hi i really like your stories they are really good. but this is my first requesting
could you do where re6 leon snaps at the reader after a long day of work after we try to cheer him up but him snapping at the reader causes them to get scared of leon (reader gets triggered by yelling) and has a panic attack and cries (sorry its really depressing and angst omg(
hii anon, omgg tysm for thinking of me for your request! i’ve been working on it and… i may or may not have turned it into something a little more angsty than expected (i blame sleepy hollow 😭)
⟡ post re6 events, ¨the other woman¨ kinda vibe.
the apartment is filled with the smell of leon’s favourite dinner. warm, soft and home.
you’ve been trying to make it feel like home all afternoon. you opened the windows, low music in the background and cooking his favourite food.
the food is all ready done. on the small isle of the kitchen, two small tablecloths with dinner all ready cling into the house like something that fills your heart with warmth.
the sound of water fills the space, finishing washing up the pots and pans you’ve used earlier.
you hear the door opening. late, once again.
you don’t turn around right away.
with a deep breath you smile to yourself, drying your hands on a cloth.
¨leon?¨ your voice is light and full of hope as you make your way to him to greet him with a hug. ¨guess what?¨ you step back, realizing he won’t hug you back
he looks tired, more than usual after his last mission. his leather jacket is still on, his shoulders are tense and eyes distant like he’s somewhere else.
and the smell of whiskey fills your nose as soon as you step into his space.
¨what?¨ he says, cold.
¨the landlord finally called me back! we can go check the house tomorrow if we like.¨ you let out a small breath, smiling again despite his coldness.
¨i’m so excited about it.¨
he doesn’t look at you, instead his unsteady steps make their way to the small table, dropping his keys with a dull sound that makes you jump slightly.
¨you’re excited?¨ he repeats.
your chest tightens just a little.
¨…yeah,¨ you laugh softly, trying to keep calm ¨i mean- it’s ours, right? our house we can make it-¨
¨you’re always like this¨ he cuts you, raising his voice a little bit.
you blink.
¨like what?¨
leon exhales through his nose, running a hand over his face as he realizes the alcohol is starting to cloud his mind and words
¨just… happy over things like that.¨ his voice wasn’t loud this time but they landed heavier over your heart. ¨she’s not like you.¨
you shift your weight, uneasy now.
¨i don’t- i don’t think that’s a bad thing¨
you start to play with your fingers nervously.
he finally looks at you. his gaze lands on you and there's something you don’t recognize, he’s not angry at least not really. something sharper, frayed at the edges.
he laughs, quiet and dry. making you feel that sting in your throat that you have to swallow.
¨leon…¨ your voice falters, just a little. ¨what’s wrong?¨
¨nothing. just-¨ he shakes his head, pacing across the room. ¨you don’t get it.¨
you frown ¨then explain it to me.¨
you step a little closer. careful, like approaching a bomb that’s about to go off.
¨i want to get it.¨
his jaw tightens.
¨no you don’t¨ he says, louder now. ¨you don’t get it because you’ve never had to.¨
you flinch slightly but try to keep talking to him
¨baby, i’m just trying to-¨
¨to what? huh?¨ he cuts. ¨play house? pretend everything is fine? that we can have a normal life? i don’t have a normal life!¨
your breathing catches and the corner of your eyes start to sting.
¨i’m not pretending¨ you whisper.
he scoffs as he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated and restless.
¨you’re talking about apartments and apartments near the lake and-¨ he gestures vaguely, the words clearly annoying him. ¨like that fixes everything.¨
¨i never said it would fix anything,¨ you say, your voice shaking now. ¨i just thought- i thought it would make things a little better.¨
¨better¨ he repeats, almost mocking you
silence falls for a few seconds.
¨i just wanted something good for us…¨ you say quietly
his expression flickers.
¨you don’t know what good is¨ he says.
that one hurts and you can only just stare at him with glassy eyes now.
¨it’s not as simple as houses and dinners¨
¨stop this!¨ you snap, your voice cracks louder than you expect ¨stop, stop, stop! stop shuttling me out and then blaming me for not knowing what’s going on inside your head!¨
that hits him now, hard. he turns back to you.
¨you think i want this?¨ he says, gesturing at himself ¨you think i want to feel like this all the time?¨
you shake your head quickly.
¨no, i- i know you don’t. i- i just¨
¨you don’t know anything¨
your breath stutters, that was way too much. you feel it, that creeping sensation inside your chest making it hard to breathe.
¨don’t say that,¨ you whisper
but he doesn’t care, the alcohol and his demons are speaking now and there’s no way to shut them off.
¨you don’t know what it’s like,¨ he continues, voice rough as he starts walking around the room again. ¨to carry all the missions and then come back to this.¨ he gestures towards the rooms and you.
you freeze.
¨to what?¨
he stops and hesitates for a second. you think he’s going to back away and not talk but then.
¨to things that don’t matter.¨
your ears ring and your eyes widen,
¨…don’t matter?¨ you repeat, barely hearing your own voice now.
he exhales, frustrated with himself.
¨then what did you mean?¨ your voice breaks, louder now and desperate. ¨because it sounds like you’re saying that none of this matters?¨ you gesture around the room ¨that i don’t matter?¨
you place your hands in your chest that is rising without any control.
¨that’s not what i said¨
¨then what are you saying?!¨ your voice’s still loud and sharp.
¨i’m saying you don’t understand, you won’t be able to, not like-¨ his voice is way too loud now, yelling at you.
you don’t hear the rest as your hands fly to your ears instinctively.
it’s too much, too loud, too many memories flashing your mind.
¨stop-¨ you whisper, shaking your head and warm tears fall from your cheeks to your shirt ¨just stop, please.¨
you lean in, placing your hands over your knees trying to calm down.
leon freezes.
¨baby-¨ he walks towards you slowly.
your visions blurs and your chest tightens, suffocating you. everything feels too close, the noise outside is too loud and everything around you is too much.
¨don’t-¨ you push him away slightly, he doesn’t even trip.
¨shit…¨ he breathes, soberness hitting him like a truck making him feel like the worst person who ever lived.
¨hey- hey, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to-¨
but you’re already backing away fast, turning and almost running away.
you don’t even remember going to the bedroom, only the desperate motion.
drawers open, bag out and your hands shaking as you grab whatever you can.
¨baby, wait, don’t do this, come on.¨ his voice behind you is softer now and softer. ¨come on, my love. let’s just talk…¨ he grabs the side of your bag slightly.
¨don’t,¨ you choke out, not even looking at him ¨i don’t want to talk to you anymore.¨
you pull the bag away from his hand.
¨i didn’t mean any of that,¨ he says. ¨i was just-¨
¨angry?¨ you cut him, facing him. ¨tired? drunk? which excuse it’s this time, leon?¨
he doesn’t answer, he just stares at your bag as it gets filled with clothes.
your eyes are red, cheeks completely wet and the bag in your hands.
¨you have no heart,¨ you say quietly.
it lands heavier than anything else said tonight.
¨and i was giving you mine.¨
he doesn’t even blink, doesn’t even breathe.
¨that’s… not fair¨ he mutters, but there’s no strength behind it.
¨isn’t it?¨ you whisper.
silence conquers the bedroom.
he looks at you, he wants to fix it, like many other times before, but he doesn’t know how.
you shake your head and step outside the bedroom.
he doesn’t stop you, he just sits at the edge of the bed.
he covers his face with his hand, completely ashamed of himself.
and he listens how the door of the bedroom closes in front of him.
SUMMARY: After one too many drinks you decide to flirt with a mysterious handsome man, during a red traffic light. What starts as drunken chaos turns into a stolen number phone number.
author’s note: my take on @rosierin’s fic. Sunarin’s version here. check it out <3. AO3
You were sitting in the passenger seat while one of your friends drove you back to your apartment after a very successful wine tasting trip with your group of girlfriends.
You were yapping nonstop about some work related drama, with absolutely zero awareness of your surroundings, your words just a little slurred.
You stopped counting after the fourth glass of wine, and now your speech was paying the price.
“So then my boss starts bitching about deadlines-” you pause mid rant, squinting out the window like you’ve just had a life changing revelation. “Holy shit, he’s so hot.”
“Honey, what are you talking about?” she asks, laughing at you. Then she waves a hand dismissively. “Actually, don’t answer that. Let me help you sober up before you fall in love with a stop sign.”
She reaches over and rolls the passenger window down.
You let out a soft, dazed hum, your eyes still locked on the mirror like you might miss him if you blink.
“No, him!” you say, pointing dramatically at the side view mirror, where a tiny reflection of a bike flickers into view.
Your friend squints. “That is a mirror, honey.”
“The guy on the bike!” you insist, leaning closer to the mirror like it might zoom in for you out of sheer determination. “He’s hot. I can feel it.”
“You can’t even see his face.”
“I don’t need to. Have you ever seen an ugly guy riding a bike? No, right?”
She exhales slowly, clearly fighting the urge to laugh. “That’s it. No more wine for you. You’re out here thirsting over a random man on the freeway.”
But you barely hear her. You’re still staring into the mirror, utterly convinced you’ve just fallen in love at sixty miles per hour.
You can’t even see this man’s face, but his presence alone is doing something deeply unreasonable to your heart rate. You bite your lip, trying (and failing) to hold back the ridiculously giddy smile threatening to take over.
Your friend shoots you a baffled look as she slows for a yellow light then slams the brakes a second too late, sending you lurching forward like your seatbelt just personally saved your life.
“Shit, sorry. I was distracted.”
But you ignore her, instead you pay attention to the dangerous growl of a bike, as it slowly pulls up beside the car, the sound alone enough to make your pulse stutter.
Black helmet, blue jacket, a sleek (and probably too expensive) black bike with sharp green accents.
You still can’t see his face, but something about him, his energy and the effortless way he holds himself lands like a match to gasoline.
He is criminally attractive.
“What do I do?” you breathe, hyperventilating, half whispering to your friend.
“Nothing,” your friend replies immediately. “You don’t know him. For all you know, he could be, like, 60.”
“Doesn’t matter,” you snap. “It’s about the energy he projects onto the world, you know?”
“Not really, babe.”
“You’re boring. “ You reply with no real bite, “I still wanna talk to him,” you insist, stumbling over your own words as the alcohol convinces you this is a great idea. “You miss 100 of the shots you don't take, you know?”
The purr of the biker’s engine fills the lack of answer since your friend doesn’t respond.
Instead, she leans across you and yells, far louder than necessary:
“Hey! You on the bike! My friend thinks you’re hot!”
You freeze, your soul exits your body.
Your voice comes out somewhere between a whisper and a betrayal fueled hiss as you whip your head toward her.
"You fake bitch-"
“Thank me later.”
It's fine. It’s fine.
Maybe this is just a minor, forgettable moment that will not haunt you at 2 a.m. for the next decade.
You slowly, carefully, begin to sink into your seat, like if you make yourself small enough, you might avoid him, possibly laughing at you.
The biker rolls a little closer to the car. He turns his head toward you, then tilts it slightly with amusement when he catches you squirming in your seat like you’re trying to escape your own existence.
He pauses, then his gloved hand lifts his visor just enough to reveal his face.
Tired icy blue eyes meet your eyes, layered hair strands of messy brown (or was it blonde? You couldn’t really tell) frames his face perfectly, adding to his effortlessly cool look
Good God. Your imagination didn’t even come close. He is breathtaking.
He’s got sharp features that didn’t seem overpowering, but instead worked really nice together. A really nice defined jawline with a light stubble adorning it.
He was built more lean and athletic than bulk, but by the way that blue leather jacket fitted him you knew he was ripped under his shirt, his light slouch couldn’t hide the fact that he was quite tall.
“I like your bike,” you say with faked confidence, still flushed from the alcohol, like you weren’t just publicly exposed two seconds ago.
“Thanks,” he replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Your friend said you liked something else, though.” His eyebrow arches.
“Are you looking for a girlfriend, by any chance?” You tried to flirt, failing miserably.
That seemed to surprise him, his shoulders moved a little bit.
Is he laughing?
“What, trying to leave your résumé?” A mischievous glint appears in his eyes, like he’s having actual fun.
“If you’re hiring, yes. I’ve been told I’m a really good worker, you know.” You smile proudly.
“Careful,” he says, still laughing in amusement. “I might take you up on that.”
You can’t believe this was actually working.
“So, you got any number where I can send my résumé?”
He looks surprised at your straightforward comment, probably not used to being flirted with so directly, and much less in these circumstances.
He then noticed your flushed cheeks, and your almost unfocused eyes.
His gaze flicks past you, toward the traffic light, then back at you again.
“Light’s about to change,” he says, almost casually. His eyes lock onto yours again. “Its a hard job, but if you’re up for it I’ll take you on a date whenever you’re free.” He offers you his hand, waiting expectantly.
Your friend makes a tiny, strangled noise beside you.
“My phone. Where’s my phone?!”
“It’s literally in your lap,” your friend hisses, already grabbing it and shoving it into your hands like she’s launching you into battle. “Don’t mess this up, babe.”
“I hate you,” you whisper, unlocking it on the second try.
“C’mon, sweetheart.” Your brain malfunctions at the pet name for a millisecond.
“Here” you lean toward the window, holding your phone out for him to grab.
He grabs your phone with haste, thumbs moving quickly, then hands it over back to you.
You noticed he saved himself as Leon S. Kennedy.
You look back up, and he’s already looking at you. There’s that same almost invisible smirk again.
The light shifts.
Green.
Engines behind you start to rumble impatiently.
He lowers his visor, but not all the way just enough that you can still see his eyes for a second longer.
“See you around, sweetheart.” He says, nodding to you. Then the visor drops.
And he’s gone.
“You lucky bitch,” your friend blurts, staring after him. “He’s hot as fuck and you got his number.”
You let out an excited squeal, practically jumping in your seat.
“I would look so hot riding on his bike with him, don’t you think?” you say, a ridiculously cheesy smile spreading across your lips.
A couple of hours later…
You wake up with a pounding headache. Your mouth is dry and your thoughts are foggy. For a moment, you just lie there disoriented, trying to piece together what happened last afternoon.
Then you reach for your phone to check the time.
2 A.M
But something else catches your eyes, there are messages. From hours ago.
Leon S. Kennedy
I think you’re hot too.
When can I take you on a date?
You blink at the screen, your brain struggling to catch up. Slowly, fragments start coming back.
The ride home, the black bike, striking blue eyes. You asking for his number.
Your stomach drops.
You immediately check your call logs to see a call from your phone to his.
Oh my God.
You didn’t just ask for his phone number, you practically handed it to him.
And he took it!
You grab your pillow and scream into it, mortified.
Summary: After Leon spends the night at his girlfriend’s place for the first time, he’s so giddy that he forgets something important there, forcing Y/N to make an appearance at the station.
Word Count: 1400+
Warnings: RE2 Leon, if the outbreak didn’t happen on Leon’s first day as an officer, established relationship, flirting, slight awkwardness, teasing, kissing, fluff
a/n: not proofread.
Main Masterlist
It’s almost 12:30 in the afternoon, the perfect time for Y/N to head over to the Racoon City police station to return something one of the officers forgot at her apartment.
Leon S Kennedy; blonde hair, blue eyed boyishly handsome officer which she had the fortune of calling him her boyfriend and it had been that way for about five months now. Though their relationship was still new in a lot of ways, it felt right.
He was kind, considerate, awkward, shy, but the way in which he carried himself made her feel safe, protected and with the latest news about a possible new infection spreading over several cities, that’s what she found most important.
That was exactly why she had no qualms about heading to the police station during her limited lunch break to return his wallet to him. Luckily, her own workplace wasn’t far so she just walked her way to the station, immediately knowing she was there once she spotted the giant R.P.D letters hanging over the big set doors of the place.
She walked up the stone steps, using a bit more strength than she’d like to admit to open the right side door, revealing the area beyond it.
Once inside, Y/N took a moment to admire the rather domineering but beautifully rustic interior, her eyes landing on the statue that stood tall above everyone. She had never actually been inside the R.P.D until now, and she wished she had sooner because even though it was a police station, it looked more like a museum.
“Whoa…” She whispered to herself, her pace slowing to almost nothing. However when her gaze came down to meet with the receptionist, who had been looking at her for who knows how long, she snapped out of her daze and awkwardly jogged over to the desk.
“How can I help you, Miss?”
Y/N leaned a little closer so the receptionist could hear her as she had a habit of talking quietly. “I’m looking for Leon Kennedy, is he here?
“What is this regarding?”
Y/N paused, thinking about what to say. She didn’t want to say, Hey, I’m here to see my boyfriend and so she settled on the first thing that came to mind. “It’s for a…personal matter.”
The receptionist paused, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. Given that look, she most likely already knew that there was more to it than that but if she thought she kept it to herself as she picked up her office phone and dialed a number.
“Hey, there’s a woman here by the name of…” The receptionist paused, pulling the phone away from her mouth to look up at Y/N. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Oh, Y/N L/N.” She quickly answered.
“There’s a Y/N L/N here, looking for Officer Leon Kennedy, can you send him to the front?”
There’s a brief pause as another voice speaks from the other line, but Y/N can’t hear what they are saying.
“Okay, thank you.” The woman says then hangs up. “He’ll be out in a few minutes, honey, so you’re more than welcome to wait right over there.” She points to a bench off to the side, pushed up against the wall.
Y/N nods. “Okay, thank you so much!” She walks over to the public bench, and takes a seat.
She sits up straight, keeping a perfect yet stiff posture; legs pressed tight against each other, and hands fiddling in her lap as she waits. Y/N had always been a bit awkward, and even though she had every right to return something of Leon’s, there was this small voice in the back of her mind that tried to convince her she shouldn’t be there.
Before she could agonize over it, she heard the distant sound of a door opening and footsteps coming closer.
“Y/N?”
Her head whipped up from her lap, seeing Leon walking over to her. She smiled brightly, coming to a stand. “Leon!”
He jogged the rest of the way over, a smile mirroring Y/N’s the moment he stood in front of her. “What are you doing here?”
Y/N dug through her purse, pulling out his wallet to hold it out to him and watched a sign of recognition fall over his face. “You forgot this on my nightstand.”
“I knew I forgot something this morning.” He takes the wallet from her hands, and tucks it into his back pocket.
“I think you might have been distracted this morning; you’re not normally so forgetful.” Y/N teased, lightly nudging his side.
He laughs, his cheeks flaring with heat as he looks down at the floor. “Well, when you wake up next to the most beautiful woman in the world, it’s hard not to get distracted.”
The words sound like a joke, but Y/N knows that he means it.
She feels her own face burst with warmth, but she giggles at his comment which causes him to laugh with her. Everything feels incredibly awkward, incredibly embarrassing, and incredibly in love.
“Well, I won’t take up anymore of your time, Officer Kennedy.” Y/N winked at him.
Leon reached up to rub the back of his neck, a bashful tick that came up quite often. “I’m still trying to get used to being called that, especially by you.”
