Giovanni typically calls you into his office, where he proceeds to tear away your clothing and takes you at his desk. He barely even bothers to ask since you should know by now what he desires. Admittedly, he also views himself as a bit above asking for permission.
“Come to my office at once, dear,” Giovanni caught your shoulder before you could leave the hideout. A certain look in his eyes could only make you swallow in anticipation.
Archer just pulls you aside and takes you on whatever surface is nearest. You are his assistant, basically, so he sees little reason to ask permission either. Giovanni instilled some bad traits into him.
“You. With me. Now,” Archer had your wrist in a death grip before you could even stray too far from his side. His jaw was clenched in frustration. It was little secret what he wanted.
Maxie is red in the face while he asks you to come aside with him to his office. He then manages to get it out only when you two are alone. You will have to do a little inference and help a bit with him.
“Dear, c-come with me to my office!” Maxie stopped you before you could leave the hideout. His cheeks were the same colour as his hair, and you swore his glasses were somehow fogged up.
Archie tends to just ask it a little too plainly. He does not really hold shame. Just, “Wanna go to my office and fuck?” is said and if you agree, then you do just that. Anywhere is fine in his quarters – bed, couch, table, desk. Wherever you are fine with.
“Luvdisc, you bored, too? Wanna go to my office?” Archie spoke brazenly while throwing an arm around your shoulder. The grunts nearby barely gave it any mind.
Cyrus almost always refuses to initiate anything intimate. But, if he was… Well, it would be an unspoken thing, almost. His gaze would just grow intense as he took you aside to somewhere you both could have the utmost privacy.
“… Beloved,” Cyrus called for you. Turning to face him, there was something oddly brewing in his eyes as he observed you. A hand caught your own. Wordlessly, you were tugged along to his office.
Colress is pretty blunt. Of course, he would take you somewhere more private, but there is little wonder what he desires. A pleasant smile is only his lips, while a glare shines over his glasses' lens. He truthfully would do it about anywhere in his lab, quarters, or office.
“I think we should engage in a bonding exercise,” that smile on his lips did not at all match was he was offering. Especially when his gloved hand rested plainly on your ass. All in the name of research. Sure.
Lysandre is far more impassioned than the others here. Though, perhaps that is his nature as a Kalosian... Or his obsession with beauty. The Flare Boss often holds you to him and stares deeply into your eyes before asking you to join him somewhere more private.
“My love,” Lysandre's voice was husky and low in your ear. Arms wrapped around your waist and held you to his firm body. “Come with me… I wish to indulge you,” he whispered. A shiver went down your spine as he followed it with a kiss to the shell of your ear.
Guzma is far too blunt. Extremely too blunt. He lacks any tact whatsoever. But, well, he does not really understand the need for subtlety. You are his partner, yeah? Everyone knows that. He has had Plumeria bitch about how loud you two have been in his room in the past. Besides, why would he care?
“Hey,” Guzma caught you from behind and pressed you into his body. A cologne wafted from him. “Wanna go fuck?” The abrasive question nearly made you laugh from the absurdity.
Volo does not ask. Suddenly, hands will be all over you while you do your survey work. It is him, of course. Who else would it be mocking you for being so unaware? It is adorable to him, at least. The squeak you give as he encases your body and closes your wrists together. You barely have time to give a proper response.
“… Come on,” he teases, “You're so shocked.” His fingers were already undoing the tie of your bag to undo your uniform top. It seemed there would be no escape here.
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ꗃ sum. after an unexpected battle against caster, archer finds himself exhausted and completely depleted of mana. when he returns to camp to find you asleep, he decides that desperate times call for desperate measures.
wc. 1.9k words
tags. emiya x fem!reader. 18+ mdni. dubcon (somnophilia). unprotected sex. twisted morals. you're a master in the holy grail war and archer is your servant.
a/n. okay so fate/stay night is a series that's very dear to me, and after rewatching unlimited blade works for the 5th time, i finally decided archer deserved a fic! <3
The clash of metal is still ringing in his ears when Emiya finally lets himself retreat. The forest around him is silent now, but it isn’t the kind that comforts— it presses in on him, heavy and humid, wrapping around the ache in his chest until it feels like he’s suffocating in it.
Every step is a reminder of how depleted he is. His combat boots drag against the ground, his feet catching on roots that he’d normally glide over without thought. His body is running on fumes, and his magical circuits sting like open wounds.
Caster should have been dead tonight. He knows that with a bone deep certainty. He had her pinned, her defenses collapsing, her rhythm faltering under the barrage of his blades. All he needed was one more strike, one final surge of mana to cut her down before she could recover. But that final strike never came. His reserves splintered like glass, and he was left with nothing but scraps of energy barely enough to hold her off long enough to escape.
Pathetic. That’s what it was.
He forces himself not to think about Saber. If he can’t eliminate Caster with everything he had left, then what hope is there when Saber comes for him? The answer claws at the back of his throat, bitter and obvious— there isn’t any.
His grip tightens on his bow until his knuckles blanch. He doesn’t even know why he’s still carrying the damn thing. It’s not like he has the mana to back it anymore. He can’t even pretend it gives him security. All it does is weigh him down.
And it all comes back to you.
You— his Master.
If it weren’t so bitterly ironic, he might have laughed. A novice thrown into a war meant for those raised to bleed for it. You have no lineage to speak of, no years of combat training, no arsenal of spells and strategies at your disposal. Just a name pulled from whatever cruel hand of fate thought it would be amusing to bind you to him. You’re inexperienced, frightened, reckless in ways that make his teeth grit. And yet you’re still alive. Still breathing, sleeping soundly in the safety of the camp he built for you.
A miracle, he thinks grimly. But miracles don’t win wars.
The summer night presses down like a wet cloth, sweat clinging to the back of his neck and soaking into the collar of his jacket. The cicadas have gone silent; even the forest seems to be holding its breath. Each step feels longer than the last, as if the path back to camp stretches on the more he thinks, the angrier he gets.
Because he shouldn’t feel this way toward you. He knows that. You didn’t ask to be dragged into the Holy Grail War any more than he asked to be summoned for it. You’re a pawn thrown onto the chessboard by chance, forced into a game you don’t understand. If anything, you’re as much a victim as he is.
But you’re so damn naïve.
Too trusting, too kind. You still believe in things like fairness, in the possibility of alliances, in the hope that someone out there might be persuaded to show mercy. He sees it in your eyes every time you hesitate, every time you ask questions instead of giving commands. It irritates him because it reminds him of who he used to be— before cynicism, before disappointment, before the world scraped every shred of idealism from his skin and left him with nothing but the scar tissue of reality.
You don’t know what it costs to fight a war. You don’t know what kind of sacrifices it demands. And if you keep that softness, that blind, foolish kindness, you’re going to die. Worse, you’re going to drag him down with you.
The thought makes his jaw clench so hard it pops.
Branches crack under his boots as he pushes forward, the dark canopy of leaves above broken only by the occasional sliver of moonlight. He forces himself to focus on the path, on the muscle memory of walking, because if he doesn’t, he’ll drown in the storm of his own frustration. The fight replaying in his mind. The hollow feeling in his chest where mana should be.
The sharp reminder that he is failing.
By the time the faint outline of camp appears through the trees, he’s wound tight as a bowstring. The tent sits quietly in the moonlight, a small pocket of peace in a world that’s anything but. He pauses at the edge of the clearing, staring at it.
You’ll be inside, asleep. Oblivious.
Oblivious to how close he came to death tonight. To how thin the line is between survival and annihilation. To the fact that he doesn’t have the strength to keep doing this much longer.
His stomach twists with something he doesn’t want to name— resentment, maybe, or envy. You can sleep. You can lie down, close your eyes, and drift into dreams without the weight of failure pressing against your skull. You can forget for a few hours that the world outside is tearing itself apart.
The anger simmers low in his chest as he finally moves forward, dragging the zipper of the tent open with a quiet rasp. The air inside is warmer, carrying the faint scent of you. His eyes adjust quickly in the dimness, and there you are— curled against your pillow, long lashes resting against your cheeks, lips parted slightly as your chest rises and falls with even breaths.
Part of him wants to shake you, to wake you and force you to face the impossibility of the moment: he can’t protect you like this. If you’re going to make it out alive, he needs more mana.
The solution is so simple. So simple it makes his stomach knot.
His eyes drag over you despite himself. The blanket has slipped higher, baring the curve of your thigh, practically glowing in the silver wash of moonlight. Your skin gleams, soft and unmarked by battle, free of scars or blemishes, untouched by the weight of the world he carries on his back.
If he touched you— if he took what he needed— his mana reserves would surge. It’d be enough to cut Caster down, and maybe, if he plays his cards right, secure him a victory against Saber. It would be efficient. Necessary. You wouldn’t even have to wake for it. He could keep you asleep and unaware, innocent while he dirtied his own hands.
It’s better than letting you die, isn’t it? Better than watching you bleed out because he was too weak to do what had to be done? If he carries the guilt, it spares you the grave. He’s no stranger to blood on his conscience; what’s one more sin if it means you survive another day?
It’s what a hero does— sacrifice himself, his soul, his humanity.
That’s what he tells himself as he steps out of his boots and slips beneath the blanket. He settles behind you, the warmth of his chest pressing faintly against your back. You don’t stir, not even when his fingers dip beneath your shirt, brushing over the smooth plane of your stomach. Your skin warms beneath his touch, and instantly, he feels it: a pull, subtle and unmistakable.
Mana swirls like heat gathering in his veins. It seeps into him the way warmth seeps into cold hands, spreading first in faint threads before rushing to fill every corner of him. The exhaustion in his bones loosens the slightest bit, and his body slackens with relief.
His hand lingers, fingers splaying wider across your stomach before drifting lower, tracing the curve of your hip. This time, you shiver beneath his touch, and his hand drops lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts.
The heat of you rushes to meet him, and he swallows hard when the mana coursing into him sharpens— no longer a slow trickle but a steady, molten stream. He spreads you gently, coaxing your thighs apart with a nudge of his knee, and the motion draws you closer into him, your body fitting tighter against his.
To his surprise, you’re wet when his fingers stroke between your folds, as though your body already knows him, already welcomes what he takes. The sound of it is quiet, slick against the pads of his fingers, and his cock twitches, hardening against the constraint of his pants.
With a low curse, he drags his hand from your shorts and undoes his belt. The metallic click of the buckle sounds loud in the small space, but you still don’t move. His cock springs heavy and hard into his hand, and he tugs the seat of your shorts to the side before guiding it between your legs.
The contrast nearly undoes him— soft, hot, wet. He pushes forward just enough for the head to slip between your folds, spreading you open, and the mana answers instantly, rushing into him with such intensity that he groans low against your shoulder. It’s raw and consuming, every nerve alight as power surges through him in tandem with the pulse of his cock.
Carefully, he presses deeper. Each inch he sinks inside you magnifies the flow until his body trembles with the force of it, as though he is drawing strength straight from your soul. You take him without resistance, your walls clinging tight, and he has to bite down hard to keep from rutting into you all at once.
It takes a moment, but once he’s fully sheathed, he stills. The torrent of mana pouring into him is almost unbearable, and he wraps an arm around your waist, anchoring you against him as he breathes raggedly into your neck.
Then he begins to move. Slow at first, steady, each drag of his cock pulling another wave of energy into him. The sensation is overwhelming— pleasure adorned with sustenance, hunger answered with every thrust. His hips fall into rhythm, grinding deep, filling you again and again, while his free hand cups your breast under your shirt.
Your sleeping body responds despite your unconsciousness. Your nipple stiffens as a soft sigh spills past your lips, and the sound nearly shatters his resolve. His hips snap harder, and the mana blazes in his veins until it feels less like he’s feeding and more like he’s being burnt alive.
His climax builds swiftly, inevitable with the way your body grips him, the way your warmth welcomes every inch of him. When it comes, it’s violent, his cock twitching deep inside you as he spills with a muffled groan. The release tears through him like lightning, wracking his body as the final flood of mana surges in, flooding every nerve with raw vitality.
He clutches you tighter as he rides it out, hips pressed flush against your ass, filling you until he has nothing left to give. Only then does the trembling in his muscles subside, the ache of exhaustion replaced with heady relief.
But even spent, he doesn’t pull away. He stays buried inside you, softening slowly, the aftershocks of mana still flickering through him like embers. His face stays pressed into your hair, his voice a low rasp, almost reverent as he whispers:
Your ex-husband isn't thrilled to hear about your latest romantic connection.
(It's more about Slater than Archer.)
