#surely he must have bad days when things get particularly heavy and dark

[feliciadraws]

Thinking about how Waka's trauma must affect his relationship with Mei very often has me like

[dingusfreakhxrrington]

More Than A Feeling, 23

pairing: eddie munson X fem!reader

fic summary: life only gets harder for y/n wheeler when she develops a friendship with the town freak, eddie munson. as one of the most popular girls at school she should absolutely not be associating with the likes of eddie but she couldn’t help but feel more herself when he's around. what will happen when she finds herself struggling with the expectations put on her by her friends, catching feelings for the local freak, and finding herself swept up in the latest town mystery?

chapter warnings: mentions of injury, mentions of death, spoilers for the end of vol. 2 (duh), mentions of impending doom, a pretty angsty chapter

chapter word count: 2k

song of the day: the morning fog, kate bush

chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, more coming soon...

read on ao3 here | masterlist | playlist

Chapter 23

The quiet beeping of the machine beside your bed was the first thing you heard when you finally woke up. Your body was sore and your head was heavy, so heavy, as you lay there, almost unmoving.

You groaned, scrunching your eyes before you tried to open them. The light was dim but it still stung, amplified by the painkillers that were still swimming through your system.

“Y/n? Y/n! Mom! Mike!”

“N-Nancy?” Your voice was dull, drained in every way as you finally started to regain consciousness.

When the room that had originally been nothing but a blur of shapes and colours finally came into focus, you recognised the faces around you. Your mom, Mike and Nancy were all there, your father likely out somewhere with Holly so that she didn’t have to see you in the rough shape you were in.

They all looked worried, the panic in their eyes not resting for even a moment as Nancy took hold of your hand, squeezing it as you finally came to.

“Eddie,” your eyes widened and you scrambled to sit up, remembering what you had been doing before you’d passed out, “Where’s Eddie?”

Your chest was heaving, your heart weighing heavy within it as you looked between Mike and Nancy.

“That Munson boy?” your mom questioned, seeming confused as you began to climb out of the hospital bed.

“He’s in intensive care but he’s okay, y/n. Just lie back down, please?” Nancy tried to coax you, her hands the only thing holding you steady as she tried to sit you back down.

You pushed against her, knowing there was no way you were going to be able to rest until you saw him. “No. I- I need to see him. I need to know he’s okay. Nance, please.”

“Okay, okay. Mike, help?”

Your mom seemed a little dazed but she didn’t stop your brother or sister from moving to hold your arms, helping you walk along as you headed for the door. She followed behind you as the three of you slowly made your way down the hall.

When the doctor spotted you and came over to check everything was okay, your mom was the one to intervene, making sure the doctor didn’t stop you in your search for Eddie.

She’d never met Eddie and from what she’d heard about him on the news, she wasn’t particularly fond of him, but Nancy had made sure to tell her that it was Eddie who’d saved you. Eddie was in as bad a way as he was because he was trying to protect you.

She didn’t like him but she didn’t know him and from what Nancy had said, she knew you loved him. So, for now, she’d let you go to him.

When you arrived at his room, body limping along with most of your weight being carried by Mike and Nancy, you were surprised to see two cops stationed outside the door.

Just as you thought they wouldn't let you in, they glanced between the three of you before letting Nancy open the door.

The room was deathly quiet and shrouded in darkness but through the shadows, you could see him. He was completely unmoving and, for a moment, a lump caught at the back of your throat.

“You must be y/n.”

The voice that spoke didn’t belong to Eddie but rather the man who was sitting beside him. You recognised him right away, knowing it had to be his uncle despite the fact that you had never met him before.

Nancy and Mike helped you into the room, only moving away when you signalled to them that you were okay to walk on your own. They left you alone to speak with Wayne, both returning to your mother who was already waiting patiently outside.

Every step still hurt, the wounds that littered your body stinging every time you moved even an inch. Your wounds only paled in comparison to Eddie’s. That you could see the moment you were close enough to make out his bandaged-wrapped torso.

“Is he…?”

“Sleeping. They’ve got him on some strong anaesthetics for the pain. He’s only come around a couple of times and barely been conscious enough to speak.”

You nodded as you moved to stand beside Eddie, reaching out to brush your fingers through his hair.

Just looking at him brought tears to your eyes, though you weren’t sure whether they were happy or sad. Perhaps a bit of both. Happy that he was alive but sad to see him in such a state.

“He mumbled your name a few times in his sleep, think he’s worried about you.”

Wayne stood up and offered you his seat, which you accepted as you took Eddie’s hand, squeezing it slightly in hopes that he would know that you were there. “He shouldn’t be worried about me, I’m fine. He… He’s…”

“The doctors said he’s already pulled through the worst of it. He’s going to be okay, thanks to you I hear.”

You turned to Wayne with furrowed brows, silently asking him what he meant as you slowly rubbed your thumb across the back of Eddie’s hand.

“They told me what’s really been going on. That he got hurt fighting those Demobat things? That kid Dustin told me you ran after him and dragged Eddie to safety, that you wouldn’t leave him no matter what.”

“He… He went back in like an idiot. He wanted to buy us more time even though he knew they’d kill him. I… I couldn’t leave him there alone. I...”

Wayne rested his hand against your shoulder, reassuring you without needing to speak a word.

You took a deep breath, letting the tears fall as you held Eddie’s hand even tighter, wishing you could speak to him for even a moment.

“My boy’s always had a kind heart. I knew he didn’t kill that girl,” a heavy sigh fell from his lips, “I just wish I could have been there for him through this… So, thank you. Thank you for bein’ there when I couldn’t.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s this town. They didn’t give him a chance, they painted him as the villain long before any of this even happened.”

The more you thought about it the angrier you grew. Eddie wasn’t in so much pain just because of Vecna but also because of the town. He fought for a town that hated him. He’d been forsaken by Hawkins years before Will even went missing.

For his whole life, Eddie had been a freak — an outcast — and now he was paying for the kindness he still showed those who’d discarded him.

“Miss Wheeler? We need to take you back to your room to run some tests and check your injuries.”

You looked back over your shoulder, taking in the doctor that stood in the doorway for only a moment before turning back to Eddie with worry in your eyes. You didn’t want to leave him, you wanted to be there when he next woke up.

Although you knew he was okay you needed to see it for yourself. You needed to see him open his eyes.

Wayne squeezed your shoulder once again. “Go on, I’ll be here with him, don’t worry.”

Although you wanted nothing more than to see him the doctors were strict about you staying in your room until you’d fully recovered. So, for the next two days, you stayed put in your room.

Your family and friends came to visit. Holly hugged you so tightly that it opened some of your stitches, thankfully only the minor ones though. Even your dad looked worried, showing emotion for what might be the first and last time in his life.

Steve and Robin stopped by after visiting Max. That was a tough conversation, one that shattered what was left of your heart into a thousand tiny, bloody pieces.

After all of that, it had been for nothing. Max had died but, by some miracle, she’d started to breathe again. Her arms and legs were broken, exactly like Chrissy’s when she was attacked, and her eyes… She was never going to see again, that much the doctors could confirm.

Other than her sight and broken bones there wasn’t much else they could say. She was in a coma and, in all honesty, they weren’t sure if she was ever going to wake up. Not that anyone was going to give up on her.

Joyce had already jumped in and offered to help pay the medical bills. Steve, Robin and Nancy were all chipping in too. Each of them wanting to do whatever they can to keep Max safe and alive, giving her as much time as she needs before she wakes up.

First Eddie and now Max. It wasn’t fair, none of it was. You’d have given anything to have taken either of their places. No matter how much you tried not to blame yourself you couldn’t help but feel like it should have been you in intensive care and not them.

It wasn’t fair that you were making a speedy recovery, looking as though you’d only need to spend a few more days in the hospital before you’d be allowed to go home.

Nancy had noticed the change in your mood. She could see how crushed you were but all she could do to comfort you was reassure you that the doctors would tell you the moment Eddie was well enough for you to see him.

There was a silver lining amongst it all, however, because it turned out Hopper was alive. Not only was he alive and back in Hawkins but he had managed to clear Eddie’s name.

His contact in the FBI made a public statement confirming that their investigation into the murders had come to a close. They’d pinned the murders on Jason, saying he had done it all to frame Eddie.

It seemed easy enough for them to blame Jason. He did hate Eddie after all and the fact that he was secretly hanging out with Chrissy only further added to the rumours.

Instead of rumours that Eddie was the leader of a satanic cult, now the rumours compared him to Romeo with Chrissy serving as his Juliet. Although even those rumours were false, you were glad that he was no longer a wanted man. A part of you did feel somewhat sad that all of the blame had been pushed onto Jason but you knew it was better him than Eddie.

Jason had died in the earthquake, of course, after trying to kill you and Eddie. That was what they had told the public, how they’d explained your unusual wounds. It was all the earthquake and Jason as far as anyone else was concerned.

Despite the clearing of his name, there was still a need for the cops outside of Eddie’s room.

Not everyone believed the story that Jason had done it all to frame Eddie and, amongst all of the chaos that had stemmed from the earthquakes, plenty of reporters were still more than eager to speak with Eddie about the whole ordeal.

The cops were there to keep those people away so that Eddie was safe and had a proper chance to recover before being bombarded with questions.

Not that there would be much room for rest, as you’d soon been informed.

Hawkins was changing, parts of the Upsidedown spilling out of the cracks that had been left behind by the gates. Plants and wildlife were dying, decaying in the areas closest to the gates and it was spreading, albeit slowly.

There was time but no one knew just how much. A war was coming to Hawkins. A war that was going to destroy everything you had left. The end of everything.

Still, even with all of that darkness looming over you, all you could think about was Eddie. All you wanted to do was see him and hold him. In the face of the end, you just wanted him to be by your side.

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[beautyandthewarcanons]

The Beauty and the War men as drinks!

Hello everyone! It's been quite a while since I've done one of these, but I was brainstorming and thought I'd do a new list of @poisonappletales ' bachelors! This is quite an unusual one, but I had fun putting it together!

Barium: Hot Chocolate

If anyone kept up with the White Day responses, some of you may have noticed that his majesty the King got a bit of a design update! He's always been one who loves to snuggle up with his ladies in a warm setting, providing them with anything they want or need. A warm cup of hot chocolate is the best source of warmth and sweetness after a day in the cold!

Alexandrite: Vodka

Speaking of the cold, Alexandrite is rumored to be just that, the exact opposite of his brother. It's popular in Russia and Poland where it can in fact, get very cold. In addition, because of how it's made, Vodka must be kept cold... could the same be said about the Prince?

Night: Whiskey

Whiskey is a heavy liquor and if Night lives up to his name as a "heartbreaker," then would this be his drink of choice when picking up ladies at a bar? Unlike its aftertaste, Night doesn't seem to stick around long once he's had his fun.

Onyx: Black Coffee

Alert and on guard- black coffee helps one to do this, and isn't for the faint of heart. The same can be said for Onyx- we may not be able to see his face, but he doesn't miss much and his emotionless demeanor will leave a sour taste in your mouth.

Arsenik: Green Tea with Honey

When one sees Arsenik, they notice he dons both light and dark. The bitterness of the green tea leaves is softened by the sweetness of honey, and together, it's a soothing drink that nourishes the body and soul. Other extracts can easily be mixed in as well, making for unexpected but pleasant surprises, much like Arsenik himself!

Viktor: Champagne

Viktor loves the classier party scene- with his bubbly and sometimes explosive personality, Champagne is the drink of choice for this Hulder! I could imagine him sharing this among kin and friends alike as he enjoys an evening of fun socializing.

Chase: Vanilla Spice Tea

Vanilla may be mild, but it's still a spice that's full of energy. With that said, Chase certainly has his milder moments and his spicier moments... all while seeming to have boundless energy that never runs out! I much prefer this tea when it's warm and soothing than when it's boiling hot.

Wind: Iced Coffee

Speaking of hot, Wind is known to have a hot and cold sort of personality... this is why iced coffee is perfect! Steaming or freezing, it works either way- but be careful, it's still going to taste pretty strong. Much like Wind, it will leave an impact that will last a long while. Not many can pull that off!

X: Rum

Rum may be the only liquor made with sugar, but don't underestimate it. It's the drink of choice for the bold and vibrant alike, and the same can be said for X. He is indeed sweet, but not in a cute and cuddly way. I'm talking about epic awesomeness! He would be spitting fire for sure if he ever got his hands on this!

Unknown: Red Wine

Red wine; too much of it can be a bad thing and it always leaves a stain. However, it doesn't mean that many don't enjoy its taste. Dark and mysterious, the same can be said about Unknown. Not to mention, France is known for its production of red wine, particularly in places like Bordeaux.

And that's it for now! I hope you enjoyed this list!

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update

hello again, gamers. this month's reading is nearly as comics-heavy as the last one, which could either be a good thing or a bad thing depending on how you feel about Detective Comics Comics, but worry not: there are also some BUCKWILD novels on the list. Akwaeke Emezi in particular has been an absolute scamp and I'm excited to tell you about it, so let's get going.

what have I been reading?

Kaikeyi (Vaishnavi Patel, 2022) - this novel has been popping up on pretty much every list of Must Read Books of 2022, and I have to say that having read it, I think the hype is pretty well-deserved. in her immensely impressive debut novel Patel offers up a retelling of the story of Kaikeyi, a figure of the Ramayana who orders her heroic stepson Prince Rama to be banished into the forest for 14 years to prevent him from becoming king. I'll freely admit that I'm like... already a little burned out on the spate of #feminist adult retellings of the stories of women from various mythologies; it feels awfully heavy-handed and I'm generally not particularly impressed by the desire to project modern values onto stories that are older than dirt. Kaikeyi absolutely falls into this camp; our protagonist insists on having her brother train her in the ways of battle, and her conflict with her stepson is largely driven because he opposes the rights of women that she's been working so hard for. AND YET. I remain really charmed by everything Kaikeyi has to offer, from the fascinating form of magic our protagonist wields to the effortless intertwining of high fantasy and day-to-day politics. if you enjoyed the tone of Madeline Miller's Circe (which I think we can safely identify as patient zero for this current mythology kick) or the political thrills of S.A. Chakraborty's Daevabad Trilogy, I think you'll eat Kaikeyi up as eagerly as I did.

Batman: Dark Victory (Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale, 1999) - the direct sequel to The Long Halloween, which y'all may recall I fucking loved. and if you enjoyed a serial killer targeting one victim a month and leaving gimmicky clues at the crime scene in the Long Halloween, I have great news - in Dark Victory, a serial killer is once again targeting one victim a month and leaving gimmicky clues at the crime scene! and yet Dark Victory never feels repetitive, which I think is largely because it delves much more deeply into the Bruce Wayne side of things that The Long Halloween's tight monthly vignettes ever did. here we get to delve into Bruce's increasingly complicated relationship with Selina Kyle (they don't know each other's secret identities yet, and GOD does Loeb get some good dramatic irony out of that), the impact of Harvey Dent's Two-Face-ification on Bruce's morale, and - most importantly! - the death of the Flying Graysons and Dick's subsequent arrival into Bruce's life. incidentally, Dick is a fucking angry little gremlin of a child, and I deeply loved that for him. we also get to see the deceased Carmine Falcone's family struggling to hold onto their control over the city - a fight that's ultimately doomed to fail, as the costumed weirdos we all know and love rise up to take their place. Dark Victory is atmospheric and ambitious and juggles all of its storylines well, coming through months of roiling melancholy to give Bruce a hopeful start to the next chapter of his career. 10/10 from me, boys.

You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty (Akwaeke Emezi, 2022) - yes, like the Florence + the Machine song! I remember when Emezi was fretfully tweeting about making sure they were legally allowed to use that as their title, and I'm so beyond jazzed to have seen it come to fruition as they prove that they really are the master of every genre they turn their mind to. YMAFODWYB is a sharp departure from the poetic litfic of Freshwater and The Death of Vivek Oji and it WORKS, giving this contemporary explorations of love and life an evocative and richly-beating heart. I'm almost hesitant to tell y'all exactly what happens in this book because I was so shocked and delighted by the big swerve; do me a favor and don't read the blurbs if you decide to check it out, alright? suffice to say this: Our Heroine is Feyi Adekola, a young widow tentatively re-opening her heart to romantic connection five years after her husband's sudden death. whisked away to a gorgeous island for an incredible job opportunity granted to her by a friend who definitely wants to be more, Feyi finds herself forming an unexpected connection with someone who is DEFINITELY supposed to be off limits, and has to decide how much she's willing to risk for a second love. fun, flirty, life-affirming, and ruinously hot, this is THE ideal summer romance.

Pristdaddy (Patricia Lockwood, 2017) - between her debut novel No One Is Talking About This and this remarkable memoir, Patricia Lockwood has firmly secured a place as one of my absolute favorite writers this year. she does things with language that make me dizzy with envy that is outweighed only by my delight; I could no more begrudge her talent than get angry at a firework for its splendor. this memoir is rooted in the year Lockwood and her husband had to stay with her off-kilter Catholic family - including the titular priestdaddy - after falling on unexpected financial hardship, interspersed with recollections from Lockwood's unconventional upbringing. Lockwood is devastatingly funny and relentless in her critique of the Catholic church and her own loved ones; it's difficult to describe exactly what reading this book is like, except to say that you will alternate with some frequency between chuckling warmly and staring into the distance feeling quite somber and small. I cannot recommend it enough to anyone who likes words.

Catwoman: When In Rome (Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale, 2005) - the third and final entry into Loeb and Sale's trilogy, as it were; a sort of midquel that takes place during the events of Dark Victory when Selina gets tired of Bruce's horseshit and absconds to Italy for a bit. she's on the search for proof that Carmine Falcone was her biological father, and has brought the Riddler along for assistance - what could possibly go wrong? as it turns out, pretty much fucking everything. if you like to see a girlboss winning this is NOT the run for you; Selina is having a pretty heinous time from start to finish and very little actually works out in her favor. she's been framed for murder; Eddie is a grotty little pervert at every opportunity; and someone seems to be supplying Italian mobsters with weapons straight out of the Gotham rogues gallery to use against her. oof! but despite all that the series never feels needlessly mean-spirited towards Selina, and I really liked her narrative voice - after being largely enigmatic and inscrutable for most of the Long Halloween and Dark Victory she gets an internal monologue that's unexpectedly informal and playful. it's extremely stylish and a comparatively lighthearted break from the moody atmosphere of Long Halloween and Dark Victory, and my biggest complaint is literally only that it's so short compared to the other two.

Motherland Fatherland Homelandsexuals (Patricia Lockwood, 2014) - what, you thought after I loved Priestdaddy that much I WASN'T going to rush out to read Lockwood's poetry, too? nice try. I was especially eager since she specifically discusses this volume in Priestdaddy, with an entire chapter dedicated to the reactions to a specific poem called "Rape Joke" going viral. Lockwood writes poems in a breathlessly conversational way that has me absolutely obsessed, and I'm gently placing her in "poets who don't make me feel like I'm too dumb to read poetry" category along with Tommy Pico and Anne Carson.

Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment (Patricia Hill Collins, 1990) - I was chipping away at this one for a LONG time, readers - I had at least one false start and had to put the book down to come back again at a later date for another attempt. and I'm so glad I did, because Collins made me feel like my brain was getting a workout in the best way. woe betide me for not being appropriately appreciate when I got to read theory as part of a class, because I would kill to have a room of people who are legally required to discuss new ideas with me now. reading Collins' work was an incredible experience of alternately nodding as I encountered ideas I recognized, letting my eyes widen and I encountered ideas I thought I recognized and gaining deeper insight than I've ever been privy to before, and a feeling of deep serene solidarity as I drew parallels between Collins' observations of Black women's political organizing and my own observations as a white women deeply entrenched in the queer community. there's something extremely dear to me about finding commonality across communities and a 30 year difference; a reminder that we are all, genuinely, meant to be allies to one another in the relentless struggle against oppression. I was highlighting so many passages of this book that I think it's like 90% yellow now.