Y/N steps forward, opening her arms out to which he reciprocates and hugs him, pressing herself as close to him as she can while relishing the sensation of his warmth. “I’ll try not to use it too much.”
Leon wraps his arms around her back, and tucks his face into her shoulder. “Sure you won’t.”
She chuckles once more, going quiet as she allows this moment to completely seep into her memory, savoring what her heart does when she has Leon so close, to touch, to hold, to laugh with.
God, she loves him.
They finally pull away, but not too far as they keep each other in their embrace, gaze shifting from their eyes to the lips before trickling back up.
Leon watches the playful shine in Y/N’s eyes morph to something more serious, something that makes his heart ache.
“You be careful out there, okay?”
He nods. “I will.” He leans down, eyes narrowing, dilated, focused on what he wants, who he wants. Right before he reaches that point of no never, he hesitates, giving her the space to pull away if she wants, but she doesn’t, she never does.
Y/N fills the remainder of that space, lips pushing, melding into his, fitting together perfectly in a way that life scarce does or ever will. It’s warm, safe, secure, conveying all that words would fail to do leaving the message to travel only through their bodies.
I love you.
As soon as they break apart, there’s a moment of heaving, breathing in and out like they had taken the air straight from their lungs to give it to the other because the most beautiful gift they could offer was everything they were and would ever be.
Leon rests his head against Y/N’s, closing his eyes for a second to appreciate the tingling of her skin touching his.
“I promise I’ll be careful.” He whispers to her.
She smiles, softer this time. “You better.”
Then she takes a deep breath, sighing while she brings her hands from around his neck to shoulders and finally down his arms. “I should get going, my break is probably almost over.”
Leon sucks in a breath, realizing he hadn’t been breathing for a minute. “Right. Yeah, I don’t want you skipping you lunch.”
His thoughtful concern flutters in her chest. “I won’t. Are you coming over again tonight?”
He grabs her hands, thumbing brushing over her knuckles as he thinks. “I’d like to, if that’s okay.”
“It’s more than okay.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you tonight.”
They stand there a couple more seconds, Leon caressing her hands as she slowly begins to step back, taking one hand out of his; letting her touch linger on him before stepping away completely and towards the door.
Leon’s hand stays aloft in the air, lingering in where Y/N had previously been. He then looked down at his palm, still feeling the warmth of her here almost as though she left a part of her with him to carry.
He looks up at the door once more, clutching his hand to a close and bringing it to his chest, making sure that the last thing that Y/N had touched was closest to his heart.
AN: In celebration of completing RE9: Requiem, I wrote this!
And, while I think that Leon is a pretty tragic character when you think about it and he deserves all the nice things, I found that I have to get all the thirsting out of the way before I can write anything soft for him, lol.
Anyways, I personally envision this taking place at some point after RE4 because I just really like Leon's personality in that game. Hope you like it!
Word Count: 3,411
Warnings: Explicit Language, Blood and Injury, Wound Care.
“If you got any complaints about my bedside manner you can go ahead and file them with Corporal Trash Can right there.” You said gruffly while nodding at the garbage bin –the one filled with bloodied gauze and torn wrappers from various medical supplies– that you had pulled up next to the chair that you’d practically dumped Leon into once you had dragged him into the safehouse.
You were in the middle of trying to extract a bullet from Leon’s left shoulder, the new gaping wound he'd acquired only an inch or so away from the starburst scar he’d gotten while in Raccoon City as a rookie cop, and you weren’t being nice since Leon had made the utterly idiotic decision of getting between you and a bullet like some kind of white knight.
Leon grunted as you dug around the meat of his shoulder with a pair of bullet forceps in search of the small projectile, the blond gritting his teeth harder around the ragged strip of his ridiculously tight shirt that you had been forced to cut off him in order to gain access to the injury, sweat beading on his forehead as you pushed the long metal rod deeper.
“Mmph, fucking hell!” The blond growled out between clenched teeth and you shot a glare at the blond when he spat the spit-soaked fabric out of his mouth with a harsh laugh, the weak grin he had plastered on his face twisting into a grimace after a particularly rough jab. “You ever think about switching careers? Because your bedside manner makes me think you'd make a great dentist. You've already got the sadism part down.”
“I always pictured myself as more of a butcher personally.” You shot back without even bothering to look away from the bloodied mess in front of you, your lips pressing into a thin line of concentration as you pulled the rod out a bit in order to readjust the angle before slowly pushing it back in.
“Jesus Christ. If you –ah– if you pull this off without killing me, I'll buy you a damn gift basket. Or a card. Take your pick.” Leon promised roughly, the blond flashing you a pained smirk when he noticed you glance at him from out of the corner of your eye. “But if you keep treating me like a goddamn pincushion, I'm telling command you're the reason I always go through my painkillers so fast.”
“You're such a baby.” You muttered, your eyes narrowing for a brief moment when the tip of the forceps scraped over something metal, before a wide grin spread across your face. You placed a studying hand on Leon’s thigh to keep him from flinching and fucking up all the progress you’d made as you shifted closer, wasting no time latching onto the slippery metal with the little teeth at the end of the rod in order to carefully extract the elusive bullet.
You held it up in front of you as soon as you dragged it out, turning it this way and that in order to examine the projectile, before blowing out a near silent breath of relief once you determined that it was –thankfully– still intact so you wouldn't have to worry about any fragments, which would’ve definitely complicated matters and further hindered Leon’s recovery.
“There. Done.” You said as you unceremoniously dropped the bullet and bloodied forceps into the cracked bowl you'd found in the dilapidated kitchen of the safe house that you and your chatty partner were currently occupying. You moved toward the two medkits you’d ripped apart for supplies so that you could begin the tedious process of cleaning, stitching and bandaging the wound.
“Finally. I was about ready to brain myself against the wall if it meant getting a break from being carved up like a piece of meat.” Leon grumbled as he watched you grab some alcohol wipes as well as the small bottle of vodka you’d used to sterilize the bullet forceps before using it, the blond remaining tense as you collected what you’d need and turned your attention back to his shoulder.
“Hilarious.” You deadpanned as you placed a hand on Leon’s chest in order to push him back into the dining chair as you leaned closer to get a better look at the wound, ignoring the choked off sound that Leon made when he was shoved against the slat backrest.
You moved to pull away but paused when Leon’s hand darted out to grab your wrist before you could finish the movement, his face screwing up in pain as he exhaled shakily, his grasp loose enough that you could infer that he was just floundering for a way to ground himself as opposed to trying to restrain you or something. So, in a moment of weakness, you allowed his touch to linger without a word of protest, giving him a much needed moment to recover.
You kept your hand pressed flat against his chest for a moment, counting his abnormally fast heart beats and his purposefully measured breathing until his body calmed, the blond releasing your wrist with a look you would describe as ‘sheepish’ if you didn’t know any better.
“You know, I don't even know why I put up with you.” Leon sighed while pouting like a petulant toddler as he slumped back into the chair, obediently relaxing his left arm as much as he was able to when you tapped your finger against his bicep twice in a wordless command.
“You mean you don’t keep me around for my sheer animal magnetism? I’m shocked.” You snorted sarcastically as you ripped open a new packet of alcohol wipes and began carefully wiping at the drying blood surrounding the bullet hole.
“Oh, right… your animal magnetism.” He replied dryly, wincing when the cool wipe brushed across a particularly sensitive area. “How could I forget?” Leon scoffed, his bright eyes watching you as you tossed the blood covered wipe into into the trash and opened a new one, slowly but efficiently mopping up the mess until the swollen, irritated skin surrounding the wound was visible
“Alright. I got good news and bad news.” You stated as you threw away the fifth and final alcohol wipe you’d opened, rubbing your hands down with some clean water from your own bottle and shaking them dry before dumping the remainder of the vodka shooter onto your hands in preparation for what you had to do next.
“Gimme the bad news first.” Leon cut in before you could finish your thought and you rolled your eyes but still ended up humoring him.
“Bad news is that you’re gonna die if we don’t slow the bleeding down, quickly. Also, the fat layer under the skin is exposed and I don’t have any dissolvable stitches on me, so I can’t properly close it. Oh, and it’s pretty much a guarantee that it’s going to get infected.” You listed off your concerns as you dug the combat pill pack out of the emergency supplies that the safehouse was stocked with, quickly locating the bottles of Moxifloxacin and Meloxicam you were looking for and shaking out one of each into your palm.
“Great. And the good news?” Leon asked as he took the offered dull red and bright yellow pills with his good hand, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with a few long pulls from the bottled water that you also handed him.
“Good news is that your injury is located at a junctional area which, while not ideal because I can’t use a tourniquet, I can pack it with gauze before wrapping it up to make sure you won’t bleed out on me. It should hold up until we can get you to a hospital for proper treatment.” You said as you set all the supplies you’d need on the dining table, picking up the bottle containing a plain packing strip and breaking the seal before shifting closer to Leon, kicking his legs further apart so you could step between his thighs.
“Sounds fun. Come on, let's get this over with.” Leon sighed, already sounding resigned as he shifted around in his seat, the blond only settling once you braced your knee against the chair between his legs, holding carefully still as you positioned the end of the strip against the hole in his shoulder.
You glanced up from his wound in order to check if he was ready, doing a rapid double take when you caught the dazed look on his face as he stared up at you looming over him, his piercing blue eyes half-lidded.
You initially thought that shock was finally setting in –which would make sense with all the excitement– but then you shifted your weight and you were made painfully aware of just how intimate your current position was. Your eyes widened as you watched Leon’s pupils dilate in real time, the blond staring up at you like you were a piece of art to be admired, able to practically hear his thoughts enter the gutter with an audible clatter with how close you were standing.
“You know… for someone who claims to only tolerate me, you sure do have a soft spot for patching me up. You always seem to volunteer to be the one to play nurse when I’m injured.” Leon said, a hint of amusement creeping in his voice, and you rolled your eyes before abruptly beginning to push the cotton strip deep inside his bullet wound with your thumbs.
Leon grit his teeth and let out a sharp, guttural cry as he threw his head back, the tendons in his neck straining with the need to move, to get out from under your steady hands and away from the pain.
“Well, if we're going by that logic, you seem to enjoy playing patient with how often you get injured.” You shot back without pausing, your eyes flicking up from Leon’s shoulder once to glance at his face before dropping back down when you made sure that he was still conscious.
“God damn it.” He cursed, panting and groaning in a way that sounded far too suggestive, the sounds coming out of him as you methodically packed the wound more fit for the bedroom. "You could have warned me, you bastard.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” You responded as you reached the end of the roll, keeping firm pressure on the raw wound to hold everything in place as you snatched the gauze pad off the dining table, tearing the wrapper off one-handed and placing it over the injury site. “Hold this.” You commanded firmly, impatiently waiting until Leon raised his good hand and put his palm over the gauze before letting go in order to reach for the roll of bandages.
“If this is your idea of fun, I’d hate to see what you’d do on a date.” Leon grumbled, his brows furrowing as he watched you open the packaging and begin meticulously dressing his wound, the blond moving his hand out of the way without you even having to ask as you wrapped the strip across his chest and around his shoulder repeatedly before tucking the end under the edge of the bandages to keep them from unraveling.
“Is that an attempt at asking me out, Kennedy? Zero out of ten, no way you’re getting any with pick up lines like that.” You quipped, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling when his eyebrows shot up to his forehead in surprise, his expression rapidly flicking through several different emotions before finally settling, his cheeks turning a bright, flustered red.
“I’m not– I wasn’t–” Leon spluttered as you stepped away and grabbed your own canteen in order to wash your hands over the bowl containing the bullet you’d pulled out of Leon –along with the forceps you’d used to do so– before mentally plotting where to begin cleaning up the mess you’d left on the table, as well as the ground surrounding the chair, while treating the blond.
“Uh-huh.” You said dismissively as you repacked the two well-stocked medkits –both the one you always brought with you when you were sent out on a mission, especially if Leon was your partner, and the spare that you’d found already in the safehouse– putting everything back into its rightful place. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know.” You continued casually, shutting the kits and securing them with a click before glancing at Leon, who had stiffened in his chair.
“Projecting much? I’m not the one with a staring problem.” Leon snapped back defensively, his tone holding a surprising amount of vitriol, and you paused in the middle of turning to put your medkit back into your bag to shoot him a dirty look.
“Hypocrite.” You hissed as you pulled a spare shirt from the bag you were crouched over and aggressively threw it at his bare chest.
“Brute.” Leon immediately snapped in response as he caught it and shrugged it on, his angry movements slowing when he had to maneuver his bad arm through the corresponding hole.
“Whatever.” You sneered, shooting him one last glare before pivoting in order to follow through on shoving your medkit back into your duffel, giving yourself a much needed moment to calm the petty anger that had sparked in your chest at Leon’s rude response to your harmless teasing. Talk about an overreaction…
You glanced back at Leon once you were feeling a little less like biting his head off, only to have the irritation that you had spent the last several minutes breathing through make a swift return when you saw him poking curiously at his injured shoulder, wincing when he occasionally hit a sore spot.
You immediately stalked back over to him and smacked his hand, Leon snatching his stinging appendage away from the bandages like he was worried that you would break it if he didn’t move fast enough, looking all to the world like a scolded child who’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have as he placed his hands into his lap.
“Don’t do that.” You warned with a disapproving frown, eyes scanning over the wrappings to make sure that he wasn’t about to start bleeding through his bandages. “And you know what –while we're on the topic of what not to do– no removing the bandages, no getting wet, no lifting heavy objects and no strenuous activities. That includes jacking off by the way.” You lifted a finger for each rule you listed, staring Leon down to make sure he knew you were being dead serious.
The absolute last thing you needed was for him to permanently mess up his shoulder because he did something stupid.
“How charming, I’m swooning.” Leon said as he placed his hands onto his knees and pushed to his feet, his face blanching of all color and leaving him looking more like the B.O.W’s that the two of you fought on the regular once he was fully upright. Thankfully for Leon, you were already reaching out to him when he took a stumbling step forward, so you managed to steady him with a hand on his hip and the other wrapped around his forearm before he had the opportunity to take a nasty spill.
“That’ll be the hypovolemia. Obviously.” You responded sarcastically almost on autopilot, the concern you were feeling at seeing the guy you’d personally witnessed walk off insane blows –ones he for all intents and purposes definitely shouldn’t have– struggling to just stand seeping into your voice without your say-so and taking the bite out of your words as you watched him sway in place like a drunk.
Your hands lingered on Leon even after he had regained his balance, your fingers absentmindedly flexing around his impressive bicep as your eyes ran up and down his body, eagerly taking in how the shirt hugged every dip and curve of his muscles.
Leon cleared his throat and you blinked rapidly –feeling like you were coming out of a daze– and your gaze darted away from his chest and back up to his face, your eyes widening as your cheeks heated when you saw that he was wearing his signature cocky smirk as he watched you all but feel him up.
You jerked your hands away from him like you’d been burned and quickly turned away so your back was facing him, ignoring the soft laugh that Leon breathed out at your expense in favor of sweeping the last of the discarded wrappers littering the table into the trash can.
"It's a good thing you're pretty, cause you're dumber than a box of rocks. Standing up so quickly when you've lost as much blood as you have. Moron." You grumbled to yourself in an attempt to hide how rattled you were at getting caught ogling Leon fucking Kennedy of all people, who was the most insufferable, egotistical, attractive, loyal… protective…
You quickly shook your head before your thoughts could derail completely, as if that would get rid of the little voice in the back of your head –the one that was gradually getting louder every time you worked with him– that pointed out all of Leon’s positive qualities, which far outnumbered the less favorable aspects of his personality.
“You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy.” Leon said with his usual level of smugness, the grin that you just knew he was sporting audible in his voice, and you valiantly resisted the ever-growing urge to either punch him in his mouth or kiss him stupid in order to wipe that infuriating look off his unfairly handsome face.
“Go lay down, Kennedy. Get some rest.” You sighed –sweeping your gaze across the dining room to make sure you didn’t miss any wayward pieces of trash– before checking your side arm and dragging one of the three intact wooden chairs over to the front window in order to sit down. It gave you a nice view of the snowy front yard and the long, winding driveway that led up to the cabin that gave you a solid vantage point of anyone who tried to approach the safehouse.
“Fine, fine.” Leon muttered, the blond giving an exaggerated sigh as he ran his hand through his hair before turning to unsteadily make his way over to the ratty couch that was shoved into the corner of the main room and –in a move that was very uncharacteristic of him– gingerly lower himself down onto the shitty cushions. “But don’t blame me if I get bored and start bothering you again in five minutes.” Leon added after he’d carefully stretched out across the couch, taking up almost the entire length.
“Goodnight.” You said pointedly without looking away from the window, watching as the previously peaceful snowfall outside gradually picked up into a full-blown blizzard, your gaze straying from the white tundra outside when you caught sight of Leon in the reflection of the glass.
He had unholstered his own sidearm and rested his hands –gun and all– over his sternum and closed his eyes, the blond only managing to remain still for a few seconds before he was wiggling around again, the telltale shift of fabric accompanying the movement, as he attempted to get comfortable on the narrow couch.
You waited him out, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the potent combination of the drugs, pain and blood loss caught up with him and knocked him the fuck out, and you were proven right when you heard his breathing even out into sleep only a few minutes later.
Finally.
Leon was good at hiding it, but he desperately needed the rest –especially when he was in as rough shape as he was right now– and you were determined to make sure that he got it, partly because he needed to heal but mostly because you didn’t feel like listening to him whine about how he needed his beauty sleep for the next several hours if he was woken up too soon.
You watched him for a long, indulgent moment –noting how incredibly young he looked when he didn’t have his guard up– before sighing to yourself and refocusing your attention back onto the winter wonderland outside in order to take up first watch, letting the sound of Leon’s deep breaths and the faint whistle of the wind wash over you.
FEATURING: Ike Eveland, Shu Yamino, Sonny Brisko, Vantacrow Bringer, Claude Clawmark
SUMMARY: An eighteen member off-collab is crowded and overwhelming, but at least your partner is there to help you calm down.
WORD COUNT: 2191
WARNINGS: Anxiety, sensory overload
TAGS: Established relationship, fluff, comfort, inspired by the 'big dam karaoke off-collab' on Vanta's channel lol
Eighteen people crammed into one room, between several screens, camera setups, and microphones, was a lot. Incredibly exciting, but a lot. In between songs you weren’t confident enough in knowing the lyrics to, you found yourself squeezed between Ryoma and Aia on the couch currently seating over its capacity.
Maria, Alban, Vanta, and Claude were singing along to KICK BACK. Everyone else in the room was cheering them on or providing backup vocals. Chat messages scrolled so fast that you could barely make out the text. The room temperature inched steadily from comfortable to heated. Ryoma’s leg leaned against yours and Aia’s hair brushed against your arm. From the other side of the couch, Ren’s excited bouncing caused the couch to shake.
None of the sensations were bad. But they were a lot at once. Your friends’ singing was slowly drowned out by a ringing noise growing in volume. Any physical contact was amplified to the point that your clothes started to itch on your skin. The pressure of the stream weighed heavy on your shoulders, and while all viewers saw was your model’s eyes closing, your stiff posture and strained expression was easily missable to the crowded room.
