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#between the medics getting kidnapped
vapemaster42069 · 1 year
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Part 1 | Part 2 (you are here!) | Part 3 | Part 4
“So you’re telling me,” Pearl giggled, trying to speak through her amusement, “that you two–don’t laugh at me, I’m serious!-- that you two got kidnapped, and you,” She pointed to Scar with her stick, a half-toasted marshmallow impaled on the end, “convinced them you were soulbound, which saved you from turning into drumsticks,” the stick jerked over to Grian and the marshmallow slipped a little from the force, now dangling onto the tip with and half-hearted corner, slowly oozing it’s way to the floor, “and the experience actually soulbound you?”
“I– well, what else was I supposed to do?” Scar stammered, a grin cracking his face almost in two. Grian cackled, falling over onto him, knocking the marshmallow into his hair with an impressive display of balance, his feet flailing, hands clutching his stomach, lower end nearly slipping off the one of the logs they had dragged around the fire earlier.
“Maybe–” Grian snorted, pausing to compose himself while Scar grabbed his shoulder, doubling over, “--maybe. Don’t! Fall in love with the bird!” He leaned back, clumsily squirming so he was leaning his back on Scar’s front. It was quite an effort, as Scar was still struggling to breathe around his laughter.
“I couldn’t help it! You’re just too cute!” He hugged Grian to his chest, resting his chin in his messy hair.
“Scar! Stop that!” Grian’s cheeks burned red, the blush only half-masked by the low lighting. “I am not cute!” 
“You’re a little cute.”
“Pearl! Don’t join his side!,” He grabbed Scar’s hand in his own, “See, you’ve even turned my sister against me!”
“They’re not wrong, though,” Mumbo called from where he lounged by their cave entrance, keeping watch on the surrounding forest through the blizzard flurries, his back to the fire, “You are pretty adorable, especially when you– oh, look, he’s doing it now! When you get all annoyed, and your face scrunches, and–,” He ducked, dodging a marshmallow viscously targeted at his head, “-- And your fathers get all poofy–,” He dodged again, laughing, “Stop wasting the marshmallows! There better be some left when my shift is done!”
“Impossible!” Impulse grabbed the bag, snatching four marshmallows and spearing them on the tip of one of Scar’s arrows, “Knights, new mission: eat all of the marshmallows in the next 10 minutes!” He tossed the bag over the fire, across the circle to where Pearl sat on her tree stump. She was wrapped in Mumbo’s coat, which miraculously didn’t have any marshmallow bits on it, a seemingly-anti-marshmallow-debris aura surrounding Pearl and about two feet on either side of her.
“Aye, aye!” Pearl saluted him, catching the bag and loading another marshmallow onto her stick.
“Oh– You jerk!” Mumbo glanced away from the dark forest in front of him, towards Impulse, “Treason!”
Impulse raised a fist, turning as well, “I serve the king!”
“I don’t,” A hooded figure, previously hidden in the shadow of a tree, stepped into the light, brushing snow from their shoulders.
“I– WAAAAAAH–!” Pearl yelped, slipping backwards off her stump and landing shoulders-first on the cave floor. She reached for a sword that wasn’t there before glancing up, suddenly acutely aware of her party’s casual lack of armor. All but Mumbo, on guard, and Scar, who didn’t wear much armor as a marksman anyways, had settled down and disrobed their heavy guards and weapons.
“Oh, hi, Cub!” Scar called. 
Mumbo held out a hand, fistbumping Cub as he passed, “That was a good one, we finally got someone!” His mustache wiggled mischievously.
“You two–” Pearl hoisted herself up onto her elbows, “-- are spoons.”
“Yep!” Cub slid his hood off, shaking the length of his white cape to get the remaining snow off. It wasn’t a knight’s cape, but it did bear the crest of the king on the lapel. Several potion bottles clinked under his light blue robes. “You the newbie?”
“Yeah, uh. I’m Dame Moon, or Pearl. Boatem sect, Eighth season, this idiot’s–” she nudged Grian with a foot, “--older sister.”
“Cub. Nice to meet you.” He turned back to the cave entrance, beckoning with a gloved hand. “X!”
“Heyo,” a shape in the dark responded.
“Stop that!” Pearl, from her spot on the floor, startled again. Grian grinned at her.
“L.”
“I hate you,”
“Awww, you love me.” 
Pearl rolled her eyes, hauling herself back onto her seat. The figure in the dark ducked into the cave, stooping a little to fit. He kept his hood up, unlike Cub, but his cloak required no brushing; even in the dying firelight, the knights recognised it as a mage cloak, specifically one for a bone mage.The garment, made of a black fabric as deep as the void, was lined with white runic patterns that met and convoluted on various points just above the fade-point– the part where the cape began dissolving into mist, gradually becoming more shadow than fabric. The hood, which sat low over the mage’s eyes, altered specifically for this mage, was similarly filigreed, with long slits down its length that revealed a pale white inner lining, a cowl resting over the lower half of his face. “‘Sup.”
“Hey, X!”
“Impy.” he nodded. His voice was soft, a contrast to his looming figure and noticeable, gigantic iron cavalry sword strapped to his side.
“Impulse, you know Isuma?” Mumbo shifted, turning so he could both see out into the forest and into the mouth of the cave.
“Impy?” Scar mouthed at Impulse.
“Shut up,” He mouthed back. “Yeah, I worked with him a while ago, slew a dragon. You still got that egg, X?”
“Hatched last winter. She’s doing well, hanging around the Lunar Mountains for now.”
“Nice.”
Cub stepped forward, “We’re here because of a rogue mage that’s been terrorizing the locals over the mountains. They’re probably a bonemage, like X here, but we’re not certain. They could be a lost mobborn too, like an illage-humanr or piglin-human mix, something with supernatural strength and speed. Not one of us, though,” He nodded to Scar, “I checked.”
“So you’ve met them?” Scar leaned forward, lifting his chin off Grian’s head, “What bonemage is powerful enough to fight off a vexborn alone?”
“Not alone– it was a vexborn, a bonemage, and a small but enthusiastic dragon named Suzie. And we’re working on that second part. In fact, that's why we’re here! And for your marshmallows, of course.” He stepped towards Pearl, who offered the bag of sweets to X and him.
“How magical are we talking here? They would have had to have a decent amount for you to assume a born or mage, but is it more innate or drawn from something?” Pearl warily glanced to Grian, determinedly keeping her voice nonchalant. They hadn’t teamed up in their Watcher forms for a long time, but if this person was as powerful as Cub made them seem, they might be forced to.
“X, you got this one, you got closer.” Cub’s response was muffled by an indeterminable number of marshmallows in his mouth.
X stepped forward, shifting the low trim of his hood out of his face with an annoyed flick of his head. The firelight flickered over his face, casting shadows that danced from the curves of his cowl up to his eyes, which flashed in the night. “Oh, sure! I got the impression that it was more innate, nothing like a Bonemage, where we have to borrow power from whoever’s around us. But, however they functioned, they weren’t really like any born I’d met,” He swiveled a little, glancing down to retrieve a book from his pocket. “I’ve been doing some research, and there’s a possibility– only a possibility at this point, so there’s no need to panic– that this individual could be a Watcher.”
Pearl again glanced to Grian. The Order probably knew about Grian’s Watcher form, but Pearl had neglected to tell them– and the Order didn’t take kindly to being lied to. She had been able to mask her magic with the help of an inhibitor necklace, hidden under her tunic, but nothing would be able to mask the look of a biblically-accurate sphere of eyes and rays of divine light. Probably. She’d burn that bridge when she got to it.
“So let’s say we’ve got a Watcher on our hands,” Impulse leaned in, “because we both know you wouldn’t have called us if they were anything else. Or brought in Isuma, for that matter. What sent them off the edge? And what can we do about it? We could take this person down without force if we can snap them out of whatever triggered them,”
Grian nodded. “Watchers nearly never go full-angel-mode unless we’re provoked. If we’re dealing with an open, full Watcher, something bigger is almost certainly happening behind the scenes that we have to be ready for.”
“That was my thought, too,” X sighed.
“So what do we do about it?” Mumbo said, still peering out into the dark, “Or, what is it that we’re dealing with?”
“That’s why I’m here. There’s something stirring here, something old. The bones of the earth herself are shifting. I fear something may awake,” He gently grabbed a marshmallow and chomped into it with gusto, ignoring the tension in the air, “and me personally, I don’t want to encounter something that can vaporize us by thinking about it.”
“I’ve noticed that too,” Grian reached into his pockets, taking out a mossy stone, “The grass has been telling me her secrets.”
“... the grass has what?”
“The grasses hold the key, I’m telling you. There's this tall grass, one I’ve been searching for, one that the trees whisper about when you walk past them really quietly. They hold knowledge, these grasses.”
“Grian, have you been talking to the grass?”
“Yes?” Silence.
“... uh. Ok. Let’s table that revelation for now,” Impulse sideyed him, “Game plan. Do we go for the Watcher–”
“--Probably Watcher–”
“--Yes, thank you X. Do we go for the Probably Watcher, or for the ancient stirrings of the world itself, first?”
“I’m going to be honest, neither of those sound like good options,” Scar wrapped his arms more tightly around Grian’s torso. “I’m more worried about– Well. If one Watcher got triggered out by this great stirring, who’s to say that it won’t trigger another? Is it the best plan to get close to this situation, knowing we could make it worse?”
Cub glanced at X, his eyes shifting between him and the knights’ seats. “That’s… the difficult part of this. We need your help, but we can’t get any other Watchers too close. Gods know we don’t want to fight anyone who gets taken over by this thing,” He paused meaningfully, looking Grian in the eyes, “we need the knights, but we need anyone fey out of action. That includes me,” he turned to Scar, “you, your soulbound,” to Pearl, “and any other Watchers who may or may not be in the room with us right now.”
“No.”
“I– no? Mumbo?”
“If they’re out, I’m out. I don’t know about the others here, but I took an oath with the Order to stick together.” He looked at Cub, defiant, but his eyes softened at the worry on his old friend’s face. “I’m not fighting for something that’s going to put my fa– my friends– in danger.”
Pearl nodded. “I’m with him.”
“I’m out too. We fight together, or not at all,” Impulse said. He eyed Cub. “And more of us are fey here than you seem to think. You’ve managed to approach the most fay-filled section of the Order that there is, dude.”
Cub sighed. “I guessed as much. You’ll have to investigate the backside of this, then, if you’re still down to help. Find who this person is, what they want, what’s causing all of this, while X keeps them from destroying the entire countryside.”
“Will you be able to hold your own?” Pearl plunked another marshmallow onto her stick, “You already said this person managed to hold you two off, how will you keep them back?”
“I should be okay,” X said. “I’ve already messaged a few mages from sects in the area. We should end up with one of each of the branches, if everything goes smoothly, with an extra Stonemage to spare.”
Impulse stood, marshmallows abandoned. The arrow he had them speared on was smoldering. He ignored it. “Good luck then, X.” He shook his hand. “And you, Cub. We’re a call away if things go bottoms-up.”
Cub smiled, adjusted his glasses. “You always are. Best of luck to you, knights. We’ll be off, we have some Stone–” he glanced at X, who shook his head, “Soul–” 
“Nope.”
“-- Earth?”
“Bingo.”
“Yep, Earthmages to meet.”
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hua-fei-hua · 9 months
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last night i had a dream that had something to do with reading a fic abt . well i wanna say "a haunted forest diner" but i've already written a haunted forest diner fic and it was not at all like that. anyway, it was this haunted forest diner fic in the sense that all its patrons were old forest gods of like decay and shit and in order to sneak in, you had to transform into like a deer, and apparently i was a supremely graceful jumper for a stag
but anyway i dreamt that that was a fic that i had apparently read and commented on months ago, but for w/e reason i had never read the replies to, and the author had replied that i seemed like a cool person n that they would have loved to have read some stuff i had written "but it seems you do not have any genshin works up..."
and honest to god all i could think upon reading that was literally "lol skill issue"
#and then i dreamt that i got one of those defeat the 8-12 hilichurl comms in genshin n i was like fine fine w/e#but after killing two i somehow figured out that they were not trying to kill me but instead trying to kidnap me to be their medic#and i was intrigued enough to be like 'okay' n sat down on this white blanket thing they had set aside for me#n one of my friends (don't remember who) was like 'yo you good?' n i was like 'yeah they just want me to be their medic'#n my friend looked at me suspiciously n was like 'well the comm isn't over you have six more to kill but if you need me i'll be over there'#n she pointed to where the trumpets i knew in high school (minus cody? i think?) were having sectionals under some trees#it was definitely trumpet sectionals but for whatever reason my brain decided to edit out cody So fucking True get redacted idiot#anyway so i just waited around in the warm sun untild a bunch of humanoid creatures started coming down the hill#i think they were supposed to be bosses or smth but none of them are in gnshn even tho we were def in mond or liyue by this point#and they all had different colored faces but anyway my friend was like 'THIS IS WHY WE HAVE TO DEFEAT ALL THE HILICHURLS!!!'#'BECAUSE IF WE DON'T THEN THEY'RE JUST BUYING TIME FOR *THESE GUYS* TO COME!!!!'#n i was like 'oh shit!!' n we started fighting them n they were really tanky but we got most of them except for the blue one#and so i went back to the haunted diner place n entered it as a human n went upstairs where i found the author in my dreams#n she said that we couldn't talk long bc the blue guy was after me but she'd distract it by joining its side#and also there was like this whole subplot in between abt like uhhh exchanging love for power i think? idk i don't remember rn#i just remember that the author temporarily exchanged some of her like. goodwill or smth to buy me time to prepare for my fight#with the blue guy and so i hiding in the bathroom listened w my ear pressed against the wall as she became corrupted n then it was#my turn to fight the blue guy n i opened up the door n stuff but then i woke up :c#anyway so that was MY dream diary for today everyone leave your own recent dreams in the replies and we can have a discussion lol#花話
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hecate-hollow · 2 months
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Good parents Janet and Jack Drake put Tim through those child safety courses where they teach kids how to protect themselves in case someone tries to kidnap them.
The issue is that Tim is a feral little gremlin of a child with a very strong understanding of public personas and knows to keep his feralness behind closed doors or where no one can see him. So in front of all the parents and instructors Tim keeps letting himself be too easily shoved into this car because he’s out in public and he’s supposed to be polite.
Jacks not having it. He’s not about to have his son shown up by little Suzy with the blond curly pigtails who screams like a banshee and kicks hard enough to end family lines.
“Tim,” he says pulling his 6/7 year old son to the side. “If you can go the rest of this session without letting them shove you in that car once, I will buy you whatever camera you want.”
“Plus accessories?”
“Anything you want.” Tim smiles in that oh so familiar way that swore chaos upon you and your kin and from where she was sitting Janet sighs, sending a text to their lawyer.
The next round is a free for all. Tim is cussing them out in Russians, then french, then possibly ancient Egyptian? (“who taught him how to cuss like that?” Jack asks while Janet hides turns her head to hide her smile). He’s punching, kicking, and there’s definitely biting involved. Somehow Tim managed to twist his way onto the instructors shoulders and has him in a child sized chokehold.
Needless to say, Tim gets that camera and then some. The Drakes happily pay for the instructors medical bill (just a mild sprain and a dislocated shoulder) and thank them for teaching their son the importance of not being kidnapped.
There’s a standing agreement between Jack and his son. Every time Tim avoids being kidnapped he gets some kind of new camera something. It’s to a point where Tim has a reputation in Gotham among the underworld as unkidnappable (not that it stopped people from trying).
Of course over the years Tim’s parents stuck him in multiple martial arts classes (on Tim’s request. This boy wants those camera’s) so more times than less he knocks out his assailants, takes a selfie with their unconscious bodies, and sends proof of avoidance to his parents alongside a link to whatever equipment he wanted.
This is all well and good until Tim becomes Robin. It shows up…I want to say three times that really stand out. The first time is with Ivy. Tim’s been hit with something that leaves him somewhat disoriented, but he’d trained for this. He’ll be fine. Ain’t no rogue getting him to a secondary location no siree. So he goes full feral mode and manages to knock out Ivy. To which he immediate pulls out his phone, takes a selfie, and sends it to his parents with a link because it’s habit and he might be concussed.
Within 24hrs the Drakes are standing at Bruce’s door with questions and also that new Camera lens Tim requested. Tim is hiding his face in his hands completely embarrassed because he does not remember sending his parents the selfie of him posing in full Robin gear with an unconscious Ivy behind him, but here we are. (The Drakes expect regular injury reports and also hash out a deal for Tim to stay at the manor whenever they have to travel. Also Tim’s grades have to stay up and he’s not allowed out during finals).
The second time is probably with the joker. There’s an Arkham breakout and Joker escapes and does manage to get Tim. The Bats are out in full force looking for him when a message pings in their group chat. It’s a selfie of Tim, looking worse for wear with a somewhat foggy look in his eyes, but theirs a feral smile in his face and a probably unconscious and not dead joker in the background.
“Talk shit get hit.” He’d messaged followed by a ping of his exact coordinates.
The most recent and most memorable happened post time stream shenanigans. Ra’s is a little too obsessed with Tim and Tim is just a little too sleep deprived to play along with the pseudo immortals mind games. When asked Tim will admit to remembering nothing, but the proof is in the family chat.
“Get good.” Followed by a selfie of Tim hugging what was probably a mug of coffee but behind him were at least 4 ninja’s and Ra’s Al Ghul himself slumped unconscious looking like they’d been attacked by a wild animal.
“Also I’m on a boat in the middle of Gotham Harbor can someone come pick me up plsssssss.”
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blughxreader · 9 months
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Soft yandere Miguel O’Hara
cw: noncon, breeding, kidnapping, m masturbation, biting, SPOILERS. Headcanons and drabble. 1.4k words.
Mean dom Miguel is so hot, but I find that soft yan Miguel has so much overlap with canon.
This man still does all the sick and deplorable things a villain does, but in a way that's strangely tender.
I mean, you simultaneously have to be a sweet man and a stone-cold motherfucker to step in the shoes of your dead counterpart and con his family into thinking everything is fine. Like, he (eventually) fucked a dead man's wife, adopted his child, and seamlessly integrated into his shoes.
While certainly calloused, it also reveals a profound desperation for love and a willingness to do anything for it.
Enter you: a Spider from a random dimension that got caught up in an anomaly's destruction. Maybe your world was destroyed or it's emotionally difficult for you to return, so you end up spending a lot of time at HQ.
Miguel doesn't notice you for a while. There's hundreds of Spiders milling about the base, so it's only until you befriend Peter B and his baby that you get acquainted.
You draw him in without trying, no matter the walls that Miguel puts up. He needs to focus—everyone's very existence is at stake, dammit,—but by month five, you're the only thing he can think about.
His advances start off slow, bogged down by his own exasperation at himself. You're ordered to give in-person de-briefs in Miguel's office and get invited to lunch with him and Peter B, giving you the impression of an upcoming promotion. Miguel is as poised as ever, not letting a single stray emotion color his expression, and talks to you in an aloof, polite manner.
However uninterested he might seem, his insides tighten and flutter at your growing friendship. Every time you smile or secretly share a bemused look, he sinks deeper and deeper in his desire to have you.
Proximity-wise, Miguel vacillates between sitting next to you, close enough for your elbows to brush, and standing 30 feet away on his podium for the next week.
His involuntary, physical reactions startle him, and it becomes another contention he internally wars about. The second he thinks it's harmless to brush against you, it divulges into grabbing—cupping—pinning—fucking—ruining.
God, he fucking loathes the powerless feeling you inflict on him, but he doesn't have the strength to put an end to your friendship. He furiously jerks off after every meeting, biting into his hand to punish himself as he comes to the thought of you swollen with his child.
He thinks of all the deplorable ways to make you pay for causing these feelings, but he ultimately knows the blame lies within him. You see him as a boss and friend, nothing more. You would never intentionally drag him down to this state, so he bottles up all these feelings for your protection.
It takes a particularly bad mission for his control to break.
Whatever reservations he had about locking you in his bedroom evaporate when he sees you covered in blood and rubble. Protecting you from himself was one thing, but the thousands of universes?
You didn't realize what happened until you woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, weary from pain medication.
He takes your fear, anger, and tears in stride.
While he can't shake his bitchy personality, his annoyance always fizzles out to mumbles and sighs. For months, he takes your verbal abuse and outbursts with resigned acceptance. Miguel didn't always like what he had to do, but he would commit any atrocity if it meant keeping you at his side.
He moves some of his work at home to spend more time with you, just content to occupy the same room while you adjusted to your new situation.
Your shared apartment is quiet most days, save for sporadic outbursts of rage from you, and Miguel daydreams about having a few little kids running around to fill the void.
He stares at you most evenings, watching you curled up on the couch pointedly ignoring him. Miguel thinks you wouldn't be so belligerent if you needed him for something, if you craved his presence and help in some way.
Miguel's mind always drifts back to his favorite fantasies on nights like these: you nine months pregnant and too big for anything other than his shirts. His eyes drift down to your stomach, to the place where you could make his dreams come true.
Patience is something Miguel prides himself on, which is why he puts up with the loneliness for nearly a year after bringing you home. You were given ample time to warm up to him and he's been nothing but kind. Every broken plate and spoiled food, every scratch across his face, every insult—he let you have your way in hopes that you'll eventually recognize him as your lover.
But no. You complained and struggled every step of the way.
Miguel could never hurt you, but he realized that more permanent and assertive measures had to be taken to make you see that you need and love him as much as he does you.
---
When he finally takes you, there's hardly any space between your bodies. There are months of touch starvation to make up for and Miguel is compensating all at once.
His entire 6'9" stature pins you to his bed, locking you between arms as large as your thighs. Miguel is the only thing you see or feel, as his hands caress every dip and curve of your body and his cock grinds against your slit.
With your legs helplessly hiked up around his waist and one of his hands pinning your wrists above your head, he makes love to you with a slow burning intensity.
Your fear and disgust are palpable, but between his sweet voice in your ear and his fingers somehow knowing the rhythm and speed to play with your clit, you're more wet than you've ever been.
"Shh, shh, mi cornazón. I have you." Miguel kisses your jaw, his cock rocking in and out of your aching heat with an agonizingly slow pace. "Just breathe steadily and let me take care of you."
He's too big inside of you, and your grunts of pain make him linger in place to help you adjust. When his stride picks up and the wet sounds of sex fill the bedroom, disgust roils in your stomach. Yet fuck, fuck, fuck, your body temperature rises with each stroke.
Miguel kisses you deeply, using his free hand to hold your head in place. He says, "It's time. I've been so patient. Be brave for me and take our baby."
He swallows your horrified pleading with another scorching kiss.
Your pussy clenches around his dick and your breath catches in your throat. Miguel hugs you tighter, his nose pressed into your hair as he angles himself just right. When the first waves of your orgasm make your head dip back, the sharp edge of fangs scratch your neck.
You barely register his mantra of, "Te amo," when his jaw clamps down on your shoulder. Blood spurts from between his teeth, and you cry out in confused pain as your orgasm shakes your body.
Miguel moans into your flesh seconds later, pumping his cum deep inside you. His thrusting is uncoordinated and rough, too blinded by pleasure to notice how powerful his pounding is. The mattress springs whine beneath you two, and you can only cry from the overwhelming treatment.
He milks every last drop of cum into your cunt before he begins to slow. Both of you gasp for breath, your chests heaving against one another's as sweat cools on your hot skin.
He keeps you plugged up for a while longer to give the conception time. His bloodied lips drag across the wound on your shoulder, peppering you with kisses as he trails red along your neck.
A sob shutters in your chest as Miguel runs a palm along your stomach.
"You'll understand soon. I promise. This will be the best thing that's ever happened to us."
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bigassmoonchild · 7 months
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Maple Syrup
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
Word Count: 2.2k
Summary: All you needed was to contain the aphrodisiac, make an antidote just in case, and go home. But working with the 141 was never that simple, and now you and Ghost would find out how it worked. Up close and personal.
Content Tags: Vague kidnapping near the beginning, Sex Pollen, Smut, PiV Sex, Fingering, Fuck or Die, Mild Dubious Consent (consent is gained after pollen gets inhaled), No use of Y/N, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alpha! Ghost
A/N: Honest to god, I've been trying to write a story based on this thought alone. I can't even get it started but maybe this will get me. There also needs to be more Omegaverse written for COD, there can be some interesting stuff from it. Lmk if you want more of this, i'm exhausted <3 (p.s. I've changed the summary like, 10 times and idk how to feel about it)
Next, Headcannons, Masterlist
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"Gaz, are we clear to enter?" Ghost asked into the comms. Gaz had gone into the building first, alongside Soap, to clear out the path you and Ghost would take. It was almost a straight shot, it felt too easy to get to the weapon you were there for. Maple Syrup, they had called it, even though it was an airborne weapon. You could hear a few shouts of a language, it sounded Russian but you weren't entirely sure, but you didn't have long to dwell on it as they stopped with a few gunshots.
Another few grunts came through before Gaz finally responded. "We're all clear in here, we still need to sweep a few rooms closer to Docs target, but you should be good to enter," he answered. Ghost nodded at you and led the way in, gun resting on his shoulder as he looked every which way. You knew it was a safety precaution, but you trusted Gaz.
You always trusted easily, it was in your nature. You were an Omega, and having trust in the people meant to protect you felt natural. You trusted your pack, even if you hadn't been a part of it for too long.
Maybe you shouldn't trust as easily.
Ghost shoved you into the wall next to you and started firing, bullets whistling past your ears as you ducked low. It reeked of sex, of Alphas and Omegas in heat or rut. Even through the military grade suppressant you could smell it, and it hurt. Ghost ducked around the corner, more gunshots echoing before a grunt came from him, and you heard the sound of a body dropping.
You didn't think before rounding that corner, seeing Ghost on the ground unmoving shook you. You ran your hands over him to feel for blood, but you couldn't see or feel anything. By the time you got to his shoulders, you found a needle trapped between his vest and arm, right in the meaty part of his inner-most shoulder. You plucked it off of him without thinking, tossing it to the side before pressing to feel for anything left inside.
You hadn't noticed the people advancing behind you, had ignored the calling from the comms or footsteps coming from the same direction Gaz and Soap were supposed to be in, but you felt the prick of the needle on your back. With a shout, you fell forwards, catching yourself from falling face first into the ground. You attempted to crawl forwards, get away from the men approaching from the back, but the medication they pumped into you caught up quicker than you could move.
It was with a groan that you sat up, swallowing thickly at the sickly sweet taste in your mouth. You tried wiping your face, but your hands moved slower than they felt, missing twice before wiping the area around your mouth. Pulling your hand back, a thin, dark red coating came back on them. You blinked hard, trying to remember what you had come here for.