Jade City (Fonda Lee, 2017) - the winner of a reading poll, by virtue of someone chiming in to tell me that they didn't like Jade City and therefore ensuring that it won by default. (how are folks not getting this yet? I'm not asking what you think of books I want to read; just vote for something else if you hated one. christ.) I'm delighted to report that despite winning based on spite Jade City was an EXCELLENT read and exactly what I needed to end my fantasy drought. this is slick, stylish martial arts/mobster/urban fantasy/family drama story about a trio of siblings in the fictional country of Kekon, heirs to an organized crime empire powered by magical jade that gives wearers superhuman abilities at the cost of, potentially, their health and sanity. Lan is the current head of the family; his rakish brother Hilo the head of the clan's warriors; and their sister Shae has just returned to the city of Janloon after completing college abroad and swearing off her familial legacy; their adopted cousin Anden prepares to graduate and take his place fighting for the clan. excellent news if, like me, you love intrigue and maneuvering in your fantasy - there are plenty of whip-fast scenes of chaotic, magic-fueled violence and swordplay, but just as many board meetings and political maneuverings; one of Shae's most valuable skills is not her ability to wield jade but her foreign business degree. I think this is maybe Succession for fantasy people, and I for one am lapping it up.

A Tiny Upward Shove (Melissa Chadburn, 2022) - oh, readers. I have very mixed feelings about this one. right off the bat I do want to say that Chadburn's sorrowful writing is unquestionable gorgeous; I am in absolutely no doubt about her abilities to tell a story and don't want anyone to think that I am. but good lord, at a certain point this does start to feel like an endless trudge through misery porn. Chadburn's debut follows Marina Salles, a mixed-race Black and Filipino woman who is addicted to drugs and killed by a john while selling sex. upon her death Marina is overtaken by an aswang, a creature that has lurked in the women of her family for generations and seeks to complete Marina's unfinished business. what ensues is an absolutely dismal biography of Marina, her foremothers, the man who killed her, and the girl she loved. it's a devastating account of very real factors that contribute to people being marginalized and neglected - familial separation, parental abuse, neglect, sexual assault, indifferent social services, and so on - and these topics do absolutely deserve to be written about with attention and care, but oh BOY does reading it begin to feel cumbersome. and I say this as someone with an exquisitely high tolerance for exceedingly bleak fiction! I'll also say that I didn't realize until the very end that the man who murders Marina is, like, a real guy who was arrested in 2002 and is believed to be one of the most prolific serial killers in Canadian history. far be it from me to tell anyone what they can and cannot write, and I certainly understand the fascination that such a story might hold for an author, but there's something that just doesn't sit especially well for me personally about making up an original character to insert very intimately into such a horrific tragedy. mixed feelings here, lads.

Batman: Their Dark Designs (James Tynion IV, Guillem March, and Tomeau Morey, 2020) - "Makenzie, isn't this the one with -" with the Riddler's fucked up meth spine? yeah. yeah it is. worth noting that for all this hullabaloo the Riddler actually has precious little to do in this story; he's sort of a minor nuisance who just really needs a nap. anyway, wary as I was about Tynion after getting burned bad by Batman & Robin Eternal, this turned out to be a supremely engrossing story about how Catwoman, the Joker, the Penguin, and the Riddler once kinda sorta made a deal with the devil very early in their careers, and how that's coming back to bite them in a real big way. you all know that I hate when comic books or their adaptations try to play coy about what they are in the self-deprecating, "well, THAT just happened!" way, but this story walks a somewhat more subtle line that I actually found pretty tasty. Tynion nods to the way that Batman's rogues have evolved to be increasingly dark and deranged across the decades and offers an in-universe explanation as to what may have driven the shift, delivered largely through the flashback of a nostalgic and remorseful Selina. there are moments I'm not crazy about - Bruce and Slade Wilson having an extremely on the nose argument about whether or not it's Batman's fault that there are so many freaks in Gotham is eyeroll-worthy - but they're well worth overlooking for the propulsive plot and sweet nods to nearly a century of continuity. (Catwoman, Penguin, Joker, and Riddler are referred to as the United Underworld, ala the 1966 Adam West Batman movie; the Riddler's hideout has a billboard referencing his debut episode of Batman: The Animted Series, etc. I'm a sucker for that shit.) listen, I liked it enough that I having WILLINGLY ordered a comic called fucking JOKER WAR to see where Tynion is going next with this; I cannot explain how profoundly I would normally be turned off by a comic book containing the title "Joker" or "war," let alone both at the same time. Detective Comics Comics continues to hold me tight in its sweaty, sweaty grasp.

A Queer History of Fashion: From the Closet to the Catwalk (edited by Valerie Steele, 2013) - this one is actually not nearly as exciting as it sounds, and was read primarily as research for a documentary I'll be working on with a friend. this essay collection was published in conjunction with an exhibit at the Fashion Institute of Technology and isn't a bad place to start reading about the history of queer fashion, per se, as long as you're extremely aware going in that what you're reading is preoccupied primarily with what middle- and upper-class white queers have been up to throughout history. the oversights are many - there absence of an entire essay covering ball culture is baffling, and the two chapters on lesbian fashion contradict each other with spectacular aplomb. the second lesbian chapter is particularly delightful to me because of the section in which the author attempts to describe lesbian BDSM scenes with all the abstracted confusion of someone examining alien life beneath a microscope for the first time. the only essay I really couldn't pick at is the concluding piece by Jonathan D. Katz, "Queer Activist Fashion," which offers a concise timeline of the rise of t-shirts and buttons as a means of communicating political goals and causing deliberate spectacle during queer demonstrations. I liked it so much that I actually tried to link it here, but damn if I can find it anywhere online.

in conclusion, I'm currently rereading Gideon the Ninth, to be followed by Harrow, in anticipation of Nona's release in September, and waiting for a perpetually impractical number of books I've placed on hold. yeehaw.

[bokuroskitten]

Okay so my request. 🥺

Poly relationship between Ushijima x reader x Bokuto. Reader feels super neglected due to both of them having super busy volleyball schedules. Of course she knew this when she started dating them. But she still gets lonely and needy. Both himbos don’t realize it due to them being well himbos. It’s not until they notice her clingy to a player from one of the teams who gives her attention. They confront her and she breaks down and spills her heart out to them. They give her the long awaited attention she needs. Can it possibly be smut please? 🥺🥺🥺

I hope this is everything you’re looking for love. Thank you for requesting and sorry it took a couple days. Please, enjoy. ❦

𝔇𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢

〈You know Bokuto and Ushijima are busy men, but the longer you’re away from them, the larger the ache becomes

〷 This piece contains haikyuu time skip spoilers 〷

❈ genre: Angst/Comfort, NSFW 18+ (Minors DNI)

❈ warnings: anxiety/insecurities, Poly Relations (Reader x Bokuto Koutarou x Ushijima Wakatoshi), size kink, dom/sub dynamics, make-up sex.

It wasn’t like they were ignoring you on purpose. Bokuto and Ushijima would never do such a thing. Usually, they were so good at giving you all the attention you needed, checking up on you and asking about your day even after long practices or games.

But things had gotten really busy for your two boyfriends as volleyball season was back in full swing. Playing for the Japanese national team left little time for leisure, leaving you to an empty house that usually was always filled with Bokuto’s laughter or the sound of Ushijima’s rock music. Your days were filled with checking empty group chats, rushing home to make dinner only to find you were the only one eating it, and barely managing to stay awake when the front door finally opened.

It was starting to be too much for you. And you needed them oh so badly. Some night you tried wearing Bokuto’s shirt with your fingers buried deep between your thighs only to find they weren’t long enough to reach your good spots. Or you’d call out Ushijima’s name louder and louder hoping it would bring you closer to a high but it always fell flat.

You started to give up from frustration, actually felt yourself avoiding mirrors or even their touch. You didn’t deserve it, didn’t want to see. Maybe they were doing this on purpose, maybe this was their way of telling you that you weren’t enough for them anymore. Maybe there was someone else, prettier and younger and more bubbly.

There was that one pretty girl who was always conveniently at their practices...

The thoughts began to weigh on you. Made you feel like in your little house of three you didn’t really belong. But you weren’t sure how to bring it up to the boys, not when they were working so hard, and certainly not when they were exhausted every time they came home. So you just kept it all in your chest, letting it build and grow and spread.

All you wanted to do on your day off was stay in bed, allow the covers to swallow you whole so you didn’t have to think about anything. But Bokuto insisted you get up, that grin on his face that usually had you grinning right back.

“Cmon Birdy! Come watch us today! The rest of the boys will be happy to see you too!”

Normally you would have been thrilled at the opportunity, spending the whole day watching your men do what they loved so much. But with everything you’ve been feeling it was hard. Still, you tried your best to match that grin of his, rolling out of bed and getting ready so you could go to their joint practice.

You sat where you usually did, on the first bleacher, front and centre. You were usually so engaged, cheering them on when they hit a particularly good spike or bringing them water when they needed, but today you found yourself distracted. Eyes wandering to the ceiling or fiddling with the hem of the skirt you wore.

You hadn’t even noticed the stranger that sat beside you, just how close he’d gotten. You were taken more back when he spoke so close to your ear, making you jump a little in your seat.

His laughter was so warm. Smooth and thick like honey. You didn’t recognize him, but boy was he handsome. Dark features, light eyes, a smile with a perfect set of teeth. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you pretty.”

Pretty— did he really think you were pretty? Not wanting to seem more like a dunce you forced words from your lips, a little nervous giggle following suit. “I-I was totally zoned out, you didn’t scare me too bad, promise.”

He was staring, and normally this would have made you uncomfortable. Normally you would have told a handsome stranger right away that you were happily taken. But the longer he stared the tighter you pressed your thighs together, the deeper your flush became. You basked in it, the attention you were so craving from your two boyfriends...

“You must be new, I’d recognize a beautiful face like yours.” Another clench of your thighs. You were biting your lip and then his hand was on your thigh. This is where you’d usually slap someone, or call your much larger partners to handle it. But you couldn’t take your eyes off his. And right now you didn’t want to, not when his thumb felt so smooth on your skin.

“What’s your name? And phone number, if your willing of course.”

He was wearing a jersey, one didn’t recognize. Maybe from an opposing team? You just giggled again, tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. Words were on the tip of your tongue when a heavy hand fell on your shoulder. The male's hand all but flew off your thigh, his eyes a bit narrowed as the all too familiar voice sounded behind you.

“Baby, come with me.” Ushijima’s voice didn’t waver, in fact, it was deeper than usual, laced with an emotion you couldn’t quite point out. Looking towards the court you saw Bokuto too, thick brows furrowed and arms crossed. Your lips twisted in a thin line as you stayed still a moment, only for Ushijima to easily haul you to your feet.

“W-Wakatoshi—“

“I said. Come.” There was a demand, one that had the frustration bubbling on your features. You tore yourself away from his grip but still stormed out of the bleachers. Bokuto was quick to follow, easily picking up with your pace and walking to your side.

“Baby... what was that...”

“Right in front of us too? Just disrespectful.” Ushijima spoke, now on your other side.

You could feel them, the hot and angry tears that began to swim in your gaze as you stormed towards an empty room. The two continued to talk, trying to understand. You never flirted so openly with others, especially didn’t let them touch you. They wanted answers, needed to know why.

But as soon as the door closed behind you, you snapped.

“It was nice getting attention for once you know!”

That shut them up quickly. Bokuto looked downright shocked, lips held open in a silent gasp while Ushijima still held that blank expression of his. He was going to be the first one to speak but you cut him off, finally letting the tears slip-free.

“I know you two are busy! I know that I signed up for it. But it’s been too much— I’ve been so so lonely... and no one ever seems to notice! Neither of you! I just— I miss my boys, I miss you two so much and it’s not fair... it’s not fair to feel this lonely when I have you both...”

Your voice faded with a small crack, the tears now pooling from your eyes. You tried your best to wipe them away, body beginning to tremble as all the feelings hit you at once. You felt bad yelling at them, seeing their looks of shock. But it was now or never, you had to get it out.

Arms were around you, and you had to blink out a couple tears to realize it was Ushijima who had pulled you in so close. One of his large palms cupped the back of your head, pressed you into his chest with a small little hum.

��Love... sorry you’ve been feeling this way—“

“Why didn’t you just tell us Birdy! We love you so much you know!” Bokuto was quick to follow suit, joining in on the hug which only seemed to make you more emotional. Finally being encased in their warmth, feeling their arms over yours. It was everything you had been wanting.

“I-I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.. and then I just got in my head... I thought maybe you two d-didn’t want—“

“Shush...” Ushijima murmured, not even allowing you to finish that sentence. He pulled away just enough so you could look both of them in the eyes. Bokuto was giving you a small little smile, hoping it would make those tears of yours go away, while Ushijima just sighed, smoothed his palm over your cheek to wipe away tears with his thumb.

“Baby, we love you so much, please don’t ever doubt that okay?” He made sure you nodded before continuing. “We’re sorry, sorry for making you feel unwanted.”

“So so sorry Birdy! I just love ya— well of course we both do but, I just love ya so so much!” Bokuto said with enthusiasm, his smile growing when you let out a little giggle. You wiped away the remainder of your tears, chest a bit shaky as you looked between your two boys. You could see, how genuinely sorry they were. You knew deep down that they would never stop loving you, but hearing it, seeing it on their faces, made the weight that had been sitting in your chest lift.

“I love you both... love you, Bo, love you Ushi...”

“Tonight will be all about you pretty bird, all night just for you,” Bokuto said, pulling you back into a hug that you happily got swallowed into. Ushi nodded in agreement, his palm smoothing over the back of your head as you swayed in Bokuto’s embrace.

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

The evening really had been all about you. From the way Bokuto carried you bridal style into your shared apartment, to the way Ushijima had slowly stripped you in front of the full-length mirror, murmuring in your ear all his favourite parts of your lovely body. Now you were situated in Ushijima’s lap, naked body covered in a light layer of sweat as your chest rose and fell at a quick pace.

“P-Please Sir, want more, need more.” Your voice was nothing more than a whine that was easily shushed by Ushijima. His thick thighs tensed a bit around your own, pulling your legs further apart in the process. “Be patient baby girl, want you to feel every inch of Daddy’s cock.”

Bokuto was struggling to go slow as well, the urge to just thrust wildly into your perfect cunt filling his chest. The look Ushijima shot him told him to keep up this slow pace, for you. So he went in just another inch, making the two of you groan in unison.

“That’s it...” Ushijima’s voice was huskier than usual, large hand palming at your chest as he nodded His eyes were glued to your splitting pussy. “Another inch Bo, just one.”

And it went on just like that until Bokuto’s hips kissed the backs of your thighs, his head rolled back in a pleased moan as you squirmed in Ushijima’s grip. “Beautiful...” Ushi mumbled, his palm slithering down your body to rest on the bulge left in your stomach by Bokuto’s cock. You whimpered at the touch, cheeks feeling hot as his hand slid down to your pussy, traced the way your lips stretched around Bokuto’s throbbing length.

“You’re so stretched around Daddy’s cock baby, you see that? See how Bo can just split you open?” He took hold of your jaw with his free hand, making sure you were looked down at your full pussy. “S-see it Sir, and it feels so good.”

“Fuck yeah it does, this pretty pussy was made for me.” Bokuto rumbles out, his muscles tensing as he suddenly jutted his hips, his tip slapping against your cervix and making you yelp. Ushijima tsked at that, brows furrowing a bit as he snatched one of Bokuto’s hands, made him press it into the place where you and him met. “You need to be patient to Bo, just appreciate how little our baby is, how her perfect cunny stretches just for us. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Bokuto was basically drooling, his fingers pressing along the bulge on your tummy, the one he made. He licked his lips, before a grin curled on his handsome face. “It’s so so wonderful, the best fucking cunt ever. Going to fill you up over and over again tonight pretty girl, make sure you're stuffed absolutely full of Toshi and I so you never doubt again just how much we love you.”

[rocorambles]

Let's Give It A Try

Pairing: Bokuto x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Mafia AU, Sex Toys, Overstimulation, Use of Sir, Dirty Talk, Degradation

Summary: Dating a man like Bokuto Koutarou goes against every moral code you’ve learned growing up, but love has a funny way of going against the grain.

Bokuto exhales, sighing as he leans broad shoulders against the rough exterior of the building behind him, cigarette smoke floating in tendrils in front of him. He prides himself on the strength and health of his body, but when he gets in one of his moods after a particularly strenuous week, he can’t help but rely on the way the nicotine mellows out the stress of his job. Closing his eyes, he lets the muffled beat of the music inside the club reverberate through his chest, letting himself let go just a tiny bit. Foolish maybe, considering just how many people want him dead, but he allows himself a moment of lax judgement while on his turf, literally on the ground he owns, surrounded by his men both in and out of the club, under the watchful blue eyes of his right hand man.

Everything will be just fine.

And suddenly everything’s a little bit more than just fine as his curiosity peeks, sharp owl-like eyes scanning you as you come stumbling out of the club, taking deep ragged breaths, completely unaware of your surroundings as you greedily inhale the fresh night air.

He has to bite back the sharp grin that threatens to stretch across his face at your adorable jump and squeak when you finally straighten up and take inventory of who’s around you, quivering like a little mouse when you meet his intense golden gaze. There’s something different about you and he can tell with just a quick glance at you that this isn’t your usual joint, taking in your considerably conservative and casual outfit for the area’s most popular nightclub, the nervous ticks and almost bashful way you curl in on yourself, unused to the hungry look he continues to direct at you.

It takes some coaxing and he almost feels bad at how he swears he can hear your frightened and unsure heartbeat pounding your chest as he approaches you. But his talons are out, wide eyes too curious and intrigued by the prey that’s caught his attention to just let you go off on your merry way. He croons at how you stutter, tripping over your words in your nervousness, licking his own lips for a different reason when he sees your pink muscle dart out to wet your dry ones.

But he can feel his wings furl out to their full span, can feel himself prepare to lunge at you when he finds out that his sweet little mouse came all by herself, trying to get over your recent breakup by having some fun, maybe even finding someone to…

This time he does laugh when you embarrassedly trail off, ending your anxious ramblings, before pinning you down with a wild grin that makes your chest tighten.

“I can be that someone.”

There’s something about the man that leaves you on edge. You can’t deny the fact that he’s handsome, in a wild rugged way that reminds you of a predator. But there’s something...intense about him, something in his eyes, something in his presence, something in his aura that makes you shiver, keeping your suddenly heavy feet rooted to their spot. Not that you’d get very far if he was intent on doing you harm you ascertain as you stare at the muscular and toned figure in front of you.

Yet despite all that, you can’t help but believe that he really does mean you no harm. Maybe it’s what you want to believe. A last hope and faith that not all men are scum like your ex is. Desperate to believe that there are decent men out there, that you can find happiness and maybe even love one day. So going against every ounce of self-defense and common sense that’s been instilled in you all your life, you take this stranger’s hand and let him guide you away, finding comfort in his warm, calloused grip.

Even if you do end up dead after all this, you can’t help but think you’ve made the right decision, your problem more than solved as any thoughts of your ex (and anything else really) fly out your head as soon as you’re dragged into an alarmingly luxurious apartment. He really is more animal than man and you cry out as teeth harshly dig into your neck, possessively and hungrily marking every inch of you, lips greedily wrapping around perky nipples and sucking with a force that makes your eyes roll and your nails dig into his thick biceps. But that only seems to egg him on more and you vaguely wonder if you’re going to cum before he can even get to the main course, body already overwhelmed with arousal and desire as he touches you everywhere except where you need him most.

You’re positively dripping by the time he does make it between your legs, too high strung to even be embarrassed, letting out a high pitched whine instead when he teasingly blows on your sopping wet entrance, pressing your thighs apart, leaving you on full display. And you swear you black out purely from relief when a hot wet tongue finally licks a long line up your slit. So on edge already, it only takes a few flicks and lapping of your aroused clit to have you careening off that pleasurable cliff and you sob, body thrashing and convulsing as you ride out your orgasm while lips and tongue continue to work you over.

You blearily blink as you finally regain control of your body, expecting the man between your legs to take the hint as you try to sit up on your elbows. But you scream, instantly collapsing on the bed, hands fisting in the sheets besides you as two thick fingers suddenly slip inside of you, beginning a relentless pace right from the start, hot tongue still lapping and licking at your sensitive clit. It’s too much, too soon and you writhe, body trying to pry yourself away from the torturous pleasure, but also aching for another release as the coil in you is wound tight. Not that Bokuto leaves you much choice as he easily keeps you pinned down, your legs no match for the strength of his arms and upper body as he continues to feast on you, your pretty cries and screams music to his ears, your delicious juices intoxicating. And before you even realize it, you’re forced to your second peak, creaming and clamping down on the digits still stuffed inside of you, back arching, mouth opening in a silent scream.