Drama, Smut, Comedy, Story-Driven.
TWs: !!Smut!! And maybe a lil angst, jealousy, physical violence, drunk sex, long read, not proofread, this is not a 3-way fic, sorry! They're just both gettin' bounced on!
You've just moved cities for a new, low-profile job with a well-known spy agency, ISIS. It's a change of scenery where you can still use the specialized skills you've honed over the years at your old job. The CIA was a prolific time in your career, but with your divorce newly finalized after a long, messy process, you're ready to uproot your life and start over somewhere.
Finding this job was something of fate in itself. You were drinking your thoughts away in a shabby pub on a mission in Ireland when a man, just as wasted as you, came crashing through the door, spouting off at the mouth about "top secret agent" this, "classified mission" that. Even at your drunkest, you've never compromised yourself in such a way. All's well, though, as it ended with a job offer and a very interesting hook-up.
Try as you may, you can't escape the memories of that first sexual rendezvous after a lengthy legal battle. Your cheeks redden with warmth as you remember the way he bent you over, sliding his hands up your spine as he guided your hips against his waist.
You giggle to yourself as your stomach flips. All this time seeing him in a professional setting feels silly, considering his drunken personality when you first met him. You're certainly not in love, nor are you looking for it. It's just nice to explore without moral compromise.
Working with ISIS is a dream, not to mention getting to step out with Archer to fuck in a supply closet nearly hourly. The scandal of sneaking around only adds to the fun.
Your marriage was just as passionate for years, but with that came an explosiveness that working together at the CIA ultimately killed. No time apart, you smothered each other until it felt like there weren't any feelings to save.
Keeping things light with Archer has been easy, considering if he's not fucking you, then he's definitely off fucking someone else. Often other members of the agency. It is vehemently not love, and you love that.
One day, after months of casual hookups, Archer mentions something about taking you to dinner. An awkward silence falls over the two of you as you lie naked in his bed. "It's not that I don't want to, I just," you search hard for your next words.
"Oh, no. It's fine. I just figured I owed you after, you know, all this." He gestures to your whole body.
"You don't owe me anything, handsome. It's a pretty equal exchange if you ask me." You wink at him, slipping away from his possessive grip so you can get dressed.
"By the way, don't tell Mother I told you, but we've got some CIA agents coming in on Monday. I'm not sure what for. Apparently, none of us are supposed to know." Archer's clearly looking for any way to change the subject after his invite went wrong.
"CIA? Did you happen to get their names?" You ask, with a lump in your throat.
"No, but they can't be much worse than those other two dick heads." Archer settles back against his headboard, covered by nothing but blankets up to his waist. His chiseled body shines in the sunlight like a painting. You almost hesitate to leave, but after that awkward date denial, you want to get far, far away. It's not all his fault, he has no idea about your situation.
"Sounds like fun. I'll see you there, princess." You chuckle, lingering in the doorway.
"For the last time, it's Duchess. And we don't get to choose our code names!" His spiral makes you laugh as you wave goodbye and head out his bedroom door. His valet, an elderly man called Woodhouse, always meets you at the door to send you off. You smile warmly at him as you make your way to your car.
~~~Monday Morning
"Good morning, Pam," you yawn, stepping off the elevator. She waves a tired hello to you and you make your way toward your office. After a small window of time, Archer knocks at your door, right on schedule. You both slip down the hall and meet up in one of your trusty 'spots.' You've opted for the supply closet yet again.
Archer pulls you inside with him, hungrily grabbing at your breasts and roughly fidgeting with your buttoned-up blouse. You let out a giggle, a bit louder than you mean to, but you quickly quiet back down. He grins at the sight of your breasts pressed firmly against his chest.
"Oh, my God," he breathes into your neck, positioning himself right against you. "I'll never get tired of this." He slips inside of you with ease. A low, breathy moan escapes his lips as he reaches his hilt. From there, he's thrusting into you rhythmically, gripping your hips while you prop yourself against the shelves of dusty cleaning products.
Archer's fingertips dig into your skin as he lifts you off the ground for a better angle. Each delicate moan that escapes your lips is met with a sensual sound of his own or a passionate kiss on your lips to silence you. He places a firm, but gentle hand around your neck as he picks up his pace.
"Harder," you whisper against his broad chest and he's happy to oblige. At this point, you hardly care what can and can't be heard outside the closet. "Harder." And he complies, slamming into you with a force that'd tell a stranger he must hate you.
A knot begins to form in your stomach, growing tighter as you near your orgasm. He's moaning your name into your ear, sending your eyes rolling back every time he opens his mouth. You're doing all you can to keep it together, and just when you finally give, he pulls out and finishes on your chest, careful to keep aim on your exposed skin.
Your blue-eyed hookup helps you clean up and you realize there's yet another awkward silence as he lingers for a little longer than usual in the closet, just looking at you. "Wow," he sighs.
"You weren't too bad yourself, handsome," you wink, playfully tapping his chest with your palm. Once you've both steadied your breathing, he leaves first, scoping out the hallway, careful to give a cough or some sort of signal if someone's around. It's silent. You give it a few minutes and then you step out as well.
"Y/N!" A painfully familiar voice calls your name from the opposite end of the otherwise empty hallway. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Slater?" You knew it, you just wanted to believe it could've been anyone else. "Are you asking what I'm doing or what I'm doing here?"
"Well," he's stumped. "Both, I guess. Did you just fuck Archer in that closet?" He sounds equal parts disturbed and livid.
"I work here now. And that's really none of your business anymore." You cross your arms defensively.
"Trust me, Y/N, you don't want-"
"Stop telling me what I do and don't want. Don't we have a meeting or something?" You stomp off, not allowing his ability to set you off cost you this new job.
Archer and the other agents have already been in the meeting. You're late and if you weren't on Malory's good side, you know she'd have something to say about it. Instead, she just gives you a sharp look, and you take the warning for the golden ticket it is. You take a quiet seat near the group and tune into whatever the other CIA agent is explaining.
It's tedious, tiresome, and boring. Some of the staff are falling asleep while others are zoning out altogether. Archer's distracted and his disruption goes unchecked as he messes around with an Operation game.
Suddenly, the door slings open and Slater angrily crosses the floor. Most of the room falls silent, besides Archer, who is still playing with the toy. Slater reaches his desk and slaps the game out of his hands, causing others around them to gasp in surprise.
"Are you fucking my wife?" Slater yells lividly through gritted teeth, placing one hand on the desk surface to stop himself from swinging at the ISIS agent.
"What?" Archer's surprise quickly turns to amusement. "No, I'm screwing-"
"I'm not your wife anymore, Slater!" You scold from across the way. The room fills with sounds of confused shock, but no one's as wide-eyed as Archer.
"You're married to this douchebag?" Your dark-haired situationship points to Slater.
"Not anymore!" You toss your hands up defensively. "Our divorce is finalized. What Sterling and I do-" you're cut off.
"Sterling?" Slater erupts at the intimate comfortability between you and Archer. Unhinged, Slater grabs the front of Archer's suit and lands a solid punch to the face. His biceps flex intensely under his casual T-shirt as he tightens his grip for another swing.
Now Slater and Archer are in an all-out brawl. The desks of the lecture room are knocked into disarray as the two men toss each other around. Cyril and Ray both try to intervene, but it's pointless. Archer, as usual, takes nothing seriously. He's almost laughing and probably would be if he wasn't ever so slightly losing the fight.
"Enough!" Malory throws a glass of cognac so hard, it slams against the wall right between both men's heads.
"Mother!" Archer looks distressed by her close quarters warning.
"If you two don't stop this childish nonsense this very minute I'll have you both sent wherever the hell I want for treason." Her threat is grand, but it's clear she means it.
"Look, fuck you, but she'll actually do that," Archer speaks with his eyes narrowed at his rival. Slater sighs, glaring at Archer for just a moment more before finally releasing his suit jacket.
"Good," Malory relaxes, somehow already equipped with another freshly poured glass of cognac. She redirects everyone's attention back to the boring speaker from before. "Now, you were saying?"
~~~After Work, at Your House
"That's not what I'm saying!" Slater yells, an all too familiar sound. One you thought you'd gotten rid of.
"Then what are you saying?" You toss your arms up in frustration. "Because from here, it's sounding like you're telling me who I can and can't be with. We aren't married anymore!" That last sentence seems to piss him off, or at least hurt him. He closes his eyes and furrows his brows, trying to find it in himself to calm down. Something he's never tried to do before.
"I know we're not married anymore, but seriously? Him?" He shakes his head. "And why move? Why leave the CIA?"
"Are you kidding me?" You ask, utterly shocked by the question. "This is why! This tantrum you're throwing as if you haven't been enjoying your own freedoms even before the divorce was finalized!" The truth causes Slater to avert his eyes. It's true, he was living his own bachelor lifestyle quite early on in the process.
"It's just," he takes a deep breath. "Could it be anyone else?"
"You act like I'm in love with the guy." You laugh. "I'm just trying to feel something."
"Oh yeah? Does he know that?"
"Of course he does!" You knit your brows. "Have you met the guy? I'm not exactly at the top of his roster."
"His people said he hasn't strayed outside your little meetings for at least two weeks. That's like a year for him." Slater crosses his arms.
"Two weeks, huh?" You take a seat at your table. Slater sits right across from you. You do the math and realize you've only been working at ISIS for about a month.
"Two weeks. Not even Agent Kane had him down that long."
"Agent Kane? Lana? Do they have that kind of history?" You ask. It's clear to anyone that they've fucked, but you had no idea what their history entailed until Slater filled you in.
"You have no idea what this guy's about, huh?" He asks, smugly.
"I don't. And I don't care. I'm not stepping on any toes and I certainly don't owe you anything." You wrangle any corner of your face that may show discomfort, adamant to not let him know he got into your head. "I think you should go. I have work in the morning."
"Oh, I know. You and I will be working very closely for a while. Just like old times." He sounds sickly sweet as he heads for your door, like you asked. Just before he leaves, he hesitates, almost like he intends to speak, but he doesn't. He doesn't look back at you or anything. He just finally exits and a cold silence follows in his place.
"Fuck," you huff.
~~~The Next Day, in The Lecture Room
"Psst," Archer garners your attention.
"What?" You whisper and he passes you a note like you're two kids in school. It reads: 'My office, 2 PM.' You stifle the smirk blossoming on your lips. Then, before you have time to blink, the note is snatched from your hand by Slater, playing the role of the bitch teacher. After that, there are suddenly mandatory training exercises being held for certain agents at certain times. You've been lovingly gifted the time slot of 1:50 PM to 2:50 PM with Archer going right after you.
While each agent waits, you spend time at Cheryl's desk with her and Pam. A little gossip to speed things along. Pam doesn't hold back in the slightest, diving right in as soon as you sit down.
"So were you Y/N Slater or...?" Cheryl wrinkles her nose, asking a question far less invasive than Pam's.
"I kept my last name. I didn't know how to navigate that either." You shrug.
"Okay, but this divorce is recent, right?" Pam redirects the conversation.
"Recent for a divorce, sure. But we've been separated for over a year."
"A whole year of working with your ex-husband at the CIA?" The round-faced blonde raises her eyebrows.
"There's a reason I jumped at this opportunity, Pam." You tilt your head forward, widening your eyes at her. A look that says, 'Don't even ask.'
"Mrs. Slater..." Cheryl repeats to herself. "Nope, doesn't have a good ring to it."
"Sure doesn't!" You exclaim, holding up your left hand and wiggling your bare ring finger. Right on cue, Slater approaches you where you sit in front of Cheryl's desk. She and Pam both excuse themselves to eavesdrop from a few feet away.
"Ready for some assistance training Agent Y/L/N?" He asks, a bitterness already biting in his voice.
"Absolutely, Agent Slater." You give a false sense of enthusiasm. "Anything to get you out of here faster."
"Then right this way," he gestures for the elevator. The firing range is on an entirely different level, and something about the usually short lift ride is excruciatingly long today. You stand next to each other uncomfortably for a while before you finally glance over at him. He doesn't look at you, but you get a good look at his chest and crossed arms. His seemingly permanent angry expression etched lightly into his features. "Like what you see?" He asks, smirking smugly.
"Shut up," you snap, facing forward and silently scolding yourself for being so quick to nearly forget why you left him in the first place. Finally, the elevator doors open to the shooting range lobby. It's empty until you and Slater step out of the elevator. After checking your weapons and loading up on ammunition, it's time to start shooting.