Even in the chaos, though, someone notices.
IKE EVELAND
He knew it was going to happen. He’s seen you get stressed in a crowd more than once and he made sure to be on the lookout for all the usual signs of distress.
Ike looked up from reading chat to check up on you and noticed your tense demeanor. He frowned, lips pressed into a firm line— he was sitting across from you on the other couch and between his friends and scuffed streaming setup there was no way to move towards you without attracting attention. From the way you were sitting deathly still without moving away on your own, Ike knew you didn’t want your friends to notice that you were worse for wear. He imagined that you didn’t want to kill the vibe, or something of the sort.
Unfortunately for you, Ike cared more about your well-being than being discreet. He stood up and crossed over hazardous wires to your spot on the couch. You’ve caved too far in on yourself to notice his presence until your fingers are interlocked and he’s pulling you up from your seat. Eyes opened, you saw Ike’s gentle smile, which grounded you back into reality enough to sigh in relief when he moved his hand to the small of your back. The song isn’t over yet, so Ike mouthed, “we’ll be right back,” to Elira and Aia before guiding you out of the room.
With the door closed behind you the sound was muffled. The air in the hallway was cooler and the walls were a boring shade of beige that was suddenly beautiful given the circumstances. You took a deep breath and unclenched your jaw, which you weren’t even aware you were doing in the first place.
Ike’s hand stayed on your lower back, tracing circles as you calmed down. “You’re too stubborn,” he mused. “If you’re not feeling good, take a moment to yourself!”
You knew if you let him talk more he was going to lecture you gently on advocating for yourself. The scolding would definitely be deserved, but you got in his way before he could truly start. “You came to my rescue anyways,” you laughed. You leaned forward to rest your head against Ike’s shoulder and gripped the fabric of his sweater for dear life.
He was also aware that you were avoiding one of his lectures, but he loved you and you were stressed so he let you get away with it this time. He pressed a kiss to your temple, but not before rolling his eyes. “Well, obviously. I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”
SHU YAMINO
Shu’s approach was unorthodox.
The song ended before he noticed. In that moment he was seated on the opposite end of the couch from you with a cold drink in hand to mitigate the growing temperature of the room. In between songs, everyone in the room shuffled positions as Vanta scrolled through the tracklist, and with Aia moving to the front to sit by Rosemi, Shu took the opportunity to seize the open spot next to you.
His arm found his way around your shoulder, an intimate gesture gone unnoticed by your models’ tracking. It was calming enough to release some tension from your neck, and with his fingers on your shoulder he noticed the stiffness of your body. He tilted his head towards you, curiosity shifting into concern when he saw your furrowed brows and closed eyes. “(Name)?”
The best you could offer him was a rigid nod. His hand squeezed your shoulder and he frowned. If there weren’t several microphones around the room, Shu would say something more comforting. But it would also sound romantic and the last thing the situation needed was chat prying into a background conversation.
Your skin is hot. Fever level, almost. There was a simple solution that Shu acted on without skipping a beat— he pressed his cold drink against your cheek. You flinched against the can and whined, “hey!”
There was no room to move away from Shu and, in fact, he pulled you closer. You had half a mind to push him away but the action was, unfortunately, sweet and grounding. The aluminum against your cheek brought your body temperature to something more reasonable and the sheer absurdity of it brought you back down to Earth. “That was uncalled for.”
“I think it was pretty called for,” Shu replied. You both whispered but the conversation was definitely audible in the stream for active listeners, so the conversation would be a fun song and dance around any romantic implications. “It’s better now, right?”
You couldn’t help but smile. You pushed yourself closer to Shu until you felt like you were connected. “Better,” you agreed.
SONNY BRISKO
You didn’t even see him move. You forced your eyes open after a shallow breath, a failed attempt to soothe your anxieties, and found Sonny to your right on the couch. You blinked. He didn’t say a word and wasn’t looking at you, but his hand landed on your knee and squeezed.
Sonny embodied the strong, silent type so well that you wondered if he was doing it on purpose. If the comforting contact wasn’t enough to calm your nerves, you thought that the sheer force of his cool attitude would do it on its own. His hand was warm against your leg, but not in the uncomfortable and icky way that was plaguing you. It was gentle yet firm and he brought you back into the moment like you never got lost.
“When did you get over here?” You asked quietly. Finally, Sonny turned his attention towards you and shook your knee playfully.
“I’ve been in the room the whole time,” he said, like it answered your question. Chat saw your model’s eyes roll and sent “wwww”s and “LMAO”s in response to your side conversation as Elira yapped in the foreground.
Sonny’s model doesn’t do the shit-eating grin he had in person justice. “Funny,” you replied, pretending not to be amused but your smile betrayed you.
Your smile and steady breathing told Sonny he was doing everything he needed to. He never said it out loud, but if there was anything he prided himself on was his ability to read you clearly. This off-collab? A recipe for chaos, camaraderie, and disaster, and Sonny knew full well it was going to be overwhelming for you. The second everyone piled into this room he knew it was only a matter of time, so he watched you closely but only moved when he saw your shut your eyes.
He did things quietly without any expectation of a return. Sonny was satisfied with your love and affection but you loved him enough to return his actions tenfold. You pulled his hand from your knee to your chest and kissed his knuckles. His hands were calloused and rough but you treated him gently anyways.
“Chat,” you whispered into the nearest microphone. “Sonny just stealthed across the room. It was terrifying. Scariest guy in the world!”
Scariest guy in the world, code for sweetest guy in the universe.
VANTACROW BRINGER
This was Vanta’s first time hosting an off-collab this large and he was hyped to sing his heart out alongside his friends and even more so, but secretly, his partner.
He was singing along to KICK BACK when your anxiety spiked. This off-collab was a big deal, you thought to yourself in your worry. There wasn’t any particularly big stakes, but you knew full well how special it was to get to be the host for a big off-collab. It more than tripled your average viewer count and the last thing you wanted was to distract him from the excitement.
So, even when the song ended, you steel yourself with a shaky breath and try to relax. Maybe if you pretended it wasn’t a big deal, it suddenly wouldn’t be, but your heightened awareness made you notice small enough details like one light faintly flickering, so you knew it was a fruitless effort.
You should have known, though, that Vanta isn’t blind. An unconvicing smile didn’t do anything to reassure him when he glanced at you while picking the next song. Because your posture was stiff and he could see some sweat hastily wiped to the side of your face. He found himself offended that you thought you could pull a fast one on him like he wasn’t the best and most attentive boyfriend on the planet (self-proclaimed).
“Claude, can you pull up the next song?” He asked, and then him walking towards you made you realize he saw right through you. There was nowhere to run so you were defenseless when he grabbed your wrists annd pulled you off the couch. “Chat, (Name) is giving me weird looks.”
His humor dffused some of the tension from your mind. “O- Only because you looked at me strange first!” He pulled you forward until your torso was flush against his and, with one arm wrapped around your waist, he dragged you towards a less crowded corner of the room. It wasn’t secluded by any means, but it was a good distance away from most of the scuffed streaming setup and, most relieving, under the room’s only air vent.
Cool air soothed your skin in an instant and Vanta rubbed his hands up and down your arms. “You’re okay?” You were far enough away from the stream setup to go unheard by the microphones, so you nodded and replied quietly.
“I’m okay.” You assured so he could get back to the stream as soon as possible, but he still hesitated to return until he leaned in to kiss your cheek. The last of your anxieties escaped with the relieved sigh you let out, “now I’m perfect.”
CLAUDE CLAWMARK
Claude was a man on a mission that started even before he finished singing along to KICK BACK. His aim wasn’t just for his Valo hopcons with Finana; keeping track of your well-being was a much better use for his observation skills, in his humble opinion.
He glanced behind him once while singing and analyzed your demeanor in one second. Furrowed brow, tense shoulders, eyes squeezed closed— bad signs! Claude squinted at you before turning back towards the karaoke screen. Something would have to be done about this.
The song ended and Claude pouted in spite of the room’s excitement because he thought back to before the stream started. “Hey,” Claude pulled you aside as Vanta, Elira, and Vox were setting up the scuffed stream equipment. “It’s really crowded in here. Let me know if you get overwhelmed, ‘kay?”
And you said yes but you didn’t say a word before Claude left your side to go up for karaoke so he was upset. Not upset at you— well, a little, but not seriously —but at himself for not noticing earlier. Maybe at the room for only having one air vent and making the atmosphere uncomfortably stuffy.
There is no room left on the couch for him to join you unless he pushes Ryoma off the couch. So, instead, he stood in front of you and placed his hand on the top of your head. When you looked up at him, Claude moved his fingers to card through your hair and scratch at your scalp. To avoid being heard by the stream, Claude mouthed, “are you okay?”
It was a rhetorical question and despite knowing that you still lied and nodded. Claude scoffed and sat down on the floor against the couch— right between your legs. Claude rested his arm on your leg and turned backwards to look up at you, and you realized your leg stopped bouncing and it was easier to breathe. “Liar,” Claude whispered.
The weight against your legs was comforting, and Claude smiled at you warmly, and things weren’t so bad all of a sudden. You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Claude’s shoulders. “Guilty.”
Song reference/inspiration: Want You Back by 5 Seconds of Summer
Summary: You broke up with Ace a few days before he sets off to become a pirate. You thought that it would probably be the last day you’d ever see him again. But you meet him once again in Alabasta.
Word count: 7k
A/N: This somehow turned out to be too long for my style lol but I just can’t get enough of Ace… Anyway, I hope you have fun reading this as much as I loved writing it. Please let me know your thoughts~
Reposting this because Tumblr $uck$. Please turn a blind eye if you’ve seen this post already last Feb lol
You’re walking down the streets of Nanohana, purchasing water and provisions for your trip when you suddenly stop in your tracks as you see a merchant selling orange roses.
The orange roses don’t intrigue you per se since you’ve long learned that such color could be produced by cross-breeding red roses with yellow roses, however, it’s not often you see such wonderful, healthy flowers in a desert town. That, and well, the sight brought back memories of your past with your first love who you fell in love with too young, too hard, too fast.
Pairings: Shanks x Reader, Portgas D. Ace x Reader
Word count: 2.4k
Summary: You owe Shanks a lot for protecting you, and Ace owes Shanks for bringing him to you.
Shanks promised you long ago not to tell a single soul about your devil fruit power. And while you used to be wary of this little promise (considering he’s a pirate and all), he still hasn’t broken his vow until now.
✧ based on the ask: "Please do one if you haven’t where Jing Yuan is severely down bad for reader and makes it known to everyone and they are just done with him"
✧ content: established relationship, fluff, make-out scene, humor, mentions of other characters
✧ a/n: where did almost 100 of you come- bless this ask for making me write needy jing yuan i love you. not beta-read again anyway buckle up this is another one of unfiltered shame for my love for one mere general with a silly thunder lord that he nicknamed shin-kun in the jp dub because the official title was way too long for this old man.
this was written in a google doc on the phone since I'm on vacation so I apologize if the formatting is messier than the first post 🫡
There's tension in the air.
"... As for Stargazer Navidia, there seems to be another onslaught of mara-struck cloud knights making their way within the area in the next few days. I'll appoint Lieutenant Yanqing to lead a few troops there by the next hour, but be sure to send a messenger cycrane if the situation gets too out of hand or you need to divide the troops up to cover more ground."
You hear a loud "Yes!" as you flip over to the next page, quickly scanning through the documents contents, purposefully ignoring the tension in the air, muttering the details lowly to yourself with a furrowed eyebrow.
It's the sort of tension you wish everyone just ignored, even though it's more difficult than it sounds.
Perhaps being fed up with your avoidance of ignoring the elephant in the room, one of the captains of the Knights loudly cough into the air before meekly addressing you, "Admiral [Name]?"
"Yes?" you look up with a smile, cocking your head to the side. A small gesture to ensure the captain that they have your full attention which makes the knight before you quickly glance to the side and away from you, although that didn't help the pair of eyes boring a hole into the side of his head, "The general…" he starts, coughing once again while glancing back and forth at you and the weapons displayed at the seat of Divine Foresight, "... Would very much like your attention, it seems."
As if on cue, the arms that were wrapped around your waist squeeze a bit tighter than normal. The sudden pressure makes you let out a grunt of surprise while Qingzu lets out another exhausted sigh. Meanwhile you glance down to lock eyes with Jing Yuan, who very much is staring at you with a small pout evident on his lips, "Oh so my darling has finally acknowledged my existence?" he jokes with a grin, meanwhile you merely stare down back at him with a neutral expression before resting your left arm carrying the paperwork on his gray head. The general uses the opportunity to nuzzle his face into your waist, playfully biting into an exposed part of your skin from where his hand had wormed itself underneath your shirt, making you squirm away from him, to which he immediately grabs your back into his hold.
"If you haven't noticed dear, you're practically leeching onto me to the point I can't even stand at my usual side, that is to per say in front of the desk and not literally quite next to you and within your arms." You whisper to him gently. Flicking his forehead before whipping your head around to address the Cloud Knights before your husband can say anything in his defense.
You ignore the looks of disbelief on some of the soldiers' faces.
"I apologize for the awkwardness this position may cause, I can only hope for your understanding being that I've been away from the Luofu for a few months helping Marshal Fua with some matters at her fleet. I've only recently come back." you explain, gesturing Qingzu over to hand over the paperwork to her before waving your hand with a guilty smile, "You're all dismissed, please be safe out there."
"Lady Fu Xuan, how may I be of assis-"
"Are you two arguing or something?" Fu Xuan interrupts before you can even finish your sentence which leaves you staring wide eyed at her with your mouth agape, "Pardon? I'm not quite sure who you're referring to-"
"The general. I'm referring to general Jing Yuan, who else would I be referring to? He sits around the seat of Divine Foresight like a kicked puppy. Which makes it even harder to get any information in OR to him because he's not even mentally present! Can you fix him? Wonderful! Let's make haste to the seat."
You're not even allowed to finish your cup of tea or give an answer before the divination commissioner grabs you by the forearms and drags you out of the teahouse.
"Jing-" you haven't even taken one step into the seat of Divine Foresight before you're surrounded by the familiar scent of your husband. A gentle hand placed by your head while an arm is tightly wound around your waist. You can practically feel the smile of utter glee on Jing Yuan's lips as he buries his face into your hair.
"Darling, I thought you had the day off today?" he mutters into your hair, sounding a bit too happy to have you in his arms again to the point he's ignoring the death glares from Fu Xuan besides you, the divination commissioner just wanting to do her part of keeping the Luofu afloat.
"I was having my day off, before Lady Fu Xuan here dragged me out because someone didn't-" you struggle free to nag at him, but your husband merely smiles softly at you before lifting your chin to give you a quick kiss, "Now that you're here I feel more energized than ever, let me finish the paperwork for today and I'll join you, we can even play a round of starchess." he suggests.
You can practically sense Fu Xuan roll her eyes in disgust, able to hear her mutter about a "lovesick fool" before walking past the two of you, Jing Yuan merely grabbing your hand to lead you towards the seat.
So much for a day off.
You can't breathe.
"Jing-" another press of his lips onto yours as you find yourself pressed on the wall beside the door, "Yanqing-" you manage to breathe out when finally able to pull a tiny bit away from him. Pressing your hand over whatever surface of his face you can reach to try to shove him away, your other hand occupied with bracing itself against the wall.
Your husband ignores your literal hand on his face, somehow having more strength to still slant his lips across your own despite your efforts, the hand he has behind your head pushing you further against him while he shoves a leg between your own to keep you still, "Train-"
There's a rather loud set of knocks on your bedroom door followed by an exasperated sigh coming from behind it, which makes you freeze but Jing Yuan ignores it, sliding his tongue over your teeth while you resign yourself to slam your fist repeatedly on his back to get him to back off.
"General! I know you missed [Name] a lot during the months they were away from the Luofu, but you know that today is supposed to be a training day!" Yanqing shouts from behind the door, and you feel sorry over the realization he's aware of what's happening beyond it.
Feeling sorry enough for Yanqing whose probably already waited 15 minutes before knocking at the door, you muster whatever little strength you have left against your husband's addictive lips to grab his ponytail and yank him off and away from you.
Jing Yuan merely grunts in irritation, looking at you with a glare and swollen lips, but you ignore him. Opening the door before Jing Yuan can grab you again and giving Yanqing an apologetic look, "I tried-"
"It's better than last time, at least." He points out to which you merely sigh before opening the door wider, "I'll give you more pocket money this month, how's that for compensation?" You suggest, shoving your husband out the door before he do anything else, Yanqing smiling in triumph at your generosity.
"You're the best! Give me extra if I manage to land a few hits on the general?"
"5 more than usual and I'll give you an extra thousand." You settle, tapping Jing Yuan on the shoulder. Your husband turns around to face you with a hum, and you lean in to peck him on the cheek, gliding your lips over to his ear, "If you're a bit nicer to him today you'll also get a reward."
Needless to say, there were two very happy boys onboard the Luofu at the end of the day.
in which : you marry the ruthless prince of kremnos, and everyone says you'll never thaw his heart. but you’re nothing if not stubborn. surely all you have to do is win him over right? how hard can that be?
wc 8.7k (it’s worth it trust me), historical au, marriage of convenience, sunshine x grumpy, strangers to lovers, you fell first + he fell harder, fem reader referred to as “princess” / “milady”, ts burns so slow u might rip ur hair out sorry, heavily ib how to get my husband on my side. art by @/kannbergri on x.
there was no love in the arrangement, no romantic vows exchanged beneath moonlit skies, no promises of forever whispered in soft voices. just firm handshakes and signatures inked on parchment.
it was a straightforward agreement: kremnos would protect your people in exchange for a union, and you were sent to marry the crown prince, mydeimos, to solidify the alliance.
you had heard his name long before you ever saw his face. prince mydeimos of kremnos —a name whispered with reverence, with fear, with awe; carrying the weight of countless victories carved into the blood-soaked chaos of battlefields.
but none of those stories prepared you for the reality of him.
the grand hall of kremnos' palace feels colder than you imagined.
marble floors stretch endlessly beneath your feet, polished to a gleaming perfection that seems to reflect the distance between you and the life awaiting you here. the walls, adorned with banners of deep reds and golds, do little to warm the oppressive air.
servants pass by in hushed movements, their heads bowed, their whispers inaudible. the air carries the faint aroma of polished wood and lingering incense, yet there is no warmth to be found —not in the hall, not from the people, and certainly not from the man standing at the far end of the room.
you bow slightly out of instinct, a gesture of respect, though you feel foolish doing so in the context of your marriage.
dressed in the royal garb of kremnos, a deep red cloak embroidered with gold thread draped over his shoulders, his marigold eyes lock onto yours with piercing intensity.
“princess,” he greets you, his words polished to a fault —exactly what you’d expect from a prince.
“your highness,” you reply, matching his formality.
