The morning sun slowly shone through the curtains, illuminating the bedroom.

Ratio and Aventurine, both already awake, were still lying in bed. However, neither of them had gotten up yet.

Ratio had his eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling while Aventurine sat against the headboard, looking thoughtful.

There was an unusual tension between them, the events of the previous day hanging heavily in the air.

Aventurine broke the silence first.

"Veritas," he said, looking at Ratio.

Ratio turned to look at him, wordlessly waiting for him to speak.

Aventurine continued, his voice low but firm. "We need to talk to them, like we said we would," he said.

Ratio sighed slightly, already knowing what was coming.

He knew they had agreed to speak to you, but the thought of it made him uncomfortable.

"I know," he murmured, turning his gaze back to the ceiling.

Aventurine noticed Ratio's uneasiness and looked at him with slight irritation.

"Why do you look so reluctant?" he asked, a note of annoyance in his voice.

Ratio didn't answer immediately, he looked away to one side, avoiding Aventurine's gaze.

Aventurine pressed him again.

"Veritas."

Ratio finally turned to him, his expression somewhat resigned.

"I feel like I went too far," he said.

Aventurine's expression softened a little, hearing Ratio's confession.

"I think we both went too far," he said, gently.

"Yeah," he confessed, his voice softer than usual. "What I said yesterday was...harsh."

"You feel...bad?"

Ratio nodded slightly, sighing afterwards.

"I feel ashamed," he admitted, still avoiding eye contact.

Aventurine moved a little closer to him, a hint of empathy in his eyes.

He reached out and placed a hand on Ratio's shoulder, a gesture of comfort.

"I feel the same," he said quietly. "I should have said something, tried to stop you..."

Ratio finally looked at him, the corner of his mouth tugging slightly in something resembling a weak smile.

"I wouldn't have listened to you anyway," he said, not trying to hide the truth.

Aventurine couldn't help but chuckle a little despite the serious atmosphere within the room.

"Probably not," he agreed.

There was a moment of silence, before Aventurine spoke again, changing the topic.

"Do you think they will forgive us...?"

Ratio closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about the question.

The events of the day before played again in his mind, each harsh word, and your tearful expression.

"I don't know," he responded truthfully, his voice low. "I hope so, but..."

He was going to say something else, but he shake his head, pushing away negative thoughts.

"No, they're going to forgive us." He said, in a way of convincing himself.

"They will," Aventurine said, in an attempt to give some comfort, although his face said that he had doubts.

Ratio nodded slightly, yet the look in his eyes betrayed the uncertainty he still felt.

Then, another silence fell across the room, only the sound of a clock ticking could be heard.

After a long moment, Aventurine spoke again, breaking the quiet.

"We should get up...and go talk to them," he said, glancing at the bedroom door.

"Yes, we should..." Ratio agreed, though neither of them made any effort to actually get up from the bed.

They both lay there for a few more moments, as if they had both suddenly lost the courage to do what they had promised.

Aventurine was the first to stir, sitting up.

"Come on," he said, reaching out a hand towards Ratio, silently prompting him to get up as well.

Ratio looked at Aventurine's outstretched hand for a moment before finally grasping it and pulling himself up.

He swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet, feeling somewhat reluctant but knowing that the conversation was unavoidable.

No one said anything as they left the room to go to the dining room.

As they entered the dining room, their eyes immediately fell on the breakfast table.

Or, more precisely, on its lack of dirty dishes.

The plate they had left after breakfast was gone. The table was completely clean and polished as usual.

Their eyes fixed on the spotless surface for a moment, then they heard noise in the kitchen.

They both turned in the direction of the kitchen at the noise.

As they stepped into the kitchen, they were met by the sight of you standing by the counter.

Currently, you were busy placing clean dishes in a cabinet.

You even had food put in a pan, which was being frightened, while you arranged some clean dishes and glasses that you had just finished washing and drying.

They stood at the entrance for a moment, both a little unsure of what to say or how to behave.

You seemed to be too focused on your tasks to notice their presence at first.

Aventurine and Ratio exchanged a quick glance, both aware that this was the moment they had to talk to you.

Then, Ratio took a step forward and cleared his throat slightly to get your attention.

Your head snapped over to look at him, surprise and a slight hint of cold indifference appearing on your face as you made eye contact with Ratio.