Surely it’s over and you tell yourself that you’ll just close your eyes for a brief moment, a few seconds at most before paying him back with a blowjob, handjob, whatever he wants in return. Except your companion has very different plans on exactly how you’ll return the favor and your eyes shoot open, pathetic pleading noises spilling past your lips as you feel something hard and thick press against your entrance. But then he’s shoving inside of you, cock splitting your spent hole in two, and your mind blanks, unable to resist, unable to enjoy, only able to take and feel as it drags against your walls, going deeper and deeper.

And that’s how you pass out, one of the last clear memories you have before your mind fades to darkness, exhaustion and bliss rendering you useless as you’re ruthlessly fucked into and used by the man above you as he chases his own end, head empty except for mindless thoughts of cock, cock, cock.

There’s a few more one night flings after that and you try and convince yourself that it’s just that, nothing more, ignoring the pang in your heart when Bokuto sends you a sad face via text when he wakes up to an empty bed, ignoring the guilt resting heavy on your shoulders when you accidentally sleep in longer than you meant to and have to pry yourself from a pouting face and gentle grip on your wrist as gold eyes plead for you to stay.

But Bokuto Koutarou always gets what he wants and you find it harder to wriggle out from his strong arms as the sun’s rays filter through the windows, you find it harder to not sit down at his dining table and stay for a piping hot cup of coffee, you find it harder not to wake up and nuzzle closer to his body, cuddling and sweetly talking with him more than a casual relationship warrants.

And you find it impossible to not say yes when he asks you to officially go out with him one lazy morning as he cradles you in his arms.

Dating Bokuto is an adventure unlike any you’ve been on before and it’s so easy to be swept along in his enthusiasm and energy, giggling like children in one moment before you’re being pounced on in the next, gold eyes darkening in raw hunger and lust. Bokuto is an enigma that you wonder if you’ll ever truly understand, so easily shifting from a cheerful goofball to a dangerous predator and back again. But you don’t mind, finding the multi-faceted personality one of his strong suits...until it isn’t anymore.

You’d always had a feeling that Bokuto was hiding something from you, some things not quite adding up, the outgoing man strangely reticent about certain topics, especially regarding his work life and where his money comes from. But you had chalked it up to your sweet boyfriend being humble, not wanting to delve too much into his enormous wealth, because he must have enormous wealth from the penthouse apartment he lives in, the extravagant vacations he whisks you away on, the luxury gifts he bestows upon you without blinking an eye. And you’re correct, just not in the way you had imagined and you tearily and accusationally glare at him when you accidentally come across the hidden switch in the back of his closet, door opening and revealing crates and crates of a white powdery substance.

You want him to laugh it off like he always does, tell you some bullshit about it being for some prank he’s going to pull on Akaashi or Konoha, that it’s not what you think it is. But he doesn’t and the two of you just silently stare at each other, the pieces connecting all too clearly even without a word being said. And you leave, betrayal and hurt digging their claws into you as you leave behind a man who you thought you had known, who you had loved, but who you realize maybe you don’t really know at all.

It feels eerily familiar, a sense of deja vu flooding you when you take hesitant steps into another nightclub in the area, desperate for another distraction, another fling to fuck you free from thoughts of gold eyes and a muscular body. You tell yourself that there’s nothing similar about the solid build of the stranger you’re grinding up against, that the similarity in appearance is just coincidence as the two of you stumble to his apartment. But then lips and hands are all over you, too gentle, too soft, treating you like glass, words too cautious. Everything’s wrong, wrong, wrong and when he begins a slow careful pace, fucking you like he’s making love, so different from the way a certain man would have broken you down to pieces only to build you back up, you shove him off, uncaring of how rude you’re being.

That night when you return to your own bed, you sob in frustration, toys, dildos, vibrators scattered around you as you seek any relief you can get, looking for even the slightest mimicry of Bokuto’s touch, trying to remember what he sounds like, what he feels like. But memory and imagination can only get you so far, can never live up to the real thing, and you scream into your pillow as an unsatisfying orgasm ripples through you, the realization that Bokuto has ruined your body for anyone else, even yourself, sinking into you.

It’s absolute stupidity to be with someone just for great sex. Absolutely ridiculous. What decent human would go crawling back to their drug-dealing ex just for his good dick game? God knows what other shady underground shit Bokuto’s up to and you know it runs much deeper than a single room full of cocaine.

But maybe you’re not a decent human. Maybe that’s why you still can’t stop thinking of him despite how you try and hold out, despite the multiple flings, nights, and even entire weekends you spend with yourself in bed, spending far too much on sex toys, pussy and clit throbbing, fingers and hands aching from constantly bending to be inside yourself. Yet for all that, you’re never satisfied, every weak orgasm, every disappointing touch from another man only making your need for Bokuto even more pronounced, until you finally break. And a month later you call Bokuto, a scrambled frantic call over the phone with a dildo shoved deep inside you, a vibrator buzzing on your clit, tears streaming down your face when they do nothing to take away the yearning inside of you, begging and pleading for him to come and help you.

It’s humiliating how even just the sight of him skyrockets your arousal to levels you haven’t felt since the two of you dated and you whimper as he casually leans in your doorway, thick arms crossed across his chest, gold eyes raking over your sweating nude figure that’s writhing on top of rumpled bed sheets.

“This is a good look for a desperate slut like you. Couldn’t cum without me? No one, not even your little toys could make you feel good? Maybe I should just leave, just like how you left me. Leave you high and dry. Well I guess maybe not that dry.”

You pant, wide blown out eyes watching as he slowly approaches you, face heating when he bends down to peer at your dripping cunt, mockingly whistling at how you pretty hole is no different than a leaking faucet, inner thighs drenched in your arousal.

“Koutarou, please-”

You scream as fingers harshly twist at your nipples, eyes rolling to the back of your head as just that brutal touch is enough to bring you over the edge you had been hovering around for so long, body convulsing, a dopey grin making its way onto your lips when you finally feel the pleasure you’d been craving for so long.

“Fuck, you came from just that? Who the fuck said you could cum? Who the fuck said you could use my name? Sluts like you don’t deserve to say my name. You know what to address me as.”

You wail, pain melding with the pleasure as he shoves your vibrator away, alternating between pinching and slapping your already overstimulated clit as he enunciates every word he snarls at you, a feral grin stretching across his face at your barely coherent babbles of “sir” and “sorry”.

The constriction in his own pants is painful and he’s quick to strip waist down, slowly palming his aching erection. It takes everything in him to hold back, to not just shove balls deep inside of you in one strong thrust, your absence affecting him just as badly. But that’s not what this is about. This is about making a point, reminding you just how wrong you were for leaving him without a single word, rebuilding what the two of you once had. And as ravenous as he is, he takes his time, willing himself to slow down and rediscover every inch of you, painstakingly exploring your body once again, re-memorizing every sensitive part of you that elicits a little gasp, a tiny mewl.

And he doesn’t stop, pulling the dildo inside of you completely out, using his teeth, tongue, and finger to bring you to the edge over and over again, always backing away just when you’re about to fall off that pleasurable cliff once more, diving back in like a man starved just when you think you have a shaky grasp on your senses. Only when you’re full out sobbing broken cries of his title, a litany of “please, please, please” escaping you does he move on and he groans at how perfectly your legs wrap around his back, urging him inside you as his cock finally makes contact with your gushing cunt, your hands weakly pawing at him in a silent plea for more.

But again he stops, bringing a thumb to wipe away your tears as you begin to wail anew, frustration and denial tearing you to shreds, instinctively leaning into his touch as he gently strokes your cheekbone.

“Tell me who’s the only one who can make you feel good. Who’s the only one who can pleasure you?”

And as you scream his name, he finally slams inside of you, relentlessly pounding in and out of you, gold eyes hungrily taking in how wrecked you look, how broken you look, all because of him, only for him.

It doesn’t take long for both of you to tumble together over that edge, not when both of you are beyond pent up, absence making your hearts grow fonder and your bodies desperate for each other. And you can’t help the content warm surge inside of you when you feel hot thick liquid fill your insides, your body lax and useless in post-coital bliss, heart and mind eager for Bokuto to collapse beside you and pull you into his toned chest like he always does.

Except there is no familiar weight beside you and your head shakes side to side, drool trickling down your face when Bokuto’s softening cock is suddenly replaced by four fingers brutally thrusting in and out of you, curling just right along your still quivering walls.

“We still have a long way to go, little mouse. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

You don’t know how many times you’re forced over the edge after that, consciousness fading in and out as he assaults your cunt with his fingers, his tongue, his cock. You even vaguely remember waking up once to a dildo in your ass, Bokuto pounding into your cum-filled pussy, your body more stretched than it’s been in a long time. They all blur together, only tied together by the delirious pleasure that numbs everything else until you’re succumbing to darkness one last time as yet another body shaking orgasm rips through you.

It’s the scent of fresh coffee and bacon that awakens you and you blearily open your eyes, only to immediately wince as soon as you try to move, your body feeling like it had been rammed into by a truck (although you suppose that imagery isn’t too far off from what actually transpired). Sinking back into the plush pillow and mattress, you close your eyes, wondering what’s your next move. Force your aching body out of bed and confront the inevitable, already somewhat dreading having to face Bokuto now that your mind isn’t clouded with lust? Go back to sleep and pray that he’s gone when you wake up again, like a coward?

But Bokuto doesn’t leave you a choice and you shyly cover yourself with the blanket when he comes bounding into the room, a heaping plate of food and a cup of the delicious caffeinated beverage in his hands, heart fluttering when you see the warm and affectionate grin on his face as he approaches you, carefully placing everything on the nightstand before tenderly pecking your forehead and murmuring good morning.

You try to say something, anything, words getting stuck in your throat, but you’re shushed as the coffee mug is carefully placed in your hands, Bokuto’s soothing voice urging you to eat and recover first. And you gladly take the excuse, hunger and thirst from last night’s endurance marathon finally making itself known as you devour everything. But there’s only so long you can avoid the inevitable and with belly full and feeling more yourself, you listen as he gently grabs your hand, letting him entwine his fingers with yours as he tells you everything.

Who he is. What he does. Exactly how he’s affiliated with the Fukurodani Syndicate.

None of it is surprising, a lot of it what you had surmised and guessed yourself. But it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow knowing just how much he had kept from you, how much he had been planning on keeping from you for who knows how long. At least it’s all out in the open now though, no secrets left between the two of you, and there’s a pause as he continues to rub his thumb on the back of your hand.

“I won’t sugar coat who I am and what my life is. I don’t expect you to come running back with open arms. But if you’re willing to give it a try, I swear that there’ll never be any more secrets, that I’ll protect you, that I’ll love you. I’ll be the damn best boyfriend there ever is.”

You almost giggle at how childish the last sentence is, hope churning in your stomach when you see how genuine and passionate he is, fondness flowing through you when you recognize the man you had fallen in love with beyond the dirt on his hands. And you know it’s arguably foolish, goes against every moral code you’ve grown up with, but love never does seem to follow set equations and rules and you bring that hand to your lips, affectionately kissing your clasped fingers as you meet gold eyes.

“Let’s give it a try.”

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Worth the World

Spike x Reader

Words: 2459

Summary: On a particularly bad day, the reader can barely bring herself to get out of bed. Spike does his best to comfort his girlfriend without being overbearing. 

Notes: This is inspired by one of my favorite fics ever by @suckmysupernatural. I got this idea when having a depressive episode myself, so I hope you guys enjoy a little comfort fic with one of my favorite vamps. Plus, I’ve never written for Spike before and since I’m getting back into Buffy, I thought this would be the perfect time. (Also, this is entirely based on my own experience, so it might not be everyone’s experience with this kind of thing {but please be nice, I just used a few of the things I felt so it’s all based on my own emotions and insecurities!}) Enjoy!

Warnings: Depression, self-loathing, anxiety (This imagine was really just a way for me to put down my emotions and write something comforting, but I hope you all like it too)

-

You didn’t want to move. You weren’t really sure if you could. Your limbs just felt… heavy. Forcing your legs to move, you slowly swung them over the side of the bed, using all the strength you could muster to sit up straight. 

It wasn’t that something terrible had happened. In fact, the day before had gone pretty well. You’d spent most of it watching movies with Willow and Buffy and, when the sunset, you went on a long evening walk with your boyfriend. There were no deadly forces plotting world domination, no vengeful vamps after you or your friends. Hell, your favorite restaurant was open and you brought home leftovers for breakfast. 

Now, the idea of eating made your stomach turn. You managed to shuffle your way to the kitchen of your apartment, but just stood in front of the counter, leaning on the marble top for support. Just standing there felt like it took every ounce of energy you had. It was almost painful, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You did your best to keep them from falling. You had places to be today, meeting up with the gang and  you didn’t want to worry them with your moping. 

With slow steps, you made your way back to your room to get dressed. Of course, most of your clothes were dirty and you didn’t care enough to wash them. So you threw a sweatshirt over your pajama top and put on some shoes, hoping no one would ask about it. You caught your reflection and felt that dark, empty feeling in your chest grow. Pathetic. Your shoulders sagged forward and you blinked away more tears as you watched them well in your eyes. You didn’t have the right to feel like this. How much had Buffy been through and she still greeted every day with a smile. Everything was perfect and yet you were pathetic enough to still want to crawl back into bed. You just hoped that you would feel better by the time you saw everyone. Especially Spike. 

-

You sat with your legs pulled up to your chest. Xander and Willow were debating whether or not using wooden bullets would be a good vamp killer. Buffy was listening in amusement and Giles just looked exasperated, distracting himself by putting books back in their proper place on the shelves. No one said anything about your pajamas. You actually felt kind of invisible, like no one even really knew you were there. It made the empty feeling that much worse. 

“What do you think, Y/N?” 

“Xander, don’t you think that’s a little insensitive?”

“What? It’s not like we’re planning on dusting her boyfriend. Even if he is annoying and evil and-”

“Xander.” Willow said sternly. When you looked up, everyone’s eyes were on you. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t really paying attention.” Your voice held little to no emotion. You were almost too exhausted to feel anything. You just felt hollow. 

“If I shot Spike with a wooden bullet do you think he would, you know,” Xander made a motion with his hands that was meant to simulate a vampire dying. “Just theoretically, of course.” 

Everyone was expecting a witty remark. You and Xander were close and teased each other often, especially about your relationship with Spike. Instead, you just shrugged, your eyes fixating on a spot on the table. 

“Maybe.” 

The group collectively exchanged a look of concern, but didn’t press anything. After all, what reason could there be for you to be upset? They knew that if something had happened with Spike, you would tell them and there weren’t any recent deaths to worry about, so they continued on with their playful conversations about breaking curses and some movie that they had watched recently. It felt like you were intruding- like an unwanted bystander that everyone wished would just disappear. While no one had said anything like that, the thoughts filled your head nonetheless. 

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but you’d never told them. An episode like this hadn’t happened in months so you had hoped they had stopped. Some days you were as happy as you ever had been, but others you felt like a burden. Worthless and pathetic- pitying yourself for no reason at all. 

Spike didn’t even know, even after almost a year of dating. You never dreamed of telling him. Spike was always saying that you were the strong one. You were the one that helped him through every day of his endless living. He got his soul for you. What would he say if he saw you like this? If he knew the doubts and loathing going through your head. He would know that you’re weak and vulnerable and you didn’t want that to happen. 

So you didn’t tell them. You kept all of your thoughts inside of you as they ate away at your mind. On the outside, you just looked tired. Everyone knew that you stayed awake into the late hours because of Spike, so you hoped that’s what they would think. You were tired, but it wasn’t from lack of sleep. It was like your body just wanted to give up. Maybe if you could just wake yourself up, everything would go back to normal. 

Buffy and Willow went out for coffee, so you went with them, hoping the caffeine would be enough to shake you out of this. Instead, it just made you more jumpy and anxious. The cup shook in your hand, but you kept drinking, still hoping that it would give you enough energy to fake it. This, like your out-of-it demeanor, did not go unnoticed. 

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” Buffy asked, suddenly stopping her conversation with Willow about shoes. At first, you didn’t realize she was talking to you. You were so focused on the thoughts swarming around in your head, you hadn’t noticed they were both looking at you with concern. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Because you’ve been spacing out all morning. What’s going on?” 

“I guess I’m just tired.” You shrugged, grimacing from the effort the small movement took. 

“Are you sure? Did Spike do something stupid, because you know I’ll-”

“Really, Buffy, I’m okay. I think I just need to go home and rest for a while.” You finished the rest of the coffee, feeling your heart beat faster as the anxiety built up in your chest. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” 

“Okay.” Buffy gave you a skeptical glance and Willow smiled sincerely.

“Feel better, Y/N.” 

“I’ll see you guys later.” You faked the best smile you could before turning away from them. 

“Is she going to be okay?” Willow wondered, watching the way you nervously messed with the hem of your shirt as you walked. Buffy narrowed her eyes and grabbed her bag. 

“I don’t know, but if she won’t talk to us about it, there’s one person she will.” 

“Oh do we have to go there? You know that place gives me the creeps.” Willow whined. Buffy just gave her a look and the two trekked off in search of your sun-hating boyfriend. 

-

You stood in the middle of your living room as the tears slowly started to pour down your cheeks. The coffee must have given you enough energy to cry and now you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you just stood, frozen by the overwhelming emptiness inside you. Pathetic. Useless. Worthless. Everything was swirling around your head, breaking you down further until you had to lean against the window sill to stay standing. 

You could faintly hear something outside your door, but you made no motion to open it. It sounded far away, or maybe you were just blocking it out. All you could hear was your heart pounding, along with the hundreds of doubts rattling in your head. It was until the door burst open that you flinched. 

“First, the slayer comes banging on my crypt, telling me that something’s wrong and then you leave me to break down your door- if I could die, you would have scared me to death. Why didn’t you open the door?” Spike huffed in frustration. You didn’t turn around. Frankly, you hardly noticed he was there. His irritation quickly faded, replaced by worry. “Y/N, love, what is it?” 

You still didn’t respond, keeping your back turned with your hands clinging to the window sill to keep from falling. Spike approached you slowly and you thought you heard his footsteps, but part of you thought you were just imagining him. Why would he come for you? It was the middle of the day and the sun was high in the sky. A rush of guilt washed over you. He came here despite the danger of being burned and you didn’t even have a reason. You’d put him at risk for your own pitiful problems. 

“Darling, why won’t you look at me?” He took another step towards you, but stopped. The sun’s rays created a shield around you, preventing him from pulling you into his arms. “If you could just lower the blinds, that would make this far less awkward.” 

“You d-didn’t need to come here. T-the sun.” You stammered. You wanted to reach for the curtains, but you still couldn’t move your arms without your legs giving out. 

“A little sunlight isn’t going to stop from me from getting to you,” he said sincerely. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him rush to the window, the sound of his skin sizzling in the light made you let go of the ledge. Your legs buckled just as he got the curtains closed. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You had hurt him. All you had to do was reach up and shut out the sunlight and you couldn’t even do that. He burned himself just to reach you. 

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. It’s alright.” He held you up for a moment before sinking to the floor to hold you in his lap. “I’ve got you love, I’ve got you.” 

“Y-you shouldn’t be here, Spike. I’m not-” You hid your face from his view so he would see the tears. “I’m not worth all of this. There’s something wrong with me. One minute I’m fine and the next I’m like this and I don’t even know why. I don’t have a reason to feel like this. It’s like I’m… broken or something.” 

“You aren’t broken.” Spike said softly, tucking your head under his chin and gently rocking you back and forth. “You’re human.” 

He held you like that for a long while, not saying anything or even moving off of the floor. He didn’t make you look at him until he was sure you had relaxed enough. Putting a finger under your chin, he gently lifted your face to meet his. 

“I’m sorry about all this.” You sniffed, using your sleeve to wipe some of the dampness off your cheeks. 

“I don’t want to hear those worse from you for the rest of the day.” Spike gave you a small smile and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I would trek across deserts wrapped in a blanket if it meant being here with you. Every second is worth it.” Now, he lowered his lips down to yours for a slow, sweet kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes were shining with the soul of a man in love. “To me, love, you’re worth the world.” 