You've always been a pretty solid shot. These exercises don't meet your skill. You'd do better to practice with a course, but that's not an option right now. "Two in the head, one in the chest," Slater says, and you don't think twice about what he's talking about. You fire the three bullets you were instructed to fire. This goes on for a while and you begin to think an hour of this might not be so bad.
"Oh, hey. I was thinking, why not make this a group effort and save some time?" Archer, seemingly drunk, appears in the soundproofed doorway of the shooting range.
"Agent Archer, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." Slater smiles deviously as he shoves him back and slams the door. Once it's locked, he turns his attention to you. You missed the whole ordeal due to the quality of your ear protection. You didn't see or hear Archer's impromptu class suggestion or it's brutal rejection.
"Are we done?" You ask, assuming that's what he's come to tell you when he lifts the earmuff off your head.
"No," he shakes his head. "Your form is a little off." His comment makes you arch your brows.
"No it's not."
"Yes, it is. Here." Slater takes your arms and guides them up to point your gun at the target. With his body pressed against yours, he wraps your hands around the firearm and "shows" you the proper form. It's no different from how you were just standing, and you know that, but that's not the point. The point is, now he's flush against your body and you can feel his heartbeat in the heat radiating off his chest.
"Slater, come on. What are you doing?" You try your best to sound serious, but you fail. He takes the gun from your hand and places it on the counter before slipping off your ear protection and setting it to the side as well. You're still standing with your back to him, and he leans in to whisper.
"Why don't you show me how good your form is?" He slips his hands into your hair, pulling it back gently like a ponytail before suddenly wrapping one hand up and roughly pulling your head back so he can plant a heinous love bite on your neck. You let out a breathy moan as your eyes slip back into your head. This is why it took so long to get away. If it wasn't an argument that had you nearly throwing chairs, then it was this.
"I can't... Or rather, I don't want to."
"You don't owe him anything. He's drunk right now, probably already fucking someone else in a different tiny, filthy closet." His grip on your hair tightens. "Haven't you missed me? Just a little?" The raspy nature of his voice vibrates into his chest that's pressed up against your back. Your skin erupts into chill bumps as his grip loosens and then tightens back up again when he doesn't get an answer fast enough.
"Slater," you pull away, finally. Much to your disappointment. Listen. Regardless of Archer, you know this isn't a good idea." You straighten up your appearance and calm your reddened cheeks. "Training's over," you say as you speed walk out the door.
At the end of the day, you're back at your place, freshly walking through the door after a stressful day at the office. Who'd have guessed Slater would make an appearance so soon in your journey to figuring out the single life? Who'd have known how absolutely unprepared you were for it?
After a few drinks, at-home vodka cranberries with far too much vodka to cran, you stare at your cellphone. All of you wants to call Slater and cave as quickly as you turned him down earlier. You shake the thought from your mind, scanning through your contacts for Archer. You stare at the number for a moment, recalling his dinner invitation.
You wonder if it was really meant to be a "repayment" of your promiscuous meetings. It felt far too personal, though. So personal, you sit with his number pulled up for another twenty minutes before ultimately hitting the red button, and clearing out all the information. Slater's presence has thrown your entire dynamic through a loop and it's pissing you off. Defiantly, you dial Archer's number.
Your stomach ties in knots as imagine what kind of mental strain this may put on him. To know you don't want anything more than an orgasm to get your mind off of the divorce. Surely he understands, right? It's not like he's the sentimental type.
"Hello?" A voice on the other end of the phone doesn't match the contact dialed. It's a woman and she's clearly wasted.
"Um, Archer?"
"Oh, he's kind of-" The next part of the sentence is clouded with laughter and the scuffling sound of a phone being dropped. Finally the call ends. An intense wave of relief washes over you. Thank God, you think to yourself. The relief is short-lived as you realize you've lost your lover for the night. You consider a trip to the bar, but it feels too desperate. That's when your phone begins to ring.
You stare at the screen. Slater's name flashes on the small device and you roll your eyes, sighing heavily. Already preparing for the mental toll this is about to take on you.
"Hello?" You answer on the last ring.
"Hey," he starts. "I just wanted to call and um, apologize." He sounds agonized by his own words. An ego check he never asked for.
"Apologize? For what?" You ask with a giggle.
"My behavior today was... Less than professional. I shouldn't have put you in a situation like that." It's as if this apology is being forced out of him at gunpoint, but you're appreciative of the effort.
"Thanks, Slater." You roll your eyes, still chucking.
"Are you uh- You alone tonight?" He asks, hesitantly.
"Yes, but not by choice. It seems someone else has made their way to my benefit's bed." You laugh. "I'm having wine and watching that show I like."
"What kind of wine?" Slater asks. You roll your eyes. He's always done this when he wants attention. Just sparking up a conversation about any and everything.
"Oh, you know, the cheap stuff." You shrug. Slater's unmistakable laughter crackles through the line.
"You love cheap thrills," he sighs with a smile. Silence falls over the conversation for just a moment before his voice rings through the phone one more time. "I'll talk to you soon."
"Slater, I-" but you're cut off by the telltale sign of being hung up on. You groan, tossing your phone across the room and letting it softly land on a fainting couch on the other side of the room. You rub your temples, silently venting about the man you've spent all this time trying to escape. Not due to any kind of fear, but simply because you know it's not ever meant to work.
An hour or so passes since you've changed into a sill nightgown and settled in for the night. You even consider digging out your weed stash and rolling a joint in the peace and quiet. You're halfway through the process (didn't have to twist your arm) when there's a knock at the door. Three soft knocks. Instinctively, you dismiss your buzz with sheer willpower. You glance at the clock. It's late, too late for visitors. Gripping the neck of your wine bottle, you stealthily make your way to the door.
Knock, knock, knock. Again. You don't jump, you hardly react at all. Nothing but a blink. Taking your place tactfully, standing right next to the door, you begin to slowly lean in toward the peephole. Just before you catch a glance, you hear a sound outside. A sigh. "Oh, Jesus Christ," you nearly melt with relief.
You open the door, pale in the face. All you could imagine was the CIA taking back their word and sending someone to take you out in the middle of the night in your own home.
"What the hell?" Your ex-husband stands before you with something in his hand.
"God damn it, Slater," you sigh. "What's up?"
"You said you were drinking the cheap stuff, so brought you a bottle of Château Calon-Ségur," he says, eyeballing the bottle in your hand meant to be a weapon. "But I'm now realizing this is the cheap stuff."
"The pay at ISIS isn't too shabby." You shrug. A second of silence passes between you two before you finally step out of the way and invite him inside. He nods a thanks at you and takes a hard look around your home. His eyes narrow at the lack of evidence of ever having a life with him. It's just a staged house of anything that isn't from or about him.
"Nice place you got," he says, stifling any other comments he wants to make.
"Thank you. I figured you'd have something shitty to say." You laugh, raising your eyebrows in surprise at his lack of insult.
"Not a lot of pictures," he tosses.
"I don't have any to hang yet," you arch an eyebrow at him.
"Right," he says, recalling the endless amount of photographs of you two he still has in his attic. "You seem happy. You look," he leans back, shaking his head with a sly smile. "Great."
"Yeah?" You smile politely. You know you look great. You've done nothing but glow since the papers were very first served. It's then that you notice the scent of his cologne. A decade of forgotten feelings comes flooding back, and as aware as you are that it's the wine, you can't help the redness flushing your face. And that's all it takes, just like that, he knows he's in.
Slater crosses the living room and takes a place on the couch next to you. "What's all this?" He asks, gesturing to your half-rolled joint. "I thought pot was illegal around here," he chuckles, finishing the joint and lighting it.
"It's decriminalized, but I still usually step outside before lighting it."
"Whoops," he responds flatly, bringing the joint to his lips as he lies back on the couch, sinking into the soft cushions. You pass the joint back and forth until you're both in a haze, surrounded by lingering clouds of smoke. The TV plays a Western, and though you're both staring at the screen, it feels like you're focused on each other. Each stealing eye glances at the other.
"Wine?" You ask, breaking the comfortable silence. He nods and you disappear to grab another glass. In the kitchen, you can feel the moment of his hands running through your hair, pulling it back, and whispering in your ear the other day. Chills run up your spine. Quickly, you return to your ex in the living room. He's sitting up a bit straighter now. After pouring him a glass, you join him on the couch.
He'd be a piss-poor agent if he didn't notice how much closer you sat to him upon your return. He can't help himself. "You know, your little friend with benefits was getting pretty friendly with some escorts in a casino tonight." You roll your eyes.
"My God, Slater. Are you just stalking everybody now?" You laugh, shifting a bit away from him. "Besides, I already know. He was supposed to come over tonight, but he seemed a little busy." Slater's eyebrows narrow.
"So sorry you had to settle for me," he smirks.
"I didn't. You just showed up." You eyeball him as you sip your wine. "And that begs the question; What do you think would've happened if you showed up while I was reaping the benefits?"
"Ugh," Slater shakes his head. "I don't want to think about it." He's laughing, but the boiling in his blood is as present as ever when he thinks about you with that secret agent idiot. His "casual" grip on the back cushions of the couch ignites his knuckles white. "God, do you live to get a rise out of me?"
"What do you mean? I didn't even invite you here." You look around the room as if to look for who might've invited him, sending the message that there is, in fact, no one. He invited himself.
"Y/N, look. I know the divorce is finalized. I understand I don't really have a leg to stand on."
"Oh, god. No, please stop."
"Will you just hear me out?"
"I really don't want to." You look at him, eyebrows turned up. "That sounds like some really heavy stuff and I'm really high." Slater sighs with defeat.
"Fair enough."
"Why'd you come over tonight?" You ask, curious and figuring it can't hurt seeing as he already made things tense.
"Ya' know, I don't really know."
"Really? No cheesy monologue about missing me?" You laugh. He used to try too hard. Always phoning it in. No substance.
"Oh, please." His eyes narrow. "Like you haven't been thinking of my hands in your hair all evening." His bold statement causes you to nearly choke on your sip of wine. Slater's chuckling at you, looking pleased with himself.
"You're insufferable," you scoff and his giggle erupts into laughter.
"You're so much easier to read off the clock." Slater leans forward and toys with his glass for a moment before downing its contents in one swallow. The tension between you is palpable as you refill his glass, not once spilling a drop and maintaining eye contact the entire time.
You hardly realize how close you are to him when you return the glass to his hand. Your palm flattens against his broad, solid chest. You've unintentionally pushed the two of you into a lounging position where you lie on top of him, staring down into his eyes as they scan your face.
You want to tear his clothes off and climb him like a tree, but you're preoccupied by the possible repercussions. You ball up your fist on his chest and release a frustrated sigh before creating a gap between you once again. You're sitting up, but Slater is still lying down, looking confused.
"Whoa, what happened?" He holds his empty arms out like he doesn't understand how you got away.
"I don't want to be shitty to you, but," you swallow the awkwardness down. "I don't want to create a dialogue that isn't there."
"What the fuck are you talkin' about?"
"I'm not interested in fixing things, Slater."
"Fixing things? Y/N, sweetheart, we had a good run." He sits up. "But I'm not trying to marry you again. I hardly like you."
"Bitch."
"But if you're gonna be sleeping around anyways, you might as well give me a call sometime."
"Jesus Christ. I'm not just handing it out like a prayer pamphlet," you say, crossing your arms.
"Never said you were," he arches his brows, annoyed that his own words aren't landing correctly.
"You very much implied it."
"Of course, you're gonna do this. You always do this." He begins to shift like he's planning to stand and leave. You can't tell if that's what you want or not.
"Do what? You just came over and told me if I'm gonna be a whore, I might as well include you in my whoring."
"No one called you a whore, Y/N!" He runs a hand through his pushed-back hair and groans with impatience. Finally, he stands and so do you. "Look, I'll just let you get back to smoking pot and drinking while your Mama's boy boyfriend has sex with a bunch of hookers."
"What the fuck is your problem?" You raise your voice. "And that's not what they're called anymore. They're sex workers." He rubs his temples.
"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Y/N."
"Oh, fuck you. You're the reason this is so hard to navigate. You made that divorce as difficult as possible at every turn!" You shove a finger into his chest.
"Because years ago, when I was fucking stupid, I didn't want to lose you!" The confession is too heavy. Too sweet. Too real. You hate it.
"Lower your God damn eye brows when you're talking to me." You push away the sentimental nonsense and Slater notices right away.
"I don't love you anymore, Y/N. We're both over it."
"Then why the hell did Archer make you so angry? You beat him up in front of his own mother."
"I don't know. Still a little protective, I guess." He begins to cool down. After a criminally short moment of silence, Slater sighs and rolls his eyes before closing the gap between you and crashing his lips into yours.