“welcome to kremnos, i trust the journey was not too difficult.”
it’s not a question, you realize. merely a statement to acknowledge your presence. you offer a polite nod, “the journey was smooth, your highness,” you reply, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your chest. “thank you for your hospitality.”
you watch as he takes a glass of reddish liquid from a servant standing nearby, lifting it to his lips with ease, the vibrant color catching your eye.
the rich crimson hue seems too unnatural for something as mundane as wine. your gaze fixes on the glass as he drinks, a chill running down your spine as an unsettling thought creeps in.
is he drinking... blood?
your heart skips, a sudden nervousness, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to meet his eyes.
he catches your stare however, “what is it that you find so fascinating?”
flustered, you lower your head, stammering, "i... beg your pardon, your highness.”
you can feel your pulse quicken, the heat rising in your cheeks as you panic. the weight of his cold gaze is almost unbearable, and you fear you’ve already made a fool of yourself.
for a moment, you dare not look at him, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you.
the prince casually wipes the red liquid from his lips with the back of his hand, as your eyes drift involuntarily toward the glass once more, still questioning its contents.
his eyes flicker to you as they narrow, “still curious?”
you freeze, wrecking your head for a sensible answer lest you further embarrass yourself.
with a sharp sigh, he places the glass down on the tray. “it’s pomegranate juice, nothing more.”
you blink, stunned for a moment, the absurdity of your previous assumption crashing down on you.
“pomegranate juice,” you repeat softly, as if testing the words to see if they make sense.
“yes. is that so difficult to believe?”
that night, you lay on the luxurious bed in your chamber, the events of the evening swirling in your mind. you shake your head, embarrassed by your own overactive imagination.
you turn onto your side, pulling the heavy blankets tighter around you, but sleep evades you.
yes, your husband is a man of few words, fewer emotions, and absolutely no warmth when it comes to you. yet within that frost lies a heart, waiting for the right touch to thaw it.
ACT I: HOW TO DRAW HIS ATTENTION
over the weeks, you've learned many peculiar things about your husband.
you’ve noticed, for instance, that he always rises before dawn, and spends hours in the training grounds perfecting his form —an unyielding warrior at heart. or how he has an unusual preference for adding goat's milk to his pomegranate juice, a combination that strikes you as strange yet somehow fitting for him.
you’ve also discovered that, contrary to expectations, he favors the color pink —an oddly delicate choice for a man so rigid in his demeanor. and while he is undeniably polite, he also remains stern and is not one to easily open up, not even to those closest to him.
all that you've learned, you’ve used in an attempt to earn his favor, though your effort often feels like trying to breach a concrete wall.
(one day, you deliberately rise early, before the sun fully breaks over the horizon, and make your way to the training grounds.
there, you find a concealed spot in the shadows, watching him spar with the guards. you’ve gone, in part, because you want him to know you care, but also because of the impressive display of his skill that subconsciously draws you in.
it’s not long before he notices your presence; his expression remains impassive, but his gaze hardens, narrowing slightly as he observes you making your way to him from across the field.
as you finally reach him, you extend the water in your hand. but just as you take a step closer, your foot catches on an uneven stone. you stumble forward, crashing into him, and spilling the cold water across his chest.
the gasp that escapes you is quickly followed by frantic apologies.
"princess," he says coolly, the water dripping from his toned muscles, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders and down his chest. "...are you always this clumsy, or is today a special occasion?"
ah.
well at least he has jokes..?)
or after noticing how he often stays silent during meals, you decide to change the pace.
(at the dining hall, you ask about his interests, but he only gives brief, impersonal responses; his attention fixed on his plate, quietly indulging in the honey-drenched pancakes. you try to make a lighthearted joke, but he doesn’t even look up, offering only a polite “i see” before the silence drapes over the table again.
so, you finally decide to try a more… direct approach —flattery. surely, no man can resist a little charm, right?
you lean close as you gather all the courage you can muster, batting your eyelashes at him hoping you appear as endearing as you intend.
"i must say, my dear husband, you —uh, you are unmatched in your… strength and wisdom. it’s no wonder my heart can’t help but be drawn to you..?”
well that didn’t exactly sound convincing.
“and… your arms, they’re quite impressive. i mean —wait, that’s not what i meant—”
and that certainly didn’t make it any better!
you brace yourself, expecting a sharp rebuke or, at the very least, some irritation. but instead, he simply nods, offering a brief, detached “thank you” before turning his attention back to his meal.
you immediately avert your gaze, feeling a pang of relief. though it’s strange to think that at any moment, your husband might decide to chop your head off for being so foolish (...if he felt so inclined) he is the crowned prince, after all; and while his politeness is unsettling, it’s still better than his wrath... right?)
either way, it’s clear that your efforts have made not the slightest dent. better luck next time!
today will be different.
failure has never sat well with you, and after last night’s mortifying attempt at charming your husband, you refuse to let things end on such a dismal note. if words fail, then perhaps actions will speak louder.
so, with a woven basket tucked under your arm, you wander through the palace gardens first, where roses and marigolds flourish in a riot of color, their petals unfurling like delicate silk under the afternoon sun. honeysuckle vines twist gracefully around the trellises, their sweet fragrance lingering in the warm afternoon air.
you kneel amidst the blooms, fingers brushing over soft petals, feeling the gentle give of each flower beneath your touch. carefully, you pluck a few of each, tucking them gently into your basket, mindful of their fragile stems. you arrange them just so, already picturing the bouquet coming together in your hands.
but as you wander further, you find yourself drawn toward the edge of the estate. past the hedgerows and beyond the garden’s stone pathway, you notice something that catches your eye, a cluster of wildflowers —soft pinks and gentle whites.
perfect! these will be the finishing touch to complete your bouquet for mydeimos.
pleased with yourself, you smile and make your way toward the water’s edge. leaning forward, you stretch out to pluck one, your body lowering toward the ground, shifting your weight slightly, when—
a sudden force slams into your back.
the breath is knocked clean from your lungs. there's no time to react as the world tilts violently, and before you can even scream, the cold shock of water swallows you whole.
it’s deeper than you thought.
icy water rushes into your nose and mouth, sending a searing burn down your throat. panic grips you as the world above fractures into shimmering light, distorted by the rippling surface. you try to push yourself up, but alas, the weight of your dress still drags you down.
as you thrash around uselessly, your limbs start growing heavier. the surface above you slips further away; and the last thing you register is the sensation of strong arms wrapping around you —with a final strained breath, your vision dims to nothingness.
the next thing you feel is warmth.
your head rests against something solid, a steady rise and fall beneath your cheek .a firm hold keeps you close, one braced securely around your back, the other hooked beneath your knees.
you blink sluggishly, your lashes heavy with water. that’s when you realise, you’re in the arms of your husband.
his hair clings to his forehead, damp strands framing the sharp angles of his face. droplets trace slow paths down his jawline, soaking into the dark fabric of his tunic —leaving nothing to the imagination.
for a moment, disoriented and breathless, you can only blink up at him.
did he jump in after you..?
“why did you wander off alone?” he chastises, snapping you back to reality.
your throat feels tight, your heart hammering in your chest. "i-i just wanted to do something for you!" the confession spills from your lips, desperate, your fingers clinging instinctively to the soaked fabric of his sleeve.
it’s foolish, maybe, but you’re still reeling —from the near drowning, from the fact that mydeimos saved you.
he exhales sharply, exasperation heavy in his breath. "why are you like this…" his grip tightens on you, but there’s a tension in his voice as if he’s swallowing something he can’t quite put into words. “didn’t i say there’s no need to attract attention this way?"
the accusation stings, your brows knit together as you shake your head, droplets of water slipping down your temples. "i just… thought you’d like some flowers."
his fingers, still curled beneath your back, twitch slightly, his hold unconsciously steadying you.
“you don’t need to do anything reckless just to get my attention," he murmurs at last, his voice softer now, no longer edged with frustration. then, almost hesitantly, he adds, "...if you want something, just come to me."
mydeimos shifts, adjusting his hold on you before finally rising to his feet. the movement is effortless, but even so, a sharp chill runs through you as the air bites at your damp skin. before you can fully steady yourself, he places you down, his hands lingering for a second longer than necessary before withdrawing.
your dress clings uncomfortably to you, heavy with water, and when you glance down, you spot the basket lying a short distance away, half-tilted on the grass. the flowers you so carefully picked are scattered around it, petals crumpled, stems bent.
a pit forms in your stomach. all that effort, and now—
a shadow moves beside you. mydeimos steps forward, the hem of his cloak grazing against the fallen blooms. he considers them for a moment, then looks back at you.
“well?” his voice is steady, and you can’t quite grasp the intention behind it. “you went through all that trouble to gather the flowers… aren’t you going to give them to me?”
sure they're not nearly as perfect as they were when you first picked them. still, you kneel, fingers brushing over the damp grass as you carefully pick up the least damaged flowers, smoothing out the crumpled petals as best you can.
“…here.” slowly, hesitantly, you extend the bouquet towards him.
his fingers brush against yours as he accepts the flowers. “sorry they’re ruined,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.
he shakes his head, unbothered. “they’re mine now, so i’ll take care of them.”
there’s no mockery in his expression, no disdain for your failed efforts. if anything, there’s something almost unreadable in the way he looks at you, something that makes your heart lurch against your ribs.
he spares you one last glance, then turns. “come. you need to get changed before you fall ill.”
and just like that, your husband walks ahead, idly twirling one of the flowers between his fingers. hardened steel and soft petals, strength and fragility; it doesn't look out of place.
somehow, it fits him too well.
ACT II: HOW TO CARE FOR A WARRIOR
once a year, the empire erupts into feverish anticipation for the annual gladiatorial tournament. a traditional competition of strength, bloodshed, and sheer willpower.
held in the heart of the capital, within the city of kremnos; warriors from across the kingdom —such as knights from noble houses, seasoned mercenaries, and ambitious upstarts, all gather within the grand coliseum, each vying for glory, honor, or a place in history.
and three weeks from now, the coliseum will roar with life, filled to the brim with nobles and commoners alike, all eager to witness the blood and glory that’ll unfold within the arena.
the tournament may be weeks away, but mydeimos knows better than to grow complacent.
within the castle training grounds, the clash of steel echoes through the air, each strike reverberating like a war drum. two figures move in relentless rhythm, locked in a sparring match that is as much a dance as it is a battle.
mydeimos meets his opponent’s strike head-on; phainon, captain of the royal knights, his equal in skill if not in strength, matches him blow for blow. the force of the impact ripples through his arm, but he does not waver. instead, he swiftly pivots, forcing mydeimos onto the defensive.
the crown prince presses forward, his sword carving ruthless arcs through the air, a feint —then a sudden, brutal swing aimed at his opponent’s side.
phainon barely manages to parry, their blades grinding against each other in a fierce deadlock. exhaling sharply through his nose, he holds firm against the pressure. “mydei,” phainon mutters, breathless. “don't hold back."
mydei’s gaze remains unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something —amusement, perhaps, before he abruptly shifts his weight. with a sharp twist, he breaks the deadlock.
“HKS,” he counters, shoving forward with enough strength to force phainon back a step. “getting tired?”
phainon lets out a short laugh, adjusting his stance. “not in the slightest.” he disengages, spinning his blade in a quick counterstrike.
alas, the fight reaches no clear victor, ending in yet another stalemate.
exhaling, phainon lowers his blade. “not bad.”
but before mydei can respond; a slow, warm trickle down his arm draws his attention. his gaze flickers downward —a thin slash mars his bicep, blood welling along the cut.
the knight’s expression shifts, eyes catching on the wound. “heh looks like i take the win this time,” he gloats, though there’s a slightest hint of concern in his tone.
“...though i do apologise, your highness,” phainon says, eyeing the wound with a tilt of his head.
mydei rolls his shoulder, testing the ache, then huffs. “nothing to be sorry for.” his lips curl slightly, eyes flicking back to phainon.
“but don’t think this means i’m letting you off easy. we’ll settle it properly next time.”
“oh? and here i thought you’d take the loss with dignity for once,” phainon snorts, sheathing his blade in one smooth motion. “but i suppose i wouldn’t want you growing too accustomed to losing.”
“you land one lucky hit and suddenly you’re talking like you’ve dethroned me.” mydei scoffs, already turning toward the weapons rack. phainon watches him go, shaking his head to himself before following suit.
mydei doesn’t know why you’re worrying so much.
the cut is insignificant, to him at least. within hours, it’ll be gone —his body already stitching itself back together. he doesn’t need tending to, least of all by you.
and yet, here you are.
as you sit beside him, your hands deftly press a cloth soaked in cool water to his wound, cleaning away the dried blood with careful strokes. for some reason, seeing you like this —fussing over him with a tenderness he’s never quite experienced before —renders him quiet.
“…you’re frowning,” he murmurs.
“because you’re hurt,” you say as a matter of factly, setting the cloth aside before reaching for a bandage. your fingers are gentle as they smooth it over his skin, lightly tracing the curves of his biceps.
he watches the way your lips press together, tying the final knot with a delicate tug, patting the fabric down as if to reassure yourself that it will hold.
something tugs at the edge of his mind.
you’ve pretended to love him ever since you stepped foot in kremnos; he thought he knew every expression you wore, every feigned tenderness. but this —this time, it’s different. there’s no audience here, no need for the carefully crafted role of the adoring wife.
so why do you still look at him like that?
his breath stills. he doesn’t know what to make of this.
“…please be more careful next time.” mydei glances at his arm, the ache is already fading.
you don’t know how pointless all of this is. by morning, there won’t even be a scar.
you exhale softly, your brows still furrowed in concern. then, as if unable to help yourself, your fingertips ghost over the bandage, smoothing it down with a tenderness that makes his chest tighten.
“does it still hurt?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
he should say no. he should tell you it’s nothing.
but when he looks at you —sees the way your eyes linger on him, so earnestly unguarded. he falters.
“…not much,” he admits instead. “you act as if i’m on death’s door.”
“and you act as if you’re invincible,” you retort softly.
he freezes.
he almost laughs at the irony of it —because in some ways, you aren’t wrong. his body will always mend itself, his wounds never lasting long enough to be of real consequence.
but his darling wife doesn’t know that.
and perhaps that’s why he lets you worry, lets you dote on him with such sweet, unknowing devotion. because, against all logic —against everything he’s told himself, he finds that he likes it.
your touch finally retreats, hands settling in your lap. “i’ll leave you to rest, your highness.”
you rise from your seat, and as you turn to leave, mydei catches himself watching the space where your hands had been, the phantom warmth still resting against his skin.
for a wound that’s already gone, he finds it strange —how reluctant he is to let it fade.
ACT III: HOW TO AVOID MISUNDERSTANDINGS
"sir phainon, thank you for showing me around the city," you say, offering the man beside you a faint smile as you step around a corner.
the knight dips his head, “of course, milady. the pleasure’s all mine."
you’re glad phainon took time off to accompany you —wandering the city alone would’ve definitely left you lost and stewing in your own thoughts.
phainon glances at you, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "but i’m surprised his highness let you wander the city with another man," he muses.
you let out a small laugh, running your fingers along the petals of a flower display as you pass by. "well, i don’t think he cares."
phainon’s steps slow, his brow lifting ever so slightly, as if he isn’t sure whether he misheard you or if you’re simply playing coy. "you don’t think he—" he exhales a sharp chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "hah. now that’s funny."
you shoot a puzzled look at him,"what is?"
to phainon, who’s seen the way mydei looks at you, heard the way he speaks of you; your words make no sense at all.
—but he holds his tongue. "nothing, milady. let’s keep walking before i say something i shouldn’t."
the warmth of the moment sours when you round a corner near the market square. there, just past a cluster of gossiping nobles, mydei stands stiffly, arms crossed as he listens to a young woman speak.
you recognize her —a lady-in-waiting that serves in the palace.
“…always playing the victim,” she sneers, voice pitched just loud enough to draw attention. “everyone pities her, but really, she’s just an outsider to kremnos—”
your steps falter, confusion flickering across your face. is that lady… talking about you?
“she was never worthy of standing by his highness’s side!” the lady continues with simpering disdain.
beside you, your companion stiffens, his fingers subtly curling at his sides. he’s noticed, too.
but before you can fully process the words, she lets out a haughty laugh. “she tripped herself that day. i only gave her a little push and—”
“what?” mydei’s voice cuts through the air, his eyes narrowing.
the lady startles, whipping around to face him, but quickly smooths her expression into one of feigned innocence. “y-your highness…” she lowers her head just slightly. “i only meant that a mere nudge shouldn’t have been enough to send her stumbling so helplessly.”
she offers a small, demure smile. “unless, of course, one lacks the grace befitting a princess.”
“it was unfortunate that your highness was troubled because of—”
her words trail off as her gaze flicks to the side, right where you stand.
and in that fleeting moment, mydei follows her line of sight.
your breath catches. you hadn’t meant to be seen.
a small, almost imperceptible smirk forms on her lips; just as mydei glances to your side, his attention diverted for a split second; she falls toward him, her body angling toward him in a way that all but demands he steady her.
you feel a jolt of realization —her intentions are clear as day towards you.
mydei’s eyes barely flicker as she topples toward him, but his hand moves —not to steady her, as she so clearly intended, but to seize her wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.
with a sharp tug, he wrenches her upright, the motion not even close to an act of chivalry.
a startled gasp slips past her lips, her wide eyes darting up, stunned by the strength of his hold. the gathered onlookers murmur amongst themselves as the prince fixes her with a cold, unreadable stare.
“tell me. are you purposely trying to cause a misunderstanding between me and my wife?”
the lady blanches, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. “y-your highness, i would never—”
“spare me the excuses.” his fingers uncoil, and she stumbles back, barely catching herself. she cradles her wrist as though burned, whether from pain or humiliation, it’s hard to tell.
“guards.” mydeimos doesn’t raise his voice, but the command rings clear. two armored figures stationed nearby immediately step forward, “take her away.”
“y-your highness, i only—”
mydeimos doesn’t even spare her a glance as he delivers the lady’s fate. “for daring to put her hands on the princess, she is to be punished accordingly. let this serve as a reminder, such conduct has no place in my court.”
the color drains from her face as the guards seize her by the arms, her protests falling on deaf ears. the onlookers part to make way, some exchanging knowing glances, others whispering amongst themselves.
then mydeimos’ gaze softens —only slightly, in your direction.
phainon leans in, “and yet, milady insists that his highness does not care?”
but you don’t respond, heart fluttering traitorously in your chest as mydeimos turns on his heel and strides toward you.
with a small tilt of his head, he nods to phainon before finally speaking.