You stared into his eyes and knew that he meant every single word. While it didn’t chase away your doubts or the empty feeling in your chest, it helped you see that this feeling would end. And for now, that was enough. 

“I love you.” You whispered, pulling him closer. He kissed the top of your head. 

“I love you too, darling.” He hooked his arm under your knees and stood, holding you against his chest. “Now, why don’t I get you something to eat and we can spend the day in bed?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ll behave, I promise.”

“Spike.” You laughed lightly. 

“There,” He beamed, “I knew I could get a smile.” 

He carried you into your room and placed you on your usual side of the bed, laying your fluffiest blanket over top of you. Then he vanished into your kitchen, the sound of your cupboards opening and shutting reminding you that he had no idea where anything was. It almost made you smile. He came back in with a bowl of your favorite cereal, a class of milk, and a thin leather bound journal. 

“What’s that?” You wondered as he climbed into the bed beside you. He handed you the cereal and milk and put his arm around you, pulling you close. 

“Eat your cereal.” He ordered teasingly, opening up to the first page. You tried to look over his shoulder, but he pulled the book away, laughing. “Do you want me to read or not?” 

“What is it?” Your curiosity made your tone amused and playful. You were starting to sound like you again. 

“Well, ever since I got this pesky soul back, I’ve had an unbearable amount of feelings running about in my head, so I figured I could at least put them to good use.” 

“Spike, are they…?” You perked up with excitement. He smiled sheepishly. 

“Poems.” He looked down at seemingly endless pages of his writings and back at you. “They’re mostly about you, of course. I thought, maybe, you’d like to hear them. See if they’d make you feel a little better.” You were almost too awestruck to nod. 

“I’d really like that.” 

With your cereal in hand, you curled up beside him, laying your head back against his shoulder. He read softly and slowly, his gentleness with his words almost lulling you to sleep. The poems were beautiful, forcing you to stay awake if only to hear one more word. Spike felt you relaxed against him as he read and paused his reading to kiss your forehead, then your cheek, and lastly your lips. 

You felt the emptiness for a few more days, but each day, he was by your side, making sure you ate and gave yourself time to breathe. By the time you started to feel normal again, he’d read most of his poems and continued to write more and you were able to go for your evening walks without feeling exhausted. Your friends were more than supportive and helped you through it all while still giving you the space you needed. 

It wasn’t the last time an episode like this happened, but now you always knew that, no matter what, you’d never be alone.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks; @kendahl0216

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Lunar Violence (jjk)

Summary: You’re not a big fan of your best friend’s favorite band, Lunar Violence. Their werewolf gimmick makes you roll your eyes, even if the music isn’t too bad. When she drags you to a concert just as the blood moon rises, though, everything changes.

Warnings: werewolf sex, possessive behavior, choking, knotting, marking, heats and ruts so whatever consent issues you feel are within that realm, unrpotected sex, werewolf dick, abo dynamics

Word Count:7445

Rating: Explicit

You're not normally a fan of gimmicks, particularly with your music. So when your best friend begs you for a solid week to go with her to this concert, you're wary when you do a simple Google search.

Lunar Violence might be the dumbest fucking name for a band you've ever heard, but they certainly seem like they're going for a certain vibe. You'd definitely have been into it when you were a teen, the fake fangs, the facial piercings and torn leather pants, the howling they do at the ends of some of their songs.

The music itself isn't bad, the lead singer is stupid hot and has a smooth low tenor and bedroom eyes. 

You flip through only a few of the member pictures before making a decision based on the fact that they're good eye candy, at least.

Your friend Jia jumps up and down excitedly when you tell her and shows you the signs she's made. She's got a thing for the one they call Happy, a lean bassist who has a bright smile and a sexy glare.

"What are with these names? The seven dwarfs? I think they're mixing metaphors."

Jia snorts. "They call the drummer Baby because he's the youngest. It’s not that dumb and the music is really good, you’ll love it, I promise!"

"This is so dumb. You owe me."

"If I get close enough to Happy to make eye contact I'm gonna make him mine and then I'll give you anything you want." Jia says determinedly.

It’s a few weeks before the concert, so you find yourself listening to a few albums and actually getting pretty excited about it. It should be a fun time, get you away from the stress of your every day life, at the least.

You had no way of knowing that the night of the concert would complicate your life tenfold.

“Do we always have to schedule concerts around rutting season?” Namjoon whines after hitting yet another wrong chord on his guitar.

“It’s the best part about this job!” Hoseok grins.

“I can’t fucking concentrate being horny all the time, I agree with Joon,” Yoongi agrees, banging his forehead down on the keyboard.

“Should have called you Horny rather than Lucky,” Seokjin snorts, and Hoseok laughs so hard he nearly knocks over his bass guitar.

Jungkook watches them with a fond smile on his face, his brothers. Not by blood, of course but being the only werewolves in the city made them have an instant connection and camaraderie, and they’d created a pack pretty quickly. The music had come later, they’d all been interested in it, all had some talent and all been blessed with good looks, and after that it was only a matter of who did what and stage names.

Kim Seokjin, with his regal looks and sharp jaw: Prince.

Min Yoongi, with the scar over his left eye he’d gotten scrapping with a grey wolf in the woods behind his house in Daegu as a pup: Lucky.

Jung Hoseok with his easy smile and eager nature: Happy.

Kim Namjoon, always so serious and intelligent: Beethoven.��

Park Jimin, with his pretty face and sneaky smirk: Sly.

Kim Taehyung with his sweet nature and affectionate personality: Honey.

Finally, Jeon Jungkook, because he'd been barely old enough to breed when they'd met: Baby.

"Baby hasn't had his first rut yet, yeah?" It's Jimin, smirking, always giving Jungkook grief about something. 

Jungkook narrows his eyes and chucks a drumstick at him but it's no use, Jimin catching it in one band and twirling it like a goddamn baton. Jungkook would say Jimin was graceful if he hadn't seen him fall off about a dozen barstools and half a dozen stages, sober even for the latter.

“Kinda late, isn’t it?” Seokjin speaks up, and Jungkook knows he’s teasing but it stings a little, nonetheless. 

“He’s only just turned 23. You were two weeks from your 23rd before you ever popped a knot, hyung, or have you forgotten?” Namjoon snarks, and Jungkook snickers as Seokjin makes a face, that vein on his neck pulsing just a bit.

He shouldn’t laugh, they’re just as likely to come to blows during the beginning of a rut and in a full moon cycle, but he can’t help himself

Yoongi, as usual, manages to keep the peace by offering to order pizza and foot the bill, a truly saintlike act since they could go through a pizza each, as hot as their temperature would be running by now.

Jungkook doesn’t say that he’s had a knot for two years now, the very thought of his hyungs knowing that makes him blush so much he hides it by wiping his face with a towel, pretending to have been sweating. 

Truly, he should have had a rut by now, triggered by all the pheromones' from the shows they’d been doing, this tour had been particularly rough due to the upcoming blood moon, at least for all the other boys, and it isn’t as if Jungkook hasn’t mated, of course, but a full rut? Not even the hint of it. It worries him, but Namjoon keeps assuring him that everyone gets there in time, people are just different.

Taehyung had been a late bloomer himself, not starting his first rut until he met and fell in love with his girlfriend, a short feisty redhead he’d met after a hand injury from stringing his bass guitar and slicing his palm open. She’d been a nurse who scolded him for not coming in sooner and it’d been almost instant, her green eyes triggering every wolf thing about him, or at least that’s how he tells it, all wide eyed and dreamy.

She’s a near constant in Taehyung’s hotel rooms now, sometimes riding along on the tour bus, but he doesn’t let her into anymore of the concerts even when she pouts, because human mates around a group of wolves around rutting season can be a dangerous time.

Taehyung is one of the gentlest wolves Jungkook knows, but he’d seen him snarl when Yoongi so much as winked at the redhead near a rut, so it’s probably for the best.

Anyway, Jungkook wasn’t worried (much). He’d find his true mate eventually, but probably not at a concert. Maybe he’d start his rut there, at least, around the full moon. He’d never have imagined that he’d find both.

The crowd is nice enough, although they seem a little feral. Some of these girls have signs that should be x rated, but you're not one to judge, especially since you've never actually….done anything too x-rated. 

You feel a little strange when you enter the concert venue and you can’t quite put your finger on it. You shrug and blame it on the strong drink your friend had made you chug before you entered since she couldn’t finish it all herself.

It’s like there’s something living under your skin, some rush like heat, and it  makes you feel antsy, ready to dance along to the music or at least laugh at your friend losing her mind next to you.

There’s a lot of gimmick to the concert and it’s bright and dark at the same time near the stage. You’d swear you’d seen the guitarist strum with no pick, with a sharp claw instead, but you’re sure it’s makeup, part of the show. They’re wearing contacts, too, you’re pretty sure, and the music is good, your friend isn’t wrong.

The song you’d heard that you’d like is actually their encore song, heavy on the bass and drums, and the lead singer even makes your skin feel hot a little when he makes eye contact and winks at you. The last solo the lights come down on the drummer, he’s on the back stage so all you can see is his long hair bouncing, the flex of his admittedly impressive biceps as he finishes the song.

You’ve been jumping up and down and singing along so much that you’re sweating and feeling a bit dizzy, so you drag your friend out the back alley while she’s still swooning, having gotten a direct smile from her favorite bassist.

“Did you see him? He looked right at me! We’re in love, Y/n. Do you want to be my maid of honor?” She’s babbling when you hear the click of a lighter next to you.

There’s people milling about, it wasn’t exactly a sold out show but there was a decent crowd, and people are now piling into the bar next door.

“Did you like the show?” 

When you turn your head you’re shocked to see that it’s the lead singer, a couple strands of his silver hair falling over his eye as he smiles at you.

“Oh. Oh, yes, I liked it very...very much,” you stammer. He’s even more handsome up close. Those are some really good contacts, you can’t tell they aren’t real at all, even though surely no one’s eyes are a violet color like that.

“Sly!” Your friend screams, and you jolt forward, surprised.

The singer’s hand lights on your shoulder and you look down. You have time to think that they must make great money for these expensive special effects because they sure do look like claws before your friend rushes past you, yelling because Happy had come out the back with the rest of the band.

There’s no mob or anything, maybe a dozen people other than you and Jia, but it makes you a bit anxious nonetheless, especially since you’re still feeling just as antsy, hot and dizzy as you were before.

It might be worse, actually, as you stand outside in the moonlight.

“Sly’s just my stage name.” His voice sounds softer, closer to your ear as he leans in. “You can call me Jimin.”

“O-okay,” you stutter, unused to feeling this way. You’re usually more outgoing, talkative, but it feels so strange. You find yourself looking up at the sky as if looking for the moon.

It’s better, once you’re inside the bar, there’s not as much of a crowd and you’re sitting at a big table with Sly...Jimin, you remind yourself, and Jia and Happy, who seems to fit his name well, laughing open and loud with your best friend as if they’ve known each other forever.

After a few hours and a couple of drinks you’ve lost most of that antsy feeling since being indoors, and you and Jimin vibe well, becoming fast friends. You’re both flirty and talkative after getting to know each other, and your mood is lifted from the concert, the alcohol, and the socialization.

You even laugh about calling their gimmick dumb as they dodge questions about where they get their makeup and accessories. You assume it’s some kind of sponsorship situation or contract, not thinking much of it.

You manage to excuse yourself long enough to look for the bathroom, although Jia abandons you since she’s made her way into Happy’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and with a blissful smile you’re not sure you’ve ever seen on her.

There’s someone standing in the hall and it’s a narrow hallway and he’s pretty wide from the back so you stumble a little when you turn, placing a hand on the wall.

“Oh, excuse me!” You say, brightly, but when he turns you gasp, a little surprised by the bright red of his eyes before you realize it’s another member of Lunar Violence.

“Hello,” he says, quietly with a little smile and he has these prominent front teeth that are pretty cute, make him look a lot less intimidating, despite those contacts and an eyebrow piercing and his size.

“Oh, hello! You’re…”

“Baby,” he blurts, and it makes you giggle.

You feel a little tipsier than you’d realized, and you guess it must be since you’ve been sitting down for an hour or so and just gotten up.

He puts a hand over his face, embarrassed. “My name is Jungkook,” he explains. “I’m the drummer?”

It’s cute how his voice pitches up into a question, as if you wouldn’t recognize him. He’s definitely a bit more modest than the other two members you’d met, with Jimin and Happy (who you’d just learned also goes by Hoseoki), bragging about tours and performances. 

“Pretty big for a baby,” you tease, and he makes an embarrassed sound in the back of his throat.

“I keep trying to get them to let me change it,” he mutters.

You introduce yourself and he smiles again, and his eyes aren’t as red as you’d thought at first, anyway, maybe it’s just the light. You brush past him as you continue to the bathroom after excusing yourself, and it’s a little zing through you, like static electricity.

It takes you longer in the bathroom than it usually would, that last drink really must have packed a punch, and when you return to the table Jungkook is sitting there, too, next to your empty chair. Jimin looks a little sullen and pouty, but he smiles at you, those violet eyes crinkling up at the corners, and you give him a bright smile back.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is all energy, jiggling his leg and tapping his fingers on the table and Hoseok seems to be watching him intently.

The atmosphere in general seems to have changed, and after exchanging numbers with everyone with the urging of Jia, you two excuse yourself.

The three men walk you outside and Jimin is close while Jungkook hangs back. You imagine Jimin is so close since you mentioned feeling a bit dizzy and he asks you twice if he can call you a car but you tell him that the fresh air will do you good.

It’s funny, the moonlight seems to energize you a bit. When Jimin leans in to kiss you on the cheek, you jump a little at a sound behind you, something like a bark.

Jimin jolts back a little, eyes widening, and you both laugh at your nerves.

“Stray dog,” you remark, and Jimin snorts.

“Something like that.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “So what exactly the fuck happened after I left?”

Jimin is sullen on the couch, arms crossed over his chest with a busted lip and Jungkook is sitting next to Hoseok on the floor on the other side of the hotel room with tissue up his nose, Hoseok tilting his head back.

“Baby is about to go into rut,” Taehyung sings, laughing, his girlfriend draped over him on the bed drowsily, his teeth marks littering her neck and throat.

“Don’t,” Yoongi warns. “Everyone’s just wound up. Full moon is in two days, after all, cut him some slack.”

“Sees one girl he likes and suddenly no one else can talk to her,” Jimin complains, gingerly working his tongue across his lip ring to see if it’s torn.

“You tried to kiss her,” Jungkook growls, and Hoseok pushes on his chest to keep him from getting up.

Jungkook can’t explain why his wolf wanted to rip Jimin’s throat out when he leaned in to kiss you, he’d just met you, didn’t even know your last name, but it was visceral, sudden, something crawling up his throat. He’d almost moved forward to do it before Hoseok said his name, sharply.

“We all get a little possessive about potential mates around the full moon,” Namjoon reasons. “But that’s not the way to handle it, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hangs his head and removes the tissue from his nose with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, hyung.” He looks over at Jimin but he means it for Namjoon. He’s still bitter, somehow, about Jimin’s hand on your lower back, his lips brushing your cheek. It makes his head feel fuzzy, his guts roll.

Namjoon, on the other hand, had been the one to “discover” Jungkook, back when he had no idea why his eyes were starting to change color with the moon cycles or why his nails grew out like claws. He’d started learning percussion just to get rid of some of the energy he had around those times, and he’d been 17 when Namjoon approached him in a music store when Jungkook was looking into buying cymbals. 

Jungkook had been abandoned when he was a baby, adopted at four years old and he had no idea about his wolf lineage, or even that they existed, until Namjoon explained it to him.

“Jungkook doesn’t know his lineage,” Namjoon reminds them all. “He might just be presenting as an alpha, that’s a lot around the full moon, Jimin, you remember.”

Jimin grumbles something under his breath and Jungkook has to take a deep breath through his nostrils, smelling iron from their scuffle earlier, in order not to lunge across the room and hit him again.

Eventually, Jungkook has to move to his own room despite usually bunking with Jimin, and he finds himself unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling. He keeps seeing your bright smile, your curls bouncing around as you talked and laughed, mostly at Jimin, and it makes him stiffen to think of how Jimin had met you first.

Why did it matter, anyway? You’re just a person, just like he is, just a girl, and he doesn’t have the best track record with talking to girls, anyway. You’d been in the front row, with your friend who Hoseok had gotten so smiley about, he’d seen you just before he started his set, his vision clearer around the full moon.

The others laughed at him for how he talked about “the wolf,” as if it wasn’t a part of him, as if it wasn’t who he was, but that’s how it had always felt. He just hadn’t had a name for it until he’d met Namjoon. It was like this thing, inside him, this beast, something that clawed and scratched to get out.

Seokjin keeps telling him that he’s fighting the wolf, that’s why he hasn’t gone into rut or popped his knot, that’s why he feels so achy and fidgety around the moon cycles, that’s why he hasn’t shifted. Namjoon would always respond there was no way to know that but Seokjin just rolled his eyes.

“Aish, I’m your hyung, listen to me. I fought mine, too, when I was young, and when I shifted I broke a few bones. You should give in, let it ride in the front seat once in a while.”

Jungkook had nodded at the time but now, he doesn’t know how to do that. Drumming helped, it was a lot of work and energy expelled and it felt like he could let him out, the wolf, just a little. It’s why he’d gotten so big, staying active and lifting weights was something the wolf liked.

The wolf came sometimes when he masturbated, too, when he’d feel particularly worked up around the full moon, after a concert, sweaty and rolling his hips into his hand.

When he tries it after meeting you, he can’t even finish, ending up panting and sore, the wolf still snarling over the memory of Jimin’s lips barely brushing across your cheek.

Surprisingly enough, it’s Jungkook who texts you first. Wanna go for a drink?

You’re not sure whether to say yes at first, you’ve been feeling so strange. You can barely sleep, your skin feeling hot, as if you’d burned yourself with a too hot shower. You think about that night at the concert a lot, Jimin’s violet eyes, Jungkook’s almost red ones, how odd you’d felt.

You would have talked to Jia about it but she’s been abducted by the werewolf band, apparently, you’ve barely seen her in a week and when you had she’d been littered with hickeys and with a big goofy smile.

Part of you wonders if this is all some sex ring cult but she seems happy, jubilant even, so you agree, meeting Jungkook at a downtown bar.

He’s there before you arrive, you can see him through the window sitting at a table, looking wide and a bit intimidating until he lifts his head and smiles at you with a little wave.

His eyes are a warm brown now, pretty and wide, you’re able to notice the shape more without the contacts.

Jungkook is still all energy, maybe that’s just how he is, talking to you more and more as the nights go on and you two share a pitcher of beer, scooting his chair closer. You find he flushes a pretty rose when you flirt with him and can’t stop laughing when he nearly falls out of his chair when you prop your legs up in his lap.

By the end of the night he can’t stop smiling at you and you’re intrigued, moreso than you’d imagined you would be when you’d first met him, smiling shyly at you at the bar near the concert. You start to feel funny again, your head fuzzy, probably from the alcohol.

When you tell him, he’s all wide eyed concern.

You giggle. “Now I know why they call you Baby.” 

He huffs a little. 

He walks you outside just as he did before but this time he doesn’t hang back, and when you reach the alleyway, he places a hand on the swell of your hip as you take a few deep breaths of the night air.

You’re surprised, laugh a little until you look up into his eyes. You’d swear they looked red tinged again, but surely it’s just the beer.

“Not a baby,” he murmurs, moving closer, pressing you up against the brick with his body, and you hitch in a breath.

“No?” You ask, boldly trailing your finger along his collarbone through the black tshirt he’s wearing.

He shakes his head, leaned down close enough to your face that his nose brushes yours.

“Prove it,” you tease, and he makes this rumbling sound in the back of his throat that makes goosebumps break out across your flesh.

He leans down further, nips at your lower lip, and you moan, body surging forward toward his as if it was made to fit it. You’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but his tongue is in your mouth, his hands on either side of your head, caging you in.

You feel hot all over, dizzy in the most pleasant way, at least until he pulls away, gasping.

You whine, a sound you don’t think you’ve ever made before, when he’s not touching you anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

He’s gone before you can even gasp out another whine of his name, and the moonlight on your skin burns instead of cools.