Everything in you screams fucking finally! But instead, you wrap your arms around him and deepen the kiss. He starts to lead you to your bedroom, but once he realizes he has no idea where it is, he picks you up, wrapping your legs around him. It's an easy stroll to the couch where he drops you onto the cushions and makes quick work of removing your nightgown.
You glow beneath him. His eyes study your exposed form like he couldn't see until he saw you. One hand grips at the curves of your waist, and the other squeezes your breast through your bra. A breathy moan slips from your lips like a sigh. All feelings aside, it's as if your flesh missed each other.
Slater's breathing is heavy as he drinks in the image of you beneath him. All those years together, but neither of you has felt like this since the very beginning. Back when it was just harmless fun in an empty office at work.
You tug his shirt up and over his head before resuming the sloppy kiss. After unfastening his belt, you begin to unhook your bra, but his hands stop you. You erupt into chill bumps as his fingers trail up your back and effortlessly flick the clasps undone. It's one part the alcohol and one part the history, but you're nearly breathless with anticipation.
"God damn," he huffs.
"I know, right?" You smirk. He shakes his head with a chuckle, burying his face in your neck and biting down softly, but firmly. You gasp as his teeth drag over your skin. He strokes himself a few times, looming over you with sparkling, dark eyes. His free hand pushes a stray piece of hair back from his face. You wait with bated breath as he slowly pushes himself against your sensitive clit.
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss this," Slater sighs before slowly sliding into you. You release a low, sultry moan as he grinds himself against you. He pulls your legs up so that they're hooked up over his shoulders, giving him all the angles he needs to thrust himself entirely into you. His movements are rhythmic and steady as he savors every inch of you he can reach.
"Oh, my God!" You gasp, earning a pussy-throbbing smirk from the man inside you.
"Don't get the cops called again," he chuckles, still thrusting. He's speaking about a time during your marriage when he fucked you so well that your moans and screams not only woke but concerned the neighbors.
"Fuck you," you huff, speaking between the slamming of your pelvises against each other.
"It's what you needed," he winks, picking up his pace. He's broad, strong, and well-endowed. It's hard to compare anyone to the feeling of being with him. It's like fucking a really sexy brick wall.
After an eternity of him slamming into you, legs tossed over his shoulders like a ragdoll, he pulls out. You gasp at the sudden absence. "Why don't you show me that ass, sweetheart?" He says, his voice is taunting and dominant. You do exactly as he says, turning over and arching your back to put on a bit of a show. Nothing he's never seen before, but you'd hardly be able to tell by his reaction.
Slater grips both your hips with his open palms, hooking his fingertips into your soft flesh as he pulls you back against him with each thrust. He tosses his head back in ecstasy. "Oh, fuck," he sighs with heavy breaths. You wrap your arms around the throw pillows, hoping for some sort of leverage against the harsh bucking. He raises a hand and playfully slaps your ass, earning a light squeal of excitement from you.
Just when you don't think you can process anything else, he slides a hand up your spine and wraps it in your hair. With each desperate slam into you, he pulls tighter. At some point, he releases your hips and your hair is the only handle for leverage he has, using it to pull your body to meet his as he thrusts as far as possible inside you. It just happens to be pretty goddamn far.
"Have your fun, Y/N," he huffs, voice raspier than usual. "Fuck whoever you want. I don't care." The sound of him sliding in and out of you has evolved to loud, wet echoes. "You're always gonna be mine." He picks up his pace yet again, slowly losing his rhythm as his flesh slaps against yours.
You can't argue. You know he's not wrong. Sure, neither of you cares so much for the marriage aspect, but you know you'll be right back in this situation a million more times before you're ever truly done. For the last time, you're working toward another orgasm when he quickens his thrusts and with one final slam against you, he withdraws and finishes on your displayed ass.
Breathless, Slater slinks backward into the couch and you collapse where you are, flattening out on the other end of the couch. You flinch as he cleans you up, leaving you with a playful smack.
"God damn, Slater," you sigh, eyes still threatening to roll backward.
"Better than your Mama's boy?" He asks between breaths.
"I don't know. I think I need to run a few experiments first." You grin, flushed in the face.
"Fuck you."
*****
Author's Note:
I wrote this entire story based on one glance at that GIF and I can't even remember what episode that is or what's actually happening there.
Update: I watched the episode and I love the handsome cartoon men. That's all. (I love the women too, but I objectify men.)
Author Note: It has come to my attention that there is a lack of Archer love from Fate Stay/Night: Unlimited Blade Works. Imma fix that, please enjoy😙
Summary: Your childhood friend Rin Tohsaka had decided to stay the night at Shirou's again, leaving you and her servant, Archer, alone.
Genre: Smut, fluff, slight angst (playful)
Word Count: 6.1k
The Tohsaka mansion stood silent under the star-drenched summer sky, its silhouette etched in sharp contrast against the pale glow of the crescent moon. The cicadas' rhythmic hum filled the air, blending with the occasional rustle of leaves in the warm, restless breeze.
You sat cross-legged on a plush velvet sofa in the study, the mansion's only occupant tonight. The antique clock on the mantle ticked in deliberate defiance of time's passage, the sound growing louder as the night deepened. You weren’t expecting any disturbances tonight—until the faintest knock echoed through the air, reverberating down the empty hallways like a whispered dare. Your eyes flicked up from your book to meet a tall figure leaning against the door frame—arms crossed.
'Hello, Archer,' you say closing the book and placing it on the mahogany desk. 'I thought you and Rin were on another midnight escapade.' The archer servant scoffed.
'No. I'm on babysitting duty tonight while Rin frolics around with her boy toy.' The corner of your mouth twitched in amusement as you leaned back into the sofa, crossing your arms to mirror his stance.
'Babysitting? I didn’t realise I needed a chaperone.' Archer rolled his eyes, his grey gaze scanning the room with practised indifference. 'Hardly. I'm here to ensure this oversized house doesn't burn down while you're... distracted.' His tone dripped with sarcasm, though there was a flicker of genuine concern buried beneath the layers of his usual aloofness.
'How thoughtful of you,' you replied, your voice laced with mock sincerity. 'But I can manage a quiet night of solitude without burning anything down.' He pushed off the doorframe and strode further into the study, his footsteps silent against the plush red carpet.
'Solitude, maybe. Quiet? That depends. You’re alone in this place, and it’s summer at a time when all manner of creatures crawl out of the shadows. Let’s just say I’ve seen enough to know better than to leave you to your own devices.' You tilted your head, studying his expression. Despite his words, Archer’s eyes carried that familiar glint of challenge, as though daring you to refute him.
'Is that your roundabout way of saying you're bored and decided to crash here?" you teased, gesturing for him to take the seat opposite you. Archer hesitated, as though debating whether to dignify your remark with a response. Finally, he sighed and settled into the high-backed chair with the air of someone who owned the place.
'If I were bored, I’d at least have the decency to admit it. This,' he gestured vaguely to the room, 'is an obligation. And perhaps a touch of pity for you, sitting here with nothing but dusty books for company.' You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. "How considerate. Tell me, Archer, do you always treat your babysitting assignments with this much charm?"
'Only when they’re particularly helpless,' he shot back, his smirk deepening. The banter filled the room like a spark lighting a dim flame, warming the solitude you’d expected to endure tonight. Archer, for all his exasperating wit, had a way of making even the quietest summer nights feel alive with unspoken possibilities.
'I may not be a mage but I most certainly can handle myself.' I puffed out my chest and the grey-haired man scoffed. Archer leaned back in the chair, arms draped over the armrests with the kind of arrogance only he could pull off.
'Oh, really?' he drawled, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. 'Because sitting here surrounded by dusty tomes screams 'capable.' Should I fetch you a sword, or will you fend off intruders with your wit?' You shot him a glare, determined not to rise to his bait.
'I don’t need a sword or magic to defend myself,' you retorted, puffing your chest out just a little more for effect. 'I’m perfectly capable of handling whatever comes my way, thank you very much.' His scoff was almost theatrical.
'I’m sure. Let me guess—you’ll bore your enemies into submission with that speech of yours?' You picked up the nearest object, the leather-bound book from the mahogany desk, and aimed it at him without a second thought. It sailed across the room, but in a blur of motion, Archer caught it mid-air with a single hand.
'Nice try,' he said, smirking as he turned the book over, inspecting its cover. 'At least you’re resourceful. I’ll give you that much.' You crossed your arms, annoyed but secretly impressed by his reflexes.
'See? That’s proof enough I’m not entirely defenceless.' Archer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and regarding you with a raised brow.
'Let me paint a picture for you. A servant breaks through the barrier outside; storms the mansion, and launches a weapon at you. What’s your move?'
'I…' You faltered for a split second but quickly recovered. 'I’d dodge, obviously.'
'And then what? Throw another book at them?'
Your lips pressed into a thin line as you stared at him. His smirk widened as he leaned back, clearly enjoying himself.
'You’re insufferable, you know that?'
'Perhaps,' he said, tossing the book back to you with surprising accuracy. 'But if I’m insufferable, you’re predictable. That’s why I’m here—to make sure no one takes advantage of your charming overconfidence while Rin’s away.'
You clutched the book, your grip tightening as you fought back a retort. Archer wasn’t wrong—not entirely, anyway—but there was no way you were going to admit it.
'Fine,' you said after a long pause, 'but only because I can tolerate the company.'
He smirked again, his crimson eyes softening ever so slightly. 'Glad to be of service.' Suddenly, Archer's face dropped and he groaned.
'What's wrong?' You tilt your head, your earrings tapping underneath your ears at the motion.
'Rin has requested I pack her an overnight bag and bring it to Shiro's residence...she forgot to bring anything to change in.' He sighed and rubbed his temple. He gets up off the sofa and heads into Rin's room, you trail after him. You lean in the door frame watching him hold a bag and search in her draws. An amused smile graces your lips as he opens her undergarment draw. Archer froze for a fraction of a second, his fingers hovering over the edge of Rin's neatly arranged undergarments. His eyes darted toward you, narrowing slightly as he caught sight of your amused expression.
'Don’t even start,' he said flatly, his voice carrying a warning edge that only made your grin widen.
'I wasn’t going to say anything,' you replied, feigning innocence as you leaned casually against the doorframe. 'Though, I didn’t peg you as the type to rifle through a lady’s… unmentionables.' Archer sighed, muttering something under his breath about how this wasn’t part of his job description. He pinched the bridge of his nose before grabbing what looked like a plain, practical set and tossing it into the bag with the precision of someone trying to pretend this was all very routine.
'Careful,' you teased, folding your arms. 'Wouldn’t want to pick the wrong ones. Rin might get upset.'
He shot you a look, his smirk returning. 'And here I thought you’d appreciate the effort I’m putting into this ‘babysitting’ duty.'
'Oh, I do,' you quipped, watching as he moved on to the wardrobe to pull out pyjamas and her usual clothing. 'In fact, I think Rin owes you big time for this. Maybe you should negotiate a better contract next time.'
'Noted,' Archer replied dryly, stuffing the rest of the items into the bag. He slung it over his shoulder with a practised ease and turned toward you. 'Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to play errand boy for the evening.'
You couldn’t resist one last jab. 'Well, don’t let Shirou catch you snooping in Rin’s drawers, or he might challenge you to a duel or something.'
Archer rolled his eyes but couldn’t entirely suppress the twitch of a smirk. 'I’ll keep that in mind. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone, will you?'
With that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone once more in the grand, silent mansion. The cicadas’ hum resumed as the door clicked shut.
-
The hours passed in a quiet haze, the ticking of the antique clock growing more pronounced in the stillness of the house. You were half lost in your own thoughts when the familiar sound of Archer materialising into the study. You glanced up from your book, meeting his tired gaze.
'Back already?' you asked, a teasing edge to your voice. Archer grunted in response, rubbing his temple as if the night had aged him by a few decades.
'Yes, unfortunately.' His tone was drained of the usual snark, but there was still a faint edge of humour lurking beneath the exhaustion. You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.
'What happened? Did Shirou decide to make it a challenge?'
'Hardly.' Archer dropped into the chair across from you, slumping with a sigh. You sat in silence for a moment, watching Archer’s weary expression soften as he let the weight of the night settle over him. It was rare to see him this worn out, and though you enjoyed the banter, it was clear he wasn’t quite himself. You had changed into your pyjamas; soft silk pink shorts and a baby pink cotton tank top with a little bow adorning the centre of the neckline lined with white lace.