“she was desperate,” he remarks, voice edged with dry amusement. “did you see how she threw herself at me? pitiful.”
he studies you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “...you weren’t fooled, were you?”
you blink, caught off guard by his question. “of course not, your highness.”
ah. was he worried you’d misunderstand?
his lips part slightly, but no words come, instead he just exhales softly, as if to himself. “good.”
phainon, ever perceptive, arches a brow but says nothing of it. instead, he steps back with a knowing tilt of his head. “well then, i shall take my leave. duty calls, after all, milady, your highness.” with that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, leaving just the two of you.
mydei’s eyes linger on you —searching, almost reluctant, before he finally tears his gaze away. “we should go.”
he starts walking, and you follow, the quiet rhythm between you shifting in a way that's hard to place. it’s subtle, so subtle that if you weren’t paying enough attention, you might’ve missed it.
the way his steps fall in sync with yours, slowing his usually large strides ever so slightly, as if unconsciously matching your pace. the way his hand hovers near yours, close enough that if you swayed even slightly, your fingers might brush.
it doesn’t feel intentional, and yet, it doesn’t feel like an accident either.
the marketplace hums around you both; vendors calling out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and spices curling through the air. but your mind is elsewhere, lingering on the man beside you, on the things left unsaid.
at some point, curiosity gets the better of you. “your highne—”
“mydei.”
…would it be foolish of you to think of it as a plea? that, beneath the indifference he wears so well, he cares how his name sounds when spoken by you?
(because with you, he doesn't need to be the prince of kremnos, nor the valiant warrior they call mydeimos. he’s just your husband, mydei.)
you glance up at him, but his gaze stays ahead. he doesn’t offer an explanation; your thoughts linger on that single word, and maybe that’s why, after a moment’s hesitation, you decide to give it a try.
“mydei… what were you doing in the market today?”
he doesn’t answer right away. a terribly fond smile tugging at his lips.
he looks good like this, you think.
with a glance to the side, he replies, “nothing of importance.”
a half-truth, at best.
your thoughts drift back to the last time you were here —the flowers you had given him, bright and delicate in his hands. an odd sight, perhaps, yet somehow, they suited him.
a ridiculous thought takes root before you can stop it.
could he have been looking for ways to take care of them? …surely not.
but any doubt vanishes the moment a florist calls out to him. “your highness! you’ve returned! here, this is the care guide you requested, along with the special fertilizer. it should help the flowers bloom beautifully.”
mydei takes the offered items with a nod, thanking the florist who beams, clearly pleased to be of service.
"you must truly cherish them, your highness," they remark. "not many would go through such trouble for a simple bouquet."
mydei only hums in response, tucking the items away as he turns back to you. for a moment, it almost seems like he might explain himself, but instead, he merely lifts a brow, as if daring you to say something about it.
warmth unfurls at the edges of your chest, spreading slowly, irresistibly.
you press your lips together, fighting the smile threatening to surface. "so," you muse lightly, "you’ve been taking good care of my flowers?”
mydei exhales, the ghost of an amused smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "it would be a shame if they wilted so soon,” he says. then, as he starts walking again, a quiet afterthought —so soft you almost miss it.
"especially when they were a gift from you."
and this time, when his hand hovers close to yours, you don’t resist the urge to let your fingers brush.
ACT IV: HOW TO TAME HIS JEALOUS HEART
it’s late —past the hour most would retire, yet the training grounds remains lit by torches that flicker against the cool stone walls, their flames casting long, dancing shadows. mydeimos leans back against the walls, arms loosely folded across his chest as his gaze follows phainon sharpening his blade a few paces away —though, truthfully, his thoughts are elsewhere.
it’s phainon who breaks the silence first.
“you know,” he starts, glancing up without looking directly at the prince, “you’re awfully quiet these days, your highness.”
he wipes his sword down lazily, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "...say, mydei."
mydei doesn’t look up, but his posture shifts, "what?"
phainon lets the silence drag for a moment, almost like he’s weighing his next words.
“do you have genuine feelings for [name]?"
the words land like a blow in the silence between them; he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer.
“because if you don’t, i was thinking maybe i’d give courting her a try.”
ah. that does it.
mydei’s eyes flick to him, and if looks could kill, phainon would be six feet under —and the former wouldn’t even spare the effort to toss dirt over his grave.
phainon laughs quietly under his breath at his comrade’s reaction, not bothering to hide the tilt of his mouth.
“don’t cross the line.” the words fall from mydei’s lips, low and clipped like a warning.
phainon laughs —the kind of laugh shared only between men who’ve known each other long enough to grow used to the other’s sharp edges.
“relax,” he drawls, sheathing his blade with a lazy flick. “i was just joking, you can stop glaring at me now.”
“i’m not mad i—”
“you’re not mad because you think i meant it,” he cuts in. “you’re angry because you know i’m right. you’ve been walking around pretending like she doesn’t mean a thing to you, bottling up every damn thing you feel for her. if it were anyone else, they’d have given up by now.”
mydei looks away. “she’s not anyone else,” he mutters.
phainon smiles. “then tell her.”
mydei stays uncharacteristically silent as phainon steps past with a clap on his shoulder. “you're lucky she’s patient.”
the sour look on your husband’s face whenever phainon’s name comes up is a recent development.
you first noticed it in passing: an almost imperceptible downturn of his lips, a restrained (but still noticeable) eyeroll or the press of his lips into a tight line. at first, you thought nothing of it. but lately… it’s been happening a lot.
right now, you’re seated in the castle’s sunlit tea room with someone you can now call a friend —phainon. the scent of fresh brews curls in the air, warm and comforting, but it does little to soothe the frustration tightening in your chest.
phainon leans back in his seat as you lay your troubles before him. surely, as one of mydei’s closest friends, he could offer some worthwhile advice on how to win the latter’s heart.
because at this rate, if you don’t manage to win him over before your contract runs its course, you wouldn’t be surprised to wake up with his sword cold against the nape of your neck.
“so… what do you think?” you ask, poking at a pastry with your fork.
phainon hums, tilting his head in thought. “he’s a reserved man —you’ve probably figured that out by now. give him some time, he’s the type to take forever to realize what’s right in front of him.”
he shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “though, i do hope milady won’t give up on him just yet.”
you nod, committing his words to memory, but then he suddenly straightens, that familiar glint of mischief lighting his gaze.
“actually,” he muses, glancing down at his hands, now dusted with crumbs and icing, “my hands are a bit of a mess from this cake. mind doing me a favor?”
he lifts his sugar-coated fingers in emphasis.
you eye him suspiciously. “...what kind of favor?”
phainon tilts his head, his smile just sly enough to make you wary. “feed me.”
narrowing your eyes, you scoff at his request, “look, buster—”
“just this once,” he interrupts, grinning. “think of it as repaying me for my advice.”
there’s something almost too innocent about the way he leans in, like he’s well aware of what he’s doing… or rather, what exactly might happen if a certain someone were to walk in.
still, with an exaggerated sigh, you pick up a piece of pastry and lift it towards him—
only for a firm grip to catch your wrist before you can.
just your luck.
mydei smoothly takes the sweet straight from your fingers, his lips brushing against your fingertips in the process; his gaze locked onto yours as he takes a bite.
and before you can pull away —the barest hint of his tongue swipes against the sugar-dusted tips of your fingers, licking away the faint trace of sweetness left behind.
did he just—?
heat rushes to your face. your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.
phainon whistles lowly. “oh yeah i forgot to mention,” he says, far too amused.
“the prince has a sweet tooth.”
for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft clink of porcelain as phainon sets down his teacup, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement.
all you can do is stare —frozen, pulse skittering in your throat.
mydei, on the other hand, is utterly unbothered. if anything, he looks as composed as ever, chewing leisurely, as if he didn’t just—
your fingers twitch in his grasp. finally, he releases your wrist, his touch lingering just a second too long before he pulls away.
you snatch your hand back like you’ve been burned, curling your fingers against your palm as if that will erase the phantom heat of his lips, the fleeting press of his tongue.
phainon wonders if he’s about to be thrown out of the castle with the way you and mydei glare at him (for different reasons, respectively)... but judging by his smirk, he finds the risk well worth it.
the annual gladiatorial tournament is only days away, and kremnos is already stirring with anticipation. you’ve heard the chatter in the halls, the wagers placed on champions, the hushed whispers of which warriors will rise and which will fall.
seated on a bench near the training grounds, you let the rhythmic clash of weapons fade into background noise, your focus trained instead on the fabric in your hands. a delicate handkerchief, its edges carefully stitched, the embroidery thread gliding through with each careful motion of your needle.
you had learned from a few noble ladies: it’s tradition for warriors to receive tokens of fortune from their beloveds —most commonly, a handkerchief embroidered with care to carry into battle as a reminder that someone’s waiting for them to return.
before you, the clash of steel rings out as two men spar. you glance up just in time to see phainon nimbly dodge a particularly heavy swing, a grin tugging at his lips. “feeling a little aggressive today, aren’t we?”
mydei doesn’t respond. he simply readjusts his grip on his sword, his expression unreadable.
(if you had to put money on why mydei was more aggressive than usual, you’d wager it had something to do with that stunt phainon pulled a few days ago that had left the former in such a foul mood.)
you return to your stitching, pretending not to notice the way your husband’s eyes flicker toward you between exchanges. unknowingly, a small smile tugs at your lips as you press the needle through the cloth once more.
rumors had circulated for years that prince mydeimos had never once accepted a handkerchief from anyone. not from the ladies who fawned over him at court, not from the admirers who sighed at the sight of his swordsmanship, not even from those with the highest of pedigrees.
it was said that no handkerchief had ever found its way into his hands, let alone remained in his possession. you weren’t sure why; perhaps he found them frivolous, or maybe he had no interest in sentimental keepsakes when he relied on skill alone to survive.
…which didn’t exactly bode well for the one currently in your hands.
so as you carefully stitch your embroidery, you don’t hold out much hope that he’ll accept yours either.
still, it wouldn’t do for the beloved wife of mydeimos to be the only one who hadn’t even offered her husband a handkerchief. whether he accepted it or not was secondary —your duty was to at least play the part expected of you.
as the sparring match winds down, mydei steps off to the side, catching his breath. you discreetly watch as him roll his shoulders, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.
you glance back down at your embroidery, but before you can add another stitch, phainon strides up to you, shaking out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “ow… you saw that, right?” he whines, flopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. “he’s being so rough with me today!”
you arch a brow, biting back a laugh as he leans against the edge of the bench. “poor thing,” you say, amused. “what did you do to deserve it?”
phainon grins. “absolutely nothing, milady.”
you shake your head, obviously unconvinced —but then, just like that, his playful pout melts into a coprophagous grin that spells nothing but trouble.
oh no.
“if he wants to be mean,” he muses, tilting his head, “then maybe i should give him a reason for it.”
you frown. “phainon—”
he says, far too casually, “i think i’ve got an idea.”
he leans in slightly, a wolfish grin on his face. “just play along, alright?”
“huh?”
"here, let me show you something." before you can react, phainon takes your hand, pulling you up from your seat with ease. a moment later, a wooden practice sword is tossed into your grasp.
you barely have time to protest before he’s already behind you, his hands resting lightly over yours as he adjusts your grip.
"see?" his voice is low, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath near your ear. "you hold it like this, and—"
“that’s enough.”
both you and phainon turn to see mydei standing a few feet away. he doesn’t look outwardly furious, but there’s the tension in his shoulders says enough.
phainon merely raises an eyebrow. “oh? something wrong, your highness?”
the air thickens and you can practically feel the sparks flying. sensing the storm that’s about to break, you quickly slip out of phainon’s grasp and rush toward mydei, practically throwing yourself into his arms.
“mydei!” you call, mustering the sweetest voice you can manage, hoping to calm him down (before phainon gets his ass kicked again). “y-you must be exhausted after all that training today… why don’t we head back and get some rest?”
a warm hand brushes against your temple, fingers gently threading through your hair as they tuck it behind your ear.
even though you were the one who threw yourself at mydei, you find yourself frozen, heart hammering at the unexpected tenderness in his touch.
his gaze is so unbearably soft.
after a moment, mydei exhales and nods before leading you away.
you steal a glance back at phainon—who only winks and flashes you a thumbs-up.
(mydei lets out a quiet sigh of relief, watching as you do everything in your power to avoid meeting his eyes. if he had stayed any longer and if phainon had caught sight of the faint flush dusting his cheeks —he’d never hear the end of it.)
ACT V: HOW TO EARN HIS DEVOTION
the sun hangs high above kremnos, casting a golden blaze over the arena as the city wakes to the sound of distant drums and the clang of steel. colorful banners bearing the insignias of noble houses flutter from towering spires, while anticipation clings thick to the air.
all of kremnos knows what day it is. the long-awaited gladiatorial tournament has finally arrived.
from the highest nobles draped in silk to the lowest commoners pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the stands, all eyes are drawn to the bloodstained sand at the heart of the arena.
the rules are simple, brutal, unforgiving: fight until your opponent yields, or until they can no longer stand. and of course, there's no word for “mercy” in the kremnoan language… as mydei would say it.
the air in the holding chambers, hidden beneath the grand coliseum, is heavy with the scent of iron and sweat. you step inside with your small offering in hand: the handkerchief you embroidered, each stitch woven with thoughts of him.
and today, you see you’re not alone. the corridor is packed with people, mostly noblewomen, some nervous sweethearts, all fluttering around their chosen champions, many bearing the same tradition in their palms.
you catch sight of more than a few stretching their handkerchiefs out to mydei, vying for even a small glance. a small crowd trails him like petals in a storm, calling his name with saccharine lilts, each desperate to be noticed.
with the way he’s being swarmed, you resign yourself with a small sigh, clutching your own handkerchief, fingers curling gently around the cloth you spent the last few evenings stitching.
nevermind. maybe you’ll give it to phainon instead. he always appreciates the gesture, and at the very least, you’d get a smile out of him.
so your eyes scan the crowd instead, searching for—
only to freeze when you look up and see someone else already standing in front of you.
without a word, your husband takes the handkerchief from your hand, presses it to his brow, and dabs away the sweat collecting at his temple; then folds it neatly and tucks it into his belt where everyone can see.
you blink, momentarily startled.
warmth spills into your chest, it’s strange. he never accepts handkerchiefs from anyone. not a single soul has ever earned that privilege. but today, in front of all these people, he’s taken yours without a second thought.
it’s a light gesture, but it says enough coming from the kremnoan prince.
and if he’s going to make such a bold move, you might as well tease him a little.
you tilt your head, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. “that’s sir phainon’s, you know.”
he stills for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before he furrows his brows in an almost adorable pout.
“then he’ll just have to go without,” he mutters.
you’ve never seen him look quite like this before —caught off guard and... flustered?
“... and i wanted one today.”
“well, since you’ve gone through all that trouble,” you say with a grin, “i suppose i’ll let you keep it.”
as you study him, a thought crosses your mind. you raise an eyebrow, “are you nervous about the tournament?”
his eyes flick to yours, “there is no word for ‘fear’ in the kremnoan language,” he replies, his voice low and confident.
it’s the kind of thing only mydeimos would say. and yet, something about the resolve in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.
you manage a soft smile. “then bring back the victor’s crown for me, will you?”
honestly it's more of a vow than a request, you’d be content just seeing him return in one piece. but he takes it seriously anyway.
“if it’s for you,”
his expression softens for just a moment, and without missing a beat, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“i’d do anything.”
ACT VI: HOW TO BE VICTORIOUS
from your seat among the nobles, your gaze searches for him. the threads of your dress pinched between trembling fingers, creased from how often you’ve clutched it.
ever since you’ve come to kremnos, you’ve grown used to the sound of battle, but today every strike echoes a little louder in your ears.
your heart clenches every time mydei stumbles or blood splashes across the sand. even knowing how strong he is, how capable, there’s a twist of worry that doesn’t loosen its grip.
the kind you only feel when the person you care about is the one walking straight into danger.
you’d heard stories of what the tournament demands, but seeing it for yourself… it’s surreal.
the crowd cheers for violence.
warriors enter the arena one by one, facing off not only against each other, but against beasts dragged from the darkest corners of the empire —corrupted titankins, two-headed hounds, massive golems wreathed in flame; just to name a few.
and each time, the gates crash open with a deafening clang, releasing something more vicious than the last. still, he doesn’t falter. when a snarling beast lunges for his throat, he drives his sword deep into its ribs without a second thought.
the nobles cheer and holler around you, drunk on spectacle. but your eyes don’t leave him, not for a moment.
because while the crowd may be here for blood, all you want…
is to be the first thing mydei sees when it’s over.
the last of the other competitors lie in heaps of blood and sand, either devoured by the beasts or incapacitated by the prince. there’s no one left to challenge him except the creature before him.
the towering beast staggers toward him; your pulse spikes, hands gripping the edge of your seat as you hold your breath. every step it takes sends tremors through the arena floor, snarls echoing off stone as it bears down on him with a murderous roar.
the beast lunges, jaws snapping wide, but mydei meets it with unyielding resolve. his sword arcs through the air, a flash of silver against the blood-soaked dusk. the beast jerks, a guttural screech tearing from its throat as it rears back.
for a heartbeat, you can't tell who’s fallen.
then, through the settling haze, you see mydei standing, blood splattered across his armor, chest heaving with exertion. the beast lets out a final screech —and then crumples to the sand in a thunderous collapse.
for a heartbeat, there’s silence. and then the crowd erupts into a deafening cheer.
“mydei!” you cry out, your heart racing as you push through the sea of people to get closer.
he lifts his gaze, and it’s you he finds.
the victor’s crown, gleaming beneath the sun, is placed into his hands. and he raises it high above his head for all to see.
a roar erupts from the coliseum, the crowd surging to its feet as the name mydeimos echoes from every corner, chanted with unrelenting fervor.
and without hesitation, he strides toward you, his face softening as he approaches.
in a flash, he wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. he spins you in a wide, sweeping circle before drawing you close. his eyes locking with yours, a triumphant grin playing on his lips.
with a tenderness that belies his warrior's demeanor, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
"yours," mydei whispers. he lifts the victor’s crown in both hands, and with all the devotion of a man offering his heart, places it gently atop your head.
you reach up to his bloodied face, your hand trembling slightly as the warmth of his skin seeps into your fingers. your palm comes to rest against his cheek.
“you came back to me,” you murmur.
he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment —like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it.
“i always will.”
you rise onto your toes, closing the distance between you.
at the end of the day, all mydei seeks is not victory or glory, but the soft sound of his name on the lips of his beloved, wrapped in an embrace that makes him forget the harshness of the battlefield.
EPILOGUE: HOW TO WIN HIM OVER
the question that once haunted your thoughts —how could i ever win his heart? —feels like a distant memory now, an answer long since found.
mydei looks at you with a softness in his eyes that you’ve come to know as a rare gift. his hand, calloused from battles fought and won, reaches for yours, his fingers brushing against yours before entwining it.
“by the way, i’m actually… immortal. my injuries heal up after a while.”
you blink at him in confusion, and he chuckles softly, the sound warm and fond.