Jungkook tells this story in a burst to his bandmates the next day, hungover with his head pounding.

“You just left her there?” Jimin says, his face shocked, and Jungkook feels the wolf make a growl start at the back of his throat.

Namjoon puts a hand on his shoulder and it turns into a whine instead. 

“I’ve never felt him that close, hyung. Right at the surface. I wanted to…”

Namjoon and Seokjin meet eyes above Jungkook’s lowered head.

Jimin catches it. Jimin catches everything, it’s one of the best and worst things about him.

“What? You think…” Jimin laughs. “No. She can’t be his.... She’s not a wolf, I would’ve smelled it when-”

Jungkook surges out of his seat, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. “When what, Jimin?”

Jimin’s eyes glow a pale violet as he snarls back, uncaring that Jungkook towers over him.

In the end, Namjoon and Seokjin have to separate them physically as they bark and snarl at each other.

Hoseok and Taehyung are missing, having holed up to ride out their ruts with their human mates instead of the house the seven share.

Yoongi huffs out a breath. “He’s definitely presenting as an alpha.”

“No shit,” Namjoon barks, unusually on edge. 

Yoongi, Seokjin, and Taehyung are the betas of the group, and until now there had only been a slight difference among the bandmates despite their different rankings.

Alpha pheromones were stronger and their senses were more heightened around rutting season, particularly for other mates. 

In the end, they have to completely change how they house themselves, with Jimin sharing a room with Yoongi, and Jungkook sharing with Seokjin.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jungkook says miserably, his wolf finally calmed as he sits down on the bed.

“It’s not your fault,” Seokjin says, voice much less harsh than Namjoon’s had been earlier when he’d scolded him. “I saw Namjoon during this time, and it wasn’t easy.”

Jungkook looks up at the elder with wide eyes. “Really?”

Seokjin snorts and nods. “Yeah, around the full moon he was unbearable, snarling at everything.”

“I just didn’t want to scare her or...or hurt her...I wanted to put her against the wall and…” Jungkook trails off, embarrassed.

Seokjin only smiles and ruffles Jungkook’s hair. “That’s normal too, Baby. You wouldn’t have hurt her, especially if it’s what we think it is.”

“What...what does that mean?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Something you gotta work out on your own.”

Jungkook groans and flops down on the bed as Seokjin laughs, heading downstairs to make dinner while things are calm.

He has trouble sleeping again, but this time instead of wondering why, he knew, could almost feel the soft skin of your hip on his palm like it was still there, how you’d moaned into his mouth, whined for him.

Jungkook isn’t sure there’s a cold enough shower to help.

You can’t seem to sit still as the full moon nears, feeling like you might jump out of your skin. You can’t count the number of friends you’d called but no one seems up to going out. You bite your lip while looking at Jungkook’s contact on your phone screen.

If you think about it long enough, you can still feel the way he pressed against you, how the hair on the nape of your neck stood up when he nipped at your lip, how hot you’d felt, how wet…

You sigh and scroll up, seeing Jimin’s name instead. Jimin had been fun to be with the night you’d met, easy to talk to, less….intense. And he didn’t make you feel like you were about to crawl out of your skin, so you ask if he wants to meet up for a drink.

It’s late, by the time you decide, and the moon is out, waxing toward fullness. There’s only a tiny sliver remaining, big in the sky, and you can’t stop looking up at it as you walk to the bar near your house.

You’d chosen it because it’s close and not because it’s where hot drummer Jeon Jungkook, also known as Baby, had pressed you against an alley wall and made you almost…

Jimin jolts you out of your thoughts, calling your name and waving as you approach the door. He’s leaned against the doorjamb, giving you a smirk and you think now you understand why they call him Sly.

It makes you smile and again, you vibe well with him, you get along in the best way, conversation is easy and you don’t feel gooseflesh or your hair stand up when he brushes his fingers against yours.

Jimin knows he’s playing with fire when he replies to your text, but they don’t call him Sly for nothing, and you’re interesting, for a human. He’s only met one other female wolf, a tall and feisty woman with a sharp tongue and the most beautiful brown eyes, but she’d had a mate and well...things hadn’t ended well. 

Jungkook thinks of his wolf as this separate entity but Jimin disagrees, let’s his wolf do what it wants, so that all the bad things he feels have some kind of outlet. This was especially so after he’d lost his brown eyed wolf girl, so he invites you back to the house, knowing that Jungkook will be at the gym all night before the full moon tomorrow.

In fact, all of the others will be out, finding fun of their own, and why shouldn’t Jimin do the same? It isn’t as if Jungkook has marked you, or even can, since you’re human. 

Your eyes aren’t quite the same shade of hers, but he can pretend.

Jungkook works out until his muscles ache but nothing can shake this feeling he has, like something’s wrong. When he leaves the gym even the moon looks off, as if it’s dimmer than it should be, and something’s pulling him home, like this tug in his gut. It feels like it used to as a kid in his first foster home, when he’d get so anxious he’d climb onto the roof and stare up at it.

He’s almost running as he gets closer, feeling his skin prickle as he gets to the house, his wolf so close to the surface he can feel the fur that isn’t there yet standing up on the back of his neck.

He smells Jimin first, wrinkling his nose at the alpha pheromones, and when he walks upstairs it isn’t as if he decides to let the wolf take over, or struggles with it - it’s instant.

You’re standing in the hall, head tilted up, and Jimin is leaning against the wall, smiling down at you, and when you lean up to just softly brush your lips against Jimin’s, Jungkook’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest, and the wolf barks, loud and warning.

You turn, surprised, and Jungkook doesn’t think, doesn’t act, it’s all wolf. He grabs you by your waist, hefts you up over your shoulder, and begins to walk you to his room.

Jimin protests and Jungkook growls over his shoulder, daring him to try something. Later, Jungkook is glad his friend didn’t follow, because he isn’t sure that he could have held the wolf back.

You kick and yell and beat on his back and Jungkook doesn’t realize what he’s done until he’s plopped you down on his bed, crawling toward you.

You kick him in the chest and it barely registers. You stand up and that’s when he snaps back to himself, at least to a degree.

"Don't leave. You can't leave." It's panicked, his voice, higher pitched almost like a whine.

"I can do whatever I want," you snap.

He makes this sound between a whine and a snarl and it's startling, strange, and you stop at the door.

"I know that! I know, but he doesn't!" 

"He..." you turn to look at him and he's trembling, head down, and you step closer, worried. "Baby, what do you mean?"

Jungkook just stands there, still trembling, until you reach out to touch his hair, gently. "He thinks he owns you, that you're his, that no one else can touch you." He explains, almost in a whisper.

"Who is he?" You ask slowly.

He raises his head slow and you gasp when you look into his eyes, instead of a warm brown this burnt amber, red hued.

"The wolf."

You stand there, blinking in surprise, for a long moment before actively telling your feet to move to the door. Unfortunately, your brain seems to have some kind of disconnect to your limbs, because you just step even closer, lean in and inhale along his neck, this scent of sweat and the iron of the weights he’d been lifting washing over you.

Rationally, you know that you should be shocked, horrified, even, that werewolves are real and you’re apparently standing in a house full of them but all you can do is run your tongue along the vein in his throat and Jungkook is trembling all over, whimpering like a puppy.

“Y/n, please, don’t-” he chokes out.

“Why not?” You murmur against his skin, the scent of him making your body react like you’ve never felt before. There’s this ache between your thighs that you’ve only felt a hint of before and you want more, nipping at his skin, unable to think clearly.

“He wants to...wants you,” Jungkook stutters, balling his hands into fists to keep from touching you.

“He does? Or you do?” You ask, lifting your head to pout at him, and Jungkook groans.

“Both,” he whispers hoarsely. 

“Then take me,” you say, and you don’t even know where the words came from. Your head feels light on your shoulders, dizzy with the scent of him, how his skin tastes under your tongue, and you do what he did to you the last night you’d seen him, nipping at his lower lip. Your canine pierces the skin and you taste iron on your tongue

Jungkook growls and lifts you again, this time with his hands under your ass and thighs and your legs wrap around him instantly. He all but throws you down on the bed, this time, and you whimper when he grips one of your thighs with his big hand, squeezing the flesh there.

“Mine,” he snarls, that high pitched whine at the end, and it makes you arch your back, claw your nails across his shoulders.

Jungkook leans down to sniff at your neck and growls again, wrinkling his nose and when you open your eyes he’s staring down at you with those red/amber eyes. 

You look back defiantly but you’re rolling your hips against his, you can feel him hard against your core and even though you’d never gone all the way with anyone before you want him inside you, can’t think of anything else.

“You smell like him,” he accuses, voice hoarse, and his wide eyes fade back to brown, just slightly, the color dilating around his pupils.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, feeling something like guilt, even though nothing had happened, really, and even it if it had…

He rubs his nose against your throat, covers you with his body like he’s replacing any of Jimin’s scent with his own. He licks against your neck, bites down on your skin, making you yelp.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook whines. “I’m sorry, I have to. You’re mine, I have to mark you, have to scent you anywhere he touched you,” he tries to explain, his hands skating down your ample curves.

“It’s okay,” you say, and somehow you mean it, you understand, the very thought of Jungkook smelling like anyone else makes your heart jump into your throat, something primal rise in your gut. “I know, baby.”

“You’re mine?” He says again, voice pitching up into a question just like when he’d introduced himself and it scares you, the way it makes your heart ache.

Instead of speaking you kiss him again, hard, moving your hands to his hair to get him closer. You had worn a skirt and halter out, it’s so warm even though it’s close to winter, your skin feeling so hot under the moonlight that you couldn’t wear much else.

Even as you kiss him he’s tearing at your clothes and you lean up to help him until you’re bare beneath him and panting, this whining noise coming from your throat that you can’t explain.

“God,” Jungkook groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I-”

“You haven’t...haven’t done this before?” Your eyes widen.

Jungkook realizes what you mean and he blushes a bit. “I’ve...yeah, I’ve done this before but not...not like this. I feel like...the wolf feels like...he’s been crazy. Since the first moment I saw you.”

“Like you’re gonna jump out of your skin? Always feeling...hot?” You ask.

Jungkook nods slowly, eyes widening.

“Me too,” you admit. “I don’t...I don’t know what it means. That’s why I came out with Jimin, I-”

Jungkook cuts you off with a choked whine. “It means you’re supposed to be mine.”

He snuffles against your neck again, hands at your hips, still holding back, trembling. “It means he never should have touched you.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, even though you know you have nothing to apologize for. “I want you. I’ve never...I’ve never done this before but I want you so bad,” you admit, clutching at his tshirt, pulling it up until he gets on his knees and pulls it off, tossing it to the side. You spread your hands across his chest and he lets out a wrecked moan.

“You’re holding back,” you accuse.

He nods. “The wolf, he doesn’t….I don’t want to hurt you. Especially...fuck, no one’s touched you like this before?” His hands slide up and down your thighs as he stares down at your body, your breasts, the cleft of your cunt.

Jungkook knows that shouldn’t make him so hard, shouldn’t make his dick pulse in his sweats, shouldn’t make the wolf keen with pride. Mine mine mine, the first, the only is all his brain is chanting, he feels dizzy like he’s drank too much even though he hasn’t had a drop.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, but he can’t, can’t let the wolf out, he’s afraid he’ll rip you apart. You’re human and a virgin and he can’t risk hurting you.

The wolf won’t even let him say it, so he just shakes his head. 

You huff out a breath, your body aching all over, need making your arousal coat your thighs. You don’t know what you’re going to say until you say it.

“Should I ask Jimin to do it? I bet he can smell me,” you taunt, shocking yourself.

Jungkook freezes, his eyes bleeding to red again and one hand jolting out to wrap around your throat.

“Don’t,” he warns.

You know you should be cautious since you’re about to fuck an actual werewolf, but fuck, you’re so hot, you can’t think, you need something inside you and you drop your feet to the bed, spreading your legs wide.

“Jimin would mark me. He’d fuck me, fill me full like I want.” 

Jungkook feels something in him snap, and his heart hurts and his cock aches and the wolf is keening, clawing inside him and he can’t control it anymore, just like before.

“Never,” he growls, squeezes his fingers around your throat and you gasp, your stomach aching with need.

Finally, finally he slides his fingers along your pussy and you choke out a sob as his thumb slips across your clit but it’s not enough.

“Jungkook,” you whimper. “Make me yours.”

“Already mine,” he murmurs, and finally slides two fingers inside you, making you cry out. “You’re already mine but I’m gonna give you what you want, mark you, fuck you, make sure Park fucking Jimin never so much as sniffs at you again.”

“Yes,” you sigh. “Yes, please, please.”

Jungkook still worries somewhere in the back of his mind that he’ll hurt you, that the wolf will, and by now he understands they’re one and the same but you’re rolling your hips up and his cock feels heavy and full like he’s about to burst, somehow wider at the base and he rips down his sweats, fucking you with three fingers now. 

When his cock bounces against his stomach you gasp, and if you’d been in your right mind you might worry he’s too big but something inside you is crying out in pleasure just at the sight of it. You spread your legs wider and he releases your throat, leaning over to kiss you instead, biting your lip as he slowly works himself inside you.

It’s a tight fit even after three fingers and you’re whining into his mouth, wanting more.

Jungkook isn’t a virgin, far from it although a little less experienced than some of his band members (Hoseok had once bragged about fucking a house of sorority sisters during a rut), but the way you clench around him has his hips twitching, wanting to buck into you even if it would split you open. 

Despite his worry, neither he or the wolf wants to hurt you, though, so he waits for you to adjust even as you beg, waits until you can take all of him.

He’s barely realized that he’s popped his knot until he looks down to see where you’ve joined and he groans. He knows how to do this, has been talked to (endlessly, by Taehyung, about his human girlfriend and how she desperately wants to take his knot and they’re working on it but it will take time and training), knows that you can’t take his knot but the wolf is howling for it, wants to fuck you hard and then pop it inside you, spill a littler into your womb.

You whine and pulse around him, reaching up to tug at his hair. “Kookie,” you pout. “Baby. Want you inside me, fuck me harder, please-”

“I can’t-” he chokes out, but then you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him deeper and the wolf growls, leans down, mine mine mine chanting in his head. My mate.

You felt a tiny pop when Jungkook first entered you, nothing painful and then just need, you want more and more and you don’t even know how to say it. You look up at him, near tears, needing something that you feel he won’t give you.

“I’m not yours yet,” you slur, and he looks pained, his eyes dilating from warm brown to amber red again and again.

He rocks his hips against you slow, and you’ve orgasmed twice already, once from his fingers and one from his cock but it’s not enough and you whine, it comes out almost inhuman, like his.

“Fill me up,” you urge, and Jungkook tries to hold the wolf back, he really does, but he’s too far gone, this close to the full moon and in the start of his first rut. 

Jungkook groans, fucks you harder and faster and when you cry out his name his balls draw up and he thrusts forward harder than he’d meant to, popping his knot inside you.

You make a surprised sound and his eyes pop open, his hands cupping your face even as his hips twitch as he cums, spills inside you.

“Y/n. I’m so sorry,” he mourns. “I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry,” he babbles, kissing along your neck and throat, seeing that he’d already marked you twice, once on each side of your throat, and he barely remembers it.

You let out a happy sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, feeling finally sated, at least for the moment. “What are you sorry for, silly baby?”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” He asks, and you look up into his eyes and they’re heterochromatic, now, red hued amber and brown both.

“You’d never hurt me,” you mumble against his throat.

“Never,” he promises. “Never, I love you so much.” 

You’re half asleep, sated with him still inside you, planting soft kisses on your lips and face. You don’t know where you’d learned the word, but it feels right when you say it, right before you drift to sleep.

“I love you too, Alpha.”

It takes a while to understand, especially between Jungkook being barely able to leave his room since he’s in rut and you’re in heat, but eventually, you figure it out.

Your great grandmother had been an omega werewolf, and it’s a recessive gene so you’d been the lucky one to receive it. Since you had never shifted because your gene wasn’t activated by male wolves, you had no smell.

At least, not until the full moon, when you shifted into what Jungkook says is the prettiest wolf he’d ever seen.

After, when you’d near your heat, Jungkook would snap and snarl at the boys so much just for talking to you that it made you roll your eyes, but eventually you got the dates right (for the most part, there’d been one instance in which Jimin had made a snarky comment and Jungkook had lunged at him and they’d gone rolling down the stairs), and you holed up in your apartment, instead.

Jungkook was working with Seokjin to understand that the wolf is him instead of some seperate entity. You tell him you’ve always known that. From what you know now, if the wolf wasn’t, he would have taken you the very first night. True mates are rare, and you’d both known it the whole time, even when you hadn’t.

You and Jia went to every concert, her always telling you her neverending sexcapades with Hoseok to be able to take his knot, front row, waiting for your Alpha’s set. It’s cute, you think, that they call him Baby on stage but he’s your Alpha, especially since he’s both, always, to you.

[yesimwriting]

playing vices

“A/n a blurb bc ive been working on my novel and ive missed writing for Kirigan :))

--

I am a fool that has played into her vices enough to make them addictions. That must have been Kirigan's plan. He knows that I don't agree with his methods. He is also much too aware of the fact that I am beyond attached to him. He plays into that fact often, lulling me to him whenever he feels that my conscious is in danger of driving a wedge between us.

Which is why I have become accustomed to falling asleep while running my fingers along his skin as he whispers things much sweeter than anything he would say while fully awake.

But now it's late and he's not here. I sit up, kicking the comforter off of me slightly. It seems Aleksander has been more and more absent these days. When he's not with me, the odds that he's doing something that hurts people are high. His absence is also starting to make me feel like he's losing interest in me. It would make sense considering the fact that he looked twice at me in any capacity has never seemed logical.

Maybe that's why we've never indicated commitment to each other. I don't know what commitment would be with him. He seems to grand to be considered a 'boyfriend', but there's something more than friendly about how he holds onto me. I've never cared for labels until I started feeling displaced.

"You're still awake."

I press my lips together, trying to seem a little calmer. "Couldn't sleep."

"Troubling thoughts?" The question is more weighted than it should be. Everything with him is. 

“Has anyone ever called you dramatic?” 

His lips quirk upwards, hinting at a smile. Warmth pools in my stomach, the way it always does when he lets me see the slight glimmer of light that’s still in him. Sometimes I think he only shows me this softness when he feels that I may pull away. It may be rooted in manipulative intent, but I know that it’s real. 

“Only you would have the gall,” he says, voice low yet not dark. 

Kirigan’s easiness coaxes a smile from my lips. A small one, but I can feel the way the crack in my tension feeds his confidence. He takes pride in slipping past the walls I only try to create when cautious or irritated. Today I’m both but I need to pretend like I’m neither. The more resistance he senses, the more forward and effective his advances become. 

I keep my expression neutral. I’m sure Alina could get away with calling him that. I wish she was more unlikable. It would be easier to hide my irritation if I could blame that displaced feeling in my chest on two people. But of course Alina is wonderful, beautiful, and his equal.

Whatever. It’s not like we’re really anything. Every time I see him I wait for his betrayal. There’s nothing worth using me for, and somehow that makes me feel worse. He should have never looked at me twice let alone encourage whatever strange relationship we’ve created. 

My silence seems to displease him because he approaches my bedside easily in quick yet patient strides. Now that he’s close enough to touch I feel some of the ice I managed to solidify melt. 

Kirigan lifts a hand and places it on my knee easily. I stiffen instinctually, he runs his thumb over my skin to fight my resistance. “Who’s upset you?” 

I breathe, forcing myself to ease. “No one has.” I don’t have to meet his gaze to know he doesn’t believe me. That’s the core source of our attachment, we can read each other with less than a look. “I’m just getting a headache,” not a full lie, “I’ll feel better after some sleep.” He squeezes my knee slightly, a soft way of asking me for more. “I don’t think I’ll be good company tonight.” 

His hand leaves my knee, fingertips barely grazing my thigh as he moves his hand to hold beneath my chin. I still as he turns my head so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to be good company when what I want is your presence.” 

I press my lips together to avoid melting into the promising pools of warmth that make up his irises. He spent all day with Alina, took Zoya’s side in an argument I had with her earlier this week, and now he comes to me late at night. He seems to only want to acknowledge me when we’re alone, and it’s not like I want more than that. I just don’t know how long my heart will be able to teeter the line between nothing and something. I’m a fool for having let it go on this long. 