'Hey, Archer, can I ask you something?' You closed your book and shifted your body to face him. Archer opens one eye to look at you.
'What?' He gruffs and you look down at the coushins of the sofa, avoiding eye contact.
'Do...Do servants have the same desires as humans?' You asked, a vague question indeed. He opened both his eyes and looked at you.
'You'll have to be more specific,' he hums.
'Do you...do you feel, you know, attraction?' The air between you grew still, the hum of the night outside suddenly distant. Archer’s gaze was sharp, probing, as though he hadn’t quite expected that question. For a moment, his usual confidence faltered, replaced with something unreadable in his eyes. You shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, your fingers nervously tracing the lace trim of your top. The question had slipped out before you could stop it, and now, you regretted the awkwardness that settled between you. Archer sat up a little straighter, his usual teasing smirk absent for once. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, as if weighing his words.
'You’re asking if I can feel... desire, like a human,' he said, slowly and deliberately, as if testing the very idea. 'I suppose that depends on what you mean by 'feel.' As a servant, I don't experience the same emotions that humans do. At least, not in the way you might expect.' You frowned, confused by his answer.
'So, it’s... a no, then?'
'Not exactly.' Archer’s voice softened, a flicker of something deeper in his tone. 'It's not that I can't experience attraction, but it’s more complicated. There’s a certain... detachment to my existence. Emotions, desires, they’re not something I chase, nor are they something I dwell on. I’m bound by a different purpose, one that doesn’t really leave room for things like 'falling in love.'' His words hung in the air, heavier than you anticipated. Despite his composed exterior, there was a subtle weariness to his voice, a touch of something unspoken beneath the surface.
'But you can still feel it, right?' you pressed, still unsure of where this conversation was going. 'It’s not completely gone, is it?'
Archer’s gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he almost looked... human. Not the servant or the hero or the idealised warrior, but just a man who had once known what it was like to live with those emotions. 'I suppose that’s a matter of perspective,' he said quietly, almost thoughtfully. 'Feelings can be buried, but they’re never completely gone. They just... change.' You swallowed, suddenly aware of how personal this conversation had become. The silence stretched between you both, the weight of his words sinking in.
'Do you regret it?' You asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. Archer's expression hardened slightly, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.
'Regret is a human luxury,' he replied softly. 'I live with the consequences of my actions, but I don’t have the luxury of dwelling on what could have been.' You nodded slowly, understanding the hint of pain behind his words. For all his detached nature, there was still a part of him that had known love, desire, perhaps even loss. The silence between you both stretched on, neither of you quite knowing how to break it.
'Do you feel sexual desire?' You asked, inching closer to him. Archer’s eyes narrowed slightly as the directness of your question hit him. His posture stiffened, and for a moment, it was clear he wasn’t sure how to respond to such an inquiry. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the playful tension gone, replaced by something more serious.
'That's... a very blunt way to put it,' he muttered, his voice low, as if considering his answer carefully. 'But yes, I am capable of it. It's a part of being human... or at least, having been human at one point. But whether or not I feel it in the way you mean is another matter entirely.' You could tell by his tone that he was measuring his words, choosing carefully how to explain something so personal, yet so difficult to articulate. There was a certain distance to his words, as if trying to prevent the conversation from becoming too intimate.
'Why do you ask?' Archer's gaze flicked to you, his crimson eyes catching the soft light from the nearby lamp, assessing. 'Curiosity... or something more?' He leaned back in his chair slightly, waiting for your answer, as though he could sense the shift in the dynamic between you two.
'As a human, you are very pleasing to look at, your personality is insufferable- but I am a believer of speaking when something is on my mind,' your tone taking a sharp edge. Archer’s lips curled into a small, knowing smirk, though his eyes remained steady, unreadable.
'I can tell,' he replied, his voice laced with a hint of amusement despite the tension building between you. 'You’ve always been... direct.' You felt a flush of heat rise to your cheeks, a mix of irritation and something else—something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. His calm response only fueled the sharp edge in your tone as you leaned in just a little closer.
'I’m just being honest,' you continued, voice quieter now, more deliberate. 'You’re insufferable, but that doesn’t mean I can’t admit when someone has... certain qualities.' Archer studied you for a moment, his expression almost imperceptibly softening, though he didn’t break his usual guarded demeanor.
'And what qualities might those be?' he asked, his voice now more cautious as if sensing the deeper layers of the conversation beneath your words.
'Physical,' you said, eyes briefly flicking to him and then away. 'The way you carry yourself. The confidence, even when you’re being unbearable.' There was no denying the bluntness of your words, but at least now, you had his full attention. Archer’s gaze held steady, his lips twitching as if he were about to respond, but the words seemed to elude him. He glanced away for a moment, though you could see the subtle shift in his expression, as if trying to process what you had said.
'You’re strange,' he finally said, his voice quiet but with an edge of something else—something more complex than the usual teasing banter. 'But I suppose that’s part of what makes you... interesting.' You weren’t sure if he was mocking you or not, but you didn’t care. The conversation had gone further than you’d expected, and yet, there was a strange comfort in the rawness of it. Even if it left both of you standing on uncertain ground. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the tension lingering in the air, but unspoken understanding passing between you. Archer shifted slightly in his seat, his gaze locking with yours.
'So, you’re saying you like what you see?' he asked, the usual sarcasm in his voice now replaced with something less defensive. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you simply met his gaze, your expression firm but unreadable. Finally, you gave a small shrug.
'Maybe,' you said softly. 'But that doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you.' Archer let out a short laugh, and for the first time in the conversation, there was a warmth to it.
'I wouldn’t expect anything less.' The air between you two shifted again, the conversation moving past its initial awkwardness, and you couldn’t help but wonder how far this unexpected honesty would take you. You inched closer to his spot on the sofa, sitting on your knees, his arm that was draped over the top of the sofa.
'It's just us here,' you whisper with a smirk on your glossed lips. Archer's gaze shifted slightly, his expression unreadable as you moved closer. The air around you both seemed to thicken, the quiet weight of the moment pressing in. His posture didn't shift, but there was a flicker of something—surprise, wariness, or maybe just the subtle awareness that this was a different side of you, one that had surfaced unexpectedly. You could feel the tension building as you leaned in a fraction more, the proximity making his usual nonchalance seem less certain. His eyes remained on you, though they seemed to be measuring the space between you, waiting for your next move.
'It's just us,' you repeated, your voice soft, almost taunting, as your lips curled into a playful, challenging smirk. The subtle hint of gloss on them caught the light, adding to the sharpness of your look. Archer let out a quiet breath, his gaze flicking to your lips before returning to your eyes.
'Careful,' he said, his tone still steady, but with the slightest edge of caution. 'You’re treading into dangerous territory.' You tilted your head, never breaking eye contact.
'Am I?' The question hung in the air, your confidence radiating. You could feel the shift in his demeanour, the tension between you both hanging on the cusp of something—unknown and maybe a little dangerous. Archer’s gaze softened slightly, though there was still a guardedness to it.
'You’re bold,' he said, his voice low. 'But you should know that doesn’t unnerve me.'
'You sure?' you whispered, inching even closer, your breath brushing against the skin of his neck. His jaw tightened, his hand subtly shifting from the back of the sofa to the seat, as if bracing himself for something—perhaps uncertain of whether to push back or lean into the moment.
'You’re playing with fire,' he murmured, though the words didn’t seem to carry their usual warning. You smiled, a faint challenge in your eyes.
'Maybe I like the heat.' For a long moment, neither of you moved, the unspoken tension building, as though both of you were testing the limits of this quiet standoff.
'But can you handle it?' Archer responds, his voice lowering an octive. The change in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, the deeper, more controlled tone carrying an intensity that felt all too close. Archer’s eyes locked onto yours, unwavering, and in that moment, the playful edge you’d been holding onto felt as fragile as glass. You could feel the air shift, the space between you narrowing with every breath. The challenge in his words wasn’t lost on you, but it only fueled the fire you’d already sparked.
'Maybe you should find out,' you replied, your voice equally low now, matching his tone. Your smirk remained, but there was a flicker of something more—something dangerous, something daring. You weren't sure what you were doing, but you were caught up in the pull of it. Archer’s gaze darkened, his jaw clenching as if he were trying to decide how far to let this go. The playful teasing, the edge of sarcasm—all of it slipped away, replaced by something more serious, more... intense. He leaned in slightly, close enough for you to feel the heat from his body. The electricity between you both buzzed, crackling with tension, leaving you caught between daring to test the limits and knowing exactly what it might cost. His presence, his confidence, wrapped around you like a challenge, and you knew in that moment that this was no longer just about words. It was something much more carnal. Archer’s hand moved faster than you anticipated, his fingers brushing against your arm with a surprising gentleness, despite the tension that thickened the air. The contact sent a ripple through you, the warmth of his skin against yours igniting something that was both familiar and unsettling. He didn’t break eye contact, his gaze steady and calculating, as if reading your every response. You hadn’t expected him to be the first to initiate, but the moment his fingers brushed your skin, something inside you shifted. His hand moved, slowly, deliberately, to rest on your waist, his thumb grazing the edge of your hip. The subtle touch was enough to make your breath hitch, a quiet pulse of heat spreading from where he touched you. His voice was low, almost a whisper as he spoke, his lips close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.
'Careful,' he murmured, but there was no longer a hint of warning in his voice, just a challenge, a promise of what might come next. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, the weight of the moment hanging between you. Archer’s hand was firm on your waist, but it was the look in his eyes that unsettled you—the intensity of it, like he was waiting for something, testing you, all while keeping himself in check. You could feel the tension in every breath you took, the space between words more powerful than anything spoken. And yet, his touch, though restrained, felt like a silent dare. You placed your hand on his toned chest, testing the waters. Archer’s breath caught slightly as your hand rested against his chest, the subtle pressure of your palm against his toned muscles sending a jolt through him. His body was still, but the pulse under your fingers was steady, like a quiet drumbeat—an unspoken challenge. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his chest rising and falling with each breath, the faintest shift in his posture signalling that he was fully aware of the moment. The distance between you two had all but vanished now, and there was an undeniable electricity crackling in the air. His eyes flicked to your hand for just a moment before locking back onto yours, his gaze intense, studying, searching for any hint of hesitation in you. His other hand lifted your chin to make eye contact with him.
'(Y/N). I'll show you fire.' With that, Archer's lips encapsulate yours in a hungry, carnal kiss. You moan gently as he grips you harder. He pulls you into his lap and you place both hands on his chest.
'Archer, please,' you sigh, gripping his black undershirt. His nose trails up and down your neck, peppering kisses along it, gently biting at the soft skin. Your hands slide down his toned body as they stop at his crotch, a hard mass forming underneath it. The grey-haired bowman chuckles at your desperation. He undoes his pants and you slide them down as you rid yourself of your shorts.
'My, in such a hurry.' He teases and you scoff.
'Shut up.' He chuckles and your face floods with red. His hands traces your body as they make their way to your needy pussy. He slids your laced panties to the side and dips his finger tips in the wetness. He chuckles again, 'needy already?' He teased. You blush again and bit your lip.
'Just get on with it, bowman,' you huffed. He places kisses along your neck as he guides your hips over his thick, long length.
'Are you ready, girl?' He hums in your ear and you nod desperately. He pushes your hips down gently, as the inches stretch your walls you groan with pleasure.
'Ar-Archer,' you whine as you bury your face in his clothes chest. He grits his teeth as he sheths into you fully.
'Fuck,' he groans in delight. You slowly move your hips before gathering more and more enthusiasm. His skilled hand moves its way to your pearl, gently massaging it- creating unspoken amounts of pleasure. After a few minutes of passionate kisses and moans, Archer's stomach tightens. 'Ngh-' he clenches his teeth and you suck at his neck.
'Are you close? Mmh-' you moan and he nods. 'Me..me too. Archer, I' gonna cum!' You whine as you both reach your high together. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and see stars as Archer releases his seed into your pussy. You both come down from your high and the bowman gently lifts you off his lap onto the sofa. Flustered, he catches his breath. The room felt different now, the quiet after the storm settling over the two of you like a blanket, thick with unspoken words. Archer’s hand was still on your waist as he reluctantly helped you off his lap, guiding you back to the sofa. His touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent a quiet pulse of heat through you. You both sat there for a few moments in the stillness, neither of you quite knowing what to say. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, his usually steady demeanour faltering, the tension of the moment still hanging in the air between you.
'That was...' Archer started, his voice trailing off as he caught his breath, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to regain some semblance of composure. His usual confidence was shaken, a rare sight for anyone who knew him.