“wait, then that time when you—” you pause, recalling the night you carefully wrapped up his injury.
he grins, a small, playful glint in his eyes. ”i just like the way you worry over me.”
the admission leaves a flutter in your chest as his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand.
you huff, pretending to be upset, though your heart races at the softness in his words. “you mean to say all that time i was worried sick over you for nothing?”
he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “it wasn’t for no reason,” he says, clearly trying not to smile. “i liked it. still do.”
you narrow your eyes, lips tugging into a pout. “well, you could’ve told me sooner! now i feel ridiculous.”
with a soft chuckle, mydei’s fingers brush through your hair in a gentle, almost apologetic gesture. he ruffles it lightly, his touch surprisingly tender. “you’re adorable when you’re upset,” he murmurs, his voice holding a sweetness that makes your heart skip a beat.
you can’t help but soften, the playful anger fading as his hand lingers for a moment longer. he pulls you a little closer, his forehead gently resting against yours. “don’t be mad. i’ll let you fuss over me for as long as you want, as long as you’re by my side.”
“you better mean that! i’m holding you to it.”
he hums, the sound low and content as he presses a kiss to your temple. “i do,” he whispers. “if there’s one thing i’ll always be sure of, it’s you.”
you think back to every hesitation, every guarded glance, the walls he built high around his heart. and now, that same heart rests in your hands.
“looks like i managed to win you over after all,” you tease softly.
the way he looks at you says more than words ever could —as if you’re the only war he’s ever been glad to lose.
his fingers stay curled around yours; his heart laid bare with the quiet, breathtaking certainty that he is yours, as much as you are his.
"i love you, [name]."
and if this is victory, it’s the sweetest one yet.
thank you for reading!! reblogs are appreciated <3
hiiii!!! i hope you're having a good day 💖 i love your writing sm!! if your requests are open can i ask for a law x reader where reader used to date ace and was there when he died in marineford so she saw Law save luffy, so she joins the heart pirates as a way to thank him for saving Ace little brother. They slowly fall in love but won't admit it and when Law leaves to fight Doffy reader admits her feelings bc she's terrified of losing Law. They get together when they see each other again in zou
please please but it's okay if you can't or don't want to!!! 💖
Tides of Fate
law × reader (+ ace x reader)
a/n: this request was totally my kind of fav plots lmao thank you
words count: 5.9k
tags: slow burn, angst with a happy ending, marineford aftermath, emotional baggage
masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi
Luffy sits on the shore, his face blank. Too blank. The kind of emptiness that only comes after losing everything.
You know that feeling. It’s the same one you're feeling right now, that it's hard to breathe.
Tearing your gaze away, you turn toward the submarine where Law stands with his arms crossed, waiting. If you’re going to do this, you need to do it now.
Taking a deep breath, you step toward Luffy “Luffy.”
He doesn’t look up.
“I’m leaving.”
His fingers tighten around the bracelet, knuckles white “With them?” His voice is hoarse, raw.
You swallow hard “Yeah.”
Finally, he lifts his head, eyes bloodshot but focused on you “Why?”
You hesitate, because the real answer feels too heavy to say out loud. Because if I stay, I’ll break apart. Because the ache in your chest is unbearable, and you don’t know how to exist in this world without Ace in it.
Instead, you say, “I don’t have anywhere else to go... No one to go to.”
Luffy flinches, but you know he understands. He’s feeling it too.
His jaw tightens “You… you have me. You don’t have to go.”
You kneel in front of him, forcing a small smile “You have your crew, Luffy. They’re coming back to you. But me…” Your voice wavers, and you hate it “I need time.”
Luffy stares at you for a long moment before exhaling shakily “Ace really loved you, y’know.”
Your breath catches.
Luffy grips his hat and presses it to his forehead “So that means you’re like my sister-in-law,” he mumbles, voice thick with emotion “And I protect my family.”
Your vision blurs. You clench your fists to stop your hands from shaking.
“Luffy…”
He looks at you, his expression serious in a way you rarely see “You’re always gonna be my family. Don't forget it. You can come to me whenever you want and need to.”
The words nearly break you.
You force yourself to smile, even if it wobbles “Then you better take care of yourself, little brother.”
His lip trembles, but he nods “You too.”
You take a deep breath, memorizing the sight of him, before finally standing.
Law is waiting, watching silently as you step aboard. You don’t look back.
“That was dramatic” he mutters once you’re beside him.
You huff a weak laugh, hiding your tears “Shut up.”
He doesn’t push you for more, just nods toward the submarine’s entrance “Come on, Y/N-ya. We’re leaving.”
And with that, the Heart Pirates set sail, and you leave the past behind.
The Polar Tang is… different. Not in a bad way, just different. It’s quieter than the Moby Dick, smaller, and runs a lot smoother since it’s a submarine. The crew is nice enough, but they watch you carefully, like they’re waiting to see if you’ll actually stick around, and like they're afraid to say the wrong things.
You don’t blame them. You’re still trying to figure all that out yourself.
What you do know is that you’re not wearing that.
“Absolutely not,” you say, holding up the black and yellow jumpsuit like it personally offended you “There is no way I’m wearing this.”
Penguin grins “Aw, c’mon, it’s tradition! We all wear them.”
“Yeah, and you all look dumb.” You toss the uniform back at him.
Shachi snickers “She’s got a point.”
Bepo tilts his head “But it helps with unity!”
“I don’t care.” You cross your arms “I just lost my last family. I’m not replacing them by playing dress-up with you guys.”
There’s a heavy beat of silence. You didn’t mean to let that slip, but it’s too late now.
Before anyone can say anything, Law’s voice cuts through the air.
“She doesn’t have to wear it.”
You turn to see him leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His gaze flicks to the uniform in Penguin’s hands before settling back on you “As long as she follows orders, it doesn’t matter what she wears.”
You smirk, triumphant but still hiding the regrets of your previous words “See? Captain’s orders.”
Penguin groans “Man, you’re getting special treatment already?”
Law clicks his tongue “Tch. Don’t be stupid. She’s not getting special treatment.” He pushes off the wall and starts walking away “Now get back to work.”
The others grumble but scatter, leaving you standing there, still holding your ground.
Law pauses at the doorway, glancing at you over his shoulder “You really will be following orders, though.”
You roll your eyes “Yeah, yeah, Captain. You don't have to repeat it again.”
He watches you for a second longer before walking away.
You exhale, shoulders slumping. You still don’t know if this was the right choice. But for now, you’re here and that’s enough.
Days pass, then weeks. You settle into life on the Polar Tang, though settle might be a strong word. You’re still figuring out your place here, still deciding if this is home or just a temporary stop before the sea pulls you somewhere else.
The Heart Pirates warm up to you quickly, especially Penguin and Shachi, who have made it their mission to pester you at every opportunity. Bepo is a sweetheart, and you swear Ikkaku enjoys giving you extra work just to see if you’ll complain.
And then there’s Law.
Your relationship with him is… strange. He’s your captain now, and he makes sure you don’t forget it. He orders you around, assigns you tasks, and corrects you whenever you mess up. But he also lets you push back more than he probably should.
Like now.
“You’re not getting out of training, Y/N-ya,” Law says, arms crossed as he watches you from across the room “You’re part of this crew, which means you need to be able to hold your own.”
You sigh, sitting cross-legged on the floor, pointedly not moving “I can hold my own.”
“You haven’t fought once since you got here.”
“That’s not true. I threw a wrench at Shachi last week.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“It should.”
Law pinches the bridge of his nose “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it.” The words slip out before you can stop them, and for a second, Law freezes.
You don’t know why your heart starts beating faster. You don’t know why it suddenly feels like the room is too small, too quiet.
Then, he scoffs “Tch. Keep dreaming.”
You smirk, pushing yourself up “Fine, fine. I’ll train. But only because I choose to.”
Law rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.
As you walk past him, you can feel his gaze lingering on you for just a second too long, and for some reason, that makes it just a little easier to breathe.
It's another day with them and dinner is as loud as always. Penguin and Shachi are arguing over who gets the last piece of meat, Bepo is calmly eating his food, and Ikkaku is scolding someone about their table manners. It’s chaotic, messy, and full of life.
You should feel comforted by it.
But then, Shachi laughs, almost losing another game “Doesn’t matter what happens, we’ll figure it out! That’s just how we are, right? We don’t let anyone mess with our family.”
It’s innocent. Just a casual statement made as a joke for a game. But your whole body freezes.
We don’t let anyone mess with our family.
The words slam into you like a punch to the gut. You’ve heard them before. Ace used to say them all the time.
“Nobody messes with my family and gets away with it!”
Your breath catches.
You see Ace in your mind so clearly, grinning, full of warmth and unwavering confidence. His arm draped over your shoulders, his voice always so sure.
“You’re stuck with me, you know. You’re family.”
The sound of laughter around you distorts. Your hands tremble against the table. Your chest tightens so hard it hurts.
Ace said those words all the time, and now he’s gone.
Your vision blurs.
You push your chair back so fast it screeches against the floor.
The room falls silent.
“Y/N-ya?” Law’s voice is cautious, but you can’t answer.
You stand abruptly, shoving away from the table as the weight in your chest becomes unbearable.
You hear Bepo call after you, but you’re already moving, already pushing out the door before anyone can stop you.
The hallway is quiet, but it doesn’t help. Your heart is pounding, your breathing uneven. The walls feel like they’re closing in.
You don’t know where you’re going, just away.
But then...
“Y/N-ya.”
Law.
His voice is calmer than it should be, given the fact that you just stormed out in the middle of dinner. You hear his footsteps behind you, steady and deliberate. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t demand you stop, but you do.
Because you don’t want to be alone.
You lean against the cool metal wall, staring at the ground, swallowing down the sobs threatening to escape.
Law steps beside you, close enough that his presence is solid, grounding. He doesn’t speak right away, just waits.
After a moment, you exhale shakily “Ace used to say that.” Your voice is hoarse “What Shachi said. About family. I know Shachi was joking, it's not his fault. My mind just started thinking too much, again.”
Law is silent, but you know he’s listening.
You blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay “Ace always said it like nothing could ever touch us. Like as long as we had each other, we’d be okay.”
Your voice cracks.
“But we weren’t. We obviously aren’t.”
And then, suddenly, you can’t hold it in anymore.
The sob breaks free before you can stop it, and then another. Your shoulders shake as you clutch your arms, as if holding yourself together.
Then you feel warmth.
A hand on your back. Firm, steady. Not pushing, just there.
Law doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move away either. He lets you cry, lets you break, without judgment or expectation.
And when your knees nearly give out, he catches you, pulling you close, solid and steady, as if to say, I won’t let you fall. And for the first time since Marineford, you let yourself lean on someone else.
A few months passed…
Of course, things don’t magically get better. That’s not how grief works.
But they shift. Slowly. Subtly.
The crew doesn’t bring up that night you ran out of dinner crying, not directly. But you notice how they’re a little gentler now. Bepo always sits next to you. Penguin and Shachi tease you a bit less (but only a bit), and Ikkaku throws you extra portions without saying a word.
They don’t push. They don’t ask. But they see you.
And Law hasn’t changed. Not exactly. He still gives out orders like commands are oxygen, still gets that narrowed-eye look when you mess up during training, and still acts like emotions are an inconvenience.
But you catch him watching you sometimes. When he thinks you’re not looking.
And when you do catch him, he doesn’t look away.
It’s a calm evening, which is rare. The Polar Tang is surfacing for the night, drifting peacefully on the open sea. You’re up on the deck, sitting cross-legged and staring at the stars, enjoying the breeze on your face.
Law’s voice breaks the silence.
“Not hiding in your room tonight.”
You glance over your shoulder. He’s standing a few feet behind you, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.
“I like it up here,” you say, shrugging “it’s quiet. The stars help.”
Law walks over without asking and sits beside you, not close enough to touch, but closer than usual.
You blink “No book tonight?”
He smirks faintly “Even I get tired of reading medical journals.”
You hum and tilt your head back to the sky “Do you ever think about how small we are out here?”
Law doesn’t answer right away “All the time.”
Silence again, but it’s not uncomfortable.
You pick at a loose thread on your pants, then quietly say, “It still hurts.”
“I know.”
You turn to look at him “Do you think it ever goes away?”
Law’s eyes flick to yours, and for a second, his walls drop.
“No,” he says simply “But you get better at carrying it.”
You nod slowly. That makes sense.
You both sit there, the silence stretching, stars spinning above.
Then he speaks again, quiet and careful “You’ve changed.”
You snort “Thanks?”
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
You glance at him, surprised.
He’s looking out at the ocean now “When you came aboard, I didn’t think you’d last a week.”
You raise an eyebrow “Wow. Inspiring confidence, Captain.”
He smirks again, but it fades fast “But you stayed. Even after everything.”
“Because of you” you say before you can stop yourself.
Law looks at you, startled.
You feel heat rush to your cheeks but hold his gaze “You saved Luffy. You didn’t have to. And then you let me on your ship. You didn’t have to do that either.”
His voice is low “I didn’t do it for thanks.”
“I know. That’s why it mattered.”
There’s a long pause. Something unspoken crackling in the air between you.
You look back at the sea, heart pounding, trying to ignore how much you want him to say something, anything that will explain what’s been growing between you.
He doesn’t. Not yet.
But he doesn’t move away either.
And when his shoulder brushes yours, just slightly, you don’t pull back.
Two years.
That’s how long it’s been since you joined the Heart Pirates.
And somewhere between near-death missions, long nights on the sea, and quiet moments you didn’t ask for. Something changed.
You and Law changed.
It’s not loud or obvious. Not something you could put into words if someone asked. But it’s there.
Like the way his eyes always flick to you when he walks into a room.
Like how you always end up sitting beside him at meals, even without meaning to.
Like how his voice softens slightly when he says your name.
He still scolds you during training. Still sighs like you’re impossible when you ignore protocol.
And when you’re injured? He’s the first one kneeling at your side. Every time. Without fail.
You don’t talk about it. He doesn’t either.
But it’s real. It’s there. And everyone else knows it.
“Okay, seriously,” Shachi whispers one night as he leans over the dining table toward Penguin, “did you see the way they looked at each other earlier? Like... looked. That was something.”
Penguin nods “They’re either in love or telepathically plotting a murder.”
“I’m going with both” Ikkaku mutters, sipping her tea.
Bepo sighs “We’re not supposed to bring it up.”
“Why not?” Shachi hisses “They’re so obvious, it’s painful.”
“Because of Ace” Bepo says softly “She’s been through a lot. We won’t pressure her.”
That shuts everyone up for a beat.
Until Shachi mumbles “Still feels like they’re circling each other in slow motion.”
Ikkaku stabs a dumpling with unnecessary aggression “Just kiss already. I’m begging.”
You catch them watching you sometimes, too many times to pretend it’s subtle.
Whenever you and Law share a look, the whole room seems to pause.
Whenever he lingers a second too long beside you, or his hand brushes yours, the crew’s collective poker face fails miserably.
But Law ignores it all. Just keeps moving forward, like it doesn’t affect him.
Like he doesn’t know that your heart skips every time he calls your name in that low, measured tone.
And you pretend not to notice either. Pretend your stomach doesn’t twist when he leans in too close. Pretend you don’t feel the shift every time your eyes meet.
But in the quiet moments, when it’s just you and him, you feel something hanging there between you. Like something is building.
The unspoken thing between you and Law has only grown heavier by time. Stolen glances, the rare soft tone in his voice when he says your name, the way your hand always finds the spot next to his at the table.
You’ve gotten used to reading him, how to tell when he’s irritated, when he’s tired, when he’s secretly impressed. But now, something’s off.
He’s quiet lately. More than usual. Locked in his quarters for hours at a time. Studying maps, muttering things you can’t hear. And when you ask, he brushes it off with a flat “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
Which, of course, only makes you worry more.
One night, dinner is unusually tense.
Shachi and Penguin whisper from across the table, not even trying to hide it anymore.
So you stand, chair scraping behind you, and walk straight out of the mess hall.
You find Law in the control room, his face locked over a table full of charts. Dressrosa is circled in red.
He doesn’t flinch when you walk in.
You close the door behind you “You’re going there.”
He nods once “Yes.”
“You weren’t going to tell me.”
Law straightens up, but doesn’t meet your eyes “It’s not your concern.”
“It is my concern,” you snap “I’m your crew too, just like the rest of them.”
He finally looks at you “That’s exactly why you’re staying with them.”
There’s a long beat of silence. Just you and him, staring, and the space between you suddenly feels like a chasm.
“You’re doing it again” you say softly “Pulling away. Trying to protect everyone by shutting us out.”
Law’s expression flickers with guilt, regret and frustration.
“I’m handling it.”
“No, you’re running. You’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“You're not scared...” You step closer, voice breaking “You’re terrified of letting people care about you. You think if you keep pushing us away, it won’t hurt when something happens.”
You lower your voice “But it will. It always does.”
He stares at you, like he’s waiting for you to stop.
You don’t.
“You think I don’t see what this is between us? You think I haven’t felt it for a long time now?”
He says nothing.
You take a breath “You’ve given me so much, Law. You gave me a second life after Ace. You gave me something to live for again.”
Your throat tightens “And now you’re just gonna disappear into some revenge mission and pretend like none of this matters?”
His eyes darken “It does matter.”
You blink “Then say it.”
Law opens his mouth, then closes it again.
You shake your head, heart cracking open “Forget it.”
You turn to leave.
But before you touch the door...
“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says behind you “That’s why I didn’t say anything.”
You stop. But you don’t look back.
You don’t sleep that night.
You lie in your bunk, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of that conversation. The look in Law’s eyes. The silence where his answer should’ve been. The ache in your chest that’s only getting worse.
When you hear footsteps above deck a little before dawn, you know it’s him.
You throw on a jacket and follow without thinking.
He’s there, standing at the edge of the deck, the sea wind catching his coat. Alone.
He turns slightly when you approach “You should be asleep.”
“You should be explaining yourself.”
His mouth twitches. A ghost of a smile. Gone in an instant.
You cross your arms “You were really gonna leave without saying goodbye.”
Law looks ahead again, gaze fixed on the horizon “Goodbyes make it harder.”
You take a breath “Harder for who?”
Silence.
You step beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushes his arm “I meant what I said yesterday.”
“I know.”
“And?”
He exhales slowly “You shouldn’t love someone like me.”
Your heart lurches “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I’m not who you think I am.”
“I know who you are,” you snap “I’ve seen you save strangers without blinking. I’ve seen you risk your life for your crew. For Luffy. For me.”
You pause, voice low “I love all of that. And if you leave now, and something happens to you—”
You look at him fully now “Don’t make me lose someone else I love, Law. Not without even getting to hold onto you first.”
His jaw tightens. He says nothing.
So you laugh, bitter and soft “Of course. You don’t say anything you don’t think you deserve to feel.”
You start to turn away, tears building, when he says “I do.”
You freeze.
He’s looking at you now. Fully. No mask.
“I do feel it. All of it.”
He steps forward, slow and certain, until he’s close enough that you can see the storm in his eyes and hear the quiet panic in his breath.
“Every time you laugh. Every time you sit next to me without saying a word. Every time I catch myself looking at you and don’t know how to stop. I feel it.”
Your lips part, but you don’t speak. You can’t.