The only problem is that his steady stare is chasing away all of my rationality. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone more in the mood to offer their presence.” 

My curtness leaves something behind his expression dull, the hint of a smile that was growing on him has now vanished. I am met with a stoic disposition I have never had directed at me. 

“They’re not you,” he counters, voice edged by something I don’t understand. 

That’s the point. They’re not me--I’m average. I can’t offer power and my relationship experience is basic at best. I don’t want to have this argument, not when I’m basically fighting for him to let me go when that’s not what I want. 

I’m making it easier. If it hurts this much when I was only on the cusp of something, imagine the pain I’l feel if I let it continue. I turn my head away so that he’s no longer holding my chin. “Not a bad thing.” 

“To me it is.” He doesn’t hesitate, my chest swells. His thumb brushes against my cheek, soft and comforting. “I’m tired,” he says this like it’s a confession. His admission hangs in the air for a long moment, as heavy and weighted as my heart. “If you’re angry, wait until morning.” 

Something in my heart cracks. “I’m not angry.” My gaze drops, my thoughts struggling to come together. “I’ll be nicer to deal with in the morning.” 

“Y/n,” his tone twists from distant to warning, “the last time you asked me to leave was when you discovered something you didn’t like.” 

I almost wince at the way he’s worded it. When I found out what his real plans were, I told myself I had to leave. He skirted past all of my reservations and walls, twisting my doubt away through coddling whispers and shy brushes of fingers.

“This isn’t like that.” Not a lie. 

He exhales slowly, the sound dangerously sharp. “Then what is it?” 

“Why did you come here so late?” The question leaves me too sharply. I’m exposing too much but I can’t help it. “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine.” My voice is flat. “I’m sure Alina will be happy to fill me in.” I can’t bring myself to take in his reaction. “And if she can’t, I’m sure Zoya will be able to.” 

He’s silent for a long second. “Unwarranted jealousy doesn’t suit you.” 

His confidence sparks something angry within me.  “I am not jealous.” The most blatant lie of the night, but I don’t care. I turn my head to glare at him, “and don’t just tact on ‘unwarranted’ before something that’s true just because it’s easier for it not to be.” 

I watch his expression cautiously until the slightest tilt of his lips adds to my anger. He’s enjoying this or he did this intentionally or both. “Darling,” he hums, voice soft, “you are the only person that makes me feel peace.” 

My stomach flutters, the sensation threatening to break my weak resolve. “I am not particularly powerful,” I breathe, voice stiff, “or particularly...” How do I explain this all to him? “Anything.” He’s everything, and I am nothing but average. “I’m average at best, there’s no reason for you to want anything to do with me, and that’s fine--but don’t lie and pretend that that’s not true.” 

The sentence is barely out fo my mouth before I feel myself pulled towards him by the collar of my nightgown. His lips are on mine before I can question where this is going. I kiss him back too quickly, but any effort I expend is returned fervently.

He pushes me back slightly as quickly as he yanked me forward. He doesn’t explain. I don’t ask him to. I should demand an answer and shove him away from me or pull him back towards me. But I do nothing. I just stare at him as he stares at me. 

When the weight of the silence threatens to break something in me, I force myself to speak, “Kirigan--”

“Aleksander.” The name is soft and so fragile I worry it will shatter in the air before it can fully reach me. “You know there’s much I’m not ready to say, but that,” he exhales, the sound so sad I want to reach for him, “that is the one name I have not given to myself and I want you to have it.” Something conflicted crosses his features. “I would never give that to someone average.” 

Emotion swells in my chest, heavy yet not painful. “Aleksander.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to call to him or if I’m just trying to feel his name--his true name--on my lips. 

His eyes widen, something unbearable behind them. He moves the hand holding the collar of my nightgown to my cheek. I lean into the contact like a fool as his eyes flutter shut. “Say it again.” 

I don’t hesitate, “Aleksander.” I lift my hand, fingers hesitant to find their place on his cheek. “Aleksander.”

He sighs into both the contact and the name. “You’re the first thing I’ve allowed myself to want,” his eyes open, but I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze, “I should make you feel like it.”

Something about the way he says that is sad. “I think that if it’s fair to say you were a little distant, it’s just as fair to say that I was a little jealous.” 

Aleksander smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m tired,” he admits, “I’ll enjoy my victory in the morning.” 

I roll my eyes, but scoot over to give him a place by my side regardless. “I’m not sure you won, I think it was more of a draw.” 

He takes the space I offer quickly, never letting the contact between us disappear as he settles himself against my pillow. I let him pull me towards him. “This feels like a victory.” 

I try to ignore the warmth in my chest. “You’re lucky I’m tired enough to find that endearing.” 

I relax as his fingers trace shapes I’ll never know about onto my back. “I agree.” 

[becca-e-barnes]

hi lovely, I wanted to make a request about a sensitive topic, so it's ok if you decide not to.

But if you decide to do it, Zemo x Reader where she has been sexually abused and he comforts her, because I just need him to tell me that it was not my fault.

I sometimes remember the moment it happened and it makes me really sad and guilty. I'm really sorry if this request triggers you. Thank you in advance🖤

Honey omg, can I start off by saying whatever happened was absolutely not your fault. I woke up at 5am and saw this request and I just couldn’t get back to sleep until I had started writing it. I was in a similar situation a few years ago so this is really based off my experience and how I found I dealt with it. While it still upsets me sometimes I’ve found I don’t think about it as often as I used to so it does get better, I promise. I actually found this quite cathartic to write since it’s something I don’t talk about much. If you ever want a little chat, please don’t be scared to shoot me a message! Hope you’re doing okay 💗

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x GN! Reader

(Again, the fact this is gender neutral was a happy accident but I wanted it to be applicable to anyone that might find some comfort in it)

Word count: 1.5 k

Summary: You have a bad night and Zemo comforts you (list of international resources at the end.)

Warnings: TW: Sexual Assault mention, please don’t read this if those themes will upset you. There are no graphic descriptions, this is more just the reader dealing with the aftermath. Hurt/ comfort, quite dark, angst, Zemo does his best but everyone heals differently, fluff.

You weren’t quite sure how it had happened but it had become one of those nights where reality had become a little too heavy to handle. You had went to bed feeling fine but woke in the early hours, head swimming with the recollection of everything that had happened. All of a sudden, sleep was the last thing on your mind, your body jarred awake by the painful memories and the sickly feeling that always accompanied them. Rather than spend the night tossing and turning in bed beside your boyfriend, you got up, hauling your sleep deprived frame from the warmth of your bed, heading to the little snug at the end of the hall. Grounding yourself wasn’t easy when you felt like this, but you had to take the time to notice the little things or risk losing yourself in the past altogether. You let yourself notice the little breeze that came in through the window down your hall, the smooth feeling of the wooden bannister under your fingertips and the cold that travelled up your bare legs as your feet padded softly across the wooden floor. Your pyjama shorts tickled the tops of your thighs as you walked the short distance before you gently pushed the heavy wooden door, admiring how it manoeuvred silently under your touch, despite it’s weight. None of these things were particularly special, often lost in the monotony of day to day life but during these early mornings where the past felt all too real, they were little blessings, reminders of the present.

Closing the door behind you quietly, you made your way over to the little cushioned window ledge. It had been extended so it was easily large enough to sit on, giving you a vantage point to look out the topmost window of the house, completely unobstructed. You settled into the familiar spot, legs crossed in front of you. From here you could see everything that went on in the grounds of Helmut’s massive estate. You could see the little stream running down beside your house, often your favourite point of focus as it was ever changing and therefore, distracting. Huge birds swooped and dived at the lake, hoping to procure some breakfast for themselves and their young, some flying off triumphantly with a tasty fish while others left with nothing, frustrated by the difficulties of hunting. Apart from the running water and their squawks, there were no other sounds to disturb the early morning air.

The birds were an adequate distraction for around an hour before you began to lose interest, feeling your mind wander once more in a direction you didn’t want it to take. That pang of guilt hit you deep in the chest as you began to feel like your body was tainted in some way. Horrible memories flooded your head, memories of roaming hands and that feeling of being painfully helpless, your chest feeling like it might collapse under the weight of those memories. You had no more tears left to cry when you thought about what had happened, while it still hurt as intensely as it did, the memories weren’t often accompanied by tears anymore, rather a guilty ache in your chest that threatened to consume you and you honestly weren’t sure which was worse. A good cry used to get it all out, give you the opportunity to start fresh and you often felt all the better for it when you were done but the ache was harder to manage. You hated how this was now something you had to live with, knowing that someone else’s actions had such a huge reign over your life.

You were so lost in thought, you hadn’t even noticed Helmut slipping in behind you until you heard the faint click of the heavy wooden door.

“Bad night my love?” He asked softly, his voice barely disturbing the calm, his accent noticeably thicker after he had just woken up. He was still in a little thin pair of cotton pyjamas, hair messy and tousled from sleep. You could only nod in response, noticing how his lips pressed together so he didn’t voice his anger about the person that had done this to you. He didn’t want the focus of this to be on them and their selfish actions, that wasn’t helpful but it didn’t stop his blood boiling in his veins. Dealing with this was often as hard for him as it was for you, seeing the only person he loved so dearly feel the way you did, knowing you were hurting and he wasn’t able to take the pain away sometimes brought him to a very dark place.

“May I touch you?” He whispered quietly, knowing that sometimes having that contact could be worse for you.

“Please.” You nodded simply, feeling his body slot in behind yours. His legs bracketed yours, arms wrapped around your waist and his head buried in the crook of your neck as you both went back to watching the birds silently. His heart beating in his chest was comforting against you, the rise and fall of his breathing giving you something else to focus on.

“This is not your cross to bear alone, my dove.” He whispered, thumbs rubbing at the exposed skin of your waist where your pyjama top had ridden up slightly.

“I know I just… Didn’t want to wake you.” You replied, equally softly.

“How many times must I tell you sweetheart, I want you to wake me. Let me be there for you.” He pleaded, pressing little kisses to your shoulders, hoping to rid your arms of the goosebumps that had begun to form. He was not mad, not at you anyway, understanding that sometimes you just needed the time alone to come to terms with things but if you needed him, he wanted to be there. There was a heavy pause that hung in the air after that, both of you slightly weighed down by the gravity of the emotions this can inflict on you as a couple.

“Can I talk about it?” You asked softly. It wasn’t something you did very often, preferring not to burden Helmut too much with the details. He had heard it all before so nothing would surprise him but you were still conscious that it hurt him to hear what had happened.

“Of course.” He answered, gentle chaste kisses to your shoulders reminding you that this was entirely on your terms. He did not press you to talk further when you had said enough, he also didn’t let his own pain at the situation take away from yours, knowing if you needed to talk about it, he had to be there to listen. You took a deep breath, taking one of his hands in yours, clasping them together.

“I just feel… Tainted? I feel guilty. Feel like I could’ve done more to stop it.” You knew you couldn’t have done more but there was always a nagging sense of ‘what if’. Helmut nodded from behind you, giving your hand a little squeeze, waiting to see if you wanted to continue. “Feel like it’s my fault. And now I have to deal with it. But you don’t have to.” You explained quietly, ache in your chest growing to sharp pain.

“You are not tainted my love. Nor was it your fault. You could not have done more to prevent it and even if you could, that is not the point. You shouldn’t have had to do more. One ‘no’ should have been enough.” It killed him to know you thought like this about yourself. He didn’t see you like that at all. Your body wasn’t tainted from what had happened, it didn’t make him want you less. It made him admire your strength and courage, seeing how you got up every morning and took care of the body you blamed. “Your blame is misplaced my love. The blame is not yours to carry. You have done no wrong.” His words made warmth flourish in your chest, hearing him listen to you and truly understand meant more to you than he would ever know.

“Thank you Helmut.” You whispered, tears brimming in your eyes, spilling over your cheeks but not from sadness, more from the unconditional love Helmut afforded you, the time he took to make you be gentler to your body again making you feel more loved than you could’ve imagined possible.

“Not at all, my sweet.” He whispered, gripping you just a little tighter. He loved you, every single part of you. To him, you were perfect and nothing would change that. He just wanted to help you through your pain and absolve you of it, hoping some day you could see yourself how he saw you.

A/N: I’m going to drop this link here just in case it’s needed, this was the most comprehensive resource I could find. If you need it, please do use it. 💗

https://osapr.harvard.edu/international-resources-0

[scuttling]

Present

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 4,598 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Voyeurism, Masturbation in shower, Sexting, Oral Sex, Dom/sub, Protected Sex, Established Aaron/Sophie Summary: Sophie sends Aaron a sexy video while he’s away on a case, Spencer watches it, and smut ensues. Collection: Part 1 of 5 of Present, Perfect, Patient, Promise, Pretend series Note: This is a previously published work from A03, just moving it over to tumblr because I was thinking about it today. 🤤 Link to A03 or read below! “I sprained my ankle. I’m not injured, not really. I can even walk on it,” Sophie assures as she pours them each a cup of coffee in the break room. She sets the carafe down, takes a step, wobbles, and Aaron catches her around the waist with a raised eyebrow of judgement. “Okay, so I can’t walk that well, but I can certainly sit in a conference room bouncing ideas around and drinking coffee. That’s all Rossi does, anyway.” He chuckles softly, knows she’s still… warming up, to Rossi and his idiosyncrasies.

“You know the rules.”

“Yeah, because we’re so good at following the rules,” she teases with a smirk, running her hands down his stomach, stopping at his belt. He looks over at the bullpen out of the corner of his eye, shoots her a warning look that makes her sigh and pull away.

“Think of it as choosing our battles,” he suggests, hoping that might get her back on track. “If you want to continue making out in my office, you have to stay here this one time.” She smiles, crooked, nods her head.

“Okay, when you put it that way, I’ll take the make outs.”

“I thought you might. Plus, you get to spend all day with Garcia. I figured that would be like a dream come true.”

“It is, definitely. It’s more the long, cold, nights that I’m worried about.” He sighs, because she’s being so dramatic, but he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction of making him smile again. He can’t be looking as smitten and infatuated with her as he is all of the time. “I’m going to be so lonely.”

“Oh, I think you’ll manage without sex for a few nights,” he teases, and she looks scandalized, as if that wasn’t exactly what she was getting at.

“It’s not about sex, it’s about intimacy, comfort, sharing my bed with a big heavy man who scares away the bad dreams.” She grins lecherously and he prepares to roll his eyes. “And who has a dick that won't quit.”

“Like I said,” he enunciates, taking his travel mug of coffee for the road, “you’ll be fine for a few nights. If you do decide to touch yourself, though, make sure you send me a present,” he reminds her, because they aren’t separated often, but when they are, a couple of racy pictures or videos almost always exchange hands. He bends for a quick kiss on the lips, brushes her cheek. “I love you. Behave.”

“I love you,” she murmurs, all tenderness and no heat, now. “Be safe.” Two days after taking the case, the team is on the jet for a night flight home. Spencer is tired, but he can’t sleep; JJ is stretched out on the couch, Morgan and Emily are slumped over in their seats up front with pillows and headphones, and Rossi has been snoring softly since they took off, so it’s just him and Hotch awake. They are in seats next to each other, Spencer by the window, because he knew he would be a little restless, and that Hotch wouldn’t sleep, so it seemed like the safest bet if he didn't want to disturb anyone’s rest.

He also enjoys the comforting presence of the older man, always, but especially in the calm, quiet atmosphere of the flight home.

He tries to listen to music, a podcast, but he eventually pauses it and just rests his eyes, his head, listens to Hotch as he flips pages or taps away at his phone. He’s probably texting Sophie, who’s home with a sprained ankle and who hasn’t stopped grumbling about it since. He smiles at the thought, likes when she’s comfortable enough to complain to him. Likes being someone she turns to.

He sighs. Feelings are complicated. Sometimes he hates being part of such a tight-knit team because it makes the things he feels all the more confusing, especially when the two objects of his (totally manageable) affection are in a relationship together; he feels like the odd man out, as always, can’t deny that it hurts sometimes.

He’s drifting in and out of the not quite asleep stage when he hears sound coming from Hotch’s phone, shuffling, ambiguous noises. He lifts his eyelids just slightly to see a video up on the screen, a wall that looks vaguely familiar, like a bathroom, maybe. There’s nothing particularly intriguing about that, but then he sees a pair of smooth, bare legs standing inside a bathtub and his interest is… piqued.

There’s another sound, unmistakably a shower being turned on, and then the woman—it is Sophie, no doubt; even if he can’t see her face, the tattoo on her forearm is easily identifiable—squats down, and she is so gloriously naked that he just… freezes. His body and his mind are suspended in a conflicting state of this is wrong, I shouldn’t be seeing this, and this is the best thing I’ve ever seen, and why is Hotch watching this right now, with me right next to him, and hnnng.

She pulls the shower head into view, lets it pour over her hair from what he can see of it, then down her breasts, her stomach, arms and legs; after that, she adjusts it to a stream that is harder and more controlled than one would typically use in the shower. He wonders why, thinks it could be uncomfortable, until she moves it to hover over her pussy, moaning softly, and then he really, really gets it.

His heart is racing as she runs her hand over her body, thumbing at her nipples, sighing at her own touch. She rocks back and forth a little so the stream of water hits her clit, then lower, between her lips, against her opening, and Spencer swallows hard.

“Mmm,” she sighs, and the sound goes straight through him; he feels himself getting hard as she murmurs, pressing her hand against the rim of the tub for leverage. “Mmm, yeah.” He can see that Hotch is breathing heavily next to him, eyes fixed on the screen. It’s too dark in the cabin to see his lap, but he knows he must be aching in his pants, too, wonders what it would be like if he reached out and touched him there.

Sophie is incredibly gorgeous as she works to reach her climax, bouncing lightly on her heels as the pressure builds, her moans longer and louder, but it’s when she stops moving and presses the shower head closer, directly over her clit, that he knows she’s almost ready to come.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” she whines, pinching a nipple, arching her back, and her voice is high and breathy and addictive. He would give anything to be in the same room as those sounds, to pull her wet body close and help her get off. “Fuck, mmm,” she purrs, bringing the stream even closer, and she comes, short, loud moans that sound like they’re being ripped from her throat as her thighs shake, her chest heaves.

She drags a slow hand down her body, like she’s soothing herself, and then shudders, pulls the shower head away like maybe the pressure is too much where she’s sensitive. With a sigh, she reaches for the phone, tilts it so her face is in view, cheeks flushed and wet hair clinging to her shoulders. She turns up her lips in a coy smile. “See you soon.” The video ends.

It takes Hotch a moment to lock his phone, and he looks a little dazed when Spencer risks a glance up at his face—with good reason. If he was on the receiving end of videos like that, he would never be able to focus on anything.

The rest of the trip is quiet, certainly uneventful in comparison. Spencer makes a show of opening his eyes fully, stretching, thinks it would be too awkward now to admit he saw and heard every incredible second; Hotch looks over at him with an expression he can’t read, and then flips open a new case file.

When they land, he and Hotch are the last two to grab their bags, and Hotch brushes up against him in a way that feels purposeful, but is probably wishful thinking. “Do you have anything going on for the rest of the night?” he asks, and Spencer shakes his head.

“Nope, nothing.” Maybe masturbating—definitely masturbating—but he doesn’t need to know that. Hotch nods, thoughtful.

“You should come home with me.” Spencer looks at him with wide eyes.

“What?”

“We both know that you saw the video,” he says in a low, no nonsense tone that makes him gulp. “I told Sophie, and she seemed… interested in the prospect. So you should come home with me. If you want to.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Hotch raises a hand, halting his train of thought.

“I may have had a suspicion that you were awake when I chose to play the video, so don’t be so hard on yourself.” Spencer looks at his face, trying to determine if he’s saying what he thinks he’s saying. He did that on purpose? He knew that Spencer was watching? “No pressure, if you don’t want to come over. I would never want you to do something you don’t want to do.”

“I do want to… do… whatever it is we’re doing,” he rambles awkwardly, and Hotch chuckles.

“What we're doing is having sex. And I won’t touch you, or anything, if you don’t want that. It can be me and Sophie and you and Sophie.” Spencer swallows hard again, so turned on and breathless that it makes him feel bold.