'Yeah,' you murmured, glancing away for a moment, feeling the flush on your cheeks, still processing the rush of emotions. 'I didn't expect you to... well, to do that.' He looked at you, his gaze softening slightly, but there was still that edge of uncertainty in his eyes, as if even now he wasn't entirely sure of what had just happened between you two.
'Neither did I,' he admitted, his voice quiet, the usual teasing gone.
'Shall we get cleaned up?' You ask, tilting your head. Archer looked at you for a moment, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual, before he finally nodded. His usual self-assuredness seemed to be returning, though there was a softness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
'Getting cleaned up sounds like a good idea,' he replied, his voice still carrying that low, steady tone. He stood up from the chair, pushing it back with a slight motion. The moment of vulnerability from before was quickly fading, replaced by the familiar sense of control, but there was still a subtle tension in the air, as if neither of you were quite sure where to go from here. You smiled faintly, already feeling a bit lighter as you moved toward the door, ready to take the next step and put some distance between the intensity of the moment.
'I’ll head to the bathroom,' you said, pausing to look over your shoulder at him. 'Meet you there?' Archer gave a small nod, his expression unreadable but his eyes flicking to you with a hint of something unspoken. 'Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.' As you turned to head down the hall, you could hear the soft creak of the floorboards as he followed you, his presence still lingering behind you, the quiet hum of the night around you both. The air between you had changed, but the next step, whatever it was, still felt uncertain. And maybe, just maybe, that was what made it all the more intriguing. You made your way to the bathroom, the soft tap of your footsteps on the floor echoing in the hallway. The house felt unusually quiet after everything that had just passed, as though the silence was holding its breath, waiting for the next move. You could feel Archer behind you, his presence a constant, but the space between you both seemed more charged now—more aware. As you entered the bathroom and flicked on the light, you caught your reflection in the mirror. You paused for a moment, studying yourself. Your cheeks were still flushed, the lingering warmth of the moment evident in your expression. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your thoughts, but there was no denying how your heart was still racing. The room seemed too small for the thoughts running through your mind. You heard the door creak open behind you, and Archer’s reflection appeared in the mirror. His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, neither of you spoke. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable but intense. He was watching you, and in that silence, it was almost like the world outside didn’t exist.
'So,' he said, his voice breaking the quiet, soft but still carrying an edge of that cool composure he always wore. 'You really don’t hold back, do you?'
You met his gaze in the mirror, the challenge from earlier still simmering between you.
'What can I say?' You gave him a small smile, trying to keep things light, but there was an undeniable charge in the air between you two. 'I like to keep things interesting.'
Archer pushed off from the doorframe and stepped toward you, closing the distance between you both. His movements were measured, deliberate, and yet there was a hint of something more uncertain in the way he lingered, just out of reach. His eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the air.
'You’re a dangerous one,' he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper.
'Maybe,; you said, tilting your head slightly. 'But then again, you’re not exactly innocent yourself.' Archer let out a breath, the barest chuckle escaping his lips as he took another step closer. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken words, the boundaries between teasing and something deeper becoming harder to distinguish. For a moment, neither of you moved, standing there in that shared space of tension and quiet understanding. The silence spoke volumes, but the next words, or actions, would decide just how far the night was going to go.
After a steamy shower filled with sweet nothings, soapy massages and wet kisses, the tension in the air seemed to stretch between you as you both made your way to the bedroom, the house still holding its quiet, expectant breath. The bed loomed ahead, soft and inviting, but with it came a weight—an unspoken question of where this moment would lead, of whether the night would end with you both in the same space, or if you'd part with everything left hanging in the air. Archer was the first to climb into the bed, his movements smooth and controlled, though his eyes flicked toward you, watching for any sign of hesitation. You followed him, the soft rustle of sheets filling the silence as you settled in beside him. The space between you felt both vast and intimate, and the familiar tension still hung between you, though now it was softened by the quiet of the room. Archer wore a simple, yet effortlessly stylish outfit, even in the quiet of the night. His dark, fitted t-shirt clung slightly to his toned frame, the fabric stretching just enough to highlight his broad shoulders and defined arms. His pants were loose, and comfortable, but still fitted enough to suggest the lean strength of his build. Despite the casualness of his attire, there was an unmistakable air of confidence around him, his posture relaxed, yet purposeful, as if even in sleep, his composure was never truly shaken. You both lay on your sides, facing each other. The light from the nightlight outside the window filtered through, casting soft shadows across the room. Archer’s gaze never left yours, a steady, almost searching look, as if he was trying to understand what had shifted between you two.
'Do you always do this?' Archer's voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful, the usual edge gone. 'Test the waters and then back off?'
The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you weren't sure how to answer. You weren't used to being questioned like that, especially not when things had felt so... raw.
'I don't know,' you replied slowly, shifting a little closer. 'Maybe I'm just trying to figure out where the line is.' Your voice was softer now, as if you, too, were testing the waters, even in this moment. Archer’s gaze softened, just a fraction, as if he was seeing a different side of you now. He didn’t answer right away, letting the quiet between you both settle again. His hand found its way to your shoulder, resting there with a surprising gentleness.
'You’re complicated,' he murmured after a beat, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. You smiled, a small, knowing smile, as you met his eyes.
'I think we both are.' With that, the tension seemed to ease, if only slightly, as you both settled in, the warmth of the bed enveloping you. It was still quiet, still heavy with what had passed between you, but for the first time that night, there was a sense of calm as you both allowed the pull of sleep to settle in. The sheets between you were a thin barrier, but for now, it was enough. And as the room grew darker, you closed your eyes, the sound of his steady breathing beside you the only thing you could focus on. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, the stillness in the room felt almost suffocating. The space between you, though physically small, seemed to carry the weight of everything unspoken. The bed felt a little too large, a little too empty, and you couldn't help but shift closer to him. Slowly, you moved, your body drawn toward his warmth, the instinct to be nearer to him taking over. Archer didn’t say anything at first, but his body tensed slightly, as if uncertain of what you were doing. Then, just as slowly, he relaxed, his arm shifting to accommodate you as you nestled against his chest. The closeness felt natural, even if the moments leading up to it had been anything but. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer, the heat of his body spreading over you like a shield against the quiet of the night. You could feel the rhythm of his breath beneath your ear, steady and calm, and for the first time since everything had shifted between you, there was a sense of peace. Archer’s hand rested gently on your back, his fingers lightly tracing over your skin, almost absentmindedly. The gesture was tender, yet held an underlying sense of care that hadn’t been present before.
'Comfortable?' he murmured softly, his voice still a little rough, but no longer carrying the edge it had earlier. You nodded, pressing a little closer, the warmth between you both enough to drown out the rest of the world.
'Yeah,' you whispered back, letting the quiet moments stretch on, both of you caught in the gentle pull of the night. And in that space, in his arms, everything else seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you. As the night settled around you both, the weight of everything that had passed seemed to dissipate, replaced by a peaceful stillness that was comforting and safe. The soft rustle of sheets and the rhythm of your breathing blended together, creating a quiet harmony between you. Archer’s arm around you felt steady, grounding, and for once, there were no unspoken words, no tension between you—just the warmth of being close. Outside, the night carried on, but within the quiet confines of the room, everything felt just right. You could feel the exhaustion of the day beginning to settle in, your eyelids heavy, your body finally allowing itself to relax. Archer’s breathing slowed, the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath you a calming lullaby. Without a word, you both drifted into the comfort of sleep, the night unfolding around you like a soft blanket, offering a promise of peace in the unspoken connection between you. The world outside continued on, but for now, in this moment, it was just the two of you, entwined in the quiet comfort of shared stillness.
And as sleep took hold, you let it, knowing that whatever came next could wait for tomorrow.
Threads Of Freedom 15th Hunger Games AU Archer Brown x Fem!Reader: Chapter 5 - The Devil’s Bargain
A/N: I hope you enjoy the 5th chapter of Threads of Freedom—a 15th Hunger Games AU featuring Archer Brown x Fem!Reader! 🙌 In this chapter, Coriolanus Snow finally makes his grand appearance, and trust me, his presence is not going to make things any easier for our protagonist. 😈 Prepare for more tension, manipulation, and control as he takes centre stage in this chapter.
I spent way too much time stressing over trying to come up with a cover for this chapter, but in the end, I decided to create my own quotes for it instead for Coriolanus 🤷♀️.
I can't wait for you to see how the story continues on—more twists are on the way. 💥 There will be another post in just a few hours or less, so stay tuned with a brand new AU being introduced for Billy the Kid... A Gladiator AU 🏛️💔. So stay tuned for more!👀
As always, thank you so much for reading and supporting me! 💖
Word Count: 5.5K
Warnings: Dark themes, control, abuse of power, intimidation, threats, manipulation, mentions of hanging, obsession, Coriolanus being Coriolanus, objectification, isolation, intimidation, possessiveness, coercion, dehumanisation, peacekeeper brutality, threats of violence, and grief.
As they led me through the darkened streets, the path to the Peacekeeper base felt endless. The streets were quieter than usual, the usual hum of District 12 silenced by the heavy air of tension. The flickering lights along the way cast distorted shadows, but it wasn’t the shadows that unsettled me, it was the Peacekeepers’ firm grip on my arms, their booted feet echoing with an unforgiving cadence on the cobblestones.
My mind raced with frantic thoughts, trying desperately to keep my panic from surfacing. I had to remain calm. If they saw any hint of fear, it would only make things worse. I couldn’t afford to show them that I was scared, that I was about to crack under the weight of everything threatening to overwhelm me.
The sky above was cloaked in a thick blanket of clouds, the morning air unusually still, suffocating even. The darkness pressed in on me like a physical force, making it harder to breathe, and harder to think.
We walked past the hanging tree. Its gnarled branches twisted like skeletal fingers, reaching toward the sky as if trying to escape the earth below or the district itself. The shadows it cast stretched long and unnaturally, dark tendrils creeping toward me. My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, the weight of fear pressing down on me. The tree loomed like a silent witness to all the pain that had passed beneath it, its very presence a reminder of the Capitol’s unyielding control over us nooses hung along the main thickest branches.
The whispers of those who had met their end there seemed to echo in my mind. I could almost feel their souls lingering, the weight of their deaths heavy in the air. The tree mocked me, its presence a stark reminder of how little power we truly had. I tried to focus on my steps, but the fear bubbling inside me made it difficult to move. What if I didn’t make it out of this? What if the Peacekeepers didn’t believe my lies? The thought of being lost, forgotten, swallowed by that tree, made my stomach churn.
I forced myself to keep walking, my feet carrying me further from the tree, but its shadow remained, a silent reminder of the dangers that surrounded me. It felt as though my dreams of escaping, of freedom, were slipping further away with every step.
I swallowed harshly, trying to hold myself together. The sight of that damn tree of everything it represented was almost too much to bear. It was as though the air around me was thick with loss, and it weighed heavily on my chest. My thoughts turned to my father, and the way his health had worsened over the last few weeks, how he was now suffering from the same illness that had claimed my mother. The realization made my heart ache in a way I couldn’t put into words.
Regret gnawed at me like a slow poison. Why hadn’t I done more for him? Why hadn’t I spent more time easing his burdens, helping him carry the weight he’d been carrying for so long? I could have tried harder, I should have tried harder. Instead, I let myself get caught up in my own selfish dreams, the longing to escape, to leave District 12 and find something more. But I should have been here, by his side, making every moment count before it was too late. How could I have let myself get lost in my own desires, knowing how fragile he was? Now, the reality of his illness felt like a cruel reminder of the fleeting nature of time, and the more I thought about it, the harder it became to breathe.
The weight of my regrets settled heavily in my chest, a dull ache that only grew deeper with every step toward the base. The silence between the Peacekeepers felt suffocating as if the very air was pressing in on me, making it hard to breathe. I couldn’t help but think of Annie, her bright smile, and the laughter we shared that seemed so far away now.
I longed for more moments with her, moments I had taken for granted. I wished I could turn back time, walk with her to the Hob like I used to, just to be near her, to enjoy the simplicity of our friendship. Instead, I had been so consumed with my desire to escape, to flee this painful place, that I had pushed her away without even realizing it. The time I could have spent with her now felt like a lifetime lost.
I regretted fighting with Archer—more than I cared to admit. Regretted the harsh words I’d thrown at him, the way I’d shut him out when all he wanted was to understand. I could still feel the weight of our last conversation, the anger and hurt hanging between us like a wall I couldn't tear down. I hadn’t given him a chance to explain, too wrapped up in my own frustrations to see what he was really trying to say. I had wanted to leave—wanted to escape this place and the suffocating weight of my life in District 12—but now, as I walked through the cold streets, it felt like those dreams were slipping away, dissolving into the night like smoke. The more the distance between me and the hanging tree grew, the more it seemed like I was running away from everything I wanted, everything I needed.