The Maple Syrup mist. You couldn't remember much else about it, your mind moving at about the same speed as the namesake for the pollen-like substance. It was airborne. You knew that. There was something especially dangerous about it that a lot of the countries who knew about it wanted it gone. You were hired to make sure that no matter what happened, there was an anti-dote for it.
Something like that.
You blinked back into it when the door to wherever you were creaked open. You glanced up slowly, blinking at the men who entered and grabbed you, speaking loudly at you. What were they talking about? It wasn't Russian, you hadn't been in Russia or near any of their allies when you'd been grabbed.
You wouldn't understand it, your mind was moving at half the speed they were dragging you at. A few twists and turns, some scattered conversation floating around, and being dropped twice was what it took for you to be tossed into a similar room as your first. You laid face first on the ground, the cold helping to clear your head slightly.
Small cramps started in your back, twinging you every few seconds. A voice came over a loudspeaker, whatever they were saying it was something they were very pleased with. You turned, slowly, onto your back before crawling backwards to lean onto the wall behind you.
Maple Syrup. What the hell about it was so important they sent the 141 after it? Something something, military grade suppressants. The suppressants. Maple Syrup could break through military grade suppressants. You groaned, the cramps moving through your back and into your stomach. You could feel the heat, all-encompassing, starting to wash over you.
A loud, long creak echoed from the area to your left, and your head dropped to your shoulder as you turned it to look at the wall. A scent came wafting from the slowly opening crack in the wall, growing headier as the walls fully opened up. It was musky, with leather and tobacco, hints of the gunpowder you often smelled back on base. It made your mouth water.
The groan from the corner directly next to you startled you back into the present. As your eyes adjusted to the new lighting between the two rooms, a dark shape became clearer in the corner. A skull mask was lying tossed a few meters from it, and as your vision cleared up more, you could tell it was Ghost.
His head hardly moved as his eyes found yours, staring through you from beneath the balaclava.
"What's the verdict, Doc?" He grumbled, deep in his throat.
"Dosed with Maple Syrup," you whispered back, and his head fell back down between his legs.
A short, harsh sound came from him, it had to be a laugh, "then what's gonna happen to us?"
"When was your last natural rut?" You looked at him, licking your dried lips. You could see his head move sharply from your peripheral, his eyes flittering up and down. He shook his head, another dry laugh coming from him.
"It's that bad?" You nodded. "Probably since I took my last, longer leave. I think it was four or five years ago, but I don't remember," you blinked slowly. The levels of androstenone in him would be high, especially without a rut to keep him leveled, and the Maple Syrup would only force him to produce more. Too much, and he'd die of something. Whether it would be heat stroke, or dehydration you had no idea.
"If you don't pop a knot or two, you'll die. Heat stroke, maybe dehydration, but you'll die. I don't know the exact amount of androstenone inside of you, but if it gets too high you could be forced into a feral rut," you glanced over at him, his eyes scrunched shut, a low groan coming from his throat. He glanced back up to you, his eyes softened and fear started to lace his scent.
Ghost shook his head. "If I go feral, I'll kill you. I can't, Doc, I don't wanna kill you," his voice grew more strained as his sentence wore on.
"I'll be fine," you gave him a soft smile. "I'm going to go into heat, and if I don't get a knot, I'll die. I don't know if the weapon shit is able to counteract the birth control part of the suppressants, but I don't feel good. I need you to fuck me, Ghost," you whispered the last part. He shook his head. "You have my permission, so it's up to you to act," you swallowed again, eyes shutting as sweat beaded down your neck.
It was getting hot. Too hot, and you could feel your slick pooling and soaking through your pants. You could smell it, and you knew he could smell it. You could hear the panting breaths he took, the grunts he let out. A long, low growl came from him and his heavy steps inched closer to you.
Ghost grabbed you by the back of your neck, shoving you forward into the ground and scenting your throat deeply. He tore at the neck of your shirt, ripping it to let him get more of your scent. He licked a long line, sucking into the base of your neck softly as his teeth grazed along it.
He stuffed his fingers under your pants and panties, leaving you whining as two of his fingers brushed past your clit and buried into you. Even feral, the Alpha was trying to take care of you. They curled and pressed against you, leaving you writhing under him as you whined for more.
Pleasure blossomed in your abdomen, the heel of his hand grazing against your clit with each pump his fingers made, leaving you throbbing around his fingers. Ghost was able to get one more finger in you, nosing up your neck before sucking a dark hickey into your neck, teeth grazing along your neck and nipping you here and there, soothing it with a lick.
He tugged his fingers out of you, dragging your pants and panties down before shoving his down as well. He rutted his cock against your folds, soaking himself in your slick before sliding inside of you. A long, loud moan tore out of your throat as he kept sliding further and further into you, bottoming out with a growl from him.
Writhing against him with your mouth hanging open, he dragged himself out of you before rutting back in. Your nails scratched against the floor beneath you, you could feel your heartbeat in your clit and Ghost against your back.
Licking and sucking at your scent gland, Ghost dragged his face against it and growling. You could feel him throb inside of you, heat flooding you with his cum. A long whine came from your throat, hips pushing back and out against him as his fingers found your clit, rubbing in soft but quick strokes. Heat shredded through your abdomen, sliding through the rest of your body as your orgasm tore through your body.
You could feel your clit pulse with each heartbeat, his fingers not waning from stroking it, shocks flowing through you with each stroke. You thought you could feel tears pouring down your face, mouth wide open as you groaned. Ghost pulled out, letting you drop to the ground on your stomach before he flipped you over, pulling your legs to his shoulders and rocking his cock back inside of you.
Dropping your head back, your mouth still gaped open as he filled you once more. You could feel his knot catching onto you each time he thrust, leaving you whining. Ghost dropped back down, mouthing at your scent gland once more, leaving his open for your own mouth.
Pushing his balaclava away from his gland, you took licks of his for yourself. He tasted good, so good, his scent flooding into your mouth, you had to pull back just enough so that you could breathe. He grunted with each thrust, his abdomen brushing against your clit with every other thrust, your legs pushed into your chest.
Each thrust left you whining for more, faster, harder even if he couldn't hear or understand you through the feral rut. You felt tears pooling in your eyes again, dripping down your face as you gasped with each thrust, cunt throbbing around him as his knot caught more and more with every thrust until he couldn't pull out anymore. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you felt a sharp, stinging pain radiate from your neck before it heated into what almost felt like agonizing pleasure.
It burned white hot and you clawed at his arms, hips bucking against his, which were just barely thrusting against you, trying to pump you full and pump deep.
When he finally released your neck, he let out a long groan as his own orgasm seemed to finally wash over him. Ghost let his head drop to your shoulder, his hips trying to thrust harder and you couldn't stop yourself from biting down on his own gland in turn.
It was hard to see the way his mouth dropped open under the balaclava and his eyes roll back, but from what you could see it left you moaning against his neck.
It took you a few minutes to come back to when you released his neck. All you could taste those few minutes was Ghost, nothing more. You had to gasp for actual oxygen as his taste nearly embedded itself in your mouth.
From the moment you released his neck, to the moment you became more aware of what was happening, he had adjusted you to sitting in his lap with his back against the wall. You could hear him talking, but your mind was gone. There wasn't pain, but you weren't entirely comfortable. Your neck was sore, and your cunt was still throbbing around him.
He nuzzled your neck, lapping at your now marked gland.
Ghost wasn't entirely sure what would happen, neither of you would be able to hide the marks and even so, he would have to report this. He figured it wouldn't matter, for now, he could wait to figure everything out until you got medevacked and taken care of. Price would know what to do, he always did.
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mypoisonedvine · 8 months
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𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲 | emmett x reader
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | after being rescued from your captors, tension grows between you and the man that killed to save you.
𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | nearly 11K (?!?! WTF?)
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only!!), angst, kind of a slow burn?, age gap (reader is twenty, emmett is late forties), pining, voyeurism, dark themes (slavery/kidnapping, discussions of noncon and loss, but emmett is not dark he's nice!!), traumatized reader (and emmett, let's be real, nobody's not traumatized here), violence (use of guns) and minor character death
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This was where you waited— at his feet.  Every deal, every ‘business meeting’, every mission report, you sat there on the floor beside his legs.  He wanted everyone else to know your place just as much as you did.
Living with smugglers and looters like this was a rough life— but the man who bought you, Paul (though you only knew his name from hearing others speak to him) insisted you had a better life in here as his ‘pet’ than out there running missions for him, finding valuables to barter and sell.  Considering there were plenty of missions that not everyone made it back from, you knew he kind of had a point.
But even so, it didn’t exactly feel luxurious being a man’s property.  You’d been looked at like a thing, like less than human, like a piece of meat since you got here; and you’d been here just long enough to get really used to it.  You sat here on the floor while Paul, his men, and his customers stood or at least sat on chairs.
That was why it felt so different, so shocking, when he looked at you.  The man that came today, to trade with Paul.  He was lean and gaunt, it was obvious even with his heavy layers of clothes; he had long hair on his head and face, but his icy stare pierced through… and it was concentrated on you from the moment he stepped into the smugglers’ compound.
He didn’t say anything, even when one of Paul’s men shut the bunker door and it was safe to talk— he didn’t react much on his face, either, staying stoic and flat.  But it was obvious that you had his attention, even your ‘owner’ noticed that.  
“Just bought her,” Paul explained with a proud grin as he tightened his grip on your wrist; you winced slightly.  “Slavers picked her up just past the lake, she’d been camping out there for not even a week… don’t know where she was hiding before that.  Isn’t she cute?”
You figured that was why he brought you here— to show you off.  You, like the guards at either end of the room and by the door, were a symbol of Paul’s power.  The other man just looked away from you, and back at Paul.  “Can we get to business?” he asked in a rough voice.
“Of course,” Paul replied with that customer service smile of his, dropping your wrist which you held yourself right away.  “You’ve got a few extra guns, and we have some extra cans of food— good shit, too, not just soggy old veggies.  Or, maybe we can throw in some medical supplies, if you have ammo for those weapons,” Paul explained, gesturing to the table of goods for trade.  “Whaddaya think?”
The man was silent, looking blankly ahead at the cans and boxes before him.  “How much for her?” he asked suddenly, lowly.
Your heart stopped for a moment; feeling the man’s gaze run over you, you looked away and pressed your lips together.  “Oh, she caught your eye, huh?” Paul purred.  “Sorry, pal— not for sale.  But the folks I bought her from had a couple other girls, how’s about I tell them where to find you and they can strike up a deal of their own?”
The man shook his head.  “Her.  I want her.”
Paul did that thing he did where he sat up straighter, and dropped his smile; you bit down on your lip to hide a whimper, because you got very fucking scared whenever he did that.  “If you’re not interested in what’s available, you’d better just leave now and keep your guns, old man.”
He paused for a moment, nodding in acceptance.  “Alright,” he said, “I think I will.”
He held tighter onto his gun, looking down at it for a moment.
“After all, this thing’s pretty damn useful.”
It was only a couple seconds of pure chaos.  He shot Paul first, then stood up and took down all three men in the back of the room— one of them pulled his pistol fast enough to fire back, but he missed, and in a split-second he was on the ground with the others.  You screamed, covering your head with your hands; your ears were ringing, and your whole body shook with shivers as you dared to glance over at the bleeding, lifeless bodies just a few feet away.
“C’mon,” the man said— it took you a half-second to realize he was talking to you, even though you were the only other living person in the room, “grab what you can.  We need to run.”
We.  He just killed them all, like it was nothing… for you.  And now you were a we?
Shuddering, you could only shake your head.  “N-no, no,” you choked out, whining when he grabbed you and yanked you to your feet; you could hear the commotion outside the room, it wouldn’t be long before someone from one of the nearby bunkers came to investigate the gunshots.  
“They’re coming, and they’ll kill us both,” he growled at you, far too close to your face, and you felt your lip quivering.  “Help me carry this shit and let’s go.”
~
It was a long walk back to… wherever he was taking you.  Since you ran from the compound with your stolen supplies, you obviously hadn’t said anything to each other— you’d barely even looked at him, for some reason you were scared to.  
The only interaction you’d had since you started your trek was when he noticed you shivering, and stopped to take off his jacket and give it to you; considering all you were wearing was a baggy old t-shirt and socks, it helped a lot against the chilly gusts of wind.  It was awkward in the silence, not being able to reject the jacket or even thank him for it, so you just nodded as he slipped it on you.  It was baggy even on him so it fit you even more awkwardly, but it made your shivers soothe instantly.
He guided you on the trail, keeping his gun close by, and eventually you came to some kind of processing plant; with what little you knew about manufacturing, your glances around the factory made you guess it was once a metallurgy building.  Now it was abandoned, and as you climbed down the ladder he pointed you towards, you realized he was taking you right into some horrible small space— with a massive iron door.  You hesitated, but he silently gestured you forward; your heart raced, knowing you had no chance of escape from a place like that.  Not that you ever really stood a chance of escape from someone as capable as he had proved himself to be so far— but the idea of going into that little room with him made you feel a bit sick.  It reminded you of your first day with Paul, of having all your freedom and dignity torn away, and you wondered if this was all just the beginning of another cycle: out of the frying pan, into the fire.
But you had no choice: you stepped forward, crawling into the little nook, and he followed behind you and shut the large round door.
It was pitch black for a moment, and you felt a sort of primal fear— would he really do this here, in complete darkness— would he really force himself on you?  You tried to scoot as far away as you could, until a hard wall hit your back; but you knew there was nothing you could do to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to you now, and you closed your eyes in hopes he wouldn’t be cruel.  But within a few seconds, he’d taken out a camping lantern and opened it, filling the room with a sort of speckled white light, and you opened your eyes slowly.
“Are you okay?” he asked first, and you weren’t sure how to answer that.  “My name’s Emmett,” he informed you quietly.  “Don’t… you don’t need to worry, alright?  I won’t hurt you.”
You shrunk away slightly, holding your legs to your chest.  Paul had said the same thing, but then again, he’d never actually said it like he meant it.  In fact, what he’d said exactly was I won’t hurt you if you behave.  And he still did.  Because he could.
“I don’t wanna— I won’t do anything with ya,” Emmett explained, and you could’ve sworn you saw a slight blush above that long beard.  “Just couldn’t leave that place knowing you were there, against your will and all… it’s not right, keeping people like that, keeping girls…”
You looked away, eventually giving him a small nod as a response.  You wanted to believe him, he sounded genuine, but you weren’t ready to trust a stranger you saw kill four men so casually.  
“Mind tellin’ me your name?” he encouraged softly.
You mumbled it into your arms into the fabric of the old t-shirt which still smelled like the prison he’d broken you out of. 
“What’s that, sweetheart?” he pressed.
You said it again, louder, and he smiled a bit at you; you smiled back, too, but it was partially hidden by the tattered shirt’s sleeve.
“Pretty,” he said.  “M’gonna keep you safe here, alright?  I-I mean, you don’t have to stay here.  You can go back wherever you want, I just… I figure you might end up where I found you again if you go out there on your own.  No offense.”
You nodded; you weren’t cut out for making it on your own out there, you weren’t too proud to admit that.  You used to run with a group of survivors, which made it much easier to get by, but you’d been naive enough to think you could reject the group leader’s advances without suffering consequences: they left you in the night, without a word, and you only made it one more day on your own before getting captured by slavers.  That felt like a lifetime ago now, like stories that happened to a whole other person, but it wasn’t actually that long— Paul bought you a few weeks ago at most.  Still, those few weeks had changed you as a person, and you went from being terrified of being alone to being terrified of everyone else.  Maybe you were still an impossible mix of both…
“I have a decent set-up here… some food and water, a little more since we took some from your old friends back there,” he chuckled nervously.  “And, uh, you can sleep in here… sorry it’s so small, never really planned to share it… I— I can find another place to sleep if this isn’t enough room—“
“Why are you doing this?” you interrupted, and he seemed startled to hear you talk so much.  
“Huh?”
“Why are you doing this?” you asked again. “For me?  I mean… you don’t know me.”
“Well, I could,” he shrugged, “you could tell me about you.”
“But why did you save me?”
“I said so already, I couldn’t leave you there with those men.  Young girl stuck in that place, just about the worst thing I can imagine…”
“M’not that young,” you protested, “I’m twenty.”
He smiled a little.  “Of course.  Sorry.”
You sighed, relaxing slightly, and he seemed to lower his own shoulders as well. 
“You seem tired,” he noticed.  “It was a long walk.”
“Yeah,” you nodded, “I used to be able to walk a long way, but I lost my stamina— I wasn’t really going very far when I was there, you know…”
“I’m sure,” Emmett agreed.  “You hungry?  We could eat something.”
“Um, maybe…” you mumbled nervously.  You felt nervous to ask for anything of him— like he might ask you for something in return.  It wouldn’t be absurd of him to expect some kind of repayment for saving you; but if he expected that, then he wouldn’t be much of a savior after all.
“I saw granola bars in one of the bags we took,” he said.  “Sometimes I still get nervous, opening something crinkly like that— but nothing can hear us in here, I promise.  You’re safe.”
You hesitated before nodding; safe.  That sounded nice.  Now you just had to convince yourself it was true.
~
You’d noticed him looking at you a lot this evening, while you were both preparing dinner; you tried not to react to it.  He kept glancing at you, just for a moment, like he thought you wouldn’t notice.  You just kept focusing on the work at hand— peeling an orange— and tried not to think about why he kept looking at you.  Maybe he had something to say, but that would be odd since he usually didn’t.  Maybe you were doing this wrong somehow, or he was jealous that you were going to eat that fruit as an appetizer before the real meal.
Or maybe he just found you appeeling!  
You snorted a little involuntarily, amused by your own joke, and he looked at you again.  “You alright?” he asked.
“Yeah, sorry,” you mumbled, fighting a smile as you shook your head.  “It’s nothing.”
And the silence continued.  Even for a time when most everyone was quiet by necessity, Emmett was quiet.  He had this special place, somewhere safe enough to talk, but he didn’t often utilize that privilege; or at least, he hadn’t since you got here a few days ago, but there wouldn’t have been anyone to talk to before then.  You figured he just didn’t have a lot to say— and it’s not like you were some kind of conversation queen either.  You didn’t ask about him or his life before this, even though you were actually pretty curious: you just watched him, and if he noticed, he didn’t react to it.  This was the first time he seemed to be returning some of that attention.
“You can talk about it, if you want,” he suggested suddenly, making you furrow your brow a bit.
“About what?” you asked, not taking your eyes off your orange in progress, but you knew already what he meant.
“About how you came to be where I found you,” he said.  “Don’t have to— I wouldn’t wanna talk about it, if I was you— but if you do… I just want you to know you can tell me.”
You shrugged, keeping yourself from looking up at him.  “Why do you wanna know?”
“I don’t,” he insisted.  “But sometimes I can tell you’re thinking about it.”
Swallowing thickly, you looked away; here you were, wearing the clothes he’d given you, living in his ‘home’, surviving off of him.  On paper, it was the same as it had been before— that’s why you were thinking about it.  But it was night and day: Paul gave you rags to wear, if that, and Emmett had you in his own clothes— comfy plaids and knitted sweaters that smelled shockingly good for any apocalypse survivor; Emmett had a few creature comforts here, art and decent food and pillows… Paul’s bunker was exactly as flat and rigid and cold as the word ‘bunker’ indicates; and surviving with Emmett felt the most like real living since you were with your old group— though you knew them infinitely better.
“But we don’t have to—” he began again, shaking his head like he regretted the whole idea.
“Who are those pictures of?” you asked, interrupting him.
“Pictures…” he mumbled.
“The ones you hid,” you said, “or tried to hide.  Drawings, paintings—”
“You shouldn’t have been looking there,” he said firmly, looking down.
“I know,” you breathed, “but you were gone— I was bored—”
“Gone getting you food,” he reminded you, pointing with his knife— don’t worry, he was just peeling a potato with it— to the orange in your hand.
“Us,” you corrected, “we’re both eating.  And I’m sorry… you don’t have to tell me, either.  We can just have another quiet dinner.”
He paused before sighing a bit, looking at you and then back to his half-peeled vegetable.  “My sons,” he said quietly.  “Those are my sons.  Were my sons…”
“I know,” you whispered, and he looked at you quizzically.  “I could tell, I mean— you have that look in your eyes, I knew you’d lost someone.”
He shrugged.  “Everyone lost someone.  Some lost everyone.”
You almost found the energy to smile, but it came out more like pressing your lips together.  “Yeah,” you agreed.  “They kinda look like you, in the pictures.  You’re talented.”
“Oh, I didn’t draw them,” he scoffed, “no way— I couldn’t draw a circle.  It was my wife.”
Why did you get a little pit in your stomach when he said that.  “You’re married?”
“Uh huh,” he nodded, “but she— um, she passed.  Not too long ago.  Well… I guess a few months is a while ago.  But it still feels new.”
You nervously looked down at the orange in your hands, peeling off the last strip of skin and picking off a few white chunks of pith here and there.  Not sure what to say, you simply pulled a segment off of the rest and reached over with it, offering it to him.  “Here,” you said, and he looked at the piece of fruit in your hand before looking at you.
“No, s’fine,” he shook his head, “I’ll eat when dinner’s ready.”
“Come on,” you insisted, shaking it a little as if that would make it more enticing.  “You’re working up an appetite peeling the spuds.  Just have a few.”
Finally, he relented.  “Thanks,” he said, taking it and putting it in his mouth.  He chewed for a moment, working on the potato still, but he talked a bit around it just before he swallowed.  “You don’t have kids, do you?”
You shook your head, laughing.  “No, do I seem old enough for that?”
“No,” he agreed, “but you know— stuff happens.”
“I wanted them someday,” you admitted, “but no.  I actually, uh… I was pretty nervous about getting pregnant in the bunker…”
He swallowed, for more than just the orange.  Looking at you, you found his stare somehow both intimidating and comforting.
“I shouldn’t complain too much,” you shook your head, “he wasn’t that bad.  He was more interested in showing me off to others than actually doing too much when we were alone.”
“You shouldn’t complain too much about being a sex slave to a smuggler?” he repeated incredulously, like he was offended on your behalf by what you had said.
“I was just a trophy,” you shrugged, “I was the most expensive thing he owned.  It was all business with him: he wanted you— you know, anybody who bought from him— to know he was capable of that.  Of owning somebody.  And, um… that only happened twice.  Once the first night, and then, um… well—”
“You don’t have to say,” he offered you softly.  “It’s okay if you just never wanna think about him again.  I certainly sleep better at night knowing I turned his head inside out.”
You smiled a little, even though the image of that still haunted you.  “No, it’s fine.  I think it’s easier to just treat it like anything else.  Like, one time I broke my arm, one time my pet cat died, one time this gang captured me and sold me to a trader in exchange for pills and pickles— just something that happened that I hated and now… now it’s over.”
Now I’m safe.  You could talk about it because you finally believed that Emmett wouldn’t put you through it again.  When you looked at him, he smiled at you a little; you popped a piece of the orange into your mouth.
“S’good,” you mumbled as you chewed, giving him another piece and feeling the tips of his fingers just barely brush yours as he accepted it.
~
A few days later, he did the same thing: interrupted your silent meal with a sudden interjection.  “Y’ever shot a gun before?” he asked, and you awkwardly shook your head.  He sighed.  “Alright, well, you should learn.  Case something happens.”
“Guns don’t work on those things,” you noticed.
“They work on people,” he replied.  “And you’ve had a lot more trouble with them.”
You shrugged, certainly in no place to deny that.  “Guns are loud,” you reminded him.
“A little noise is worth it,” Emmett promised, “if it’s you or them.  And if you’re not packing, then it’ll be you.  You need to learn.”
Not if I have you with me, you almost blurted out.  Thankfully, you stopped yourself and nodded in agreement instead.
“I’ll teach you up there,” he gestured towards the world above with a quick tilt of his head, “unloaded.  Obviously.”
Going up to the surface was a strange feeling.  You hadn’t felt this safe anywhere since this global nightmare began, honestly, and you were almost spoiled by it now— here, with Emmett, you were sure that nothing would come to harm you.  But up there?  You knew, logically, that it was usually alright as long as you kept quiet, but you were pretty fucking quiet when the slavers found you.
Even being down here alone gave you the smallest tinge of anxiety— that someone might find you and steal you while Emmett was out foraging— and you never navigated the forest alone.  You had the feeling that Emmett was teaching you to use a gun so that you could do just that, but it didn’t sound worth it to be away from him.
But, you had to admit, you sort of enjoyed the lessons.
He stood behind you, wrapping you up in his arms as he corrected your stance.  Out here, he had to speak under his breath beside your ear, and it made chills run up your spine.  “Align the sights,” he told you, tapping the small metal divot on top of the pistol.  
You nodded, shutting one eye tight and trying to aim better; adjusting your head to get the right stance just pushed you up against his shoulder more, and you tried not to lean back into him.
“Pull the trigger when you’re ready,” he instructed; he was barely making any sound at all, more shaping a breath around his words than really speaking.
Even knowing it wouldn’t go off, you started to shrink away as you pulled the trigger; it was heavier than you expected, forcing you to strain to turn the revolver.
“Don’t flinch,” he warned.  “Stay steady.”
You still did, a little bit, but you calmed yourself with a breath and tried not to pre-emptively react: when you finally pulled the trigger all the way, the revolver turned with a click, but that was it.  
“Good,” he said simply.
“How can you know?” you asked.  “Without shooting anything—”
“You’re not using a bullet for practice,” he reminded you with a frown.
“I know, I know— I just mean, how can you know I would’ve hit what I was aiming at?”
“As long as these line up,” he replied as he touched the sights again, “and you don’t flinch, you will.”
You nodded, hoping that was enough, but then he took the revolver and took his shotgun off of his back.  “I— I can’t shoot that thing—”
“Yes you can,” he promised, shaking his head dismissively.  “The rifle— you can’t shoot that.  That requires a steady hand.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were shaking as you took the shotgun from him, so you couldn’t exactly deny it.  And, furthermore, the whole point of the sniper rifle was to get things that were far away… you were only planning to use these things if something got too close.
~
A lot of things had gotten more natural with Emmett— you talked sometimes, you ate together, he even let you come with him on trips out sometimes.  But one thing that never really changed was how weird it was to sleep beside him; what did change was why it was weird.
From the beginning, you couldn’t sleep unless you knew where he was.  Even if you couldn’t fully trust him then, you still had that anxiety of being abandoned in the night like you had before you were captured; for better or for worse, Emmett was obviously tough enough to protect you and was the only thing between you and certain death or enslavement out there in the world.
