#time to watch my follower count dwindle at the speed of sound

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

a message.

This whole post is full of things I’ve wanted to say for a very long time. So yes, this is going to be very long.

Before I begin, I just wanted to say I’m sorry to the innocent people who had nothing to do with this. I’ve never ever been involved with online/fandom drama before, I hate being in this position so fucking much with all my heart and soul, and I never thought in my whole life that I’d be in this position, either.

Secondly, this is about the DEF LEPPARD FANDOM ON TUMBLR. If you’re not part of this fandom, kindly fuck off :^) This is not about you.

This post explains why I feel this way. And to those innocent people who aren’t involved with this, I’m sincerely sorry if any of this has changed your opinions of me.

I’m in a mood and a half, so I’ll do my best to effectively tell everything from my perspective. Read if you want, but this is just what I’m thinking.

I’ve been running this blog for almost three years now. When I first joined this fandom on tumblr at the beginning of 2018, there wasn’t really a ‘fandom’ per se; all the main blogs were dead, no one ever really posted, and there wasn’t much content. I decided to start a DL blog of my own to vent my love into it and not spam my main account. 

Within a month, I could quickly see that some sort of renaissance was happening in this fandom; more blogs were popping up, more people were posting, and more people were just participating in general. There were memes now, there were conversations now- it was great! There was a real community; it was all about sharing information, spewing our love, getting creative, and interacting! 

There was integrity, and there was respect for the band as well as one another.

I, as part of this community, wanted to do everything in my physical power to contribute in any way I could. I was insanely active and hyper-productive and could not be stopped. I still haven’t stopped, but I certainly have slowed down significantly (due to lack of new activity from the band and increased mental health issues I won’t get into). I don’t want to be self-centered and say that I was “running” this branch of the fandom for the past 2.7 years, but I was certainly a big player in it, and I feel everyone agreed (and some still agree) with that as well.

There were some times where disagreements happened. There were times where many of us knew that someone else was crossing a line in a post. We knew what qualified as “not okay” in terms of being perverted and such. We’d solve this by not blaming, not hounding, not sending anon hate, not calling out, but by presenting facts, talking maturely, and trying to right the wrongs as maturely as we could.

Yes, it was possible. Was.

I don’t think you guys realize just how much content I’ve contributed to this fandom. I have spent basically every single day of the past 3-ish years trying to spread information/content/photos/videos/links/etc. to everyone who follows me (and everyone who doesn’t). This fandom was (and I cannot stress this enough), literally my entire life for the past 3 odd years, and I really wanted to spend the rest of my life contributing to it the way I’ve been.

I don't think anyone on here realizes everything that I have done for this community. Because of me:

this fandom has access to Animal Instinct for free

this fandom has access to the rare picture disc interview

this fandom has numerous scans of photos that may have not ended up online otherwise (I also paid $70 to have access to some of these. You're welcome.)

we have Fabulist Icons content

we have a decent amount of fanfiction that doesn't only focus on the boys banging each other/sex in general (seriously, this simply didn’t exist on here before I started posting my shit)

we have a little more fan art

we have content from Phil's and Ross's books

we have hundreds (yes, literally, HUNDREDS) of edits/moodboards/memes/etc. that I made myself

we have gifsets of things that no one else would have made

we have achieved justice a lot of the time when content was stolen because I have defended everyone without question/rallied up armies the second I heard it happened

some of you have gotten updates on news/facts/history/details/etc. that you’ve never even heard of

probably a shit ton more things, but that’s all I can think of for now. You get the point.

But that’s only half the story. This band and fandom has given me so much to cherish over the past few years.

Because of this fandom and the people (that were once) in it, I have:

met Rick in person

met, quite honestly, my two best friends ever, @ballistic-lipstick-dream-machine (my true Terror Twin) and @paper-sxn (adopted little sister/cousin)

became in contact with Phil's guitar tech from the mid-80s (Mike)

gained creative ambition to play guitar, create art, write stories, make edits/gifs, travel, and basically just better myself

began a record collection that is now in the hundreds and gained a lot of knowledge from it

discovered a whole new genre of music

found a community/culture where, for the very very first time in my life, I felt like I BELONGED.

fallen in love with something and someone for the first time

felt like I actually mattered to people, like I was actually important (because people would always come to me for information or help if they needed it)

basically impacted every corner of my life

just about a million other things, too, but I will be here all night if I try to list them all.

To put it delicately: Def Leppard and this fandom on tumblr absolutely changed my life, and was the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.

I have spread so much information around, you newer people wouldn't imagine. I have gathered and seen so much information, you wouldn't believe how much I know and how much I've learned. I have bounced back and forth between formats time after time again that I feel like I’m stuck in a time warp. I have edited so many things on non-professional programs that I am an MS paint expert. I have been here so long, that I’ve seen 98% of the people in this branch of the fandom rotate in and out at least two or three times. 

That being said, all of the toxic people in this fandom will most likely be gone within the next 6 months. 

Def Leppard has taught me so much, but a big thing was love and loyalty. It's clear that the majority of people in this fandom (read my lips- I am N O T saying anyone’s names. I mean that.) do not know the meanings of either of these words. I've been practically running this fandom on Tumblr for nearly three years now, you’ve seen all that I’ve done for you, and what have I gotten in return?

Slander, cyberbullying, disrespect, consistently stolen content, etc. That’s what I’ve gotten. I’ve never attacked anyone on here, and that is still something I won’t do.

Yes, I am against slash fic, and I can’t believe that THAT’S the only reason why I’m being torn down like this. Something so dumb and immature as that has torn my beloved community in half. I have never attacked ANYONE for writing slash fic, yet I’ve been getting attacked since August (it is November now) for simply believing it is wrong to openly admit you want the boys to fuck each other.

(I’d also like to point out that someone from the KISS fandom ((god knows why)) had the balls to call me “homophobic” for hating slashfic. I can’t even begin to explain how much I laughed at that.)

I just wanna say that these are REAL people you’re writing about, you know. Don’t you think THEY would be against it? I know I cannot stop anyone from writing slash (I’ve said that before, but no one seems to remember it). I don’t think any of you realize that there is a certain line you shouldn’t cross when it comes to the internet, and being perverted in such an explicit and disrespectful way is one of them. We always had integrity in this fandom, and slash was never part of something we stood for. We knew when to stop, and we kept the slash on rockfic.com (where it belongs imo. That’s like their element).

I was very confused when more slash fics started appearing on tumblr this year. Now, it seems like that’s all there is, and I’m disgusted.

Whenever something close to that happened in 2018, everyone would be totally against it, and we’d talk it out and explain. While we all had our fair share of horny (and maybe then some) in this fandom, but we always knew where to draw the line. That was the line. That line doesn’t exist anymore, apparently, and nobody knows how to be mature and respectful to the band, to each other, and just for fuck’s sake. Now, I’m being slammed that being perverted for them fucking their best friends is “just fandom, bitch” and “the norm” and that it’s done “out of respect”, which I will never understand. You can’t use “slash” and “respectful” in the same sentence, and you can’t change my mind, but I know I can’t change yours, either. 

Slash is not, nor will it ever be, respectful. This fandom has become toxic.

Fanfiction is an outlet for creativity to be used for fun, not to be used as an excuse to project your sexually perverted sexuality headcannons/fetishes onto innocent, REAL, LIVE people. If all you write/read is them having sex with each other, then it really makes you wonder if it’s about “respect” anymore, doesn’t it?

In my opinion it’s fucked up that it’s “normal” and “just part of fandom” to create sexualities for- again- REAL, LIVE PEOPLE, and it’s everyone’s first instinct to argue that it’s fine, apparently? If you “respect” your idols so much like you claim you do, then why don’t you maybe respect their actual orientations instead of creating masturbation material for random 12 year olds and boomers, perhaps?

I don’t know what I did that was so fucking wrong in your eyes, as I’ve always tried to keep integrity in this area of tumblr. 

I'm very deeply hurt, more than I've ever been by this. It physically hurts me to admit that this fandom has become as toxic as it currently is. I don’t feel welcome here anymore at all, despite practically running things on here for so long.

I don’t know how I could ever live without this fandom, but now it looks like I’m going to have to try, or at least try and rebuild it on my own (again). I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop posting about Def Leppard, and after all, I only started posting about them for myself to begin with.

We were supposed to be the good fandom, the happy fandom, the fandom with no drama. I am ashamed to be associated with you now. I tried to stop it as best as I could, and hoped people would back me up, but I’ve received nothing but hate for simply trying to preserve some dignity.

You guys have been immature to say the least, and I find it very hard to believe that some of you are legal adults (but let’s be honest; most of you toxic people are probably too young to even be behind a computer, anyway). 

I’ve had to block some people that I really didn’t want to, but the deed is done. Keep your slash to yourself, tag it, do a read more, post it somewhere else, even- that’s how you co-exist. Just don’t come after me because I think it’s wrong. I never came after anyone specifically like that.

This isn’t goodbye, but I certainly am leaving for a while. I hope I got my point, my history, and my perspective across.

And I hope you’re fucking happy, because you’ve destroyed something I loved.

-Rachel

#also to helena_s_renn on rockfic: suck my dick bitch :3 #thank you to those who have messaged me and been kind #time to watch my follower count dwindle at the speed of sound #goodbye

[aelingalathyniusrailme]

If you find me on the edge, we’ll jump together.

Gwynriel Pirate au pt 6 

this chapters a little long and fluffy but I really like it and I finally gave it a name

Here are the other parts if you’re interested :) pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5

what had azriel’s life become? In the past 24 hours his ship became infested with dangerous females, he had given up his most prized possession, and he was on his way to find a being that still haunted his nightmares. 

Berdara was a fine persuader but money was even better. Too bad they seemed to come in tandem. The captain of the shadowsinger needed this hall and there was no way in hell he was loosing a dime to the cutthroat redhead he now lived with. 

He stole a glance toward her to find her staring intently at the map. Her mind, her calculating, cold, ruthless mind at work. Her eyes shot up to his and she gave him a smirk, flashing the whites of her teeth and winked. he knew others would see a friendly smile but all he saw were fangs

Infuriating as she might be, she had not said one word, in the past few hours about his meltdown or the other thing he had yet to let himself dwindle over. He was caught between appreciation and the feeling that he wasn’t worth a second thought to her. 

“so where will my crew and I be sleeping” her voice was light but there was a slight edge. 

“The room next to mine.” He grit his teeth in preparation for the comment that was sure to follow that statement. “now you’re going to say something crude” 

at the same time gwyneth said with a wink, “want to keep me close, captain? all you have to do is ask?”

The slight shock on her face elicited pure joy from azriel. While hidden, a practiced eye saw the way her mouth slightly parted and her eyes flare. It was his turn to smirk as he responded, “Your majesty is becoming quite predictable.”  

gwyn smiled her psychotic smile and stepped closer to him. too close. “wouldn’t want that,” she whispered into his hear as if she was telling him a secret. Her voice wrapped it’s claws around his throat and squeezed, pulling him to her. 

Azriel coughed “You’re all going to have to share a room.”

“it’s quite alright, my crew and I have shared beds before.” There was a suggestive glint in her eyes. and blood rushed to his face faster than this girl could threaten and flirt in the same breath. 

“I don’t believe I said anything about sharing beds.” 

“Oh I know, but sometimes, shadowsinger, we must learn the difference between necessity and pleasure.” Azriel’s pupils dilated and his skin felt tight and hot.

Gwyn leaned in once again and teased, whispering, “Predictability is worth seeing you blush like a school girl.” She threw her fiery hair over her shoulder and walked away leaving him gaping like an idiot. 

cassian and rhys walked out from his room and rhys said with a chuckle “she’s something alright.”

cassian looked at him with mock sincerity “promise me I’ll be the bridesmaid at your wedding”

“and will it be a double with you and that second of hers?”

He held his hands to his chest and tilted his head, “only in my dreams”

Rhys swung his arm around him laughing, “You’re pathetic.” 

————————————————————————

5 days passed and every one of them was torturous. His crew at their wits end with hers. Apparently the two blondes were causing quite a bit of trouble. It had seemed one had wiped the floor with his entire crew when it came to the cards while the other was a bit of a thief, a petty thief. 

His sharpshooter had made the mistake of whistling at Emerie, she tossed him into the ocean without so much as batting an eye. Thankfully they got him out in time and rest assured there were no more comments or touching. 

He hadn’t seen Berdara much as she had been holed up in her room barely leaving beyond the occasional meal. Though every time she did grace his presence, she was sure to leave him flustered beyond relief. What about this girl make him loose all of his composure, he wasn’t sure. But avoidance was a useful tool. 

Don’t think about it, don’t care azriel thought as he watched Cassian and Rhys spar on the deck of his ship. HIs two best fighters, facing off until suddenly rhys was knocked to the ground from behind. The culprit, the silver majesties second, Nesta. 

There was a determined look in her eyes, cold ambition. 

Cassian laughed, unfazed. 

“my turn.” her voice was one of mock innocence, venom drenched in sugar.

“don’t be so eager sweatheart.” 

“Eager to knock your arrogant ass down a few pegs” 

“Ooh she’s feisty.” And with that Nesta attacked. She wasn’t graceful but she fought as if her life depended on it, a sure sign that at one point or another it did. She swerved and jabbed with a desperate urgency, one you could only learn on the streets. Cassian dodged and deflected, though he was working much harder than usual. It seemed he also had something to prove. 

Azriel turned, knowing this fight would not be over any time soon, to find Berdara walking right towards him. “Nesta will not loose this fight.” 

“funny, neither will cassian.” 

Gwyneth gave him a serious look. “She does not loose, she never has and she never will.” 

“hmm. It’s never too late to try new things.” 

gwyn rolled her eyes before a glint appeared in them. “care for a rematch?” 

“fists or swords?” 

“Let’s spice it up, swords.”

“double or single?”

“A sword and a dagger.” 

“Surrender or mercy.” 

“Seeing you kneel to me will be sweet.” she paused. “Surrender.” 

“You’re on.”

“Pirates oath?”

“A gentleman always plays fair.” She unsheathed her sword and dagger holding one in each hand and smirked. “too bad I am no mere man.”  she lunged but azriel had been expecting that and side stepped pulling out his own sword and dagger. 

Where nesta had been brute force and aggression, Gwyneth was all grace and speed. She fought with the efficiency of someone who trained with the queens guard themselves. It was like fighting a tornado, she was fast like lightning and when she struck she struck hard. Every move was beautiful and deadly, just like her. 

————————————————————————

“We dock in 15 minutes.” Azriel called out to his crew. 

“What no, we need to keep going.” Gwyn replied.

“What we need is to restock supplies so we don’t starve to death before we’re richer than the queen herself.” 

she gave him a confused look, as if he was speaking a different language.

“We’ve been sailing non-stop for almost 2 weeks and we are out of supplies.”

gwyn mumbled something that sounded like “pathetic.” 

As soon as Azriel dropped the anchor his entire crew rushed off the shadowsinger, desperate to be away from the insane women. With of course the exception of Cassian for he was leaning against the rails of the ship bothering Nesta while she was pointedly ignoring him. 

“Hey, enough with the heart eyes we’ve got shit to do.” Azriel barked at Cassian who then frowned and sulked off the ship while nesta stared at him with her cold, blank expression. “You too sunshine. Let’s get moving.” 

“Order me to do something again and I will cut off your limbs one by one and feed you them for breakfast.” 

“I’m counting down the hours.” Azriel narrowly missed the dagger she threw at his head.

“Don’t call me sunshine.” and nesta walked off the ship, katanas at her hips glinting in the cold sun of the winter court. She looked right in her element. 

Before he called these women insane but that was far too gentle of a statement, the females that had found their way onto Berdara’s ship were absolutely, completely batshit crazy. 

Az was sure everyone was off his ship, everyone was accounted for and yet something was nagging at him. 

A flash of red caught his eye and he turned to see the captain of the silver majesty sitting on the railing, one misstep and she would fall. Though there was no doubt in his mind that she would survive the deadly drop. This women seem to defy all odds, why not death? Her smile was wild and just a little bit mad as the wind swept and curled through her hair pushing it back from her face. As if it wanted nothing more than to be flowing through her her fiery locks that mirrored her spirit. Gwyn closed her eyes, feeling the breeze, the sun lighting up the freckles that spread across her cheeks. She was

“Are you done gawking?” she said without even opening her eyes. 

horrible, she was absolutely unquestionably horrible. “If I may, what are you doing majesty?” 

She turned toward him, in the sun the blue of her iris’s had a twinge of green as if she was born for the sea. “I am simply reminding myself why I left.” Her eyes gazed hungrily over the vast sea as though she saw a challenge, one she had to conquer. “who could resist all this?”

It was unlike her to offer such a raw statement with no ulterior motive and while it was entirely possible she did have one, Azriel believed her. Azriel believed her because he shared the exact feeling. The longing for freedom, the found solstice in constant change and motion, and the occasional guilt for leaving that ultimately fades because it will never not be worth it. 

“I pity them.” 

“Fools.”

“Utterly.” She offered no more as she hopped down from the railing. 

They walked in comfortable silence as they both took in the beauty of the winter court. It was all ice and snow with a slight aura of loneliness. 

Together the two captains arrived at the inn. It was cozy and warm and was placed separately from the rest of the town. His eyes shifted and he saw what had to have been the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. It was a bar. Thank fucking goodness. Azriel knew without a doubt that they all desperately needed some liquor. 

In the bar he immediately found both their combined crew. A crowd of men and women had surrounded Rhys, hanging on every word he said while he soaked it up flirting to his hearts content. Azriel was going to have to give him a limit on the number of people he could fuck at once, this was getting ridiculous. Next he found Cassian, Tarquin and Viviane doing shots at the bar. But he noticed every time his glance shifted to a certain girl in the corner of the room. Nesta was in a booth with Emerie sipping whiskey, talking in low voices. Cressedia and Drakon were in a heated drinking game and-

Azriel knocked into a body he immediately recognized as Lucien and he held out his hand at once glaring. 

“Hey captain.” He said cheerfully. 

“empty now.”

The kid dumped a pile of jewels, wallets, and id’s in his hand. 

Azriel smirked approvingly “get me a ruby, an Id of a man who could pass for the high lord of the winter court, and 500 more dollars.” Lucien nodded greedily and ran along. It had been a game between the two of them for Azriel to give him outlandish challenges to sharpen his skill as a thief. 

But before Lucien could leave the bar every lamp extinguished and the bar turned quiet. 

Strangers gasped and knives were drawn. 

Moments later the lights reappeared and once his eyes readjusted he saw a women holding two daggers to the throats of Tarquin and Viviane. They struggled against her. But she just laughed and scolded. “No no no. shhhh” Before she looked up again. 

“We need to have a chat.” every word was clipped and short. “Put your weapons away and these two might get to live to see another day.” It was an order, and a threat. Azriel didn’t take kindly to threats. 

Gwyn looked to the 3 remaining who followed her and nodded at them to listen. He nodded to his own crew. 

Nesta sneered but dropped her katanas to the ground. She opened her mouth to speak but Rhys beat her to it, pushing away the women he was flirting with as he drawled to the women in front of them. 

“It’s been a long time Feyre, darling.”

tag list: @imsointobooks @meher-sumedha @himadrij @gwynrielsupremacy @ipsa-est-lux-plenae @flora-shadowshine @allthebooksunderthemoon @valkygwyn @bookish-isha @lattristantketchup

#gwynriel #gwynriel pirate au #feysand #nessian #emerie #gwyn berdara #azriel #nesta archeron #cassian #feyre archeron #rhysand #I finally gave it a name #if you find me on the edge we’ll jump together #and btw that’s supposed to be like villain lunatics in love and not suicide #just wanted to make that clear #I love this chapter tho #even if shes a little lengthy

[valhallasubstitute]

Pleasure

Edward x F Reader

The reader teaches Edward a thing or two about pleasure

REQUEST: Can i request a *smut* with Edward from TLK?

Maybe a dane reader that absolute rock his shit like nobody before 😂 she can be Finan Or Sihtric sister maybe?! Thank you!

A/N: Evidently, I don’t think much of the English as lovers lol, I blame my first bf – Tom if you find this, thank you for the inspo. Also, if anyone’s interested in a dom reader then please let me know, I think there’s a real lack and that makes the switch in me v sad

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+. Unprotected sex – it’s the ninth century they have an excuse, you don’t. M!Sub/F!dom undertones, brief female masturbation, male receiving oral

WC: 1654

Tags: @flowers-in-your-hayr @geekandbooknerd @mariaenchanted @solinarimoon

You could honestly say you never expected things to turn out this way.

How many Danes could say they had discussed the boy King’s sex life with him? If you counted yourself then it would be three. Sihtric, your brother, and Uhtred sitting either side of you.  Add in the Irishman that started it all, the baby monk and a vaguely uncomfortable looking Lady of Mercia and the number of people looking unimpressed rises to six.

You sat around the fire; ale pouch being passed between you after another successful battle, but your good spirits were beginning to dwindle as you listen to Edward describe his other conquests.

There were more than you had expected, but you supposed his title and pretty face made it hard for young maidens to deny him. You hadn’t denied yourself the pleasure of admiring him either, long blond curls that grazed his broad shoulders, and light blue eyes, usually set in a frown. You found yourself believing his words before battle, letting his passion seep through you as you lost yourself in the sight of him, arm outstretched with a sword in hand, strong thighs gripping the saddle and a ferocity that one might overlook upon first meeting Edward.

It had the foundations of a fantasy that would have kept you warm.

The conversation moved slowly, Edward relaxing and his words becoming freer. You forced yourself back to the present, preparing yourself to hear another depressing confession.

‘The last was a girl from the camp just outside of Lundon. She was wild.’

‘Wild? Now this I can get behind.’ Finan leaned forward, a new sense of interest washing over him as Edward nodded. You had already heard of the ‘daring’ places Edward had fucked, the palace guest room, the stable, and who could forget his royal tent! Wild, you decided, was something Edward had never come across.

‘She took me out to the woods and laid herself bare before me.’ You watched the interest of the group peak, even your brother raised a brow. ‘She started touching herself.’ He motioned to his chest. ‘I’ve never seen a woman so bold. How is a man meant to control himself?’ Uhtred nodded lightly, taking the ale from a grinning Finan. ‘I laid her on the ground and had my way with her.’

Finan’s face fell. ‘That’s what you call wild? Christ have mercy.’

That was when it hit you. It wasn’t that the King was a bad lover necessarily, it was that none of what he had experience had anything to do with pleasure. Not real pleasure.

‘With respect my Lord, none of your exploits deserve the praise in which you speak of them.’

Aethelflaed’s eyes snapped to you as your words settled over the group. You watched as Edward straightened himself, his hands dusting his thighs before he looked at you. The ease was gone from his denier and for the first time that night you felt like you were speaking to the King of Wessex.

‘How so?’ His voice was calm, interest peeking out from behind his pride.

‘What you have described is the way all Saxon men are. You lie a woman on her back, slip inside – she’ll make a few noises, to hurry you up.’ You shrugged sympathetically. ‘Maybe she is feeling particularly generous, or bored, and will wrap her legs around you, pull you deeper so that she might feel something and coo in your ear a sweet encouragement. It’ll last all of five minutes before you’re lying on your back, satisfied, and she’ll tell how good you were before slipping away. Am I wrong, Aethelflaed?’

All eyes snapped to the Lady of Mercia, the way she looked down and the uncharacteristic blush on her cheeks told everyone everything they needed to know.

‘The thing is, Edward, is that you never had sex for pleasure.’ The King opened his mouth, but you kept going, ignoring the baffled looks from Saxons around you. ‘Only for release and they are not the same.’

Finan was the first to agree. ‘I like the way you think Y/N.’

‘Many men do.’ You stood as you spoke, smiling at your friends but staring pointedly at Edward before retiring to your tent.

It was around an hour later when you sense that you were not alone. In just your tunic you glanced at the dagger at your side before addressing the presence.

‘It’s not very kingly to lurk in the shadows, my lord.’

‘Your words have left an impression.’ The candlelight danced on Edwards features, and you almost missed the reservation in his steps for the soft curve of his mouth. You stood, walking towards him slowly, a small smile encouraging him. ‘After you left, I thought about the things you described, and myself in relation to them. You were right and … and I would like to experience it.’

You could sense his nerves despite the way Edward held your gaze, it was unwavering but as you circled him you noted the way his hands fidgeted behind his back.

‘Experience what my king?’ You stopped in front of him, your chest nearly brushing against his.

‘Pleasure.’

His lips crashed into yours, demanding but soft. You let yourself melt into it, tasting the ale on his tongue before pulling back completely. You laughed as Edward frowned, as a prince he was spoiled, it was clear to see, but you intended to ruin him as a king.

You lead him to the furs of your bed, telling him to sit with a light push on his chest. His eyes were already trained on you but darkened as you removed your clothing, leaving your body exposed. You took delight in how he didn’t know where to look, his eyes darting from your face to your sex with his bottom lip tugged tightly between his teeth.

You let your hands roam around your body, swaying gently till you palmed at your breast, rolling your nipple between your fingers. Your eyes fixated on the growing strain in Edwards breeches as your other hand travelled south, your index finger slipping between your thighs with a gasp.

‘Y/n…’ The sound of your name on his tongue made your stomach flutter, he sounded demanding.

‘Pleasure is the pleasure of your partner.’ You moaned quietly as you slipped another finger into your heat, keeping the pace steady.

‘Show me.’ He sounded desperate.

You took your fingers from between your thighs and brought them to your lips, smiling as Edwards own lips parted in want. You moved towards him slowly, enjoying the growing sweat forming on his forehead and the way he licked his lips.  

He reached for you, but you knelt before him, your hands running up his thighs before you began untying his trousers. He lifted his hips and you focused on ridding him of the fabric before turning your attention to his erection.

It stood proudly before you, the tip red and already leaking precum. You breathed in deeply before pursing your lips and blowing cold air directly onto his member. Edward inhaled deeply, a smile coming to your lips when it jumped in response.

‘You are teasing me.’

‘I am pleasuring you.’ Edward opened his mouth to argue but the words died in his throat. Your lips wrapped around as much of him as you could fit, your hands finding the rest. You bobbed your head once, twice, flattening your tongue as you went down then curling it as you came up. Edward’s left hand bunched in the sheets, grounding himself while his right tangled itself in your hair, his grip creating a delicious burn.

Breathing through your nose you took him as deeply as you could, your throat contracting around him as your vision blurred. The way Edward moaned kept you there for longer than you had any man, quickly finding yourself obsessed with the way his eyes fluttered and his throat bobbed as he tried to hold back the noises. You only stopped when your lungs demanded it.

‘God … Please, Y/n.’

You kissed your way from his balls to his tip, giving it one last lick before kissing up the rest of his body, undoing his shirt as you went. You let your hands roam around the tight muscles of his thighs and abdomen, your tongue following your fingers until you were sat in his lap, your hands tangled in his hair and your lips branding his neck.

‘I want you Y/n.’ You pulled back, lips tingling and bruised, your core brushing against his erection.

‘You want me Edward, but do you desire me?’

‘Yes.’

You smiled at him, the darkness in his eyes and his grip on your hips making you ache. You sunk down on him slowly, enjoying the way he stretched you. You stilled as your hips met his, grinding your clit against his body. The tiny jolts of movement began to pick up speed, Edwards lips discovering the slope of your neck and your hands digging into his shoulders. You wanted it to last forever, to feel the hot ache of him between your legs but you knew he was close. His hips jutted up to meet yours, one of his hands finding its way to your clit as his breath grew heavy in your ear.

His fingers were skilled, rubbing in time to his thrusts while you clawed at his back, your knees beginning to give from beneath you. You came with a call of his name, the tightness in your stomach snapping into white pleasure that washed over your body, wave after wave. Edwards’s pace didn’t slow, and your walls gripped him tightly, convulsing around him until he came with a deep moan. His fingers slowed and both his hands come to rest on your hips. He was smiling.

‘From now on, I think I will always choose pleasure.’

‘A wise choice my lord, I’ll always be happy to comply.’

#tlk fanfic #tlk #The Last Kingdom #tlk Edward #tlk edward x reader #tlk edward smut #tlk edward x reader smut #edward the elder #inga writes

[oogaboogasphincter]

Kinktober Day 4

💜my kinktober masterlist

pairing: pero tovar x f!reader

prompt: spanking🖤role reversal🖤knife play (prompt list by @the-purity-pen)

rating: E (explicit) 18+ only!

word count: 740+

warnings: dom(ish)!reader+sub(ish)!tovar, unprotected p in v sex (use protection irl!), lil bit of choking and hair-pulling bc i'm feral, two instances of “mi amor” bc that’s the extent of the spanish i know 😇💀, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns

author’s note: the way i would drop almost everything to be this man’s wife during his time period..... the feminism would leave my body instantaneously like sir yes i do the cooking yes i do the cleaning please wife me tf up 😀 also i wrote this w reader usually being submissive and tovar usually being dominant so that’s where we ✨reverse the roles✨ +also i'm catching up on kinktober today! day 5 will be coming later tonight and day 6 will honestly probably be posted in the very early hours of tomorrow so ✨

gif by @manny-jacinto​

Pero’s dominance on the battlefield doesn’t dwindle when the setting changes to the bedroom. He’s ever the sweetest and most tender, taking note of your every reaction to his sultry maneuvers, but the doting man often loves it rough. He likes spanking your ass until it is red with his handprint and you squirm under the delectable sting, he loves catching your jaw between his thumb and forefinger to force you to look at him as tears of overstimulated pleasure spill from your eyes. He does all of this in the name of passion, unable to find any other way that he deems suitable to show you just how much he loves you.

Although you obey his every sexual command like it’s your life’s purpose, this isn’t the only reason why he loves you. You drew him in initially with your spunkiness. The first time you slept together, he was surprised at how quickly the teasing brat turned into the whimpering, begging girl on her knees.

Sometimes, when he returns from missions that were particularly grueling, he doesn’t have the energy to be as rough as he’d like. Don't get it twisted; this softer type of sex is equally mind-blowing as the rough stuff. Orgasms may not be unexpected explosions of fire - ripping through your veins at an inconceivable speed - but are instead slow burns of chameleonic passion that - slowly but surely - overtake all your senses with a numbing lust. 

Sometimes, he appreciates it when you take more control in the bedroom. Even when he has the energy to flip you onto your back and fuck into you with abandon, it’s undeniably sexy to him when he gets to sit back and watch you ride him. There’s something about you directly taking what you want that has his bones melting and his heart hammering with infatuation. When all you allow him to do is watch as you fuck yourself on his throbbing cock at a pace you’ve set, Pero can see a smidge of that spunkiness he originally fell in love with come through.

This is the predicament you find yourselves in now. Sheets pulsing underneath his sturdy body, Pero winces in delight with every one of your thrusts. One hand on his chest, his heartbeat tingling on your palm, and the other cupping the side of his jaw, you slowly lift and lower your hips on the length of his cock. It’s all just sluggish movements and sedated exhales now, but in a few minutes you won’t be able to contain your greed to ride him hard.

His hands are curious, like always. His left goes from grasping your hip tight, following it in all its movements, to skimming up your side to knead your shoulder, to circle the side of your neck delicately. The right starts out intertwined with your left on his chest, but grows restless and travels up your middle to palm your breast, his rough fingertips scratching over your nipple. 

Your patience has worn thin. Your bouncing stops and turns into horizontal grinds, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth across his groin. Your sounds of indulgence transform from gasps to moans, pants to growls. He encourages you, “That’s it, show me how you like it, mi amor.” 

To gain stability to fuck yourself on him even harder, the hand on his chest skates up to his neck and grasps the flushed column. The hand on his jaw slips to his hair and pulls, exposing his excited jugular veins to you. The feeling in your hand is almost lost with how passionately you’re holding him, how hard his blood beats underneath his skin, the numbing vibrations projected from his vocal cords.

The height of your climax is reached with a groan of his name; it chokes you out and halts your spasms. Pero won’t have any of this stoppage, so, with his dominance returning, he pulls your torso down flush against his own. 

“Let me make you feel good, mi amor.”

He plants his feet firmly on the weak bed and pistons his hips into yours, just in time to prolong your orgasm. You swear he’s burying his cock in your stomach with how deep he’s fucking you. 

Taking the reins is fun once in a while, but nothing will ever be as intoxicating as dominant Pero. 

💘taglist: @pascalpanic​

#tppkinktober2021 #kinktober 2021 #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x fem!reader #pedro pascal characters #kinktober #pero tovar

[shoichee]

Hi, congrats on 100!! Could I please request 27 for Kasamatsu? Thank you very much, and good luck on your finals! :D

Kasamatsu x Reader

27. “If we get caught I’m blaming you”

Word Count: 4416

prompt list here

Note: the Replace novel starring the Kaijō team was a HUGE inspiration for this, and dear anon who requested this, I hope you’re still around;; I’m sorry it took so long EEEEE But yes! I did okay on my finals anon! I hope you’re doing well too~

@knb-kreations

»»—————　☼　—————««

“If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“Look it’ll be quick… n-no one’s here as far as I know.”

“B-But…”

“J-Just… be quiet for a s-second, okay?”

“H-H-Huh?! Ah…”

Huh? Kise stopped himself before leaning closer to the edge of the building, slightly doubting his ears. Wasn’t that Senpai’s voice? With someone else…? Alone?

“Oh come on, why are you even block the wa—oh, ohhhhhh, are there any cute girls nearby?—”

“Shh,” Kise hissed, harshly waving his hand over Moriyama’s face to give a signal to stay quiet. “Listen…”

“A-Are you done, Kasamatsu-san…?”

“I-I-I… uh, just…um…”

Kise and Moriyama shared a look of shock… then registration… and finally a look of that spelled nothing but trouble. Immediately, they both simultaneously crouched to squat and share their “realizations” together in hushed whispers.

“Quick—when was the last time Senpai talked to anyone outside of basketball?”