Seeing your expression made Ratio hesitate for a moment, his throat feeling dry. He swallowed, trying to find the right words to say.

Aventurine, standing next to him, shot him a look that clearly said, say something.

There was a palpable tension in the air, the events of the day before still hanging heavy between you all.

You broke the silence first, your voice quiet but steady.

"Good morning."

Seeing that no one was speaking, you were not going to be rude, especially to your bosses.

Ratio took a moment to respond, feeling a bit taken aback by your flat greeting.

"Good morning," he returned, his voice somewhat awkward.

Ratio opened his mouth slightly, to try to say something again, but words got stuck in his throat.

He wanted to apologize right away, but he couldn't find the right words.

Aventurine noticed his struggle and decided to act first.

He stepped forward until he was standing next to Ratio, then sighed slightly before speaking.

"Can we...talk to you?" he said, his voice softer than usual.

You finished placing the last glass in the cabinet and closed the door before turning to face them fully.

"We're already talking," you said, something obvious.

Ratio pursed his lips at your response, a bit irritated by your coldness. But he knew it was their own fault, he tried to stay calm.

"But yeah, we can talk when I'm done preparing breakfast." You spoke before they said anything.

"Also, I also have to talk to both about some things," you added, calmly, as you turned back to the stove, to make sure that the food does not burn.

They watched you turn your back to them to tend to the food, a lump forming in each of their throats.

They both hadn't expected such a sharp and indifferent response from you, but they knew they deserved it.

Ratio looked at Aventurine, who seemed just as uncomfortable and regretful.

Neither of them spoke, waiting for you to continue.

The only sounds in the room were the quiet sounds of the food cooking and the sizzling.

After a few moments, you spoke again, still with your back to them.

"You can sit down," you said, gesturing slightly towards the table behind them.

Ratio and Aventurine exchanged a look, then both sat down at the table, silently.

They waited, the silence seemed to stretch on indefinitely.

"Love, you want me to, huh, help you?" Aventurine tried to break the uncomfortable silence.

You shook your head without turning around, silently rejecting Aventurine's offer.

"No, thank you. I'm handling it."

They remained silent again, watching you work.

Ratio leaned back in his seat, his hands clasped together under his chin, as he watched you in silence.

Aventurine, for his part, was tapping his fingers nervously on the tabletop, his gaze flitting back and forth between you and Ratio.

The atmosphere was uncomfortable, with none of them knowing how to begin the conversation.

You continued your tasks in the kitchen, acting as if they weren't there.

Finally, you turned off the stove and turned around to face them again.

You had plates in your hands, which you put in front of them. The smell of the food was good.

"Here's the food," you said, still in a cold tone.

Then you turned around again, bringing your own plate, as you sat in front of them.

Ratio and Aventurine looked at the food on their plates.

It all looked very good, just like you always prepared.

But, they didn't feel like eating, the knot in their stomachs preventing them from doing so.

You started to eat, silently. Ratio and Aventurine didn't move.

Another silence fell, heavy and uncomfortable.

Aventurine glanced at Ratio, silently communicating to say something, before it got even more tense.

Ratio took a moment to look back at Aventurine.

He knew Aventurine was right. They had to start the conversation.

He turned his gaze to you, who continued to eat, without looking up.

He opened his mouth to say something, but still, the words didn't flow.

Finally, after taking a deep breath, he managed to start speaking.

"We… we want to apologize," Ratio began, his voice strained, "for what we said yesterday."

You didn't respond to Ratio's apology right away, continuing to eat.

However, they could see that you had stopped for a moment, listening to him.

"We said some things that...we didn't mean," Ratio continued, his expression remorseful. "And we didn't act right, towards you," he added quietly, casting his eyes downward.

You finished chewing and swallowing what you had in your mouth before you spoke.

"Okay, now I want to hear you," you said, looking at Aventurine.

By the time you had listened to Ratio, so now it was time for you to hear him.

Aventurine swallowed hard, feeling like a child who had just been scolded.

He swallowed, feeling the knots in his stomach tighten even more.

"I also want to apologize," he said, his voice slightly unsteady. "I shouldn't have said what I said yesterday," he admitted, regretting the words he had spoken.