As a result, he’d been sleeping beside you, just to get you to stop waking up in cold sweats as often.  And now that you trusted him and knew him a little better, you expected it to be easier to sleep with him there… if anything, you were getting less sleep than ever.
You were struggling to understand why— or maybe you were just struggling to accept it— but having him right beside you all night kept you up, kept your heart beating fast, kept you listening to the sound of his breathing instead of just focusing on your own.
At least tonight, you could blame it on the cold.  You both had on several layers, but it was pretty much impossible to keep a space like this warm— underground, uninsulated— and it was only getting colder since the sun set.
"Chilly," you announced as you pulled the blankets up higher, and Emmett hummed in agreement.  That was the extent of your bravery, you couldn't bring yourself to ask him outright if he'd move a little closer so you could share some heat.
You waited a few minutes, wondering if he was already asleep, and then reached towards him in the dark; but when your hand brushed against him, he shrugged it away.  Turning his back to you, he seemed to huddle up a little bit more as if shrinking away from you, and you sighed.
“You don’t have to be so far,” you whispered, and he sighed.  
“Yes, I do,” he insisted, stern yet soft-spoken.
“Please, Emmett, it’s cold…”
“I know, sweetheart, I just… I wanna do right by ya, that’s all,” he sighed.  
“There’s nothing wrong with holding me to warm up,” you sighed.  “I mean, it’s not like you’re… thinking about anything else.”
“Of course,” he choked, “okay, fine, if you’re cold… c’mere, then.”
You wiggled your way closer as he rolled onto his back, sighing when you felt how warm he was even through his clothes.  Pressing your head to his chest, you heard his breath catch as you lifted your leg to drape over his, trying to get him as close as possible.
He seemed to hesitate first, but then he relaxed slightly and rested his arms around your back.  
It had been a long time since someone held you like this.  You sunk into his arms, loving how it felt to be pressed into him, and you let out a little hum of satisfaction as your shivers went away and his warmth began to absorb.
He seemed tense beneath you at times, and you feared that doing this would keep him from sleeping; but, frankly, you were desperate enough for your own sleep that you weren’t planning on worrying too much about his… you quite literally didn’t plan on losing any sleep over it.
It was impossible to say how long you'd been asleep— you weren't even fully awake yet— but when you started to stir, you felt him shifting under you.  But you were taken from half-consciousness into pure lucidity when you felt a harder, hotter shape against your inner thigh; didn't take a detective to figure out he had an erection.  You shouldn't have reacted, you realized it a second too late, but you had to gasp when you felt it— mostly because it seemed quite thick even though his pajama trousers—
“I’m sorry,” he breathed right away.
"It's okay," you assured, but he kept going.
“I can’t help it— I don’t mean anything by it, I just… I’m only a man.”
“It’s okay,” you repeated softly, though your face had never felt so hot.  “I understand, it’s normal—“
He started to pull away, and you whined as you grabbed at his shoulders.
“Wait, you don’t have to go,” you gasped, “I won’t be able to sleep…”
“Well, it’s never gonna go away with you pressed up to me!” he grunted.  “C’mon, sweetheart, gimme a chance here…”
“I really don’t mind it, Emmett—“
"I do," he snapped.  "You're young— younger than you realize."
"I'm grown," you promised, but he peeled you off of him and turned away.
"Go to sleep," he demanded.
"But—"
"Just go back to sleep!" he ordered.  
Though you weren't sure how you were supposed to sleep with your heart racing and your mind playing the moment you felt his cock against your leg on loop, you decided you would try just because his stern voice sort of scared you into obeying.
It did work, eventually— you can only lay down in the dark for so long before sleep is unavoidable— but you still awoke sometime later, and heard him breathing differently beside you.  There was no light to see what he was doing, but you could hear his arm moving against the blanket under him— and when you heard him sigh, you imagined that he might be jerking off.  Maybe his erection wouldn't go away until he did that, and you bit your lip as you tried to picture it: stroking himself, breathing deeply, being careful not to make too much noise or even move too much.  But in your head, he was too desperate, struggling to hold himself back from bucking up into his palm, his cock flexing as his orgasm threatened to spill over at any moment.  
The thought made you want to touch yourself, too— you were getting wet already and your hips shifted in hopes of finding something to rub against— but you were far too afraid to get caught or startle Emmett into stopping.  
You heard a tense sigh and all that motion behind you stopped; you bit your lip as you wondered if he just came.  And if he did, what had he been thinking of?  He seemed so offended by the idea of being attracted to you— he didn't even acknowledge it, like it was wrong to even suggest— but you hoped somehow that he had been imagining you.  If only he could've told you, if only he had pulled you closer in the dark and asked you to take care of his problem for him… maybe you should've been ashamed for thinking it, but you would've spread your legs for him right away if he'd told you he wanted you.  Even if it was just taking care of his needs, not real love— even if it was only a practical thing.  You couldn't do much for him, but you could certainly help in that regard.
But, at the same time, you knew that if Emmett ever did use you in such a way, you'd fall in love with him.  Even if it meant nothing to him, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself; you couldn't admit to yourself how close you were to that edge already, but you couldn't deny how quickly you would fall over it if he ended up fucking you.
Or maybe it wouldn't be like that— fucking, that is; it's a rather crass way to put it.  Maybe it wouldn't be that way, maybe it would be gentle and sweet and passionate.  He certainly was kind to you, and unexpectedly patient… you wondered if that would translate into him being delicate with you, soft touches and slow kisses— really making love, you know.
Or, maybe he'd been alone so long that he wouldn't be able to help himself; maybe he'd just have to moan in your ear while he took you roughly, holding tight to your hips so you couldn't do anything but take him just the way he wanted.  Maybe he'd leave bruises and marks on your skin, reminders of his work, and bite down on you to keep himself from being too loud.  
Your back was arching into nothing, just hoping that he would turn around and pull you close, press his chest into your back, and whisper in your ear as he started to tug your pants down.  Sorry, sweetheart, I just need you too bad…
It was a miracle you ever fell back asleep with that thought in your mind.  But you did, somehow— a frustratingly dreamless sleep— and when you woke up in the morning, he was gone again.
~
Since that night, you’d felt this tension between you— but you had no clue if he felt it, too.  He was nice, in his own way, but definitely on the aloof side; and he seemed to avoid you a little more after all that happened anyway.  It sort of made you wonder if he resented you, if he was angry with you somehow for what happened— maybe you’d been too pushy, you were never trying to force him into anything of course— but then again, you figured he wouldn’t be working so hard to take care of you both if that were the case.
Even if you couldn’t hunt or even cook very well, you tried to be helpful in various ways; this little underground hideout was certainly tidier and cozier than it had ever been before, and you tried to take pride in that instead of thinking of yourself as useless to him.  And all his clothes were mended, you made sure of that; he seemed to appreciate it, at least.
Now that you thought of it, you were sort of becoming a homemaker now— you felt a bit conflicted at the realization.  There’s nothing wrong with it, right?  Just being here, helping how you can?  But you wanted to be more useful, if you could— you just didn’t know how.
(Well, you had ideas… but you weren’t about to suggest that, after how awkward it all was last time.)
Maybe just your company was enough for him, otherwise he probably wouldn’t still keep you around… but then again, for someone who apparently wanted your company, he wasn’t so talkative.  It would make more sense if you two were up all night, telling each other everything about your lives and your dreams and anything you could possibly remember to talk about— but it wasn’t like that at all.  He still avoided personal questions even after nearly a month together, and he had a tendency to just hum and nod or shake his head when you asked him something.
But, the good news was, you’d gotten a little more comfortable leaving the underground hideout without him.  You never went far, obviously, but you went far enough to stretch your legs and get some fresh air and, today, stumble upon a little clearing with a pond.  It was relatively small, but deep, and best of all it had a river that fed into it, over a cliff; to put it more plainly, it had a waterfall.  It was small— you figured it probably didn’t pour at all unless there had been good rainfall recently— but it still meant you had a little more freedom here than usual.  Ambient noise, as you understood it, deterred the creatures because they couldn’t stop it and couldn’t hear other sounds over it.  You weren’t about to belt out Whitney Houston or anything, but you could make some sound— and the sound you made right away when you saw it was getting your clothes off as fast as you could and diving right in.
The water was a little cold— okay, very fucking cold— but it was worth it: being able to clean yourself more thoroughly than normal was quite a treat, and one you planned on relishing.
You found yourself laughing— you sort of couldn’t stop, actually.  Partially because you were cold and shivering like crazy, partially because you were giddy… mostly just because you could.  You kept your clothes and revolver in a neat pile by the cliff wall, trying not to stray too far from it in case someone came by; but, at the same time, you were also trying to just forget about everything that scared you for a moment and be free.  
You soaked your hair and ran your hands over your face, letting the water renew your skin— you couldn’t deny this cold plunge was invigorating, if not especially relaxing like a hot bath would’ve been.  But hot baths were obviously rare in these times, and you closed your eyes as you tried to remember the last one you took.  You leaned back in the water, floating partially against the flow of the waterfall behind you, and remembered simpler times: long baths, fresh meals, 
Not everything was perfect then.  Your life was easier, yes, but you’d still longed for someone to share it with.  Someone to trust.  You opened your eyes and looked up at the sky, a pale grey-ish blue that covered the sun but was still somehow too bright and made you squint; you sighed, moving your arms enough to feel the water swirl between your fingers.
For some reason, you thought of Emmett just then; you wanted to tell him about this place as soon as he got back home, you could bring him here and he could swim too— he probably wouldn’t skinny dip with you, right?  Definitely seemed out of his comfort zone, he wouldn’t even sleep next to you at night anymore… but you still giggled at the thought, wondering if you’d get a chance to see the rest of his tattoo that you’d noticed peeking out from his sleeve sometimes.  Then you could ask him about it, move closer, trace the lines with your finger; you could watch the goosebumps prickle on his skin from the cold water, and shiver even more when you met his gaze—
You shook your head like it might knock the thought out of your brain.  He’d made it clear he didn’t have that sort of interest in you.  It broke your heart a little, but you had no choice but to accept it.  Still, you had this nagging feeling that it wasn’t you— he implied before it was your age, or some kind of chivalry thing; and then there was all that grief, something anybody left had to have by now.
You, too, had lost loved ones that day, and in the days since— that was unavoidable— but what you had nearly lost most of all was yourself.  And then he found you, and you’d found something you’d been looking for for so long… much longer than all this.
Your heart skipped a beat when you heard something moving, just past the trees; you whipped around in the water, looking everywhere for the source of the noise, and you saw a figure slip back behind a trunk.  You’d never felt so sick with terror all at once, and in a second, you leaned over and snatched your revolver off the top of your pile of clothes.
Pointing it at the tree, you wondered if you should be barking out orders right now— come out with your hands up or something— but that wouldn’t be helpful if there was a creature nearby… or if there was more than one person in these woods.  You swallowed, knowing a revolver wasn’t going to cut it if there was a whole group closing in on you now.  
Slowly moving through the water, you walked up the bank of the pond, and when you heard another shifting movement from behind the tree, you shuddered and shut one of your eyes.  Align the sights.  Stay steady.
Suddenly, the figure stepped out, and you didn’t even stop to think: you pulled the trigger and fired, eyes shutting tight as the kickback flung your arms up and the sound echoed through the forest.  
You hesitated to open your eyes, but just before you did, you heard a groan— in a voice all too familiar.  When you looked, there was a man on the ground, and your heart stopped again when you saw his face.
“Fuck!  Emmett!” you yelped, running the rest of the way out of the water and not caring at all that you were naked and dripping— you ran up to him and straddled him as he rolled on the ground, clutching his arm.  “Oh my god!  I’m so sorry— oh my god!  Please, please tell me you’re okay—”
He didn’t say anything, in fact his face was still screwed into a tight wince as you tried to see where he was holding— his arm, just below the shoulder, you could see where the sleeve of his jacket was torn and blood had begun to stain the fabric.
“Emmett, Jesus, I swear to god— I didn’t know it was you, I—” you began to promise, before you wondered if you should ask what the hell he was doing there.  Why didn’t you tell me it was you?  Why didn’t you say something?  But you decided, as you watched him bite his lip to keep from being any louder, that now was not the time to interrogate him; shooting him had clearly irritated him enough already.  “That— that was fucking loud,” you realized, lowering your voice.  “We need to go back before—”
He just nodded, and you got up off of him to help him up and grab your clothes— a naked woman and a bleeding man running through the woods.  Maybe that’s just a normal day in the post-apocalypse.
~
He hissed when you applied the disinfectant to the cut, looking away rather than letting you see how this affected him— that, or the other side of the room suddenly got incredibly interesting.  But you knew as well as anyone, living in this room for over a month, that it was not very interesting.
“God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, wincing yourself just having to put him through this.  “Can I keep going, or—?”
He nodded, still looking the other direction, and you gave him a sympathetic frown as you started to dab at the cut.  
It wasn’t too deep, thank heavens— it probably didn’t even need stitches, just some alcohol and gauze— but you still felt more guilty than you had for anything you’d ever done in your life.  “Thank god I missed,” you chuckled softly, wondering if it was still too soon for humor— and he didn’t laugh, so maybe it was.
“Yeah— you flinched,” he noticed, sounding correctional, and your jaw almost dropped.
“Fucking— are you serious, Emmett?” you snapped.  “You’re mad at me for not killing you?!”
“You didn’t know it was me,” he replied.
You sighed, thankful he was looking away so he wouldn’t catch your eyeroll.  “Of course,” you breathed.  “Of course I didn’t know it was you— I would’ve never…”
He looked at you again.  “I know,” he promised quietly.
You chewed your lip and nodded.
Taking the bloodied rag away, you looked at the wound— it was a lot better already, and it looked clean, and you still couldn’t imagine forgiving yourself for doing it to him.  You took out a bandage and started to wrap it up around the gash.
“Your ink’s still intact,” you noticed, smiling as you got your look at the tattoo— although you obviously didn’t mean to go through all this just to see it.  You didn’t trace the lines but you did run your fingers over the whole piece: a mountainscape, with tall trees and a cloudy sky.  “It’s pretty.”
He snorted a little.  “I was just a kid when I got that— tryin’ to be tough.  Definitely wasn’t going for ‘pretty’.”
“Well, then you shouldn’t have gotten this lovely view,” you smiled back.  “Is this a real place?”
“Yeah, Montana— grew up there,” he said.  “Always thought I’d go back, then I had my kids— and then, you know—”
“Right,” you nodded, finishing up your gauze-ing of the damage.  You were gonna let him put his shirt back on, not that you really wanted him to, but he didn’t yet.  “Must have been nice, growing up under mountains like these.”
He shrugged.  “It was— sometimes.  It was quiet, I’ll tell you that.  All I wanted was to escape, back then.  Then all I wanted was to go back.”
You smiled a little.  “Yeah, I know that feeling— I mean, I think everyone feels like that.  I always wanted to move to the city— New York, you know,” you said with a whimsical affect on your words, “it’s like a mythical place to anybody from anywhere else.”
He chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck (with his uninjured arm) and nodding in agreement.  “Yeah, I get that.  But then how’d you end up in the suburbs?  Or— don’t tell me you came all the way from the city—”
“No, no, not that far,” you promised, “but I was a little closer to it before everything happened.  I, uh… I actually ended up in the suburbs because of a boy.”
He nodded, wearing a sort of knowing look, and you felt a little embarrassed.  “Ah,” he said simply.
“And then, um, you know— he left.  As they tend to.”
“Boys?”
“Everyone.”
He swallowed; you regretted saying it, sort of, but you were still talking— like you couldn’t stop yourself.  Your hands were shaking— you were looking down at them in your lap, you knew they were— and you just felt like you couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer.
“You know, this is the first time that I really…” you sighed and shook your head, looking for the words.  “This is the most I’ve ever trusted somebody.  I guess because I have to— but you—”
“S’alright,” he interrupted, “you don’t have to say all that.”
“You won’t even let me thank you?” you laughed, but your frustration was obvious; when you looked up at him, his eyes were filled with something that finally made your hands stop shaking.  Flooded with a sudden wave of courage (and wanting to act on it before it inevitably subsided), you leaned forward and kissed him; you shut your eyes tight— you would’ve lost your nerve otherwise— and you held his cheek in one hand, the tips of your fingers brushing against his hair while your palm pressed against his somewhat unruly beard.
For one moment, it was perfect, but then he reached up and took your hand, guiding you away slowly.  You pulled back, more dejected than ever, and he gave you a soft frown as he shook his head. 
Falling back into your chair, you slumped dejectedly; you didn’t want to cry, it would just seem pathetic now, but your eyes were watering anyways.  “I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“No— it’s alright,” he promised, “I’m not… offended, or something.”
“What am I to you?” you asked, point blank.  “I mean— I know I’m not— fuck, I’m stupid.  I know I’m not…”
Despite starting again, you couldn’t find the words the second time, either.
“I just mean… do you see me as, like, a charity case?  A daughter figure or something?”
He shook his head.  “No,” he said, “but I— you’re not my property.  That’s not why I took you from that son of a bitch.  You can leave whenever you want, you know.”
“But do you want me to stay?” you asked, feeling tears run down your cheeks suddenly even though you had specifically requested that they not do that.
Your real question was trapped in the middle of that sentence: do you want me?
He looked away again, and your hurt started to shift into anger— because that’s all anger really is, anyway: hurt, dressing up as something else.  “You treat me like a child!  Sometimes you won’t even look at me, like you’re embarrassed of me!  I’m not your property but I’m not your equal, either— so what am I to you?  Do you even see me as a woman at all?!”
That accusation seemed to get his attention, and he almost looked angry, too.  “I am well aware that you’re a woman,” he said sternly.
“Is that why you were watching me at the pond?”
You’d never seen him with that deer in the headlights look— technically, you still didn’t, because he turned his head away quickly.
“That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it?” you pressed.  “How long were you there before I heard you?  Come on, Emmett— look at me.  Or will you only do that when I’m naked?”
He snapped, standing up quickly and grabbing you by your— his— shirt to pull you with him.  “Do you know what you’re fucking doing to me?” he growled at you.
“Same thing I did to you that night it got too cold?” you returned with a sneer, and he shoved you away with a shudder, turning to face the wall and crossing his arms.  
There was a silence, though it wasn’t nearly as long as the ones you’d gotten used to with him, and he dropped his shoulders as he sighed.  “I’ve done what I can for you,” he said quietly— and your stomach twisted in knots.  He’s going to ask me to leave, you assumed instantly.  “I’ve tried to… to leave you alone—”
“That’s what you think I want?” you realized, almost laughing it was so absurd.  “Begging you not to leave, to stay where I can see you all night, trying to get you to talk to me— because I want to be alone?”
“After what happened to you— after how it must have been with him—” he started, turning around and looking at you sadly— “I’d wanna be fucking left alone.  I’ll say that.”
“Well, I guess I’m just not strong enough for that,” you decided with an unhappy sort of smile.  “I guess I still need someone.  I need you.  And clearly that’s just my fucking problem, so I’m sorry for making it yours.”
But he stepped closer to you, reaching out to hold your shoulders, and you met his gaze again.  You shivered, just like you thought you would.  “Say it again,” he requested flatly.  It wasn’t very specific, but you knew exactly what he meant.
“I need you,” you said again, softer, and he shut his eyes with a sigh.
Your eyes shut, too, when he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours; you breathed together for a second, your hands moving up to his bare chest as you bit your lip.
“I need you,” you repeated, even quieter— a whisper now— and another tear striped your face.  “Emmett, I need you—”
“Fuck,” he said softly, and you smiled.  “Fuck, I need you, too.”
You smiled even wider then; he could probably hear your heartbeat, you would’ve sworn it was beating out of your chest.  Opening your eyes when you felt him pull back, you waited patiently— like you had been since this all began.
“I just— I don’t want you thinking that you have to—” he started to explain.
“I don’t have to,” you nodded, “but I want to.  Is that wrong?”
He didn’t answer, but he kissed you; he held your jaw gently, tilting your head back, and he kissed you in just the way you’d dreamed of.
It was simple enough at first, sweet and sort of slow— he pulled you closer, wrapping you in a hug while you held onto his shoulders— but then it got… heavier.  Hungrier.  Hotter.
You were gasping as you opened your mouth wider, all but begging him to dive deeper; and for his part, he kept grabbing your waist and hips, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get you close enough, and you thought your knees were going to buckle.
The two of you stumbled back, together, towards the sort-of bed that you sort-of shared; he laid you back on it, and you heard yourself whimper a little as you let him slot himself between your legs.
His weight was oddly comforting on top of you, pressing you back into the nest of blankets as you arched your back against him.
You both pulled back from the kiss as you looked down, needing to see somewhat what you were doing as you started to open his belt.  He looked down too, watching you do it for a second, before laughing a bit and leaning in to kiss your neck.  “Fuck,” you sighed, “come on, you’re gonna distract me—”
“What’s the hurry?” he purred, grabbing your hands and pinning them back instead— and that made you moan out loud.  “We’ve got all the time we want, darlin’...”
“Fuck, but I—” you whined, though you struggled to pull a sentence together when he dragged his tongue over your pulse like that.  “God, I just— please—”
“Shh,” he soothed, “m’gonna take care of you.  Gonna take care of you, sweet girl, I promise…”
And he’d taken care of you every way he knew how before, so you trusted him.  Still, you weren’t exceptionally patient.
You gasped when you felt him press his hips to yours through all these goddamn clothes; he was hard, really fucking hard, and it made your head spin.  How were you supposed to wait for him to be all slow and romantic and stuff when you felt that?  “Pretty girl,” he cooed at you quietly, “look at me for a second.”
You looked up at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and he smiled back at you as he pet your forehead for a moment.  
“There you are,” he breathed, and your heart swelled.
He undressed you carefully, like you were the one with an injury, and you bit your lip to fight the urge to beg him to hurry the fuck up.  He kissed all over your neck and chest, even as far down as your belly while he was pulling your panties down your thighs— and of course he looked up at you as he did it, like he knew it would absolutely wreck you.  “God, Emmett, please,” you whined, sighing with relief when he sat up and finished opening his belt.  He kept looking at you while he did it, something darker and heavier in his stare as he pushed his jeans down; you couldn’t help but look down at it, and you breathed in sharply as you bit your lip.
Of course it was fucking big— you’d figured it was from what you felt before— with a thick, leaking head and a curve that you could just tell was going to fit perfectly inside you.  Your hips rocked a little into nothing at the sight, and you moaned when he kissed you again— more desperate than ever, both of you.
You whined loudly, much louder than you meant to, when he pushed inside you all at once.  It wasn’t too fast or too rough or anything— but it was plenty to be filled by in one go, and your nails dug into his back.
“Fuck,” he grunted, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment.  “So fuckin’ wet.”
You whimpered, feeling your walls tighten up hearing him say that.  It was no wonder, with the way he’d been toying with you— and not just tonight.  “Oh my god,” you gasped out, instinctively wrapping your legs around his hips like you didn’t want him to move at all.  Obviously, though, you couldn’t stop him from pulling back and thrusting in again, nor did you want to; your back arched, hard, and your moan echoed around the room.  “F-fuck,” you choked, “it’s so— you’re so— god.”
“Shh,” he soothed, in a sweet way, and his hands found your hips to pull them up higher to his; he moved you just how he wanted, you were putty in his fingers, and he groaned as he thrusted into you at the new angle.
It was deep.  It was really, really fucking deep; and you thought you were at your limit, but you still somehow wanted more.  Toes curling, you let your back arch between your hips held to his and your shoulders laying back on the blankets— your arms went limp and yet your fingers were searching for something to hold onto as he moved a bit faster.
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he groaned, a spare hand leaving your hips and groping roughly at one of your tits.  You just gasped and pushed your chest up into his touch, pulsing inside when he pinched a hard nipple.  “Feels good?”
“Yes!” you shouted.  “Yes, fuck yes— don’t stop, please, please—”
Panting, he snarled a little, but he sure as hell didn’t stop.  He was right about you being wet, you could even hear it when he thrusted faster; and that just turned you on even more, the whole thing was a vicious cycle really.
For the most part, you kept your eyes shut because it was just what felt natural— but when you did open your eyes, you caught glimpses of him staring down at you, his eyes moving from your face to your bouncing tits to where he was inside you, where his hands held onto your hips and pet them soothingly in contrast to his rough thrusts.
Then, he watched his hand move to the middle, just above where his cock filled you, and his thumb started to rub your clit.
You had no excuse for being so sensitive, but you cried out and tried to grab his wrist from how intense it was.  “Emmett!” you nearly screamed.  “O-oh god, oh god—”
“Jus’ wanna feel you come, sweetheart,” he explained, his voice darker than usual.  “Can you come for me?”
“Y-yeah,” you agreed with a nod, already feeling delirious from all this.  “Yeah, fuck, I can come— you’re gonna make me come, fuck…”
You went from yelling to whispering by the end of your sentence, though you weren’t sure why, and he kept a steady pace with his hips and his hand until your whole body started to shake.
“I— I’m close,” you choked out.
“I know,” he said.  Smug little shit— too bad you were too busy coming to complain about that attitude.
Shuddering all over, you opened your eyes and looked at him one more time— he was looking right back at you, jaw tight and nostrils flaring, so that only made it worse— before you arched back harder than you thought possible and gave into it.  Your hands kept searching for something to hold, like you might actually fall somehow if you didn’t get an iron-tight grip on his thigh or arm or something.  You found his bent knee but his hands found yours a second later— and he interlaced his fingers with yours, laying on top of you again and pressing deep into you even while you were still in the middle of your ecstasy.  
You weren’t even sure what you were saying anymore, you could tell your mouth was moving and that was about it.  It probably wasn’t even words; but this pleasure, you were totally submerged in it.  He kept kissing you and praising you, fucking you deeper into the feeling and into the thoroughly-disturbed blankets under you.  “Good girl,” he whispered against your neck, “good fucking girl— god, I can feel it— so good for me—”
When a hint of your awareness of reality returned, your mind and body coming down from the high and settling into something a little easier and familiar, your arms reached up and held him close.  "Fuck, Emmett," you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes as you were flooded with an emotion you couldn't name.  "Emmett, I love you.  I'm in love with you."
He breathed heavy and held you tighter, burying his face in your neck as you started to really cry.
"I love you," you said again, grabbing at him harder as he began to kiss your neck— your jaw, your cheek— and his hand wiped your tears away.  
"Shh, I know," he promised quietly.  "It's okay, beautiful, I know."