“Hmmmmmm, certainly none of the girls I’ve tried to approach.”

“No, that’s obviously not what I meant!” Kise said, facepalming. “Anyone in your year that he’s been talking to? Maybe anyone in class?” Moriyama continued to hum in deep concentration before he lifted his index finger in a “eureka” moment.

“He’s been talking to (y/n)-san in the hallways recently!” he quietly exclaims, pounding his fist against his open palm to emphasize. “Though their conversations have sounded nothing remotely romantic. No charm, I say.” He struck a pose after to imply that he himself was the charismatic individual.

“.... Right,” he deadpanned, expecting nothing less from his quite… eccentric upperclassman. “Welp, now that we narrowed it down who he might be talking to, I don’t wanna spy on them… but I’m really curious if it’s really this (y/n)-san you mentioned.”

“Well,” Moriyama pouted with a grumble. “One peek wouldn’t hurt.”

“I guess you’re right…”

Kise cautiously scans his surroundings and gauges the situation “clear” to slowly peer from behind the corner of the building, where both of them had been seeking shelter from for the past several minutes. Moriyama follows suit, poking his head out just underneath Kise to see.

Kasamatsu’s back mostly covered your figure, but the view of what was happening did not slip by either Kaijō players’ eyes. He had his arms partially around your head while you were pressed up against his chest. You were gripping onto his loose blazer on his sides to presumably stabilize yourself while Kasamatsu was… fiddling with something on top of your hair? Even so, there’s no denying that the both of you were currently very, very physically close.

“Look… d-does it really take that long to take out petals from hair strands?” you mumbled, looking up at Kasamatsu’s face while trying not to move your head to avoid disrupting his “handiwork.” “I can do this myself....”

“W-W-Well, you can’t risk yourself being unkempt when you go back to class.” Kasamatsu gave a poor attempt at trying to lecture you, judging from his stammers and the way he slightly turns his head to the side to avoid your curious scrutiny. “It’s more thorough this… way. It’s the w-week where these blossoms fall rampantly… you have to be careful where you’re walking under…” In turning his face slightly towards Kise’s and Moriyama’s direction, his exposed flushed face puts the cherry blossom trees around them to shame.

So that’s what he was doing. Kise narrowed his eyes in pity at his captain, and Moriyama expressed a similar expression at Kasamatsu’s struggles. The poor captain’s hands were shaking non-stop. Not only that, he’s been darting his eyes everywhere since you’ve been gazing up at him from below. No wonder he’s been standing there unable to quickly pluck off the petals.

“Should we leave our captain alone to let him lead his own destiny?”

“What are you even talking about, Moriyama-se—”

“W-Whoa!! What a(l)e you [guys doing] he(l)e? Why a(l)e you sneaking a(l)ound (r)ike that?”

Kise and Moriyama instantly whip their heads behind in a panic, seeing a curious Hayakawa jogging up to be with his teammates, and the both instantly pounce on the poor rebound player to slap desperate hands over his mouth.

“Sh-Shhhhhhhhh!”

“Mrmpgh—?!! Lef—What [is going] on?”

“Hayakawa-senpai, please—just be quiet for a sec!”

The ruckus causes Kasamatsu and you to break out of the oddly intimate moment to face towards the direction of the sudden noises. After looking at each other questionably, albeit briefly and with stiff eye contact, there was an unspoken consensus for you two to investigate behind the corner of the building. Imagine both of you guys’ surprise when you two see a tangle of limbs between the Kaijō starter players. Kobori somehow arrived prior, separating poor Hayakawa from his two assailants.

“What… What the hell are you guys doing?!”

“Kasamatsu-senpai!! Is it t(l)ue [that you] and (y/n)-san a(l)e da—mrmf—!”

“Ahaha… we didn’t expect to see you here, Senpai~” Kise smiles with a slight grimace, hand still firm on Hayakawa’s mouth.

“It must be fate, yes surely!” Moriyama confidently speaks, flipping his fringe. Both Kise and Moriyama drop Hayakawa and straighten themselves up. “How else would we encounter such a situation as unique as this?”

“Why are you all here?” Kasamatsu sputters indignantly, but everyone (except you) saw how horrendously red his face was. You peek out from behind his back curiously, noting how Kasamatsu did a 180 in his personality compared to whenever he spoke with you.

“Kasamatsu-san… are they your teammates? You seem very close with them.”

“That’s—”

“Now, now, Kasamatsu-san… we’re only here because we were concerned where you went is all,” Kobori reassures a flustered captain. Kise only stares at him incredulously, but it seems that Kasamatsu, as usual, buys into Kobori’s naivete.

“I see…”

“Wow… the fact that your entire group came to look for you is very sweet of them,” you chime. “They really care for you, Kasamatsu-san…” When you elbow him at his ribs playfully, he immediately straightened himself like a plank.

“N-Nn.”

“Well… it’s almost time for class, so I have to go, see you all!”

“W-Wait, your… uh, hair, um—”

“I can get out the rest of the petals in the restroom, but thank you for trying! I’ll see you later!”

“R-Right…” He puts up his hand in a shy wave as you dash away, but he immediately drops it once you are out of the vicinity to hound on his teammates. “Were you watching this entire time? And stop with the looks—that’s creepy as hell!”

“Sooooooo…”

“Senpai, could it be that you and…”

“Kasamatsu-senpai! I’m (l)ooting fo(l) you!”

“N-N-No!!” he denies, ready to hold an iron fist to stop their antics, but Kobori gently holds onto his raised arm.

“Alright, let’s calm down a bit,” Kobori reasons with a placid smile. “I’m sure we’re all a bit curious because you hardly talk to anyone outside of basketball, right?”

“Kobori…”

“Have you heard of the prerequisites of the key elements of the blooming spring, Kasamatsu?” Moriyama asks, immediately drawing confused looks towards the 3rd-year.

“Moriyama-senpai, we have no clue what you’re talking about,” Kise says, asking the question that’s occupying everyone's mind.

“The key elements…! In the season of new birth, to enrich the experience, they are ‘hanami,’ ‘plums,’ and ‘spring cleaning!’ Of course, the prerequisite to these would be…”

“Please stop—”

“... to have a cute date.”

“... This is ridiculous,” Kasamatsu says irritatedly. “I’m going to class.” He immediately speed-walks to the adjacent building, leaving a scheming group behind.

“You know, if it’s true that he does like (y/n)-san, shouldn’t we help him? It’s the least we can do for our captain,” Kobori suggested.

“That sounds too troublesome,” Kise frowns, averting his gaze to also start to walk away, but Hayakawa immediately latches to his arm to pull him back.

“Don’t be (r)ike that! We have to do this as a team effo(l)t!”

“How did it become like this?!”

“Well…” Moriyama audibly ponders, stroking his chin. “If we make this successful for Kasamatsu, perhaps this can be a template for our own love lives! A sign that we will meet our fated ones this spring!”

“Yes, yes! Mo(l)iyama-senpai is abso(r)ute(r)y (l)ight!”

Oh god, Kise mentally sighs. What has he gotten himself into?

———

“Why are you guys surrounding me like that? Did you not hear me say that we have to change quickly? We can’t have the lockers for long today, considering that the janitor will come to do their routine clean-ups.”

“According to my online research,” Moriyama states, “this mint-scented deodorant will guarantee mutual attraction from the person you like.”

“Wha—?”

“Ignoring what Moriyama-senpai said,” Kise elaborates, scratching his head. “Is it really true that you like (y/n)-san? Otherwise, they’ll keep getting the wrong idea, senpai.”

Kasamatsu gapes like a fish, pulling his shirt collar as he starts to sweat and flush.

“Kise! Be a bit tactfu(r)! You do not unde(l)stand how to app(l)oach this!”

“What’s there to understand, Hayakawa-senpai!? It’s better to be direct about this, or otherwise we’ll be doing this for nothing!”

“Kise may be right,” Moriyama muses. “To be honest gives a feeling of a fresh start in the spring. Kasamatsu, you should follow this example and leave all the baggage behind to obtain a new start.” Kasamatsu could only stand there glued to his spot as his teammates continued to corner him, blocking any possible route to the locker exit.

“I… I…” he gulps. “Th—... that’s… I… like…” His voice dwindles to the softest whisper, but it easily resonates throughout the locker room, where the team had fallen silent in straining to hear and hang onto his every syllable.

“So you do like (y/n)-san,” Moriyama exclaimed, the first one to break the silence. “I see, I didn’t think they were your type.”

“H-Hey…?! Can you not say it like that!?”

“You can’t distort the truth, though. Anyways, you should chat with (y/n)-san nicely.”

“I already do!!” Kasamatsu half-shouts, but he immediately bows his head down shyly. “Wh-What’s a… good topic, you think… to talk to (y/n)-san…?”

“Huh? Just normal topics,” Kise replies, not sure what Kasamatsu meant by the question.

“What’s… normal?”

“Just talk to them like you’ve always done, senpai.”

“Y-Yes, but… h-how can I talk to hint that I l-l-l-like… never mind this is hopeless—”

“Ask them to come watch ou(l) next match [and have] (y/n)-san chee(l) fo(l) you!!”

“N-No! Anyone would run away from that!”

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted when the locker doors opened with a bang, with a very weary janitor standing with his equipment on standby. With a flurry of apologies to the janitor, Kasamatsu recovers himself and ushers everyone out before bidding him a good evening. Walking out of campus several minutes later in silence, Kobori breaks the silence.

“Why don’t we help you, Kasamatsu? Maybe through different methods you will find the best way to ask for a date. Perhaps asking for a cup of tea would be sufficient…?”

“I’m not gonna involve myself with this! No way in hell!”

“Senpai, so you’re just gonna wait and let it fester—u-uwah?!” Moriyama immediately sprays the mint-scented deodorant down Kise’s back to silence him before turning back to Kasamatsu with a straight face.

“What if someone else steals (y/n)-san away for their own elements of spring? After all, it is the perfect atmosphere for them to communicate with the person you like with pickup techniques, with high chances of success.”

“N-No way (y/n)-san would just go along with a random stranger!”

“Who knows? Maybe they’re more suave and have that particular charisma that they’re secretly weak to.”

“Moriyama-senpai, you might be going too far…”

“Kasamatsu, he’s right though, if you hang around (y/n)-san more, not only would you learn more about them, but you’ll protect them from potential unwanted people.” Kobori’s calm voice rang louder above the clamors of the starter players, and everyone immediately looked to Kasamatsu for his response. Kise mentally sighs at how Kobori always manages to misinterpret Moriyama’s words.

“Fine—but only to make sure (y/n)-san will be safe! Don’t get any funny ideas!”

———

Praise. Make them laugh. Praise. Make them laugh. Say something interesting. Say something interesting. Praise. Use a normal topic.

Kasamatsu stands at his usual spot, waiting for you to leave class and meet up with him after school. Only this time, his hands grow clammy, his thick brows deeply furrowed as he wills himself to stop shaking. His teammates spying on him from behind the hallway corner certainly wasn’t helping him either.

“I told you, there’s no way I’m gonna involve myself with this!”

“Come on, Kasamatsu,” Moriyama sighed, shaking the mint-scented deodorant on hand. “We talked about this yesterday. You agreed to this, remember?”

“It was to make sure no one weird bothers (y/n)-san! Why do I have to go along with this?!”

“So you’re fine if I hold (y/n)-san’s hand in the name of destiny…”

“To hell with that!—argh—you!”

Moriyama immediately sprayed the can on the captain’s neck, watching his spine jolt and jump before he was met with an intense glare.

“You’re the captain, right? Come on, you have to show us how it’s done. We all want to see the ways to push the boundaries of romance. Who would lead us if you don’t?”

“What kinda—”

“I ag(l)ee with Mo(l)iyama-senpai! Take the (r)ead, Kasamatsu-senpai!”

“Wouldn’t Kise be someone better to learn from if you wanted to learn how to hit on people?!”

“Senpai, I’ve never done such a thing in my entire life.”

“Kasamatsu, I’m sure Moriyama is just telling you how much we all admire and look up to you. Naturally, we want to see how our captain fares in these situations. Besides, as a team, if something happens, we’ll be there to cover up for you.”

“Well… if you put it like that Kobori… all I have to do is talk to (y/n)-san… right?”

“That’s the spi(l)it!”

“... Kasamatsu-san? Helloooooo…?”

You wave a hand repeatedly over his face, and he immediately blinks and flinches back when you pull him back to the present. He’d been standing still for the past five minutes.

“I-I-I-I…”

“Are you okay? You’re all tensed up… if something’s bothering you, wanna talk about it?”

“W-W-Well… wh-what’s… up.” Normal topic, normal topic.

“Well, nothing much really,” you say, smoothing out your blazer. “I got out the petals but barely made it to class in the nick of time!” You laugh at your own recollection, and he immediately flames a radiant flush.

“N-nn.”

“Is it me… or is our captain…. really, really stiff right now…”

“Shhh.”

You perk up at the noise and slightly tilt to the left of Kasamatsu to discern the source of the hushed whispers… only to spy a conspicuous group of basketball players. You merely raise a brow at your discovery, but you return your attention back to Kasamatsu before he notices your change in gaze. The Kaijō teammates were too busy shushing each other to notice your attention on them.

“Ah, yes! Kasamatsu-san, you just had your trigonometry test right? Those identities and proofs are always so difficult to remember… how do you think you did?”

“G-Good.”

“Wow, that was too quick of a response! I didn’t know you were that confident about it—obviously not a bad thing if you studied for it.”

“N-nn.” Come on, say something interesting. Interesting topic. Something you like. “U-U-Uh… w-weather…?”

“The weather…?” You look outside the window in confusion before you make a face of realization. “Oh! Like how’s the weather?”

“N-nn.”

“Well, it has been a bit windy with all those branches and leaves flying around, but I think it accompanies the refreshing atmosphere of spring very nicely, don’t you think?” You turn back to face Kasamatsu, who’s been slowly bowing his head down gradually more and more the entire time to avoid scrutiny.

“N-nn.”

“You’ve been… really quiet since lunch. I’m serious, if something happened… is there anything I can do to help?”

“Kasamatsu, take advantage of the elements of spring! The elements of spr—”

“Moriyama-senpai, shut… up…!”

“Hey—what are you—?”

“Wait!! Kise! Don’t push, [or else] we a(l)e gonna fa(r)(r)—!”

“Shit—”

Right on cue, the gradual leaning weight from the three players on Hayakawa at the bottom gave way, and everyone tumbled out smack dab into plain sight. Kobori was the only one who managed to break his fall and stayed behind the corner, holding onto Kise in a failed attempt to stop him from exposing his presence. Kasamatsu breaks out of his shy stupor and turns around to see awkward smiles and chuckles.

“Y-Y-You guys—?!”

“Ahaha… sorry Senpai… the floor was a bit… slippery?”

As Kasamatsu forgets about you in dropkicking Kise, you note how the other upperclassmen had their own little quirks in interacting with the captain. Seeing how assertive and gutsy he was compared to talking with you makes you feel unbelievably warm. Little did anyone know, you held a hand to your face as you turned away to let out a chortle before you collected yourself again.

“Ah, I guess I’ll be going now! Your practice will start soon right? I’m sure your friends were only waiting for you… Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Kasamatsu-san!”

“W-Wait—” Kasamatsu drops Kise from his collar before he turns to you, but in making eye contact he immediately loses courage again. “I-I-I… s-see… you.”

“Of course!” You give a close-eyed smile before you leave.

“You missed the opportunity to set up the atmosphere,” Moriyama sighs, staring wistfully at the mint-scented deodorant. “Was the mint scent not enough?”

“It was going fine until you crashed in!”

“Now, now, there’s always a next time…”

As the upperclassmen continue to bicker and banter (mostly one-sided from Kasamatsu’s end), Kise, who was dropped on the floor by Kasamatsu moments prior, silently stares at the direction you left. Did you leave because you knew how embarrassed Kasamatsu was from that incident?

———

For the next few days, Kasamatsu has been quite clipped with you, reduced to mere “nn’s” and “no’s” during your conversations, and Kise doesn’t know whether you’re just as oblivious as Kobori or whether you’re ignoring it to spare his remaining shreds of dignity. He mentally sighs at how oddly persistent Moriyama is about this even though the captain refused all of his ridiculous “suggestions” every time.

“I believe Moriyama is trying to help out Kasamatsu as a close friend,” Kobori had said, when Kise grumbled about his tenacity. “He just wants the best for him.”

Even so, Kise still heaves a sigh when he sees Moriyama and Hayakawa with an agitated Kasamatsu, knowing that whatever is going on won’t be smooth-sailing. He had no choice but to join them when Kobori sneaked up on him to sling an arm around his shoulders and called over the trio.

“Huh… what’s up with Kasamatsu-senpai?”

“Ou(l) captain is af(l)aid [because someone] da(l)ed to app(l)oach (y/n)-san (l)ight now!”

“Huh? Is that really a problem?” Kise shoots a tired look at the rebound player, but Moriyama solemnly sends a gaze to where he assumed was where you were at right now.

“I knew my online research would come in handy…! Someone also has the knowledge of taking advantage of the perfect atmosphere! Look at the intimacy shared between the two…! The undeniable auras exhibited by them, and elements of spring they embody together!”

“What the hell! No way!” Even through the denials, Kasamatsu looks visibly distressed about the possible “new revelations” between you and what looks to be a close companion of yours.

“I’m gonna have to agree with Senpai on this one, Moriyama-senpai.”

“(R)ook! They finished ta(r)king and (y/n)-san waved them [off with] a smi(r)e!” Kasamatsu whips his head at the speed of light to see you sending them off with the smile Hayakawa spoke of as your friend exits the campus gate. At his dilemma, Moriyama gently nudges his arm to encourage him to go talk to you.

“... According to my online research, talking under sunny weather with a fresh scent is the formula to having the desirable spring experience.”

“Oh shut up, will ya?” Kasamatsu mumbles half-heartedly, but he slowly walks in your direction before he stops to turn back. “You better not interrupt.”

“We [will be all] the way back he(l)e to suppo(l)t you!”

With a final sigh to expel his nerves, he gives a nervous smile to his teammates before coolly walking until you turn to face him once you hear his footsteps. Almost immediately though, his calmness easily dissipates into thin air once again, and his teammates only look on in dismay and worry from afar.

“Er…” Come on, just be direct. Talk normal.

“Kasamatsu-san?”

“Y-You were… d-datin—I mean t-talking, with… someone…”

“Oh, you saw? Yeah, I asked them to meet up with me here actually.”

“Is… that so?”

“Mmhm, I asked for their notes to compare to mine because I feel like I can’t get a hand on the subject sometimes.” Kasamatsu finally finds his voice for the first time in a while when the conversation finally re-enters familiar platonic territory.

“Was it… trigonometry? I did, um, do well on it last time, so…” Normal topics. Normal topics.

“I know,” you laugh. “You told me that a few days ago, remember?”

“W-W-Well…” He coughs to clear his throat and find his voice. “Y-You could’ve… a-a-asked—er…” You patiently wait for him to try to finish his sentence, and out of the corner of your eye you accidentally made eye contact with Kise from the distance.

Kise didn’t expect for you to notice the group even from a sizable distance away. He stayed still for a few seconds to make sure the shared eye contact wasn’t a fluke. Seeing how Kasamatsu was standing there like a statue again, he puts a flat hand next to his lips to discreetly mouth out:

He’s jealous.

To his surprise, you caught onto his cues, giving a subtle yet playful smile of your own before you carefully mouth out:

I know.

The others don’t seem to notice the secret exchange, all too focused on the poor captain bowing his head down out of extreme shyness. Kise doesn’t even know why he’s doing this, but perhaps Kobori was right that it’s only right for the team to help out their hardworking captain.

“Ah, Kasamatsu-san?”

“N-Nn?” He lifts his head up abruptly at the call of his name, and he turns red from mortification at the realization that he stood there like a dunce for the past several minutes. He doesn’t even have time to react to you stepping closer to him with an outstretched hand, and he stands motionless as you slightly fiddle with his cropped hair before you pull out a vivid cherry blossom petal.

“Remember what you told me?” you muse. “That ‘you can’t risk yourself being unkempt?’ After all, you’re right… it is the week where these blossoms fall rampantly… Must I also remind you to be careful where you’re walking under?”

At this point, Kasamatsu is sputtering like a broken engine, his mind barely functioning enough for him to think about putting a hand over his face in a desperate attempt to cover his frenzy.

“I, um, I…”

“Ah… can I ask you something first instead, Kasamatsu-san?” you gently interrupt him, and he flits his gaze back to you before staring at the ground again, and you took that as silent confirmation. “A-Are… are you free to go cherry blossom watching this weekend…?”

He snaps his head up in shock, only to see you slightly pink after that slight stutter in your question. It was your turn to avoid looking at his face.

“N-nn, I’m-I’m free.”

“Ah, that’s great…!” You muster your own courage to hold his clammy hands at his sides. “Can I ask to confirm if this is a romantic date between us?”

“Y-Yes,” he says in a hurry and you only laugh at his shyness. But his piercing eyes focus on your figure before he frees his hands from your loose clasp and reaches out to you, albeit with a slight shake in his hand still, before he clumsily takes out a petal from your hair. “It was… stuck.”

“See?” you shyly tease. “I knew it shouldn’t take you long to take out petals from hair.”

He completely lost his cool in front of you again.

You didn’t really care though… not when he looked absolutely endearing with the onslaught of petals settling on top of his head and shoulders to complement his flushed face.

———

Bonus:

“So are you two dating now?” Kise asks you. You both coincidentally met up at a hallway intersection the next week.

“Well, I think that’s a bit too fast,” you inwardly laugh. “You know how he is more than anyone.” Kise gives a light chuckle of his own before he asks you the question that’s been on his mind for a while.

“Hey (y/n)-senpai, how did you know Kasamatsu-senpai liked you?”

“Eh?”

“It was pretty clear from that time last week that you knew how he felt.”

“Ah… well, remember when he was… trying… to tidy up my hair? When you all spied on us?” you say, continuing when Kise gives a slightly sheepish nod. “It felt… different from how we normally talked. I’m sure he felt it harder than I did. I’ve always been nervous talking to him, but… seeing him so flustered and shy like that made me connect the dots, and then, I became more at ease and knew to be patient, realizing that he does hold a degree of feelings for me. I just didn’t know when was the right time for us to take it a step further.”

“I see. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I must say, please send my thanks for the rest of the team. I think without you guys, this wouldn’t have happened as smoothly… or quickly.” At your words, Kise only sweatdrops as he remembers Moriyama’s antics, Hayakawa’s over-enthusiasm, and Kobori’s good-natured naivete.

“I’ll… send your regards to them.”

“... Why do you look so hesitant?”

———

End note: the cherry blossom falling season only occurs in the first to second week of April, which would conflict with the timeline of this scenario IRL. The Japanese new school year also coincides with this week, and as 3rd-years, Kasamatsu, Moriyama, Kobori, and the reader would be college freshmen instead. If I wrote it in terms of “last year” with the 3rd-years as 2nd-years, then Kise would still be in Teiko. So for convenience sake… ignore the “realism” in the setting for this :^)

#knb x reader #knb #knb fic #knb fics #knb scenarios #kasamatsu #kasamatsu yukio #kasamatsu x reader #kasamatsu yukio x reader #knb fluff #kaijo #kaijo team #kise ryota #kise ryouta #moriyama yoshitaka #kobori #hayakawa mitsuhiro #kuroko no basket #100 followers #100 follower milestone #knb x y/n

[dovveling]

Lucio/Iolas - Wedding Proposal

(I really liked my long ass answer to the love ask about their proposal so i wanted to make it it’s own post that way y’all can ready it easier--)

The sun hung low in the sky as Lucio makes his way to the palace gardens. He has asked Iolas to meet him out by their favorite spot in the garden maze. the blonde smiles remembering how the two of them had found the hidden spot while goofing around and shoving each other into the hedges. It wasn't until one hard push sent Lucio through the hedge that he had found it. He fully expected to land on his ass but instead he found himself on the other side of a portal with Iolas calling for him from the other side.

Quickly Lucio ushered the other man through the portal and the two looked over a hidden meadow that seemed to be somewhere close to the center of the maze. Lucio could picture it perfectly; the stark white gazebo in the center, the perfect sun rays that sprinkled the fluffy grass and the willow tree with its small leaves that dripped and trickled. He fondly reminisced when the wind would blow and the tendrils of the willow would tickle up the wooden beams of the gazebo and scare Iolas into laughter every time the leaves would brush against his lover.

As Lucio draws closer to the portal he stops right before he enters and stares at the ring he had spent hours picking out. He had never fussed so much over a gift for someone. It was a first for him to worry about gift-giving, because anything he picked out was glamorous and simply perfect. This however wasn't just a gift.

It was a question.

Which meant it had to be perfect. Every time he would think he was close to choosing a ring he would look and see a flaw. A flaw that Iolas had the potential see. Which if he did meant the possibility of Lucio never getting to hear the answer he so desperately wants to the question He’s so nervous to ask.

So many times Lucio doubled back on himself about the proposal. Is this just too much? His mind would race. Could he see himself getting married again when his last marriage was such a failure? Then he would hear it. Iolas' laugh. Followed by the heart warming memories of the sunlight hitting the coffee skin of his lover. Afterwards every reservation burned away and was replaced with a deep desire to make this person his and only his.

Clinging to his new found confidence Lucio steels himself as he pockets the ring, almost dropping the bottle of champagne he forgets he was holding. As he pushes through the portal the blonde's heart skips a little at the sight of his lover resting on the side of the white gazebo. He’s wearing a white robe that Lucio had gotten commissioned to match his iconic white suit. The sight of it sets his heart running, he now knows the other dressed up just for him. As Lucio walks closer he can tell his lover seems to be lost in thought. He watched the other man’s crimson eyes gaze over the tree line, transfixed on something invisible as their thoughts dictate their face. It isn’t until Lucio steps closer and knocks on the wood with a playful tune that his lover acknowledges that the count has walked into the meadow. Lucio’s wolfish smile triggers a similar grin on his lover’s face.

"Hi, my Darling--" Iolas starts before pulling Lucio over by his collar to meet their lips together. With a giggle Iolas watches Lucio hop over the median of the gazebo instead of using the very close opening that's just a little be over to the side of them. Lucio tries to steady his face, but he can’t help that he’s excited. He doesn't want to come off too eager or nervous, but Lucio can tell his poker face failed as Iolas gives him a curious look. "What are you planning? I know that look."

Lucio however holds his hands up in defense after he places the bottle of champagne down on the railing in front of them. "Why do I always have to be up to something huh? Can't a man just meet his lover in a secret hole in the woods for some late-night drinking and maybe a little late-night macking?" the blonde throws the magician a wink, which is met with a playful smack that Lucio is all too found of.

"Did you bring glasses, Oh Count of Macking?" Iolas teases with a click of his tongue and to that Lucio's face freezes for a second. The easily distracted count did not think about the glass part of drinking, but his shock lasts for a split second before he nudges his lover with an elbow and a cheeky grin. "Can't you just magic something up for us--" Before Lucio can even finish Iolas throws his head back, his whole body shakes with a genuine laugh. One that Lucio only sees when Iolas reacts to his particular stupidity. "Absolutely not. I cannot manifest glassware, but fret not Lulu I prepared for this." The silver-haired man stands on the railing of the gazebo and reaches up behind one of the posts and brings down two champagne glasses. Lucio amused at this helps the shorter man down before taking both glasses and leaning down to give his lover a short kiss on the head.

Snickering to himself Lucio places the glasses down and pops open the champagne. "See? Who needs magic when you have a lover who has the spirit of a squirrel. Why are those even up there?" Iolas can't seem to hold back his laugher and starts into a long dialogue about how the last party they hosted he was tasked with disposing of all the drinks Lucio downed after getting into a drinking match with Julian. At some point he got too fed up hauling all the empty glass wear to and fro so he eventually gave up and used the portal which was much closer than the garbage. Soon as he finishes that story Lucio makes note that not only does he not remember this drinking contest at all, but he also notices that the whole upper layer of the Gazebo is littered with small drinking glasses of all shapes and sizes.

After the two of them laugh at the absurdity of the situation the couple dive into a comfortable speed of talking. Slowly they unravel the days events to each other, to which Lucio adds more flavor by introducing the drinks. The sun finally settles and the garden lights flicker on and thanks to all the glass wear in the gazebo small reflected lights scattered within their own space. Slowly the stories of their day dwindle and eventually, they huddle close to each other so they can look under the top of their gazebo and point out stars. Lucio watches the small warm lights bounce off his lover's face and his heart races. He can't chicken out now.

"Iolas." Lucio stops the silver-haired man mid-sentence as the other was going on about his zodiac sign and how it will be visible in the sky soon until he hears his name.

Iolas pauses fully, not use to hearing his full name exit his lover's lips unless it was during a more intimate and scandalous situation. So he hides his hesitation with a smile and he answers the blonde with the same tone he just used but exaggerated with a deeper tone to lighten the mood. "Lucio." The count starts to fidget but just laughs when Iolas mocks his serious tone. "No really, uh... Listen for a second." Iolas' face now turns from curious to worried. " Uh oh. that's a real serious tone. What did you do?" Lucio brushes him off, biting his lip and rubs the back of his neck. He feels so lame doing this, but that's the point.

Lucio stands up straight taking Iolas' hands, looking directly into those red eyes. For a second Lucio’s mind feels erased. It was as if looking into his lovers eyes reset every word he had planned out, but the ring sits heavy in his pocket. So he tried and opens his mouth only to close it so he can bring Iolas' cold fingers to his lips, unable to find his words just yet.

Iolas' however is completely taken aback. His lover has been romantic before but he was much more used to their back a forth of one-upping each other and superficial compliments they would glob onto each other. Their usual dynamic coupled with nightly flings where he ended up in the blonde's bed, made the sudden tenderness unsettling.

The magician could feel that dark feeling creep to his shoulders. The one that would say he shouldn't get his hopes up, that he's happy filling the count's time till he finds a real suitor. Even if Lucio was a temporary General at the palace he was still a completely different status then Iolas and Royals don't have court magician as suitors. So his hopes remained low but he was happy to bide his time with Lucio. However little it would be. Iolas had to admit even with the teasing and snarky remarks that sometimes get out of hand he loved and even craved the other man's company. Sadly, love doesn't change status. Love doesn't guarantee a happy ending. His a master when it comes to disappointment and had learned his lesson the hard way.

So It was the last thing Iolas' expected when the taller man pulls out the biggest ring the magician has ever seen and gets down on one knee. Iolas' first thought is to pinch himself so he can wake up. Then when air fills his lungs he realizes he’s awake and this is happening. More than happening, he's been silent for far too long. All he can hear is the stinging sound of his building anxiety attack banging around in his head. The buzz is deafening and He can see that Lucio is speaking but he can't hear him.

You will just disappoint him. Iolas' thoughts curse. Better yet he'll disappoint you. A shaky breath leaves him and all he can do is blink and look at Lucio with watery eyes. "I-- I'm sorry please can you say that again." Iolas stops and closes his eyes just so he doesn't have to look at the ring that's almost blinding with its meaning.

Lucio's normal wolfish grin falters but only returns once he hears Iolas speak. "I said. We should get hitched, ya know?" Lucio sputters, shit. "Look. Like I was saying we're surrounded by losers, Pet. Who else am I gonna get to match me other than you huh? come on, look at me—“ he gestures to his hair and outfit before continuing “Then look at you! we're perfect for each other.. ya know?" Lucio now looks nervous as he speaks. Unable to keep eye contact. “..and.. I love your laugh."

This seems to pull Iolas' from his anxiety a little even enough to get him to let out a weak laugh. "What? what does that have to do with anything?" Lucio pouts and glares at his lover just a tiny bit. "I love your laugh! and I don't want anyone else to have it. I deserve it, I get you to do it most and I think you owe me. So like.." Lucio ushers Iolas' to the ring, his legs are starting to buckle. "I wouldn't admit this to anyone else but my knees aren't what they use to be so can we--" Iolas stops him with a curt turn, his shoulders shaking.

The blonde stands at his lovers reaction his whole body rigid. This was it. The rejection he warned himself about. He's ruined everything, his heart screams to take it all back. Iolas is probably laughing at the proposal and Lucio's tacky way of offering himself. It isn't until the sound of a stuffy nose echo through the silent night that Lucio realizes his lover is crying and instantly he steps forward a different kind of fear gripping his heart. " W-wait-- wait, why are you crying? You never cry--" He falters and fidgets his hands around his lover unsure if he wants to be held or not.

Iolas turns finally, his red puffy eyes are turned down in a grimace as they glisten in the dim light. "Yeah, you idiot I never cry and look at what you made me do." His tone is harsh but it's followed by a sad shake that ruins any intention of anger. "Lucio I... I don't know how to do this." Lucio's heart slows but he's thrown for a loop and Iolas can sense his confusion and clears his throat as he wipes his leaking eyes. "No one has ever, wanted me like this before. I don't know if I can-- How do you know you want this? What if I disappoint you? What if you get tired of me and regret ever meeting me? At least if we keep things like before you can just get rid of me if I'm too much and I won't have to--" Lucio stops Iolas this time as he brings his lover close by pulling on his crossed arms.

"You won't have to worry about falling in love?" The blonde answers with his own sense of sadness, his eyes looking down at their feet before meeting with Iolas' who only nods in response. Lucio is a bit thankful that his lover didn't outright say no and is at least contemplating the idea of things. "I had the same thoughts and honestly I don't know how I'm sure. I just... am." Lucio's normal bravado comes back now that he feels more secure in the conversation. "I know that I love seeing you every day. I know that I love sleeping with you every night. I know that I don't want anyone else to hold you the way I hold you and I know that you feel the same way about me." At that the blonde swallows hoping he isn't wrong. "But mostly I know I don't ever want you to leave. If you were to go, do you know how fucking boring this place would be? I would set the parlor on fire within minutes of you being gone." The cheeky grin is back and Iolas snorts at the idea and manages a smile as he is now fully embraced by his lover.