“What if I do want you to touch me?” he asks, and Hotch leans in slowly, hot breath at his ear.

“Then I’m going to touch you.” When he pulls away, his fingers brush over Spencer’s jaw. “Do you want to come home with me?”

His answer is an emphatic yes. Aaron is due home any minute, and Sophie is vibrating with nervous energy, puttering around the apartment in her robe, couldn’t sit still if she tried. She waits for him on nights he has to work late and can’t bring it home, sure, but it’s almost never like this, where they are apart for days on end. It’s seriously affecting not only her sex drive, but also her mental state, which she hadn’t expected; she feels clingy, needy already, wants to smell him and touch him and taste him and be caged in by him, and it’s frankly getting a little out of hand.

It doesn’t help, she guesses, that she sent that video, but she was horny and wanted his attention… and boy, did she get it, had several texts come through a couple of minutes after she sent it, all very sweet and dirty and good.

Then she saw one about Reid, wanted to be mortified, but she just… wasn’t.

A: So, Reid saw me watching your present.

S: Oh, really? Did he like it?

A: Yeah, he liked it.

A: I bet he’d come pretty quick if he got to see the real thing.

A: Touch you… taste you.

God, how can this calm, controlled man make her such a whimpering mess with just a couple of texts? It’s unfair, is what it is.

S: Maybe we should invite him over sometime.

S: I’ve seen him looking at you, too.

S: Imagine how pretty he would look between us.

That was about an hour ago, and the only thing she received in reply was a brief message letting her know they’d landed and that he was on the way home. She hopes she didn’t upset him, knows that he’s mentioned being interested in men but that he’s never slept with one, hopes she didn’t hit a sore spot. She promises herself they will talk about it when he gets home.

But when he gets home, he kisses her so deeply she feels faint. Her body is lit up in an instant, suddenly desperate for more of him.

“I brought you a present,” he says, so low and sexy, and she grins, breathless, wraps her arms around his neck.

“Ooh, you know I love presents. What is it?”

“It’s not a what, it’s a who,” Spencer says, then, from the open doorway, and she glances between them, bites at her bottom lip. He steps inside and closes the door.

Fuck.

“Hey, Spencer,” she greets, but she can hear the tremble in her voice when she does. He looks to Aaron, and Aaron reaches back, wraps a hand around his wrist, guides him closer.

“I told him what you said, about how pretty he would look between us. He happened to agree, so I figured, why wait?” He looks her over intently, like he’s making sure she’s okay with this.

She is so okay with this.

She wants to speak but she’s so out of breath, her heart beating so fast, that she just pulls him down for a kiss, messy and graceless, and then she reaches for Spencer’s shirt and pulls him close as well, doing the same. She takes turns kissing them, ten kisses each, probably, until Aaron pushes her back gently with a soft laugh.

“Easy, baby. He’s going to stay the night; we have time to go slow.” Her chest is heaving, and he walks around so he’s standing behind her, unties the sash of her robe, pulls it off to reveal the lacy black bra and panties she thought would be a sexy surprise.

He kind of outdid her in the surprise department, but she’ll forgive him this once.

He runs his hands over her panties, her stomach, her boobs, and she bends her neck back, arching up for his lips, moaning against them. Spencer approaches, a bit hesitant, puts his hands on her hips and kisses her exposed throat, her chest. She feels like she’s died and gone to heaven, two pairs of hands on her, two mouths, her body pressed between them tightly. She thinks offhand that she’s glad her ankle doesn’t hurt anymore, because she could stand between them all night long, if they keep this up, would be content to never move again.

Then one of Spencer’s beautiful, incredible hands slips down the front of her panties, and they stop kissing her to kiss each other, and she whimpers, and her knees give out anyway.

“So dramatic,” Aaron whispers teasingly in her ear as he holds her up, big hands on her body, and she shakes her head, wets her lips.

“Not being dramatic. This is so fucking sexy.” Spencer—apparently not worried about the fact that she almost collapsed on them because Aaron wasn’t—slides two fingers over the slippery wet lips of her pussy, and she groans. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take all the attention,” she murmurs, moving her hips against his hand. “Kiss some more, please.” Spencer huffs a laugh and leans in, catches Aaron’s lips with his. From her point of view she can see the slide of their tongues, lips pressing together, and she groans again.

“If it’s okay with you,” Spencer says to her when they separate, “I would really like to eat your pussy now.” He kisses her softly on the cheek, and she exhales, shaky.

“Yeah, please—please do that.”

“I’ll hold you,” Aaron whispers, lips at her ear. “I’ll be right here, I promise.” She hums, leans back against him, and Spencer drops to his knees, guides her panties down. She’s so wet there’s slick on the insides of her thighs, and when he lifts one leg to hook her knee around his shoulder, he licks it away. She shudders.

She feels like she should have known how hot and skillful his mouth would be, because he talks so fast sometimes that his brain—his incredibly high-functioning brain—can’t even keep up, and she usually finds his mouth cute, but right now she finds it sexy, will probably never be able to look at it without thinking of the way he feels with his tongue in her pussy.

He is very enthusiastic, licking her quick and deep, with one hand on her waist and the other rubbing her clit like he’s got a PhD in bringing girls to orgasm, and she knows she’s moaning like a slut, gets even louder when Aaron bites at her earlobe, kisses her neck, squeezes her breasts. “Fuck, oh fuck, yeah,” she pants, reaches a hand down to wrap it in Spencer’s hair, making him groan; she rocks against his delicious mouth, which he encourages, moving his hand to her ass and guiding her closer.

“Come for him, baby,” Aaron urges, hand inside the cup of her bra to pinch her nipple. “Isn’t he pretty, down on his knees for you?” She drops her head back against him, brings a hand to his hair, too.

“So pretty.” He stoops down to kiss her as best as he can, and Spencer’s looking up at them, gorgeous, and she comes tugging on both of them, panting into Aaron’s mouth.

When Spencer stands up and kisses her, mouth soft and wet after working her through her orgasm, and then Aaron leans in to taste both of them on her lips? It’s a wonder she doesn’t get weak in the knees again. Sophie is soft and pliant after she comes, clinging onto them, and Aaron lifts her into his arms and carries her to the bedroom, Spencer following closely behind. He sets her on the bed, unhooks her bra and pulls it off; Spencer watches closely as he does, kneels down to kiss her, brush his hands over her bare breasts, and she sighs at the treatment.

“What do you want to do?” Aaron asks them, getting down on his knees as well, and he kisses them, thrills at the similarities in their soft lips, soft skin.

“I wanna suck you both,” she says, and he touches her face gently.

“Are you sure you’re up for that? You look a little fuzzy.” He didn’t think that she would get submissive so quickly, since he hadn’t actually dominated her, but can see how feeling at the mercy of two men might make her go to that place; he just wants to make sure he does what’s best for her while she’s there.

“Might not be able to get you off, but I want them in my mouth. Can I?” She looks up at him, then at Spencer, who swallows visibly. Aaron gave him a little insight on the way there about how they normally interact with each other, how she likes to ask for permission and he likes to give it—or deny it, depending.

(Aaron Hotchner’s crash course on having a submissive girlfriend—he might have to find a way to monetize that, somehow.)

“You can, for a couple minutes. Then what do you want?” He looks to Spencer to see if he has anything in mind.

“I don’t—I’ve never done this,” he says quietly, and he and Sophie both touch him, and she nuzzles against his shoulder.

“Neither have we, it’s okay. You want to, though?” He looks at them with soft, open eyes, and nods without hesitation.

“Yeah, I want to.” Aaron takes his face in his hands, kisses him deeply.

“Okay, good. Sophie,” he says softly, touches her face too, “do you think you would be alright being with both of us at the same time?” She licks her lips and frowns a little like she’s confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe we could lay you down, and one of us could be inside your pussy, and one of us could be inside your mouth. I’ll take your mouth,” he decides quickly, because she doesn’t like it too fast or rough and he knows her limits, doesn’t want to hurt or overwhelm her. “You’ll be full of us, baby. Do you think you want that?” She closes her eyes, nods, and Spencer touches her throat with long, gentle fingers.

“You’d give us that?” he asks like he’s in awe, and Aaron gets it, knows how much it means that she trusts them with something like this. “You’re incredible, Sophie,” he murmurs against her lips, and she sighs, pulls him closer.

Watching them make out is a very enjoyable thing, made all the more so when he decides to come up behind Spencer to unbutton his pants, untuck his shirt. The younger man moans at the feel of his hands helping him undress, and he presses back against Aaron’s chest, panting and eager. He guides him to stand, gets him naked, and wraps a hand around his long, hard cock, stroking it a couple times.

“You want her mouth on you while I get undressed?” he asks, and Spencer bucks up into his hand, nods quickly. Sophie reaches for him, pulling him closer, and she licks at the head, moans. “Gently,” he murmurs in Spencer’s ear, “let her be in control.” He nods seriously, presses a hand to Sophie’s cheek when she takes him in.

Between the two of them, their moans are so filthy, wanton, that he craves the heat of their mouths, so he captures Spencer’s in a kiss when he can, pulling off his clothes slowly so they can enjoy the time together. “Sophie,” Spencer murmurs, and she looks up at him, and Aaron’s arms around him, and whines. She pulls off of him, licks her lips looking hungry.

“I’m ready for you guys.” The simple sentence makes his dick throb, and he lays her back on the bed, kisses her soft and sweet and slow. Spencer curls around them, kisses them and rubs his hands over their bare skin.

“Spencer, can you get in that drawer and take out a condom?” he has presence of mind to ask, glad that the ones they have should fit him, and he stretches up, all long, lithe muscles, grabs one and tears the wrapper open, rolling it on. Neither Aaron nor Sophie can take their eyes off of him, and when he’s finished, Aaron moves out of his way so he can settle between her legs. She hitches up her knees, and he knows first hand how inviting that can be, understands completely when he shivers with pleasure.

Aaron kisses Sophie a few more times, whispers sweet, loving words into her ear, and then he crawls up by her head, the tip of his dick at the same level as her mouth.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asks, running his hands over her breasts, and she nods, puts her hands on Spencer’s hips and pulls him closer until he is fully sheathed inside her; he keeps still, panting, and Aaron leads forward to brush his hair back. “You’re so gorgeous, Spencer,” he coos, and then he presses into Sophie's mouth, sighs.

She takes him in hand, guiding him in and out at a pace she’s comfortable with, so he just lets her take the lead and runs his hands over her body, Spencer’s fingers where they press against her thighs. He is pumping into her deeply now, an easy rhythm Sophie matches with her hand, and the room is filled with a symphony of soft, wet sounds and moans and hums that Aaron doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

He is wholly unsurprised when he is the first to come, because watching Spencer’s hips move against her, his hands careful where he holds her down, and feeling her moan around his cock because she loves feeling full, it’s all too much for him. He spills with a groan, and Spencer watches his face like it’s art, which makes him feel warm in his chest. Something to explore at a later time.

Sophie lets go of him, panting, and he slides down to his belly so he can kiss her mouth, caress her. He looks up at Spencer, who appears to be trying so hard not to come, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and he rubs Sophie’s clit to help get her close, so he’ll stop trying so hard and just let himself feel good.

“Oh, god,” Sophie whines, brings her hands up to squeeze hard at her breasts. “This is good, so good, mmm.” She starts bucking hard against him, her neck stretched long, and he knows the instant she comes, her mouth opening in a wordless moan before she all but howls her pleasure. Spencer groans, shifts his legs a little so he’s hovering over the both of them, and he thrusts for a few more seconds before finding his own orgasm. “Hmm, yes,” Sophie sighs, and he kisses her slowly, passionately; Aaron rubs both of their bodies as they shiver with aftershocks, and they all sink into the mattress, deeply spent.

They cuddle together for a few minutes, until Sophie complains she has to pee, and she and Spencer go into the bathroom together to take care of business. Aaron runs a hand through his hair and exhales long, because this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen, while also being one of the most unforgettable nights of his life; he knows they’ll look to him for guidance about what to do next, and he’s really not sure what to say when they do.

When they amble back into the room, they’re both smiling softly, and Aaron smiles because he can’t help it. They climb back onto the bed, Spencer in the middle, though Sophie reaches across him to rub at the hair on Aaron’s chest.

“So that’s a thing that happened,” Sophie says eventually, propped up on her elbow, looking over at their two blissed out faces with nothing short of affection. “Is it a thing that’s going to happen again, or a thing we swear up and down didn’t happen?—No pressure, only asking so I know how to compartmentalize my many, many thoughts.”

Aaron looks to Spencer and can’t help but feel like there’s something more worth exploring, there. He thinks Spencer feels the same when he pulls him in for a tender kiss.

“I think it should happen again,” Spencer murmurs, and Sophie leans down to kiss him too.

“Yeah, it should happen again.” Aaron sits up, smiles at his girl, guides her mouth to his.

“Okay, then.” They kiss again, easy, sweet, and he breathes a laugh. “We owe you for this, you know: you and your little shower performance.”

“Oscar worthy,” Spencer says with a grin, and Sophie shoves him playfully.

“Hey, a girl has needs.”

“And we’ll help you meet them,” Aaron promises, running a hand suggestively along her body, and she covers it with hers.

“No way. I’m tapped out, buddy. Unless I get sleep or pizza, no more sex from me tonight.” Aaron feigns hurt, pulls away, flops onto his back with an exaggerated sigh, and she crawls past Spencer to straddle his waist. “So dramatic,” she teases, leans down for a kiss, then climbs off the bed altogether. “I’m good with pizza—I don’t want to go to sleep just yet, not when I’ve got two pretty boys in my bed.”

“I second pizza,” Spencer murmurs, his face pressed against Aaron’s bicep. Sophie pauses in the doorway, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Do you think they’ll do a third veggie, and a third pepperoni, and a third Hawaiian? Or am I gonna have to order two pizzas?” She comes back over to the bed, kisses them both soft, affectionate, and smiles. “Always complicating things, Spencer Reid.”

[thatrandomwriter]

Returning the favor

Merle x female reader, reader saves Merle’s life after he cuts off his hand

Warnings: sexual language, slight gore, cursing

A banging at the door made me jump awake - I never slept deeply anymore, and I spent most of my nights in and out of what could barely be described as sleep, easily woken and constantly exhausted.

My first thought was a particularly persistent walker. But then I heard a voice, raspy and southern “I saw you through the window. Open up. Or I swear, I’ll kick this damn door down.” It was most likely a looter. Opening the door to him seemed immediately like the stupid option, but if he was serious about knocking my door down then I would have to find a new place to hide out, an extra risk I could not afford to take. My best bet was to overpower him at the door. He’d seen me through the window and probably assumed that I’d be easily threatened, but what he hadn’t seen was the pistol I kept hidden by the door, or the knives I had stashed under my mattress and around the small room.

The banging on the door got more persistent. I grabbed a knife, and ensured my gun was easily in reach. It wouldn’t hurt to have extra weapons he didn’t know about.

I swung open the door. A tall, broad man stood in my doorway. One arm was pointing a gun vaguely in my direction, the other dripping so much blood it almost looked black. His hand had been cut off.

“Get out. All your shit is mine now, don’t think I won’t shoot you just cuz yer a girl,” He sneered at me, feigning confidence, but his skin was tinged grey and sweat was beading on his brow. He was weak and there was no way he could physically overpower me in this state, despite his muscular frame.

I raised a sceptical eyebrow at his threat. Then, in one swift motion, I knocked the gun from his hand and pushed my knife to his throat, firmly enough for a small bead of blood to gather on the edge of the blade. He opened his mouth, probably about to say something stupid, before the full weight of his body collapsed into me and he lost consciousness.

*

Somehow, with strength I hadn’t even known I had, I half lifted, half dragged the man’s body over to my mattress on the floor. It was clear he had lost far too much blood. I knew it was stupid, but some part of me wanted to help him, even though I knew he had come here to rob me blind, and possibly to kill me after he had taken all of my possessions. I told myself it was because leaving him outside would attract walkers. But really some part of me was still weak and soft, and somehow I had sympathy for a man who could not give less of a shit about me.

Minor medical training from books I had scavenged and stolen told me that he was in desperate need of stitches, and likely had a severe infection from his wound, and that it needed to be treated fast or there was no way he could survive without a hospital, which, for obvious reasons, was not an option. The building I had set up camp in was a small convenience store in the city which I used to run, and decided to stay in when the dead started walking. Unfortunately, the store had tempted many thieves in the early days, but as time went on, less and less people braved the city. The man must have seen that my store was the least damaged for several blocks, and identified it as his best bet at survival. He was right - behind the counter were antibiotics and just enough first aid equipment for me to have a chance at saving him. Even if he had stolen my supplies, it was unlikely that he would have managed treating his own wound.

The stitches were the worst part. I had never liked needles, and as far as facing my fears went, this was seriously hands on. It was messily done, probably a laughable job compared to professional standards. And I was sure that the amount of blood on the floor, my hands and staining my clothes was biologically impossible. But somehow he was still alive, something I still hadn’t decided was a good or bad thing. At least he was unconscious for now.

*

Two days passed. I was getting used to sleeping with him around, trying not to think about what he might do if he awoke while I was asleep- waking up to a gun in my face was a real possibility, but one that I had to risk. I slept on the floor next to the mattress he was occupying, uncomfortable enough to be exhausted but easily woken if he or the walkers became an immediate threat.

I sat next to him on the mattress, cleaning his arm, checking that the infection was fading and that the stitches were holding like they should be. It was strange looking after someone who had barely spoken two sentences to me, those sentences being delirious threats after severe blood loss. I often found myself wondering what he would have been like if we had met before the world had ended, at a bar maybe, where he could have bought me a drink or two. I like to think that he would have been the type to hit on me shamelessly and I would have been cynical but secretly loved his advances. I cut myself off in my head. It was ridiculous to think like this. With some effort, I focused back on his arm and began to change his bandage, but my eyelids were growing heavy and I had forgotten how comfortable the mattress was. Every time I closed my eyes, sleep tried to pull me down. I just had to keep them open, just had to focus-

I jolted awake. It almost pitch dark, if I had to guess a time I would have said an hour or two before dawn. There was a hand around my mouth and an arm was around my waist, holding me still against the warm, hard body behind me. He had woken up. Immediately I struggled against him, biting his hand and elbowing him in the stomach. He swore under his breath, but his grip only tightened around me.

“Stop wrigglin’. There’s walkers in here, I’m tryna figure out how many, so for fuck’s sake stay still.”

I nodded. He removed the hand from my mouth, but the arm around my waist stayed. Probably a precaution in case I tried anything again.

“Sorry,” I whispered back. “How did they get in - and when did you wake up? What’s your name? Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Now wasn’t the time for questions, but I was desperate for answers. For all I knew, the only reason he hadn’t killed me yet was to keep me as bait for the walkers.

He shushed me. Then, he finally let go of me and stood up. “Wait here.”

He walked off in the direction of a shuffling noise, and seconds later I heard the thunk of a knife through a skull, and the sound of a body hitting the floor. The sound, quiet as it was, caused another walker’s movements to become frenzied. I heard snarling and then the sound of a second body hitting the floor. There were no more walker sounds, just the sound of the man walking back towards me.

I jumped to my feet and reached for the knife normally hooked through my belt. It was gone, as was the knife under my mattress. I had no defence against the stranger that I had so stupidly taken care of.

“Window’s broken, s’what woke me up. You were out cold. Hope ya had a nice nap.”

I stood up, trying to read his face in the growing bit still dim light.

“Name’s Merle. And you, sugar tits, are exceptionally lucky that I believe in returning favours.”

So he didn’t plan on killing me after all. I shook off the lingering fear caused by both him and the walkers getting so close.

“Thanks. And you’re welcome, I stitched you up good. And don’t call me that, or I’ll chop of your other hand,” He smirked at me, knowing my threat was entirely empty.

“Oh yeah? I’m not so sure you wanna do that, sweetheart, you haven’t seen the half of what I can do with this hand,” His smile was suggestive and I could feel my face getting hot.

“I’m gonna board up the broken window,” I attempted to ignore his last sentence, but it was clear he could tell I was flustered as he stepped forward, closing in on me.

“Don’t ya think we should get to know each other a little first?”