He wasn't ready to say it yet— but you felt it.  You could feel it just in the way he held you. 
He pulled back enough that you could see his face, propping himself up above you.  Sweat made his hair cling to his forehead, and you smiled at the sight— he looked damn good like this, finally giving in.  You hadn’t realized he was going easy on you, until he pushed in a little harder and a little deeper.  
You whined, reaching up to grab onto his arm, and he hissed when you accidentally grabbed onto the gauze-wrapped wound.  “Fuck, sorry, sorry,” you breathed, moving your hand down, and he laughed a little.
“S’okay,” he assured, leaning down and kissing your cheek sweetly.  “It’s okay, sweetheart…”
You eventually ended up holding onto the back of his neck, running your fingers with his hair even if it was damp from sweat— you were sweating, too, and you’d never thought it could be this sensual to get this way.  All this heat and movement in such a small space, all these blankets and insulation, somehow it made you both even needier.  You didn’t care if it was putting that pond bath to waste, you just wanted more: you made it clear, with the way you needily hugged him closer.
You didn’t even realize you were about to come again until he pointed it out.  “Fuck, another one for me?” he realized with a proud groan.  “Gonna give me another one, sweet girl?  Fuck, that’s it— so good for me—”
It was so sudden, not like the last one that built up and spilled over slowly— this one was hard and fast and left you completely spent and almost too fucked out to notice how much faster he was moving.  But it was impossible not to notice him picking up the pace, getting a little louder himself, grabbing your hands again and squeezing them tightly.
The way he moaned in your ear was just too perfect; you whimpered and tightened your legs around him, gasping each time he reached the deepest parts of you.
"Baby," he grunted, "say you’re mine.”
“Yours, Emmett,” you promised with a whimper.  "I'm yours, I fucking swear— all yours."
You'd never had a chance to know how good it could be to belong to someone— it didn't have to be bad, it didn't have to be like it was before.
He didn’t slow down until every drop was inside you; he gasped in heavy breaths, he held on tightly to your waist, but he didn’t stop until you were completely filled and he was exhausted in every way.
You both took a long time to catch your breath, and in the meantime, he kissed you again.  You figured you weren’t a very good kisser in this state, you were completely numb in the mind and body (in the most amazing way) and you could barely find the energy to even lift your hands— but he didn’t seem to mind, because he kissed you for a long, long time.
Eventually, you were both (mostly) in reality again, and he pulled up to hover above you.  You touched his arm softly, and he looked at your hand before looking at your face again.
“Sorry,” he blurted out suddenly as he looked down at where your bodies were joined, like he was just realizing what he’d done.  “I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t have finished inside, I just—”
“It’s okay,” you laughed, “I would’ve been kind of pissed if you pulled out.”
“But we should— I mean, we need to be careful,” he panted.  “Next time we have to—”
“Next time,” you breathed happily, pulling him down into another kiss— less tired, more… smiley.  You’d probably seen him smile more in the last ten minutes than the rest of your time together combined.
“What, you thought that was a one-night stand?” he laughed, biting your lip playfully before he broke away from the kiss.  “Or do you just wanna fuck around and pretend not to want each other like a couple of morons before we do it again?”
“I mean, maybe that’s why this time was so great,” you shrugged, “all the anticipation.”
“Nah,” he breathed, leaning in and kissing your neck again— tender and patient, making you sigh and shut your eyes.  “It’s so great ‘cause it’s how this is supposed to be.  ‘Cause we need each other.”
You shivered, just as much from his words as his delicate kisses along your pulse, and you almost melted right back into those blankets again— but instead, you startled him by sitting up quickly.  “Alright, I think I’m ready for that next time now,” you purred, rolling him onto his back and straddling him with a mischievous grin.
“Jesus, woman,” he groaned, hands settling on your waist, “you’re gonna kill me, I think.”
“Well, I missed the first time,” you giggled as you touched the edge of his bandage.  “And we have some time to make up for.  God, I wanted you so bad, Emmett.”
He sighed, his chest sinking, and he let his head fall back as he gave in.  “This is how I always hoped I’d go out anyways,” he decided.
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Summer Heat | S.R
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Summary - By orders or the director, the BAU must undertake a team building hike in the woods. You and Spencer have never gotten along and not even the summer heat seems to be able thaw the ice that exists between you. But then you get yourselves lost and while waiting for rescue, you have to find a way to pass the time…
A/N - set somewhere in the realms of s15. This is my second entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Summer Sunshine Challenge.
Pairing - Spencer Reid / BAU Fem! Reader
Warnings - enemies to lovers, Spencer’s awkward info dumping about hiking related deaths, swearing, public urination, talks of bladder control techniques, treating wounds, Spencer is touch starved, mentions of prison and Cat Adams and Max, Spencer and reader are oblivious idiots, make outs, handjob, fingering, public sexual acts, interruptions.
WC - 8.9k
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The potency of the early afternoon Virginia sun infiltrating the towering thicket of loblolly pines caressed your skin, peppering its honeyed kisses across your flesh. 
The warm earthy scents combined with the aromas of moss and the sharp, almost sweet notes of the pine trees engulfed you in a blanket of mother earth's creation. 
You hummed to yourself as you trekked up a grassy incline barely registering the weight of your oversized pack on your back. You were no stranger to hiking or the heat and you were barely phased by it. 
Unlike some people. 
Doctor Spencer Reid was equipped for neither physical activity or the weather, despite the fact he grew up in desert climates. You could hear him huffing and puffing behind you as he struggled up even the smallest of hills. 
You reached the brow and turned back to him with your hands on your hips. His face was flushed red from a combination of the sun and exertion. His hair stuck to his sweaty brow and his chest heaved with his breaths. 
When he reached you, he doubled over, hands on his knees and he fought to catch his breath. You rolled your eyes and waited somewhat impatiently for him to stand again. 
“Are you really this out of shape?” You scoffed. 
He glanced up through a curtain of hair, puffing uneven breaths out between parted lips. 
“Clearly.” He bit back. 
It wasn’t a secret that the two of you didn’t exactly see eye to eye. You’d been with the team for almost a year now, but you and Spencer had never been close. 
You’d gotten off on the wrong foot on your very first case. He’d spent almost all day on the phone to someone talking about his mother and you’d made a flippant comment about him being a mama's boy. 
This led Spencer to launch into a rant about how his mother suffered from schizophrenia and altzeimers and how he was talking to her doctor because she was struggling to adjust to the new home he’d put her in DC. 
He didn’t stop there. He continued to inform that she had been moved to DC because she wasn’t responding well to medication or her living facility in Vegas. He detailed how he’d moved her to the east coast and then gotten arrested in Mexico whilst trying to procure some experimental medicine. 
He was seething by the time he told you that the same woman who’d gotten him arrested then had his mother kidnapped and almost killed. 
He wasn’t as standoffish towards you as he used to be, his iciness thawing somewhat over time. But you were never going to be his favourite person. And as a result, he wasn’t yours either. 
He forced himself to stand up straight, grabbing his canteen from where it was hanging from the strap of his backpack and taking a hefty sip before wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. 
“It’s just a little hike. It’s not like you’re running a marathon or anything.” You clucked. “Can we continue now?” 
“Just a little hike?” He groaned but started walking nonetheless. “It’s ten miles! And I have to do it with you.” 
“Oh you poor, unfortunate soul.” You rolled your eyes as you fell in step with him. 
The hike had been an idea which was floated down from the director. A team building exercise it had been dubbed. Although it wasn’t strictly mandatory it would look bad on those who didn’t participate. 
So the BAU was spending a rare weekend off on a ten mile hike through the Shenandoah National Park followed by spending the night camping at the valley’s campground. 
The Shenandoah National Park was more than five hundred miles of hiking trails extending along the Blue Ridge Mountains which included a section of long distance Appalachian Trail. 
As someone who relished in the outdoors you’d always wanted the chance to visit Shenandoah but had never had the opportunity. And if you were paired up with anyone other than Spencer you might have been able to enjoy yourself. 
Garcia had everyone draw straws in order to team up for the hike before you would all meet up later at the campground. You’d quite literally drawn the short straw with Spencer whilst Penelope was paired with Matt, Luke with JJ whilst Tara, Emily and Rossi made a group of three. 
Spencer was the least athletic of the BAU members, the least outdoorsy, and so far had not stopped complaining. 
You regarded your GPS as you walked to ensure you were headed in the right direction and the two of you fell back into silence. 
Spencer breathed heavily even when the trail was flat, groaning a little every time you came to another incline. 
You watched him out of the corner of your eye. It was a strange sight to behold, an academic who was far more comfortable indoors trekking through the woods like this. But what was even weirder was his outfit. 
You’d never seen Spencer out of a shirt and slacks but he’d tried to at least look the part of a hiker today. He wore a thin black t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts which showed off his surprisingly toned legs. You didn’t even think he would own such an item of clothing. 
He’d tried to look the part, probably only taking into account the heat and not the fact that he was leaving his legs exposed to bug bites and poison ivy. You wouldn’t be the one to tell him that though. 
He’d ditched his satchel in lieu of a backpack but still had his trusty converse on with obligatory mismatched socks. You’d told him converse would be hard to hike in, their thin soles alone not conducive to walking on the forest floor. 
Judging by the way he grimaced with nearly every step, he was starting to wish he’d listened to you. 
You continued to walk in silence, watching the way Spencer’s wary eyes cast around through the thick tree trunks, ears pricking at every tiny sound. 
“If you didn’t need to stop and catch your breath every five minutes we’d be back by now.” You couldn’t hold your tongue. 
Spencer’s head turned towards you, brows furrowed. 
“If we hadn’t taken such a hilly trail I wouldn’t need to keep stopping every five minutes. Did you know hikers use twenty eight percent more energy when traversing uneven terrain as opposed to flatter land?” He grabbed his canteen again and took another sip. 
“Don’t come crying to me when you’ve run out of water.” You ignored his statistical rambling, increasing your gait a little. 
“I won’t run out of water. I’ve calculated exactly how much I can afford to drink per hour when approximating how long it will take to walk ten miles.” He told you smugly. 
“Of course you have.” You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace a little more. 
“I can’t believe the bureau is making us do this. Do they not realise that hiking related deaths have been on the rise? They’ve increased as much as twenty one percent in recent years.” He grumbled as he tried to match your pace. 
“Oh please, do tell me more.” You huffed and clearly Spencer either didn’t sense your sarcasm or he chose to ignore it because he did tell you more.
“Fifty percent of all hiking related deaths are caused by a fall or drowning. Men make up seventy two percent of those victims.” He pulled a face, focusing on the ground beneath him now he’d drawn his own attention to that fact. 
“Well you for one are particularly clumsy.” You replied, your tone one of boredom. 
“The other fifty percent are due to medical conditions such as heart attacks while engaging in physical activity.” 
“What kind of physical activity?” You smirked suggestively, nudging him in his arm. 
Spencer shook his head as your childish insinuation. 
“Oh grow up, Y/L/N.” He spat. 
“I’m just saying if there is a man out there so good in bed he can induce a heart attack, I wanna meet him.” You chuckled, seeing him roll his eyes in your peripheral vision. 
“And I’m saying, hiking is inherently dangerous.” 
“We chase serial killers for a living.” You huffed, checking your navigational device again. 
“Which I am well versed in due to years of hands-on experience. I am not educated in outdoor pursuits.” He scoffed. 
“You seem to know a lot about hiking related deaths.” You cast your gaze upwards towards the sun peaking between the high trees. 
You could hear faint rhythmic buzzing from insects nearby, distance scuffling through the underbrush. Every now and again you picked up on various bird songs as they chirped from the high branches. 
It made a smile blossom on your features, being one with nature, the summer air cleansing your lungs. The sounds and the smells were a comfort to you, taking you back to childhood memories camping and trekking through forests just like this with your family and fond recollections of years spent at summer camps. 
Summer was without a doubt your favourite season. It elicited waves of nostalgia, taking you back to years spent at camp lake edges, eating ice cream hurriedly before it melted, giving you brain freeze.
It evoked images of burning campfires, the smell of the wood as it smouldered and the marshmallows roasting ready to be made into s’mores. Dulcet tones of an acoustic guitar played under the moonlight by Andy Duncan, your camp crush. 
And later when he’d walked you back to your cabin and bestowed upon you your first ever kiss. Summer held some of your best memories and kindled your sentimental side. 
You toyed with the GPS device in your hand as you walked, twigs and leaves crunching under foot. You didn’t realise Spencer was staring at you. 
“You okay?” He spoke up, snapping you out of your reminiscing. 
“Huh?” You glanced at him sideways. 
Spencer had a hint of amusement in his eyes as he looked at you, something you’d never seen on him before, not directed towards you anyway. 
“You look awfully wistful.” He shrugged. 
“I just love summer I guess.” You mirrored his action. 
“That makes sense.” Spencer turned away and looked back at the ground so he could avoid any potential trip hazards. 
“What does that mean?” You swatted at a bug that landed on your arm. 
“It means I’m not surprised you like summer, arguably the worst season.” He clucked. 
“The worst? Oh please. Let me guess Doc, you’re a fan of gloomy winter? That would make sense.” 
“Winter isn’t gloomy. Winter is oversized sweaters and hot cocoa by a fireplace. Huddled under blankets, the holidays. Sometimes even snow.” He told you as if you’d never heard of winter before. “But it’s not my favourite season. My favourite season is fall.” 
“Hmm, dark and moody tones, nature dying. That tracks.” You spoke in a clipped tone. 
“It’s not dying, it’s the start of rebirth. Shedding one layer so it can grow into something more than it ever thought it could be. It’s hauntingly beautiful really. And autumnal tones are stunning, all those earthy hues and streets littered in leaves. It makes me think of cinnamon and old books. Reading in the park with my mom when she was lucid and watching the leaves fall from the trees all around us.” It was Spencer’s turn to grow wistful. 
You noticed his eyes glaze over slightly, his lip quirking up at the corner as he got lost in a fond childhood memory. 
Spencer never talked to you about his youth or his mother after your initial falling out. He’d never been so candid with you before. As if he realised this, he shook his head, snapping himself out of his own revere. 
“I, uh, didn’t mean to share all that.” He grumbled, grabbing his canteen and sipping the water just for something to do. 
“I don’t mind.” 
“Well I do.” He spat, slowing a little as the two of you neared another slight slope. “You’re the last person I want to talk to about my mother.” 
You slowed with him until you both stopped. You folded your arms across your chest and glared at him. 
“Reid, come on. It’s been a long time. I’ve apologised for calling you a mama’s boy multiple times. How could I have possibly known about your mother?” You shook your head. 
Spencer’s jaw tightened, the muscle in the side of his face pulsing as he stared at you. You could all but see the cogs turning in his head as he fashioned a response. 
“I don’t want your apologies, Y/L/N.” He huffed out. 
He suddenly started walking again, ignoring how much his legs ached as he started up the small slope. You watched him go for a moment or two, feeling awash with anger. 
You’d been looking forward to this hike, to an excuse to spend the weekend outdoors in the sun. You were not going to let Doctor Spencer Reid ruin that for you. 
***
You carried on walking for another hour or so and not another word was spoken between you. It was tense and awkward and the sun was getting lower in the sky. 
It wouldn’t be at all long before it started getting dark and you were growing a little concerned that you might not make it back before the sunset. 
Spencer was clearly thinking the same as his brows had been furrowed for at least the past ten minutes and he was furiously chewing on his lip.
You halted in your tracks and pulled the GPS device back out. You stared down at it with a heavy frown, feeling the heat radiating off of Spencer as he drew closer to you. He peered at the GPS over your shoulder with a scrunched brow similar to your own. 
“That says we’re only a few hundred yards from the camp. We should be able to see it.” Spencer looked up but all he saw was trees.
He turned a complete three hundred and sixty degrees but was met by trees as far as the eye could see. 
“I think…I think it’s busted.” You groaned deeply, the sound reverberating out into the forest. 
“No? No!” Spencer snatched it from your hand and shook it as if that would help matters. “Call someone! It’s going to get dark soon!”
You did not miss the blatant panic in his voice and if you didn’t feel the same you might have made a jab at him for it. 
You reached for your phone in your pants pocket and unlocked the screen but groaned as soon as you did so. 
“Fuck, I have no signal.” 
“What?” Spencer scrabbled for his own device and huffed seeing he had no bars either. “We’re stuck out here?” 
“Uh,” you glanced around. “Yes?” 
“No, no. I am not dying out in the woods with you.” His tone was even more fraught. 
“Trust me, you are not my first choice of death partner either.” You scoffed.
“If we’re out here long enough we could dehydrate! Or get hypothermia! I told you fifty percent of hiking related deaths are caused by medical conditions.” He was spiralling. 
“How many hiking related deaths are caused by homicide?” You shot him an unamused look. 
“Eighteen percent of 990 deaths at national parks were considered intentional. That includes suicide and homicide.” 
“It was a rhetorical question.” You shook your head. “Maybe if we get to higher ground we can get some cell service.” 
You started to walk but had no idea where you were going. You just had to hope you would find some higher ground. 
Spencer followed you for lack of any better suggestions. He was sulking like a petulant child, clearly there was something on his mind as he huffed a few times as he trailed behind you. 
You walked no more than a few minutes before his constant sighing and pouting caused you to stop again. 
“What?” You spat. “What is it?” 
Spencer frowned, halting in his tracks too. He was rolling his lip frantically between his teeth now and jiggling a little where he stood. 
“I, uh,” his cheeks flushed red. “I need to use the bathroom.” 
You closed your eyes for a second, pinched the bridge of your nose. 
“I hate to break it to you but there are no bathrooms way out here.” 
“It’s a figure of speech.” He grumbled. “I need to…pee.” 
“Okay, well take your pick.” You motioned around to the copious trees surrounding you. 
“I’m not a dog.” He rolled his eyes. 
“I’m sorry princess but it’s the best I can offer you.” 
Spencer sucked in a deep breath, clenching his hands at his side. His leg was still jiggling with his need to urinate. 
Spencer had developed an extremely strong bladder in his time in prison. The toilets on offer at Milburn were some of the most unhygienic he’d ever seen and as such had used them as little as humanly possible. 
He’s trained himself to strengthen his bladder, exercising his pelvic floor in order to reduce the amount of times in a day he needed to use the bathroom. 
As such during the hike he hadn’t been once while you had been multiple times. And now it had snuck up on him, coming out of nowhere and he wouldn’t be able to hold it long. 
“Goddamn I hate nature.” He grumbled, glancing around for the largest looking tree he could use to shield himself from you. 
You watched as he turned his back on you, hurrying off in one direction, further than was strictly necessary. You rolled your eyes with a shake of your head. 
“Don’t worry, Doc I’m not looking to catch a glimpse.” You called after him. You heard a tut in response but he didn’t rise to it. 
Spencer pushed forwards through some bushes and weaved in and out large pines before he found a tree trunk far enough away from you that he could have some semblance of peace while he expelled himself. 
He made sure the trunk was blocking his body before he unbuttoned his cargo shorts and freed himself from his pants. Within a fraction of a second he was already urinating.
He let out a relieved sigh, holding the base of his cock in one hand for aiming purposes whilst leaning the other on the tree. 
He closed his eyes as the blissful sensation of his bladder emptying consumed him. He didn’t relish doing this in the woods but he couldn’t deny how nice it felt. 
It felt so good in fact he didn’t even notice the itching of his calves. He finished his business and tucked himself away before buttoning his shorts. 
He swung his pack off his back and rummaged in the side pocket for a little bottle of hand sanitiser. He squirted a little in his palm and rubbed his hands together. 
Returning it to his bag and putting it back on, he noticed a stinging in his left calf but ignored it as he walked back over to you. As he walked his other leg started to sting too. 
When he reached you he subconsciously reached down and started scratching the backs of his bare legs with his blunt nails. You stared at him curiously. 
“You okay?” 
“Just a little itchy. Think I’ve been bitten or something.” He grumbled. 
You walked around him and regarded his legs. His skin was flushed red with little raised blisters dotted up the backs of both calves. 
“Reid,” you took his wrists and guided his hands away from his frantic scratching. “I think you’ve walked in poison ivy.” 
He snapped back to his full height, eyes wide. 
“What? No? Come on!” He moaned, glancing back at the rash forming. “Could this day get any worse?” 
“I’ve got a first aid kit in my bag, I’m going to need to treat those. If you keep scratching they could scar. Maybe this will teach you for wearing shorts on a hike.” You put down your backpack and rummaged for the kit. 
“It’s nearly eighty degrees.” He scoffed. “And I’ve never been hiking before.” 
“Just shut up and stand still. Give me your water.” You knelt down on the ground behind him.
“You’ve got your own water.” 
“I’m not wasting my water on cleaning your rash because you were the idiot who wore shorts. Give me your water.” 
Spencer huffed out a breath to show he wasn’t happy but then he unlatched his canteen from his bag strap and passed it back to you. So much for his calculations. 
You uncapped it and poured a little on the back of each leg causing him to shudder. You used a small hand towel you had in your backpack to dry them off before sanitising your hands.
You located the hydrocortisone ointment in the first aid kit and squeezed a little on the pads of your fingers. You cautiously started on his left leg, massaging the cream into the small blisters. 
Spencer hissed and his legs buckled a little. He was silent though and allowed you to treat his rash. Soon you were moving onto the other leg and although it stung Spencer couldn’t deny he enjoyed the skin to skin contact. 
As much as he hated to admit it, Spencer was touch starved. He hadn’t felt another set of hands on him in such a tender way since before prison. 
He’d deliberately kept everyone at arms length since, not trusting himself or deeming himself worthy to be so close to another person. 
He’d almost allowed himself to go there with Max, to succumb to the kind of pleasure he’d sorely missed. They’d kissed but ultimately that was the furthest he’d let himself go. 
And somehow your benevolent touch was more intimate than kissing Max. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on his part. 
He was sure you knew the real reason he was so brusque with you wasn’t because of what you’d call him during your first case. He was annoyed about it at first but he hadn’t held a grudge over it. 
His curt behaviour towards you stemmed from his almost overwhelming crush on you. He’d pushed you away because when he met you he wasn’t ready to be close to someone. But in doing so he had inevitably sealed his own fate so that now when he might actually want to pursue something, you could barely stand him.
He tried to omit the feeling of your fingertips on his calves and focused his attention on the warbling of a nearby bird. Its song wasn’t the prettiest he’d ever heard but it had a certain cadence to it which he found oddly calming. 
All too soon you were finished and your touch was gone, leaving Spencer feeling dissatisfied. You wrapped both of his rashes in gauze bandages but your fingers barely ghosted over his flesh again.
You stuffed the kit back away and pushed yourself to your feet, brushing the dirt off of your knees. Spencer looked down at his newly bandaged legs with a small frown. 
“Do you have a change of clothes? Some pants perhaps?” You asked.
“No, for all my planning and research I did not think to bring long pants.” He shook his head at his oversight. 
“I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but you could have asked me what you should bring. The whole team knows I’m big on hiking and camping.” You turned away from him, looking back out through the trees to try and ascertain the best direction to head. “I also could have told you that converse was a dumb choice for hiking. I can only imagine how much your feet hurt.” 
Spencer made a noise that sounded somewhat like he agreed with you but didn’t want to say it out loud. You pulled out a piece of crumpled paper from your backpack and unfolded it, staring intently at it for a few moments. 
Spencer came closer, glancing down at the wrinkled paper in your hands. It looked to be a topographic map of the area. Finally something Spencer understood about hiking. 
“Didn’t know Garcia gave us those.” He spoke as you studied it.
“She didn’t. This isn’t my first rodeo, I would never have come out here without one.” You didn’t look at him. 
“So I can read this but how do you work out where we are? There’s nothing but trees for miles.” He scratched the back of his neck. 
“Observation. We passed a small body of water about a mile back. I didn’t see it but I could hear it off to the west. And this incline,” you pointed in front of you. “Will help figure it out.” 
“Okay, so a small body of water and an area where the contour lines aren’t too close as the hill isn’t too steep.” He nodded.
“Exactly.” You agreed. “And if my bearings are right I believe we’re facing north east.” 
Spencer looked around briefly before a smile tugged at his lips. 
“Because of the position of the sun.” 
“Yep. And the moss.” You nodded towards the trees. “It’s not an exact science but in the whole moss tends to grow on the north side of trees in the northern hemisphere.”
Spencer watched while you ran your index finger along the map, trying to draw on everything you knew in order to get the two of you to higher ground. 
“Wow I’m…I’m actually impressed.” He chuckled a little and you looked up at him with a frown. 
“Are you patronising me?” 
“What? No! I mean it. I’m really impressed.” 
“Oh,” you looked back at the map. “Thanks.” 
A minute or so later and you’d estimated a few miles worth of trail you believed the two of you to be on. If you were right you were still miles from the camp and wouldn’t make it there by nightfall. 
Your plan was to find somewhere to get cell service so you could call the team and hopefully they could get park rangers out here to find you as they were the only ones equipped to traverse the forest after dark. 
Spencer followed you while you kept the map in your hand. The two of you walked for another mile or so, by this point Spencer’s water rations were nearly depleted. 
Eventually you stopped at the foot of a large, steep hill and Spencer looked up at it with a dubious expression. 
“You want me to climb that?” He whined. 
“Well we have a better chance of getting cell service when we have two phones.” You rolled your eyes, folding the map and slotting it in your pocket. 
“Can’t you just take mine up there with you?” He pulled a face. “I really do not possess the physical prowess for this.”
“No kidding.” You scoffed. “But we’re in this together. I could get hurt or something, I need you for backup.” 
Spencer groaned, pouting his bottom lip like a child. 
“Oh jeez, fine.” He huffed. “But I will complain every step of the way.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” With a shake of your head you started forward and Spencer reluctantly followed you.
You got less than twenty paces before he almost slipped and fell on his face. To steady himself he instinctively reached for your hand. He didn’t let go the whole way up. 
You hated to admit it but there was something oddly comforting about Spencer’s hand in yours. His hand was warm and surprisingly soft and it was so much larger than your own he all but encompassed yours. 
He held onto you tightly, fingers squeezing your hand every time his foot slipped a little on the hilly ground. A part of you didn’t want to make it to the top because you didn’t want him to let go. 
But of course as soon as the ground levelled out he slipped his hand away and all but collapsed onto the damp ground below, huffing and puffing. You watched him grab his canteen and finish the water without a second thought. 
He removed his pack and rolled onto his back, relishing in every last drop of liquid and clearly not concerned he had now emptied his reserves. He closed his eyes and pushed his hair back off his sweaty forehead. 