Lucio rests his head on top the shorter man’s and hums, kissing the top of it. Slowly he pulls Iolas back so he can look down at him. "But it's not just about what I want... you kinda need to want those things too." Now it's Iolas turn to nervously look away and slowly as the shorter man's courage builds he tightens his grip on Lucio's jacket and more tears roll down his face as the realization comes crashing onto him that he'd do anything to be with the man in front of him. Before He can answer he shoves his face into Lucio's jacket rubbing his head back and forth on the soft fabric. "You moron-- Of course I want all that."

The blonde can't resist the urge to tease the other man however and laughs to himself. "I'm sorry, could you say that again I couldn't hear you from inside my jacket." Iolas hits the taller man's chest with a laugh before he goes to wipe his damp eyes yet again. "You know for a fact that I said YES-- urgh, gods look at what you did to my make up how the hell am I going to fix this now--" Iolas' whining is stopped short by his lover picking him up in a searing kiss that continues as the blonde twirls them both. With a firm grip on Iolas' waist Lucio looks up at the magician with a smile that could blind the gods. "I wanna hear you say it." Iolas rolls his eyes at that. With most of his face red as a beet, a large pout crosses the silver-haired man's lips. He kicks his legs from his newfound lifted position.

"I have zero idea what you're talking about--" Iolas protests but Lucio shakes his head. "Say it or you are never leaving this gazebo." Iolas is about to rebuttal but the look in Lucio's eyes is that yes he is serious. Iolas' expression softens, even if it's despite himself. "Of course I'll marry you, LuLu." Lucio whispers a soft ‘yes!’ Before he bounces in his spot and spins the both of them once again but this time continues to spin around the whole gazebo. The blonde’s laughing slowly raises to excited cackling as they spin. Iolas can only laugh back and struggle against the crazy man holding him. "Stop--! Lulu Stop! we're gonna--" but it's too late. Lucio's legs trip over themselves and with zero grace they both tumble onto the hardwood floor.

Iolas rolls onto his back and groans, dizzy and sore his eyes dart over to the man beside him who is just as dazed. Slowly Iolas entwines their hands with a smile and Lucio is about to kiss his lover's fingers before he remembers the ring. The blonde springs forward, getting up like the fall meant absolutely nothing. Iolas however takes his time sitting up as his lover fumbles to find the ring he dropped.

Soon as it's found Lucio slides over, the scraping sound of the taller man's pants on the hardwood makes the magician giggle. Iolas has to give the other man sheer points for his enthusiasm. Pompously Iolas sticks his left hand out, to which Lucio plays along and kisses the other man's ring finger dramatically before slipping the large ring onto Iolas' hand.

Carefully Iolas' holds his hand out to the light and observes the sheer size of the ring and can't help but grin. Lucio practically radiates waves of anticipation. His cheeks flushed from their recent spinning but his eyes sparkle and scream that they crave his lovers attention.

"Was this the biggest ring they had?" Iolas wiggles his fingers, acting as if he's unimpressed. Lucio simply feeds back into him. "How dare you." He sneers, pulling Iolas into his lap as he sits, unable to be on his knees any longer. "I had this one custom ordered. Not only is it the biggest ring in stores, but it's also the biggest wedding ring, period." He speaks into the shorter man's neck before he kisses it, The count's tone never faltering. The very idea of that sends Iolas into a giggle fit. He knows for a fact that this ring physically cannot be the biggest ring ever but another part of him can see Lucio putting up a fight with store owners about the pitiful size of their rings to the point where he just orders them to make him a whole new size.

"Of course, I knew my Lulu would only get me the best. He’s not capable of anything less." Lucio preens in the praise and Iolas strokes the back of his fingers against his lover's face. For a moment they stay like that, both of them processing what exactly just happened and what this means for their future. Iolas is the first to break the silence with a soft hum as he presses against Lucio's chest. "Thank you... Lucio." the taller man responds by nuzzling his nose into the shorter man's hair with a confused hum. "I never thought I could do this...” Iolas voice wavers but only slightly as he takes Lucios hand in his. The weight of the ring feels odd but strangely comforting. “... but for the first time, I'm not scared." Lucio smiles at that. and squeezes his lover in his arms.

"Good. We can be fearless together."

#lucio x mc #lucio x apprentice #count lucio #lucio the arcana #oc talk #Iolas Leolynn #my writing #if you got the time please lemme know how I did-- I'm not the best at editing so please excuse my errors!! #i'm dying to know what my other oc moots think tho pls lemme know

[imagining-in-the-margins]

My Only Chance (S.R.)

Summary: The BAU is after one of the most prolific female serial killers of all time, and you’ve just captured one of their agents. Only problem is, you’re innocent and you only have one hour to convince him. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Angst (Happy Ending) Content Warning: Domestic violence/abuse, drugged (Spencer, ketamine), institutionalization, medical abuse, knives, stabbing, guns, head wounds, courtrooms Word Count: 7.3k

MASTERLIST

The rain beat softly against the window as I stared out into the woods surrounding the cabin. I listened to the sound and allowed myself to be grateful that I had at least made it back here before the torrential downpour. I leaned my head against the window and sighed at the contrast of cool glass against heated cheeks.

As I'd only recently learned, it was very difficult to drag an unconscious 6’1” man in full tactical gear out of a building, into a car, and back inside. My arms were still shaking, and I tried to reassure myself that it had been from the physical exertion, and not the nerves. But either way, the effort and anxiety had been worth it, because he was there.

I glanced over at his sleeping figure on my bed, but I stayed at the healthy distance. He should've woken up by then, but there was no sense in worrying. I was powerless to change what had already happened. Although there were potentially a few things I could've done to speed the process up, I didn't like the idea of an uncomfortable waking.

I already felt guilty enough for dosing him with ketamine. I would apologize for it when he woke up, but at the time I didn't have a choice. I was petrified that he wouldn’t believe me, that he would kill me before I had a chance to explain.

But once he was laying so peacefully in my bed, I felt I had underestimated him. He was a vision of purity and redemption; a light at the end of a tunnel that stretched from my birth to this moment.

I turned back to watch the trees blowing in the breeze. The hypnotic swell of sturdy, stubborn branches. I closed my eyes to better witness the sounds of mother earth’s rage. I understood it well. The chaotic beating of wind and rain was interrupted, however, with a far more human sound. A soft, pained groan followed by a pitiful struggle against rope binding.

“Dr. Reid, you’re awake!” I cried. My body sprung to action before he'd even had time to blink. I ran to his side and reached out to place a gentle hand on the side of his face and push the hair out of the way. “Thank god. I was getting worried.”

He visibly winced at the contact, and I pulled my hand back as if the reaction had burned me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

I tried to tell myself that he was just groggy from the drugs, that he didn't hate me nearly as much as it seemed. But then again, it wasn't hostility or violence in his eyes - it was terror.

“Where are we?”

It was an understandable first question. I had nothing to hide.

“We’re in an old cabin I used to visit when I was a kid. I guess it’s my house now.”

His panicked eyes scanned the surroundings, no doubt spotting his gun on the kitchen counter. He stared at it for two seconds too long, and failed to realize both that I had no other weapons around, or that I wasn't using it to threaten him in any way.

“Please don’t be scared,” I pleaded.

Please, don't think I'm a monster.

“Why did you bring me here?”

I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. This was, after all, the only place I could take him. It was the only home I had left. He knew both of these things, so I couldn't understand what he was trying to clarify.

“It’s the only place I have that I’m safe. It's the only place he can't find me.”

His confusion didn't dwindle in the slightest. If anything, it grew exponentially with every word I said. He finally looked up at me, with tired eyes and blown out pupils. My heart started to race the moment he'd seen me because it felt so unlike what I'd become accustomed to. He looked at me, not with rage and indifference, but with a curious empathy.

“I’m so sorry, do you need water?" I asked, trying to find an excuse to get away from those eyes, "I-I’ve only ever been on the receiving end of ketamine before now and I know it’s… not pleasant.”

He'd stopped his struggle against the rope wrapped around his wrists and tied to the bed, but he maintained whatever distance from me that he could without pain. I figured he'd deserved his personal space, so I stood up to get him the water, anyway.

Once enough distance had been formed, he was quick to speak again.

“You… you’ve never drugged anyone?” he asked quickly with a steady and challenging tone.

I reached into the cabinet and pulled out a water bottle before walking back to him. I noticed how he glanced over at the gun once more, just as I'd passed it. He almost seemed relieved that I hadn't touched it. It was a silly thought, that I would reach for it when I didn't even want it to be there.

“Of course not,” I replied simply.

I took care to break the seal of the bottle in front of him before setting it down next to the bed. He didn't reach forward yet, though, which I found curious considering he clearly didn't have a problem with the rope before. His wrists were already looking irritated from him pulling at them.

“I’m sorry that I tied you up.”

With each apology, he seemed more confused and more terrified, which was the opposite of my intention. I was just as confused.

“I just... got scared," i explained.

“Why were you scared?”

His questions so far were all about me. I didn’t like it.

“I was scared you would try to hurt me,” I answered it with full confidence, but no arrogance.

Spencer seemed downright concerned about the truthfulness displayed in my flat expression. The way that the only alterations I could form were ones that denoted a full-hearted sympathy and care for the man in my bed.

“Why would I try to hurt you, (y/n)?”

The way he said my name made my stomach turn to knots, my chest burning with a sadness I didn’t think was possible. That deeper, logical part of my brain had already started to suspect what was going on, but my heart didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe that he'd doubted my sincerity when I asked him for help.

But the tone of voice he was using, the way he posed his questions... that terror in his eyes. They were all so familiar.

I stumbled backwards and clamped a clammy hand over my mouth.

“You… You think I’m crazy.”

The words still hurt worse somehow as I said them. The dampness of my hand got worse as my chest started heaving with nauseous breath. My hand moved to my stomach as I tried to hold myself together somehow.

“I do not think you are crazy," he said, but he was still doing it.

Tears started to burn in my eyes as I realized that everything I'd done had been for naught, that he would never believe me and I would be abandoned by my only chance. I tried so hard to suppress the anger because it wasn't directed at him. I wasn't angry at him; I viewed him only as a victim to the fucked up circumstances of my existence.

But I was angry, and it came through clearly in my voice.

“You know what I mean, Dr. Reid. You think I’m psychotic! I’m not!”

“I never said that.”

He was trying to keep me calm, but it was too late.

“You think I’m a murderer? How could I— if I was psychotic, how would I have sent you all those letters? Did you even read them? Do I sound like a crazy person?”

I had been through so much pain in my lifetime that I had been convinced there was nothing left to feel. I had experienced enough gut wrenching, nauseating pain that I had become fond of the numbness. But there were few things in this world that would hurt me more than the next two words that came out of Spencer’s mouth.

“... What letters?”

I didn't want him to see the way they hurt, but I couldn't stop it. I wept, silently as I could. I cowered away, covered my face with my hands and listened to the screams in my head that I was too tired to bring to life. I had spent an entire year of my life writing him letters every day, warning him what was going to happen and that I would be framed. I'd even planned for him to find me a few hours ago, in the exact place he showed up. All those hours of work, planning, and an unmatched vulnerability came crashing back with the wave of nausea that hit me.

Out of pure desperation, I continued to speak like my words had any power.

“The… The letters I sent you. I sent you a letter every week. I told you. I told you what was happening to me. I begged you for help."

“(Y/n) I’m sorry. I never got any letters from you.”

I knew my breakdown wasn’t helping my case that I was not, in fact, insane, but I couldn’t help it. Thankfully, all hostility and confusion started to fade from his face. Although the pity wasn't pleasant, it was preferred.

“You didn’t come to help me,” I choked once I'd realized that he had only found me by pure chance. A complete lack of luck on his part.

How cruel of fate, to dangle salvation in my face just to tear it away from me again.

“You thought it was me. You thought I did it. You… You would have killed me if you'd had the chance.”

The words were the sound of my heart breaking. Resigned, I felt the tears flow down my cheeks as the numbness started to creep back in. There was no point in fighting it now.

If the only person on my side wasn’t on my side at all, didn’t I almost deserve this?

“I never wanted to kill you, (y/n). I wouldn’t do that.”

I looked up at him for the first time since the revelation. I found nothing but the kindness that had originally drawn me to him. While I stared, I searched for evidence that he'd been genuine. But I knew that anything I'd find would be self-fulfilling, that he was only telling me what I'd wanted to hear.

That was never clearer to me than when I turned to see how he flinched from across the room when I pulled a knife from the block on the counter. I scoffed as I approached him because it was the only way to deal with the pain of not being seen. There was no use saying I wasn’t going to hurt him. He wouldn't have believed me, anyway.

“What are you doing, (y/n)?”

I didn’t answer. I was beginning to hate the sound of my name on his lips. As I slid the knife behind the rope wrapped around his hands, I thought back to that first time I saw his eyes. I tried to soak in their warmth, to remember what it had been like when I thought that I might be seen and understood by someone for the first time.

Carefully, I began to cut through the fibers. He didn’t say anything. The sound of my stifled sobs was accompanied by the sounds of friction. The chaos reminded me of the storm outside.

Once I finished, and he was free, I held onto the knife by the blade and extended the handle to him.

“Take it," I whispered, "I don’t want to hurt you.”

His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth opened and closed a few times with no words. He slowly moved his hands, rolling his wrists for a moment before taking my hand in his. I tried not to think anything of the contact because I knew if I allowed myself to acknowledge it, I would crumble even further into nothing. I would read too far into the fact that it was the first time someone had ever touched me without intending to hurt me.

He carefully removed the knife from my grasp. As promised, I let him, although part of me loathed how easily I let him go. I wanted him to stay, I craved the connection. But I let my hand fall limp beside me, wondering how the weight still felt so heavy.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered.

It was an honest statement, and he watched me carefully as I looked down at the ground away from him and wiped the tears that still dared to fall.

“I said I didn’t want to hurt you,” I repeated through sniffles.

I took a seat on the chair by the bed once more before glancing over at the untouched water bottle beside us. I handed it to him again, but he placed it back down.

“I believe you,” he insisted.

But for someone who believed me, he still didn’t want to drink the sealed water bottle I opened for him.

“I just don’t understand," he tried to assure me, "(Y/n), I want to help you but… I can’t. Unless you tell me what’s going on.”

It hurt me that he couldn’t accept the obvious without an explanation. I loathed the fact that I would have to go through it all again, explain it all again for the millionth time. Old wounds that had never had the time to heal were still seeping blood that would never again belong to me. Each person that I'd met would feel ownership over the trauma, and they would dig their fingers into the wound and tell me that it was only to help me.

But it hurt. It hurt, but nonetheless, I survived.

I wiped my tears one more time before deciding that I was the only one who was going to save me.

“I would never, ever hurt you,” I insisted. Not to bully him into accepting it, but to emphasize how desperate the words were. How dire the circumstances were that justified my hopelessness as I blubbered, “You’re my only chance.”

Spencer seemed much more focused once his hands were free. He still rubbed at the skin, but his attention seemed shifted entirely onto the puzzle that was the woman in front of him. Dare I say, he even looked relieved, or relaxed, at the challenge of figuring out how to solve the problem.

Well, as relaxed as he could be with the woman suspected of being the most prolific female serial killer of all time.

“Only chance for what?”

“The man who did this. All of it. He’s doing it because of me."

My eyes darted over to the clock as I started to wring my hands together.

“What’s going to happen?” Spencer asked, clearly recognizing that I was watching the time.

“He’s going to find me. I know he’ll find me within the hour and— He’s going to kill me if I don’t do what he says.”

Spencer didn’t touch me for a moment, although I knew he wanted to. I could see him calculating the risk benefit ratio of trusting me and showing me kindness. I wasn't sure what he was afraid of, though, considering he was equipped with a wife and a justification for killing me. No one would blame him. Not even me.

“(Y/n). If you let me take you in, we can protect you.”

I scoffed at the prospect of trusting a man - even him - to save me.

“Last time someone told me that, I ended up in a fucking asylum for a year and wrote letters that never got delivered so, please excuse my skepticism.”

He seemed sympathetic, and as he should have. I had written to him specifically because I knew his mother’s history with mental institutions, and I knew that he was the only one who'd even given me the time of day.

“If I go in, then the only thing I’ll have is my word, and he would kill himself before he let the truth come out.”

“Why you, (y/n)?”

Any woman in my position dreaded the question because there was no right answer. No matter what, someone would find a way to blame you for not being the perfect victim.

But when I looked into Spencer's eyes, I found that warmth again. I found a reason, however small, to trust that he might believe me enough to make it worthwhile. So, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes to prepare for the pain that would inevitably follow. That time, it would be my own fingers digging into open wounds.

“I tried to leave,” I explained in as few words as possible.

He immediately understood.

“Stupid me,” I laughed nervously and quietly.

That was all it had taken to tip the scale in my favor. Just one moment of vulnerability, just six words before he'd understood something I'd fought people to hear for years. My heart stopped when I saw him moving in my periphery.

His hand settled softly against my thigh, and my first instinct was to jump. Because the contact burned the same way that I vaguely remembered joy. But he just offered more weight, like a promise to keep me tethered to that moment, where I was safe. The exchange caused butterflies to erupt in my stomach, not from romantic fantasies, but from a different sort of intimacy.

“You’re not stupid," he said.

And for the first time in ages, I'd wanted to believe someone's grace could still be genuine.

My trembling hand made its way down to his hand, and I placed mine over his. I couldn’t help the tears from falling once more as I basked in the glory of something so simple, so pure. My gaze was fixed on our hands, and I felt the doubt leaving his mind the longer we sat there swapping secrets that didn't need to be spoken.

Nonetheless, he assured me again, "You're not stupid. I believe you."

Spencer leaned forward, placing another hand around my shoulder before he began to pull me closer to him. Once I could actually move, ripped from my catatonic state caused by his touch, I fell to pieces in his arms on the bed. I listened to the sound of the knife hitting the floor as he dropped it so that he could hold me, instead.

In that safety, I came to rest long enough to make it. With blubbering words and gut-wrenching sobs, I tried to explain from the beginning although I knew we wouldn't have time. Still, I told him everything I could remember, I told him everything that had happened to me. I wanted him to understand that I had tried to do everything in my power to save the people he hurt. I needed him to believe me when I said that I never wanted this to happen.

His hands never left me over the next thirty minutes. I could feel the life coming back to me, filling me with the light he offered. He never asked me for anything in exchange.

I wondered if he had even been aware what a difference he made in my life. That even if I died in that moment, I would have died a happier person than I had ever been before. I wondered if anyone ever told him how important his eyes were, how kind and forgiving his hands could be.

I felt guilty for taking anything from him when he had given me everything. So, when he had a request, it was easy to offer him my assent.

“(Y/n), I need to get my gun now, okay?”

His eyes were watching the clock carefully as he spoke. My heart sped up in my chest when I glanced over at it, too. I found myself unable to speak, and so I just nodded and pried myself out of his arms to offer him freedom once more.

Part of me still expected him to turn the gun on me, even after everything. I wasn’t used to grace. I wasn’t used to trusting a man to not hurt me.

But when he got to the counter, he just put his holster back on and left the gun where it was. He glanced out the windows, then came back to my side. He placed a hand over mine once more, and I wondered if this was all just another trick. That he knew how starved I was for the slightest bit of affection, and if he had simply turned me into a means to an end.

“(Y/n), I need my phone. If something happens, I’ll need back up.”

I shook my head, the insecurity festering in my head.

“No,” I said through my rising sobs, “If you turn on your phone, he’ll find me, too.”

“(Y/n), if he kills me then you won’t have anyone else left to help you.”

He sounded frightened, and I’m sure he was. But so was I.

“I wouldn’t let him do that. I wouldn’t let him kill you!”

“You might not be able to stop him.”

I knew he was right. I knew that. But the reality of the situation was too horrific to bear. I'd rejected all logic because I wasn’t strong enough to imagine what might happen when his truck pulled up. I didn’t want to think about it.

He saw me glance down at my right pocket, and he immediately knew where his phone was. My breath had quickened to a dangerous pace as I realized how easy it would be for him to force me. So easily, my mind had corrupted the memories of his hand and imagined how much worse it would hurt if when he hit me.

My entire body was shaking with the fear quickly filling every fiber of my being as I started to plead, "Please, don't hurt me."

“It’s okay, (y/n). I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you. I will do whatever I can to make sure you are okay, but I can’t do it by myself.”

My bones felt like they were filled with concrete as I conducted my own risk benefit ratio. Perhaps I had been a fool to believe those soft brown eyes, but I felt I had no other choice. Trusting him was my only chance.

As I reached into my pocket to pull out his phone, I stayed watching him. He didn't look down, either. He offered me his strength with both hands on my shoulder, rubbing soft circles with his thumbs to ease the tension that had built so quickly.

When I held the phone out for him, he didn’t snatch it from me. He took it with as much trepidation as I felt.

All I heard was the sound of blood rushing in my ears. The world was beginning to dull again, the darkness creeping in.

He didn’t look down at the phone as he took it. Instead, he cupped my face with one hand and gave a simple, quiet instruction.

“Slow down. Breathe. It's going to be okay.”

Drawing in deep breath through his nose, he blew it out into the space between us. I mimicked him the best I could, although I choked on the air for the first few tries.

“It’s going to be okay," he repeated.

And I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe him more than anything.

But I could hear a truck ripping down the dirt road, and I knew that it was a lie.

SSA Hotchner stood in the hospital where the unsub had stayed, listening to a very jaded nurse explain how she knew that girl was no good.

“She was that real dangerous kind of crazy,” the woman spoke bitterly, pulling out a large box from the closet of her office.

“Why’s that?” Morgan asked, his arms crossed as he tried to hide the fear and anxiety behind his cold demeanor. His best friend had been gone for a couple of hours now, and this woman was not known to spend much time with her victims.

“She was real obsessive. She constantly wrote letters to some man. An FBI agent, actually, now that I think about it.”

Hotchner perked up at the mention, pulling the box towards himself on the desk, opening it and revealing hundreds of envelopes with handwritten addresses.

“What is this? Why didn’t you tell us about this earlier?” His words were filled with rage, picking up a handful of the letters and noticing the same name written in proper, elegant cursive: Dr. Spencer Reid.

“I forgot about them, to be honest,” The nurse said with a shrug, like it was not an incredibly important detail. “She was batshit. I’m sure they made no sense.”

Morgan had already started to tear the letters open, scanning the contents and wishing more than anything he had Reid there with him now. He knew he couldn’t find the details he needed in the time they had.

“Mrs. Davis, the man she wrote these letters to was kidnapped by her in broad daylight from a public place 4 hours ago. Now, is there anything else you are keeping from us, or do I need to charge you with obstruction of a federal investigation?”

Hotchner never got her answer, because Morgan had noticed a pattern in each of the letters. He grabbed his shoulder, turning his attention to one of the letters.

“Hotch… You gotta see this.”

My heart was beating so hard that I swore it would come out of my throat. I couldn't hear or see anything other than vivid memories of blood soaked clothing and ungodly screams. Immediately, I started to retreat, backing away into the furthest corner from the door.

“He's here," I whispered through frantic breaths. "He's going to kill me."

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Get down and stay in the corner,” he instructed.

Spencer pulled his gun out from where he'd set it in his holster and quickly dialed a number on his phone. I couldn’t hear the other side over the sound of my pulse, but I could hear how terrified he was in his trembling voice.

“Garcia. It’s Reid. Yes, I’m fine, I need you to triangulate the position of this call and send back up immediately.”

The sound of the car door slamming and an all too familiar voice screaming my name made me sob much louder than I wanted. I covered my mouth with my hand and tried to remember to breathe despite the obstruction. Spencer shushed me, glancing at me every few seconds to remind me that I wasn't alone.

“Garcia. Listen to me. Listen. Tell them that whatever they do, they cannot hurt (y/n). Do you hear me? Do not let them hurt her.”

The tears spilling down my face felt like the rain. A forceful cleansing of evil deeds; the storm brought to wash away the crimson that coated my memories. I stared at him, trying to find some solace in what I was convinced would be my final moments.

He looked at me, too. Terrified, but certain of one thing, he whispered, “It wasn’t her.”

But then the sound of my door crashing open resounded through the area, and I unintentionally let out a scream that revealed both of our positions immediately. I closed my eyes and through my arms over my head. I didn't want to see anything that was going to happen. I wanted the end to come swiftly and without any sight other than Spencer's eyes. The first man to ever see me.

We both knew that Spencer couldn’t kill him. If he killed him, it would be my word against the prosecution. There would no one but Spencer, the man I drugged and kidnapped, to plead my case. They both knew it, too.

“Well, hello there, Officer,” the man drawled, and I could hear the sounds of his boots moving closer. “I see you have something that belongs to me.”

“Don’t come any closer, or I swear to god, I will kill you.”

Spencer was filled with a rage that I hadn’t seen once so far from him. Even when he thought it was me, he never spoke to me like that.

“Hey, that’s fine with me. I won’t have to wait long for ya then, darling, would I?”

The taunt brought images of firing squads and electric chairs to mind. I swallowed hard as I opened my eyes. Just barely, only squinting enough to see they both had their guns drawn.

Spencer’s was pointed at him, but his was pointed at me.

“My team is on its way here right now. If you leave, you can get a head start. They won’t be able to find you, right? And you won’t be able to testify. It’ll just be her word. She'll die, anyway.”

“That’s right,” he spoke lazily, as if he had been bored by the confrontation.

“So, what’s the point? Let her go. There’s nothing you can do to her in the time that’s left that will compare to what she’ll go through if you let her go.”

I tried to follow the conversation, and I felt the mistrust bubbling back into my heart. Spencer spoke so convincingly, so nonchalantly about the fact that I would suffer the pain I deserved. I couldn’t tell if he'd actually meant it or if he was just trying to get me free. I didn’t want to hear it, either way.

But I couldn't stop him from continuing, “You deserve each other, you do. You know, I’m sure she liked what you did for her. Look at what she did to me. She's not she's not innocent. Hell, I’ll do it myself if you let me. I’ll make sure she never feels anything good, ever again.”

I tried to remember what he said to the woman on the phone. I tried to remember the sound of him pleading for my safety, over the words muttered with rage mere inches from me. I didn’t want this to be the last time I heard his voice. I didn’t want to hear any of it anymore.

The man was clearly contemplating the offer. He took great pleasure watching as I clamped my hands over my ears. I could still hear him laugh.

He looked back at Spencer before he started to lower his gun. I could still feel its sights on me.

“Your plan sounds nice, but there’s a little problem with it.”

Spencer didn’t respond. He refused to trap himself. He wasn’t going to play his game any more than he already had.

But that silence didn't stop the other man from smiling when he concluded, “I just really don’t fuckin’ like you.”

I knew what was going to happen. I could see it in my head, and I couldn’t let it come to fruition.

I stood up and shouted before he could draw his weapon at the man still shielding me.

“Wait! Stop!”

Spencer didn’t turn to look at me, but I could see the way his jaw and arms tensed in protest.

“I’ll go with you,” I offered.

Through gritted teeth, Spencer said back, “No.”

“Yes! Yes. I will go with you. Just don’t hurt him. Okay? I-I love you. Just leave him alone.”

The dark chuckle that left his lips at my words filled my heart with dread. Each nerve ending in my body fired and shot me straight into a state of pure terror.

“T-That way they’ll know. Right? They’ll know that… That I really wanted to be with you. That I wanted this. That I love you.”

The words were flowing from me in that same voice I always used to indulge him. Soft, submissive, weak. My hands were the same as they trembled in the air. I stepped out from behind Spencer and stood in front of him, instead. I tried to drum up whatever compassion I could. I tried to think of Spencer's eyes instead of the ones I saw.

“I love you, baby," I whispered.

I wondered how this would be different if Spencer weren’t here. I wondered if he would hate me now that I'd done everything I shouldn't have. That I had proven myself unworthy of his mercy; the imperfect victim who couldn't be saved.

The man stared at me with a primal satisfaction in his eyes.

All he'd ever wanted was to control me. Spencer was just another tool in his belt.

“Please let me grab my bag," I pleaded. I pointed to the bag on the floor next to the bed.

After a moment of consideration, he nodded towards it to let me grab it. But before I moved, I turned back to Spencer. Our eyes met for the first time since this started, and I willed myself not to cry.

When I motioned for him to give me his gun, he looked back at the man who had turned his gun back to me. I could still feel it on me.

I mouthed a silent, “Please."

He wouldn't budge. He shook his head no, and I hated myself for not obeying.

“Let me go,” I whispered, “Please.”

It was like he had to fight each finger to release the weapon. But nevertheless, he handed it to me, albeit unhurried and unsure. I breathed a sigh of relief when the weight fell into my hands. As I turned back to hand it to the man, he granted me enough trust to scoop up my bag.

I thought back to how spiritual, how intimate my connection with Spencer had felt. I'd wanted it to be true so badly. Thinking that he'd known my plan was the only comfort that I would take with me from then on. Before I walked out of the door, I turned back to look at him one more time.

The look I gave him meant something. He was my only chance. If he'd understood, I would know if he felt the same thing I did.

If he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter, anyway.

After the man followed me out of the door and I heard it close, I turned to him and waited for him to head towards the car. He opened the door for me in some fucked up form of chivalry.

I glanced back at the window that would allow me to see Spencer if he had stayed where he was. I didn’t see him.

I looked at the door, one hand digging into the small bag around my shoulder, looking for something in particular.

“Hey, babe?” I called as I looked at up him and placed a reassuring hand on his forearm.

“What?” he snapped back.

But I wasn’t going to give him the answer he wanted. I wasn’t going to give him anything he wanted.

With one swift movement, I had pulled a knife out of my bag and shoved it directly into his side. I used all of my force to twist and tug at the blade without ever letting it leave the void inside of him.

His scream filled the forest, and the feeling of blood pooling around the handle and onto my hand made me forget myself for a moment.

“You fucking bitch!”

The last things I saw were the shape of his fist cocked, aimed directly at my head, and the sight of Spencer in my periphery.

I woke up to the sounds of sirens. There were so many flashing lights in the forest that it felt like another world. I wondered if I had actually died, and this was just my soul in a perpetual state of unrest. I wouldn't have hated it, necessarily. There was something hypnotic, something beautiful about the vision.

It wasn't until I felt someone's hands grabbing me that the fear set in again. I began flailing in the mud as I screamed, “Don’t fucking touch me!”

There were so many voices overlapping, calling out to me and trying to stabilize me against a board. But I noticed that there was an absence among them.

“Where is Spencer?!” I shouted before I even thought about it.The memories started rushing back, filling my aching head with horrible images.

“Ma’am, please, calm down. We’re trying to help you.”

“Where is he? Is he okay?” I begged them to answer.

I stopped fighting, both as a product of my desperation and my inability to breathe through the pain. My hands laid limp beside me as I looked over to see two men being prepared to be placed in an ambulance.

Triage dictates the most injured are loaded first.

“Oh my god,” I said in a high-pitched whine as I covered my face.

A strange man next to one of the stretchers looked over to see me as I struggled to sit up. I realized in that moment that he must have hit me again after I passed out, because I definitely had broken ribs. I still craned up, anyway.

“Spencer!” I yelled.

The stranger tried to keep the man next to him laying down. I felt people doing the same to me, but I couldn't focus on anything until the man in the stretcher revealed himself. I had to know which one it was.

My stomach hurt so badly, I figured there was probably something worse than a broken rib happening under the surface. But I couldn’t pass out yet. I needed to know.

A hand grabbed onto the stranger, and slowly I saw a mop of brown hair raised from the pillow.

“It’s okay, (y/n),” Spencer’s calming voice called out to me. “It’s going to be okay.”

That was all I needed to hear before I let the darkness take over me again.

The familiar burn of the fluorescent lights was the next thing to wake me. I tried to lift my hands to cover my eyes, but I was stopped by handcuffs. Unable to protest in any other way, quiet tears slipped down my cheeks as I turned my head to look at my wrists.

I was just another prisoner again. Just like I always was.

“(Y/n).” His voice cracked as he said my name, and I could hardly believe it. On the other side of me, separated by only a sheet, was Spencer.

“Spencer?” I asked, just to be certain.

“Are you okay?” His voice told me he was in much worse shape than I was, I couldn’t believe that was the question he was asking me.

“Yes,” I faintly replied, “I am now.”

I wasn’t allowed to talk to him for much longer, as my peaking vitals alerted the staff that I was awake. With the staff came the rest of Spencer’s team, and they went over the typical questions I expected. They had found my letters, and even without Spencer’s talents, they had put together most of it. They told me my ex was still alive, and that he wouldn’t be allowed to see me again until the trial.

They told me that I would have to face consequences for what I did to Spencer and assured me that he would be fine. Considering how silent he had become, I realized he wasn’t there at all anymore. The room felt colder.

“Is he coming back?” I asked the question, already expecting the answer to be no. Their silence told me it was.

“Can you… Can you tell him thank you, for me?” The stranger from before, whose name happened to be Derek, nodded solemnly.

“Sure thing, kid. Promise.” After that, I was alone again. Except this time I had a hope and clarity that there was something binding Spencer and I that couldn’t be broken. Something spiritual.

I'd never wanted to end up in a courtroom. Part of my decision that fateful afternoon had been a result of my conclusion that I wouldn't make it out alive. But as I stared at the empty walls of the witness waiting room, I acknowledge that I had dramatically miscalculated my own will to live.

It was almost time for me to stand in front of a courtroom and explain the worst time of my life to complete strangers. I had to plead my case, explaining why I did the things I did, and hope that they didn’t believe his word over mine. I would have to stare at pictures I'd tried so hard to forget, and hear his voice and feel his eyes.

My breath was hurried, but my lawyer didn’t seem all that interested at the moment. He was too distracted with stopping the media from basically breaking down the courthouse door. I appreciated his efforts, although they felt like they would never be enough.