A part of me just wanted to turn around, run back, and throw myself into his arms. I wanted to feel safe again, to feel like I wasn’t carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. I wanted to stay there, in the warmth of his embrace, and let everything else fade away. Because, if I was honest with myself, I cared about him more than I had ever let on. More than I had allowed myself to admit. He had become such a quiet constant in my life, someone who understood me in ways no one else could. And now, with the possibility of losing him hanging over me, I realized just how much he meant to me. How much I needed him.
In my heart, I knew that if I could just find the courage to go back to him, to apologize, maybe things could be different. Maybe we could have a chance at something more than just the unspoken tension that had started to build between us. But as I walked further away, my steps growing heavier, the idea of turning back seemed impossible stupid even.
I had always wanted to leave District 12 behind, to run away and start fresh. But now, as I thought about him, I realized the truth—I didn’t just want to escape my life here. I wanted to escape with him; it was something I had to do. I wanted to build a life where the weight of the Capitol and the fear of the Games didn’t hang over us. And if I didn’t have him with me, then all those dreams of freedom felt hollow.
I had been so focused on the idea of escaping, but now, I couldn’t help but wonder if the only thing worth running toward was him.
I glanced up at the sky, the clouds thick and oppressive, and for a moment, I thought I saw the faintest hint of light breaking through, only for it to vanish as quickly as it appeared. The sunlight that was supposed to come with the morning was lost, swallowed by the swarm of clouds. It felt like a cruel joke, the dark clouds mocking my desire for freedom. It felt like everything I had dreamed of—everything I had hoped for—was fading away with the light. I had been foolish to think I could ever escape this place in the beginning.
"Get moving," one of the Peacekeepers barked, his harsh voice cutting through the whirlwind of my spiraling thoughts. His tone left no room for argument, and I nodded silently, biting down hard on my lip to keep the tears from spilling over. I couldn’t let them see me break not now, not when they were looking for any sign of weakness. Every step forward felt like it dragged me closer to my doom, and no matter how hard I tried, the knot of fear in my stomach only tightened.
The base loomed ahead, a towering, angular structure carved out of stone and iron. It seemed to absorb the faint light from the sky above, leaving it cold and lifeless. It wasn’t just a building; it was a warning, a reminder of the Capitol’s grip on us all. As the Peacekeepers marched me forward, their boots echoing against the cobblestones, I tried to steady my breathing. But with each step, the weight of my situation pressed harder on my chest.
Inside, the air shifted cool and sterile, with a faint metallic tang that reminded me of blood. The doors slammed shut behind me, the sound reverberating like a final verdict. The halls were dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead, casting uneven shadows that seemed to move as if alive. The stone walls were damp in places, their surfaces scarred and worn as if they had witnessed countless horrors over the years. The further we went, the quieter the world seemed to become, the hum of machinery and muffled voices creating an eerie backdrop that only added to my unease.
As I was dragged further inside the building, I noticed the Peacekeepers stationed throughout the halls. Some glanced at me with open disdain, their expressions twisted in disgust as if I were something foul that had wandered in from the seams. Their cold, judgmental eyes felt like a weight pressing against my chest. Others, however, looked at me differently, their gazes predatory and hungry. Their eyes raked over me as though I were something to be devoured, their smirks unsettling and dripping with malice. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. The air grew heavier with each step, my stomach twisting with the realization that I was utterly alone here, a lamb among wolves.
I passed rows of heavy iron doors, each one marked with a number but no other indication of what lay behind it. From some, I heard faint sounds shuffling, the scrape of chains, or worse, muffled cries that sent a chill straight to my bones. The oppressive silence of the other doors felt even more sinister, as if they were holding their breath, waiting for something unspeakable to unfold.
"Move it," one of the Peacekeepers snapped, giving me a rough shove. I stumbled, barely catching myself before I hit the ground, and the cold sting of humiliation burned at the edges of my fear accompanied by the sting in my palms and cheek. I wanted to lash out but the icy knot in my throat made speaking impossible.
When we finally reached the end of the corridor, they pushed open a heavy door, its groan echoing like a death knell. The room inside was stark and barren, the walls a harsh, sterile white that seemed to amplify every sound. A metal table stood in the center, flanked by two cold, unwelcoming chairs. The surface of the table was scratched and worn, a silent testament to the countless people who had sat here before me, all of them helpless in the face of whatever judgment awaited.
They shoved me into the room, and I stumbled again, my legs trembling beneath me as though they were about to give out. My wrists were cuffed tightly to one another, the metal biting into my skin as I sank down into the creaky wooden chair, unable to stop my body from shaking. The air was thick, heavy with tension, and every breath felt like it dragged through my lungs. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the faint echo of my own unsteady breathing.
The walls seemed to press closer, enclosing me in a space that felt too small, too suffocating. My mind raced with the endless possibilities of what they might ask, of what they might do if my answers didn’t satisfy them. This wasn’t just a questioning; it was a reckoning. And as I sat there, staring at the scratched surface of the table, I knew there was no running from it. No escape. This was the moment when everything would change, and I couldn’t tell if I’d be able to survive it.
I tried to steady my breathing, forcing myself to think clearly. I had to prepare. Whatever was coming, whatever questions they hurled at me, I couldn’t falter. The truth wasn’t an option. I'd been at the mines late at night, trying to find a way out of this godforsaken district, and if they found out, my fate would be sealed. The hanging tree loomed in the back of my mind, its gnarled branches like fingers curling around my thoughts, threatening to drag me to my end.
I had to lie. I had to convince them I wasn’t the one sneaking around. Every story I told as a child to escape punishment, every excuse I made to avoid suspicion, it had all led to this moment. Now, my survival depended on how well I could spin my tale. My heart hammered as I rehearsed what I’d say, the excuses I’d give, the innocent look I’d force onto my face. I needed to seem frightened but not guilty, confused but not suspicious.
Lying was my only chance to walk out of here alive. I couldn’t let my nerves betray me, couldn’t let my voice shake or my eyes darted around like I had something to hide. The Peacekeepers weren’t stupid they’d see through anything less than perfection. If I wanted to avoid swinging at the end of a rope, I needed to act like I had nothing to hide. I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms as I forced myself to focus.
This was it. My life depended on the story I’d weave in the next few moments. If I failed, the hanging tree would be waiting.
The metallic clang of the door opening made me jolt, my back snapping straight against the cold chair. I’d expected another Peacekeeper to barge in, maybe someone gruffer, someone who would demand answers with brute force. But the figure who stepped into the room was entirely different.
He carried himself with an air of authority that seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room. Every movement was deliberate, commanding attention without a word. He stood tall, well over six feet, his broad shoulders and lean frame exuding power. His iconic blood-red suit clung to him like it was made for no one else, the fabric pristine and untouched by the dirt of District 12. The color, so vivid and striking, seemed to symbolize both danger and dominance, as if he wore it to remind everyone of his control over their lives.
His blonde hair was slicked back meticulously, not a strand out of place, and his pale blue eyes—cold and calculating—locked onto mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, caught in the quiet storm that was his gaze. It was unnerving, like a predator locking onto its prey. The sharp, almost clinical precision with which he studied me made me feel as though he were dissecting me, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.
I knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. His reputation had preceded him, as it did with everyone in the Capitol who wielded that kind of power. The mere mention of his name sent shivers down the spine of even the most hardened rebels.
President Coriolanus Snow.
The embodiment of fear, control, and manipulation. But seeing him here, in the flesh, was something else entirely.
And now, here he was, in front of me, like a storm closing in.
For a moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. My body felt frozen, as if the air itself had turned to ice around me.
Why was he here?
The president of Panem, in this forgotten, crumbling district? It didn’t make sense. My mind scrambled for answers, each thought colliding with the next in a tangle of fear and confusion. This wasn’t some routine interrogation. It wasn’t about the mines, the Peacekeepers, or even the Capitol’s grip tightening around District 12.
Could it be about me?
The realization struck me like a blow, stealing what little composure I had left. But why? What could I have done to warrant his presence? The weight of his cold, assessing gaze made my skin crawl, and my heart pounded so hard I was sure he could hear it. I felt exposed, like every secret I had ever held was laid bare before him. My attempt to flee, my fight with Archer, even the forbidden dreams I kept hidden in the darkest corners of my mind—it was as if he already knew.
Panic twisted inside me, but so did an unsettling sense of curiosity. Of all the people in District 12, why had Coriolanus Snow chosen to face me personally? What did he see when he looked at me? And why did it feel as though he wasn’t here to deliver justice but something far more sinister, far more personal?
“Leave us,” Snow ordered sharply, his voice smooth and cutting all at once, like the edge of a finely honed blade. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be; the authority in his tone was absolute. The two Peacekeepers flanking the door exchanged uncertain glances, their hesitation lasting only a fraction of a second before they stepped out, boots echoing faintly as they retreated.
The door closed behind them with a final, resounding thud that reverberated through the small room, sealing us in together. The silence that followed was deafening, pressing down on me like a physical weight. The absence of sound seemed to amplify everything else: the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance, the soft rustle of his blood red coat as he adjusted his stance, the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Snow’s gaze lingered on me, his eyes dark and intent, studying me with a look that made my skin prickle uncomfortably. His lips curved into a faint, predatory smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, but somehow made the air feel heavier. Every movement he made was deliberate, calculated, as if he were savoring the moment.
He stepped further into the room, the soft click of his boots on the floor echoing with each measured step, his presence filling the space. It was as if time slowed down in his wake. He was in control of the room, of the situation, of me. He pulled out the chair across from me with deliberate care, the scraping sound of it against the floor loud in the stillness. As he sat, he folded his hands neatly on the table, his fingers interlocking with practiced precision. The way he settled into the chair was almost unnerving, as if he had done this a thousand times before, as if he had all the time in the world to break me down.
“Well,” he began, his voice smooth, like velvet wrapped around steel, every word dripping with an unsettling calm. “It seems we find ourselves in quite the predicament, don’t we?” His eyes never left mine, and there was something about the way he spoke—too measured, too controlled—that made my stomach churn.
I swallowed hard, the sound echoing in the silence between us, and tried to maintain some semblance of composure. But the weight of his gaze pressed down on me like a physical force, making it impossible to feel anything but exposed. Every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire under his scrutiny.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, his expression almost too calm, too patient. It was as if he were savoring the moment, playing some game with me I didn’t understand. He looked at me with genuine curiosity, as though he truly wanted to know what was going on in my mind.
I opened my mouth to speak, but my voice caught in my throat. My breath hitched, and I could feel the panic starting to rise, but I fought to keep it in check. He raised a single brow, as though waiting for me to speak.
“I—I’m not sure,” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper, the words feeling foreign and weak on my tongue. The vulnerability of it hit me all at once, and I immediately regretted saying anything at all.
“Not sure?” Snow leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, but there was nothing casual about the sharp intensity in his eyes. His gaze never left me, as if he could see right through me. “You were seen near the mines last night. A curious place for a girl like you to be wandering about, wouldn’t you say?”
I could feel the pressure building in my chest, but I forced myself to speak with as much confidence as I could muster. “I wasn’t near the mines,” I lied quickly, the words slipping out before I could even think. My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it, but I couldn’t let him see how much he rattled me. “I was at home. Asleep.”
A soft chuckle escaped him, low and smooth, though it lacked even the smallest hint of warmth. His lips twisted into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and the sound of it sent a shiver down my spine. “Asleep, you say?” He leaned forward then, his movements deliberate and slow, as if he were savoring the moment. His elbows came to rest on the table, and his fingers laced together, the tension in his posture making it clear he wasn’t buying my lie. “You don’t strike me as a very good liar, Y/n. But perhaps I’m wrong.”
The way he said my name sent an icy tremor through me. It was too familiar, too personal. My mind raced, trying to process how he knew it, why he knew it. It felt like an intrusion, like he had already dissected every detail of my life and was now toying with me, pulling at the threads to see how much I could unravel before I broke.
Snow studied me for a moment, his gaze sharp and calculating, as if he were weighing something far beyond the surface of our conversation. He didn’t speak immediately, allowing the silence to stretch, thick and suffocating, like a game he was letting me lose without ever needing to make a move.