You pulled your cell phone out and unlocked it. You had one tiny bar of signal which you hoped was enough to make a call. You nudged Spencer in the ribs with the toe of your hiking boot. His eyes shot open and he stared up at you, the exhaustion heavy in his eyes. 
“I’ve got one bar, I’m going to try and call Prentiss.” You informed him, bringing up your contacts. 
You found Emily’s name quickly and hit the call button before putting the device on speaker. The dial tone was crackly and you knew the signal could cut out at any minute. It rang four times before Emily answered but her words were muffled and you only caught a handful of what she said.
“Y/N…are you?...Gone hours…thing okay?” 
“Emily, we got lost. Our GPS was misprogrammed. We need help.” You had no idea how much she could hear of what you were saying.
“...are you?...send a rang…coordinates?” 
You reeled off your approximate coordinates, explaining that you could be anywhere within a few miles of that spot but again you don’t know what she heard due to the spotty service. 
“Hold tight…get a ranger…be okay.” 
“Thanks Emily.” You finished before hanging up.
Spencer was still on the floor on his back, his brows furrowed in concern.
“How much of that do you think she got?” He was rolling his lip between his teeth.
“I have no idea.” You pocketed the phone again. “I’m almost certain Garcia would have brought her laptop with her. If she can get to the rangers station and get on the WiFi she might be able to locate us.”
“Yeah, good point. Garcia is the best.” His eyes closed again, a strangely dreamy smile on his lips. 
“What are you doing?” You kicked him again and his eyes quickly opened and he stared at you.
“Resting, what does it look like?” He scowled.
“Reid, the second the sun goes down the temperature is going to plummet. We need to make a fire.” 
“Goddamnit,” he pushed himself to a sitting position. “I hate the outdoors.” 
You chose to ignore him and didn’t help him to his feet, instead started wandering around in the search for some sticks for the fire. Spencer eventually got himself up and started to help. The sun was barely a sliver in the sky by the time you collected enough wood.
You created a crisscross on the ground with the kindling, explaining to Spencer this type of fire would burn for longer and not need as much wood. You had no idea how long you would be out here and you needed to stay warm. The smoke would also help draw attention to your whereabouts. 
You retrieved a pack of matches from your back, Spencer once again impressed by your preparedness. He simply watched while you went about lighting the fire, in silent awe. It was several minutes before the fire started to grow and he shuffled closer to it, sitting cross legged on the dirty forest floor and holding his hands towards the flames. 
You sat down next to him, but not too close. You got out a fleece hoodie from your bag and slipped it over your head. As if jogging some kind of memory for Spencer he opened his own bag and found his oversized CalTech sweatshirt, thankful he’d had the forethought to pack this even if he had overlooked bringing pants. 
Sitting by the fire you felt the fatigue wash over you. You could quite easily curl up and fall asleep after the day's events. Spencer noticed your fluttering eyelids and how you were desperately trying to stay awake.
He suddenly felt extremely bad for how difficult he’d been all day, complaining and moaning while you tried to keep him safe and alive. He huffed out a breath and the sound caused you to look at him.
Half of his face was illuminated by the glow of the fire, the other side set in deep shadow from where the sun had now almost completely vanished beneath the horizon. His golden brown eyes shimmered as he looked at you.
“I, uh, I’m sorry I’ve been such hard work today.” He rolled his lip between his teeth.
“Reid, I’m used to you being hard work.” Your lip twitched at the corner. 
“I’m sorry about that too.” He swallowed. “Do you…do you want to lay your head down on my lap? You deserve to rest.” 
You frowned a little sceptical, mildly concerned by the offer as Spencer had never been so nice to you. But you were too tired to question it and the idea of laying down sounded wonderful. You nodded slowly, prompting Spencer to uncross his legs and stretch them out in front of himself.
You sucked in a breath, shuffling in the dirt so you could lay on your side with your head in his lap while you stretched your own body out on the ground. 
Without meaning to, Spencer's hand was soon brushing through your hair. You couldn’t help the hum of appreciation that you let escape and it goaded him to continue. 
His touch elicited the sweetest sounds from your lips, some sounding dangerously like moans. Spencer was only human and his body reacted of its own accord at the noises. 
He could sense the blood rushing south, feel the swelling in his shorts despite how much he willed it stop. He stilled his movements on your hair, hoping if you weren’t making those delirious sounds it would stop the blood rushing and he wouldn’t get hard enough for you to notice…
…You suddenly sat up, looking right at him with wide eyes. Of course you’d noticed, his crotch was right beneath your head. 
His cheeks instantly flushed red and he pulled a face full of apologies and mortification. You continued to stare at him and he felt more uncomfortable with each silent second. 
“Please,” he whimpered. “Just…don’t mention it.” 
“Kinda hard not to…pun not intended.” You frowned at your own choice of words and Spencer groaned. 
“I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “It has been a long time since I’ve had any kind of closeness with another person. I can’t be held responsible for my body’s carnal reactions. Especially when you’re making such sinful noises.” 
Your own cheeks turned red now and you glanced away from him towards the fire. 
“I, uh…I didn’t realise I was. Sorry.” You croaked. “Full disclosure, it’s also been a long time since I’ve had any kind of closeness with another person.” 
Spencer’s brows furrowed as he regarded you. He found that incredibly hard to believe. You were just so beautiful he imagined men fell at your feet everywhere you went. 
“Seriously?” He couldn’t help but ask. 
“Seriously.” You confirmed with a huff as you turned back to him. 
“But why?” 
“Why what? I don’t understand.” 
“I mean…you’re you. You’re beautiful and smart and charismatic. Surely you could have your pick of men?” Spencer was really frowning. 
“I’m…fussy I suppose? And I don’t really like the whole casual sex thing…” You trailed off with your own frown. “Wait did you call me beautiful?”
“And smart and charismatic.” He nodded. 
“Uh, thanks?” You were rightfully confused, Spencer had never said anything nice about you. “What about you? You don’t have women lining up at your door? And weren’t you dating someone?”
Spencer let out a hearty laugh at this, shaking his head dramatically. 
“Max and I broke up not long after Cat and her games. We never…you know…and trust me when I say women do not fawn over a neurotic, socially awkward ex-con.” Spencer sighed sadly. 
“Oh, I didn’t realise about Max, I’m sorry.” 
“It’s okay. It wouldn’t have worked out even if Cat hadn’t interfered.” He pulled a face, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “You didn’t know me before prison. I’m not the same man I used to be. I had to do things on the inside just to survive and it changed me. For a long time I didn’t trust myself to get close to anyone. A part of me still doesn't but I’m trying I guess? Max was the closest I came to allowing myself to be vulnerable again.” 
You simply stared at him, unsure what to say. You’d never spoken so personally with Spencer before, he’d never opened up to you in such a way and you didn’t know how to respond. 
You knew you needed to tread lightly, not wanting to risk him clamming up and shutting you down. You were making progress for the first time since you’d met him and you didn’t want to give him a reason not to continue. 
“I didn’t know you before prison and I have no idea the things you would have gone through in there. But I do know you now. I know you shield yourself behind these huge walls to keep people from hurting you, probably because you’ve already been hurt enough for one lifetime. 
“You kept me at arms length because you don’t like change, you worried I would threaten the team dynamic. But once you realised that wasn’t the case, you were too far gone and it was easier for you to keep treating me with disdain rather than thaw towards me.” 
Spencer was silent while you talked, ingesting your words, mulling them over in his head. His expression tightened, his eyebrows knitted together and his lips drawn into a line. 
“I guess you’re right, at least about some of it.” He exhaled. “I was always guarded to a degree even before prison. People have always disappointed me I guess and so I learnt not to rely on anyone, not to let anyone get too close. It’s easier to be alone than to risk getting hurt. 
“But you’re wrong about why I kept you away. Your comment about me being a mama’s boy stung but I didn’t hold it against you. I needed to put distance between us because from the first time I met you I knew how effortless it would be for me to fall for you.
“I was too raw at the time, I wasn’t ready to give my heart away to someone who might not even want it. I had to keep you at arms length because it was safer than letting myself develop feelings for someone who probably wouldn’t reciprocate. But I guess the jokes on me because my plan was far from foolproof and I managed to fall for you anyway. 
“I don’t expect anything from you in return, and I’m hoping once we’re rescued we can just forget this whole thing ever happened. But I suppose you deserve to know why I am the way I am with you and maybe going forward we can try to be…I don’t know…friends? Or at the very least I hope we can get along better.” He sucked in a breath when he finished speaking, looking completely exhausted and utterly heartbroken.
You couldn’t speak. You took in every single word, toyed with them in your mind and tried to make sense of them. But really they didn’t make any sense. In the year you’d known Spencer you had never even gotten so much as a hint that he had feelings for you. He was detached, withdrawn and oftentimes entirely unapproachable. 
It seemed implausible that he could have been hiding these feelings all this time and for you not to have a clue. You were a profiler, wasn’t it your job to pick up on these things? Did the rest of the team figure it out? Were you the only one in the dark? 
He looked increasingly uncomfortable by his confession with every passing second of silence. The fire crackled, its warmth washing over you both. It cast you both in a cosy glow. 
Spencer seemed closer somehow. Did you move nearer or had he, or was it simply all in your head? 
There were so many things you could say, so many possibilities but you couldn’t form a simple sentence. Every time you tried to speak your words caught in your throat and his own played over in a loop in your brain. 
I guess the jokes on me because my plan was far from foolproof and I managed to fall for you anyway. 
Spencer had feelings for you and he thought you wouldn’t feel the same. Perhaps neither of you were as good at profiling as you thought. 
Spencer rolled his lip between his teeth, growing self conscious in your lack of response. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled it through his nose. 
“I should not have said any of that.” He averted his gaze to the fire. “I don’t even know why I did. Jeez, I’m a moron. Please can you just pretended I didn’t…” 
He trailed off when your hand cupped his chin and you turned him gently to look at you. 
“Yes, you are a moron.” You smiled meekly. “But only because you missed what was right in front of you. How can you think I didn’t feel the same?” 
His mouth fell open, your hand still on his jaw. He blinked rapidly as if trying to clear some kind of fog in his brain. 
“You…I’m confused.” He frowned. 
“Let me clear it up for you then.” You dropped your hand to your side but seconds later your lips crushed against his. 
Spencer gasped at the sudden action, in a million years he never dreamed to actually feel your lips on his. And if he never got this chance again, he was going to make the most of it. 
He raised his hands to cup your face and ran his tongue along your bottom lip, gently asking for passageway. You obliged by parting your lips enough for his tongue to slide inside. 
You were quick to explore the contours of each other's mouths, both of your desperations evident in the way your teeth knocked together while you worked to find your rhythm. 
One of his hands worked its way into the back of your hair and held you firmly as he deepened the kiss further. He pulled you into his lap and you manoeuvred yourself so you were straddling him, kneeling in the dirt either side of his hips. 
He kept one hand cradling your head and the other moved down over your ribs. It dipped beneath the thick fabric of your hoodie, sandwiched between it and your shirt underneath. 
You rocked in his lap, wrapping your arms tightly around neck. The friction caused him to moan languidly into your mouth and it wasn’t long before you felt him growing hard again. 
When he pulled back and opened his eyes, his pupils were blown out, heavy with lust. He was begging you for more without the use of words, he removed one of your hands from around his neck and moved it between your bodies. 
He placed your palm on his rapidly growing erection, rolling his swollen lip with his teeth whilst silently asking if this was okay. You smiled at him and your other hand joined it so you could pop the button of his shorts.
One hand wasted no time in diving straight into his boxers and wrapping around his shaft. You quickly tugged him free of the confines of both his shorts and underwear. 
You sat back a little on your haunches to look down on him. You couldn’t hold back your lamentation as you surveyed every inch of him in your hand. He was long and thick, heavy against your palm. Honestly you hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t this. 
The vein that ran up the underside throbbed as you brushed your thumb over it and he bucked his hips when you moved it to rub over his swollen red tip. You slowly brought your fist all the way back down, squeezing his base whilst nestled in a bed of scratchy pubic hair.
You tore your eyes away from his crotch and looked up to meet his eyes. They held a hint of uncertainty, as though he was worried you wouldn’t like what you saw. Spencer never was blessed with body confidence, he was always too skinny or too tall or too gangly. 
He wasn’t dumb though, he knew that particular appendage was above average. He didn’t have a wealth of sexual experience but he had enough to know that he was often a tight fit for most. But that didn’t stop him from feeling self conscious under your gaze.
The smile on your face and the glint in your eye was enough for him to know that you were pleased by what you’d seen and it allowed him to relax a little. He felt a wave of heat wash over him as your hand slowly started to move and it had nothing to do with his proximity to the fire. 
He wriggled beneath you as you started moving your hand up and down, your thumb brushing over his sensitive head each time. A string of wanton moans left his lips and he was momentarily dumbfounded while you worked him, not able to do anything but sit and relish in this feeling.
Your petite hand couldn’t fit all the way around him but it didn’t make your movements any less mind blowing. He had never been touched like this before, with such a combination of care and desperation. 
Once he got his brain working for long enough to think straight, he moved his hands towards the buttons of your pants. You didn’t let up on your ministrations while he got them undone, swiping your thumb through the precum collecting on his head. 
He swiftly popped the buttons and his right hand dipped inside straight inside your panties. He moaned animalistically when he discovered how wet you were already, the sound dissipating out into the forest. 
You kept eye contact with each other as his fingers slid between your legs, collecting your arousal before moving to settle on your needy clit. You whimpered as he rubbed the sensitive bud with two fingers, rocking against his hand whilst increasing your speed on his cock.
The sounds coming from the both of you were nothing short of feral and became eaten up by the vast woods surrounding you. You grinded against his hand while he flicked your nub deftly, eager to bring you to orgasm.
You returned the favour and matched his speed. The sounds of your arousal and his flesh against yours filled your ears. The fire continued to crackle behind you, casting you in an ethereal glow from where you perched on top of him. 
His chest heaved and his stomach was coiling into thick knots. He wanted this to last forever but knew his orgasm was imminent. It had been all too long since someone had touched him so intimately and it would be impossible to stave off his release for too long.
But judging by the noises you were making, the sinful whines and moans leaving your parted lips and how frantically you bucked against his hand, he assumed you were in the same boat. 
“Jesus, Reid,” you panted heavily. “Who knew you’d be so good at that?”
He couldn’t help but chuckle, increasing his speed even further as if to prove that point.
“Likewise.” He replied, whimpering as you swiped your thumb through more beads of precum. 
“I’m so close.” You whined, throwing your head back to your shoulders.
“M-me too.” He stuttered, stomach clenching at the way you twisted your fist around his shaft. 
Somewhere in the distance you heard a twig snap but paid it no attention. You kept your focus here on Spencer, on how he was making you feel and on how you were making him feel. But then you heard another crunch followed by a faint voice.
“Reid? Y/LN?” It called. “I see smoke! That has to be them!”
“Is that…?” Spencer frowned, breathing heavily.
“G-Garcia.” You mumbled. 
“Fuck,” Spencer groaned, his frustration evident.
“Reid? Y/L/N? It’s Penny G, can you hear me, my loves?” 
You and Spencer exchanged a look while you both stilled your movements at the same time. He kept his hand inside your panties while you held the base of his shaft limply. You felt dizzy, you were on the cusp of orgasm, about to fall over the ledge when Garcia’s voice had dragged you back from the brink. Looking at Spencer, he felt much the same.
“Y/L/N, Reid! We’re coming angels!”
“Oof,” Spencer groaned, cautiously withdrawing his hand from inside your pants. “Poor choice of words.” 
You reluctantly let go of his shaft and crawled away from him while you both readjusted yourself and got your pants done up.
“Over here, Garcia.” You called, hoping she didn’t notice the way your voice shook. 
Your body tingled, so close to release a soft breeze could get you there. Spencer pushed himself to his feet, legs shaking and reached out to help you up. He was tenting his shorts, unable to get the blood flowing elsewhere due to how close he’d been. He picked up his backpack and held it in front of him so Garcia wouldn’t notice.
Your underwear was soaked and sticky. You tried to adjust your stance so it was less uncomfortable but it was almost impossible. You could see three flashlights in the distance and the footsteps were growing closer. 
Soon enough Garcia and two park rangers appeared through the thicket. If she noticed the flush of your cheeks she didn’t say anything. She immediately threw her arms around both of you, Spencer cloying to keep his bag as a barrier between himself and the bubbly blonde for fear she might feel his unyielding erection.
“Oh my sweet angels!” She cooed over you both. “Let's get you back to camp and get you warmed up and fed.” 
You both silently agreed and let the rangers lead you back towards a clearing where their vehicle awaited you. Garcia hopped in the backseat first and Spencer held open the door for you, offering a meek smile as you passed him. 
Perhaps it was for the best you’d been interrupted before you could go too far. Perhaps Garcia had inadvertently helped you dodge a bullet.
***
Several hours later after making it back to the camp and feasting on Rossi’s campfire soup and bread and whilst being wrapped in Garcia’s fluffy blankets, one by one the other members of the BAU retired for the night. 
The fire was still dwindling as you perched on a log next to Spencer, silence deafening you once the two of you were alone. You watched the small flames flicker and dance in the soft breeze, soaking up the last of the summer evening before calling it a night yourself.
Before you did, you turned to face him to find he was already looking at you. He smiled softly, a little bashfully and you returned it. Words and emotions bubbled under the surface and neither one of you knew where to start. 
“Some day, huh.” You shrugged, wrapping the blanket tighter around your body.
“It was certainly eye opening.” Spencer agreed.
“It was probably for the best that Garcia and those rangers found us when they did, right?” 
“Oh yeah, for sure. Probably stopped us from doing something even more stupid.” Spencer chuckled nervously. 
“Exactly.” You nodded, getting to your feet. Spencer did the same. “We can just pretend nothing happened. We were tired, probably a little dehydrated. The sun makes us do weird things.” 
“Yeah, the sun.” He nodded too. 
You swallowed thickly, giving him one last look before turning towards your tent. Spencer scuffed the toe of his converse on the ground and found himself speaking again without really meaning to. 
“I mean…it would have been nice to at least finish. I’ve been kinda on edge ever since.” 
You spun back to look at him and he looked so unsure of himself. His hands were in his pockets and his shoulders were pitched up to his ears. 
“Uh, yeah same here.” You took a couple of tentative steps back towards him. “There’s no doubt I could go back to my tent right now and finish what we started alone but…”
“But your hand feels so much better than my own.” Spencer finished for you. 
You both chuckled as you reached him again, letting go of your blanket and letting it fall to the floor so you wrap your arms around Spencer’s neck. 
“It would just be a one time thing.” You whispered, your breath fanning across his face. 
“Even though you don’t like casual sex.” He placed his hands on your hips. 
“Even though I don’t like casual sex.” You repeated. 
“We’re just…two colleagues helping each other.” Spencer smirked, inching his face closer to yours. 
“And if anyone ever found out…” 
“We’d blame the sun. Summer heat got to us.” 
“Summer heat.” You agreed and with that he kissed you again, drawing you into his body whilst tugging you in the direction of his own tent. 
Spencer had never been a fan of summer. But after today he may have been converted. And he was certain this summer heat between you would continue to smoulder through the seasons. 
1K notes · View notes
infestedguest · 4 months
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A relatively common trope of fma fanfiction is the modern Amestris au, which is basically your standard modern au for all your slice of life needs except stuff like alchemy and automail still exist, so the author doesn’t have come up with real world equivalents when that’s not really the point of their fic.
This is all fine and dandy, but one thing that’s always bugged me is that most of the time in these fics Al is just like. a normal, not disembodied, fully abled child. There are several issues with this, mainly that this alteration significantly changes the character dynamic between Ed and Al in ways the author often doesn’t account for at all.
This is also a common issue is regular modern aus, but I bring it up in the context of modern Amestris aus because an idea just occurred to me that I don’t think I’ve seen before: since alchemy still exists, why not have Al just straight up still be in the armor? Put that boy in public school and give him the strangest IEP known to man!
Touchscreens don’t recognize his leather fingers so he has a blackberry (which his hands are way too big for so it takes him twice as long to send most messages because he doesn’t like to leave in typos).
He was both pressured into joining and permanently banned from his middle school’s basketball team within the span of a week.
His condition isn’t secret or anything, it was kind of a big deal at the time and it made the news after it happened but after awhile the buzz mostly died down.
They were contacted by one of those medical mysteries documentary shows (a la extraordinary people), and Pinako told them that if they thought she would let an entire camera crew into her house they were fucking insane.
The initial publicity is the only reason the Amestrian government hasn’t kidnapped him or anything, but they do stalk him and the brothers and the Rockbells have definitely noticed.
If Izumi is Ed and Al’s legal guardian they are much more discreet about it because whenever she spots them hiding in the bushes or whatever she starts reciting castle doctrine law “to no one in particular.”
Because the modern world is a bureaucratic panopticon from hell and also CPS exists instead of just going out into the world to find the philosophers stone the Elrics just have to study real hard and try to eventually get into Alchemy MIT I guess.
Al is physically unable to use any kind of headphones because he has no ears.
He and Mei Chang are playing Minecraft right now as we speak.
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evsstolenhearts · 2 months
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Summary: you got kidnapped
Implied Spencer Reid x BAU!gn!reader | 1.4k | no y/n |
Warning: kidnapping, drugging, blood, ect. Cannon typical violence
A/N: I wrote this at like, 2am on a Monday I think. Its.... unique. R and spence are not really considered as dating, more just mutual feelings that are not discussed at this time ig?
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆。°✩✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 ⋆
The cold tiles have gone warm from your body heat hours ago. Wrists are sore and bloody from the rope on them, ankles and knees in similar condition.
The window in the old, nearly abandoned-looking kitchen once showed the sun, but now the moon is shining through it. That's the only thing telling you it's no longer day.
Earlier this week, you and the rest of the BAU was called onto a case in Cincinnati, Ohio. Some guy decided he wanted to get people drunk, kidnap them, and torture them before disposing the bodies. 
Luckily, you had a lead on a Tyler Mixins, and went to check this out. Unluckily, he got mad, knocked out Rossi, who was with you, and kidnapped you.
So now you sit in an old kitchen, next to a missing girl who has been unconscious since you got here, in a house in the middle of nowhere. It's hard to tell how long it's been because he keeps getting you high. From what you can tell, it's probably high doses of benzodiazepines. Keeping your muscles and mind pliant.
The few times you have been conscious enough to fight back, he's thrown you back into the wall so hard that you definitely have a horrible concussion. From what you can tell, there's also blood coming from somewhere on your head, having moved down to the side of your face and dried there.
Faintly, you hear heavy footsteps coming towards the kitchen. Tyler walks in, hands shaky as he forcefully ties a rope around your head and between your teeth, keeping you from talking, before he grabs your wrists and drags you through the house. Despite wanting to struggle, the drugs in your system keep you from doing so.
He takes you to a separate room, one that seems like it was once a bedroom with a bathroom connected to it. He sets you onto a old vanity chair, tying your middle to the back of the chair. 
Your eyes start to droop from lack of energy, brain slightly fuzzy. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see him grab an ax that rests against the wall. Your heart feels like it's going to fly right out of your chest.
Tyler walks closer, standing in front of you, ax in hand. Just as he prepares to swing it, the front door to the house is busted down, and rapidly moving footsteps enter. Vaguely, you can hear shots of commands as Tyler quickly grabs a syringe off a metal medical table, making quick work of uncaring the needle and rushing to inject it into your neck.
With the last of your energy, you try to scream through the gag, clearly being loud enough, as footsteps rapidly approach the room. Prentiss appears in the doorway, a gun pointed at the man in front of you.
"You don't want to do this, Tyler." Emily keeps her voice calm, taking cautious steps into the room.
He quickly goes behind you, syringe horrifyingly close to our neck, yet he remains silent. His silence doesn't seem to surprise Emily; some form of information they got while you were here probably told her why he's so silent. Too bad you didn't get to sit in an only slightly uncomfortable precinct chair while learning more information about this guy. 
"Put down the syringe." Emily stops moving closer, with the chance of him snapping and injecting whatever is in the syringe into your body. "We can talk this out; you don't want to hurt them. You'll be in even more trouble for killing an FBI agent."
For the first time since you've been here, Tyler speaks, his voice rough and clearly not very used, "I'll get a lot of respect in prison for killing a fed."
There are footsteps behind you now, who you can only assume is someone else from your team. They probably snuck through a window in the bathroom. Tyler seems to pick up on this as well, as you register his grip on the syringe tightening.
From what you can tell, he does stab that syringe into your neck; there's distant yelling and footsteps. Tyler falls to the ground before all the liquid is administered into your veins, and someone else quickly rips it out. The same hands make quick work to untie all the ropes from your body; everything seems barely there. Like everything you are experiencing is memories from a dream, going in and out of consciousness.
The only thing you can know for sure is the soft, repetitive beeping slowly surrounding you. The last thing you can remember is being untied from the chair after the unsub injected you with something. You probably knocked out. And you know, you're probably in a hospital right now. But it feels like you are underwater. Like you're at peace for now. It's quite the comfortable place you've made in your mind. Feeling weightless and soft. Mind blurry and warm.
But soon you register more than just the beeping in the room. There is a soft-spoken voice. A familiar one. And suddenly, the place in your mind isn't as comfortable. The softness becomes too soft, nearly prickly. Feeling unease as you leave this place in your mind. Slowly, you blink open your eyes.
You were correct. The familiar look and smell of the hospital fills your senses. The lights seem to have been mostly turned off; lights from the hallways shine through the door, unlike the night sky shining through the window. There are flowers on a table next to you, but the most notable thing is the voice.
Next to you, is Spencer. Sat slightly awkward as he reads aloud, though, not very loudly, a book. 
"Spence...?" Your voice is rough and sore, turning your head to look at him
He stops reading from his book, looking up, slightly startled. He stands up, setting his book down and walking over to you. "Hey... how are you feeling? Does your head hurt? Any other forms of pain?"
"I don't think so, my memory is really fuzzy though, and I feel drowsy." 
"That's to be expected. The doctor said you had an extreme concussion as well as a wound to the left side of your head. There weren't any fractions or broken bones, but the unsub did inject you with high doses of benzodiazepine." Spencer talks quickly, giving you a once-over as he recites what your doctor said. "How much do you remember?"
You recount your memories for a moment, trying to put them into words. "I remember being tied up in a kitchen, as well as the unsub giving me pills; there was a girl here too-" The quick realization of another person being in danger courses through you: "Oh my god, was she okay? Did you guys get her?"