I closed my eyes to try and find a moment of rest. I pressed my temple against the wall and sunk further into the comfort of the sterile chair meant for more perfect victims.

I could hear the sound of the rain outside, and I tried to remember the good parts of the worst day of my life. The pitter-patter droplets sounded like a song, pulling me back to the warm, comforting embrace of the only man who had never hurt me.

‘Slow down. Breathe.'

The memory of his voice calmed my racing heart. I tried to picture the way it felt when he touched me, the way that his arms built a home around me. I wanted to remember feeling safe again. The sound of the door opening couldn’t tear me from this memory. I didn’t want to leave yet. I didn’t want to be where I was. I wanted to be back there, with him.

'It's going to be okay.'

At first, I wondered how my memory could be so vivid. How I could feel the warmth of his hand resting on my thigh. I smiled as tears began peeking in the corners of my eyes.

“It’s going to be okay," I heard in his voice. Except that time, it was not a memory.

I opened my eyes to find visage of redemption, the vision of mercy in the form of his soft brown eyes.

“I believe in you,” he said with so much pride that I was forced to believe him.

“It’s going to be okay,” he repeated.

I nodded for him before I leaned forward to rest my forehead on his shoulder instead of the wall. He was exactly as warm as I remembered. I buried myself in the comforting smell of his cologne. I gripped tightly to his hand as he leaned forward and rested his head against the top of mine, too.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore,” he promised.

My heart swelled in my chest, butterflies resurrected from the grave in the center of my chest. In a moment of quiet defiance against my own suffering, I let myself be lulled by the soft strokes he made against my back.

This was the final confirmation I needed to know that we were meant to be together, in at least some sense. We were meant to be there, together.

With a soft exhale against his chest, I whispered, “I know. Thank you... for believing me.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said.

“Yeah, but I’m going to,” I laughed for the first time in a long time.

“I’m not going to thank you for drugging me, but…”

He laughed, too, and I could feel wetness on my cheeks. Crying from happiness was such a strange thing that I could barely register what was happening. It had been so long since kindness was the overwhelming emotion. So long since I had felt comforted in a time of fear.

I wanted to thank him for giving me a chance. For letting me get this far. But I couldn’t think of the words, so I just burrowed further into his chest and came as close as I could without outright sitting on his lap.

He could feel the words I wanted to say. I was sure of it.

Because when silence fell between us again, he told me one more time, “It’s going to be okay. I’m here.”

And I believed him.

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #angst #fluff #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #request

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher

Chapter 14 | To Hunt a Monster

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Targaryen!OC

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 5k 

Note:  Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Also! My tag list is open! Double also! I took some liberties with the Alp, pls don’t hate me 

Visenya swings her blade down, metal clanging against metal. A small bead of sweat runs down her forehead, falling from her brow bone and landing on the ground. She tosses her blade to the other hand, pulling it up just in time to block the incoming attack, their clashing swords forming a ‘T’. She nimbly moves to the side, and away from her opponent, breaking away from his sword. With otherworldly grace, Visenya whirls around in a half-circle, now standing behind him, pushing her blade forward to pierce through his back. He turns around, jumping back before the hit makes contact, pushing it out of the way with his own.

Metal rings in the clearing as they continue their deadly dance. Geralt kicks his leg out, centimeters away from hitting Visenya’s knees. She brings her blade down in a half crescent shape, smacking the side of his leg with the flat part of her blade. He grunts out a laugh, unbothered by the hit, but it allows Visenya to jump back from his assault. 

“You’ll have to do better than that, White Wolf,” Visenya teases, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she awaits Geralt’s next move. He snorts and lunges towards her once more. She sidesteps him, using her smaller size to her advantage. She laughs, the sound blending yet also clashing with the sound of two blades meeting in a bind. 

“You’re too arrogant,” Geralt says, pressing against her blade with more force. 

He smiles, a smile that’s all teeth, nearly feral looking. Visenya's arm begins to shake, her strength quickly dwindling. But before she can attempt to pull back, Geralt suddenly drops his blade, the lack of resistance causing Visenya to stumble forward. At the same time, he sweeps his leg out, her stumble morphing into a fall. 

Thud.

Visenya lands on her back, sword falling out of her hand. Without hesitation Geralt kicks it out of her reach, pointing his sword at her throat.

“It’ll get you killed.” His tone is grim, face set in a deep scowl. “--again,” he adds as an afterthought. Her confession from weeks ago is still fresh, pushed to the forefront of his mind every time he so much as glances at her. 

“Well if you didn’t play cheap,” Visenya says, minor annoyance etching a deep scowl onto her face. 

“There is no such thing as playing cheap when it comes to fighting. You either win or you don’t,” Geralt says, scolding her like a father would an unruly and stubborn child. But if he’s as old as Visenya thinks, she might as well be. 

“Whatever,” Visenya mutters, not moving from her position on the ground, instead she moves her gaze upwards. Threads of dawn emboss the sky, rays of pink and orange tinting it, their vivid colors offset by opalescent clouds. It’s quiet, nearly too quiet, if not for her rapid inhale and exhale of breath.   

“You’re good, but you’re too wild,” Geralt says. He tosses his blade aside, reaching a hand down to help her up. Her face flushes red from exerting too much energy, with breathes that're too quick, the spar taking more of her energy up than it should’ve. Then again, for years her only constant companion had been Jaskier, and he ended up pricking three of his fingers before even fully lifting a sword. That was the last time she attempted to arm him. 

“Don’t patronize me,” Visenya says, blowing away the stray hairs that fell out of her ponytail and onto her face. 

“I’m not. I’m giving advice. Besides--” Geralt looks over at her, the corners of his mouth slowly pulling into a grin. His slightly sharper teeth give his grin a wolfish appearance, predatory and mischievous in nature. “--when did you become such a sore loser?” Geralt teases.

“I don’t know, around the time you got slow,” Visenya responds, grabbing onto Geralt’s outstretched hand. But instead of using it to pull herself up, she yanks on it with all of her remaining strength, causing Geralt to tumble to the ground. 

His eyes are wide with bewilderment and shock, a small giggle bubbling from Visenya’s mouth, taking special notice of the green grass that mingles with his tangled white hair. Geralt scoffs, but there’s a small smile on his face that betrays his amusement, small droplets of dew on his hair that glisten in the sun, like tiny beams of light. 

Visenya sits up, repositioning herself to be more comfortable on the ground. Geralt follows suit, shaking his head like a dog. Brown twigs and emerald leaves fly in the air and disappear into the sea of green that’s now tinged with dark brown.

Geralt opens his mouth and laughs, it’s not overly loud and merry sounding, but it’s more than he normally gives. The sound echoes in the small clearing, dancing away in the wind to bless someone else’s ears with the soft sound. His eyes shine in the light, causing him to almost look ethereal. Visenya smiles, her heartbeat speeding up, ever so slightly, and for the life of her she can’t figure out why. 

“I meant it, you're improving,” Geralt says, placing his arms on his knees and staring at the trees that surround them. 

“Are you saying I was a bad swordsman before?” Visenya teases, the smile on her face quickly evaporates, however, when Geralt doesn’t return the mirth. She scoffs and smacks his arm. “You are saying I was a bad swordsman!” she exclaims, disbelief causing a small laugh to escape her mouth. Ser Rodrik trained her himself and before him, Jon. Two of the best swordsmen in the North trained her, a bad fighter is the absolute last thing Visenya would label herself as. 

“No, just...chaotic,” Geralt says, seemingly unbothered by her assault. 

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Visenya asks, raising a brow at him. 

“No, but it’s the truth. You fight well, but you fight without control or discipline.” Geralt says.

“So I’m unruly?” 

“Like a tornado or a wild animal,” Geralt says, a smirk on his face. Visenya rolls her eyes, smacking him once again - just for good measure. With a huff, she tightens her ponytail, pushing away the sweat coated baby hairs that stick to her forehead. She stands from the floor, walking towards the edge of the clearing where her leather bag is haphazardly resting against a tree. Crouching down and opening the main pouch, she pulls out two apples - one red and the other green. She tosses the red one in the air once, then launches it at Geralt as soon as it grazes her palm. He catches it with ease, not even bothering to look in her direction. Visenya smirks, taking a bite out of the remaining apple. 

“Would you believe me if I said I was raised by wolves?” Visenya asks. There’s a smirk on her lips, a gleam in her eyes that says she’s in on a joke that no one else knows. And she revels in it. 

“Yes,” Geralt simply replies, eyes wandering towards the sky, basking in the calm that seems so fleeting when on the road with a monster hunter. 

“Well, I choose to take both of those answers as a compliment. It just means I’m a force to be reckoned with in - and out - of combat. I think my ancestor and namesake would come back from the dead just to murder me if I wasn’t a half-decent fighter,” Visenya says, staring up at the thick canopy above her. She inches closer into the forest, not committing to entering it completely, but getting close enough. The singing of birds in the distance soothing to her ringing ears, allowing her thoughts to pause if only for a moment. 

“Hmm,” is Geralt’s only reply.

“She was a warrior queen, as comfortable in ringmail as she was in silks, as they say. She was legendary” Visenya says, wistfully staring into the trees, getting lost in the melancholy that usually follows when she thinks of her family. 

She remembers the stories her Septa would tell her, and the old dusty books she’d find in the library. She can nearly taste the old stale dust that coated the books, flying into the air once her fingers made contact. But she also remembers her eyes desperately drinking in each word, fantasizing that she was the one flying on a dragon, so high in the sky no one could touch her. 

Not Robert Baratheon, nor Tywin Lannister, not even The Mountain. But those were foolish daydreams of a child, who didn’t fully understand the nuances of things, nor how horrible some of her family truly had been. 

“And I was named after her. Sometimes I feel like I’m not worthy of it. It’s not like there are a dozen other idiots with the same name - who are more foolish than the last, not like Aegon or Viserys,” Visenya mutters to herself, hardly even registering that Geralt is still keenly listening to her ramblings. 

“I didn’t realize Jane was a family name,” Geralt says, his red apple still in hand, untouched. Visenya breathes out a laugh, the sound being swallowed by a strong gust of wind. 

“No of course not, it’s Vise--” Visenya starts, but closes her mouth, turning to face Geralt who watches her with a curious gaze. She coughs, glancing at the trees one last time before returning her gaze to Geralt. “How do you know it wasn’t my ancestors that made the name popular?” 

Geralt raises a brow, his expression showing how little he’s buying her pathetic save, but he doesn’t press the issue, thank the gods. Visenya continues biting into her apple, savoring not only each sweet bite but also the silence surrounding them.

“You’re light on your feet,” Geralt says after a moment. Visenya turns to look at him, a question on her face with raised ashen eyebrows. “Use that to your advantage. Most of your enemies will be much larger than you, bulkier. Which means they’re slower. Tire them out and run circles around them. You’ll never be able to beat them with brute force.” Geralt says, still looking towards the sky, eyes focusing on a particular bird.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

o0o0o

“So an alp?” Visenya says, tapping her fingers against the wooden surface of the table she sits at. Her posture is relaxed, languidly sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair. The room they’re renting is tiny, unbearably claustrophobic with the stench of stale air lingering in her nose at all hours. But it’s the only one in the small village, their size and lack of constant travelers not allowing for them to sink too much money in the rooms, opting to spend their coin on ale and food. At this point Visenya would rather stay in a brothel than here, at least they try to sell the idea of luxury and comfort - no matter how off the mark they may be. 

“Hmm,” Geralt grunts, tossing his leather bag across the room. Visenya watches as it glides through the air like a cannonball before landing with a loud thump on the bed. She returns her gaze to Geralt, who moves across the room, towards her, a pitcher of ale in hand. He sets it on the table, the force of it causing small droplets of ale to splatter onto the table. The fire in the corner of the room crackles, forcing itself into their conversation like a bothersome sibling. 

“Oh don’t tell me, I know this one. Let me see...alps are the ones who take humanoid forms to lure their victims and then they drink their blood until there’s nothing left, right? They also have the whole ‘saliva that puts its victims to sleep and can cause horrible nightmares’,” Visenya says, a slight smirk on her lips, eyes glowing with pride and self-satisfaction. 

“You already know you’re right,” Geralt says, a lilt of amusement in his otherwise deadpan tone. Visenya smirks, grabbing a mug and pouring ale into it, careful to not spill any. She sets the jug back down, throwing her cup back and downing nearly all of it. The amber liquid is bitter, not as smooth and sweet as Cintran ale. It burns and not in a pleasant way. Her face scrunches up, lips puckering and eyes firmly shut, forcing the remaining liquid to go down her throat and not out her mouth.

“I know, doesn’t mean I don’t like receiving validation,” Visenya remarks after managing to swallow the swill disguised as ale, glancing towards the sole window in the room. The sun is starting to set, and swiftly, night time will come before either of them have a chance to blink. Visenya pushes back her chair, the wood screeching against the floors. 

“Hmm,” Geralt simply replies, pouring a cup of ale for himself, and drinking it similarly as Visenya. However, he manages to keep any unpleasant expressions off his attractive face. Her eyes rest on his lips, gaze focusing on a droplet of ale that hangs precariously on his lips, nearly falling to the ground. A part of her wants to place her lips on his, to test if maybe the ale would be sweeter coming from his lips. But she snaps her eyes away quickly and banishes the thought, not wanting to linger on it for too long. 

“So where are we off to,” Visenya asks. She turns away from the table, grabbing her pack and beginning to shuffle around in it. “I can’t remember where they take residence, so I can’t be help there but--” Visenya starts to ramble, but Geralt cuts her short. 

“What do you mean?” Geralt asks, standing from his chair as well. Visenya turns around, her cloak in hand. 

“I mean, where are we going? We are planning on killing this alp aren’t we?” Visenya asks, raising a brow at Geralt. 

“I am going to kill the alp. You’re staying here,” Geralt says. His voice is stern, his mind set, leaving no room for argument. But Visenya has never been good at just sitting down and letting other people make decisions for her. 

“Are you serious? You’re trying to keep me out of this?” Visenya says, disbelief lacing every word. She laughs, a mocking one that lacks any warmth or humor.  

“You’re not ready for an alp,” Geralt says, maintaining his cool and unattached demeanor. Yet Visenya notices a faint twitch in his eye, annoyance with her constant need to question every choice he makes. 

“Not for a nightwraith either, apparently. Yet I helped kill that too,” Visenya says, her temper flaring, fire lacing her words.

“And almost died in the process,” Geralt says, his voice rising just a hair. Visenya scoffs, rolling her eyes, staring at the ceiling for a second before returning her gaze to Geralt. 

“Every situation that involves fighting also involves almost dying. That’s how fighting works, there’s always a chance you won’t come out alive,” Visenya says, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“So you throw yourself into every fight, even the ones you don’t have the capabilities to win?” Geralt asks, sarcasm distorting his question. 

“Precisely,” Visenya says, turning away from Geralt and throwing her traveling cloak over her shoulder, clasping it so it’ll stay on properly. She grabs her bag and sword, slinging the bag over her shoulder and attaching her sheath to her hip. 

“You can throw yourself into suicide battles with someone else, you aren’t coming,” Geralt says, the volume of his voice continuing to rise. 

“Yes, I am. What’s the point of me being around if I’m not being useful?” Visenya exclaims, stepping towards Geralt. She feels like a child again, being scolded for wanting to learn how to fight rather than perfecting her needlepoint or sewing skills. 

“You can come on the next hunt,” Geralt says.

“That’s what you said last time, and the time before that, and the time before that!” Visenya yells, waving her arm in Geralt’s direction, emphasizing her anger and frustration.

“You weren’t ready any of those times!” Geralt counters. Visenya slams her fist against the wooden table, the impact causing the ale to nearly tip over. Pain blossoms on the spot that made contact with the table, but Visenya can’t be bothered by it at the moment. 

“Damn it Geralt! Apparently, I’ll never be ready according to you,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him. The candles in the room wildly flicker, nearly going out as the temperature in the room drops, subtly at first, until it’s nearly as cold in the room as the outside. Heat rises in Visenya, growing stronger with each passing moment. The smell of burning fills the room, light smoke wafting from the table into the air. 

Like suddenly falling into ice, Visenya removes her hands from the table. There’s a clear burn mark in the vague shape of her fist, the wood lightly charred. She sighs, loudly, closing her eyes and relaxing her clenched fists. The warmth in the room returns, the candles flickering with life once more. Her heart pounds, mind completely blank. 

Silence. 

“I need air,” she mutters after a moment, not bothering to glance at Geralt. And before he can react, she flies out of the room, slamming the door behind her. 

o0o0o

Night cloaks Visenya, hiding her from any prying eyes and wandering gazes that hold no good intentions. She pulls the cloak closer to her body, hood up and head down, eager to be free from this stifling small village. The air is cool, but it’s refreshing, easily tempering the fire in her. 

“Get it together, Visenya!” she whispers, smacking a hand against her forehead, hoping the sting from the pain might smack some reason into her. 

A child. That’s what she’s acting like. Screaming and throwing a tantrum when she doesn’t get what she wants. It’s irrational. And pathetic. Whining and crying won’t get Geralt to agree to let her come, but that doesn’t temper the frustration she feels when he won’t. She’s not a child, she’s a woman, who can make her own decisions. Why should Visenya need a keeper to tell her what battles to and not to get involved in? 

She continues marching forward, quickly leaving the village and all her anger behind. The grass is longer, instead of brushing against her ankles, it reaches the middle of her calves in certain spots. The trees are thick, their lush canopy of leaves acting like a guardian protecting her in their beauty. It’s almost like the Godswood, but not nearly as beautiful, yet it evokes similar feelings in her. She deeply inhales, releasing it a moment later, allowing her tense body to melt and fly off with the breeze. Subconsciously, her hand grazes the embroidered direwolf, lightly tracing it with the tip of her finger.

Snap.

A twig cracks, echoing in the silence. Visenya pauses, head snapping up, eyes raking the surrounding area. Nothing but towering trees with shadows acting as cloaks. She turns around, hand ghosting over her sheathed blade. Her breathing is quick and uneven, hands shaking ever so slightly. Her lip trembles and she bites down on it, unwilling to show signs of fear or weakness. 

“Who’s there?” she calls out. “Reveal yourself, now!” she demands, eyes scanning the path behind her. 

Silence.

She lets out a breath, watching as it appears only to dissipate into the cold air. She lowers her hand from her weapon, moving down the path she came from, eager for the warmth and light the tavern offers. 

Snap. 

She world around, gold eyes blazing like a fire in the thick of night. The forest seems endless, shadows dancing at the corner of Visenya’s vision, mocking her with deafening silence and blinding loneliness. 

“I said, who is there.” Her voice is stone, not allowing even a glimmer of fear to seep into it. It cuts through the darkness like a freshly sharpened knife, her voice echoing far beyond what vision can perceive. 

Snap.

Another twig, this time closer than the previous two. Like she’s made of air, Visenya quickly turns, but instead of stifling nothingness, a figure stands a few inches away. It’s a woman, with blood-like hair flows over her bare shoulders, the tips of it resting on its stomach. Her skin is pale, nearly grey in hue, but what’s most alarming isn’t her lack of clothing nor the murder in her eyes, but the blood splattered all over her. Some of it is dry, coating parts of her body like armor, while a few splatters appear to be fresh, still dripping off its body and splashing onto the ground. 

It smiles a twisted smile that perfectly displays all her sharp teeth, tinted crimson from the blood. 

An alp. 

“Fuck.”

They move in unison, Visenya unsheathing her blade as the woman - or creature - lunges forward. It proves to be faster, body-slamming her to the ground. Its hands grab a hold of Visenya’s nails digging into her flesh. She screams but clamps her mouth shut, not willing to feed the lust for blood and pain in the creature’s eyes. It snarls, pushing against Visenya’s arms with inhuman strength, pressing them onto the damp ground. It hisses, droplets of drool tainted with blood falling onto Visenya’s face. She thrashes, attempting to force the beast off of her. 

Her eyes feel heavy, suddenly, the desire to sleep and never wake up washing over her like a tsunami. But she fights against it. 

‘If I sleep now, I’m dead. Stay. Awake,’ she keeps repeating in her head, willing the words to manifest into reality. 

It hisses once more, almost mockingly. It leans down, inches away from sinking her teeth in Visenya’s throat. Visenya lifts her head, siphoning all the strength she can manage and smashes her forehead against the beast. It wails, falling back in pain, allowing Visenya to scramble out from under it. The creature continues to scream, the noise deafening. The sound causes her insides to twist and her head pound, to the point that she fears it might burst. She grabs the sides of her face with both hands, hoping to muffle the sound and make the pain stop. She closes her eyes, thoughts blurring together, as memories she only sees in her dreams fare to life in her head.

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent. Arise, Visenya of House Targaryen, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.” Jaime Lannister’s face appears in her vision, a much younger version than the one she’d last seen. His gold hair is soft and thick, falling perfectly into place. He holds a wooden sword in one of his hands, resting the flat part of it on her shoulder.

Visenya giggles, the noise hazy and unclear. She stands from her kneeling position, curtseying to Jaime, stumbling forward, and nearly face planting. 

“Thank you, good ser,” she replies, a beaming smile on her childish face. He kneels, so his eyes meet hers. He holds out the small wooden sword, the size suited for a child of five. 

“Now go, protect your mother Queen. It is your duty as a sworn member of her Queensguard,” he says.

“Fuck!” she screams. She rapidly blinks, attempting to force the images away. There’s too much danger, too much at stake to lose focus for even a second. The creature prowls towards Visenya, grabbing onto her leg and pulling her body towards it. Like a sack of grain, her body drags in the mud towards the monster. Visenya is powerless to fight back, only able to pray that the pain in her mind and body will go away. The creature flips her body: back against the ground and face looking towards the sky. She kicks her legs, managing to miss the alp each time. Its hands continue to move up Visenya’s body as it pulls her closer. 

“Where are we going, Ser Jaime? Shouldn’t you be protecting my grandfather?” Visenya asks, rushing to keep up with Jaime’s longer strides. 

“I need to show you something,” he says, voice grim but not harsh, yet it lacks the mirth normally present. He stops outside a door, and in her desperation to catch up, she nearly smacks into his legs, but narrowly avoids it since Jaime stops her body. He opens the door, which creaks loudly as it swings fully open. They’re in a room Visenya is all too familiar with, her mother’s chambers.

“Why are we--” Visenya begins, but cuts herself off as Jaime moves into the room. He strides through it, eyes focusing on one wall in particular. She rushes after him, eyes alight with curiosity she needs to sate. 

He stops in front of a wall, crouching down. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge Visenya, even as her smaller feet patter against the stone floor, getting closer to him. She pauses only when she stands beside Jaime, grabbing his arm with one hand, placing her small head on his armored shoulder. A wall, there’s nothing else there but a wall; yet his eyes trace it intently, searching for something she can’t see.

“A wall?” Visenya asks brows furrowed with a small pout on her lips.

“It’s not just a wall, look.” Jaime runs his hand down the wall, pausing on one spot. He digs his fingers into it, grasping onto… something. Visenya watches with wide eyes as a portion of the wall slides open, revealing a small opening in the wall - large enough to fit a child and no more. “A crawlspace.”

“Why’d you show me this? I don’t need to hide?” Visenya asks, tilting her head to the side in confusion. She turns and looks at Jaime, her nose twitching slightly as she looks up at him.

“You will. The war isn’t going well, and if the city is attacked I need you to promise you’ll hide here?” Jaime pleads, speaking in a hushed tone, keeping the words hidden in her mother’s chamber.

“I don’t--” Visenya starts, but is cut off before she can argue further. 

“Promise me,” Jaime says again, his voice more pleading and desperate. It’s a funny sight thinking back on it with adult eyes and a jaded mine: the lion begging for something, throwing aside all pride and appearances of regalness. 

Visenya hesitates, watching him carefully for a moment, eyes too sharp for a child of five. 

“I promise.” 

Visenya slams her head against the dirt ground, trying to get the distant memories out of her head, hoping to force her body to stay awake and not succumb to sleep. Long, sharp, dirtied nails grab a hold of her shirt, pulling up her upper body. It snarls, lunging its face towards Visenya’s neck. 

Searing hot pain spreads through her body. Yet it doesn’t leave her on fire, instead, it’s numbing like ice. Momentarily, the pain it’s screech caused is soothed, only to return tenfold. It’s like a million daggers are stabbing into her body, over and over again, in the dead of winter. She begins convulsing, screaming, louder than before. 

“Well, if it isn’t little Visenya. Look at you, you’re not a child anymore, no, you’re fully grown, fighting Robb Stark’s little war,” Jaime Lannister says, sarcasm and mocking lacing every word. He lifts his dirt-caked face, looking up at Visenya with wide green eyes that somehow manage to still sparkle, even in all the filth that surrounds them. 

“Shut up. I didn’t come here to talk to you,” Visenya says, keeping her voice as cool and calm as the winter winds. Her voice is low as to not alert any nearby guards, allowing the heavy wind to obscure most of her words. 

“Really? Come to just see the spectacle then? See the state of the man who killed your grandfather and ruined your life?” Jaime spits, but he lacks any real venom. He’s like a lion, trying to make himself appear as large as possible in hopes of avoiding real conflict. Visenya ignores him, however, moving closer into his cell without fear. 

“Or maybe you want to laugh?” Jaime mutters, banging his head against the post he’s chained to 

Silence is his only response. Visenya moves further into his cell, holding something cold and metal in her hands that glints in the moonlight. Once she’s within arm's length from Jaime, she crouches onto the ground, purple meeting green. 

“Well come one, don’t leave--” Jaime begins, but promptly shut his mouth, tightly clenching his jaw with furrowed brows. 

Thud.

The metal chains fall to the ground, inches away from Jaime. His eyes follow the chains that no longer bound him, lines of confusion appearing on his forehead underneath the dirt and blood on it. 

“Thank you, for my life,” Visenya mutters. Jaime moves his gaze back to her, and in her glossy eyes, he softens his armor - if only for a moment. Visenya begins to shake, like a leaf in a storm, remembering the simpler times that she ran around The Red Keep like a wild animal, and when Jaime Lannister wasn’t enemy number one to her family. Then like the wind, Visenya turns, quickly disappearing into the night.

She tries to headbutt the creature again, but she can’t move her head far enough to attempt it.

‘Fire, use fire!’ Visenya yells at herself, willing the flames that usually dance under her skin to flare to life. But nothing happens. She closes her eyes, focusing harder this time, trying to replicate the feelings swirling in her mind when she argued with Geralt. Tries to reign in the adrenaline from the Cintran Betrothal Feast or even the anger and grief she was drowning in at Blaviken. 

Nothing, not even a flicker of heat. 

She lets out a cry of frustration as the alp continues to drain her of blood. The world becomes dark, eyes heavier than previously. She continues to shake, trying to fight off the beast, even when her limbs feel like dead weight. Moments later, everything begins to feel light, the pain and fear slowly slipping away until she feels nothing at all. Eventually, her eyes flutter closed, the world turning black.

o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you.

@lyssstark01​ | @ayamenimthiriel | @splderparker | @1967-chevy-impala-called-roscoe | @historicallydysfunctional | @stuckupstucky | @aknerdchick | @c-a-v-a-l-r-y | @itskatrinahere | @locht3ssmonster | @alwayshave-faith | @im-catching-feelings | @magic-inthe-stars | @thors-hair-extensions | @seninjakitey | @nevaeh-eden-morningstar | @losers-club6 | @queenmendes | @madamwhisper | @deadlydemon | @power-of-words23 | @demigoddesofchimichangagod | @howlongtillidie | @notatallfriendly | @i-have-arrived-bitch | @moonlights27 | @xxperfectionisdeadlyxx | @why-do-i-even-study-japanese​ | @possiblyafangirl​ | @alatairion​ | @teamcap0221​ | @rangotangomango​ | @mikariell95​ | @rubyliquor​ | @my-not-so-perfect-reality​ | @kamrynzam​ | @kohsongbird​ | @napoleonisrad​ | @loushirley​ | @toribentleyva​ | @naughty-koala07​ | @im-a-muggleborn​ | @scarletmeii​ | @tangerineliqu0r​ | @dopeybubbles​ | @toweavehistory​ | @honestlystop​ | @thinkaboutmara​ 

#geralt fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #the witcher #geralt of rivia fanfic #the witcher crossover #game of thrones crossover #game of thrones #Crossovers #fanfiction #the last dragon #Sami talks #sami writes #sami writes the witcher

[rebelhan]

nights like these

pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (no y/n)

word count: 3.5k

warnings: 18+, explicit sex, unprotected sex, cursing, angst (if you squint), thigh riding (if you squint), oral f receiving, barely any plot... 

a/n: A long week with no new leads has you and Javier falling back into familiar patterns. This is my first post on this blog and also my first time writing for Javi!

masterlist

It’s nights like these when he needs you the most. When the sun has set hours ago and the embassy is empty save for the three of you, the warm glow of the desk lamps, and the dwindling bottle of whiskey passed around your desks. The words on the page were swimming in front of his eyes even before Javier took a single sip of alcohol, the strain from days on end of staring at files catching up to him.

A glance at the clock tells him he should call it a night, but his eyes fall to Steve across from him. One hand seems to be permanently fixed in his blond hair in frustration and his eyes squint down at the photographs as if he can will them to give him an answer. Javier turns to your desk and your eyes are moving back and forth across the page with a speed he didn’t think you could muster this late at night, but the empty whiskey glass held idly in one hand tells him that you’re feeling the fatigue, too.

Nights like this are when you are furthest from catching Pablo Escobar. It’s the end of a week with no field action, flicking through file after file after file, listening to every communication, even at the lowest levels of the cartel, desperate for some kind of lead.

Though there are nights when it’s the chase that keeps the three of you at the office this late. Where you feel so close that there isn’t time to waste on sleep because a win is at the tip of your fingers and all you need is to reach out. The adrenaline of having these criminals within your grasp fueling you through the night. Not this time though. This time it’s the fear that every waking moment you spend not working on this, Escobar slips further and further away.

But even that fear isn’t enough to stop the exhaustion as the small hand of the clock slides past one. Javier clears his throat as he looks back down at his file and the small sound is enough to interrupt the silence and break Steve’s concentration.

“Shit. I gotta get home to Connie,” he says, finally registering the late hour. Steve’s chair scrapes the ground as he stands up and gulps down the rest of the whiskey in his glass. You glance up at him and nod in farewell as he grabs his keys from the desk and his jacket from the back of the chair and drapes it over one arm. He claps a hand on Javier’s shoulder as he leaves. “You guys should head home, too.”

You grab the bottle of amber liquid from where it sits on Javier’s desk and he follows the movement as you tip a generous amount into your empty glass. He takes that as a sign that you’re sticking around for a while. Neither of you have someone you need to get home to anyway. There isn’t much for either of you outside of this work, and sad as it seems, it makes putting in the long hours a lot easier.

Despite being the only two people in the embassy at such a late hour, the silence is warm rather than eerie. Minutes pass by, punctuated by the sound of your pen scratching your notebook, Javier turning a page on the lengthy dossier he’s squinting at, the liquid sloshing around in the glass that doesn’t leave your hand.

You move to bring the glass to your lips and the motion distracts Javier for a moment. Your face is cast in a yellow light from the lamp illuminating your desk, the shadows behind you seeming darker, or maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him, but Javier swears you’re glowing. He’d say he was zoned out if you asked, but really he’s intently studying the features of your face as your eyes are trained on your notebook and your glass is still pressed to your lips, as if you got distracted from drinking by something you read. His eyes follow your hand as you tip the glass and take a sip, tracing the planes of your neck as you swallow the liquid, glancing back up to watch your tongue dart out and swipe across your lips for the lingering taste. Then all at once, he looks back down, forcefully turning a page, though he’s not sure he really understood what was written on the previous one.

He knew this pattern all too well. You guys get stuck in a rut, Escobar evading you for a while. The two of you stay late after Steve goes home. You both drive home separately, but he catches you at your door, across from his. He invites you over, desperate to take his mind off of feeling like a failure. He fucks you. It’s rough, messy, quick, but it’s enough to distract him. He doesn’t feel guilty at first, not until you’re tugging on your clothes in the middle of the night and he watches you slip out the door without looking back. He feels worse the next day when he sees you again, though you never bring it up. He knows he’s using you to ease his emotional burdens, but he imagines you wouldn’t say yes on these nights if you weren’t doing the same. It’s an unspoken agreement that it’s just stress relief, but he’s determined not to follow the pattern tonight. Especially not when the lamplight reflected on your face is tugging at his heart and that is something entirely new that he isn’t quite ready to think about.

The sound of your empty glass hitting the desk pulls him out of his thoughts and a glance at the clock tells him that he’s spent the better part of the last hour thinking about you instead of reading his file. Your chair scrapes the ground as you stand up before gathering your things. Javier watches your face as you pause for a moment, eyes scanning the surface of your desk, searching for something. Something seems to click as you shut your eyes and groan, rubbing a hand over your tired face.

“Fuck.”

You meet Javier’s eyes and he raises an eyebrow. “Steve drove me here this morning. My engine needed to be replaced after getting shot at last week.” A fact both you and Steve seemed to have forgotten as he was leaving. You huff in frustration. “I can wait until you’re ready to head out,” you say.

For a moment, Javier contemplates his earlier decision. He told himself he wasn’t going to fall into bed with you tonight. But the moment the words slip out of his mouth, he knows where the night is headed. “I’m ready to go now.”

It only takes a minute for him to get his things together. You wait in the doorway of the office for him and he shuts off the lamps on your desks before following you out. The hallway is dark, save for the light of the moon filtering in through the windows, guiding you towards the exit. Javier’s hand falls to your lower back as he pushes open the door to the outside. It feels like it’s burning straight through your shirt and imprinting your skin against the cold of the night. It remains there while you cross the parking lot until you reach his car and he has to step around to the driver’s side.