Finally, he spoke, but the words came out slowly, almost as if he were choosing them with great care. "You intrigue me," he murmured, his voice softer, but it was no comfort. There was a subtle undercurrent to his words, like a predator circling its prey, and I felt every inch of that tension. “You remind me of someone... someone I once knew.”
His words hung in the air, and my pulse quickened as I tried to make sense of them. I stayed silent, unwilling to give him anything more than what he already had. The tension between us stretched, taut as a wire, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I thought he might break it with something that would shatter me completely.
"She was special, but no more than a means to an end," he continued, but this time, there was a flicker in his expression—something fleeting, almost disgusted, as though the thought of this 'someone' that repulsed him. The change was subtle but unmistakable like a shadow crossing his face. “But she lacked something. Something... I believe you so happen to possess.”
I felt a chill wash over me, and my stomach twisted in knots. I didn’t want to know what he meant, didn’t want to hear the unspoken things behind his words. But even as I refused to respond, I could feel his eyes on me—measuring, calculating, dissecting me in ways I couldn’t begin to understand. Whatever it was he saw in me, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“You have potential,” Snow said, his voice smooth and coaxing, though his eyes narrowed slightly, studying me like a puzzle he was just about to solve. “But potential means nothing without control. Without loyalty.” He paused, letting the words linger in the air as if they were meant to sink into my bones.
I swallowed, trying to push down the knot of fear tightening in my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice steady, though I could feel the lie slipping from my tongue.
“Oh, but you do,” he replied, his smile widening, the corners of his mouth curling into something dark and knowing. He leaned in slightly, and the air between us seemed to thicken with each word. “You see, I don’t believe in coincidences. A girl like you, sneaking around the mines, dreaming of freedom…” His voice hardened, and the words became sharp, cutting into me. “Do you think you’re special? That you’re above the rules, above your place?”
His gaze bore into mine, demanding an answer, and I shook my head quickly, trying to swallow the panic that surged in my chest. “No, I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted his voice a blade, slicing through the quiet between us. “I can see it in your eyes. You think you’re different, don’t you? You want to escape, to run from this district, from your responsibilities. And for what? Some fleeting fantasy?” He leaned even closer, his gaze never wavering, never blinking. “What makes you think you’re entitled to more than this place? To more than the life you were given?”
The weight of his words crushed me, the reality of my situation bearing down like a vice. I could feel the tears threatening to burn behind my eyes, but I fought them back with all the strength I had left. “I’m not trying to escape,” I said, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me, revealing a crack in my carefully constructed facade.
He smiled again, but it was colder now, something calculated in the way his lips curled. “You’re lying to yourself, Y/n. And not only that you’re lying to me.” His voice dropped to a whisper, almost sweet, but it carried a chilling undertone. “I know exactly what you want. You want to be free, but more than that… you want to be wanted. To matter. You want someone to take notice, to see you for more than the girl who has her head up in the clouds and whos nothing but a dreamer.”
The words hit harder than I expected, and I tried to push them away, but they stuck, digging into my mind like sharp needles. My heart pounded, each beat echoing in my ears, and I could feel the walls of the room closing in around me. “That’s not true,” I whispered, barely able to find the words to defend myself.
“Oh, but it is,” Snow countered, his voice low and smooth, as if he were speaking a truth only he could understand. “You’re searching for something bigger than yourself. You dream of escaping, but not just the district. You want someone to take you out of this life, to pull you away from all this... mediocrity. But here’s the problem, Y/n…”
He leaned in even closer, his face inches from mine, the intensity of his cerulean gaze trapping me. “You’ll never be truly free, because you can’t even control yourself. You can’t control your desires and your impulses. And that—” He tapped the side of my head lightly, a mocking gesture that made my stomach twist. “—is where you fail.”
I felt like I was drowning in the weight of his words, each one heavier than the last. He was breaking me down, piece by piece, and yet I couldn't find the strength to fight back.
Snow leaned even closer, his face now mere inches from mine. “Do you know what happens to those who try to defy the Capitol?” he asked, his voice low and chilling. “They end up swinging from that tree you passed on your way here. Do you want that to be your fate, Y/n?”
I shook my head again, swallowing the lump in my throat.
I tried to stay calm, to keep my composure, but his presence was suffocating. He leaned in even closer, his gaze intense, as if he were reading me, dissecting my every reaction. His eyes flicked to my hands, still trembling slightly on the table, before meeting my gaze again.
Snow’s lips curled into a twisted smile, his eyes glinting with amusement and malice. He leaned forward again, his voice lowering to a taunting, almost mocking tone.
“Now, tell me, Y/n," he said, his words dripping with disdain, "Were you out last night, snooping around the mines, sneaking along the district fence like a pathetic little bunny, desperate to escape your cage?”
He paused, letting the insult hang in the air, his gaze never leaving mine. The words stung like a slap to the face, and I couldn’t help but flinch, but I held my ground, refusing to give him the full satisfaction of seeing me break.
“And don’t you dare lie to me,” he said, his voice low and quiet, almost too calm. “You were near the mines last night, and I know you weren’t there just for a stroll.” He let the silence hang between us, each second feeling like it dragged on forever. “But I’m not here to accuse you—no. I’m here to offer you a choice.”
My heart skipped a beat. A choice?
He stood, circling me like a predator with no rush, savouring the moment. “You see, Y/n, you could walk out of here today, and pretend like none of this ever happened. But if you dare try to escape again, if you dare think you can run from this district...”
He leaned in closer, his breath cold on my ear.
“I will personally make sure your father’s neck is snapped, your friends are dragged into the dirt, and as for that lover boy of yours,” he spat the words with disgust, as though the mere mention of his name left a bitter taste in his mouth, “Archer? Do you think he’s your protector? I’ll have him begging for mercy, just like the fool he is.”
He paused, his eyes narrowing as if searching for any sign of weakness. “I won’t be made a fool again by some silly district girl. You’ll stay in your place. Don’t think for a second that you have any real power here. I control everything. Everything.”
I shook my head, trying to hold back the tears, trying to swallow the lump in my throat that threatened to choke me. The weight of his threats hung in the air like a thick fog. I wasn’t sure if he truly meant every word or if this was just part of his game. But it didn’t matter. His eyes, his tone—everything about him screamed that he was in control, and he would make good on his promises if I dared to defy him.
“Good,” he said finally, his smile returning, though it was darker, more sinister than before. It made my stomach churn. “Because I think you could be...useful to me. If you prove yourself.”
I didn’t trust him. I couldn’t. But I had no choice. He was holding all the cards. I had to play along, had to pretend I was on his side, just long enough to stay alive.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
He didn’t hesitate, his response sharp and cold. “Loyalty,” he said simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And obedience. You’ll find that I reward those who know their place. But cross me, and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
I nodded, the weight of his words sinking into my chest like lead. My body screamed at me to run, but my mind screamed louder—if I did, everything I loved would be destroyed.
Archer... my father... Annie... all of them.
I had no choice but to obey, for now.
“Good,” Snow said again, his voice almost pleased as he straightened his uniform. “Then we’ll see what you’re truly made of.”
He turned to leave, and the door opened as the Peacekeepers stepped back in, their expressions as cold and indifferent as always. Snow paused in the doorway, his hand on the handle. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes locking with mine one last time.
“Oh, and Y/n?” he called out casually, his tone deceptively light. “Remember, I’ll be watching.”
The door slammed shut behind him, and I was left alone in the cold, suffocating silence of the room. His presence lingered in the air like a thick, poisonous fog, and the sound of his voice echoed in my head. He had made his intentions clear. This wasn’t just about interrogation. He wanted me. He needed me under his control, and if I was going to survive, I would have to play his game if I wanted a sliver of a chance of leaving this hellhole.
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Hi I was wondering what you think Gilgamesh's reaction would be to his master wanting to learn Sumerian to impress him?
His reaction largely depends on the class you summon him in. Do you have Gilgamesh the wise king, who has matured after his search for immortality, or the arrogant king of heroes, who sees himself above all others, in front of you?
Archer Gilgamesh probably wouldn't be too enthusiastic about your attempt to impress him. Of course, anyone as low as you would try to win his recognition, but as his master, you should know better than anyone that it takes more than that to impress him.
If your relationship is only about you providing him with maana, he might also react pretty mean and say things like a mongrel like you shouldn't even think about being able to impress him. Because you are not worthy enough.
If you have a more close relationship with archer he might not be as mean, but he wouldn't praise you either. But deep down he is somewhat touched by your actions. He might even help you a little bit. But, of course, not after insulting you and pushing his ego for a while.
Caster Gilgamesh would be impressed by your dedication to learning a new language. Knowledge is very important, so he would help you to learn more if he has the time. He is extremely busy after all.
Tags: cute summer shenanigans, Emiya is so fine this summer.
So I had this in my mind ever since I played the event :') Who else picked the option to land on Emiya's chest?
Why can't there ever be a normal summer? Or maybe these summer shenanigans have become your new normal.
Gone are the days that you are lazing at your home or on vacation. No, it is a race through a desert, working all night to make a manga in a Groundhog Day setting or battling sword beauties while gambling your fortune away.
This year is the summer of a particular interesting movie genre as you move from one horror cliché location to a new one, your world shifting on its axis while gravity pulls you downward.
And you would think that you have a rather rough landing in your future, another thing you have become a bit accustomed to. You let out a yelp of surprise as you land on something soft yet firm.
This thing, a person, lets out a soft groan while a strong arm moves over your back. Locking you against the person for a moment, giving you a brief moment of stability as you find your equilibrium again behind closed eyes.
Slowly your eyes flutter open and feel the heat burn on your cheeks as you realize exactly who you landed on. Exactly what your cheek is resting upon.
Emiya chuckles and closes one eye while he meets your eyes. Admittingly it is very enjoyable how you are resting on his chest right now. Your cheek pressing against the rise of pectoral muscle and the Archer can feel the heat of your blush through his thin top.
Emiya moves his arm again to let his warm hand rest on your lower back as you finally sit up straight again. Your legs resting on either side of his narrow hips.
You observe your new location, a freaking American superstore of all places.
"You alright Master?"
Oh.
Right.
You are suddenly very aware of Emiya fingers pressing in the small of your back. Playing with the material of your blouse, digging down a little harder when you shift your hips.
"You don't have to flaunt your own romance in my face as well Kouhai." Yu snipes from somewhere to your left and you stiffen, your thighs clench around the Archer you currently perched upon. Your fingers rumbling the white tank up and your eyes catch the extra bronze skin you unintentionally revealed.
Where is a maniacally killer to break this awkward moment when you need one
Maybe this is a weird request but I thought it’d be interesting to see some headcannons of a few of the fate servants reaction to a master that owns an extremely large amount of pets, like way more cats, dogs, birds, snakes and even fish compared to average and somehow manages to care for all of them. Particularly seeing Gilgamesh or Cu react sounds funny
Gilgamesh:
He’s surprised that you have a lot of pets but not upset. Gil lets you talk about your pets as much as you’d like, enjoying the way that your eyes light up. He doesn’t have a strong opinion on animals one way or the other, mostly because he was always too busy to take care of one. He likes to watch you interact, however, because you know all their personalities and habits.
He tries to get you random pets, usually stuff that can kill you. He’s presented you with a lion, a snake and even a baby elephant. You always insist that he put them back and he laughs as you panic. Low eye he does want to get you something that you’ll keep, not because he likes you or anything. Be on the lookout when he starts asking you questions, it means he’s trying to dig deep.
Gil encourages you to get more space when you complain about running out. Part of him is tempted to tell you to store some inside of the Gates but resists the urge. Eventually he might but for now he just helps you plan out new toys and things that you’ll need. Overall, Gil is supportive but lets you handle the dirty work, playing with the animals when you’re not looking.
Cu Chulainn:
Cu has no idea what to say when he shows up and your house is crawling with pets. He likes animals as a go to, but the sheer number surprise him. He’s happy to let you tour him around, scratching and petting the animals that will let him. Generally, he likes dogs over cats but that’s not going to stop him from trying to get the purrs.
He is impressed that you’re able to take care of all your animals but is a little concerned about you. You take the health of your animals seriously and it makes him wonder if you take care of yourself as much. Cu keeps an eye on you and will remind you if you seem to be forgetting to eat or run errands. He won’t do them for you, but he will point them out.
Cu likes to clean out the enclosures more than he would have thought. Mostly it’s because he gets to touch and handle the animals he normally can’t but there’s something soothing about the repetitive motions. He always gets the job done faster but he never complains that it’s below him. You tease him it’s because sometimes he acts more like a dog than your dogs do. He claims that it’s because you give him such nice rewards.