Then, he added, his face more distressed. "I also shouldn't have been silent, when Veritas-" He stopped short, realizing he almost referred to Ratio as such.

A small, almost bitter smile pulled at the corner of your mouth. But you said nothing about it.

Ratio, at that, felt a sudden pang in his chest.

But, he kept quiet, his lips pursed.

He had noticed, throughout the previous day and this morning, how you responded differently to each of them.

You seemed to forgive or react better to Aventurine, than to him. Which he couldn't blame you for, but it hurt more than he would like to admit.

You sat quietly for a few moments, letting them speak.

You knew they were trying. You could tell, they were at the very least, sincere in their apologies.

You took another bite, slowly chewed, and swallowed before speaking again.

"I accepted your apologies, both of you," you confirmed.

Ratio felt some relief at your words, even if your cold tone still hurt. But he still remained silent.

Aventurine, on the other hand, also felt that small load leave his shoulders and he smiled slightly, glad you forgave him.

He looked at Ratio, encouraging him to continue the conversation.

Ratio couldn't help but notice your cold tone, even after accepting their apologies, and it only made him feel worse.

He wanted to say something about it, but held back, knowing it wasn't the right time.

Instead, he continued, speaking again, his voice still somewhat strained.

"We really regret what we said," he said again, his eyes fixing on yours. "We want...we want us to go back to how we were before," he said, swallowing hard.

You took a pause to study both of them.

You could see that Ratio was uncomfortable and, although Aventurine was trying to look better, you could tell he was uncomfortable, too.

You couldn't deny that the relationship between you had deteriorated, and you wanted to change that, too.

"I don't think we can go back to how we were before..." you said, your eyes looking away to one side, as you continued to speak. "But we can...start again," you suggested, your head turning back towards them.

Ratio felt a pang of hope at your words.

Start again.

Maybe you had more hope for them than you wanted to show.

He relaxed his shoulders slightly, feeling some of the tension being released.

"You...you're giving us a second chance?" Aventurine asked, his tone a mixture of disbelief and optimism.

You nodded slightly at Aventurine's question.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. "Yes, I'm willing to give you both a second chance," you said, your tone less cold than before.

"Have you two finished speaking?" You asked, in a calm voice.

At that, Ratio shook his head a little, all of the above had been his imagination.

"Uhm, yes," Aventurine said, quietly, responding for him and Ratio.

You let out a small sigh and looked at both, your expression still cold.

"Like I said before, I accept your apologies, but they don't erase what you two said, or what happened."

They both knew that, but it still hurt to hear it.

"We understand," Ratio said quietly, still looking down, as he fiddled with his fingers nervously.

You took another bite, slowly chewed, and swallowed before speaking again.

"Good," you responded, your tone not so cold, but still guarded.

"So, don't take my forgiveness as a sign that everything is fine between us," you clarified.

They nodded slightly, understanding the warning in your words.

"We won't," Aven said, his voice hoarse again, the knot in his stomach twisting even more.

Silence fell again, a heavy one.

You continued to eat silently, while Ratio and Aventurine remained sitting, staring at their plates, their untouched food.

You looked up from your food again, noticing their plates.

"You both are going to eat that or just stare at it?" You asked, an edge of sharpness in your voice again.

They both stiffened at the sharpness in your voice.

Ratio opened his mouth to answer, "We aren't-" he started to speak, but a loud rumble interrupted him.

He stopped, a look of embarrassment crossing his face as he realized the source of the sound.

He hadn't even realized that, since he hadn't eaten breakfast, his stomach was protesting.

Aventurine stifled a laugh, looking at Ratio amused, and trying to cover his mouth with a hand.

Looking at them, it was kind of bitter to you.

The table was silent for a while, every now and then you looked at them, finally they were eating.

You let out a sigh, before placing your fork on the plate again.

"I wanted to make everything clear, because that's what the worker-boss relationship I have with you is all about." Your voice came out calm, without any hint of hate.

They both froze in their seats, looking at you as you spoke.

Ratio could not help the feeling of his stomach twisting upon hearing those words.

Aventurine was much more expressive, his face fell, disappointment clear in his eyes.

He felt his chest tighten and his breathing become slightly ragged, but he didn't say anything. He tried to keep his voice steady as he spoke, "So, you...you mean we're just...boss and employee...again?"