The ride to your apartment building is silent. Neither of you have the mental capacity to hold a conversation after such a fruitless week. The radio plays a quiet tune from whatever station Javier had been listening to when he drove to work that morning. You train your eyes on the familiar landmarks outside your window, pointedly avoiding looking at Javier. His car is filled with the scent of him, so strong, so intoxicating, that you feel like a single glance at his face would tip you over the edge. By the time he parks in your building, you are overwhelmed by his presence. Rationally, you know that it’s the stress of the week catching up to you and your body anticipating what it has come to expect after such weeks, but that thought does nothing to slow the thumping of your heart.

This time Javier doesn’t need to ask. You don’t part with him to stand at your door and perform the charade of fumbling with your keys, waiting for him to call your name as an invitation. Instead, you’re right behind him as he unlocks his door. If he’s surprised by the change, he makes no indication, holding the door open for you and closing it behind you.

As soon as you hear the telltale click of the lock, you waste no time, tugging him down by the collar of his shirt and slotting your lips against his. He makes a sound that comes from deep in his chest and lights a fire in your belly. He nips gently at your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from you. With a quick motion, he turns you and pushes you against the door, one hand cradling your head to soften the impact, the other holding tight to your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll slip out of his grasp.

Javier’s knee presses insistently between your thighs against your clothed center and the contact has electricity jolting up your spine. Your breath is short and ragged as he drags his lips along the column of your throat, stopping to tug your flesh between his teeth and lick over the bruised skin. One of your hands finds purchase in his hair, another on his shoulder, giving you leverage to grind against his thigh as he continues his assault on your neck.

A particularly sharp bite at your pulse point has your head tipping back against the door and his name falling from your lips in a breathy moan. “Javi.” He shudders at the utterance. His grip on your waist tightens impossibly and you feel his shoulders tense under your palm. He pulls back to meet your eyes. His expression is unreadable to you, unusually so, but you think nothing of it, distracted by the sight of his swollen lips. He shifts, flexing his thigh against you, his eyes never leaving yours, and when his name escapes your lungs this time, he presses his face back into the crook of your neck, the groan he lets out muffled against your skin.

Javier pulls back, and your hand falls from him, only for his grip to encircle your wrist and tug you impatiently towards his bedroom. He pushes you backwards towards his bed, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. You pull the article of clothing off and toss it aside. He stops when the backs of your knees knock against the frame of his bed, reaching a hand behind your back to unclasp your bra and slide the straps down your arms. His lips find yours again as his thumbs brush over your hardened buds. You suddenly become conscious of the fact that he hasn’t shed a single piece of clothing and you fumble with the buttons of his shirt, unsuccessful in your attempt to remove it as his lips move down your neck again distracting you from the task.

He pushes you onto the bed and you land with a bounce, pulling yourself up the mattress while he unbuttons his shirt. His eyes catch yours again and there is that unfamiliar look that you can’t quite place. If you didn’t know this to be what it was, a quick fuck to distract from work, you’d think the look was something almost tender, but you knew better than to let your mind wander down that road and even consider the possibility.

When his shirt falls away, Javier finds his place above you, hands on either side of you. He lowers his head to your chest, pressing his lips to the flesh there. He moves along your sternum, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso until he’s impeded by your jeans. With a flick of his hand, the button is undone and he tugs at the material in a silent request. You raise your hips and he shimmies your jeans and panties down together, leaving you laying bare in front of him.

It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been laid out in front of him, but the sight of Javier on his knees between your legs goes straight to your core. His eyes drag slowly down your body like he wants to memorize every detail of the sight and you hold your breath until he leans down to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh. The air releases from your lungs in a shaky sigh.

Each bite to the skin of your thighs has your breath catching in your throat and leaving your mouth in a quiet whimper as his tongue soothes the reddening skin. His lips get closer and closer to your center and you can feel your arousal coating your thighs as he stays just shy of where you want him. With each nip at your skin, the sounds leaving your mouth rise in pitch, but Javier seems content to take his time. Somewhere deep in the back of your mind, it registers that this is far slower than the two of you usually take it. It’s like he’s not looking for relief, instead he’s savoring it. The thought is fleeting though and you lose your grasp of it when Javier presses his lips just above your clit.

Your thighs tense in anticipation. On instinct, one of your hands moves to grip his hair and the other clings to his sheets. 

“Javi, please.”

“Patience, hermosa,” he mutters against your skin, but he relents, finally, finally, pulling your knees to sit over his shoulders. The endearment is new, but you can’t find it in you to hold on to that thought, your mind foggy with arousal. He places one hand flat on your lower stomach and grips your thigh with the other, hard enough that you’re sure deep purple imprints of his fingers will litter your skin in the morning. He lays his tongue flat against your core, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit and collecting your arousal. Your hips buck against the hand that holds you down and it takes every bit of control left in you not to pull his head down against your core.

He draws another moan of his name out of you when he suckles your clit between his lips, alternating his tongue between swirling around and flicking the bundle of nerves. Your heels press into his back, an unconscious desperate attempt to pull him closer. The hand on your thigh finds its way between your legs and you feel his fingers at your entrance. He pushes two digits past your entrance and scissors them. This time when he sucks particularly hard on your clit and curls his fingers, you can’t stop your back from arching, pressing your core further against his face. The moan he lets out is obscene, like he’s enjoying this more than you are. The sound vibrates against you and pushes you closer and closer to the edge. He adds a third finger and his assault on your clit is relentless. With a few more pumps, you explode, the waves of pleasure radiating through every inch of your body. Your toes curl at his back and he lets you ride out the orgasm against his mouth and chin, his tongue still moving against you until it’s suddenly all too much and you push him away.

When he sits back, he slides his fingers out of you and your walls clench around the emptiness. His chin shines with your release. Your chest rises and falls quickly as you come down from the high. He meets your eyes as he places his fingers in his mouth, licking them clean. The action is enough to have another wave of arousal coursing through you. You pull him into a bruising kiss and you taste yourself when you slide your tongue past his lips. His erection is painfully hard against your thigh and your fingers reach for him, undoing the zipper of his jeans. He takes the hint and moves back to remove the material along with his boxers.

As he leans back down, you take the opportunity to flip him onto his back so you’re straddling his thighs. You spit into your hand and grip his hard length. He lets out a hiss at the contact and you pump your hand up and down. His hands grip your thighs bruisingly as clipped grunts escape his lips. You brush your thumb over the head, spreading his arousal, and stroke him until his hand catches your wrist, stopping you abruptly.

His eyes are pleading. “I need to be inside you.”

You raise your hips and position yourself above him. With a shaky breath, you lower yourself onto him. The delicious stretch has your head falling back. Javier lets out a slow groan as the feeling of you surrounds him. A guttural “fuck” leaves him as you bottom out. His hands leave your thighs and grope at the soft flesh of your hips as you begin to rock back and forth on him. The rhythm you set isn’t enough for him, and it’s not long before he’s raising your hips with his hands, meeting your thrusts with his own. The pleasure builds slowly inside you with each thrust.

As the pace quickens, he stops you, shifting onto his knees so you sit in his lap, one hand on your back to hold you close. The new angle gives him more control and he slams your hips against his over and over again, biting at the skin of your collarbone. The sound of your skin slapping against his is so salacious, you might have been embarrassed if he wasn’t hitting a spot inside of you so perfect that the feeling cleared your mind of any other thought besides the way he stretched you out.

He snakes a hand between your bodies and his thumb finds your clit. A couple quick circles has you clenching around him. You tip over the edge for the second time that night, your vision going blank for a moment as every muscle in your body tenses. Your head falls back and you cry out  as he continues to thrust into you through your orgasm, his face pressed to your chest. His thrusts falter and he spills into you with your name groaned against your skin followed by a string of curses. He keeps moving slowly until he’s soft inside you and the feeling is too much.

He doesn’t slip out of you then, like you expect. Instead he holds you in his lap, panting deeply. His head is cradled in your arms and your chest heaves, matching his. You let yourself enjoy the haze of pleasure until you feel him pressing kisses to your chest. Your heart drops to your stomach in a feeling you can’t quite name and you stiffen for a moment. He keeps moving his lips against you as if he doesn’t notice and you force yourself to relax in his arms, though now you can’t ignore the thought that’s flashing red in your brain. This is new. And much softer than what the unspoken agreement between the two of you entailed.

He finally lays back and you roll off him, feeling an emptiness where he once was. You let yourself pause for a couple seconds to try and pull yourself back together. It’s not enough time to process what just happened, but you know you just need to get your clothes and get to the apartment across the hall and you can deal with everything soon enough. But as you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed, ready to begin the search for your clothes that are no doubt spread around the room, Javier’s hand yet again encircles your wrist.

“Wait,” he says. You turn your head to catch his gaze. You’re met with that unfamiliar look in his eyes, again.

“Stay,” he says.  It’s a request, spoken quietly into the dark room, and you know that if you agree, you’re throwing away the delicate balance that the two of you have woven. Whatever this is will cease to simply be relief from a terrible work week, and you don’t know if you’re ready for that. And neither does Javier, but he knows he can’t stand to see you leave his apartment without a glance back on another night like this.

Wordlessly, you move back onto the bed and you lay your head on his shoulder, the hand he holds placed gently on his chest. There’s a silent understanding that this is what you both need right now, even if neither of you can admit it, the fallout tomorrow morning be damned.

-------

thanks for reading! feedback is appreciated

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier peña smut #narcos #narcos fic #narcos smut #honestly idk what this is it is my first time writing smut sklfjdf #im too embarrased to like heavily proofread so take that as u will lol #nlt

[enigma-im]

Sucker Punched

Rating: Mature Relationship: Alien X Female!Human Warning: Dirty talk, strong language, Alien/human relationship, mention of blood

Word Count:6163

         I punched an alien and now he wont stop following me around

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bustle around the office was gratuitous and migraine-inducing. Crowds were never my thing, to begin with, now the opinion is evermore justified. The undistinguished murmur wasn't as calming as the ocean sounds its similar to. It just made me tense and strive to leave as soon as possible. Sadly my wants didn’t matter to my responsibilities. I had papers to collect and people to see.

The ESA has been visited by the Tatze, a race of peaceful bipedal beetles. They come to talk about working with ESA to help some refugees have a place to be kept. According to the few reports I had a second to review, a planet on the verge of being near a soon to be supernova star needed to uproot. The planet wasn’t too large, but it held a good diversity of beings. It was a hospitable planet that hasn’t evolved into intelligent life, so it was taken as free real estate. I knew nothing else about the situation, I just knew I had a lot of work to do.

I'm in charge of running around like a chicken with its head cut off. In other words, I run paperwork around to get signed. Mainly to accept relocations and housing. There is ample room for a good portion of these refugees but that still meant a lot of paperwork. Most of the issues being assigning people for specific jobs. I had to get approval for supervisors to run the dorms. Get people to stock the dorm, needed translators available, and empaths to help evade future problems.

As much running around I have to do, I feel worse for the people processing each individual. That’s who took up most of the room in the office. The printer has to be going nonstop since we got info on the newcomers.

I shoved around the group, holding the folder of papers close to my chest. I quickly push to Becker's office, making it through the door. I slam it behind myself, caught my breath, then got straight to it.

I caught Becker's eyes as I walked to his desk. He was standing behind his chair and on the phone. His pose was tense, which was understandable.

"I need you to read over this and assign workers for the first three decks," I spoke quickly. I toss the first folder onto his desk.

He looks down at the papers with a glare," I don’t have time for that. Give it to Regina."

"Regina already assigned her workers, now it’s your turn," I slide the folder closer. He huffs and slams his hand onto the papers.

"Fine," He snaps, "No not you, do you have Kurtis down there?" He went from snappy to pleasant in a second. Knowing the conversation was over I turn and walk out the door.

I storm through the crowd, catching a few elbows to the ribs on the way out. I cut out the offices and into the not so quiet walkway. I speed down the hallway towards the elevator, just catching it as the door closes. I stop a few feet away, debating my options. These elevators take a year and a half to respond. Which balances out the pros and cons with the capacity of the cabin. I cut my losses and turn to the stairs, the floor I need wasn’t that far.

I rush down the stairs, feeling like a missed a few on the way down. As I cut the corner for the next bout of steps. My foot slides on a mysterious wet patch. My leg slid and I didn’t have time to correct. I reach for the railing, managing to catch myself but drop the papers in the process.

"Fuck," I snarl. I right myself and make quick work of lifting the papers. Some managed to soak up some of the floor fluids. "Fuck," I groan. I drop my head to my shoulder and allow myself a second of frustration. After the second I get back to work.

I round out the door, shoulder checking some alien on the way. Not bothering to look I continue onwards. I make it to the storage office. Heading directly to the front desk I set down the folders with unorganized and slightly damp papers. I look up at the human working the information desk.

"I need everything on this sheet sent to E17 and dealt with by Sabrina," I sort through the folders before handing the worker one.

"Well absolutely, it will be my pleasure," the worker smiles brightly. The smile was anything but infectious. If I had to choose some words they would be 'damn disgusting'. They look up at me and pout, "Aw, where's that smile?"

"At home," I sneer. I turn and bolt from the room. Damn people who work in storages have it so easy. Everything is sorted and mostly automated by bots. They don’t deal with this traffic. Their smile was like a slap, making me envious of their simple work.

The next hour goes in a rush, my folder pile dwindling. I'm damn near ready to break down with a childish tantrum. I'm tired and in need of some food. I want nothing more than to roll up in my little nook of blankets. Turn on some cheesy monster flicks and pass out near some microwaved dinner.

I had one more folder, it just needed to be given to processing so they know what room is meant for the newcomers. I walk from the surprisingly quiet hallway into a less surprisingly loud waiting room. Any other time the area is covered in chairs and generally, those chairs are empty. Now you can’t even see the chairs, the room was a sea of people. Lots of Aliens, mostly staying consistent with only a few types. Varying only slightly.

I slide around the room, hugging the walls. With humans, catching some elbows it fine. With aliens, that could mean a concussion. I reach the door I need, open it with some strife. I walk into a conjoined office. The room separated by a partition wall. Some human-looking aliens were sitting behind both desks. One had a visitor and the other, the one I need, is alone. Easy in and out.

I sneak around as to not disturb the large alien sitting with the desk worker. I get behind the partition and catch Ja'Leah's eye.

"Oh hey, Phoebe," She greets as she hangs up the phone," What do I owe the pleasure?"

I walk over and set the folder down," Last one of the days. Housing, enjoy." I let go with a flourish.

"last one of the day? You must be ecstatic," She half-smiles. Ja'Leah grabs the folder and thumbs through it.

"Yes, I’m going to pass the fuck out," I sigh at the thought.

She looks up for a second," Day that bad?"

I give her a warning look," It been awful. I'm five seconds away from a breakdown."

"Sounds bad, great to look forward to. My day just started," She laughs.

"Girl, I mean this from the bottom of my heart. Good luck," I chuckle. I hear a thump from behind the wall.

"I’m going to need all the luck I need. What's that saying you have about luck," she asks. I cock my head behind the wall but ignore the noise as she asks.

"Tons of saying. Kiss for luck, luck of the Irish, um beginner's luck," I ramble.

"No, not those," she ponders," oh well, I won’t keep you." with a wave I turn to walk out.

As I pass into the other office I’m blocked by the large alien. He is snarling something out at the poor worker. As rude as it was, I didn’t care. I need to get home before I snap.

"Excuse me," I push lightly against their arm. He has a threatening protrusion from his elbow. It is attached to the padding on his forearm. I give it a wide breadth.

He turns and snarls at me, then back to snarling at the poor man. I try to sneak around again but their arm swings out, blocking the way.

"Hey, move," I snap. Reaching my final nerve. The man growls. When I press softly against his arm to move, he turns towards me fully. He crouches down so we are facing level and lets out a ground-shaking roar. His hands are posed claws out near his bent knees. I tense up and scrunch away from the air escaping his mouth. Once he is done, I turn and glare at him. Then before he could say a word, I deck him the nose.

I knew as I lifted my arm it was a bad idea. It was impulsive and without my command. His head barely moves but his jaw did shut. His hands drop as did his shoulders. Dark fluid began to drip from his nose, dripping onto the hard floor. He looks bewildered, which was impressive given his permanent scowl caused by his lowered brow. I could feel the silence in the room along with the pulsing of my knuckles. Man has a sturdy face, or I have weak bones.

Nobody said anything as he straightens. He presses his fingers to his nose, collecting the blood. He glances down at it, raising an eyebrow before looking back at me.

I lean back; afraid he is going to lash out. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes to mind. I quickly close it and point to the door. Then as fast as I could, I walk out. Leaving everyone to the tense silence.

Oh god, I'm going to be fired.

<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>

The day ended in constant fits of anxiety. Every task was done in a mundane fashion, almost like I was in autopilot. My mind went a mile a minute. Thinking about every outcome of my boneheaded impulsion. If anyone in that room said something to my boss, I was surely doomed. This job is all I have, and I love it. Not everyone can get this kind of job, it took months of screening just to be considered. Government jobs are hard enough to get planetside but to be carted off into space to do it is almost impossible.

I walk into my office the next day, tense for the soon to be lecture and inevitable departure. Trying to be a goody-two-shoes I went straight to work. Perhaps if I seem valuable that I’d just get a warning. I found some work that needed to be handed to my supervisor. I looked it over then promptly avoid it as long as I could. Feeling the minute I let them acknowledge me I was in for trouble.

After I procrastinate as much as I could I drop my shoulders. Looking at the stapled pieces of paper.

"Guess there is no avoiding that," I huff. With a quick breath of bravery, I grab the stack and march to their office. Perhaps if I treat it like a band-aid it will somehow be less devastating.

I knock on their door, then enter when I hear their invitation.

"Phoebe, watcha need," Tyler asks. He is surrounded by stacks of folders and binders. I do not envy his job. Mine may be an over-glorified delivery person but he was the one who had to approve everything. No thank you.

"I, uh, this is for you," I lost some of my courage. He reaches out his hand ready to take my offering. I quickly hand it to him. Standing there patiently for the tongue lashing.

Yet nothing happens. He thumbs through the sheets then looks up at me with a curt smile and nod.

"Need something else," he asks.

"Uh, no I guess," I smile confused. Then I turn and walk out of the room. Closing the door behind me.

Does he not know? Did no one say anything? Why wouldn’t the large alien I sucker-punched not report me? I made the man bleed for crying out loud!

I sigh as I lean against the wall. If they didn’t say anything I won’t. I'm not going to throw myself under the bus if not necessary.

<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>

I continue with work like normal, not letting myself think about possible outcomes or reasons they didn’t say anything. It would be a dark hole to fall into. I'll worry about it later.

Today is less crazy. The offices aren't cramped, and the copy room is empty. A nice calm after the storm but I’m sure housing is losing their minds.

I hear the shuffling of people outside my door. I look up and see small groups of people leaving, looking at the clock I notice its lunchtime. Glancing at my work I figure it be a good time for a break.

Saving my work on the computer then organizing my paper, I leave. I check my pocket as I stroll to the hallways, making sure I have my money on me. The lunch here isn't expensive or good but you can’t expect the money to go to fancier things. Some alien vendors here serve some savory smelling food, making me wish I dared to eat it. The human food general stayed bland, except on Fridays. They have special meals on those days, but it was as flavorful as boxed dinners.

I enter the cafeteria and order a simple ham sandwich. I just need nutrients, so I don’t get woozy while working. Figure I don’t need to enjoy my meal. Not that I would anyway.

I grab a random table towards the back of the room. Wanting mostly to be alone today. I have friends, some being in the room, but I'm just emotionally exhausted. I’ll just think for a while. Reflect on the event of today and future work I should finish before days end.

As I stare down at my phone, I hear a chair screech in front of me. I glance up and find someone sitting across from me. Realization strikes me when I look at their face.

"Uh," I drop my hand to the table, setting my phone down. I lean back in the chair and stare at the alien who is now lacking blood from their nose.

He sits relaxed against the chair that seems comically small to his herculean stature. His torso was bare save for a dark green sash. It seems to hold some tools, serving an actual function besides cosmetics. He looks like he is wearing pants, but I can’t tell from the table. Either way, he was large and in charge. Horns that blend away from platting on the side of his head strikes me immediately when I look at his face. His dark hair was shaved into a faux hawk. Despite it being fluffy and soft looking, it did not take away from his intimidating physique. He was scary, but he sat like he wasn’t about to kill me. Which I guess is a start.

"Hey, I'm sorry about yesterday. It was uncalled for me to hit you like that," I began to apologize. He stares at me with a blank face. Seeming like he isn’t getting my words. He opens his mouth and lets out some grumbles and growls. "I did not get any of that," I stare back. Is he trying to talk?

He growls some more but when he notices I’m staring just as blankly as he was, he stops. Leaning forward onto his forearms he points to his mouth and ear. I shake my head, so he repeats. Still not getting it he sneers then holds out his hand. Motioning for me to come closer. I shake my head, not wanting him to be near my head with his clawed fingers.

He drops his hand to the table with a loud thud, giving a frustrated look. Thinking for a second before he turns his head and points at the small box behind his ear. It is a translation battery. The little computer is generally implanted behind the ear, leaving the battery exposed for easy access. We may be in the future, but no one has figured out how to keep the damned thing charged.

"Is it broke," I ask forgetting he can’t understand me. So I point at his ear then mime breaking a twig. He shakes his head. Alright, not broke. I ponder for a moment. What else could stop him from understanding? Mine isn’t broke so I should understand him. Unless his language isn’t common therefore not input into the system. I look up at him to explain my guess but remember he can’t comprehend me. How do I mime that?

I simply nod. Hoping he figures I know what he is trying to say. He nods back, leaning back into the chair. Ok, now what? He crosses his arm and looks me over, growling out some words.

"You have a weird language," I mumble to myself. He speaks some more, probably getting a little liberty as saying whatever he wants. Probably cursing me, I can’t imagine I'm his favorite person right now. I shrug and lift my phone back up.

As I swipe through my social feed, I hear him growl some more. Then growl a little louder, gaining my attention. I shift my phone aside and look at him. He points to my phone. I twist it to ask if this is what he means. He shakes his head then gestures to his hand then points at mine.

"Oh, my hand," I say mostly for my benefit. I set my phone down and look at my very bruised knuckles. For as hard as I hit him, I’m surprised I don’t have any cuts from the skin splitting. The last two knuckles were still swollen as the first two are just bruised. Guess I have a crooked punch. Not that I’ve ever really punched someone before, don’t exactly have a technique.

He reaches out and snatches my hand. I wince as his thumb presses on the several bruises. His hold loosens as he peeks up at me. He grimaces for a second, like an apology. I nod. He looks back down at my knuckles, softly tracing the bone with his thumb. He smiles and huffs before bringing his head down. He pecks at each knuckle, shocking me completely. I jerk my hand away, cradling it against my chest

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing," I snap. He leans back in his chair with a smirk. Showing off his canines that sit on either end of that smile. He crosses his arms and laughs when I glare at him. Is he making fun of me? I can’t even begin to comprehend what is happening. I also cannot deny the blush streaking across my cheeks. Being too caught up in my unease I don’t notice him reaching across the table. Using his forefinger and thumb he grabs my chin. Turning my head to face him, he smirks. Growling out something I couldn’t comprehend. Seeing how flustered I am he laughs again. Dropping his hold he leans back again.

"If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you are flirting with me," I mumble. It was meant as a joke, but it came out worried. I’m not someone who has to learn about different alien cultures, just some 'learn this to not offend' kind of stuff. Flirting, or courting as some people call it, isn’t something I learned. Perhaps this was a challenge, fight me for hitting him. It didn’t seem right. id imagine a threat comes out more, well, threateningly. Don’t see warriors kissing people's hands.

He sat with me in silence for the rest of the meal. Which I won’t lie, I kinda rushed my lunch. I pack up my trash and with a nod, I leave. His eyes follow me the entire time, all the way to the door.

<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>

The next week he continues showing up at lunch, flirting more. At least I assume its flirting. He is very touchy and loves growling at me knowing I can’t understand. I see him a few times in the hallways, following me to my office before he leaves me alone. It’s a rinse and repeat week for him. If I’m late I catch him outside the offices in the hallway.

I try to push him from my mind for the rest of my workday. Throwing the memory from my head as I indulge my workload. I actually got a lot of work done, perhaps I will have an early day as well. Completely invested I don’t hear the door open. But I do hear a chair scrape across the floor.

Looking up I see the buff alien. I push against my desk, flattening myself to the chair. He grabbed a chair and slid it beside my desk. Where he then plants himself down. I watch completely caught off guard and confused. Once he makes himself comfortable, he looks over at me. Looking me over he cocks an eyebrow. He has never entered my office before.

"Hi," I quirk an eyebrow as well. He waves before crossing his arms. Sitting there casually, leaving me the only one freaking out. Why the fuck is he in here?

I look around the room then back to him. He abandoned looking at me and is investigating my desk. Touching a few paperweights and desk toys. Regarding the few pictures, I have framed. I watch him as I sit in shock, if not confused.

Realizing I’m staring he looks over. He waves again a little confused. I glare at him then point at the door.

"Get out," I snap. He looks at the door then back at me. He shakes his head. I stand and point again. He also repeats his actions. He points at himself then the chair. I stretch my arms out," Why are you here!"

He stares blankly but amused. God, he is infuriating. I might just punch him again.

"We are getting your fucking translator fixed," I growl as I storm out the office. I can hear the chair screech and can only figure he is following me. As I march through the room, I see some people giving curious glances. I ignore them as I make my way to tech support.

<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>

I parade into the room, slamming the door against the wall in the process. The few techies in the room snap their heads up at my outburst. Their faces go a little more fearful when they see my unwanted companion.

"I have a favor," I snarl. My venomous streak should be a little worrying. It has just been a stressful week, I need the weekend.

One of the techies jump up and walk over," Y-yes, how may I help you?". He was an extremely thin and mousy looking man.

I grab the big buff boy behind me and drag him forward," His language isn't translating." to emphasize my point the alien growls out a few words. The slim man looks up at him and nods.

"Alright, um, sit over here," he fidgets his hands as he walks back to his desk. We follow and I point to the chair for Hercules to sit. He does as he is commanded but does so with an annoying smirk. Damn annoying cute smirk.

The mousy man spits out some growls to my surprise. It seems it’s also to the large man's surprise too. He tilts his head and growls back. They talk back and forth.

"You can understand him," I ask. They both turn to me, the slim man nods.

"Yes, his language is old, but I learned it during my learning years," he answers, "it's uncommon and needs time to be added to the system so it can be understood."

I grab on to the back of the large man's chair, "Then can you do me another favor and ask him why he has been following me around?"

He nods and grumbles out some words to the man. As the slim one turns to tell me the large one grabs his arm stopping him. They talk some more before the slender one finally speaks to me.

"He doesn’t want me to tell you," he answers. I glare down at him then at the large one.

"Ask him for his name then," I sneer. It takes a second for the techie to realize I’m talking to him. The large one turns to me with that damned smirk. He answers the techie.

"His name is Ker'chak, or Kurt for short," he answers. I glare down at Kurt. Keeping my gaze he reaches for my hand and brings it up to his lips. Once his lip meets my knuckles, I drag my hand away. Letting go of his chair and stepping back. He snickers then turn back to the slim man. They converse and I see the techie blush. Once again, I assume so. I’m not educated in alien emotions.

"What did he say," I ask folding my arms. The slender man looks up at me then back at Kurt.

"Uh, I rather not repeat it," he hesitates. I raise my eyebrow then look over at Kurt who is still smiling. He even winks at me. How universal is that?

"So he is flirting with me," I ask. The techie nods as he hides his face in his palm. "Ask him what do I have to do to get him to leave me alone," I cock my hip. He does as he is asked. Kurt growls, sneering at the mousy man. Then he shoots up and stalks towards me. I snap back in shock and step backward. Feeling distressed at his demeanor change.

I back up till I hit a wall, wincing as my head bangs off it. Kurt doesn’t stop till he reaches his hand over my head to the wall. His chest presses against mine. I raise my hand and push against him. My other hands staying flush against the cold wall. He grabs my fist on his chest and holds it still. Even thumbing the skin of my wrist. He growls, sounding more like a purr. His head dips so his nose brushes against my temple. He rumbles out some words.

Across the room the techies chirps up to translate," uh, he says he won’t be leaving you. Not till he can explain himself. No moment sooner." Kurt growls some more, "I'm not repeating that," the slim man calls out. Kurt chuckles as he noses my hairline. My heart beating a mile a minute and my stomach fluttering. My eyes couldn’t stop flickering as I fought against closing them. They finally won out as he kisses my temple, I sigh. I couldn’t stop myself from nuzzling back against him. Kurt chuckles as he brings my hand up to kiss.

Getting perhaps a little too caught up in the situation I barely hear the awkward coughing of the other people in the room. My eyes snap open, horridly embarrass at being seen in such an intimate situation. I rip my hand from his hold and push both hands against his chest. Raising his own hands in surrender he backs up. Laughing as he does so.

Kurt growls some more, "He is such a raunchy man," the translator said behind him. Kurt gives me a once over with a satisfied smile. He then drops his hands when he is a reasonable distance away. Turning around and sitting back in the chair. He speaks to the slim man some then look at me expectantly.

"He hopes that made it clear what his intention may be," the slender man sighs. I feel a little bad for the man, I came here for pure intention. Well mostly pure, I just wanted the lug gone. Now I'm not a hundred percent as before. God, I'm so deprived.

"I’d have to say it does," I huff. Looking down at his pants there was a slight tent. I guess that does explain his intentions.

<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>

The techie explained that getting his language into the system would take some time. Also that his translator needed to be updated. Which is good that is has been worked on since he first got here apparently. So it’s any day now when it will be done. I knew his translator was returned and just needed to wait for the update to be sent to it so he can understand everyone around him.

I did everything in my power to avoid him. His constant nearness has begun to break down my defenses. The day in the tech support was like he took a sledgehammer to my walls. I didn’t like the fluttering in my stomach at seeing him at lunch the next day. One day when I stood to get ready to go to lunch, I thought better of it. I just need some space.

It was no surprise that he didn’t care about my avoidance. When I didn’t show up for lunch, he would just come to the office and sit. After the first two times, he started bringing food with him for both of us. Just stuff to snack on, a lot of fruits or wrapped bars. It was kind of him, but it just made me more constricted. I don’t want him around, that lie tasted bitter after the second week.

As we both sat at my desk, him trying everything in his power to be distracting, I try to work. He has taken to touching me as much as possible. Like now, he is tracing the seams on my jeans. It was distracting around my shins but easily discarded. But when he got around my knees and thighs I jumped. That was like jump-starting a car because he did everything he could to make me jump after that. Right now he was tracing behind my knee, smirking up at me as I stare daggers into the computer. I’ve gotten better at acting like I don’t care. He has also stepped up his game.

Not getting the reaction he wants he grabs behind my knee and twists me to face him. I lift my hands, so I don’t sweep my keyboard off the table. Then I glare down at him.

"May I help you," I ask. He still can’t understand me, but he has gotten better at discerning the tone. Kurt smiles before he grabs my other leg and jerks me forward. I was airborne for a terrifying second before I land on his lap. Straddling him and clenching his shoulders. He growls out something then purrs as he noses at my hairline. Running his hands up the back of my thighs. Before he could grope my ass, I grab one of his hands.

"No," I slide his hands down. He pouts out the corner of my eye but goes back to smiling. He kisses behind my ear and massages my thighs. I bite into my cheek to stop the sigh that wants to escape. Having picked up on the nuances of my tone he also figured out that my little sighs were a good sign. Despite my best attempts when he nibbled on my ear, I let out a sigh. Even a small moan. This man is both infuriating and arousing.

"God, I can smell your cunt," he growls. I tense.

"What," I ask as I push back. He too tenses staring at me wide-eyed.

"Uh," he starts.

"You are vulgar," I huff with a start of a smile.

"Then don’t smell so damn good," he laughs. I squirm out of his hold to get on my feet, but he holds strong, "Where you going?"

I manage to get out of his hold and sit back in my seat, "We are going to have a nice long talk."

He huffs, "I’d rather be doing something else." I give him a once over.

"Yea, I didn’t notice," I quirk a brow. He laughs as he sits back and crosses his arms.

"Well, beautiful, it seems the translator now works. Ask away," he flourishes hand. I straighten my shirt as I get comfortable. I lean against the arm of the chair as I give him another once over.

"Why are you following me around," I start.

He tilts his head, "I feel I've answered that one."

"Not really," I respond, "I punch you in the face and suddenly you are around constantly."

He chuckles as he absentmindedly rubs his nose, "Quite the punch it was too. It was a little crooked so goddess only knows how much harder you could have hit if it was proper." He groans at the memory, running his hand over his thigh.

I look him over, "Did that turn you on?"

He snaps his head straight," Of course. Love me a woman who can put me in my place," he groans again.

"Perv," I hiss as I look away. Staring at the wall, calming my nerves a bit.

"I just know what I like, and you are it," he smiles. He reaches over and pulls my chair closer, so my knee is between his.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye, "So you just want to get into my pants?"

His hands grab my knees, "Your pants, your bed, your heart. I want to be in all of them."

I turn fully towards him, "you want to date?"

"To the divines, yes," He moans. His hands go further up my thighs, thumbing the seam. I stop him when he gets too close to my crotch.

"We are talking, stop distracting me," I reprimand. He looks from his hands to me.

"So it is distracting," he cocks an eyebrow. I glare down at him, not wanting to give up my interest yet.

"Why follow me around, I showed my disinterest very early on," I change the subject back.

"I don’t believe that was fair, I didn’t get a chance to woo you with my words," he answers," even though I believe I'm doing a great job with my body in its stead."

"Cocky aren't you," I ask as I slide his hands away.