“I didn’t want to,” he says, voice barely above a whisper “But it happened. And now I don’t know how to leave without feeling like I’m leaving part of myself behind.”
Your throat burns.
“So don’t,” you whisper “Don’t leave like that. Not with nothing.”
He hesitates.
Then, he leans in slowly, unsure, and presses his forehead to yours.
Not a kiss. Not yet. But it says everything.
“I’ll come back,” he promises “And when I do… if you’re still here—”
“I will be.”
A breath passes between you. His hand brushes your cheek like he’s still convincing himself you’re real.
Then he pulls away.
“Stay safe” he says.
“You too, Law.”
And with one last glance, he disappears down the dock, coat billowing, heart heavy, and not just with revenge anymore.
The moment your feet hit the ground of Zou, you’re paralyzed. The chaos of the crew bustling around you, the excitement in the air, everything feels too loud. It’s all too much. You’ve been bracing for this moment for what feels like an eternity, but now that it’s here, you can’t breathe.
You’ve heard the whispers that he’s finally back, felt the crew’s excitement bubbling up like they’re about to burst. But nothing could prepare you for the reality of seeing him alive. You knew they won, you knew he was out there, somewhere, but seeing him in front of you again… it’s different.
Your heart races. The crew is already moving forward, pulling you along because you’re too shocked to even move on your own. They don’t even try to hide it, they want to see this happen.
And then there he is.
The crew appears from the bushes and trees around him.
Law stands tall at the center of the clearing, his eyes scanning the crew as they move toward him, his usual cold demeanor barely cracked by the soft, almost imperceptible smile on his lips as he sees Bepo charging toward him before he could even find you with his eyes. The sight of him makes everything inside you freeze.
It’s not that you didn’t know he was alive, but now, standing here, seeing him with your own eyes, it feels real.
Bepo throws himself at Law, tears in his eyes as he cries out, “Captain!” The hug is tight, emotional, the kind of reunion you would have imagined, one that speaks of the bond between them, of loyalty and friendship. Law’s arms stiffen at first but then soften, holding Bepo close, the smile on his face genuine if not a bit awkward.
You stand there, caught in the wave of emotions that’s rushing through you. Relief, yes, but something else too...fear. Fear of what this means. You haven’t let yourself think about it that much, but now, with him standing there before you, something shifts. It’s the first time in two years you feel your heart thundering like it did when you first met him, when you started noticing those little things about him, the quiet ways he showed his care.
But now… he’s here.
Bepo pulls back, laughing through his tears “I’m so glad you’re alive, Captain!”
Before Law can even respond, someone else, maybe Ikkaku, maybe Shachi, pulls Bepo away gently, guiding him back to the group.
And then Law finally sees you.
There’s a moment, a breath of time where you feel like the whole world is holding its breath. You didn’t expect the distance between you to feel so large. You didn’t expect to feel so small.
You stand still, unsure of what to do, your legs suddenly heavy, like they’re made of stone. You know the crew, everyone, is watching, but none of that matters right now. You’re looking at him, really seeing him for the first time in so long, and it feels like everything inside you is falling apart.
He hasn’t changed. He still has that same unreadable expression, but something about the way he looks at you now is different. His eyes linger, and in them, you see the same thing you’ve always seen, quiet intensity. But there’s a softness now, a faint warmth.
You don’t move.
You can’t move.
It’s not fear. It’s… shock. You thought you were ready. You thought you were prepared. But seeing him here, right in front of you, it’s more than you can process in a single moment. The flood of emotions, the relief, the joy, the terror, all rush through you all at once, and it feels overwhelming. You never realized how much you needed this, how much you’ve missed him, until now.
And then, slowly, Law begins to walk toward you, his movements steady, calculated, like he’s taking his time, giving you space. When he stops in front of you, there’s a long pause. His eyes are searching your face, studying you, like he’s waiting for something. You’re afraid to look into them, to let him see how much you’ve been holding back.
And then, softly, he speaks “I didn’t think you’d be here.”
Your breath catches in your throat, and you finally look up into his eyes. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. The relief is too much. The pain of missing him, of not knowing if you’d ever see him again, it all comes crashing down, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek.
Law’s eyes flicker to it, and without a second thought, he reaches out, his hand gently brushing it away “You don’t have to hide it” he says, his voice low and careful.
“I—” You try to speak, but your voice cracks. You can’t say what you need to. It’s too much. Everything is too much.
Law stands there, his hand still lingering near your cheek, and you can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t rush. He just stands there, waiting for you to breathe, for you to find your voice.
And when you finally do, it’s quiet “I thought I lost you. I—I didn’t know if I could—”
“You didn’t lose me.” His words are simple, but they cut through the noise in your head. He steps closer, his hand sliding from your cheek to rest gently on your shoulder, the contact grounding you “I’m here. I told you I would be.”
And in that moment, you let yourself believe it.
You don’t know what’s going to happen from here, but for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re not standing alone anymore. Law is here, and he’s not going anywhere.
Zou is loud again.
After the quiet weight of seeing Law alive, after the press of his hand on your shoulder, after the whirlwind that followed, now everything is moving. New plans are forming. Straw Hats talking over each other. Heart Pirates buzzing about what’s next. Minks giving updates. It’s chaos. Familiar chaos. The kind you hadn’t realized you missed.
You find Luffy just outside one of the tree dwellings, scarfing down food like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, which, to be fair, is probably true.
“Luffy” you say, your voice unsure but soft.
He looks up, mouth full “Y/n!” He jumps to his feet and wraps you in the kind of hug only Luffy can give, tight, fast, and a little chaotic “You’re okay! You’re really here!”
You nod against his chest, your throat tight “You too…”
“Of course I am!” he grins like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “I knew we’d all meet again. I told you!”
He pulls back and beams at you “We’re gonna get Sanji back. Me, Nami, Chopper and Brook. You should come too! With me!”
You freeze.
Your eyes dart past the Straw Hats, past the Heart Pirates, until they land on him. Law is leaning near a shaded post, arms crossed, watching the scene from a distance. You can feel his eyes on you.
You start to answer Luffy, but someone else cuts in.
“She’s not going.”
It’s Law.
He’s walking toward you both now, slow and steady, like the decision was already made before this conversation even started.
Luffy blinks “Huh?”
Law stops beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours “She’s staying with me. With the Heart Pirates.”
You look up at him, startled. You hadn’t even told him you would yet. But he’s not looking at you, he’s looking straight at Luffy.
Nami steps closer, eyebrows raised like she knows exactly what’s going on “Luffy, read the room…”
Luffy blinks again, slowly turning to you “Wait. What? Since when?”
You open your mouth, but the words don’t come.
“I—” You shake your head “I was going to tell you. I just… I didn’t know how.”
“Why not?” Luffy tilts his head, confused as ever “You like Law, right?”
Your eyes widen “Luffy…”
“It’s fine,” he says with a shrug “I mean, I get the way you’re looking at him right now. I just didn’t know it was, you know… like that like that.” He grins.
You stare at him, stunned “You’re not… mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” he says, blinking like the very idea is weird “You think Ace would be mad?”
You swallow hard, throat tightening at the mention of Ace’s name.
“I just...” Your voice cracks “I didn’t want to disappoint him. Or you. He… he loved me. And I loved him. And I didn’t think I’d ever be able to—”
“Y/n.”
Luffy’s voice is soft. Even softer than usual.
He smiles again, big and warm and bright “Ace would be happy. Really happy. Because you’re not alone anymore. He wouldn’t want you to be.”
You blink fast, trying to keep the tears back, but it’s no use “You really think so?”
“I know so,” Luffy says, tapping his chest “Because Ace told me you were the best thing that ever happened to him. He said if anything ever happened to him, I had to take care of you. You found someone who can take care of you even better than me, and I’ll always support you like my sister.”
That breaks something in you. You cover your mouth with your hand, trying not to cry outright.
Nami steps up beside Luffy, resting a hand on your back “He’s right, you know. We’ve all known for a while now. About you and Law. After we met Law and Luffy asked him about you, it was pretty obvious even if the man here has the most unreadable face. It’s just Luffy that is always too oblivious.”
Law, still at your side, hasn’t said a word. But his presence is steady, anchoring. His eyes stay on you.
Luffy grins and throws his arm over your shoulder, dragging you into another hug “I’m happy for you, Y/n. And Ace would be too.”
You press your face against his chest again, this time not hiding the tears “Thank you.”
Law leans in slightly, his voice low near your ear “You didn’t have to be scared.”
You glance up at him, smiling through your tears “I know. But it still scared me.”
“I get it,” he says “But you don’t have to worry. And you can talk to me about your fears, I won’t leave you alone.”
And somehow, for the first time, you believe it.
The sun is dipping behind the massive trees of Zou, painting everything in golden light. The others are gone now, off to find Sanji. The moment they disappeared over the horizon, the world got quiet again.
Too quiet.
You sit at the edge of the overlook, watching the sky shift from orange to deep indigo. The wind brushes through your hair, soft and cool. You hug your knees to your chest, letting yourself breathe for what feels like the first time in days.
And then you hear his footsteps behind you.
“You’re always out, watching the sky when it gets dark” Law says, voice even.
You don’t look at him, not yet “It’s peaceful. Beautiful. Easier to think.”
He stands beside you for a second, silent, then sits down next to you with a small sigh. The space between you hums. Not touching, but not distant either.
You glance over. His hat’s off. That always does something to you. Makes him look realer. Softer. More… him.
“You really told Luffy I was staying with you” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips “Didn’t even bother ask me.”
“You were going to stay anyway” he replies, tilting his head toward you.
“I might’ve,” you murmur, teasing “Might’ve said no. Might’ve gone off on my own. Who knows.”
He looks at you, dead serious “You wouldn’t.”
You meet his eyes “How do you know?”
“Because you’ve looked at me the same way I look at you. You wouldn’t want to separate again.”
Your breath catches.
The silence after that is thick, like the air itself is holding its breath with you.
“I was scared,” you whisper “Of what it meant. Of what it felt like. After Ace… I didn’t think I was allowed to feel this way again.”
“I know,” Law says, just as quietly “That’s why I never pushed.”
You look down at your hands “But you stayed.”
His voice is steady “I wasn’t going to be another person you lost.”
That’s when your heart cracks, but in a good way. The dam you’ve been holding back breaks just a little. You turn to him, really look at him. The way the fading light touches his face, the faint worry in his brow, the way he’s looking at you like you’re everything.
“Say it,” you breathe “Just once.”
Law doesn’t hesitate “I love you.”
And you’re already leaning in by the time he says the last word.
The kiss is slow and gentle. His hand cups the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. Yours clutches his coat, grounding yourself.
It’s not desperate. It’s relieved.
When you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you a little breathless.
You whisper “I love you too.”
He smirks “You were worth the wait.”
Your smile widen and just as his small smile/smirk.
“FINALLY!”
You both flinch apart like you were struck by lightning.
Law whips around, eyes narrowing “What the hell—”
From behind a cluster of bushes near the edge of the clearing, three heads pop out in rapid succession: Shachi, Penguin, and Ikkaku. Bepo follows a second later, way too big to be hiding, but he tries anyway.
“We knew it!” Shachi shouts.
“I said it would happen today!” Penguin crows, fist-pumping like he just won a bet.
“I told you she was gonna make the first move” Ikkaku says smugly.
“You literally did not” Penguin says.
Bepo tries to look innocent “I was just... uh... making sure they were okay…”
You bury your face in your hands, heat flooding your cheeks “Oh my god!”
Law groans, dragging a hand down his face “How long were you there?”
“Long enough” Ikkaku grins.
“To hear everything” Shachi adds.
“I hate all of you” Law mutters.
“Don’t lie to us, Captain,” Penguin says, smug “You’re glowing.”
“I am not glowing.”
“You kind of are” Bepo mumbles.
You let out a breathy laugh, cheeks still flushed, but honestly, it’s kind of perfect. This dumb, messy, ridiculous crew, you didn’t know how badly you needed them until they showed up in your life. Until he showed up in your life.
“Alright,” Law snaps, pushing to his feet and brushing off his coat, “You saw what you wanted. Now go. Before I use Room.”
That gets them moving fast.
Shachi and Penguin scramble like cockroaches, dragging Bepo behind them while Ikkaku throws a wink over her shoulder “You’re cute together! Don’t screw it up!”
They disappear, giggling like kids.
You turn back to Law, trying not to laugh “So… that happened.”
He sighs, but there’s the faintest smile tugging at his lips “We’re never gonna hear the end of it.”
18+ MDNI
pairing: aaron hotchner x reader
summary: your boss rejects you the first time but what happens when he's the one in charge? (part 2 of Filthy Flat-Pack Thoughts, but can be read as a standalone)
warnings: baso porn w/o plot, hotch has a filthy mouth, reader and hotch both have a thing for mirrors... p in v sex, fingering, idk man i got carried away, enjoy xx (not proof read, dont come for me)
word count: 5.6k
✧ masterlist
You had taken the coward’s way out when Monday came. But really, what else were you supposed to do after throwing yourself at your boss and getting let down?
So, instead of facing the consequences of your actions – or worse, facing him – you sent Hotch a text claiming you weren’t feeling well and asked if you could use your PTO for the day.
He didn’t respond. Not directly, at least. But just before the usual morning briefing, Garcia had texted you.
Feel better soon, sunshine!!!
Accompanied by enough emojis to make your head spin. Which meant he must have told them. Which meant that it was fine. And yet, the thought of him seeing your message, reading it, and choosing not to reply left a pit in your stomach that you weren’t ready to unpack.
You just needed one more day.
One more day to shake off the mortification, to stop replaying every humiliating second of Friday night in your head, to convince yourself that come Tuesday, you would walk into work and pretend none of it ever happened.
You didn’t want the day to go to waste so you tried to be productive, throwing yourself into the thing that would keep your hands and mind occupied - finally unpacking.
And you had mostly succeeded.
Most of your boxes were empty, your things finally finding a place in your new home, and after an embarrassing amount of time, you had even managed to put together your bedside table. But despite the distraction, despite the minor victory of assembling furniture without Hotch’s help, the second you sat down, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, it was still there.
That awful, gnawing awareness that sooner or later you were going to have to face him.
You decided that a hot shower might help wash away the lingering shame clinging to your skin. You turned the water up almost too hot, as you stood under the shower head, hands pressed against the cool tiles.
It was fine.
You just needed to stop overthinking it. Hotch wasn’t cruel. He had let you down gently. He had done the right thing. So why did your stomach still twist at the memory of it?
By the time you stepped out, your body felt warm, relaxed - your mind, less so. You pulled on one of your softer, more delicate chemises – a small indulgence in comfort you desperate needed. Then, with a sigh, you settled onto the couch, grabbing your phone and tapping through your contacts.
Garcia picked up on the second ring.
“Ah, my fallen soldier! How are we holding up?”
You groaned, shifting on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. “I’m fine, Pen. Just taking a day to recover.”
“As you should, my dear. Self-care is critical after a weekend of… whatever happened that has you hiding away.”
You rolled your eyes, stretching out against the cushions. “Moving, Penelope. Moving has be hiding away. It is truly an exhausting process.”
Garcia hummed, evidently not convinced by your little white lie. “Well, boss man seems exhausted too. Or just very tense and broody. I can’t tell anymore, his scowls are all starting to blend together. Did he maybe pull a muscle helping you with your furniture or something?”
Your stomach dropped.
“Penelope -” you started, only to be cut off by a knock at your door.
You froze.
“Okay, who have you sent to my door this time?” you muttered, pushing yourself up from the sofa.
“Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m not the mastermind behind all surprise visitors.”
You didn’t believe her for a second.
Still, you pulled on your robe, tugging it over your chemise as you made your way to the door. The fabric felt softer than usual, almost fragile, like it wasn’t quite enough of a barrier between you and what was waiting on the other side.
Balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder, you tied a loose knot at your waist, fingers fidgeting with the belt as Garcia sighed dramatically on the other end.
“Well? Who is it? Spill.”
Your hand hesitated over the lock, a second of hesitation turning into two, three, before you finally turned the knob and pulled the door open.
Your stomach plummeted.
Because there he was.
Aaron Hotchner.
Standing on your doorstep – again. Looking every bit like the man you had spent the last two days trying to avoid, trying to forget, trying not to replay in your head on a never-ending loop.
“Let me call you back, Garcia,” you murmured absentmindedly, already pulling the phone away from your ear, hanging up before she could even think to respond.
Because right now, the last thing you needed was an audience.
You barely registered the sound of the line disconnecting, too focused on the man standing in front of you. Hotch didn’t speak right away, didn’t explain why he was here, didn’t offer you anything to ease the knot forming in your stomach.
He just watched you, which was almost worse.
You had been bracing yourself for tomorrow, telling yourself that by then, the weight of everything would have settled just enough for you to fake your way through the awkwardness, to act like Friday night had never happened.
But here he was. Now. And the fragile plan you’d built to protect yourself had just gone up in flames.
“Can we sit?”
His voice was softer than you expected. Softer than you were ready for.
You pressed your lips together, shifting on your feet, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe, grounding yourself in the feel of the fabric, something real to hold onto.
A moment passed before you finally stepped aside, nodding slightly.
"Yeah."
Your lips pressed together as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe.
He moved toward the couch, and you should have followed.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you lingered near the doorway, arms crossing over your chest, putting space between you. An invisible barrier, as if it could protect you from whatever was about to come next Hotch noticed, of course he did. His gaze flicked over you, reading every tiny shift in your posture, every hesitation, every instinct to put distance between you.
And still, he didn’t push. Not until he settled on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Sit, angel."
It was the way he said it – so soft, so steady – that you almost weren’t sure you’d heard him right. You sighed, resigned to the fact that there was no avoiding this conversation and lowered yourself onto the couch, leaving enough space between you.
A brief pause stretched between you. He was studying you, assessing you, trying to read you. And you suddenly felt so exposed despite the layers of fabric now separating you from him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone feeling dangerously close to concern.
You let out a small, dry laugh, shaking your head. “You came all this way to ask me that?”
“Did you take today off because of what happened Friday?” he countered your question with another, leaning forward.
You expected the question, but hearing it out loud – acknowledging it – made you ache all over again. You dropped your gaze, fingers toying with the edge of your robe, avoiding his eyes like that somehow could make this easier. “I just… needed a day.”
Hotch nodded like he understood, like he had already known the answer before you even said it. His expression softened, and when he spoke again, it was even gentler than before.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” you said quickly, too quickly.
Hotch didn’t look convinced, your name falling from his lips.
“I mean it,” you continued, making yourself sound certain. Trying to convince yourself as much as him. “You were kind, Hotch. You let me down in the nicest way possible. I appreciate that.”
“But –”
“I just needed today to clear my head,” you cut him off. “To remind myself that you were right.”
His brows furrowed. “Right?”
You let out a quiet, humourless laugh, dropping your eyes to your lap again. "That Friday night wasn't... real," you murmured, more to yourself than him. "It was stress and exhaustion and maybe a little too much wine. I let it get the best of me. It was a mistake."