Your eyes moved back and forth between them as they spoke, noting their reactions.

You took a moment to think, you knew your words would hurt them, but it was necessary.

"Yes," you answered, your tone firm.

"For the moment, our relationship can't be as it was before. We need to redefine the limits between us."

They swallowed hard, both of them still looking at you with slightly dejected expressions.

On the one hand, you wanted them to feel bad. The things they said were not acceptable, and it stung that they had thought you would forgive them so easily.

But at the same time, you didn't like seeing them like that, and a small part of you was screaming to just say 'no, that's not it' and hug them tightly.

"I'm thinking about myself this time," you said, holding firm in your decisions.

Ratio and Aventurine sat silently, silently processing your words.

Ratio's shoulders slumped, a mixture of guilt and disappointment in his eyes.

He couldn't blame you for your decision, as it was a logical one.

Aventurine, on the other hand, was visibly upset by your statement, but he tried to keep his voice level and composed.

"What does that mean? What are the limits again?" he asked, his voice tinged with barely suppressed frustration.

You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest as you looked at them.

"The limits include a more professional relationship, no intimate nicknames or comments," you listed some examples, your tone matter-of-fact.

"No touching me without my permission, even something small," you added a bit firmer, your eyes slightly hardening.

Ratio bit his lip at your words, feeling a pang in his heart at the thought of not being able to hold or hug you anymore.

However, he understood, it was his own fault for everything that was now happening.

Aventurine was visibly more frustrated by the established limits, but he tried to control himself, although his words came out a bit sharper than he wanted.

"And, how long are we going to be like this?" He asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

You raised an eyebrow, totally unbelieving of his words.

"I don't think you two are getting it," you said calmly.

Ratio glanced at Aventurine, clearly not liking his tone.

Aventurine, however, chose to ignore Ratio's look and focused on you.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of frustration and resignation.

Ratio, on his part, chose to remain silent, watching silently for now.

You let out a small sigh, not surprised that your words hadn't gotten through to them.

"The duration of this situation is indefinite," you said, matter-of-factly. "Maybe permanent,"

Ratio's stomach dropped upon hearing your words.

Permanent?

That can't be true, right?

He glanced at you, his expression hopeful, silently praying that you would change your mind.

Aventurine, on the other hand, could not believe what he was hearing.

"You can't be serious," he said, his voice filled with disbelief. "This can't be permanent, I-" he started to protest, his body tense.

"It is, because I'm getting out of your relationship,"

Your tone was firm, not showing any signs of wavering.

Ratio could start to feel a slight panic rising in his chest, but he tried to keep himself calm.

"You can't do that," Aventurine protested, his frustration coming through in his voice. "You-" he tried to continue, but you interrupted him.

"No, you don't have a say in this," you said firmly, your eyes fixed on him.

Aventurine opened his mouth to speak again, but Ratio spoke first this time, his voice a little desperate.

"Please," Ratio pleaded, "There must be another way.", his voice cracking a little.

His heart was racing rapidly, his palms started to moisten with sweat.

Aventurine looked at Ratio, surprise and slight hurt at his desperation.

He was just as surprised to hear Ratio, someone who was usually rational and controlled, talk in such a panicky way.

You thought you were going to falter, to have your decision go to the trash if you ever saw it like that, but somehow, you stayed calm.

"Why are you complaining?" You started.

"Isn't this what you wanted, Veritas?" You asked.

"”cause after all, you met him first, right, Kakavasha?" You asked again now looking at Aven, keeping calm.

"Why are you two complaining then?"

Ratio's breath caught in his throat upon hearing that.

It felt like a punch in the face, a painful reminder of the situation.

He bit his lip, a lump forming in his throat.

Aventurine, at that, froze in his seat, his heart dropping at your words.

He felt as if you had just stabbed him, deep.

He took a shaky breath and replied, his voice wavering, "That's not-" he began, but was unable to finish.

You finished eating your last pieces of food before getting up from the table.

"Finish eating, it's getting late," you said, as you went to the kitchen to leave your plate.

Ratio swallowed hard, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him.

Aventurine also struggled to keep his emotions under control, his shoulders tensing.

Neither of the two spoke again, they could only watch you disappear into the kitchen.

They couldn't believe it.

It had ended.

All of it.

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