"Damn straight, I'm a very worthy male and you are a very, deliciously strong, worthy female," he lays it on thick. He stands and presses his hands to the top of the chair. Framing my head between his powerful arms. He leans down, leaving a small space between us. "I want you, that has been very clear. Which makes me the only one being very clear. So to be completely transparent I offer this. If you want me, even a little, kiss me. If you don’t then I will walk out that door and leave you alone," he proposes.

I stare up at him, quick glances at his lips. My mind is completely blank, not offering me any words of wisdom right now. He lays it all out, it’s my choice now. If I want him to leave, he will go, be out of my hair. That thought was bitter like all the lies I told myself all week.

Fuck it.

I jump up, wrapping my arms around his neck. I press my lips to his, forceful and telling. He sucks in a breath in shock before wrapping his arms around my back. Lifting me out of the chair and holding me against his chest. Tilting his head, our nose brushing against each other, he sucks on my lip. Giving it his all; his joy, his wants, his desires.

He wraps my legs around his waist, resting his hands on my rear. He parts and gives me a warm smile. Gropes my ass and cocks his eyebrow. I chuckle at his questioning look.

"No, you are taking me out on a date and wooing me properly," I scold as I pet his hair. It is as soft and fluffy as it looks.

He pouts, " not even some hand stuff?"

"No, not in my office," I pull his horn. Tilting his head to the side and kissing him. He groans into my mouth, his hands massaging my cheeks.

He pulls back, " Then let’s go to your room, problem fixed. I've been tortured by your arousal all week. The most divine of torture but it must be remedied soon." I jerk his head back, exposing his neck.

"And you have been driving me crazy all month, live with it big boy," I kiss his neck. He hisses, baring his teeth to the ceiling.

"Goddess, you are pure torment, my sexy female," he growls. He tries to drop his head, but I jerk it back. I bite down hard onto his taunt neck tendon.

"Good, you deserve it," I laugh. I sit up straight and catch his eye, "Dinner at my place tonight."

He nods, "then sex?"

"Woo me with those words you promise and maybe," I smirk.

"I look forward to it," He grins.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Might make another part, might not. either way check out my archive. Follow for more stories, i have way too much free time with my new job.

#Alien boyfriend #exophilia #alien x human #large buff alien #fluff #strong language #Kurt #Phoebe #Enigma-IM

[tirednotflirting]

i can picture it after all these days

basically @reveriesofawriter and i got very eyes emoji about the idea of writing all too well fic but with this focus on all of the little stories that kinda live inside the song. and then we sorta played with that for about ten minutes and then independently wrote two pieces that became the intro to this. so. yeah.

we’re pretty damn proud of it and fully intend to stick around in this little universe for some more fun in the future :    ) meghna, i love you to pieces and i’m so crazy happy with how this turned out <3

here it is on ao3 <3

Jack isn’t sure what time it is.

He left his watch at Zack’s place when he slept over on Tuesday (or was it Monday?) and he can see the microwave from his spot on the floor but he never bothered to reset the time after the power went out last. He’d check his phone but then he would be faced with the desperate texts (all left on delivered) he sent once reaching the halfway point on the bottle of red he found in the pantry. So Jack doesn’t know the time and honestly, he’s not sure he cares anyway.

It’s dark now in his living room and he’s reached the bottom of the bottle and the fire is dwindling some so he reaches forward to gently toss another log into the flames. The fire had been Rian’s suggestion. It makes the place feel cozy, Jack. You like cozy. Jack has been operating mostly on autopilot for the better part of three weeks and a break in the routine in the form of a manageable task like building a fire felt like a good change of pace.

Behind him in the kitchen, Jack hears a break in the silence in the form of his phone vibrating against the countertop. He knows he should know better than this by now but he can’t help the way he stumbles to his feet, from the speed at which he stands or the wine, he can’t really tell, and jogs a few steps to reach for the phone.

The notification on the home screen tells him it’s only a text from his mom, another message sending her love and asking if he’s okay and if he needs help with anything or for her to come visit for a while. He hits the lock button to darken the screen before sending any kind of response and drops it to the counter and his face replaces the phone in his hands, his palms pressing against his eyes until he sees stars because damn it, he needs to stop crying at some point. He has to get over feeling like there’s shards of himself breaking apart like he’s a broken glass. As he takes a few deep breaths, his mind trying to keep count as he inhales and exhales like Zack had taught him, he gets an idea. He stands up straight and heads in the direction of his bedroom, for the back of the top drawer in his dresser. For the photos.

-

Taking pictures with his instant camera had always been Alex’s thing. It was a memory device, he said, but that had never helped Jack understand why he took pictures of the most random things, shook them out and tucked them away in his pocket without showing them to anyone. They went on his dresser, Jack knew, neatly in a row until the dresser was full, and then one row at a time into neat little stacks piled in a box with no label. Alex knew what was in the boxes; he didn’t have to name them.

Jack had swiped a photo from Alex’s hands once, and Alex had just blushed as they waited for the picture to appear faintly and then fill with color. “Smile!” Alex had said out of nowhere the moment they walked through the doors. Between the cold air on his face and the suddenness of the ask, Jack looks a little stunned, and Alex has his arm around his waist, smiling broadly at the camera.

“What was that?” Jack asked as the photo printed. Alex just shrugged like he needed no explanation. That was when Jack had snatched the photo and held it close as it developed. “I look stupid.”

Jack can still hear the sound of Alex’s laugh. “You look cute.”

“No, you look cute. I look like I didn’t know I was getting my picture taken, because I didn’t.” Jack had frowned at the picture, fully endeared by Alex’s sunny smile and, admittedly, how sweet they look together despite him being so obviously unprepared.

“Why don’t you keep that one?” Alex had said unexpectedly. Of course he’d kept it. It felt a lot lighter then than it does now. A lot of things felt lighter then.

Jack looks at the photo in his hands one more time before putting it aside. There are too many photos here to go through each one. He’s almost scared that if he does, he’ll never find it in him to get rid of them no matter how well he knows it’s for the best. Each picture is a bright spot in his memory, but they’re all held close by an ache in his chest that has no hope of going away unless he does something to help it along. There are too many pieces missing now to try and put any of the remaining ones back together.

-

The rubber band snaps against his fingers as he pulls it off from around the rest of the polaroids.  There are only six of them but they feel so much heavier than they should. He thinks distantly back to the phone he left in the kitchen. Would it help to call Rian? He wouldn’t say anything Jack doesn’t already know. He looks at the stack of photos in his hand, fist curled so tightly around them that he can only see the white borders at the corners. He can’t bear to look at them, but he can’t get rid of them until he does.

He knows which one will be next. The first one he’d managed to take of Alex, back when they’d driven upstate with no set destination. They’d ended up at a bed and breakfast for the weekend in some quaint little town that neither of them knew existed, and Alex had been delighted to see there was far less light pollution and far more stars. They’d split a bottle of wine on the balcony after dinner and ended up tangled lazily in bed. He’s sure he said something cheesy about the stars in Alex’s eyes outshining the ones in the sky, and being tipsy was only an excuse. The photo in his hand won’t show any of that though.

Jack picks up the photo he’d set aside first and adds it to the stack. His fingers are already missing the warmth of the fire, and at least there he doesn’t have a reason to sit in the mostly-dark and make himself feel worse, so he closes his drawer and makes his way back to the living room. He pointedly ignores the furniture in favor of sitting on the floor once again, but he grabs a pillow this time.

The fire crackles beside him, sending waves of heat flowing over him and embers floating up into the air. He loosens his grip on the photos just enough to pull the top one. It’s exactly what he expected. Alex almost has his eyes closed, singing along to whatever was playing as he drives with one hand on the wheel and the other in his hair, elbow resting in the open window. The blur of trees in the background are all shades of orange and red, brilliant against the muted blue sky and the grey interior of the car. The other bright spot in the scene is Alex himself. Jack can almost feel the picture come alive as he looks at it, can almost hear Alex singing next to him and encouraging him to sing along too, followed by laughing at him for making up half the words that he can’t remember.

That one day was so long ago that Jack has to wonder how it’s branded itself into his memory, though he finds the answer staring back up at him in his hand. He’d sneakily pulled Alex’s camera out from the back seat, and it wasn’t until Alex heard the click and saw the flash that he noticed what Jack was doing. If Alex had noticed a moment earlier, the photo would have been of his indignant smile and his outstretched arm, grabbing for his camera and yelling at Jack to tell him before he takes a picture.

“But you take candids of me all the time without telling me first!”

“Well we can’t all be as pretty as you without trying.”

Jack still doesn’t know what Alex doesn’t see in himself that is so clear to everyone else. Rian had called it charisma, Jack was a little more romantic in calling it magnetism, but whatever it is that shines through the photo into his dark living room is almost bright enough to dull the fireplace shadows that dance on the walls. If he lets himself feel it, something dark in his chest is pressing against Alex’s smile. Something painfully sharp reminds him that this is a memory that’s no longer his. It’s been ruined, like everything else. Before he can stop himself, he tosses the photo into the fire, and then it’s curling to black at the edges as it gets swallowed up by the flames.

-

Jack stares into the fire until he’s seeing spots, until the photo is gone entirely. His eyes lift to the dark ceiling of his living room until his vision clears. He ignores the prickling at the corners of his eyes and the way the moment he’s just destroyed is still playing on a loop in his mind.

He takes a deep breath, letting the smell of the fire ground him as he pushes a hand through his hair. It’s getting a little long, he thinks. Alex always liked when his hair was a little longer than usual. He had a habit of twirling the ends of it around his finger whenever they were close enough since Alex tended to get fidgety in the quiet moments.

Jack shakes the thought away as quickly as it appeared and wonders how long it will take before every passing thought doesn’t take him on a path straight to Alex. He picks up the next picture in the stack beside his foot and he squints down at the image as if daring his memory to take him back to the moment held between his fingers.

It’s another one of Alex, another one that Jack took in one of the moments he was able to grab hold of the camera before Alex to snap a candid shot of his boy. A Friday night (Saturday morning, really) if Jack’s remembering correctly and unfortunately, he knows he likely is.

“You’re crazy,” Jack had said through a laugh as his arms instinctively wrapped around Alex’s neck after he had been tugged closer by hands at his waist. It was late, or actually early at that point. Jack had needed to stay late to close that night and fully expected to arrive home to a quiet house. Instead he found a wine drunk Alex dancing in his kitchen to some pop song.

“I just spent six hours grading essays about the Great Depression. It’s the weekend and I want to be happy drunk and dance with my gorgeous boyfriend, damn it,” Alex said while he pressed chardonnay kisses across Jack’s cheeks.

“A brilliant plan,” Jack replied. “Are you going to let go of me long enough to get my own glass though?”

“Nope.” Alex laughed as he pulled Jack in closer at the waist while he dropped his head to rest against his chest as he rocked them back and forth in the middle of the room. Jack had only rolled his eyes and smiled while he shuffled them to the counter so he could pour himself a drink. He had scrunched up his nose at the taste of whatever cheap white Alex must have picked up at the grocery near his school. (“Alex, I literally own a bar. Let me buy you good wine.” “I have the palate of a college senior, babe. I’m sorry, there’s no changing me.”)

Jack wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, rocking back and forth in slow circles with Alex against his chest in a lazy dance while he sipped from his glass. Even as it was happening, Jack knew it was a night with Alex that would always stay with him. Nights like that one were always his favorite, the slower moments. As they shuffled across the tile, Jack couldn’t help but feel like time was standing still, like the moment would never end. Like he never wanted it to.

“Oh, my kids are loving this song right now,” Alex said as the song changed while he grabbed the wine from inside the fridge door. It was while he spun in circles as he pulled the cork from the bottle that Jack reached for the camera sat on the other end of the counter from whenever Alex had last used it during a party or something. The shot he had captured was a blurry one, mid dancing and pouring, a bright blush from the wine (and maybe something more) and a smile painted across his face, his eyes shut in laughter. Jack remembered wanting to picture him like that forever: happy, warm, laughing and dancing in the kitchen they basically shared at that point. Alex was so cemented into his everything by then Jack couldn’t imagine any part of his life or his space without the two of them together in it.

He looks across the room now toward the kitchen and every time he blinks he can see Alex dancing and laughing in the white light from the fridge. He can see the two of them slipping on the tile in their socks at some point and if he keeps his eyes closed for just a moment longer he can see kisses through laughter on the kitchen floor until Jack had pulled them up to keep dancing. He sees Alex on so many other nights sitting on the kitchen counter, his legs swinging while he watched Jack make dinner as he claimed to be helping by stealing something from the pan every so often.

He thinks back to his past self, the version who lived in moments with Alex that felt like they lasted an eternity and how then he wished they would. There’s just a hint of cruelty in the ironic way that now he still feels stuck in those memories and the promise of more like them despite how they were ripped away from him. Jack squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as a laugh rings through his mind and he tosses the picture into the flames.

-

The fire licks at the last piece of the polaroid. The fire would be burned into his vision by now if it didn’t change its shape so much, but that’s what fires do, they change. “You can get passionate about just about anything.” There was no way for him to have seen the signs, because there were none to see. He can sit here and berate himself for not listening to his intuition, but almost 33 years old and he still can’t tell the difference between intuition and butterflies. “No, it’s cute. It makes you better at your job probably.” Of course he followed the butterflies. “I’ve never had a crush on a teacher before. Actually, that’s a lie, my high school math teacher was kinda hot.” It had earned him a laugh and a smack on the arm from Alex, as it would now.

He can remember the math teacher in question. She was pretty, even in hindsight, but if that was a crush, then whatever he’d felt toward Alex on that first day must have been love at first sight. As much as he tells himself he’s a rational person under it all, he’s also the definition of a hopeless romantic. If it was fate that brought them together, then it was the same cruel fate that tore them apart. If it was luck, then his luck had been on a timer, and exactly three weeks and two days ago, that timer had run out.

He’d woken up to a text he hadn’t dared hope for, and shouldn’t have, because as soon as he read the words he wished he could take it back. The message led him downstairs to his front door, where, as promised, was a small box of mostly trinkets he could just as easily take straight to the trash. Still, some pounding curiosity in his chest made him carry it inside, place it on the coffee table, and dig through it to see just what Alex thought held so much of Jack that he couldn’t keep it in his house for more than 24 hours after a breakup. He was right to think most of it was useless – a cd he’d left in Alex’s car after laughing over how cars don’t have cd players these days, a half-empty pack of gum that could have belonged to anyone but of course it didn’t because Alex had picked up on it being Jack’s favorite within two days, an old polaroid ripped into so many pieces he couldn’t even put it back together to see the image, a receipt that was a little faded but was definitely from Jack’s bar – but he was preoccupied with the one thing that wasn’t there.

Alex had been wearing a bandana the night they’d met, and it had thrown Jack off immediately. Then again, Jack wasn’t supposed to be at the bar that night anyway, but two of his bartenders had called in sick and he was nothing if not understanding. Rian might call him a pushover. Rian might be told to shut up. So it happened that Alex was not a history teacher that night, and Jack was not the owner of the bar, and their chance meeting had given them both slightly different first impressions of each other than what they would have expected later, after they learned each other’s names and drinks of choice and job titles.

It only made sense that after the next few times Alex showed up wearing a bandana, Jack made one too many comments about it and Alex pulled it off his head and put it on Jack’s as he was driving Alex home. After some amount of arguing with Alex over the bandana – drunk Alex could be very stubborn, Jack learned – they agreed that this one would be Jack’s since Alex had so many others. Jack wore it on their next date and left it at Alex’s house, Alex brought it back, that’s how it went. Jack had never planned on the last time he forgot it being the last time he’d ever hold it in his hands.

Thinking about it now, he knows that bandana will show up in one of the photos. He knows exactly which one. He could probably find it by feel, if only because it’s the one he’s looked at the least. All the pictures of Alex, he used to look over often, especially when the polaroids lined his mirror before being tied up and shoved in his dresser. It was more rare that he looked at the one he had of himself. That one, the first one, was always Alex’s favorite of the ones he gave away, and so it had grown to fill a little space in Jack’s heart that felt just short of narcissistic, because it was built by Alex, pinned to the walls of his mind like a little sign that read “this belongs here.”

-

Jack wants to think if he just keeps his mind off Alex for long enough, he’ll forget all the good things with the same ease he’s found in forgetting all the bad up until the very end. Alex had gotten a little existential on his birthday, but it hadn’t felt like that had anything to do with their relationship. Jack had thought – well, he’d been told – it was because Alex didn’t like the thought of getting older.

“I teach so much of human history, it feels… weird knowing I’m living it. I know that doesn’t make any sense. You know I’ve outlived Joan of Arc? I haven’t led a revolution.”

“You’re educating the youth. Maybe one of them will be the next Joan of Arc.” Apparently this had been the wrong thing to say, because Alex just sighed and frowned, blinking up at the sky.

Jack still doesn’t really understand the allure of stargazing, but Alex’s penchant for searching the night sky for anything identifiable was endearing. Jack still can’t identify a single thing at night aside from the moon and Orion. He thinks back to all the names of constellations Alex had thrown at him and remembers some names: Pleiades, Gemini, the Big and Little Dippers, of which he found the big one once and hasn’t been able to see since despite Alex saying “it’s literally right there.” Alex had shown him a trick for finding the North Star by measuring the sky with his hands like some ancient seafaring pirate, but he can’t remember it now.

Before they’d retreated to the backyard to look up at the stars, they’d been inside with Alex’s parents, celebrating his birthday with far less circumstance than Jack would have expected, though it made sense later.

There was a vase of flowers sitting in the center of the coffee table when they came in, and Jack hadn’t had to ask before Alex’s mom – “please call me Izzy” – informed him that Alex had sent them the week before for her birthday, accompanied by her reaching up to squeeze Alex’s cheeks, making him blush. Alex had warned him that she would pull out the photo albums, not for Jack’s sake as much as it was a tradition for her to coo over how much he’s grown each year. Alex compared it to taking pictures on the first day of school each year, except with his family it was all the time. No occasion was too small. Jack had noted that Alex’s instant camera hobby had a clear source, though he didn’t say so out loud.

At some point, Izzy had left to check on dinner and Jack took the opportunity to grab the nearest photo album. If he had to guess, Alex was around eight in the pictures, ruddy cheeks, same outraged smile at being told how to pose, but with added glasses, bright frames almost too big for his face.

“You never told me you wore glasses.”

“I don’t anymore. I never liked them. I still have those though, somewhere in my room.”

Jack had given Alex one look before Alex groaned and went to get the glasses.

Jack continued to flip through the photo album filled with vignettes of Alex in a previous life, one where he and Jack had never met and wouldn’t yet for another twenty years. His eyes caught on one from a winter much like this, where there was just enough snow on the ground for a young Alex to be dressed like a little marshmallow in his puffy coat, sledding down a hill with his eyes closed, probably laughing, potentially screaming. Before he could get too caught up in the pictures, Alex’s mom came back into the room looking excited.

“Did Alex run off? Do you want to see something? There’s a fox outside!”

Jack wasn’t exactly outdoorsy, but she was so enthusiastic about it he had no choice but to put the photo book aside and follow her to the kitchen where, through the tall glass door, there was a fox. It was barely visible in the lights from the back of the house, but its fluffy orange tail was flicking slowly as it crept along the tree line. Jack glanced to the other side of the yard where there was a small hill that looked perfect for sledding. Izzy was telling him that they see more foxes in the spring, but Jack was thinking of how Alex could drag him out there up that hill with a sled in the dark and Jack would follow blindly. He wasn’t planning on weathering the cold, but if Alex asked…

“Jack?” he heard Alex ask from behind him. “Don’t let my mom corrupt you with her nature agenda.”

Izzy just waved her hands at Alex as he held out the glasses to Jack.

“There’s a fox out there,” Jack said.

“Yeah, because she leaves food out for them.”

“They like cheese,” Izzy chimed in.

“Aww but that’s cute,” Jack said when Alex started to say something about how she can’t adopt them, they’re wild animals.

“Good boy. He’s on my side.” Izzy gave Jack a side hug and went back to working on dinner.

“You can’t encourage her,” Alex’s dad said from his seat at the dining table. It seemed this was an ongoing argument.

Jack glanced at Alex and might have imagined that distant look flash across Alex’s face before he extended his arm again, holding out his old glasses. Jack walked over and took them from Alex, following him back into the living room. As soon as he sat down, he put the glasses on, careful not to pull them so hard they broke around his decidedly adult-sized face, and squinted at Alex. He grabbed the photo album and opened it to the first picture of Alex in the same glasses from years ago, holding it up next to his face. “How do I look?”

Alex laughed and told him to hold that pose, running to grab his camera from where he’d left it just inside the front door. He snapped a picture and told Jack he’d put it in his coat pocket when he put the camera back, but either he lied or made a mistake because it was in Jack’s pocket when he got home later that night, an extra slice of plastic-wrapped cake in hand at Izzy’s insistence. Jack had taken a picture of the polaroid and texted it to Alex with a question mark, and all he’d gotten in return was a smiley face, so he figured it was his to add to his slowly growing collection. It got a spot on his mirror, this adorably mismatched Jack and Alex across decades, a reminder that even though they didn’t know each other back then, they got to know each other now.

Jack looks as closely as he can in the firelight down at the tiny Alex in the picture, almost as unrecognizable to him now as the Alex he’d seen last in real life. He involuntarily sighs in thought as he tosses the photo gently into the fire, watching the colors fade back out before the fire eats it all.

-

It surprises Jack, the way the next photo he picks up takes him out. Each one has hurt in it’s own right to look at but something about this one has him leaning against the back of the couch, a pain in his chest stinging suddenly like he’s been punched in the ribs. The room is silent apart from the cracking of the fire but if he focuses he can hear the sound of the shutter going off and a gentle laugh ringing out somewhere in the back of his mind.

It’s not the kind of shot that he normally would have any attachment to. It’s a picture of him from the back, his upper half bare after he had tossed his t-shirt somewhere in the direction of the bathroom. He’s holding up a hanger with a red and black flannel shirt. Looking at it now, he knows there’s another one in his other hand but Alex wasn’t able to capture that from his angle sitting on the edge of the bed. They had just stumbled their way through Alex’s apartment after a night out since Alex had insisted Jack stay the night and just borrow something of his to sleep in.

Jack remembers hearing the camera and turning to pout at Alex. He remembers wanting to say something witty and flirty in response to the attempted sneaky picture but they were both so drunk all he could manage was blowing a kiss back. He returned one of the shirts to the closet before grabbing the red one from the hanger and pulling it over his bare arms, not even attempting to bother with the buttons.

He had caught Alex as he was setting the photo beside the rest of them on his dresser, Jack’s arms wrapping around his waist while his head dropped to rest against Alex’s shoulder. His vision swam a bit while he looked at the pictures all neatly laid out, a short story of the two of them being told in little white squares laid across the scratched up wood. Jack hadn’t been given too long to work his way through the tale of them before Alex spun around and pushed Jack onto the mattress and a laugh spilled from his lips while he climbed into Jack’s lap.

Jack had pushed himself up and immediately shivered at the feeling of Alex’s hands dancing up his sides beneath the open shirt before they had come to rest against the top of his chest, Alex’s fingers drumming out a gentle rhythm against his collarbones. Jack had wondered at the time whether or not Alex could feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest as he looked at him, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth in thought.

“You are thinking way too hard for the state I know we’re both in right now,” Jack had said before reaching a hand up to cup Alex’s cheek and bring their lips together. Alex pulled away far earlier than Jack had deemed appropriate but before he had a chance to whine, Alex had dropped his head to Jack’s shoulder and pressed warm lips against his neck.

“Not to sound possessive or anything but I’m so damn lucky that you’re mine,” Alex whispered with a sigh and a kiss just below Jack’s ear.

Jack felt a blush warm his cheeks as he wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist. “There’s not really a romantic way of saying ditto, is there?” He felt a puff of warm breath against his jaw as Alex laughed in between kisses.

“Maybe I love you, too could do the trick?” Alex said, the slight hesitation in his voice not going unnoticed by Jack as he was met with a worried look when Alex looked up to meet his wide-eyed gaze.

Jack remembered wondering what those three little words would sound like coming from Alex. He didn’t expect that he would be stunned into silence like he was in that moment. A short laugh had left his lips as his thumb traced across the top of Alex’s cheek. “Yeah?”

His question was answered with a tiny nod, Alex’s nerves at the confession still obvious. “If that’s okay? If that’s how you feel, too?”

“Yes,” Jack said without a glimmer of doubt in his voice. “I mean, yeah, I love you, too. But I’m going to wait to say it again until the morning. When we’re both cranky and hungover, if that’s okay?”

“It’s perfect.”

And then Jack was pushed against the mattress again, the flannel shirt soft and warm around him as Alex smiled above him. He could feel the effects of the alcohol starting to wear off as he linked their hands together and pulled Alex down beside him. It was dark, the only light in the bedroom coming from inside the still open closet, but as he held Alex against him, Jack couldn’t help but think that his world had never felt brighter.

The spell breaks suddenly and Jack is back in the darkness of his living room, the soft crackles of the flames just a few feet in front of him and, for just a moment, also the ice maker being the only voices to keep him company. It’s not fair, he doesn’t deserve the ugly hurt pooling in his chest, he thinks, for what feels like the thousandth time in just a few short weeks. Suddenly in his mind dizzied from the wine and love drunk memories, a thought hits him like a bullet between his eyes. He scrambles up, the remaining photos forgotten on the rug as he heads in the direction of his bedroom.

He reaches into his closet nearly blindly, his hands knowing exactly where to reach for what he’s come to retrieve. The red flannel is wrinkled from sitting in a pile shoved behind some jeans since he had tossed it back there a couple weeks earlier. He knew that Rian would have thrown it into the box with the other clothes belonging to Alex he had come to clean out of Jack’s closet in the days just after it happened otherwise.

He balls up the soft, worn fabric while shoving his feet into slippers before making his way back out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the front of the house. He keeps the shirt down at his side knowing there’s a chance Alex’s cologne might still linger on the flannel and given the way the rest of the night has gone, he knows his nostalgia for the soft, sweet scent wouldn’t play nice.

Jack’s not expecting the cold when it hits his bare arms as he steps out into the late winter night but it doesn’t stop his feet from carrying him to the end of the driveway where his trash cans sit waiting for the morning pick-up. One part of his mind had told him to just burn it along with the pictures but his better, barely-there judgement didn’t want to possibly worry Rian and Zack with calls of his living room being set on fire by accident in the middle of the night. He lifts the lid on one of the bins and throws the fabric with some force toward the bottom before immediately turning back to the house. Lingering out in the cold for even a second might bring back more memories of stealing Alex’s sweaters and shirts on chilly nights like this one and he can’t let himself go there.

He jumps at the way the door slams shut from the wind and takes a shaky, deep breath as he lets his back hit the wood of the door while sliding to the floor. He knows what he’s doing in the living room isn’t done yet and that he needs to finish it but whatever he just did has his mind spinning more than the bitter red wine he had drank what feels like ages ago now.

But much like the way every other image he had seen tonight had shot him back to a moment in a so recent past that he thought had held his future, he shouldn’t have been surprised at the way the view from this exact spot knocked him out again while he was already down.

-

It had been less of a warning sign for him compared to Alex, Jack can think in hindsight, but at the time it hadn’t added up to anything more than nostalgia on top of milestones. If he believes hard enough, he can maybe piece together some kind of sign that he was more into this than Alex was. They’d stood among their friends at the bar and toasted to the new year and maybe if he was more sober he would have been able to tell the difference between distance and intoxication. Maybe he could have picked up that his whispered hope for forever had been received in a more alarming way than he’d intended. And maybe he could have used the next morning to reassure Alex that they didn’t have to move so fast.

The past sits heavy in his mind with missed opportunities and what-ifs, and he can only just bear to think of the most hurtful thing of all. Through the rose-colored glasses and endless nights together, there was no way it could have ended that didn’t shatter him, especially after Alex had been the first to pull away.

If he lets himself hope now, with only his memory to prove him right, he thinks maybe Alex had looked a little hurt by what he’d said even though Jack wasn’t making him say it. He’d regretted buying the flowers right away, but instead of throwing them away, they’d fallen to the floor in the entryway where they sat for almost two days before Zack took them to the trash outside so Jack didn’t have to see them anymore. If he’d missed a couple rose petals, they’re long since dry, but they’re there, a lonely few, hidden behind the back legs of his little console. They must have been blown out into the hall when he slammed the door.

“Let’s be honest, this was fun but it’s not going anywhere.”

“What?” It had felt stupid to ask even then, but Jack could almost feel his world being pulled out from under his feet.

“You and me, we were never meant to last. Forever isn’t a real thing anyway.”

“What are you saying?”

“That this was fun, but it’s not anymore, so we should quit while we’re ahead.” Alex handed the roses back and waited, as if he wanted Jack to have the last word, but Jack had been speechless.

To this moment, he can’t think of what he should have or could have said, since Alex had been so casual about it and anything he could say would have been either spiteful or begging him to change his mind, but it felt like he’d been handed a lost cause and asked to save it. He was helpless, and for the first time, he had nothing left to lean on, no hands left to hold. He’d watched in silence as Alex had walked away perfectly composed as Jack collapsed in on himself from the inside out.

-

All but one of the pictures is gone, and the fire is starting to die down. He contemplates tossing another log in, but he feels like he should get to bed eventually, even if it’s only for a change of scenery as to which ceiling he’s staring up at. He could sit here in front of the fire until it’s gone out naturally, but it’ll take too long and the last thing he needs is for Rian to drop by in the morning to find him half asleep on the living room floor. Not that Rian would judge him for it, but he would worry, and Jack feels like he’s been responsible for too much of Rian’s worry these days.

Without looking at the last photo, he tucks it into his back pocket. He knows exactly where it belongs, but first, he should reply to at least one text that’s been sitting in his phone all day. His legs protest when he stands up again, but he makes his way to the kitchen where his phone is on the counter exactly where he’d left it. He opens Zack’s invitation to brunch the next morning and replies with a yes, which Zack won’t see until he wakes up at whatever ungodly hour to work out but it will still be before Jack gets out of bed. He immediately sets himself an alarm for an hour before brunch and resolves that he’ll make up the sleep tomorrow. He already knows that Rian will be at brunch too, so more than likely they’ll swing by to pick him up, which means he won’t oversleep on accident.

He looks over at the fire, small and wavering, and then pulls the photo out of his pocket.

Jack is not a bad driver, no matter what anyone else says. Alex had taken him on their first date to get frozen yogurt, so it was only fair that Jack planned the second date. He hadn’t planned on almost getting lost trying to avoid traffic, but there were only so many roads downtown. If he got lost enough he’d end up on a main road and he could lie and say it’s part of the plan.

“Do you know where you’re going? This shortcut is taking a while.”

“Yes I know where we’re going,” Jack had said indignantly. “I’ve lived here longer than you.”

“Well I’m older than you.”

“By less than a year. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It makes me wiser.”

“Fine, you give me directions. You’re not allowed to look at your phone.”

“I don’t know where we are. I don’t recognize any of these streets.”

“I thought you were supposed to be wise.”

Without too much trouble though, they’d ended up where Jack had planned, at a little French bistro that had excellent breadsticks and even better wine. They got a table on the patio and suddenly Jack felt like he understood why Alex kept taking pictures of things. The sun was setting behind Alex and Jack kept blinking against the orange light and wishing he could capture the picture, golden and hazy around the edges like new beginnings. It was only because Alex had left his camera in the car – and he had told Jack as much – that he wasn’t taking a picture of Jack right there.

They’d walked back to the car brushing shoulders until Alex tentatively took Jack’s hand in his, which was all fun until they realized they couldn’t get back in the car that way. Finding their way back was far less of a journey, but Alex had grabbed Jack’s right hand as soon as they were back on the road, and Jack felt like Alex knew what he was doing every time he loosened his grip to play with Jack’s fingers or squeezed his hand as they talked. Jack can’t remember what he was talking about but he remembers Alex kissing the back of his hand, remembers looking over at Alex for half a second too long and hitting the brake a little too hard so he didn’t drive straight through a red light, remembers his heart pounding from a mix of his own bad driving and Alex’s guilty smile, still holding Jack’s hand, tighter than ever.

The photo itself is from the end of that drive, after they’d spent about half an hour talking in the car outside Alex’s house, neither of them wanting the night to end. Jack had poked fun at Alex’s bandana one too many times, so Alex pulled it off his head and tied it around Jack’s. For once, Alex had told Jack to smile before snapping the photo. The photo printed out slowly and they’d chatted some more as it sat on the dash and developed. Alex looked at it and smiled and said it was the best photo he’d ever taken and he wanted Jack to keep it. It lived in Jack’s wallet for months before it ended up in his dresser drawer with all the others.

Jack from last fall stares up at him now, smiling with crinkly eyes and a lopsided bandana and no idea what the future would hold for him. It’s the only photo he had with only him, no traces of Alex except for the fact that he took it. No distant reflections in wardrobe mirrors, no blurry laughs from being too caught up in the moment to take a real pause and pose for a picture. He pockets the photo and his phone and goes back to the fire to make sure it’s out before going to bed. The polaroid is going right up on his mirror, where it hadn’t been before. It hadn’t joined the others until they were all tied up together, never to be looked at again. He pokes around the ashes until all the embers are dull and grey, and turns the kitchen light off on his way to his room, where finally the only lights left are the ones he’s chosen to keep on.

*

#jalex #jalex fic #all too well fic babey #i'm just #very very proud of meghna and myself and this piece and ugh i have never been SO HAPPY with how a piece has turned out

[bwemph]

It’s a Date

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word count: 3,831

Summary: You and Poe go stargazing, but things take a turn for the worst when the First Order makes an appearance.

Warnings: Mild torture, betrayal

A/N: This is a fic from my old blog Purpleocity. All future fics will be posted here at bwemph :)

Rathides. The Resistance were stationed here to replenish provisions and fuel. Around the ships that had just landed stretched a small city, fitting for the similarly small planet. Though, outside the city was what drew most to this quiet, middle of nowhere place.