"We did get her, and she is being treated a few rooms over. I'll debrief you on her condition after you finish telling me what you remember." Spencer's voice remains as calm as he can keep it.
"Okay, I don't remember how much time passed, but he took me to a room, I think it was a bedroom, and tied me to a chair in there. Around that time I think Emily and someone else came I to the room, but everything else is pretty blurry."
Spencer nods as you talk, taking in the information. "The other person was Derek; the window to the connected bathroom was opened, so he climbed through that while scouting the outside perimeter. You did get injected with more benzodiazepine, which seemed to knock you out. Prentiss and Morgan got you into an ambulance, and I drove with you to the hospital. You have only been out for a day, which is expected with your injuries."
A small smile overtakes your features. "You joined me in the ambulance?"
Spencer quickly trying to change the subject as you save his heart. "You have a change of clothes, would you like to change into them?"
"Oh God, yes." You laugh as you sit up, excited to change out of the hospital gown and to spend more time with Spencer, now awake. Even though, this experience will probably leave a lasting scar.
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buckets-and-trees · 8 months
Text
Desperate [Bucky x Reader]
Fandom: MCU Title: Desperate Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader Word Count: 3k 
Summary: Enemies? Rivals? It's always been reluctant teamwork between you and the Winter Soldier, but when put in a situation where personal feelings have to be put aside, maybe actual personal feelings are uncovered.
Content Warnings: kidnapping, sex pollen ergo DUBIOUS CONSENT, sexual situations (named acts, non-explicit depictions of vaginal sex), medical elements (needles, IVs, experience of medical distress)
Thank You Notes: BIGGEST SHOUT OUTS to @sgt-seabass who beta loved this into what it is and @vonalyn who helped supply me with some of the vital energy I needed. This was SUPPOSED to be an answer to this little sleepover ask @povlvr had graced me with... but then it became this! Logistical Notes: Filling my eleventh square for Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - Y2 "Reluctant Teamwork" and @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer Week 9 which is technically a "FREE WEEK" but had sex pollen listed as one of the suggested things to play with, so... that's why we're here now.
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You were an old SHIELD contact that Steve knew before Project Insight. He didn't know you well then, but you had crossed paths a few times. You were an analyst sometimes assigned to Steve's missions. You went to work for the CIA after the Triskellion takedown, where you stayed for a couple of years, before eventually moving into the private sector.
When Steve, Nat, Sam, and Wanda were outlaws on the run, they bumped into you again, and you became an ally and valuable contact in your new area of the country - and ultimately a friend. And trusted enough that you knew about Bucky - and Bucky heard about you.
Bucky didn't love that you were an element in Steve's life. He hadn't met you, hadn't been able to get his own read on you. 
He'd been wary initially about Nat, Sam, and Wanda, but he'd been able to meet them and build his own trust - and they'd all ultimately put their lives and reputations on the line for him. 
It wasn't that he was distrustful of everyone anymore and needed people to put their lives on the line to prove themselves. Those who had sided with Steve over Tony in the Zemo affair aside, he'd also learned to trust others again in Wakanda with so many of the royal family and the royal guard building relationships with him. 
But with you he didn’t know you, and so he didn't like it.
What Bucky loathed even more? 
You didn't blip out. For five years, you were there for Steve when he couldn't be. You were apparently there so much that when Steve left, he fucking said to watch out for you. The punk.
Bucky didn’t know Steve dropped in on you, too, and asked you to keep an eye out for Bucky the day he gave Sam the shield. You promised you would.
You reached out. Not immediately, but in the weeks after.
Bucky was... less than kind.
Frankly, he was surly, ungrateful, short, and rude. 
Pieces were moving and with Bucky's reappearance in the United States, the question of his future was an immediate concern. Public and government representatives were demanding trials, pardons, and all the rest.
You told him you had found an excellent contact for a lawyer.
"No, thanks, I can find my own," the words were polite, but the tone was clipped, flat, low - almost a growl. 
Being so abruptly shut down, you decided to cut the phone call first and on your terms, so you wished him luck - managing to be more polite than him, making it sound genuine - and hung up.
You called Matt Murdock yourself, and told him about Bucky's case.
You did it only because of your promise to Steve.
And a little bit because you knew you were fucking right and that Bucky needed your lawyer contact. 
Matt chuckled, told you he knew about stubbornness, and that he'd go about approaching the Winter Soldier diplomatically and professionally.
Matt pulled off the best possible pardon deal, even if not everything about it was ideal.
When Pepper decided to get back into some of the Avenger support again - after the Flag Smashers business - so she could provide some more trustworthy resources for Sam and Bucky and the old crowd, you were one of the people she ended up scouting and recruiting to come work on the direct home support team with research and tactical support. Sometimes you went into the field with the team, but usually you stayed at home base and relayed with the agents over comms. 
This was not because you weren't outstanding, but because it was clear the less time you and Bucky spent in proximity to each other, the less awkward it was for everyone else on the team. You were both professional enough to keep the animosity out of things during a mission over comms, and that was about it. 
Otherwise, it was silent treatment and resentment.
Neither of you extended the woes of your dislike for each other actively to anyone else on the team, keeping your mouths shut about your feelings, and engaging in only occasional and minimal eye-rolling when either of you was mentioned. Bucky made a point of giving you electrolyte-enhanced waters first whenever you did go into the field on a mission with them, as if you were a toddler who couldn’t take care of yourself. 
Sitting by you at a holiday dinner at Sam’s you almost thought there was a moment of thaw between you and the Winter Soldier, but you didn’t push the almost comfortable silence between you to anything more - knowing it had been long-established he only tolerated you. It was clearly only a temporary pause, meaning very little as Bucky continued to push for you not being put into the field with them. You didn’t need to be around his close scrutiny. He made getting over any initial crush you might have had on him very easy. 
Things were fine like that for a little over a year. 
And then you were abducted on your way back from a mission outside of Paris where you had been part of the local ground team, taken and smuggled out of the airport. It was not HYDRA this time, just leftover cretins who blipped away but now were back, stirring up their own operation which hoped to double down on being even more nefarious. They were interested in testing some of their new methods and resources while also trying to extract some sensitive information.
Why not kill two birds with one stone by snatching up a well-connected and informed analyst at the heart of the neo-Avengers operation?
They recovered files from debunked HYDRA facilities (hard drives were wiped, but motivated hackers knew how to dig beneath what had been wiped to recover remnants - in hindsight, SHIELD should have taken the tech to a secure location) and developed an even more concentrated and powerful form of sex pollen. They were interested in how it would be absorbed in both the aerosol and liquid forms they had developed. Why not try out both forms on you? 
The aerosol was potent enough, but not in a way that would break you for their line of inquiries.
So, they injected it right into your veins.
Compounding with what had already been ingested into your system, everything intensified, and you - much more quickly than they anticipated - moved past what may have been a state where they could've coaxed the information they wanted out of you. 
Quickly you progressed to the point where you were consumed by this toxin, your body raging and desperate for the physical activity that will get you to a sexual release and flush the toxin from your system. You were keening and moaning and crying, covered in sweat, straining painfully against your bonds, unable to focus on anything anyone said to you. 
You were incoherent and not far from feral. 
Having gone beyond the point you could be giving them intelligence, you were still useful to provide information as the test subject, and they kept you on it through an IV drip to see the limits of what an average female body could take before it was completely broken.
You had absolutely no sense of how long this went on, only that you were not even crying tears anymore, just dry sobbing and wailing, because everything in your throat, and in your veins, and in your chest, and in your vagina burned. 
It was an agony you'd never experienced in your life. 
You vaguely registered a cacophony of sound around you, but it was like it was coming to you through a long dark tunnel, distorted and distant, and you couldn’t open your eyes to see what is going on, not that you could even think to or were capable of caring about anything other than the desperate purgatory you were enduring until you finally passed out.
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Bucky and Sam were nearly back to base ops in New York from the Paris mission when the news of your abduction came through, and they turned around immediately. Teams working at home and in Paris - and Bucky in the air while Sam piloted - narrowed your likely whereabouts down to two locations: somewhere near Versailles (because of course evil operations are drawn to the ideas of opulence) or a compound outside of Brussels. 
Time already against them, Sam and Bucky made the tough decision that they needed to split up so they could investigate both options as quickly as humanly possible. Sam dropped Bucky at the well-equipped safe house less than an hour away from the suspected Versailles compound and then headed to Brussels.
After arming himself to the teeth as quickly as he could, Bucky fired up the Ducati in the garage of the safehouse that had been equipped with a noise dampener by your tech engineers, punched in his navigational coordinates, and pushed to top speeds to get to there, stashing the bike half a kilometer away so he could make the rest of the approach in complete stealth.
The operation was much smaller than he anticipated, but because of its size it was almost immediately apparent to Bucky that this was where they had you, and he was also confident he would be able to drop this operation and get to you without as much trouble as he expected.
But in no way could he have predicted the state he would find you in.
He heard your agonizing cries and keening within moments of entering the facility, and he'd already dropped four agents at that point, but the excruciating pain he heard from you was its own form of torture in itself. 
He picked up the pace, tearing ruthlessly through everyone else that came between him and you.
He got the full view of the condition you were in only moments before you passed out. He quickly undid all the bindings and removed everything they had attached to monitor your vitals. He unhooked the IV drip but had the presence of mind to take the bag for testing later. It was inelegant, but he hefted you over his shoulder, and everyone else still conscious who got in his way of getting you out was incapacitated with a single kill shot.
It was close to midnight when he reached the safe house and carefully tucked you into one of the beds. He pulled a secure laptop and some of the base medical testing equipment into the bedroom and kept watch over your catatonic form while he started running tests on the substance you’d been hooked up to and sent the base data for his samples to the bioengineering team back at HQ.
Over the next hour your body experienced a few fits of violent shaking, but you didn’t rouse until almost 2am. When you did, it was with great heaving gasps, and your arms flailed, your hands grasping at the sheets, at your clothes, and then at Bucky when he appeared almost immediately at your side trying to soothe you. He had a theory he hoped wasn’t true – that he knew what was running through your veins – but it was confirmed when you clutched and pawed desperately at him. Then your eyes met his, there was a recognition but coupled with devastating desperation, and you started babbling his name and pleading, “Bucky, please, Bucky. Need. Bucky, help. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.”
He’d been in distress over you since he first heard your tortured cries hours before, and he knew you needed him.
He wouldn’t deny you. 
He knew the anguish of being a slave within one’s own mind. 
He worked both of you out of your clothes quickly, and then laid you back on the bed and crawled above you. “I gothcu, shh, I know what you need.” You cried, but with a glimmer of relief, when he sunk into your desperately wet cunt. He thrust diligently into you while you clung to his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist. 
The first orgasm was quick, and provided a glorious wave of relief that helped, but it was not enough. 
Not even close.
For nearly two hours he let you use him, pulling him into you, riding him, kneeling under him on all fours while he wrapped an arm around your waist and took you from behind. 
It was relentless fucking until you hit the point of being utterly depleted – mercifully coinciding with when the chemicals seemed to have finally been flushed from your system with enough of the endorphins released into your bloodstream from the numberless orgasms. 
If anyone but a super soldier had found you, Bucky genuinely worried they may not have been enough to help. Seeing you at the utter extreme of limits, in dangerous territory, had shaken something inside him he wasn’t prepared to discover. There had been no question in his mind that he had to get you through it. 
He smoothed your hair off your face and let your body gently sink back into the mattress, then got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. He wiped your brow first, and you sighed in relief, eyes already closed in bone-tired weariness. Bucky gently wiped the sweat from your neck, continued moving down your body, and then with a second warm cloth he’d also brought, he gently wiped away the mess of slick that had seeped down your thighs. He carefully redressed your exhausted form, sliding you back into your discarded underwear and his t-shirt that was close enough to scoop up from the floor, and tucked you into the covers. You were asleep before he had finished taking care of you.
As you rested, he continued his vigilant watch from before. You stirred an hour or so later. It was still dark, but with almost a hint that sunrise would be creeping to the edges of the windows soon. He moved to your side again, this time with water, which he pressed to your lips, helping you to set up so you could drink. You began to gulp it down, but slowed when he tried to soothe you and urged you to slow your intake.
When you were nearly done downing the glass, your eyes opened briefly, but catching Bucky’s wary gaze on you, you shut them again. Not before Bucky saw the flash of anguish, however. You scooted away and turned your back, pulling your knees up and burying your head in your arms.
Bucky wanted to reach out and touch you, but settled for softly uttering your name, trying to coax you to look at him.
You refused, consumed with shame and horror.
Your throat was thick with a different kind of agony. 
That episode of pain and innate need had ended, but this? 
This was a new hell you would have to endure. 
“Bucky, I’m sorry, and I know I owe you my life and probably all of my sanity, but please, please go. Please leave me be and don’t put me through the humiliation right now of being here only because you were resigned to helping me despite hating me. I’ll have to bear that forever, but please, just… please at least leave me to myself until we get out of here.”
He was silent for a moment.
“Fuck, I don’t hate you – I never truly hated you,” he said. It was quiet, but perfectly audible in the silence of the pre-dawn.
You raised your head tentatively.
He took a deep breath and continued. “I only kept it up to save face since I drove you to despise me and was too proud to turn it around.”
You were truly overwhelmed. You wanted to say something but had no idea how to respond to that admission, especially when you were already wrung out to the very edges of your emotional state.
“I’ve respected you for a long time now.” Bucky broke the silence.
“You have?”
“Probably more than respected you, if I’m being honest.”
You were still exhausted despite having slept for the past few hours, but you pushed your mind to think… you started to reconsider the thaw from hostility to civility, that he argued with you in group settings less, how everything had become less grudging. But you knew you’d put up your own protective walls to shield you from his scrutiny because it had hurt too much to have been spurned by him when you’d reached out to try and forge that relationship with him after Steve left initially. 
And so much of tonight had been a feverish haze, but you had small pieces that were stained into your memory, some of which were him and things you couldn’t categorize as the actions of anything less than someone who cared. 
“How do you feel about me?” you ventured. 
The two of you looked into each other’s eyes for a few long moments.
“I don’t know that I can explain it all yet – I don’t think I know the words for it, but… let me show you? No chemicals, just us, see what’s really here?” He reached out a tentative hand to cover one of yours.
You nodded.
You let him move in.
You let him kiss you.
You let him lay you down beneath him again, and this time you sunk into each other. 
You cried again, but this time from the immense emotion. You could feel it rolling off of him and pouring into you, a balm starting to fill in the anguished pieces of your soul. Your spent bodies pushed through any tiredness and desperately moved together again, relentlessly motivated this time to slake the emotional hunger growing between you. Touches that explored, that carved into memory, that expressed. 
This time when you were both only finished by exhaustion, you curled into each other and slept, feeling the beginnings of solace and true peace, a turning of the tide, and maybe the acknowledgement that emotions that had run so deeply between you two were only felt so strongly because you truly valued the other even from the beginning.
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READ THE FOLLOW UP DRABBLE: UNCERTAIN AND SURE
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totaly-obsessed · 4 months
Note
Could you write for Ella where reader is also a footballer but reader tears her ACL
Jersey Dispute
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Ella Toone x reader request
-> Reader tears her ACL - sending Ella into panic - fluffy
-> probably not the correct timeline of a healing ACL
-> Combined with this request!
-> I hope this is okay, @ anon's!
➳ Masterlist
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Ella hated knees. She really did.
Your girlfriend had been on the pitch, not too far away from you when you had gone down in a Manchester derby. Forgotten was the color of your shirt as Ella rushed to you. To her surprise you weren’t crying, you just sat there, waiting for the medics. “I tore it.” Those words still haunt her in her sleep.
You had waited for her outside of the changing room and together you slowly walked to the car. The ride was tense, the brunette not too sure how to approach the situation, but you cracked joke after joke, trying to loosen her up.
Sure this was bad, you knew it meant nearly a year of no football for you but in the end, there was nothing that you could do right now – you were just glad that the World Cup was just over, giving you a slim chance of getting ft for the Olympics.
Waiting for the surgery was the worst but Ella gave it her best to fill the house with laughter. And she did it fabulously. Quite a few of you and her teammates showed up, wanting to see how you were doing, which led to many fun evenings playing Mario Cart and watching movies.
After a month, it finally came; the surgery to make everything worse so that you could get better again. Your girlfriend was nervous, much more than you were, running around in circles in your hospital room. She had taken the week off from training and everyone understood that she wanted to be with you.
“Ella, please baby sit down. You’re driving me nuts!” With a shamed look, she sat down in a chair next to your bed, hands pressed between her knees but she couldn’t hold it, jumping up again, going back to pacing. 
“Ells, please…” You patted the space next to you, scooching over so that she fit. Now wrapped in your arms, tucked under a blanket she was finally able to breathe. “I’ll go into surgery in two hours when no emergency comes in. Mary will be here so-“ You could see her trying to defend herself, that she didn’t need a babysitter, but you put your hand over her mouth. “Shhh. Mary will come and you will go eat something. Then I‘ll come out of surgery and everything will be absolutely fine.”
Mary had arrived just in time when they took you for surgery so that she could take your frantic girlfriend out.
Just as you had predicted, everything had been fine.
Now, nearly a month later you had started physio-therapy and rehab at the Manchester City facility, leaving Ella to worry at Manchester United – so you called her every time you could to reassure her.
In the evenings it was hard for your girlfriend to let you help her cook. “Love, no! Sit back down, hmm?” Most of the time she just kidnapped you to the living room, sat you down on the couch, and went back to cook.
It was great, being able to spend so much time with your girlfriend and being able to catch up on Uni work – you loved it, Ella loved it, everybody loved it. The bickering was kept to a minimum with evenings spent curled up in each other’s arms. It was perfect, almost too perfect…
Nearly two months of pure bliss were interrupted by the first disagreement.
Manchester derbies were ferocious and the atmosphere electric, they were great. Ella saw your inability to play the match, as her opportunity to get you to wear her very red ‘Toone’ jersey. “Babe – pleaseee! You’ll look so good in it!” She had flung open the bedroom door, where you were currently sorting through the huge closet for clothes to donate. In her hands was a huge box, containing a whole stack of her shirts. “Ells we’ve been over this. I will not wear a Man United jersey.”
The brunette was whining and pouting letting the box fall to the ground, eventually flinging herself on the bed – desperate to get your attention. But you prevailed, having your back towards your girlfriend helping with that. You couldn’t cave – no way. “Quit it, Ella.”
Oof. That first name hit.
“But Baby-“ She was quickly shut up with a deep kiss after you had finally turned around, gracing the stunned midfielder with your attention. “I’ll wear your England jersey, yeah?” and with a pat to her cheek, you were gone again, leaving a stunned Ella behind.
Gameday came and Ella played her best game of the season – a hat trick and an assist, beating Manchester City four to one. Her motivation? You. Sat in the family section wearing an England jersey that had her name on the back.
And while you were sad that your team lost, there was just no way you could be mad when a grinning Ella came out of the changing room, match ball in hand, falling into your open and waiting arms, littering your face in tiny kisses.
“Ya’ gonna have to wear this every game day now – would’ve been better in a United shirt though.” With a disgusted groan, you shoved her off, but there was no chance to get the teasing smirk off her face for the whole day.
Five months later it was Ellas' turn to sit in the family section, wearing an England jersey with your name. Her legs bounced up and down, nervously waiting for you to get subbed on.
When you did, she couldn’t do anything else but grin – seeing you back on the pitch, knowing how hard you worked for this made her prouder than she had ever been.
She blissfully ignored Alessia taking a video of you coming on for Alanna Kennedy, and then turning the camera to a teary-eyed Tooney, clutching your jersey in her hands.
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yandere-kokeshi · 10 months
Note
What is a general hc for yandere Soap?
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Warnings: Yandere behavior, military + talks about trauma and PTSD, kidnapping, and dubcon (not in detail)
A/N: Sure!! Sorry this took extremely long. I've been struggling with my health. Hope this was okay <3.
Gif and icons are NOT mine; the gif belongs to @/bunnygifs. As for the icons, I'm not sure. If you do find the artist/or are the artist, please contact me so I can credit you!
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Soap is a very complicated person. Underneath his nice Jester Act, he’s an extremely manipulative, obsessive, and possessive man in every aspect possible. He owns you; you own him, vice versa.
He’s two faced with you, only if you’re capable of staying one way. Much like Jekyll and Hyde.
Johnny wasn’t sure what was so addicting about you, but he knew you were the one for him. The very first time he saw you, he was immediately smitten and approaching you with a wide smile. Flirting and wooing his ways with you as his cheeks flushed with pink, legs like jello and hands sweating as his mind was overloaded with question after question. While Soap’s not easy to fall for someone, he couldn’t help but see that you were incredibly attractive; as well as interesting and a genuine person.
It definitely makes more sense if you were on the team. Price bringing you in as a new recruit; a needed medic or another soldier that finds him just as perky, or annoying.
Or, in any other story, you could be a civilian who he had met while living next door. The apartment complex getting lonely, and somehow, the cheeky bastard showed up with a welcoming smile and a few of his buddies helping him move in. Wouldn’t it be nice to know him, no?
Despite these two — Soap would quickly realize he needed you. The calls weren’t enough. The hourly talks weren’t enough. Nothing was never enough because you weren’t his. And you certainly made him lose his mind.
Either way, you’ve caught the eye of a man who’s incredibly hard to get rid of. His name speaks loudly in certain situations when he’s with you.
That being said, Johnny is always around you — in and out of the battlefield. He’s always trying to engage with whatever you’re doing.
Gonna head out and get a drink from a bar a couple of minutes down the road? Why not let him come along? Catch up on some things, plus the two of you could play truth-to-drink.
Need to go grocery shopping? Let him drive with you! He would feel safer going with you, plus, he needs to restock his fridge. Wherever you are, he’s there; even with and without your knowledge.
Soap is a huge softie with you. Even Ghost and Price see it. It’s clear that he likes you, which leaves him doing it the ‘original’ way. He will go all out and woo your heart; going as far as to buy your favorite flowers or go get that movie you haven’t seen in ages. He pays attention closely to the conversations you two have, so expect gifts to come.
This also means that he dislikes people around you, his blue eyes turning into daggered icicles that talk to you. And those who don’t get his signals, he gets aggressive, which isn’t a pretty sight.
He makes it clear that you’re off limits and stares at anyone who looks at you too long or simply the wrong way. While he acts incredibly sweet and kind in front of you, the minute you turn around, his smile is gone and staring into the person’s poor soul until they run away with their tail between their legs.
Johnny is the type to overcompensate things, which can be annoying. He’s overbearing — almost suffocating to the point you may or may not snap at him to knock it off or leave you alone. He will act like an overprotective boyfriend, even if the two of you are not dating.
Because of this, you’ll likely lose a bunch, if mostly of your friends or close family members. At the end of the day, he’s sitting right beside you as he comforts you from the losses. I mean, he’s better than them, right?
Soap is more on the jealous side. While he knows he’s attractive and strong - likely your type - he just can’t help but pop his knuckles in pure annoyance whenever he sees you talking to someone he feels is a threat. Soap will try his best to be always around you, keeping an arm or hand on you at all times, showing people he has an interest in you or that you’re dating.
And because of his severe jealousy, he’s a master at manipulation. He’s very persuasive with his words, especially with his sweet and dirty talk.
He’s always guiding, keeping you away from people he deems bad, and whenever you question it, Johnny always smiles before telling you not to worry about it. By the end of the day, you’re in his house with him locking the door.
With how insane he is, and just how devoted he’s with you, you’re gonna be kidnapped. Even if you’re already in love, he can not stand people talking or keeping you away from him. He wants you by himself.
Your safety is his top priority. The minute it’s threatened, even by a friend invading your space or seeing you uncomfortable in public, all his nice and flirtatious mask is thrown out the window and goes berserk. He’s not afraid to swing, kick, or even draw high amounts of blood if it means that you’re safe.
Now, the minute he can call you "his" is the second he really shows his colors; being a cheeky bastard and a manipulative prick. Of course, he’s a natural flirt and will tease or woo you every damn chance he gets.
Soap is very open with affection. In all types of shapes, but he mainly shows it through gifts and physical affection. He’ll randomly give you rocks with specific names and expects you to remember.
Or cuddling you closer to his body, hand instinctively curling around your hips and lips sucking in deep bruises. His favorite part with you is rolling in bed with you, tracing your body marks as he rubs his face into your belly.
Soap is incredibly clingy. It gets worse when he gets home after being out for a long time of not seeing you.
Once he’s home, whether that’s from a mission or simply spending the day shopping for necessary items, he will not leave you alone. His arms are always on you, grasping and pulling you in for cuddles and his Scottish slangs whispering in your tinted ears for more attention.
Punishments come in waves– and if you’ve broken them, even ignoring his final warnings with tsks, it isn’t pretty.
Usually, he figures a good fuck with sorta ye out, no? With the amount of orgasms and pretty begs you let out, he’s certain you won’t break them again, correct?
But, if that doesn’t work, he’ll put a chain around your ankle, keeping you in bed and treating you the same as if you didn’t do anything. Slowly but surely, driving you insane until you say sorry.
Soap is excellent at spying and has no shame if he’s caught, even by you. You won’t be allowed to shut any doors, even if you are using the bathroom or showering. But, you wouldn’t mind him coming in, would you?
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© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.
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just-j-really · 4 months
Text
Another Dreamling fic I'm probably not going to write: amnesia AU, but played for comedy/fluff. Hob forgets everything from the night he met Dream onward because of some sort of curse. Dream decides to look after him until the curse wears off, because he is Being a Good Friend.
So from Hob's perspective, a Mysterious Hot Guy told him he'd see him in 100 years time and then he woke up in the future, with the Mysterious Hot Guy refusing to let him out of his sight.
Hob is under the impression he's being kidnapped/seduced by some fey creature, and "show him the delights the future has to offer" is just how this guy flirts.
Hob is not opposed.
Meanwhile Dream is being dragged along on a whirlwind tour of the year 2023 by a Manic Pixie Dream Medieval Peasant who wants to see absolutely everything there is to see in the future right now immediately.
(I am a little bit thinking of the festival dance scene in Tangled, with Hob as Rapunzel. Only instead of Festival Activities he is enthusiastically dragging Dream around to the various Sights of modern London.)
The Sights in Question are this bizarre mix of 'things a modern person would consider an attraction in modern London' and 'entirely banal parts of modern London' and Hob is having the time of his life. The future has stores full of more food than he's seen??? And types of food he's never seen??? And spices and off-season fruit just sitting there??? And fabric is so soft now???? And medication and pest control are just??? Available??? Life is so rich!!!!