The silence that followed was too long. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, waiting for him to agree, to tell you that yes, it was a mistake, that it shouldn’t have happened, that you were right.
“Is that what you think?”
You looked up, brows pinching in confusion. “I mean…” You faltered, searching his face but it gave nothing away. “It was a mistake, wasn’t it?”
Hotch let out a breath, his fingers pressing into his thigh. “It wouldn’t have been right,” he said finally.
Maybe that should have been enough of an answer, maybe you should have left it alone. But you didn’t. Because something about the way he said it, the way his voice dipped slightly, made your stomach tighten, made the words slip out before you could stop them.
“That’s not the same as saying you didn’t want it.”
The moment they left your lips, you wished you could take them back.
His jaw clenched, his muscle ticking once.
And just as you started to convince yourself you had imagined this whole exchange, just as you prepared to backpedal, to fill the silence with some half-hearted attempt at smoothing things over, the most beautifully damning words falling from this mouth -
“I did want it.”
The air left your lungs in a sharp, breathless rush and you felt the room tilt.
“Then…why –”
“Because you deserved better than that.”
His words were firm, absolute, wrapped in the same conviction he carried into every case, every impossible decision.
“Hotch –”
“You’d been drinking,” he continued. “You’d had a long week and I know how quickly having too many things lined up at once overwhelms you.”
That sentence alone was enough to unravel you because he really did know you. He knew how your mind worked, knew how pressure built inside you until it spilled over.
“And I would have spent the entire next day wondering if I’d just taken advantage of you.”
Your throat tightened at the quiet honesty in his words, at the careful way he measured them, as if he had thought about this. As if it had sat with him just as much as it had with you.
And fuck, you didn't know what to do with that.
“You wouldn’t have. I didn’t need to be drunk to know that I want –” you hesitated, “–wanted you.”
He looked up at you, like he was weighing every single word you’d just spoken, turning them over in his mind like pebbles, making sure he heard you right.
“And what do you want now?” he asked lowly.
He was giving you the choice. No leading words. No hidden meaning. Just a simple, open-ended question.
Your stomach twisted, nerves and something warmer curling in your chest, in your belly, in the space between your ribs.
"You," you admitted, barely above a breath. "I still want you."
He nodded slowly. “Then take me to your bedroom.”
You blinked, unsure if you’d even heard him right, but the look on his face told you that you had. A sharp pulse of awareness ran through you, so strong it made your fingers clench into the fabric of your robe. You weren't sure you'd even be stable on your feet after hearing those words from his mouth, but you were sure as hell going to try.
Before you could move, he stood first. Your eyes followed the movement, unable to look away as he shrugged off his jacket, the rustle of fabric filling the space between you. Then came the cufflinks – carefully removed, set aside-before he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the strong lines of his forearms, the flex of muscle, the way his veins shifted beneath his skin.
And then, he reached for you. His hand open, waiting. Your gaze flickered up to his, searching, but all you found was patience and certainty.
“Only if you’re sure.”
Your fingers tightened around his.
You were sure. So damn sure.
You rose to your feet, and the moment you did, his other hand moved to undo the knot of your robe. His fingers worked it loose, the tie slipping free with ease, his breath coming just a fraction heavier as the fabric parted, revealing the delicate, pale pink lace beneath.
His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as his eyes dragged over you, taking you in inch by inch, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every detail.
And then he nodded toward the hallway. “After you.”
You turned, leading him down the hall, toward the first door on the right.
The soft glow from your bedside lamp spilled into the room, casting warm shadows against the walls. You silently thanked your past self for leaving it on –it was just enough light to see him, to see this, without feeling too exposed.
Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, moving toward the end of the bed. You didn't speak, didn't need to. You just waited, for his next instructions, for his next move.
Hotch's eyes swept over the room, taking everything in. It was still bare, not yet lived in, not yet filled with you –a work in progress, much like the two of you.
But then his gaze snagged on something. The full length mirror that rested against the wall, directly opposite your bed. You saw the moment he noticed it—the slight shift in his stance, the way his lips twitched, like he was already picturing something.
And then he moved.
Came to stand behind you, his hands finding your shoulders, warm and sure, guiding you just slightly until you were perfectly centered in front of it.
“That’s a very pretty mirror.”
Your eyes tracked every movement through the reflection, mouth parting, but for once you had no words. Then his lips brushed against your hair, barely there, but the heat of it lingered, seeping into your skin, into your bones, branding itself in a way you knew you wouldn’t be able to shake.
“Did you put it there so you could watch while you touched yourself?”
A slow, molten heat curled through you, pooling deep in your belly, spreading down between your thighs. Your legs tensed on instinct, pressing together as his fingers traced over the bare skin of your arms, feather-light, teasing, making you ache.
“Hm, sweet angel?”
You nodded meekly, biting down on your lip to supress the moan threatening to escape – one he had earned with nothing more than words.
“Did you do it after I left?”
Your sharp inhale gave you away, your body betraying you before you could even think of forming a response. Your back arched into him, fingers twitching as he intertwined them with his own, lips grazing the slope of your shoulder.
The mirror didn’t lie. You looked ruined already and he had barely touched you.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Use that pretty mouth before I find something else to do with it.”
That didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.
Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Aaron, please.”
A slow, satisfied hum rumbled against your back as his hands finally moved higher, fingers ghosting over your nipples.
“Did you start from here?”
You felt dizzy. So dizzy that if you weren’t leaning into him, if he wasn’t holding you up, you were sure you would’ve collapsed. His right hand drifted lower, tracing the outside of your thigh while his left gripped you tighter, his palm kneading into your flesh.
“Or did you start with your thighs?”
You could feel his smirk against you skin, could see it in his reflection – the way his dark eyes met yours in the mirror, the way his lips curled at the edges as his fingers edged higher, inching toward the heat between your legs.
The fabric of your slip bunched up in his fist, silk riding up your thighs, baring you to him, exposing your lace panties.
Hotch exhaled slowly, watching the way the delicate material clung to your body.
“Show me, pretty girl.” His fingers flexed against your thigh, his grip firmer now. “I want to see what I missed out on.”
You looked at him through the mirror, eyes wide, lips parted in a soft pout because he couldn’t possibly be asking you to do this. Could he?
“Don’t make me ask again.”
Your thighs instinctively pressed together again, only to be met with his hand keeping them apart. A breathless sound escaped you, your body betraying you yet again, and his smirk deepened.
You knew what he wanted. And so, with shaky fingers, you moved your hand. His grip loosened slightly, giving you just enough space for your fingers to brush over the lace at the apex of your thighs.
“Atta girl.” His lips skimmed the curve of your jaw. “Show me. Show me how you thought of me.”
Your lashes fluttered, breath catching as your fingers dipped beneath the lace. Maybe it was a good thing it was your own touch and not his, because if he felt how wet you were, if he had proof of just how much you wanted him, it would only feed into his smugness.
And you weren’t sure you could survive that.
Hotch hummed in satisfaction, his right hand trailing up, covering yours, guiding it, controlling it as you started rubbing slow circles over your clit. His touch wasn’t hurried. Wasn’t forceful. It was intentional, like he wanted you to feel every second of this – feel what it was like to have his hand over yours, dictating the rhythm, deciding exactly how much pleasure you were allowed to take.
“Did you say my name?” he asked, voice rough. “Did you pretend it was me?”
Your lips parted, a desperate, needy noise slipping past them, your body trembling as he watched.
“Look at yourself.”
You forced your heavy eyes open, meeting your own reflection and you barely recognised yourself. Your body was trembling against his, your slip bunched at your waist, panties pushed aside, thighs twitching as you fought for air.
“What do you see, angel?”
Your breath hitched, your fingers faltering as his words wrapped around you, sinking deep into your stomach.
“I see a pretty girl who falls apart the second I tell her to.”
Your entire body shook. A fresh whimper broke free, your knees threatening to give out as his left hand tightened at your waist, keeping you upright, keeping you his.
“Please, Aaron –” Your voice was wrecked, desperate. “I don’t think I can keep going.”
His exhale was slow, like he was savouring the sound of you breaking. “Oh, sweetheart. Do you want me to take over?”
You nodded feverishly, too fast, your entire body screaming for relief. “P-please. I need you to.”
His grip on your wrist loosened enough for you to pull your hand away as he replaced it with his own. And then – God help you – his fingers moved.
A slow, deliberate drag through your slick folds, teasing, testing, until he found exactly what he was looking for. His touch was immediate and so much better than your own. A broken moan slipped past your lips, your head falling back onto his shoulder as your thighs quivered, struggling to hold yourself up.
“That’s it,” he whispered, voice rich with satisfaction, like he had known this would happen. “So much better when I do it for you, isn’t it?”
Your only response was a chocked sob, your hands grasping at his forearm, nails digging in, pleading.
You felt him smile against your skin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
His pace quickened, precise and devastating, and you pressed into him – your body instinctively seeking more, needing all of him. And that’s when you felt it. The undeniable proof of what the sight of you like this had done to him. The thick, hard press of his arousal against the curve of your ass, straining against his slacks.
A fresh wave of heat rolled through you, a cry slipping past your lips before you could stop it.
Hotch groaned – actually groaned – his hips pressing forward, just enough to let you feel him.
“You feel that? That’s what you do to me, angel.”
Your breath hiccupped, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, your thighs clamping around his wrist, body trembling on the edge of something catastrophic.
“Aaron –”
“Be a good girl for me, hm? Come for me.”
And you did.
Your body tensed, your back arched, and then you shattered, a strangled sob escaping your lips as he worked you through it, whispering low, filthy praises into your ear, his grip never faltering.
Your body slumped against his, boneless, spent, your breathing uneven as you struggled to come back down. And when your hazy eyes flickered up to meet his in the mirror, the sight made your stomach flip all over again.
“How was that, angel?”
He knew you would never be able to touch yourself again without thinking of this. Knew he had achieved exactly what he wanted.
“Really good,” you breathed, head lolling back against his shoulder, your body still trembling from the aftershocks.
His lips curled into a knowing smile before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Good, honey. But I’m going to need you to take everything off and get on all fours.”
Your stomach tensed.
Fuck.
He was trying to kill you.
His hands finally released you, giving you space to move, but not before he watched.
Waited.
Your fingers were unsteady as they found the hem of your slip, lifting it slowly, peeling away the last barrier between you. The silk slipped over your head, landing somewhere on the floor, followed by your underwear.
The air hit your bare skin, goosebumps trailing in its wake but it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver. It was him and the way he looked at you. You turned toward the bed, moving to crawl onto the mattress when his voice stopped you.
“Not the bed.”
You bit your lip as you turned back to face him, your pulse skittering in your throat. He was still fully dressed, still so composed when you were the exact opposite. His gaze dragged down your body at an achingly slow pace, taking his time, allowing himself to drink you in – every inch of you, every part he hadn’t gotten to see a few nights ago.
“The floor, angel. Right in front of the mirror.”
Your body burned as you complied, knees wobbling as you lowered yourself onto the floor. You positioned yourself exactly where he wanted, your palms pressing into the cool surface, your back arching slightly – offering yourself to him.
And the second you settled, the second you caught his gaze in the mirror you saw it. The way his eyes devoured you. The way his gaze landed between your thighs, locking onto your bare, glistening pussy, and the way his lips curled.
That bastard smirked.
Smirked at the mess between your legs, at what he had done to you.
You watched as he lowered himself behind you, his broad frame closing in, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a second skin. A sharp inhale tore through you as you felt the press of his thumb collecting the wetness from your folds, spreading it, claiming it.
And just as you started to adjust to the feeling, just as your body tried to catch up – his thumb was gone, replaced with his middle and ring finger, teasing at your entrance, then slowly, slowly pushing inside.
A sound left you, something between a gasp and a whimper, something utterly helpless, so desperate it made your skin burn.
He chuckled.
“You can use my fingers, honey. But you’re going to have to do the work.”
Your eyes snapped open, meeting his through the mirror.
He wasn’t kidding. His fingers stayed inside you, buried deep but he wasn’t moving them. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, desperate for friction, for more but he stayed still.
“Go on,” he said, his other hand pressing down on the small of your back, encouraging you. “Make yourself feel good.”
Your palms flattened against the hard surface beneath you, bracing yourself as you moved – tentative at first, a slow, testing roll of your hips as you slid down onto his fingers. The stretch had you sucking in a sharp breath, your lips parting around a whispered curse.
And he watched. His eyes never left you, locked onto your reflection in the mirror, tracking the way you rocked against his hands, the way your thighs trembled as you found your rhythm, the way you used him exactly the way he wanted you to.
But still it wasn’t enough. You needed more. You needed all of him, buried deep inside you, stretching you open in ways his fingers never could. But he wasn’t offering that, so you took what you could get. You bucked your hips harder, forcing more friction, forcing the stretch, chasing what you knew only he could give you.
A sharp cry slipped from your lips. “Fuck, Aar –”
“I know, baby.” His fingers twitched inside you, pressing just enough to make you gasp, just enough to remind you he was still in control “I know.”
And then, just as quickly, they were gone.
A desperate whimper spilled from your lips at the sudden loss, your body clenching around nothing, the emptiness leaving a sharp pang of need that made your head spin. And yet, before panic could settle in, before you could beg for him, you heard it.
The click of his belt buckle.
Your head moved up to meet his eyes in the mirror just in time to see him work the leather through the loops before letting it drop to the floor with a thud. He never broke contact as he reached for the button of his slacks, undoing it before the soft sound of his zipper filled the room.
He took his time.
Watched you squirm, watched the way your thighs could do nothing but press together.
His slacks slipped down, bunching at his feet, and then, finally, his boxers. Your pulse pounded against your ribs as he exposed himself, the tip of his cock already slick with precum, showing you just how much he wanted this – wanted you.
Once his shirt was discarded, he lowered himself back down, hands finding your waist, fingers pressing into your skin with just the right amount of pressure to remind you who you belonged to. Your back arched, your body responding before your mind could catch up, offering yourself to him in every way you knew he wanted.
You felt the hard, warm press of his cock against the back of your thigh, the slickness of it smearing against your skin, though you weren’t sure if it was from him or from you.
It didn’t matter because the next thing he was doing was dragging himself against your aching, soaked pussy. A sharp gasp tore from your lips as the thick length of him slid through your folds just enough to have you clenching around nothing.
He did it again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel him, letting the weight of his cock glide through your wetness, coating himself in it, using your own arousal to make you squirm.
"Jesus," he exhaled, his grip on your hips tightening, fingertips pressing into your skin like he was barely holding on. "So fucking wet for me, angel. You need it that bad, huh?”
The desperation in your body was humiliating, but you didn’t care. Not when he was teasing you like this, not when the heat between your legs pulsed and throbbed with every slow glide of his cock, not when he was so close to giving you what you wanted but still holding back.
“So bad, please,” you begged, pushing back against him, arching your spine, doing anything to get him where you needed. Every inch of you was trembling, every muscle coiled tight, your body nothing but pure, raw need.
He hummed, rolling his hips just enough for his tip to nudge against your entrance.
“Okay, sweet girl, okay.” His voice was gentle as he gave in. “But I need you to watch.”
His hand trailed up your spine before threading into your hair, gripping just firmly enough to tilt your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his in the mirror.
“Take a deep breath for me.”
And just as you sucked in that breath, he thrust inside you, the sudden, overwhelming stretch stealing the air from your lungs. Your fingers dug into the floor, nails scraping against the hard surface as your body jolted forward from the sheer force of it. The sensation was too much, not enough, everything all at once. Your head spun, struggling to process the way he filled you, how impossibly deep he was, how your body clenched around him, trying to adjust, trying to take him.
A ragged curse tore from his lips, his grip on your waist tightening, fingers pressing so hard into your skin that you knew you’d feel it long after this moment had passed.
His pace was slow – tortuous if you had to use one word to describe it. You watched him in in the mirror, the way his head tipped back, brows furrowed in restraint, chest rising and falling as he bottomed out inside you, taking a second to breathe before pulling back, leaving just the tip inside—before slamming back in.
A wet, filthy sound filled the room, followed by a broken sob from your lips as your body struggled to keep up with the intensity of it. The way he moved, the way he owned every inch of you, the way he was ruining you.
You didn’t know what you were begging for when his name slipped past your lips, raw and desperate. You just knew you needed it. More of him. Deeper. Harder. Just more.
"You're gonna come for me," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "Gonna make a mess all over my cock while I fuck you through it, yeah?"
You nodded mindlessly, over and over again. “Y-yeah. Y-Yes.”
His hand slipped between your thighs, finding you clit once more, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure, unravelling you inch by inch. Your body was already trembling, barely holding on, every muscle tensed.
And he knew it. Of course, he knew it.
He could feel it, the way you clenched around him, the way your breath caught, the way you pushed back against him like you were chasing something you were already seconds away from losing yourself to.
“Fuck, baby, your gripping me so tight.”
Your body reacted to the words, your head dropping forward, your hands curling into fists against the floor as another wave of pleasure crashed through you.
"That's it, angel," he coaxed, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts hitting deeper. "Let me have it."
You came again, your body shuddering, incoherent mumbles falling from you lips as the orgasm swallowed you whole. But it still wasn’t enough for him. If anything, feeling you fall apart only spurred him on, made him rougher, hungrier, his grip bruising as he held you there, as he used your body to chase his own release.
His movements turned sloppy, his breath uneven, each thrust deep and desperate, dragging out his pleasure just a little longer. And then – his body tensed, his hands tightening on your hips as a sharp groan ripped from his throat, your name spilling from his lips as he buried himself inside you, coming hard, filling you completely.
His hips rocked into you a few more times, slower now, savouring every last second, his breath warm against your skin, ragged and uneven as he rode out the final waves of his release.
Then, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his lips grazing your skin. “You okay?” he whispered.
You let out a breathless, satisfied hum. “More than okay.”
His hands slid to your hips and with careful movements, he rolled you onto your back, pulling out slowly before settling you against the floor. The loss of him sent a shiver through you, but you barely had time to dwell on it before his body hovered over yours.
You stretched beneath him, your fingers trailing up his arm, tracing the muscles still tensed from holding himself back. A lazy smirk tugged at your lips as you teased, "Who knew Aaron Hotchner had such a filthy mouth?"
“Consider it payback for not wearing a bra.”
You let out a laugh. “Well if that’s payback, I might just have to start wearing short skits with no underwear at the office.”
“Is that so?”
You grinned, stretching your arms above your head in an indulgent, satisfied way. “Mm-hm. I mean, if this is how you handle insubordination, I’d say I have a pretty strong case for pushing the dress code.”
His laugh was quiet, but it vibrated through you, something warm and rare and entirely for you. His weight shifted slightly as he reached for you, one hand trailing along your side, stopping just below your breast.
“Angel,” he murmured, dipping his head closer, brushing against your jaw before dragging down your neck. “You do that and it’ll be your last day in the office.”
“You’d fire me?”
He shook his head, his teeth grazing the delicate skin of your neck before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Never, honey. You just wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.”