Long, rolling hills stretched far as the eye could see under a peachy sky with spindly clouds being dissolved by the dwindling sunlight.However, the real sights were the night skies. The sky turned ebony, and light pollution was minimal, revealing millions of bright stars twinkling in the inky atmosphere. It was rumored that one could see numerous galaxies and nebulas from the right viewing point.

This is what prompted you now as you strode with purpose through the hangar in search of a certain pilot. You glanced down at your watch to make sure you weren’t short on time before your shift was to begin–you were definitely cutting it close. When you looked up from your watch, your eyes landed on Poe Dameron, exactly who you were searching for. BB-8 was handing him tools as he tuned up his X-Wing. You recalled Poe mentioned a strange buzzing sound the other day, so you assumed that must be what he was fixing.

You silently approached and hugged him from behind. He froze in surprise before he realized whose arms were wrapped around his waist. “Hey, Doc.” He wiped his hands with a rag before turning to hug you back. He pecked a greeting kiss to your lips. “What’s going on?”

You grinned. “I just wanted to see you.” You tapped the end of his nose, making him squint and scrunch it a little with a soft laugh. You giggled before going on, “And I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal? Isn’t that my job?” Poe quipped.

“Any day now, Dameron,” you teased back, your eyes flickering to the ring on the chain around his neck. He winked in response, one side of his mouth curving upward. “Anyways,” you cleared your throat, “I heard the night sky is incredible this time of year on this planet. I was thinking maybe you and I could go stargazing tonight?”

Poe smiled, brushing a few stray hairs away from your eyes. “Alright, I’m in.”

“Well, you don’t take much convincing.” You mirrored his chuckle, biting your lower lip. “It’s a date.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You noticed the approaching ship that landed outside, realizing in the ship were a few officers returning from a mission. Several were wounded and being rushed to the infirmary. “Looks like that’s my cue to leave.”

“See you later.” He pressed another quick kiss to your lips.

You gave a rushed, “bye” before jogging off toward the med bay.

“Alright, someone prep this man for surgery. We need to operate immediately,” you heard a medic instruct, pointing to an empty operating room. You strode down the hall as another doctor rushed by with a wounded soldier of some alien species. A groaning pilot staggered down the hall and held his side as a nurse strode along beside him. Several instructions and orders were being relayed across the medical ward in the background as you glanced down at your watch and noted the convenient timing of your shift.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and turned to see a nurse with tan skin and bronze hair holding a few documents.

“We’ve got a woman in need of some attention if you wouldn’t mind taking that on”

You nodded. “It’s what I’m here for. Where’s Doctor Ginn?”

“Assisting a surgery. So is Doctor Dymos. I have a feeling we’ll all be pretty busy for a while since there’s still have more officers that have yet return.”

You nodded again. “Sounds like that mission went badly.” With that, you strode to the room you were pointed toward to find a woman with striking blue eyes slouched against a wall. She grimaced as she looked up to meet your gaze.

“Really, Tatina? You’ve gotta quit getting yourself hurt on these missions.” You laughed softly as you crossed to the brunette.

“I swear, I don’t have a death wish,” she chuckled. “We were ambushed.”

You settled next to her, beginning to tend to her wounds. “What happened out there?”

“Stormtroopers. Somehow the First Order found out we were about to attack. They got to us first.”

You brushed Tatina’s brown locks behind her shoulder, cleaning a wound right at the crook of her neck. “It seems like they’ve been aware of our every move lately. Did they trace you back here?”

“I hope not,” Tatina said, her eyes wide. “We got out as quick as we could.”

You hummed. “I don’t doubt it. You guys are pretty beat up, though. Especially Lieutenant Rourke. He’s part of your squadron isn’t he? How did you manage to stay in this good of shape?”

Tatina looked at her hands and shrugged, a mistake. Her breath caught before quickening. “I’m not sure. The odds were in my favor, I guess.” She offered a little laugh.

“I guess so,” you agreed, finishing the last of Tatina’s wounds. “That should keep you for now. Next time, try not to die.”

Tatina scoffed. “As if I try at all.”

You shrugged and stood. “Well, with how often I see you, I’ll admit I’m a little suspicious,” you joked. “Take care of yourself, Tatina.”

“I always do.”

You shot the soldier a wink before leaving.

You glanced at your watch, realizing your shift was supposed to end an hour and a half ago. You left your quarters after changing into your own clothes and started down the hall in search of Poe. You turned a corner and stopped short, toe to toe with the pilot. You felt your cheeks get a little warm at how close your faces were. Your lips were just short of colliding with his.

“You’re late.” He touched your arm, running his fingers down to lace with yours.

You sighed, your thoughts running back through today’s events. “I know. This Toglomian came in with some serious injuries and we needed to operate immediately. It took us forever.” You looked at your hands tangled together, smiling as you looked back up. “But, I’m here now and I’m all yours.” You sealed your lips to his to punctuate your sentence.

Poe hummed, a hand going to the side of your face. “I like the sound of that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on!” You pulled on his hand eagerly. “What are we waiting for? There’s zillions of stars out there waiting for us!” You practically dragged him down the hall.

The stars were endless. There was almost no space in the sky the stars didn’t cover. Between the stars, planets could be seen, peeking down at you. Galaxies and nebulas also scattered themselves about the sky, glowing rich colors.

“Isn’t this just gorgeous?” You folded your arms beneath your head as you gazed in awe at the sky. “There’s so much life out there. It’s so strange that as much of it that we’ve travelled through, there’s still an infinite expanse out there that we’ll probably never live to see.”

Poe hummed a response.

“It’s just…wow,” you went on, feeling unable to tear your gaze from the sea of stars. “It’s one of those things that’s just so beautiful you can’t look away, you know?”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.” His voice was serene, almost as if he were in a trance.

You broke your gaze away from the sky and looked to Poe, who was turned on his side and smiling softly at you. You felt your cheeks flush and watched him prop himself up on his elbow. You followed his example.

“You are so beautiful.” He caressed your cheek, closing the space between you two. He kissed you so tenderly, and yet you felt your heart was about to explode right out of your chest from the adoration in the kiss. You returned the kiss, your passion seeping in. Poe pulled you closer to his chest, letting a hand roam your body. He guided you down to your back and hovered over you, smiling before leaning down to kiss you again. However, before he met your lips, a ship appeared from light speed in the sky. Your eyes widened. Poe followed your gaze and let you sit up, unconsciously interlocking his fingers with yours. A shuttle descended from the ship and made to land nearby.

“We gotta go,” Poe said, tugging on your arm and pulling you toward the base.

The shuttle you tried to elude landed in front of you, keeping your chace brief, and several Stormtroopers poured out. You and Poe raised your hands in surrender while while the Troopers aimed their blasters.

“Excellent job, trainees,” a familiar, very smooth voice said. A woman with long brown hair stepped around the barrier of Troopers. “Captain Phasma will be proud.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. It took you a moment to process the situation. “Tatina? Wha…”

Tatina shifted her weight. “It’s Jayne, actually.” She looked down her nose at you, but the antagonistic look in her eye wasn’t entirely genuine.

“You-you’re with the First Order?”

Jayne sighed, crossing her arms. “I’d consider myself more of an ally.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ll be missing having you stitch me up every other day.” She offered a small smile before looking to the trainees. “Let’s get them to Commander Ren. If he gets impatient I’ll be left to deal with the repercussions.”

The last thing you remembered before it all went dark was being hit over the head, and hearing Poe’s grunt as he felt the same.

Jayne led the trainees off the shuttle, watching a couple transport the now unconscious prisoners to a cell. She met Kylo as he strode into the hangar and watched the Troopers head toward the prisons. He removed his helmet to look down at Jayne, a smile threatening to curl his lips.

“Well done, love,” he praised, caressing her cheek. She savored the touch, as it wasn’t typical for him to show affection while on duty. “You never disappoint me.”

Jayne gave a proud smile. “That’s pleasing to hear.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Kylo’s lips before he rested a hand on her shoulder to push past.

“Commander,” Jayne blurted, catching his hand, “do me a favor?”

“Of course.” His voice was soft again as she stepped forward, his demeanor shifting a little at the use of his title.

She watched the Troopers disappear around the corner. “Once you’re done with them, the prisoners,” she shuffled a little, “send them back. We’ll have no benefit from keeping them here or killing them.”

A look flashed across Kylo’s face that Jayne couldn’t quite discern. He took a step toward her, his looming nature leaving her unphased. “Are you empathizing with the Resistance?”

“No,” she responded cooly, “just the doctor.” Kylo raised an eyebrow, prompting her to go on, “I endured no shortage of wounds during my time undercover. She took care of me. Please, let her and the pilot go. Just this once.”

“They’ll die anyway.”

Jayne sighed. “I know. Please, just give them the illusion of hope.”

Kylo’s expression hardened as he nodded once. He sighed and strode off the direction of the prisoners.

A chill went down your spine as you woke with a start. You looked around as your eyes adjusted to the dark. You realized you were on the floor. You sat up and squeezed your eyes shut at your pounding headache.

“Y/N, you alright?” Poe asked, his voice rasping a little.

You nodded shortly, then furrowed your brow as you spotted a red streak on his face where his dark curls clung to his forehead.

“You’re bleeding.” The concern was evident in your tone as you leaned forward and inspected the wound closely. In your mind, you started running through all the possible treatments for his wound.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Poe assured, catching your wrists as you reached forward to examine his head further. He pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles on both hands. “You’re bleeding too.” He gestured to the spot on your head that mirrored his. You reached up and felt the sticky red substance on your forehead as well, looking down at your fingers.

“Where are we?” you asked.

Poe sighed. “Some sort of holding cell within the First Order, I assume.”

You were about to say something when your head turned at the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. They echoed through the rest of the presumably empty cells ominously. A dark, looming figure paused at the door: Kylo Ren. He used the Force to open the door and stepped inside, stalking forward. He stood over you, and you couldn’t help but inch backward to escape the heavy gaze of the Commander. He took a moment to inspect the pair of you closely before heaving you to your feet.

“Y/N, no!” Poe protested, lunging forward. Kylo Force slammed him against the wall, leaving him unable to do anything but watch. You held back a frightened yelp as Kylo looked deep into your eyes through his dark helmet.

“I want answers,” he spoke, his voice deep and distorted. “The more compliant you are, the sooner I’ll leave you be.”

You felt your feet lift from the ground as Kylo used the Force to paralyze you (Though, you were already practically paralyzed by fear).

“I’m not telling you anything,” you hissed between strained breaths.

Kylo’s chuckle was low, almost inaudible. “You don’t have to.”

You gasped as you suddenly felt his presence in your head, intrusive and overpowering. He poked through a few of your thoughts, staying at the forefront of your mind while you fought to keep him from going any further. He was subtle at first, trying to slip through the places you left unguarded. You cried out as Kylo took a more aggressive approach, shutting your eyes tightly as though it might help.

“No, no, stop,” Poe rasped, his panic betraying him and seeping into his tone. He fought the Force that kept him in place. “You will not hurt her.”

Another cry escaped your lips despite your resistance. Kylo stopped and observed one of your thoughts for a good long time, realizing Poe was at the forefront of your mind, even before the Resistance or the information you were trying desperately to keep.

“You’re right,” Kylo crooned, dropping you. You landed on the cold floor with a thud and a small grunt. “I’ll hurt you. I imagine she’ll sing then.” He was too pleased with himself as he strode toward Poe, driving him to his knees. “Right, Doctor?” Kylo glanced to you.

“She’s a nurse, how can you expect her to know anything?” Poe blurted, tripping over his words and now looking afraid.

“Oh, I think she knows something.” Kylo ignited his lightsaber, the red glow highlighting the crimson streaks on Poe’s forehead. “Speak now, and your precious pilot will be left unharmed.”

“Don’t give him anything!” Poe urged, “Think of the Resistance!”

A conflict stirred within you, and you felt your heart pounding as Kylo threatened to run Poe through. You hesitated just a moment too long before Poe’s scream echoed through the cell as Kylo touched the crossguard of the saber to Poe’s shoulder.

“Poe!” you shrieked, tears blurring your vision. He grit his teeth and fruitlessly tried to escape the pain. Sparks flew and the smell of singed fabric and flesh wafted through the air and intermixed with Poe’s cries.

His head fell forward when Kylo removed his saber, awaiting a response from you.

“You’re not easily persuaded,” Ren observed. “No matter. I’ve got all night.” He circled Poe for a moment, calculating his next move as if this were a game of chess. He slunk to Poe’s left side, sinking to eye level. “Unless you have something to say, pilot.” Poe kept his gaze fixated on the ground, his shoulders rising and falling with each irregular breath. “Very well,” Kylo said with a shrug, again using his crossguard to burn a patch into Poe’s ribs. Kylo dragged it slowly and shamelessly across Poe’s side.

He cried out again, his voice breaking before Kylo withdrew his lightsaber and then landed a slash across Poe’s left arm. Kylo let the Force subside around Poe, watching him collapse to the ground. He groaned feebly.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, fighting with everything in you to escape the Force, but you were left helpless to the situation.

Kylo raised his saber as if he were going to strike Poe across the back, but you blurted at the last moment, “Alright, I’ll talk!” You tried to contain a sob. The red light contracted, leaving the shadows to consume the cell again.

“Go on then.”

You held back tears. “Our ship is located in Chaxnuss City.” You paused to take a breath. You sniffled.

“When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.” Your voice shook. “We’re refueling and restocking on food.”

“You’re vulnerable, then.”

You let your head drop. Poe helplessly tried to push himself from the ground. You found yourself unable to look at him at all.

“Tell me,” Kylo said, using the Force to tilt your chin up, “when can I expect you to be at your least immune to an unfortunate attack?”

You took another shaky breath. “Dawn,” you admitted with a quiet sob, “just before dawn.”

Kylo nodded, satisfied with the information he received. “Guards!” he called. He stalked away almost silently, murmuring an order to the two Troopers who marched in.

They paced forward, seizing you and Poe. You were towed down several halls and corridors before you were taken back to the hangar, where you were put on a shuttle and promptly dropped back onto Rathides.

You looked to Poe, whose breathing was ragged and labored. You stumbled over, throwing his arm around her shoulder. He groaned softly and staggered alongside you.

“It’s gonna be okay, don’t you worry. You’ll be okay,” You assured yourself more than Poe.

When you finally reached the ship, you wasted no time calling in a handful of other medics to assist you in taking Poe to the med bay.

Poe grimaced as you helped him remove his shirt to assess his injuries.

“You doing okay, Dameron?” you asked in hopes of keeping him conscious. You inspected his shoulder wound a little closer, trying your best to keep your eyes from flickering across his chest despite your concern.

He gave a half smile. “You think some creep in a mask can get rid of me that easy?” he teased, his voice low and raspy.

You laughed softly. “Well, a girl can worry, can’t she?”

BB-8 beeped a greeting as it rolled in, seeming relieved that Poe was alright.

“Hey, buddy.” Poe smiled at his droid.

It cheeped back in a scolding tone something along the lines of “how dare you get captured without me?”

Poe chuckled at his droid’s comment, but then there was a tense silence that lingered a few moments. Poe broke it as you began dressing the wound on his shoulder, “You didn’t have to do that for me,” he spoke softly, “you didn’t have to tell him all that.”

You avoided his eyes. “I know. I just…I couldn’t keep watching him do that to you.” Your voice shook as you recalled the sight. You tried to distract yourself away from the subject by moving on to Poe’s other wounds. They wept a little blood, but at this point were mostly either cauterized or clotting.

“Hey,” Poe’s hand went to the side of your face in spite of his injuries, prompting you to meet his gaze, “thank you.”

You blinked back more tears, smiling a little. “Any time.” You pecked a kiss to his lips before continuing fixing up his wounds.

Later, you went in search Leia, guilt thoroughly wracking your insides. “General Organa?” Your voice shook as you approached.

Leia turned and looked at you, a small smile curling her lips. “Doctor, I’m pleased to see you’re safe.”

You nodded in thanks, one of your shoulders raising slightly. “General, I…” You sighed, holding back even more tears. That seemed like all you had been doing tonight. “I told Ren everything. Our location, our vulnerability, our–”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Doctor.” The General placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. You looked up hesitantly. “We’ve finished fueling and we’ll be leaving within the next hour or so. Anything you told him isn’t going to matter.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the stars.”

“Besides,” Leia smiled, “you saved my best pilot. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Your head dropped as you realized you suddenly felt shy. “What would we do without him?” You rubbed your arm and shuffled your feet a little.

Leia nodded in agreement. “We were lucky this time. Next time, maybe stargaze a tad closer to the ship when we’re on a foreign planet. You never know when reinforcements will be needed.” She winked. “Now, go ahead and take the rest of the evening off, Doctor. You need it.”

“Thank you, General.” You nodded in thanks before turning to leave.

You collapsed onto your bed after showering and changing into something clean and comfortable. You let your eyes close for a minute while you tried your hardest to avoid thinking about what happened earlier that night. You couldn’t seem to get the image of Poe writhing on the ground out of your mind. It was seared into your brain like the burn on his side. You decided to go check in again. It would keep you from worrying too much.

You strode to his quarters, finding him out cold and tangled in his sheets. You smiled and watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest before he stirred. You quietly padded over to his bed and settled on the edge. You brushed a few of his curls away from his forehead. Poe slipped his hand into yours as his eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” you breathed.

Poe moved over and gestured to the empty space next to him. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You sighed as you lay next to him. “Just concerned about you, I guess.”

“Well, no need to worry. I had a really good doctor fix me up.” He pecked a kiss to your nose.

You smiled, your face heating a little. You rolled onto your side to look at him. You ran your fingertips over his chest. Your lips found his cheek before you hid your face in the crook of his neck. “Thanks, babe.”

“And as soon as we land on another planet, we’ll go stargazing for real.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He sealed his lips to yours for a moment.

“Well then,” you broke the kiss for a fleeting moment, “it’s a date.”

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe x reader #oscar isaac #star wars #the force awakens #the last jedi #rise of skywalker

[crackmycrack6669]

Of Burger King Big Macs and Burlap Sacks

Summary: through trials and hardships, your love for taehyung prevails in the least likely of places...

Genre: crack / angst / fluff

Pairings: taehyung / reader 

Word Count: 2.1k 

Warnings: multiple innuendos / mcdonald’s / knife play / major character death / foul language

A/N: back at it again with the white vans schlurp

Tags:

-ooo-

69 months is a long time.

69 months working the night shift is an even longer time.

The point is that the night shift sucks and is a long time. Or maybe it’s working at McDonald’s—home to the Chicken Ranch Snack Wrap and the Fruit n’ Yogurt Parfait—that sucks, but honestly that kinda seems like the best part to you. Your friends would say otherwise, but you can’t deny the feeling of pure elation you get in your stomach every time you consume your favorite Quarter Pounder with cheese. Or perhaps that feeling is gas...

Tonight is a particularly challenging night. The amount of customers who enter the building tend to dwindle around nine, so the past hour has gone by slower than the snails inching across the soiled floor by your Crocs.

Your stomach rumbles in anticipation when you glance down at your watch and determine you have five minutes until your next break; however, some nights you like to live life on edge. “To hell with it!” you exclaim, gripping the brown paper bag containing your second dinner and hobbling over to a booth to eat. Who can stop you anyway?

The answer to that question is: customers. Any customer who arrives within the next five minutes can stop you, but you swallow that idea in the same fashion you swallow the chewed up remains of your McDonald’s Whopper Jr.

It’s as you are smacking on a particularly bready piece of bread that your worst fears manifest before your very eyes. Someone—a man—is approaching the establishment. He’s approaching very quickly, you note, before it registers he’s running. Away from what? you wonder, before said man hastily enters.

You nearly choke when your eyes are graced with his form—95% lean ground beef you’d gladly cook up and serve in a nice taco. Your taco, if you have any say in the matter. As if his form isn’t already a five-star meal that Gordon Ramsay cooked up, plated, and served you himself, his eyes are like greasy burger patties—brown and shimmering—behind the ski mask he wears snuggly around his head. 

Ski mask!

At the realization, you jump to your feet in an attempt to flee but find yourself winded from the motion. Working out has never really been your thing. In the time it takes you to catch your breath, the man pulls the questionable article of clothing off his head in one swift motion, revealing skin so golden, it puts the chicken nuggets in your pockets to shame. Your mouth waters at the thought.

The man saunters over to the counter, and you subtly check out his nice set of buns. “Why are you looking at my ass?” Or maybe you weren’t so subtle...

You’re taken aback by his accusation, shoving a fist frantically into your pocket to reach for a chicken nugget. Stress-eating is one of your more healthy coping mechanisms. “It’s just right there,” you insist, maintaining eye-contact as you gulp down a fistful of mediocre fries.

The stranger shudders at the sight before glancing around the empty building. In search of other life forms, you assume. It’s too bad your coworker’s body is stewing in his own blood somewhere in the walk-in fridge. You really want to finish your Shamrock Shake. “Is there anyone who can take my order?” he asks when he concludes it is, in fact, just the two of you.

“Yup.” You stand up, brushing the crumbs off the front of your shirt before maneuvering behind the counter. “How can I be of service?”

The handsome young man cards a hand through his sweat-matted hair before scanning the length of your curves and offering a grin. Hell, you think you even see him lick his lips. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s checking you out. But you do know better. Men—or women for that matter—don’t check you out. To the world, you’re as appetizing as a piece of warm bologna on the bottom of someone’s dirty work boot. In other words, you are inedible. Despite this, you can’t help but wonder what his intentions are due to the way he bites his top lip and leans in closer. Usually people frown and lean away in your presence. Not him. “I think you can be of service in a few ways.” The man winks as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.

You blink at his response. This is a joke, right? It’s late, you’re ugly, he’s hot. This is a joke, you tell yourself. Even so, you’ve never been victim to a prank before. You decide to play along. After all, this could be your last chance to. Not that you think you’re going to die soon. Although the ski mask, in addition to the rips and questionable red staining on his pants and shirt, are the teensiest bit concerning. Not concerning enough for you to be concerned though. “What would you like?” you croon, attempting to flutter your non-existent eyelashes. “I’m at your disposal.”

Although it probably looks like you’re spasming rather than flirting, the man seems very receptive to your words. “Hmm, okay then.” He pauses, scanning your form so intensely you briefly wonder if you forgot to get dressed again. Remembering back to the horrific experience makes your lady-boner shrivel before the man continues. “Can I have a two-piece thigh and two-piece breast?” 

“Sir, you do realize you are at a McDonald’s, right? We don’t sell thighs or breasts”—you lean in even closer—“or meat.”

“That’s okay, doll,” he coos sweetly into your ear, and you feel the twitch of your lady-boner reinflating. “I actually have quite a large package of meat on me already.” The stranger is anything but subtle in the way he glances down and gestures towards his crotch, drool glistening around his lips. You briefly wonder what kind of meat he keeps packaged below. Based on the man’s growing bulge, you guess sausage. Maybe even a phat cock—but the lack of talons and feathers make you think otherwise. 

“Mmm, I bet,” you moan. “And what would you like to drink with your meal?”

And with that, the man pulls you into a kiss.

Your first kiss.

The sensation of his lips colliding with yours is like velvet plush and moist baby wipes. The feeling intensifies as he presses harder, eliciting a guttural, animalistic moan from the base of your throat. He feels so good. Your skin tingles in the wake of each swipe and caress of his pink muscle known as the tongue. You inhale and suck it into the back of your mouth, coughing and spewing phlegm all over his smooth skin when you inevitably choke on it. You never thought you would ever be locking lips with a man—especially a man you just met...during your shift...at a McDonald’s. But here you are, doing just that, savoring the moment as if it’ll be your last. Not that you think you’re going to die soon. Although the knife he whips out and now presses to your neck is the teensiest bit concerning. Not enough for you to be concerned though.

The cool metal of the blade is a stark contrast to the heated tension between the two of you, and you feel pregnant just thinking about it. He slides the edge of the weapon along a curve in one of your many chins, leaving a slight scratch in its wake. He kisses this better. The sensation is quite delightful. 

“Baby, the only thing I want to drink is your cum on my tongue.” 

Reluctantly, you pull away, already missing the feeling. “I-I’ve never kissed anyone before,” you admit, head lowering in embarrassment. You know deep down you shouldn’t be embarrassed. There are lots of women in their seventies who’ve never had their first kiss.

“Glad I could be your first.” He winks with an eye. “Get it? Eye.”

No. No you don’t. But you find yourself laughing despite. “Eye...see what you did there.”

“So…” the man begins, “wanna take a ride in my van? It’s white.”

Although he is probably a serial killer, you decide that everyone has skeletons in their closet. And though maybe his skeletons are real, why should you reject him? Especially since he’s the only person to ever show any shred of love for you. Even your parents don’t look at you with the same love and adoration he does.

You maneuver out from behind the counter to greet the handsome man you will forever know as your first love. You hope he will be all your firsts, but you keep this desire to yourself for fear of being overbearing. Without thinking too much, you agree to leave in the middle of your shift to follow a handsome stranger. You’re excited to finally do something spontaneous for once in your life.

Upon your assent, the man throws a burlap sack over your head and swings you over his notably broad shoulder. Kinky. Then you hear the whoosh of his van doors as he deposits you in the back. You feel flustered with the realization that you are now inside his big, hard, white van.

“So, how long is it going to take until we get where we’re going?” you ask after he hops into the driver’s side.

“I’m quick and fast, baby. It won’t take me too long to finish.”

“I like it quick and fast,” you say, letting out a soft moan. He takes this opportunity to rev the engine before speeding out of the parking lot. He snarls, feeling feisty.

As you hop out of his van and pull the sack off your head, you’re greeted with the decrepit interior of a cabin, sheltered in darkness and the depths of the surrounding forest. As you scan the room, you inhale stale air and dust, and the sound of your coughs scare a few rats out of hiding. They scurry and squeak around the damaged, rotten floors.

Beside you, the man rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not much, but this is where I take care of all my lovers.”

“I’m so excited,” you tell him. But a thought strikes you. You reach for his hands, rubbing the crusted blood off the backs of them with the pads of your wrinkled thumbs. “You haven’t even told me your name,” you whisper, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. Curse that Filet-o-Fish.

The stranger in front of you—no longer a stranger after sharing fLUiDs—will soon reveal his name and your heart seizes in your chest at the prospect. This is love, you think before you realize that no, no it isn’t love. Your heart is seizing for a completely different reason. Your body is deteriorating. 69 months working the McDonald’s night shift has finally taken its toll on your frail body. You are dying. You stumble forward, gripping at your chest as some means to demonstrate where the pain lies. The man lunges forward, catching you in his arms as you fall, but—unsurprisingly—your weight is too much for him to handle, and he tumbles backwards, hitting his head on the rickety flooring. Fuck, you’re struggling to breathe. The love of your life cradles you in his arms as you wheeze, gasping for air.

“Fuck, baby what’s wrong?” your handsome lover cries, positioning your head on his lap.

You wheeze, attempting to find the words to say, but they’re trapped with that bloody Filet-o-Fish. Maybe you were asphyxiating to death. You don’t know. You really should have paid better attention in health class...and probably just school in general. “Please—tell me your—name,” you plead between moments of choking on your tongue.

“I’m Taehyung,” he sobs, moving his hands from your hair to grasp his own. Your untimely death seems to be affecting him greatly—the fact that he is probably a psychopath notwithstanding. “And you?” he barely manages to get out. It seems that he has a burger lodged in his throat at the moment too.

“Y/N,” you sputter. It’s the last sputter you ever make.

Taehyung goes still at the recognition that your body has stopped gasping for air. He should be used to this by now, being a McDonald’s worker himself and all, but you are different. After what seems like an eternity of a silence thiccer than it is long, Taehyung sighs. Only one word manages to slip past his ketchup-colored lips.

“씨발.”

#bts imagines #jimin imagines #jungkook imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #bts fanfiction #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fanfic #bts #fanfic #taehyung drabbles #bts drabbles #jimin drabbles #jungkook drabbles #jimin smut #jungkook smut #taehyung smut #jin fluff #jin angst #jin smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #bts crack #crack #angst #fluff #smut

[shedreamsofstars]

Cataclysm of the Heart - Chapter 8

She’d waited so long to hear those words fall from his perfect lips. She’d never even stopped to consider that they might not be sincere.

They were going to die. He’d been sure of it. It had only been meant as a comfort. Something to keep a smile on her face as their end loomed.

Neither of them had counted on being rescued.

Start from the beginning  |  Epilogue

... xxx ...

A speech.

Sonic scoffed at the idea.

The mayor had scheduled an emergency meeting with him that morning to convince him to give a speech - as if talking to everyone that survived Eggman's attack could somehow make things better.

No.

Words were the last thing anyone should let come out of his lips; Amy was proof of that. He couldn't even trust himself to talk to one person without putting his foot in his mouth, let alone a whole congregation. Especially when the one addressing them was the very person who had failed them to begin with.

Just the thought of walking out at the vigil with a fake smile plastered on his face drained him, let alone forming words of reassurance. He'd barely even been able to drag himself out of bed this morning,

Thoughts of Amy had been plaguing him for days on end, ever since the incident at the tea shop. He'd gone looking for her several times, but whether she was just busy volunteering somewhere or purposefully avoiding him, he was never able to find her.

He'd hurt her, he knew that. But she'd rushed off so quickly that he'd never fully had the chance to explain himself. And he needed to explain himself. He might have broken their friendship with his careless words, but he still had hope that he could salvage it if he tried hard enough. If only he could find her.

Amy would be at the vigil, he was sure of that much at least. Whether she'd be willing to speak to him was a different story altogether. He hoped she would. They had so much history, surely she wouldn't throw it all away over this one mistake.

He wasn't strong enough to make a speech for the people he swore to protect, but he had enough left in him to not give up. He'd go to the vigil to honour and remember the lives he'd failed to protect, and he'd go for the girl whose heart he had shattered.

He would go for her - to her - and he would fix what he had broken.

... xxx ...

One blink.

One moment of confusion.

That was all it took for Sonic to slip from her fingers like sand. That was all it took for Amy to go from having her arms around his warm body to clutching at thin air in a haze of uncertainty.

'If anyone has to die … then it only makes sense for it to be the hero'

His haunting words shot through her mind like a bullet, searing a ferocious path that left her gasping for air. Or maybe that had been his kiss.

Amy's resolve had dwindled in the face of the truth and the blue hedgehog's sincerity. Sonic wanted to kiss her, and if she was going to sacrifice herself then chaos help her but she would know what it was to kiss the love of her life first.

Asking him to do it again had felt liberating, as if she was breaking free from chains she didn't even know she was being held back by. And if asking had liberated her, to receive had felt like deliverance.

Sonic's kiss was wonderful and perfect. Until it was gone and she was left cold and alone with nothing but her own thoughts for company. Well, not nothing. She still had the-

Amy stared at her empty hand, her eyes widening in alarm. She could still feel the indent in her palm from where the panes of the gem had dug into her skin, and if she closed her eyes she could almost believe that it was still in her possession.

But try as she might, nothing changed the truth.

The emerald was gone.

Sonic.

No.

No, no, no.

That selfish bastard couldn't do this. Not now. This couldn't be how it would end.

In that moment, Amy didn't care that Sonic had used his own desire to distract her from what he was really up to. All she could think was that the blue hedgehog was going to go and hurt himself and he was going to be all alone whilst he did it.

No. This couldn't end like this. She wouldn't let it.

"SONIC!" she yelled, her boots clanging against the metal ground as she rushed through the corridors to the energy room, hoping she wasn't too late. Amy had always loved Sonic's speed, but with her own feet not moving as fast as she wished they would, she found herself cursing it.

When she finally reached the door she needed, her heart stuttered in protest as she found him. He was advancing on the Master Emerald, battling away sparks of raw energy with the small gem in his hand.

Cold terror clutched at her spine at every surge that arced towards him, curving away at the last second as if repelled by the gem clutched tightly in his fingers. Her own fingers found the door handle and pulled it open, pausing at the threshold when her fur stood on end from the electricity in the air.

Sonic turned at the sound of the door, sending a hard stare over his shoulder. "Don't come any closer Amy, it's not safe." He watched her for a second, making sure she wasn't following before heading for the large gem again.

She watched with her heart in her throat, untamed energy crackling menacingly as Sonic curled into himself and shot towards the Master Emerald. It was held upright by four claw-like pieces of metal, glowing brightly as its power coursed through them.

Sonic's attack was fast, but it only glanced off the surface and he was sent flying backwards, barely catching himself enough to land on his feet. As he tried again and again to no avail, Amy worried her lip. Sonic's attacks weren't focused enough to reach the claws, but maybe …

She held a hand out in front of her, feeling the energy in the room simmering against her skin. Rushing into the room without protection was likely going to sting, but what other choice did she have. Sonic needed her.

Ignoring every sane thought in her mind, Amy tumbled across the threshold, her breath catching as she felt the rush of power slam into her. The door shut with a solid thud behind her. "Sonic!" she called out with a startled gasp, the charged air burning her throat as she fell to her knees.

Sonic turned at his name, eyes flashing with panic as he realised she'd deliberately ignored him. It took him less than a second to reach her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her up and into his chest as the chaos energy flickered around them.

"What the chaos is wrong with you Amy!" he snarled, his breath brushing against her neck as Amy struggled to regain her footing. "You don't have anything to protect you. The power in here alone could have killed you!"

His hands tightened against her with every word and Amy didn't have the courage to turn and see his expression. Instead, she pressed her lips together tightly and stared dead ahead of her. "You're in here Sonic, that's all I need."

"What if I hadn't gotten to you in time?"

"I knew you would."

Sonic shook his head, making a sound of exasperation before resting his head on her shoulder. She was pressed so close to him that she could feel the erratic rise and fall of his chest against her back. She wasn't sure how far the chaos emerald's barrier extended, but it seemed Sonic wasn't taking any chances.