(And on the other hand like. This man was excited about playing cards. Someone please show him an arcade. He is forcing Dream to play every multiplayer game available. Especially the driving ones. Neither of them knows how to drive.)
(Dream takes him to a museum and he's staring at a display from the 14-1500s marveling at how futuristic the technology is. He's actually more excited about that stuff than he is about the whole 'computers' thing because it's close enough for him to have some point of reference.)
(Also sidebar from the comedy- Maybe Dream shows Hob the ruins of the White Horse. Hob stares at the building for a long time, then starts crying. Not outright sobs, just tears steadily slipping down his face like he's not really aware of them. Dream panics and tries to comfort him, mentally kicking himself for showing Hob the one connection to the life he knows in ruins. But Hob, laughing now, explains that this was the first time it really hit him? That he's actually 600 years in the future, not in some fairyland Dream created. And that means that all the disease and starvation and war and world-ending horror he was staring down 600-odd years ago didn't. He was going to grit his teeth and live no matter what but the fact that the world made it here along with him? That humanity's still here? And managed to create antibiotics and planes and chimneys in the meantime? That's a goddamn miracle.)
And Dream is getting dragged along with Hob, at first reluctantly, but slowly falling for Hob's enthusiasm throughout the day/week/whatever. And this version of Hob is like. Outright flirting with him. He's outright flirting with a lot of people, fair, but Dream especially. And of course Dream's having a feeling about it, because of course the version of Hob who doesn't actually know him, doesn't know how cruel he was over the centuries, is the one who'd be interested in him.
The Manic Pixie Dream Medieval Peasant Tour of London ends up taking on a decidedly romantic note, after a few days. And one night, after an evening in a restaurant that Dream knows is one of Hob's favorites, where everyone around them was silently willing them to get a room because the tension between two people who are very carefully sitting on opposite sides of the table and not actually touching, just talking to each other, was far too palpable, Hob caves, and drags Dream into a kiss the second they get back to his flat.
It's a good kiss, and Dream lets himself enjoy it for a moment, because he'll never get to kiss Hob again so at least he can have the memory of this one. Then he gently breaks the kiss and tells Hob, equally gently, that they can't. That Hob doesn't remember the majority of their relationship, how cruel Dream has been to him. That his present self doesn't feel the same way.
And then Hob, who's been staring starry-eyed at Dream this whole conversation, says "I do, though."
And Dream is like "Yes I know you like me now with but the you with your memory intact does not."
And Hob's like "No, I do. I got my memory back right when I kissed you."
And there is, unfortunately, more confusion (Hob explaining that yes he has always liked Dream it's just that 600 years have made him minutely less reckless and also the current him remembers that they are friends and doesn't want to ruin that. But no, Dream is wrong on all counts, he remembers every moment of their friendship and he does like Dream the same way and holy shit??? There is a 'same way'???? Dream wanted to keep kissing him????)
And then they clear all that up and live happily ever after.
(Yes it was a True Love's Kiss thing)
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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months
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The Horror and The Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader] Medieval Fantasy AU (ch.4)
You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one.
CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| you're here! AO3 Word count: 3469 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig Warnings for this chapter: Dub-con oral sex(f!receiving), outdated views regarding sex
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— Now, dear princess, your husband will expect certain…qualities of his wife. Please, you must listen to this as closely as possible if we want to avoid…traumas. 
You pout, eating the apple that was provided to you by a group of servants who looked way too scared to be appointed to a princess. If Her Highness saw this, she would order them whipped – a servant shall never look unhappy in front of their patron, as not to invoke nasty feelings of sadness, misery, and empathy in the royal rulers. Princess made you smile and laugh through hours of her extensive, albeit a bit improvised and amateur, singing. You were to hold her hair while she was doing it, listening to the melodies of desire to escape the castle. 
The servants in front of you were sent by the Emperor – König, to…teach you something. You were not too interested in his, way too invested in weird fruits from foreign countries that they provided – still, you are too well-mannered to ignore them. 
— Traumas? Is his Emperor’s Illustrosicy going to torture me? 
Servants look over at each other, nervous. You tilt your head to the side, trying to see if you can decipher their gazes – but you see nothing but sympathy. Sad, miserable kind. Your blood runs cold as you get another bite of that apple. 
— You’re as innocent as Emperor said, your Majesty. 
You weren’t, in reality – you’re a liar, a traitor to your nation, the only one of the servants who was too scared to die alongside the royal family and performed that foolish gamble in order for a chance to save your hide. Such silly things like an untouchable hymen between your legs or lack of knowledge of intimacy, saved for a few books, are nothing compared to the life you are saving in your mind, There is nothing innocent about you or your actions. 
— W…well, you see…you are of child-bearing age. 
That was up for discussion. You might be an adult by all standards, a bit too ripe even, too sheltered for the age in which young men are already taking their family’s businesses and women are giving birth to their second and third children, but it doesn’t mean you want to bear someone’s kid. Definitely not conceive from a man who destroyed your future. 
— I won’t do it. 
You act like a princess would – bratty and pouty, all the new dresses and the room they place you in acting like a perpetuar of your ego. 
— My Lady, this isn’t up for discussion. Please, we need to…we need to teach you how to do it, in order to prevent…accidents. 
— What accidents? 
The other servant, an older lady with tired eyes and snappy gestures, took out a pile of drawings from the bag she was holding. Quite a lot of drawings. Quite detailed drawings. Quite nasty drawings. 
Quite…bloody drawings. 
Gods, is this what a woman must endure during lovemaking? Is this even lovemaking, or is this a dissection straight from the medical book? The drawings are lewd and horrifying – whoever was the artist, they didn’t spare the details of the act. Pain, blood, torn flesh…god, if they wanted you to learn how to take your husband properly, they did a horrible job – now you don’t ever want to see him again. Not without armor plates protecting…that thing. 
— I w…won’t do it. Behead me this instant.
Your voice is weak, horrified. Servants look equally scared. 
— Your Majesty, you must know that it’s just…the worst outcome. If you listen to your lessons and relax, you will escape such a fate. 
— How could a living being relax while they are being impaled on a spear?!
— With certain balms and extracts, such fate can be escaped. 
— How can a balm prevent this?! Too angry to ever listen to the servants, you drip the drawings from your hands, along with a half-eaten apple. Un-ladylike, but you need to preserve your life – and your dignity – before they would show you even more horrifying things that would never let you sleep again. Tugging on the heaviness of your skirt, you ran to the nearest hallway as soon as possible. 
The emperor’s palace is disgustingly big and dark – you’d say it was magnificent in that scary, gothic style, but you don’t have the time to think about all the artistic choices that the architects made by installing so many dark hallways in a place that suppose to protect Emperor from possible assassins. Still, you drop to the nearest dark corner, hoping that no one will follow you. 
With a calm sigh, you brush the dust from your skirts. God, you had to bring that apple with you – it was delicious. 
— I never heard anyone calling my cock  a spear before, Liebling. You’re full of surprises. 
Big, gloved hands are enveloping your waist, putting you in the hug you didn’t want. This embrace is all too familiar and too terrifying – you forget that this castle serves the only true owner, and your desire to escape will never be considered an option. Like a rabbit in the wolf’s mouth, you freeze. The worst company you could expect after such a horrifying lesson – your only hope is that, like men from the novels you and Princess were reading sometimes, The Emperor was into his comrades more than he would be into you. 
His warm hands, pulling you into a tight hug against his body, however, make you think otherwise. 
— Let go of me! Pl…please. 
You plead because the drawings installed a new fear into your body. You're not afraid of death – if anything, you wish for it. However, the fait of constant pain and suffering which each nightly visit makes you more terrified than any death sentence would. 
König only laughs, holding you as close to him as possible. A warm hand grazes over your stomach, making you shiver from anticipation. You don’t know what he is thinking about – you also don’t want to. 
— Why would I let go of my precious wife? 
— I’m not your wife yet. 
— And won’t be for quite a while, considering the lessons my servants taught you? 
Blood drains from your face. Even the slightest reminder makes you whimper – like a puppy without its mother, you let go of a pathetic little sound, and your face finds comfort in the armor plates that Knog wears even in many of his castles. Cold metal makes you slightly calmer, and you can force the dreams of touching his chest instead of deep in your mind. Bane to all the lewdness, as you saw the amount of blood it would drain from your body. 
— I will never succumb to such fate. 
— I promise it won’t be that bad. I can whip my servants for installing fear in you if you want to, little princess. 
No matter how scared they made you feel, you will never bestow such fate on any of the servants – you, perhaps, the only one who knows how hard and horrible work as a lady in waiting might be. You might not be the perfect princess, but you certainly aren’t a cruel one. 
— No. They…they shall not be harmed, Your Majesty. 
He chuckles, pushing a hand on your face. A few tears fall down your cheeks – he drains them with his gloved finger, making you whimper only more. God, you look divine like this – eyes are glistening with tears, the face is hot from fear and embarrassment, the mouth is open with a sweet little pout…it takes every last inch of his self-control not to simply pick you up and bring you to his bedroom before you could say anything. 
— You’re kind for a princess. 
There is suspicion in his voice – but you quickly try to brush it away by forcing yourself out of his embrace. Unfortunately, he only holds you tighter, making you bury your face in his armor again. To be honest, it’s not the worst place to be. 
— Shouldn’t you be in the courtroom? 
— I ran. Never liked to greet new people. 
You almost choke on your breath. Is he serious?! His face betrays his emotions – despite how confident his mask is, you can see that his eyes are colder than usual. More nervous than usual. His hands are shaking, if only for a little bit, holding you tight, as you can simply escape through his fingers like sand. You’d love to have such powers. 
— I thought the Emperor had responded. 
— I do. And an army of men to do these responsibilities for me. 
— You’re hiding from my country’s Ambassadors? 
— Collaborators and traitors of your people, yes. The only ambassador I care about is in my hands. 
With this, he quickly pushes you up in his hands, forcing you to sit on the cold stone ledge. The new dress design makes it possible to manipulate and move the skirt as he pleases – you hate this new fashion because it makes it ridiculously easy for König to simply push your skirt upwards, revealing your legs and your dignity, concealed by only a pair of short, frilly white underpants with so many bows and ribbons, it feels obscene. 
You try to kick him in the face, but he catches your ankle before you can do anything. He was a horrible, terrible man – totally unfit for the ruler of half of the world, you have no idea how a man this villainous could still be held in high regard for his people. This place is just as barbaric as their ruler, you presume – no dignity or sense of taste as König holds your skirt up, tearing apart the delicate fabric. God, it probably cost a fortune! 
Emerald green fabric lays like green ocean waves under your legs. You must admit, even the cold of the inner parts of the palace does not make you feel uncomfortable – if anything, this moment of exposure of your legs makes you feel a bit more comfortable and fresh. The light breeze caresses your legs, and you almost want to close your eyes and just enjoy wearing clothes without the stuffiness of the full gown. 
With your corset, torn skirt, and underpants, you almost feel like you’re wearing pants – an obscene picture, you assume, a lady should never show her ankles to anyone but her husband…and you would do everything to stop him from being marked as one. Still, König places his large imposing body between your legs, and you panic immediately – is this monster terrible enough to show you what those illustrations meant, not even in the comfort of a marriage bed, but in the coldness of the stone hallway? You close your eyes, kicking him to your heart’s content – and he is laughing every time you’re trying to resist, only catching both of your ankles in his grip and forcing them open. God, this is the end. Torture that you never wanted to experience will be bestowed upon you right about…
His tongue goes to rub you through the rough fabric of your underpants. Dispute all the layers of expensive material, your maidenhood feels like it had been set on fire. 
You are suddenly aware of the silly things you have between your legs. You can feel them too well right now – every second of movement of his tongue against sensitive flesh makes your legs kick him less and less. Your nails are trying to dig into the stone of a small ledge you were sitting on – but you can’t do anything to stop this sweet torture he is perpetuating. You want for everything to stop this instant, and you want for him to finally take off your undergarments. 
— Wh…wha…what are you doing?! You don’t scream as loud as you can, only because you know that the maids are nearby and you don’t want to be making a scene. Putting the emperor back in his place and revealing him as a pervert would be nice, of course – but it wasn’t as nice as having your dignity saved. You bite your lips, feeble attempts to save at least parts of yourself – still, you feel like you’re being boiled alive by his masterful tongue, without even the need to bring your pants down and feel him on your flesh directly. 
— I want to show you how nice this could be. 
— How nice what could be?! You are still kicking your legs, and he is slowly taking down the fabric of your underpants. You wish he had exposed hair so you could tug on it – you wish he wasn’t afraid of showing you his face, just so you could break it properly. A lady should always protect her virginity from a man with evil intentions, and König was certainly the most evil person of them all. 
Still, his tongue felt so good, circling around the parts you were only finding accidentally, blindly searching for pleasure like a dumb kitten, trying every little button in your body to see what would make you squirm. He is masterful at this, every action is deliberate and strong – every little thing in his movements makes you wonder just how many women he bedded. 
You can still feel the little tremble in his hands, his fingers that supported you and kept your legs apart are trembling, if only just a bit – you wonder if he truly is nervous about everything he is doing or if he just wants to make everything perfect. His touch leaves a trail of bruises on your inner thighs and you never thought that you’d yearn for a man whose touch is literally hurting you. 
— I know how to make… consumation go painless, little princess. Certainly have the experience for this. 
— Is fondling my undergarments a part of this experience, Your Highness? 
— If you wish for me to lost my control, little princess.
Before you could say anything else about not wanting for him to simply take off your underpants and throw them on the cold floor of the castle, he had already lowered them to hang around your ankles – revealing your sensitive folds, already glossy and wet from all the fondling he performed to make you nice and ready for him. 
König knew he shouldn’t be doing this – losing control would be too easy in this case. Little princess, out of her own depth, can barely stop him when he wants to take something precious from her – still, he wanted to at least try to be slower, softer, to make everything perfect and make her his precious trophy. Her dread over bedding him would prove horrible for their marriage – if she didn’t wish for the workers to be saved, he would already sent those dumb maids away. 
Princess is adult enough to learn the pleasures of being a woman – still, he understood why a king would want to hide a precious flower like this. You don’t behave like a spoiled brat would, no matter how much you want to make him think you were nothing but a pouty face and frowned brows, and he wants to see your true self – your inner nature, revealing itself in front of him. And he knows just a way to do this…
Your cunt is perfect – he is a soldier, a man of war and little romance, he can’t sing you a song of how beautiful and perfect your maidenhood is, but he can lick it and tease it and make you come on his tongue more than you ever could with that dainty fingers of yours. 
He isn’t ashamed of touching your sweetness when he is burning his face between your legs. Not even caring that his hood, which he had to draw back as fast as possible, is going to get messy with all o your juices, he licks and tugs on your clit, your folds, on every sensitive bit of skin of your body. 
And, by god, are you sensitive? 
Soon, your little cries of pleasure are turning into moans that you are pathetically trying to hide. Soon you are marking his rough, rugged face wet with your juices – his nose is pressed on your clit constantly, and that well-mannered, perfectly bred royal woman in your body is moaning like a common whore. 
König isn’t trying to be too gentle – his mind is filled with that boyish nerves and anxiety, the fear of getting spotted not because anyone would have anything to say to the literally fucking emperor, but because he doesn’t want anyone else to see how easily he can drown little princess in pleasure. She is a perfect girl, so pretty for him, so nice and wet when he pushes his tongue in and out. 
He forgot the last time he experienced such pleasure – his dick only grows with each gentle stroke of tongue in your folds, and he doesn’t even need to touch himself. You’re perfect for him, writhing under his touch, he had to force himself to stop putting too much pressure on your poor swollen clit. König almost forgot just how sensitive you are – he had to introduce you slowly to the world of pleasure, not pushing you into the depths before you could even get married, but…well, he was never one to follow the rules – and you, as his precious bride, deserved something nice outside of the wedlock. 
— St…stop, it’s t’ much…
You are mumbling, holding his hood in your hands, and he is almost afraid you are going to pull it to reveal his face even more – but even your ruined skirt is enough of a cover to make his identity concealed, and he isn’t afraid of pushing your gummy walls with his tongue, gently caressing your insides. 
You are clenching around his tongue, the intrusion is unfamiliar to you – he makes sure he kisses your clit from time to time, holding the sensitive bud between his teeth so as to threaten you gently. He usually involves a lot more biting and would love to put some permanent marks on your thighs and soft lower tummy, but if you were scared of the drawings those dumb maids put on to you, he doesn’t want to fuel your fear any further. He could try later, making your perfect body into a canvas for his desire. 
— Patience is a grace for a princess, ja? Be patient, Meine Liebe. 
— Pl…please, stop, I don’t…
— What is it? 
— It’s too much, you shouldn’t…
— I’m not claiming you yet. God won’t be against a bit of fun, Schatzi. 
— I’m against it…
— Your moans tell another story, little princess.
He knows you don’t want to be patient – he tugs at every nerve inside your body, his tongue swings in and out, and his lips caress your soft folds, collecting any juice that might be escaping. He will have to gift you another dress after this – but he is so used to seeing you in torn clothes it becomes a thing that stirs his manhood again and again. You look perfect when you’re not perfect – by god, he is unable to control himself. 
You whine lightly as he presses a final kiss to your clit, catching your orgasm and drinking your pleasure. He is a messy eater through and through – his stubble makes you whimper from sensitivity, you sob lightly as he pushes back, a hood returning to conceal his face before your dazed eyes would be able to catch him. 
Hell, you look precious. 
Panting, with sweat beads glossy on your skin, with your lips open and moans escaping it – with your face completely turned into an expression of enormous pleasure, he doesn’t know what to do with himself as he watches you breathe heavily, chest going up and down. If he could, he would chain you to a bed in his bedroom, not ever allowing your precious figure to escape. 
He might just do this when you’re married.
You whimper under him, your eyes are still glazed with that pleasurable expression, making him smile under his hood. You may hate him all you want, but he sees the truth – knows just how perfect you are in your stubborn desire to defy him. 
— Wh…what was it? 
You are still shocked but regain some of your senses – you take on your underpants quickly, stubbornness spreading across your warm, embarrassed face. How he loves that expression. 
— I wanted to show you that our wedding night wouldn’t be as bad. 
— I would rather live without a wedding night, Your Majesty. 
— Now, was it that bad? 
You tilt your head to the side. 
— I am not here to feed your ego. 
— You’re sure it is feeding my other senses. 
He brushes his hand over your face. You allow him to – not because you wanted his touch, but because you needed some time to think, and his touch was gentle enough to ignore. Yes. That is the truth.
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explorevenus · 1 year
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something permanent, pt. 2 ♡ yandere!leon kennedy x reader
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nsfw (18+) - minors pls pls pls dni!!! i’m so for serious rn
find pt. 1 here! ♡
find pt. 3 here! ♡
reminder that this is a dark fic!! if any of the following bothers you, do not read: yandere!leon kennedy, kidnapping, manipulation, corruption/training, stockholm syndrome, forced daddy kink, forced breeding
word count - 3.9k
description - darling wakes up in the infirmary, all patched up after the events of pt. 1 -- upon her return home, leon and darling get to know and trust each other better... sort of. ((no smut in this one i’m sorry but i’m way too invested in this now so i’m Lore Building))
tags/warnings - yandere!leon kennedy, fem/afab!reader, kidnapping, medical stuff (no blood/gore this time tho), implied onset stockholm syndrome, forced daddy kink, pet names (princess, doll, sweetheart, etc.), dollification if u squint, leon is much sweeter in this one (he’s still deranged tho), a healthy dose of angst, darling misses her friends and family
a/n - AHHHHH i’m so glad y’all are liking this and want more of it. i was so honestly convinced i was going to get shunned for this. anyway enjoy some bonding time between leon and darling. it’s a little refreshing but it also doesn’t mean the deranged shit is over lololol. p.s. my ask box is aggressively open for business on ideas for this series. i love riffing w/ y’all about yandere leon, it’s my life blood, so don’t be shy ♡
my masterlist ♡
my ao3 ♡
taglist - @dollrxst​ @ifeelikeflying @nexyswrites​ @idekman111​
fic below the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy !! ♡
- venus ♡
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When you awoke again, you certainly felt much better. Refreshed, almost, if it weren't for the way the lights stung your eyes. The agonizing pain between your legs that was the last thing you remembered before you lost consciousness had subsided into a dull ache.
You reached up to rub the sleep from your eyes and properly observe your surroundings, quick to take notice of the IV line embedded in the back of your right hand. You blinked, looking around the room-- it was white and sterile, it certainly looked like a hospital but remembering the phone call Leon had in the car, you knew it wasn't exactly that. Even so, you were in a papery gown, laid on papery sheets, and an analog clock menacingly ticked away high up on the wall.
You were quick to sit up at the sound of distant footsteps growing nearer to the door-- the time you'd spent in Leon's "care" had kept you especially aware of the sound-- and as your dreary, horrified eyes locked on to the door you heard the beeps of your heartbeat monitor gain speed.
The heavy door swung open to reveal a doctor you weren't familiar with, and Leon was closely behind him. The doctor took in the sight of you awake with a content smile and piped up, "Ahh, there you are! Feeling better?"
Your mouth was dry. You nodded stiffly, shrinking toward the wall as if you could get any further away from them.
Leon shook his head and chided, "Words, princess. Be polite."
You swallowed nothing. "Y-Yes, doctor, I'm feeling better. Thank you."
"I'm glad to hear it," The doctor replied, checking over your vitals on the monitor to the left of your bed, absently marking down his findings on paper. "How about mentally?"
You blinked. "W-What?"
"Mentally," He repeated. "Leon told me what brought you here. Do you still feel you might be a danger to yourself?"
Mouth agape, eyes wide, you glanced over at Leon who gave you a cold look, no doubt in an attempt to remind you what you'd agreed upon before he brought you here.
You looked back to the doctor. "I'm sorry, what exactly did Leon tell you?"
"Do you not remember?" The doctor asked. "You lost quite a lot of blood, so memory loss is not uncommon in these scenarios. Why don't I step out for a few and let you chat while I check over your charts?"
Your eyes widened even further in a look that begged him not to leave you alone with Leon, but it didn't matter. Almost immediately, Leon told the doctor that sounded like a good idea and walked him to the door.
As soon as it swung shut, you piped up, "Leon, what did you say?"
He shrugged dismissively. "I said you had a breakdown while I was at work and I came home to you covered in blood."
It sounded... absurd. Even more absurd upon realizing that a real life medical doctor accepted that excuse. You scoffed. "Are you serious? You told the doctor I threw a fit for no reason and ripped my IUD out and he believed you?"
"I don't see why he wouldn't," He said smugly as he sat at the edge of the bed, taking hold of your hand. "There's a lot you don't know about me, doll. What I say definitely goes around here."
"Oh," You replied in a near whisper, swallowing dryly. "That's... nice."
The room went quiet and suddenly the air felt heavy. If you didn't feel fucked before you definitely felt fucked now. You reached weakly for the water bottle on the table beside you, but as soon as he noticed what you were reaching for he was quick to spring up from where he sat to grab it for you.
"I've got it, baby," He hummed, smoothing your hair out of your face as he perched the straw up to your mouth. "Don't overexert yourself, now."
As if I even could fucking overexert myself with the monumental task of grabbing a water bottle, you thought, casting your gaze to the floor as you sipped idly through the straw. Even facing away from him you could feel his cobalt eyes boring into you, burning holes in your skin. You nearly shivered, but suppressed it.
Soon after, the door opened and the doctor returned. "All caught up, you two?" He asked jovially.
"Uh, y-yes, thank you," You forced a smile.
"Good," He hummed. "You should be alright to head home now. I've prescribed some antibiotics for you to take as a precaution. We don't want you getting infected-- it could lead to infertility."
Is that so? You thought, clenching your jaw. "Infertility?" You asked.
"Yes, unfortunately. Leon told me you two are trying, so I figured we should play things on the safe side," He said.
You felt Leon's grip on your hand tighten. The word alone clearly stressed him out. 
"That being said," The doctor continued, "I would advise you to avoid sex for at least six weeks. There was some trauma to the cervix that's going to need time to heal, and again, we don't want to risk infection."
Leon's grip was nearly crushing the bones in your hand and even so, you couldn't help but crack a little smile. "You're absolutely right. We wouldn't want to risk anything, right, Leon?"
"Right," He agreed stiffly.
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Those six weeks couldn't have possibly passed slower for Leon. He couldn't stop hating himself for what he'd done to you, putting you in so much pain, putting you at such high risk. He couldn't help but beat himself up over it.
He chose to bide his time by doting on his darling relentlessly, even more than usual. He took that entire first week off of work just so he could keep an eye on you at all hours of the day. Any little wince was met quickly with ibuprofen and a hot water bottle. He set an alarm on his phone to make sure you took your antibiotics at the same time every night. He was even more adamant about ensuring you were eating and sleeping enough. When he caught you getting restless, he would take you on little drives around the neighborhood.
The inability to have sex for six weeks left a lot of time for talking, something he hadn't realized he so sorely needed until he didn't have a choice. He did want to get to know you on your terms, to understand the intricacies of your life and the way your brain worked. Truthfully, he wanted to know everything there was to know about you.
That way, he could better understand what you really needed.
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"Le-" You caught yourself, clearing your throat before starting again. "D-Daddy, can I ask you something?"
The blonde smiled softly, cupping your chin as you laid in bed together. He was spooning you tightly and some random crime show was playing softly from the TV, but you weren't convinced either of you were really paying attention to it. You could feel his eyes glued to you the entire time.
"Of course, princess. What's on your mind, hm?"
You swallowed nervously, looking down at the floor. "Am I... am I missing?"
"What do you mean?" He tilted his head.
"Like... my family, my friends. Are they looking for me?" You asked.
He shrugged. "You don't have to worry about that, honey. I have the resources to make that sort of thing go away."
Tears rimmed your eyes, but you didn't show it. You took a deep, controlled breath before nodding, "Oh... okay."
A few beats of silence passed, and you nearly gave it up, but you couldn't help but pry further.
"Y-You didn't really answer the question, though," You said quietly. "Are they looking for me?"
"What does it matter?" He tightened his arm around your waist, nibbling at your ear, "You're safe with me. I intend to give you everything you'll ever need. That's no one else's business but ours."
You didn't think he realized he'd given you the answer without saying it explicitly. Your chest wound up into a knot, your stomach dropping. You couldn't stop thinking about how awful your loved ones must feel, begging for answers to your disappearance only to be met with doors slammed in their faces because Leon somehow managed to keep everything and everyone under his thumb.
Including you.
An image flooded your brain of your little apartment collecting dust as your closest friends and family entered with their keys to find everything exactly as you'd left it. You could see them all wandering your space, trying not to touch anything, scouring every inch for clues and perhaps realizing how much of your things were missing. Would they think you left on your own accord? Would they give up when they realized the authorities wouldn't help them?
Had they given up already?
The dam broke and you couldn't suppress your feelings any longer. You began to weep, tears spilling out over your cheeks as you involuntarily curled back into Leon's warm chest for some semblance of comfort. In your defense, he was pretty good at providing it, and at times like this it was just easier to give in.
He shushed you softly, petting your hair away from your face, pressing soft kisses to your temple. "I've got you, sweetheart. You're okay. Just let it out."
Something about him telling you to let it out made you really let it out. Your eyes screwed shut and you began to bawl, gripping his strong forearms to pull him closer as if he could possibly do so-- you were practically tangled around each other. You shifted your hips and turned over in his arms, burying yourself in his broad, bare chest, wetting his smooth skin with your anguish. He didn't care, he just held you tight and rubbed your back, whispering sweet praises and comforting affirmations into the crown of your hair.
"You're okay, princess. You're alright," He spoke lowly, lips brushing softly over the top of your head. He smelled so good, like cedarwood body wash, like fresh aftershave, like protection. "Poor baby. I know it hurts, but you've been such a good girl for me. Such a brave, sweet girl."
You went truly boneless, melting into his warmth, gripping him close like he'd just disappear if you let go. The irony was not lost on you-- you knew it was wrong to bask in his affection, to cry for comfort from the man who'd caused all your problems to begin with, but what choice did you have? You spent so much of your days alone now that you were starting to get sick of yourself.
It felt like you were going crazy. Every morning he would leave for work and you would feel some kind of relief for maybe an hour or two before you found yourself missing him. Longing for someone to talk to, someone to hold you and kiss you and just be in your presence. Longing for the way he'd play with your hair and rub your back, dote on your every need, even the way he'd mark up your body with his teeth. 6:00 p.m. would roll around and you'd find yourself restlessly pacing the room, glancing over at the door, pressing your ear up against it to listen, gazing out the locked window to search for his car. 
When he'd walk in you'd try really hard to pretend like you weren't so eagerly waiting for him, but you think he was starting to catch on to your lowered guard. It almost seemed like in return, his guard was lowering as well. He still remained vigilant about keeping the doors and windows locked when he wasn't home, but every now and then he would take you out into the living room, let you hang out in the kitchen while he cooked for you, let you sit by the sliding glass door to sunbathe and gaze into the backyard.
The strangest part of it all was you didn't really feel inclined to take advantage of his leniency. He kept his eyes on you at all times, so it's not like you had much of a chance to misbehave even if you wanted to, but knowing deep down that Leon had his resources and his ways of being able to track you down if you were to disappear made the prospect of escape that much less enticing.
In fact, making a break for it was starting to feel more dangerous and scary than just staying put.
Leon's voice, a low whisper, broke you out of your hazy confliction. "What do you need, puppy? What can I do to make you feel better, huh?"
"J-Jus' want daddy," You sniffled, haze settled over your brain, body aching and trembling with upset.
"You've got me. I'm right here, pup," He soothed, swiping your tears away from your reddened cheeks. "Poor baby... I'm right here."
It wasn't long before his hushed reassurances and gentle touch, coupled with the pure exhaustion of crying, lulled you into a deeper sleep than you had had since day one.
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When you woke up the next morning you felt... weird, to say the least. After having cried it out your brain was much clearer now, and with that came the sickening realization of what you'd let happen last night. After all, from the second your tired eyes pried open, the first thing you noticed was Leon's arms still wrapped tightly around you. Suddenly you felt nauseous, disgusted with yourself.
You laid still as stone in his hold, trying your hardest not to move in fear of waking him. Perhaps last night you couldn't stand the thought of being alone with your thoughts but now you felt that was all you needed. You casted your eyes to the alarm clock next to the bed-- it was 5:45 a.m. 15 minutes until Leon's alarm would go off and he would have to get up, get ready and leave for work. Then you would truly be alone.
You couldn't pry your eyes away from the glowing red numbers, seconds stretching into what felt like hours as you waited impatiently for the alarm to sound. Your eyes dried and went sore before you remembered you needed to blink.
The soft peachy sunlight peeking in through the window would have been quite pleasant in any other circumstance. These days, it just came as a sore reminder of the time you'd lost locked in a psychopath's bedroom 24 hours a day. You thought of how nice it felt every now and then when he would let you accompany him to other areas of the house, and how much nicer it would be if you could just leave whenever you wanted. How nice it would feel to have that peachy sunrise beam directly on your skin. How nice it would feel to have grass between your toes, to drive a car again, to go to a restaurant.
With that reality just on the other side of the glass, it was as if the universe was laughing in your face. Dangling what you needed right in front of you and telling you that you couldn't have it. You might have started crying again if you hadn't drained yourself dry last night.
It suddenly dawned on you that if you had any sort of chance of escape, now would be the time. The likelihood of you being pregnant was incredibly slim, given recent events, and he trusted you more than ever by now. You weren't sure how you were going to pull it off, but you didn't have any choice but to try.
Your brain melded into a mush of ideas-- you could try the window, but the bedroom was on the second floor and it wouldn't be much use trying to jump out if you were just going to break your legs on the way down and have him find you that way upon his return home. You had tried jamming the lock on the door before and he'd caught you every time. There was no way he wouldn't catch you trying it now.
Your burning eyes trailed away from the alarm clock-- 5:53 a.m.-- and began to wander the room. Although there wasn't an inch of it you hadn't explored by now, you couldn't help but think there had to be something you could use to take the doorknob off. Anything even remotely resembling a screwdriver would be worth a try. Of course Leon wasn't stupid enough to leave tools lying around for you to play with, but perhaps you could find a viable work-around in something otherwise mundane. A nail file, a coin, tweezers, anything.
You were also painfully aware of how easy it might be for him to find you once you'd escaped, if you could escape. If you had any hope of getting the fuck out of town and hiding out, you would have to get to your apartment first, where your wallet was probably still collecting dust on your bedside table. If you could scrape up enough cash to catch a train or a Greyhound bus, you could be states away before he even got off work. Despite the nagging voice in the back of your head screaming this is a bad idea, all you could think about was how much it would be worth the risk if you managed to pull it off.
If I could manage to get the doorknob off, maybe I can get through the front door, too, and if not, maybe I could smash the sliding glass wi--
The alarm clock began screeching, signaling the start of Leon's day and reminding me you that you were supposed to be pretending to sleep. You screwed your eyes shut and shuffled around in his arms at the noise like you usually would, not wanting to arouse any suspicion that you weren't really sleeping.
Apparently, that wasn't sufficient.
"How long have you been awake, sweetheart?"
The first words out of his mouth. Fuck.
You shrugged innocently. "I don't know. Fifteen minutes or so."
He reached over you to shut off the alarm, tucking your hair behind your ear so he could cup your cheek and look into your eyes. "Hmm. Did you sleep alright?"
"Yeah, I slept pretty well, actually," You replied, looking right back into his own cobalt eyes as if to sell what you were saying even further. "I must be sleeping on your schedule now."
"Must be," He hummed, leaning in to lazily kiss your forehead.
It was a normal response, and maybe you were just being paranoid, but something about the tone in his voice made you feel like he didn't really believe you. You tried as hard as you could to force yourself not to react. You couldn't risk making him suspicious of you when you wholly planned on executing your escape today.
The two of you laid in silence for a few minutes, not atypical for him to want to snuggle for a while in the mornings, but eventually he really had to get out of bed and take a shower. Leon gave you a quick peck on the lips before disentangling himself from you, slinking out from beneath the covers and heading to the bathroom to wash up for the day.
You only really felt safe again once you heard the water running, letting out a deep, labored breath you hadn't realized was stuck deep inside your lungs.
Still, you had a job to do for now, and that job was acting normal.
You rose from the bed, turning on the lights and perusing the closet for something to wear. For the first few weeks you were there, Leon would return home for the day with more and more of your belongings, including clothes, and you had deduced it was because he was gradually moving your entire life into his bedroom. That being said, it was sort of nice to at least be surrounded by your own things and able to wear your own clothes.
Settling on a soft sweater and leggings, you gathered your outfit from where the items were neatly folded and began dressing yourself. On Leon's days off he preferred to pick your clothes out for you-- and dress you himself-- but on days like today when he had to get to work and wasted too much time cradling you in bed, he just didn't have the time, which was sort of a relief.
Once you were dressed you sat at the edge of the bed, turning on the TV to click through random channels. It was nice to have a glimpse into the outside world every now and again. You passed by a blur of morning cartoons, tabloid talk shows and sports recaps in search of a cooking show or a documentary or something, but as you flipped through the channels you saw a familiar face and nearly passed out. You quickly switched back to the news channel.
"--friends and family allege authorities have been no help in the search for the missing girl, leaving them to take matters into their own hands. Concerned loved ones have searched the vacant apartment for clues, attempted to track her devices and have left missing posters all over the city, each and every one, they say, has vanished within hours..."
Your heart sank deeply into your stomach. Tears welled up in your eyes. The fire to escape roared even louder within you. You had to put your hand over your mouth to quiet yourself as you began to cry.
The familiar face on the screen was you.
The image quickly switched over from your face to footage of your distraught friends and family speaking through tears.
"We don't know what's going on, if this is a cover-up or just negligent policing. All we want is answers to what happened to her. She was never the type to up and leave without saying a word. If she's out there somewhere hearing this, we want her to know that all we want is for her to come home. We hope she's safe, wherever she is, and on the off-chance she really did leave on her own, we just want to know why--"
The sound of the shower water shutting off jolted you back into focus. You hurriedly changed the channel back to the cartoons and wiped the tears off your face with lightning speed. Try as you might to relax, you knew you were still stiff, but you needed to compose yourself.
The bathroom door opened, warm steam rolling out in his wake as Leon re-entered the room in nothing but a towel hung low on his waist, water droplets peppering his alabaster skin.
"Cartoons this morning, huh?" He asked, smooching the crown of your head.
You shrugged apathetically. "Couldn't find anything better to watch, I guess."
He got dressed and gathered his things, keys jangling in his large hand as he gave you another kiss on the lips and took ahold of your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes.
"Have a good day, princess," He said. "Behave yourself for me, okay?"
There was definitely something in his tone that indicated he knew something you didn't. You nodded hesitantly.
"O-Okay, daddy, I will."
"Good girl," He said flatly, squeezing your jaw just a little bit, almost like a show of power, before walking out the door with a distinct click of the lock behind him.
Maybe you wouldn't be escaping today after all.
find part 3 here! ♡
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empresskylo · 5 months
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beneath the mask ✩ chapter 12 ⬅ch.11
➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | wc 3.5k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | i am sooooooooo sorry if this seems ooc for ghost. i wanted to write him acting more empathetic while also maintaining his cold demeanor. i think some people tend to write him one way or the other and so i tried to balance it a bit more to be realistic. but if this felt ooc for ghost im so sorry!! feedback is appreciated so i can improve upcoming chapters! &lt;3
𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
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the startling realization that you were sleeping in simon’s room is what woke you up that following morning. you sat up in his bed, the covers falling away from your chest, and you noticed he was gone. it was strange how this was the second time you shared a bed—completely platonically—with him and he was m.i.a. come morning.
you tried not to think too deeply about it, not wanting to get your feelings hurt even more than they already were. you were able to put what had happened between the two of you in the back of your mind yesterday, squishing down his words that hurt you so badly. 
you looked good in your dress. that’s all. m’sorry.
but that was yesterday. that was when he was the first face you saw after thinking you were about to be tortured. the face that rescued you. that was when he carried you back to base, his arms around you like a safety blanket. when he was the sense of security you desperately needed. when you felt like you needed him. 
this morning, your mind was far clearer. you even realized how stupid you were to let simon be that person for you when johnny was right there. 
you scurried from his room, still draped in his shirt, and made it back to your own. you told yourself you would visit the infirmary today, not for work, but to get yourself checked out. you weren’t hurt too badly, nothing that couldn’t heal with a little time. but still, you should really get checked over. and you were sure laswell or price would want to have a word with you about everything that happened. 
before you even managed to shift through your thoughts, johnny was at your door.
“how’re ya feelin’?” 
you grabbed your toiletries bag and spun to face to scot. “i’m okay.”
he gave you a once over. “are you sure?” he said a bit softer.
you gave him a gentle smile. “don’t worry, i’m just going to shower. then straight to the infirmary to get checked out.” you gave him a mock salute. 
johnny shook his head as he followed you out your door and down the hall towards the showers. “no, not that.” you glanced at him. “well, no, of course i wanted to make sure you were gonna be seen by a medic, but i was referring to the… psychological side of things.”
you laughed at his phrasing. “i’ll be okay, johnny. seriously. i mean, i know what happened terrified me and hasn’t left my thoughts since, but i could be a lot worse.” you were trying to make light of the situation. and while johnny understood that all too well, he still wasn’t convinced you were truly back to normal just a day after your kidnapping. 
you were taken a bit back. for once, soap didn’t seem to appreciate your humor. “and with ghost?” 
you almost dropped your bag, stumbling in your steps. “w-what about him?” 
“i saw him carrying you into base. the way ya clung to him. i just want t’make sure you’re okay.” his eyes trailed the shirt you were wearing—'swimming in' was more accurate—knowing it wasn't yours, but ghost's.
you sighed before spinning to face him. you wanted to make this very clear to soap: “he was the first person i saw. he was the one i saw close on my tail when i was trapped in that truck. he was the face who barged into that room after slaughtering men, pulling me out of that hole. i think i was just overwhelmed and felt like i needed him . y’know… a safety thing. but that has passed. i’m fine. fine .” soap raised a brow, not quite believing you. “nothing happened,” you said a bit bashful, noticing the way soap was staring at you like he thought more had gone down last night, and wearing ghost's shirt sure wasn't helping. “he just kept me company so i could fall asleep without thinking about…” your words trailed off. “point is, i appreciate you looking out for me, but i’m okay. i won’t let him…” a beat of silence passed as you looked for the words. “i won’t read things wrong again.” the sentence was a struggle to get out; like ash on your tongue.
you could see the concern on johnny’s face, so before he could protest and pry more, you slipped into the women’s showers so he couldn’t follow.
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after showering and visiting the infirmary—-yes, you have been cleared—-you were making your way to price’s office. you assumed laswell would be there as well. 
you adjusted your black shirt as you strolled the halls, careful to not move in any way that would hurt your sore ribs. you walked past the gym, peeking in to see if you could spot gaz, surprised he hadn’t come to see you yet, and you almost choked on your spit.
you spotted simon—- ghost—- across the room in workout gear, addressing a new recruit. you hadn’t recognized her but you knew there were new recruits coming in this week so you assumed her to be one of them. 
you tried to pull your eyes away, but they were latched on to the tall brute and the shorter woman beside him. ghost hunched over slightly as he spoke to her and you saw her smile. her hand reached out and touched his arm softly and you felt your fists clench. 
ghost wasn’t yours . 
he was barely even your friend. he could flirt with whoever he wanted. it shouldn’t matter to you. and you knew you were overreacting. who's to say they were flirting? you hadn’t known ghost to be the best charmer, so why would he all of a sudden be cozying up to a woman he only just met?
soap’s words popped into your head: come to think of it. i don’t think i’ve known ghost to have hooked up with anyone since i’ve met the bastard.
all these rational thoughts and yet you ignored them. all you felt was a pang in your gut as you watched him instruct her, testing her skills, his hand lingering on her hip a bit too long. his eyes locked on hers. 
you didn’t feel any tears welling—so that was an improvement—all you felt was disappointment. ghost was emotionally unavailable. he also explicitly said he didn’t want you. this fantasy you had of him in your head was purely that: a fantasy. 
you had thought maybe he felt differently with the way his eyes traced your curves last night in the light of the bathroom. that maybe him letting you see him with his mask off was him letting you in. that he wanted to form some sort of relationship with you even if it was foreign to him.
but all of those thoughts went out the door. there were so many reasons why it would never work between the two of you. seeing him with that woman wasn’t what made you feel that way. all it did was remind you of the reality of your situation.
you sulked into price’s office, the smell of cigars filling your nose.
price’s warm greeting, his gentle smile, and his all-over fatherly presence set you back at ease. 
when laswell entered, her soothing hand on your shoulder reminded you that you could live so fucking easily without ghost. you had a family here. and while you had hoped to let ghost become one of those people to you, it wasn’t the end of the world by any means if he didn’t.
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a week had passed and you had resorted to pretending like anything private that ever happened between you and ghost had never occurred. you weren’t going to sulk over him any longer. you thought he was attractive. that was it. you hooked up once and it didn’t work out. you were an adult, you could move on. 
you laughed animatedly at soap, grabbing his arm in your fit. ghost spotted you across the training room, your laughter floating over into his space, pissing him off.
he expected you to have wanted to talk to him after that night in his room. but you never did. you never sought him out. never came by to let him know everything at the infirmary checked out okay. granted, he never came after you either. 
he got up when he saw you leaving and followed you out the door. 
“iaso,” he called.
you stopped and spun to face him, smiling. “what’s up, lt.?” 
ghost was a bit taken aback by your friendly demeanor. not that you weren’t a friendly person, but you were acting oddly like nothing ever happened. like ghost hadn’t pulled you into his arms a week ago, his chest pounding and his arms shaking as he held you.
“jus’ wanted to see if you were okay,” he said dumbly.
“all good. don’t worry, i’ve been cleared to be back to work.” you smiled then turned and walked away.
ghost had never been left so dumbfounded before. he cracked his knuckles in annoyance.
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you seemed to be ignoring him. 
whenever ghost entered a room you were in, you’d leave. he saw you linking arms with soap as you walked the halls, never meeting ghost’s eyes. he knew soap was visiting you in the infirmary on your breaks and he always seemed awkward when it came up between them. you even managed to get out of a poker session where ghost was present. you had stood up the second he walked into that room, calling it a night and tossing your cards in the middle of the table.
“she’s ignoring me,” ghost huffed as he shuffled through the dossiers on his desk. he was acting like he had any claim over you. like he had a right to your friendship.
“who?” soap asked. ghost looked up and glared at his friend. “i think you give yourself too much credit. she’s not ignoring you, lt. she’s just accepted your rejection and moved on with her life.”
“i didn’t reject her.”
soap rolled his eyes. “you really wanna go down that road?” 
ghost mumbled in annoyance as he stared at the words on the paper before him. 
“didn’t think you’d care, if i’m being honest.”
ghost glared at soap, waiting for him to elaborate since he clearly wanted to further this conversation.
“ her opinion of you ,” soap clarified. “you made it pretty clear you wanted nothing from her, so i just assumed that meant you wouldn’t be bothered by her ignoring you n’all.” 
ghost tapped his pen on his desk. “so she is ignoring me, then.”
“i didn’t say that.”
ghost knew he couldn’t fight logistics with soap, with soap being… soap and all. “we have actual shit t’go over. important intel before we depart friday.” 
soap slipped into the chair in front of ghost’s desk. “you started it.” 
“i didn’t—- bloody hell ,” he grumbled rubbing his hand over his face. soap tried to hold back his smirk. 
“y’know she’s coming with us,” soap said, referencing the mission soon to happen in the coming days based on the information the men had acquired from valeria. 
“well aware,” ghost said flatly. 
the idea of you being forced to be in ghost’s proximity tomorrow, knowing you couldn’t avoid it like you had been, made his chest swell slightly. he didn’t want to admit this to himself, but he wanted you to want him. desperately . and hearing soap talk about you, always seeing the two of you together, ghost felt like he was pushing you straight into his friend’s arms. 
he should have been okay with that. whether he found you attractive or not, he shouldn’t have felt jealous when he saw you with soap. he’s found plenty of women attractive, and plenty of them were involved with someone else. that usually didn’t bother ghost at all. he was fine admiring pretty ladies knowing they would never be his. he didn’t want them to be his. so this resentment he was feeling towards soap was new to him. 
he unclenched his fist. 
“jus’ wanna make sure you’re gonna behave yourself,” soap chimed. 
“christ, johnny. i’m not—”
soap cut him off. “i’m serious, lt. i know i don’t have this kind of authority, but she doesn’t deserve whatever it is that's going on inside your twisted head.” soap gestured widely at ghost, implying he was all sorts of messed up. “i’d die protecting her. and if it means i’d have to die in your clutches, then so be it.”
ghost refrained from rolling his eyes and soap’s dramatics. though, he did admire soap’s loyalty. 
shifting the conversation away from you, ghost debriefed soap on prep for the coming mission, letting him know— almost —everything planned. 
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it was late when ghost spotted you. you didn’t see him as he stalked you around the bend of the hallway.
finally, you were alone. not linking arms with soap or laughing with gaz. you were alone as you walked through the halls of the barracks. if you had known ghost would have spotted you, you would have likely stayed in your room. but you had no idea the masked man was trailing behind you. 
ghost hadn't been planning on talking to you, irate by the way you’ve been ignoring him, but when he saw you, his feet moved on their own accord. the hall lights flickered, creating an ominous glow. he surmised you were heading back to the infirmary even though he knew your shift was already over. maybe you forgot something?
and then one of ghost’s steps was a tad too loud because you looked over your shoulder and he watched as your eyes widened momentarily. you scrunched up your nose and faced forward, your pace increasing. “are you following me?”
“this is my quarters jus’ as much as it is yours,” he grunted. 
you rolled your eyes. “well… it's plenty big enough. you could always go a different way.”
“still not talkin’ to me, then?”
you could sense him catching up and it made the hackles on your neck rise. “what’re you—”
“i know you’ve been ignoring me. don’t try t’lie your way outta this.”
you turned around and began to walk backward so you could face him when you spoke. “i’m not really in the mood to have this conversation right now.” you crossed your arms over your chest. 
“well, good thing i wasn’t askin’.”
your mouth parted in surprise at his bluntness. you quickly spun on your heels, not wanting the emotions you had been shoving down for the past week to come back up. if you could just avoid him a little longer, you’d be able to move on. if he would only just—
in your nerves, you reached a dead end of one of the many barren halls. you were going to turn and scurry past him, not even wanting to grab your bag you left in the infirmary any longer, you just wanted to get away from him. but before you had the chance, ghost’s arms were on either side of your head, hands flat against the wall, caging you into his chest. your back was to him and your only view was the blank drywall. the corner he had you trapped in was dark and you figured even if you did spin to face the beast behind you, you wouldn’t be able to make much of him out. you hated that a swirl of arousal filled your stomach remembering him being this close to you in that tiny closet he shoved the two of you into all those weeks ago. 
“ghost, i don’t wanna—”
“ simon ,” he said a little aggressively. 
you gulped, his words grazing the edge of your neck as he spoke. you were quiet as you waited for him to say more. “you sure you’re ready to go back out on location?” he asked, referring to the upcoming mission you were going to be a part of. 
“is that it? you’re worried i’m broken or some shit like that?” your words screamed irritation, but your voice sounded more hurt than angry. “that i don’t know my own limits and can’t decide when i’m good to be back? that i’ll slow you down? i told you i was cleared!” you knew you were inferring a lot from his one little sentence, but you wanted to be mad. to be angry at him. 
“i didn’t say that.”
“no. but it’s what you meant.”
you heard ghost sigh and his hands dropped down to his side. you felt the warmth of his chest still behind you so you didn’t dare move to look at him.
“i know what it’s like t’lose everyone you love,” he started. 
“what does that have to do with any—-?”
“would you jus’ shut up for one second n’ listen for once?” 
you swallowed hard and nodded your head. he let out a breath. he knew he had snapped at you, but this was difficult for him. he wanted to get this out before he second-guessed himself and let you walk away forever. 
“i lost my entire family to men a lot more evil than me. did everythin’ in my power to get revenge. so i know what it’s like to love and t’lose.”
“did it help?” you asked softly. “revenge?”
you could hear the tension in ghost’s words as he mumbled them behind you. the only reason he was able to answer this question was due to the fact that you were turned away from him. if you two had been looking into each other’s eyes… he didn’t think he’d have to ability to open up. “depends how ya look at it. that kind’a dedication to death—never stoppin’ till you feel blood on your hands—takes a toll on ya. i think it’s what made me so… unbearable. but the general doesn’t seem t’think so. made me a stronger soldier in shepherd’s eyes.”
you felt your breath waver as you listened. 
“i wouldn’t have jus’ killed for them, i woulda died. it was years ago now that i was captured on duty. was tortured. buried alive. locked up. abused.” simon cleared his throat. “think it made me unwillin’ to let people in , as you would word it. i don’t know if i could survive another loss like that, like when i lost my mother and brother. s’not a feelin’ i ever plan on livin’ through again.”
“simon…”
“and you, ” he said a bit more potently. “you have been messin’ everythin’ up. when you n’ laswell were taken… it felt like when i saw my brother and his wife dead on their living room floor. the only thing i saw was red. i woulda done anything t’get you back. i couldn’t let this happen again. i couldn’t fail the people i cared about again.”
it pained you to know that simon placed all the blame on anything bad happening to those around him on himself. “laswell, too?” you said, but more as a question. you were purposefully trying to avoid the romantic ideation behind his words.
“no,” he said immediately, without a second thought. “course i wanted her back. but it didn’t feel the same as the way i wanted you.”
i wanted you . those words made your chest tighten. 
���why are you telling me all this?” you finally asked after a lull. 
“i jus’ wanted you t’know that i don’t mean t’hurt you. that maybe i needa try harder. and that… i’m sorry.”
you felt a single tear escape and slide down your cheek. you took a moment to steady your breathing, trying to reel in all of simon’s words.
when you spun to face him, unsure of what you’d find in his expression, you gasped. he was gone. you didn’t even hear him as he took off down the hall with your back still to him. 
eventually, walking alone back to your room, you let the tears fall freely. you cried for simon’s past. for his losses. for your own losses. for the strange sense of love you felt radiating off of him as he told you he’d move the world just to get you back safely. for the stupid feelings you had brewing in your chest. for the way you couldn’t decide if you wanted him to wrap his arms around you or if you wanted to hold him as he told you more. 
simon felt like he couldn’t let someone else in. that he wouldn’t survive it. but you wouldn’t leave him if he did. and you needed to tell him that. you needed to show him that he might be a bit broken, lost from his path, but you’d help him find the light again, as cheesy as that sounded. you would show him how beautiful it was to love even after losing so much. that it was possible. he deserved to be loved. he deserved to be happy. he wasn’t some emotionless robot, no matter what the army thought of him. and you wanted to help him realize that. 
chapter 13 ➡
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