"Don't let go of me," he said sternly. "I'm taking you back out."

"No! I'm not going back," she protested, craning her head around to meet his sharp gaze. "You can't break the Master Emerald free and you know it. I saw your attacks Sonic, and you can't do much without damaging the emerald. You need something more precise and my hammer is perfect for that."

"Then give me your hammer," he replied impatiently.

"No, I'm not leaving you. You said yourself you wouldn't try and stop me."

Sonic looked as if he was fully ready to argue this out, but a sudden burst of power nearly knocked them off their feet and he held his tongue. The cannon could go off any moment, and the more time they wasted the worse off they'd be.

"Alright fine, let's go," he said tightly, realising he had no other choice. Begrudgingly, he steered Amy towards the Master Emerald and it wasn't long before they were in range to cause some serious damage.

Amy stretched out her hand, calling out for her hammer. The moment it appeared, Sonic loosened his hold on her a fraction to give her free movement. "Keep close to me," he instructed, and Amy wondered if he was only talking about the protection barrier. The look in his eyes seemed to suggest otherwise but she was in no position to decipher his cryptic gaze.

She turned towards her target, aiming for one of the four metallic claws that held the Master Emerald in place, sucking out its energy. If she could break even one of them, then she'd break the circuit and hopefully stop the flow of energy completely.

From watching Sonic earlier, she knew it wasn't going to be as easy as it sounded. The energy flowing out of the gem acted as a barrier of its own, easy deflecting Sonic's attacks. But her hammer was smaller and easier to control.

If she could aim it just right …

She swung down but just as the hammer sailed towards the closest claw, it hit an invisible barrier that sent out a frantic pulse of energy powerful enough to send her flying backwards. She fell into Sonic, who having done this before, was expecting the knockback and managed to hold their ground.

"Thanks," she murmured, straightening up.

"You're not strong enough to break the forcefield," Sonic said from over her shoulder. His words held no judgement, but Amy grit her teeth in annoyance as she realised he was right.

She had felt the protective barrier surrounding the claw resist her, sending her hammer sliding harmlessly to the side. For years she had worked so hard to build up her strength, and now when it came down to it, it still wasn't enough.

Something warm touched her hand and she watched as Sonic's fingers settled over the top of her own. "You're not strong enough on your own, but maybe together …" He let the rest of the sentence drop away when Amy nodded in understanding, his fingers tightening over hers as he lent her his strength.

Amy turned back to the emerald, raising the hammer and setting her aim on the same claw as before. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Sonic called back, and without further warning, Amy used their combined force to slam the hammer down hard against the side of the claw. She felt the hammer attempt to recoil as it hit the barrier, but with Sonic's force accompanying her own, they hit their mark.

The claw snapped off the machine with a sharp crack, the force of the circuit breaking sending out an unavoidable power surge that short-circuited the entire system. Without the energy keeping them up, the remaining claws fell in on themselves and relinquished their hold on the Master Emerald.

The large gem fell tumbling to the ground, rolling along the floor and coming to a stop as it hit the base of Sonic's shoe.

Without a source of power, the untamed energy in the room vanished in a blink. The cannons systems powered down and the room became oddly quiet. The only sounds remaining were the soft whirring of the ship, the whine of the cannon as it powered down and their own laboured breathing.

They'd done it.

Holy chaos, they'd done it.

A burst of relieved laughter bubbled up her throat at the absurdity of the sudden calm. Sonic's eyes whipped to her in surprise, but there was no mistaking the grin on his face as he spun her around to face him.

She reached up to hold his face between her hands and Sonic, hands still on her waist, pulled her closer so their bodies were flush. "Good call there Ames. I couldn't have done it without you," he said, their noses knocking together playfully.

"I know," she replied with a grin, hands sliding down his shoulders to rest against his arms.

Sonic's gaze darkened a little. "Amy," he said, her name little more than a whisper on his lips before he sighed and took a small step away from her. "I made so many mistakes, and I'm probably going to keep making them but …"

"But?"

"I know how the world sees me, but in truth, I'm just a regular old hedgehog."

"With super speed."

"A regular old hedgehog with super speed," Sonic conceded with a low chuckle. "I'm not making any promises I can't hold to, but how about we go get chilli dogs when all this blows over."

Amy hesitated on purpose, biting her lip to suppress a giggle as Sonic began to sweat his decision. Good. He deserved that much at least for the stunt he'd pulled with the chaos emerald earlier. When he looked like he'd spontaneously combust without an answer, she finally gave in.

"That sounds nice," she admitted quietly. A former version of her might have been disappointed by the prospect, expecting some grand gesture. But after everything they'd been through, Amy saw it as the olive branch that it was. And even without that, chilli dogs sounded perfect to her so long as Sonic was there with her, wanting to be with her.

The blue hedgehog relaxed visibly, and Amy took the opportunity to slip out of his hold to examine the Master Emerald. If they'd damaged it somehow, then the pair of them were going to get an earful from Knuckles.

Around them, the cannons low whine finally ended as the power died out. Before she could take a look at the gem, Amy found herself jumping to her feet as the room came alive with a sharp siren, Sonic stepping towards her instinctively,

'Power malfunction detected. Self-destruct sequence initiated. Sixty seconds until immediate termination.'

The two hedgehogs shared a look of terror before Sonic grabbed Amy's hand, pulling her towards the exit. "The door won't open," he said in alarm, tugging at it harder to no avail. He gave Amy a worried glance before releasing her hand and attacking the keypad with fast, dangerous punches.

Amy slid past him to the door, placing her hand on the clear glass. Fear crawled down her spine as she recognised the glass as the same material of the cage they'd been trapped in not too long ago. They wouldn't be able to break the door with brute strength alone.

"Tails," Amy called out, tapping frantically at her communicator. "Tails are you there?!"

"I'm right here Amy. What happened?"

"We stopped the cannon, but it activated the self-destruct and now the door won't open!" she said, unable to hide the panic in her voice.

"Eggman must have added a failsafe so the self-destruct would cause a ship-wide lock down. You need to find another way out of there quickly!"

Sonic stopped punching the wall, his gaze sliding to Amy. He reached for the arm with her communicator and pulled it towards him. "Is there anything you can do from your end bro?" he called, eyes unreadable as they searched for something in Amy's.

"I'm trying Sonic, but I don't … maybe you can use the emerald to-"

The click of the button as Sonic cut the call on Tails was clear even in the din of the countdown and Amy stared at Sonic in surprise. He was looking at her, his face strangely blank as he tapped it once more to power down.

"Why did you do that Sonic? You need to call Tails back," she said, failing to pull her arm out of his grip. The blue hedgehog shook his head, and when his own communicator buzzed with an incoming call, he declined it before she had a chance to answer.

"No Sonic, don't … Tails said you could use the-"

"It won't work," he interrupted quietly as the monotonous countdown dropped to single digits. "There's not enough time Amy."

Amy choked back the sob building in her throat. They had less than a handful of moments left, and from the way Sonic was looking at her, they weren't getting that door open. This was the end, for real this time.

A strange sense of deja vu choked her, her breath coming fast and shallow as the gravity of their situation set in. She reached out to touch Sonic, her fingers finding his shoulder. She had seconds left to tell him a lifetime worth of unsaid words - to let him know just how much compassion and love he had inspired in her the first time she'd seen him and every time after.

It was a pittance to convey her most treasured truths in such a short amount of time, when even an entire lifetime would never be enough.

"Sonic, I ..."

His fingers pressed against her lip, gentle but firm, stopping the rest of her words from leaving her mouth. There was a sorrowful gleam his eyes as he nodded at her.

"I know Amy. I know."

She swallowed nervously. Of course he did. He'd always known her feelings, and he had always done his best to spare her the heartbreak, even if sometimes it wasn't enough. Even if it was sometimes the direct cause of it.

Sonic pulled her close, lacing her fingers with his. She felt a soft pressure on the top of her head as he dropped a kiss onto her hair, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight enough to stop the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

She wouldn't cry.

If she was to go out, then she would go without fear, without terror. She would leave this wonderful world embracing the love of her life.

Sonic whispered something into the air beside her, but Amy never heard the words as the ground fell out from under her feet and their world exploded in a blinding white light.

... xxx ...

thank you so much for reading! one left, one left, one left! *panics* i'll see you guys soon for the epilogue!

#sonamy #sonamy fanfiction #cataclysm of the heart #iheartsonamy #fanfiction

[freddiesaysalright]

Beautiful Mess Part 11

A Brian May x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader works in a bookshop. She meets Brian May and they have an instant connection. It seems to be a fairy tale romance. But, things are seldom what they seem.

Word Count: 3.5K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @mrs-jack-murphy, @not-john-watsons-blog, @simmisblog, @mirkwoodshewolf, @assembledherethevolunteers, @thosequeenboys, @lv7867, @maymacca, @rethought, @brianslittlepet, @jinxy93, @stephydearestxo, @mrcleanisthicc, @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls, @readinghorn, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @reedusteinrambles, @borhapqueen92, @1204-moonchild, @bohemiansweede​ Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for the epilogue!

A/N: The last chapter! There will be an epilogue though, so it’s not quite over yet! I love epilogues...I’m just trash like that

Warning(s): Some steamy stuff in there, but nothing explicit.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10

Part 11 here we go!!!

The only thing keeping your spirits up was the prospect of reuniting with Brian. The months apart had been difficult. Watching Richard deteriorate was nearly unbearable. You were almost relieved when he actually passed because his quality of life at the end was nonexistent. 

“Ma’am, what can I get you to drink?” asked the stewardess as she leaned over your seat, pulling you out of your thoughts before that memory could pain you.

“Red wine, please,” you told her.

She nodded before moving on to the person behind you.

You looked out the little round window of the plane. Rain pattered against the surface, soft and light. No real trouble for your journey. 

You were flying out of London to New York. Then from New York to Boston. That’s where you would meet Brian and the band on their tour. You decided to head out the day after Richard’s funeral. You needed to get away from everything for a while. The shop, the Kimballs, everything that reminded you of what you’d lost.

As a raindrop slid down the window, you thought of the irony that the day of Richard’s funeral was a rare, sunny day in London. It also made a comment from Charlie hit extra hard.

You watched Richard’s parents as they buried their son. The sunlight gleamed off his casket as the clergyman spoke. You couldn’t hear the words. You had all your love for Richard stored in your heart, and you didn’t need a spiritual meaning to it. Your eyes were fixed on Charlie and Susan.

Susan wept quietly into her handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes every few minutes. Charlie, however, seemed absolutely stoic. His face was expressionless, his eyes trained on the priest. His grief was apparently beyond tears.

You cried on and off throughout. You had cried with Richard and for Richard as his days dwindled, and you did it mostly alone. He asked his parents not to come to Switzerland, so they wouldn’t see him so weak. 

As the service wore on, you sniffled. In his first moment of action, Charlie took your hand. But he still looked firmly forward, even when he gently squeezed your fingers. You blinked and a tear rolled down your cheek. 

When they were lowering Richard into the ground, Susan began to sob quietly. As they covered him, she clung to you and her husband, and you supported her, fearing she might collapse. You tried to whisper some comforting words to her, but you were certain she never heard them. Finally, Charlie just wrapped her up in his arms and held her to his chest. 

With one final blessing, it was all over. Susan couldn’t stand to be there, so she laid a gentle hand on Richard’s headstone before following the crowd out of the cemetery. You remained behind, looking at Charlie, who still had a stony look on his face.

“Papa?” you said. “Are you ready to go?”

He turned his back to you, facing the headstone. With a trembling hand, he touched it, running his fingers over the engraved words, particularly the years of Richard’s life.

“Papa?”

“It’s going to rain,” he said, looking resolutely up at the cloudless sky. “It’s going to rain.”

His voice rang in your ears as you sat on the plane now. Was Charlie at last letting his grief out? So much so that even the sky wept with him? You hoped so. Only the sky could convey the actual depth of that kind of loss. And he needed to let himself feel it.

You took a deep drink of you wine to swallow the lump in your throat.

The plane began to roll down the runway. It picked up speed right along with your heart. At last, you were escaping this sadness and flying to the person who made your heart happiest. Brian.

It was in the wee small hours of the morning when you finally arrived in Boston. The band had sent a car for you, and you thanked the driver as he put your luggage in the trunk and helped you into your seat. 

You had never been to Boston before. You had visited the US years ago, but only New York City and Washington, DC. Those were extremely fun trips you and Richard had taken shortly after the announcement of your engagement. You were thankful the band had already been to those cities, and you would not have to face those memories.

Boston was beautiful. It was historical and unique. And much cleaner than you remembered New York being. The hotel was an upscale one in the heart of the city. You pulled up, and outside, you spotted Roger. He was smoking a cigarette and leaning over a girl who was pressed up against the wall. You heard her giggling as you emerged from the back of the car. When the door closed, he turned around and looked at you.

“Oh, evening, Y/N,” he said sloppily.

“More like good morning,” you returned with an amused smirk.

“What time is it?” he wondered.

“It’s four,” you said. 

He faced the woman again. “Well, then. Time to get to bed, eh, love?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” she replied with a wide smile.

He flicked his cigarette away and started to lead her in.

“Wait, Roger!” you cried. “Could you tell me which room Brian’s in?”

“Six fifteen, I believe,” he said, wrinkling his brow as the thought. “Yeah, that’s it, ‘cause I’m next door and I’m in six seventeen.”

“Thanks, Rog,” you said.

He offered a mock salute. 

“Good to see you, Y/N.”

With that, he disappeared inside. The driver finished unloading your bags and closed the trunk of the car.

“Anything else, ma’am?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” you replied, and handed him a tip.

A bellhop from the hotel came out and took your trolley of bags, following you into the elevator, and then down the hall to Brian’s room. You felt a bit nervous as you approached. You wondered if he’d been missing you or if he was having too much fun to think much of you. You realized it was absurd to think that way because of course Brian missed you. You shook your head.

The door was just barely cracked open and you smiled. He was waiting for you. You lifted your bags off the trolley, tipped the bellhop, and then pushed the door open. 

The room was incredibly quiet, and you wondered if Brian was even there. Then, as you came further inside, you saw him. He was lying on the bed, fast asleep. The copy of Emma you’d loaned him was on his chest, his fingers just brushing the spine. You almost laughed. He must have fallen asleep reading.

You set your bags down and took a moment to just look at Brian. You had missed him so much these last few months that it seemed unreal to be in the same room as him now. You wanted to wake him and greet him properly, but he looked so at peace in his sleep. His mind was usually so active, you felt the only time he really got rest was when he slept. But you also knew that if you were in his position, you would want him to wake you.

So, you approached the bed. Kicking your shoes off, you crawled carefully over to him. He stirred, his head turning toward you and you smiled. You slowly put one leg over both of his so you could hover above him. Then you inched the book away from his hand and put it on the nightstand. In classic Brian fashion, the shirt underneath the book was mostly unbuttoned, leaving his chest exposed.

You pressed your lips to his warm skin, trailing from his collarbone all the way down to where the buttons were done, which was nearly to his belly button. He moaned softly beneath you and shifted.

“Y/N…” 

You kissed his chest again.

“Yeah, baby?” you questioned.

Suddenly, he sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes snapped open. He stared, wide-eyed, at you for what felt like several long minutes. You just smiled at him.

Without warning, he grinned, grabbed you by the shoulders, and flipped you onto your back as he rolled on top of you. He showered you with kisses as you shrieked with laughter. It hit you how foreign it sounded. You couldn’t even remember the last time you laughed. But it felt natural with Brian, especially since he was kissing you everywhere his lips could reach.

“Brian!” you cried with a giggle. “My goodness, baby!”

“I - missed - you - so - fucking - much!” he said between kisses.

“I missed you too!” you returned happily.

He slowed down, placing a tender kiss to your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He relaxed against you, his hips settling between your legs as your lips moved together in harmony. You moaned into his mouth before he pulled away.

“Fuck, I missed you so much,” he panted.

“I missed you too,” you assured him again. 

You put your hands on either side of his face, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. He was so warm and comfortable. So beautiful to look at. He turned his face to press his lips into your palm before looking down at you again.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Perfect now that I’m with you,” you breathed back.

He half smiled, but looked hard at you.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for the funeral,” he said.

“Don’t be,” you returned. “It was fine.”

He moved your hair off your forehead and your eyes fluttered closed to his touch. It was like coming home to be in his arms and touching him again. Just to feel him. Really there. His scent and the sound of his voice was like an old familiar tune. A song you knew by heart. You opened your eyes to see him again.

“What do you need from me, dove?” he asked.

You smiled. It was a question you appreciated. 

“D’you want to talk about everything?” he continued. “Or do you want to be distracted?”

“Distracted, please,” you said. “I don’t want to think about anything but you.”

He chuckled as he pecked your lips. “I can think of a few ways to make that happen.”

His tone sent a thrilling shiver down your spine.

“Well, by all means, get started,” you teased.

You hurriedly stripped each other of your clothing. Rushed, desperate kisses were placed across each other’s skin as the need to feel as close as possible took over. Your lovemaking was hasty and quick, chasing that release together after so much time apart. Brian was even a little rough with his thrusts, so you were seeing stars by the end of it. The absolute passion of being together again was overwhelming. You did forget everything except for Brian as he took you.

As you both came down from your highs, sweating and breathing heavily, he rolled off of you, but still pulled you under his arm. You rested your head on his chest. His heartbeat was quick and loud. 

“I love you,” you sighed. 

You felt him kiss the top of your head.

“I love you too,” he replied. 

As you lay in the afterglow, weariness began to creep up on you. Your eyelids felt heavy and drooped closed.

“Brian,” you said.

“Yes, dove?”

“Hold me.”

“I am holding you,” he chuckled.

“Tighter,” you insisted.

He squeezed his arm around you gently. You snuggled as close to him as possible. There, in your spot over his heart, you slept more soundly than you had in months.

Brian remained awake. He watched you as you slept, and he saw the effects of the past weeks etched onto your face. It was like you hadn’t slept at all since he left you in the airport that day, and were finally catching up on it now. While you were still incredibly beautiful to him, the bags under your eyes and lines on your face told him what you didn’t say. 

What you had been through was unimaginable to him. How long you were a nurse for Richard. What he must have looked like at the end. What his last words must have sounded like.

You told Brian over the phone that Richard passed away while you sat with him. You’d been holding his hand and felt it go limp. You heard his last breath leave his body. Brian shuddered at the thought. The pain it must have caused you. Brian would never forget the way you sounded when you called him. It was worse than a wounded animal.

He was relieved when you said you wanted distraction. As much as he loved being there for you, he wasn’t sure how much more tears he could take. It broke his heart to see you cry, so to see you now at peace was something he would hold onto. He was sure more tears would come. But for now, you could be happy. If not happy, at least content.

He dragged his fingers up and down your arm. He felt your body further relax into him as he did. That made him smile.

“Rest, dove,” he whispered into your hair. “Just rest now.”

Before too much longer, he drifted off behind you. 

You and Brian stirred awake at the same time a few hours later. You smiled lazily up at him. Being with him made it feel like more than your body was rested. Your soul was rested too.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked.

“Amazing,” you replied, leaning up to peck him on the lips. 

“Good,” he said. “I’ll have breakfast ordered to the room. Is that alright?”

“That’s perfect,” you said.

He started to roll over and reach for the phone, but you stopped him.

“Wait!”

“What is it?” he wondered, shooting you a puzzled look.

“Kiss me again,” you requested.

He happily obliged. You felt like you were being a bit annoying, asking to be held extra tight and then for another kiss, but you needed him. He grinned so widely, you were assured that he didn’t mind.

As he ordered the food, you leaned back against the pillows. You looked out the window and saw the bright blue sky and suddenly felt a bit of a lump in your throat.

“Alright,” Brian said. “Should be up in about ten minutes.”

You continued to look out the window.

“It’s going to rain, I think,” you said.

Brian followed your gaze. He didn’t argue that the sun was shining. It was like he read your mind. No. More like he read your heart.

“Well, it’ll help the flowers grow,” he replied.

You smiled at that.

Breakfast came and you enjoyed it together. You had real time to catch up now, and it was nice to feel sort of normal again. He told you he’d gotten you a backstage pass for the remainder of the shows, which excited you. Seeing Queen live was such an experience and you wanted to live it over and over again.

“So, how’d Cat take the parting?” Brian asked as he sipped his coffee.

“Honestly, he was more cross with me for leaving Switzerland,” you said. “He loved it there. But, I think he’ll be happy with grandma and grandpa for a while.”

He chuckled. “I’m assuming that’s Charlie and Susan?”

You nodded. 

“Is that what our children will call them too?” he wondered.

You stopped, mid-bite into your bacon, and looked at him.

“Our children?” you repeated.

“Yeah, when we have them,” he said with a shrug. 

You smirked. “When were you thinking of having children?”

“What, you don’t want them?” he asked.

“No, I do - especially your children - I just didn’t realize you thought about things like that,” you admitted.

“Of course I do,” he replied as if it were obvious. “I think about our future together a lot.”

Your smile widened.

“To answer your question,” you said. “Yes. Mama and Papa will be grandma and grandpa to our children.”

He kissed your cheek. 

“I think that’s wonderful.”

After breakfast, you made love again, and then showered together before joining the band for the day. You went with them to the venue, which was massive, and Brian explained how the whole lighting rig worked and the behind the scenes aspect of the show. You were  thoroughly impressed. 

The whole tour was impressive. Travelling with the band was thrilling. The best part was spending every night with Brian and growing in your relationship even more. He was attentive to you throughout. Your grief for Richard came up at odd times. It was like a window you tried to keep closed, but every once in a while, it sprung open, letting in the wind and the rain. In those moments, Brian just held you close and let you feel it. As time wore on, the window was easier to close. 

Brian had unknowingly restored your hope. When Richard died, you felt like everything was pointless. But when Brian talked about your children, or getting married, or mentioned anything about how your lives might look going forward, you felt purposeful again. Life was still to be lived, and you had an excellent one in store with Brian at your side.

When you returned to England after the tour, you and Brian decided to live together. He moved into your flat with you, and you found that having him there made it feel more like a home than just a place to live. You had Cat there as well, and you both agreed he truly ran the household. You marveled at how much this little cat affected your life. You owed him a lot.

Your sorrow for Richard began to ease, especially once you started helping Charlie out more. Your primary job was still at the bookshop, but you filled up a lot of the space that Richard left. It oddly made you feel closer to him. Once your life found its rhythm again, the pain subsided, and you let yourself feel the joys you experienced.

A year and a half after Richard died, you and Brian were lying together in bed. He was preparing to go on tour yet again. This time, you would not be joining him. You had nothing you wanted to be away from now. As fun as your last trip was, it was too long to leave the shop again.

“I’m going to miss you,” you told him, running a hand through his curls.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” he returned.

“You’ll be the one having all the fun,” you teased. “Seeing all the cities and going to all the parties…”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he protested. “Parties are sort of awkward without you.”

“Because women come on to you?”

His face flushed and he looked away.

You laughed. “Brian, I trust you,” you said. “Although, I can hardly blame them.”

The red on his cheeks deepened and you giggled. You traced his nose with your finger, trailing over his cheekbones as well.

“You are good looking,” you said. You regularly felt the need to remind him of this.

“Thank you,” he replied.

“If only there was a way to tell those women I’ve snatched you up already,” you sighed, a light tone in your voice.

“We could get married,” he blurted out.

Your heart skipped a beat and your hand went to his chest. You stared at him and he met your gaze, looking hopeful.

“Before I go,” he continued. “We could get married.”

“Brian, are you...are you proposing?” you asked breathlessly.

“I - yes, I am,” he said.

He sat up. You followed suit, a smile spreading across your lips.

“Think about it,” he said. “We already live together and that’s great. We’ve been together for nearly two years. We’ve been through so much and we know we can -”

You cut him off by grabbing his face and pulling him in for a deep kiss. He wrapped his arms around you and held you against him.

“You don’t have to pitch me,” you assured him. “Nothing would make me happier than being your wife.”

He grinned and kissed you again. You smiled into his lips. It was freeing to have this choice. He wasn’t forced on you. You wanted to marry him. You had found absolute love and you wanted to declare it to the world. Brian once told you that he was yours. Well, you were his too. By your own free will, with your whole heart, you were his.

“I don’t have a ring or anything,” he sputtered when you broke apart.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, shaking your head. “We’ll pick out wedding bands and go to the courthouse this week. I just want you, baby.”

His eyes searched yours for any doubt. Any hesitation that might linger. He found none.

“I love you,” he said.

Tears stung your eyes. This time, happy ones.

“I love you too, Brian,” you replied. “I’ll love you forever.”

“Yes,” he laughed. “Forever.”

And you did.

#Brian May #brian may x reader #brian may imagine #brian may x you #Queen #queen imagine #queen fanfic #queen x reader #queen x you #bohemian rhapsody #BoRhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee x you #beautiful mess series

[queenjunoking]

Wolf Taming Pt 9

CW: Noncon - Shock Collar - Pain - Petplay - Drugs - Kidnapping  - Manipulation - Piss

When I got upstairs I set an alarm and laid down for a bit to relax. Sasha needed her rest and I needed a bit of a break. Planning everything was quite tiring. Watching Sasha getting to play was a bit exhausting as well, I could only imagine what it was like to be the one in that cage. It’s not like I could directly emphasize, I had no interest in ever trying on a collar like that or being in a cage. Some people were meant to be in the collar and others were meant to hold the leash. Sasha was the former and I was the latter.

I was comfortable, I could just let both of us rest. But I wanted to do this and I needed to get a few things done first. I did a bit of routine cleaning and made some snacks for Sasha. When I was done I took a shower and changed into a new set of clothes. When I had finished I still had time left over. It seemed like a good time to check out the latest news on the missing track star. Still missing after a wide search. No details on her disappearance. Last seen leaving the library late at night after cramming for a test she was going to have the next day. Interest was already starting to dwindle a bit, the conversation was mostly online. Some wondered if she had snapped under the pressure and just walked away instead of being kidnapped.

I followed the conversation of Sasha’s former friends. I could see the weight that my precious wolf had on her shoulders. An athlete that carried her team. A straight-A student. She spent a lot of her time volunteering. I heard snippets of information she had accidentally shared with her friends. So many useful things. So many balls she was juggling. It must have been so stressful having so much she needed to do. She didn’t have to worry about silly things like that anymore. The alarm went off and interrupted my snooping. Two hours were up.

I grabbed another bottle of juice, a cup of dry cereal and some other encouraging treats and headed back to the wolf’s den. Sasha was tired and I had let her sleep. It was probably her assumption it was late because of that; she had no ability to tell time down there. In reality it was only 2 in the afternoon when I left. It was 4 now. Not that time meant anything after she fell asleep. Two hours had passed, but to her it would be the next day. A night had passed and she would still be exhausted. She would never understand why. I was going to be working very hard to make time a meaningless concept to her.

“Good morning Sasha!” I announced myself cheerfully and flipped on the lights. I startled the poor thing. She shot to her feet, only to get hit by a shock. Petmode was still active. “Careful sweety, you have to stand like a pet.” She glared at me. I was happy to see my wolf was still filled with that fighting spirit after ‘yesterday.’

“How are you doing this morning Sasha? Speak.” I checked over her utilities while I gave her room to speak. Water was half filled. Food untouched. Litter Box unused.

“Terrible. What do you think?” There was a surprising amount of bite in her voice. She was understanding that I wasn’t really interested in punishing her for what she said. She only got punished for when she said it. She said many unpleasant things about me ‘yesterday’ but she was allowed to say them. I didn’t want her to hide those feelings, I wanted her to wear them on her sleeves.

“Maybe it’s because you aren’t eating and need to use the bathroom.” She narrowed her eyes. She knew that I knew what she was complaining about. I was ignoring that of course. “It’s inevitable Sasha. Everyone needs food and everyone needs a bathroom. Why fight it?”

“B-” She tried to answer but was cut off by the shock collar.

“That was more of a rhetorical question, but feel free to speak.” I had my back on her so she couldn’t see me roll my eyes.

“If you want me to eat then how about a plate of real food. Or access to a toilet.” I could hear the irritation in her voice. Someone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

“Silly puppy. You have real food in your dish and you know the toilet is for people. Pets need to be housebroken. You have that over there to use.” I pointed at the litter box and she went bright red. “Something wrong Sasha? Speak.”

“I’m not fucking using that! I’m not going to go in a box!” I was surprised how much yapping this wolf was capable when it was so early in the morning for them.

“Mhm. Would you prefer diapers then sweetheart? Speak.” Her face managed to reach a brighter red.

“I want a fuc- Ah!” She tried to stand up, only to be shocked and sent back to her knees. She tried answering again with a more steady voice. “I want a fucking toilet.” I could see her shaking, she needed to go.

“If you leak onto the floor you do not understand the amount of trouble you will be in. Here are your options. The litter box. A diaper. Or you can leak onto the floor and become extremely intimate with what it tastes like.” I watched as her eyes twitched. It was amazing, she had that litter box in her cell all day and yet she somehow really didn’t think she’d have to use it.

She pointed at her throat. She wanted to say something. But she hadn’t done anything to earn it. “No, no words right now. Just decisions. I assume you don’t want me here watching like you didn’t want to watch me watching you eat. But your outburst cost you your privacy this time. I’m going to count to 10. If you aren’t over it and using it I’ll turn the shock dial to 1 and see how high it needs to go before you piss yourself.”

“10.” She narrowed her eyes at me.

“9.” She stood her ground. She didn’t believe me.

“8.” I could see the first crack as breathing speed up.

“7.” Her eyes started to go wide. It had finally sunk in that I was serious

“6.” She broke and went for the litter box

“5.” She closed her eyes. Apparently she thought if she couldn’t see me I wasn’t here to watch her.

“4.” I could see her trying. She was desperate to avoid any more shocks.

“3.” She was concentrating so hard.

“2.” I saw her body relax a little.

“1.” She hung her head in shame, defeated, as the sound of a soft stream was all that filled the room.

Another “first” we dealt with. The first time doing these things was the hardest, it’s why it was the most fun to watch. But giving up this battle meant she could no longer really complain about it. After all, she did it once. Why would she need alternative accommodations if she already showed she didn’t need them.

“Such a good puppy Sasha. You want a tre-” I was interrupted by her sniffling and could see her body shaking. “What’s wrong Sasha? Speak.”

She looked up at me, her face streaked with tears. Her words set my heart aflame. “You’re a monster. Why are you doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this? I don’t want to be your fucking dog!”

“Oh? You… don’t?” I sounded hurt as I could. I flipped the switch so we could talk freely without her getting shocked.

“N-no! Why would I want that?” She was still very upset, but my question had disarmed her slightly. 

“Oh… I see.” I gave her a bit of a sad smile. “I thought you might appreciate having all those responsibilities taken off your shoulders. I know all about you Sasha. You are very impressive. But… all of that work must have really been burning you out. So many things to juggle, so many people relying on you.” I could see I hit a nerve. She wasn’t going to say this is what she wanted, it wasn’t. Well it wasn’t right now at least. But I could see I was right, she was burned out.

“I… that’s… just responsibility. You take on responsibility. You do things to help other people” She tried to sound confident in front of me. I could see I was striking a nerve. She was being defensive instead of lashing out. Our conversation wasn’t about what I was doing to her or ever what I had just made her do. It was about making her put up barriers so I could knock them over. I started to unpack some of the treats I had brought with me while I listened. I slid a dish of chicken between the bars. She reached for it with her hands and momentarily hesitated. When I didn’t react she picked up a piece and started to eat it. I was letting her backslide a bit, but she at least hesitated.

“What didn’t you take on? What weren’t you responsible for?” I jabbed my finger into that raw nerve. For a moment she was speechless, she wanted to say something but I had taken her words away again. “Did they ever actually appreciate you? Or did they just keep adding more responsibilities to your plate because they knew you would just keep up the hard work?”

“I…” She tried to start saying something, but I cut her off.

“Did they appreciate you? Or did they appreciate what they got from you? Your track team has gotten a lot of coverage because of you, that makes your team look better. Everyone else on the team is fairly mediocre though.” Another jab.

“I think-” I cut her off again.

“How much of your volunteer work were the things that other people were supposed to be doing? How much extra time did you spend working on the various projects because you were doing everything instead of everyone pulling their weight?” And another jab.

“I don’t-” I cut her off again.

“How much time did you actually dedicate to your own studies? How much did you cram because you couldn’t review the material otherwise? Or did you spend that time helping other people cram instead?” A jab and a twist.

“I… knew the material...” Her voice was quiet. She wasn’t really arguing with my points. Everything I cut her off from saying was just going to be the excuses she told herself. No one had ever laid it out like this before for her and it was probably a little overwhelming. She was exhausted and sleep deprived, my words left such an impact on her that she might have just shook off if I had let her sleep.

This conversation had the intended effect. I knew she was going to have an outburst over what she had to do earlier and this was the perfect way of getting past that and reasserting my control. Sasha was at the disadvantage. She was naked in a cage. But she got to talk like a person for a while. She was talking from behind bars, but for a moment she felt heard and appreciated.

I took a risk. She wasn’t looking up, she was staring at the floor. I reached through the bars and cautiously pet her hair. She didn’t react to what I did. She didn’t attack me which was good at the very least. She just seemed to accept that it was happening. It was good enough for me.

“Sasha? I’m going to go set something up. Are you going to be ok if I leave you alone for a bit?” She just nodded her head without looking at me.

I left to go through one of the doors in the wolf’s den. I snuck a look at Sasha before I left. My lost wolf looked even more lost after our conversation. She didn’t want to be here. She never would. But that wasn’t the topic of our conversation. The point wasn’t to convince her she wanted to be here. I was never going to try to convince her of that. The point was to hold her hand and walk her to the conclusion I wanted her to reach. Maybe she didn’t want to stay here.

But now she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back there either.