[mypoisonedvine]

Hungry Like The Wolf | soft!dark!Ari Levinson x reader

summary: when you need ari’s help for a secret mission with the CIA, he expects gratitude from you— and he wants a lot more than just a thank you card.

word count: nearly 6.5k

warnings: smut (dub con/coercion/sex as bartering tool), oral sex (f receiving) and vaginal sex, overstimulation, possessiveness/very very slight yandere vibes?, some violence and gun use, mentions of human trafficking/warfare, religious discussions and traditions but not particularly orthodox ones, vague discussions of sexism and misogyny with implied religious background, overall just lots of global politics and all that fun stuff

(a/n: I went ahead and wrote the hebrew and arabic in english lettering because tumblr doesn’t support right to left text so just a heads up.  my arabic is very weak so I apologize if there are any errors.)

Taking a deep breath, you ran through your pitch in your head again.  Sure, you’d had plenty of time to go over it on the plane, but one last recitation couldn’t hurt, right?  Unable to stall any longer, you turned the knob and entered Ari Levinson’s office.

You’d heard he was good-looking but his appearance still surprised you; his long hair and thick beard made him look like he’d fit in with a rock band better than an intelligence agency, and his half-buttoned shirt put his Star of David necklace and muscled, hairy chest on display.

He must have caught your gaze trailing down because he smirked at you, making your cheeks feel a bit warm.

“Mr. Levinson,” you greeted as you looked up to his face again.

He greeted you as ‘Ms.’ instead of ‘Agent,’ but you let it slide since you were about to ask him for quite the favor.  When he motioned for you to take a seat across from him, you did so with a nod and a quick smoothing of your skirt.

“So, what can I help you with?” he prompted. 

This was the easy part; this was the part you’d rehearsed a thousand times.  “There is a group of trafficked women and girls who have been rescued from all over— Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Kuwait— and gathered in Riyadh.  We are working on a plan to move them to Cyprus and, eventually, Greece where they will be accepted into a camp there.  Maybe they’ll end up in the States at some point, if we can swing it, but… Cyprus is step one.”

Ari nodded, listening to your story with more patience than anyone else had so far.

“As you can imagine, it would be a lot easier to move through Jordan and Israel and use your ports, rather than go around through Egypt or Syria…”  He stared at you expectantly as you trailed off, and you cleared your throat before finishing:  "The CIA would greatly appreciate Mossad's cooperation in the movement of these refugees."

"How much would they appreciate it?"

You paused, unsure what he meant.  "Um, quite a lot, I'm sure…"

"I just mean that we have missions the CIA could be a useful assist for, too,” he clarified, interlacing his fingers and resting his hands on his lap.  “You guys have a lot more resources than we do.  If we help you out, is this going to be an allyship we can rely on?"

You swallowed dryly, pondering if there was a way to get out of this before you sighed and slumped down in your chair, leaning a little closer to him.  "Alright, I have to be honest with you: it's not really the CIA that's asking for your help."

"Then who is?"

"Me.  Just me.  I'm the only one who believes in this mission; I'm the only one fighting for these people.  The CIA won't help you because they won't even help me and I work for them."

He slumped his shoulders a little bit.  "Then I'm not sure if I can afford to say yes to you."

"Please," you implored, "I know I can't offer you as much as they can, but I'll do whatever I can to make this work.  Please," you repeated as you laid your hand over his, noticing the way his expression shifted a bit, "help me."

"I've been the one person fighting for a mission before," he remembered, voice a little softer.  "I know how hard it is to go it alone."

You smiled gently at him.

"And, I know how far I would've gone to get my people to safety." 

His hand flipped around suddenly and grabbed yours tightly, pulling you closer as you gasped.

"How far will you go?"

You shivered, the darkness in his eyes burning right through you even when you tried to look away.  "Mr. Levinson, I—"

"Call me Ari," he instructed gruffly, grip tightening around your wrist until you yelped softly.

"Ari," you corrected, "I have money—"

"Don't want it."

"I can offer you my assistance in—"

"Don't need it."

"Tell me what you need,” you requested softly.

"I need to know you're gonna show me this 'great appreciation' you promised,” he answered quickly.  “I need to know that if I take care of you, then you'll take care of me."

You gulped but nodded.  "O-of course…"

"Good."

He released you from his grip and stood up, smiling at you like nothing had even happened.

"Pleasure doing business with you, madam."

You stood up and left his office in a haze, unsure if what had just happened was a dream or reality.  But, sure enough, he showed up the next day where you’d told him to meet you, and brought some money and fake passports that you desperately needed.  Frankly, just having a man around was going to make things smoother for you, even if it was a white man who didn’t exactly blend in by any stretch of the imagination.  Seeing him again the next day only reminded you how big he was, tall but moreso heavy with muscle; he looked pretty cramped in his tiny coach seat on the plane to Dubai (your connecting stop where you’d spend the night before flying out to Riyadh).

“Bloody mary, please,” he requested from the stewardess with a gentle nod, turning to you.

“Uh, just water, thanks,” you ordered quickly with a tilted smile.  You had brought a book to read, but Ari insisted on barraging you with personal questions about your job, your personal life, your favorite things— he seemed fascinated by the most mundane things, and disinterested in giving his own backstory.  

Of course you considered that it wasn’t a great idea to tell him so much about yourself, let him in your head and under your skin.  But then again, you’d put your trust in him enough for the mission, so you ought to trust him completely, right?  

So why did his stare send shivers up your spine?

//  

There was room for you and Ari at a CIA safehouse outside Dubai; it wasn’t exactly luxurious or anything, but at least you weren’t going to have to share a room… or a bed.

Normally staying in a safehouse meant sharing common areas with a random assortment of other agents, but it being a Friday night in Dubai meant they were all out enjoying the local nightlife while you two stayed in.  Hoping to review a game plan for the mission with him, you found Ari’s door open, peeking around to see him on his knees on the floor, a candle burning before him, and his hands raised to cover his eyes and face.

“Shema Yisrael,” he sung to himself below his breath, “Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Ehad…”

He jumped a little when he uncovered and opened his eyes only to find you standing there.  “Shabbat Shalom,” you greeted.

“Shabbat Shalom,” he nodded back.  

“I’m sorry you’re forced to take your Shabbat alone,” you apologized, “and that there’s nobody other than me to appreciate your vocal chops.”

His cheeks tinged pink at that.  “It’s all part of the sacrifices we make for our missions, eh?”

“Then I suppose you don’t mind that you’ll be doing plenty of work tomorrow,” you presumed.

“You probably realized by now that I’m not actually so traditional,” he chuckled, extinguishing the candle and standing up.  “I work on the sabbath quite a lot.”

“I hear work is permitted if it is needed to save a life.”

He smiled, but he looked a little sad; maybe not sad, but tired.  “With me, it always is.”

The silence was thick as you tried to reconcile that this was the same man that had grabbed and threatened you— was it a threat?  You couldn’t even tell anymore.  Apparently he wasn’t going to take whatever it was that he wanted until you’d finished the mission, and that should’ve made it easier to procrastinate your worry, but the extra time to ponder what it was actually going to be only brought further anxiety.

Of course, you had an idea of what he was going to ask of you, but the fact that nothing too untoward had happened in his office when you first met him was throwing you off.  In that moment, you were just waiting for him to tell you to get on your knees and show him how bad you wanted these women rescued, but he didn’t.  Wouldn’t have been the first time somebody tried to bribe you into sex; it would’ve been the first time, however, that you actually considered doing it.

Now, the anticipation just made it worse; you were working with him every day and he always acted normal, as if there wasn’t this looming threat of whatever favor he was going to ask from you in return.

Once you actually got to work the next day, it was easier not to think about that.  You barely had any extra brainpower to think about anything except survival and extraction.  Still, each time you looked at him only to find him already looking at you, your hands shook a little.

//

“You’ve been driving for 10 hours, you’re sure you don’t want me to take the wheel?” you offered, watching him blink a few times to clear his vision.

“Not worth getting arrested,” he frowned.

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“Not worth the risk of getting caught.  And I don’t know about you, but if I get arrested here, I’ll probably be killed, too.”

You chewed your lip as you appreciated that it was probably worth avoiding as much trouble as possible.  It’s not like the CIA was popular in these parts, either, and for good reason.

“What’s that up ahead?” he asked, leaning further forward against the steering wheel and squinting.

“Um,” you stalled as you unfolded the paper map in your lap, “I’m… not sure.”

“Looks like a barricade,” he announced, and it did; a gate with two guards and barbed wire on either side.

“There isn’t supposed to be a stop here,” you reminded him as you frantically shuffled around the map, making sure you were where you thought you were and that there wasn’t a mark indicating a vehicle stop on the road.

“What do we do?” he asked, looking around as if he was considering veering off the path even though that would be equally dangerous.

“There isn’t supposed to be a stop here,” you repeated, more anxiously.

“Well, there is,” he replied, his own agitation clearly increasing, “so we’ll have to go through it.”

“They’re going to pull us over.”

“Probably,” he admitted.

“And they will search the back of the truck.”

“I’d be surprised if they didn’t.  How well do you think they’re gonna take it when they see eighty-something women packed like sardines?”

You chuckled a little even though you were anything but amused.  “Um, not good.”

As the men at the stop waved to signal your car to slow down, Ari sighed a little.  "I'll ask once again: what do we do?"

"Act natural," you suggested quickly as you lifted the scarf draped around your head to cover your nose and mouth.

Ari slowed down to a stop, lowering the window to talk to the officer outside and putting on a fake English accent.  “How can I help you, sir?”

“Identification please,” he requested sternly.  Ari smiled as he grabbed his and your passports, handing them over through the window.  It was a long, awkward moment as he flipped through the thick papers slowly, his partner leaning down to look through your window but never taking his hands off his gun.  “What brings you out here?” the man finally asked.

“My wife and I operate a restaurant in Jordan, and we get most of our equipment here because the workmanship is better,” Ari explained.  “Just passing through with our new stoves and oven hood.”

The officer glanced back over your truck, his expression mostly unreadable but overall not necessarily friendly-looking.  “Could you step out of the vehicle please?”

“Hal hdha daruri?” you asked quickly; Is this necessary?

“Alsamt,” he replied in a hiss; Silence.

Ari looked around like he was thinking but nodded and reached for the handle to his door.  You did the same, the second guard stepping out of your way so you could swing open the rusted metal and step out.

The men guided for you to circle the car with them, stopping at the back and staring at the metal sliding door that was latched shut.

Turning to address Ari, the guard’s face dropped completely as he got a bit more serious.  “What am I going to find in your vehicle?”

“Kitchen supplies, like I said,” Ari insisted.

As the officer reached for the latch on the back of the truck, Ari shot you a wide-eyed look and you gave him a quick nod.  He lunged at the second guard, wrestling him for his gun while you went after the first, who was much easier to take down with him being distracted by trying to unlock the back of the truck.  Your CIA instincts told you to shoot him once you’d grabbed his weapon, but thankfully you knocked him out with the butt of it instead.

Loud pops of gunfire beside you made you fear the worst, but Ari had managed to push the gun toward the sky before pulling it out of the officer’s grasp, swinging it wildly until it made contact with his head and he fell to the ground.

Gun in hand and panting heavily, Ari looked back at you with a grin.  “That wasn’t so bad.”

“You almost got shot,” you reminded him.

“A little more than almost,” he corrected, showing you a gash where a bullet had grazed arm.

“Shit, Ari!” you yelped, running over to him and inspecting the wound.  The way he looked down at you as you clutched him made you sort of regret it, though.

“It’s fine,” he assured you, but he made no effort to push you away.

“I… should check on the girls,” you decided, a little bit distracted but making your way back to the truck to roll up the metal back and examine the women inside, who looked scared at first but relaxed when they saw you.

“Kli shay' ealaa ma yaram,” you assured them that everything was fine, “nahn taqribaan 'iilaa al'urduni, wasawf nasil 'iilaa alsafinat allaylat.”  We're almost to Jordan and will arrive at the ship tonight.

They relaxed a bit and smiled at you, a few muttered ‘shukraan jazilaan’s (meaning ‘thank you’) echoing from inside.  You hated to shut the back and plunge them into darkness again, but they had assured you before that they would brave any conditions for a chance at freedom.  You hoped they meant it.

“Please, let me drive, you’re injured,” you offered to Ari as he started to make his way toward the driver’s side door.

“It’s not even that bad, and we’ve had enough run-ins with the law today,” he dismissed.

“Then let me patch you up first, okay?  Is that so terrible?”

He smiled a little.  “No, I guess not.”

And that was how you ended up leaning on him in the passenger seat, supergluing his arm shut, trying not to think about how his bicep was probably bigger than your head.

“You’re a pretty good medic,” he observed, speaking quietly since you were so close.

“When you’re as clumsy as I am, you have to be,” you responded, sounding monotone due to focusing mostly on your work.  “It shouldn’t scar too—”

You stopped when you looked up at him, because the way he was staring back down at you made you completely devoid of the ability to speak or even conjure words in your mind.  You’d never seen him so close before and those piercing blue eyes made your head spin.

“What were you gonna say?” he asked softly, 

“It… shouldn’t scar too bad,” you finished, “as long as you keep it clean and dry.”

“I generally aim to keep my entire body clean and dry,” Ari chuckled.

“Right, yeah, well— keep up the good work, then,” you stammered as you wrapped some gauze around his arm and rolled his sleeve back down over it.

“Let’s hit the road before we waste any more time,” he suggested, and with a nod you leaned back into your seat.

//

The radio blasting was the only thing keeping both of you awake as you drove through the dark.  The border to Jordan was easy enough, and both of you sighed with relief as you crossed into Israel.  It was by far the biggest blockade you’d seen so far, but of course, Ari got you in faster than you’d moved through anything else.

“Good to be home?” you asked when you saw Ari smiling as he looked around at the streetlights through the windshield.

“You could say that,” he answered.  “Think we have time to stop for falafel before we get to the port?”

“Not unless you plan on buying for all your passengers,” you laughed, motioning toward the back.  “If they have to wait until we reach the ship, so do we.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” he relented.  “Besides, probably better to be seen by as few people as possible.  Even if we’re in friendly territory, it’s still a covert operation and all.”

“Wow, so you do have some desire to play by the rules,” you gasped in faux shock.  He smiled and shrugged a bit.

“More like the rules and my desires occasionally overlap.”

It was past midnight when you pulled into the port, surrounded by ships so big that you couldn’t see the tops of them from inside the car.  A cargo ship was waiting for you, along with some Navy men who helped you escort the women onto the vessel.

Since it wasn’t meant to accommodate this many people, the refugees occupied extra crew space while you and Ari were given sleeping bags in an unused office; you were so tired, though, that it actually looked enticing.

As soon as you’d set your pack down and shut the door, you heard a distant horn and felt the ship begin to move.  You let out a long sigh as you leaned against the desk, watching Ari take a seat in the chair and start laughing exhaustedly.

“We did it,” you smiled, “we fucking did it.”

“We’ve still got a long boat ride ahead of us,” Ari mitigated, “but yeah… we should be in the clear, and tomorrow afternoon we’ll be in sunny Cyprus.”

You were so elated from the high of a successful mission that you forgot to worry about Ari’s vague request all those weeks ago; it was probably the first time you hadn’t thought about it since then, truthfully.  That changed when his smile fell as he looked up at you, eyes darkening a little and scanning your body.

“You’re a great agent,” he nodded slowly, “and an incredible woman.  You saved a lot of people tonight.”

You shifted nervously under the weight of his stare, but tried to hide your discomfort.  “I… couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I know,” he informed you coldly, standing up and approaching you.  “I think I’ve gone above and beyond on my end of our deal.”

A pit formed in your stomach, growing with each step he took towards you.  His eyes stayed trained on you except for when he glanced to the side to flip on the radio, American music suddenly piping through the speakers.

— discord and rhyme, I’m on the hunt, I’m after you…

You looked to the radio as well but his hand gently guided your jaw until you looked back at him; he was closer than ever, and you had to look up to meet his gaze, shivering as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip slowly.

“Are you good for your end of the deal?” he asked lowly.

And I’m hungry like the wolf…

You swallowed, hoping it would somehow ease the ache in your gut as you realized what was about to happen, before nodding meekly.

He smirked a little.  “Good girl,” he praised, only a bit louder than a whisper, as his hand moved to cradle your face.  “You want me, don’t you?”

Your brow furrowed as you tried to figure out how you were supposed to answer that.  “I want to repay you, for all you’ve done for me.”

“No, not just that,” he disagreed, “you want me.  I know you do.  You don’t need to hide it, we’re alone…”

Hesitant but catching on to his desires, you nodded a little.

“Say it.”

“I want you, Ari,” you whispered.  

It felt like forever waiting for him to kiss you as he leaned in slowly, eyes half-lidded and dark but never leaving you.  As his lips brushed against yours, you finally let your eyes flutter shut and reciprocated his kiss.  His hands felt especially big as one slipped behind your neck and the other rested on your waist; in fact, with the way you had to crane your head up to kiss him back, all of him felt big.  Including the part you were pretty sure just bumped against the inside of your thigh.

His kiss was soft and patient but determined, slow but somehow still moving faster than you were ready for.  You gingerly reached up and rested your hands on his shoulders; they were strong and warm beneath your touch, even through his shirt.  You couldn’t think of the last time you’d been kissed like this, or held so tenderly like this, but then again, you were also sure that nobody had scared you like this in a long time, either.  For a woman who always knew what to do in a dangerous situation, you couldn’t seem to get a read on Ari Levinson— mostly because you didn’t truly believe he was dangerous.  But maybe you should.

When his hands reached up to start unbuttoning your blouse, you pushed him back a little.

"N-not here," you protested, "someone could hear, or walk in."

"There's nowhere else to go, and I'm not waiting 'til Cyprus.  I need you now."

He kissed you again before you could respond, more forceful and desperate.  You let him work open your shirt this time, his fingers dancing over your skin as he pulled it off your shoulders and tossed it aside.  The feeling of him working your bra open made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, but his tongue slipping into your mouth distracted you and before you knew it, it was gone as well.  Your nipples hardened in the cold air— or maybe they’d been that way already, for whatever reason— but they reacted even stronger to his thick fingers gently pinching them as his palms cupped your breasts.

You gasped against his mouth a bit, your breathing getting heavier as he moved his hands down to your trousers.  The idea of being naked when he was still fully-dressed scared you, but you didn’t have time to think about that anymore when he pulled back to drop to his knees, taking your pants and underwear to the floor with him.

He looked back up at you with a mischievous grin as you cautiously stepped out of them.  After guiding you to sit up on the table, neither of you stopping to consider how rude it was to put your bare ass on somebody’s desk in a borrowed ship, he slowly parted your legs.  As he kissed a trail inside your thigh, you felt your hands clutch the edge of the table tightly with anticipation.  You felt so exposed with his face right there, to the point that your cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and yet you couldn't manage to tear your eyes away from his as he leaned in to lick you teasingly with the tip of his tongue.

"Fuck," you shivered, feeling your inner walls quiver as he moved so delicately.  You kept waiting for him to really get into it but he was determined to stay gentle and slow, circling your bud for one glorious moment before stopping again.  "Ari, please," you whispered without even realizing you’d said it.

"What do you want, baby?" he asked darkly, his voice deep and gravelly as he ran his hands up the back of your legs.

Your begging whimper was so pathetic you could hardly believe you were hearing yourself.  "More, please…"

He dove right in after that, suddenly latching onto your clit and letting his tongue explore every fold, every wrinkle, every sensitive spot with thick, wide licks.  Your head fell back and your hands jumped to weave into his hair— that gorgeous fucking hair that had driven you halfway insane.  It was soft between your fingers, and in this light you could see the touches of red, blonde, and maybe even grey scattered into the brunette.  Better yet was the way he moaned against you when you accidentally pulled it, your hands clenching into fists against his scalp each time he sucked on your clit just right.

"Ari, baby, fuck," you groaned, feeling your hips shift a little as if to try to get more of yourself in his mouth.

Sensation was sparking under your skin faster than you knew what to do with it, faster than you had ever figured out on your own, and definitely faster than anybody else had ever managed.  You felt your body shaking and couldn’t suppress it at all, every part of you (inside and out) quivering uncontrollably.  It would’ve been embarrassing except that he seemed to be enjoying it quite a bit, egging you on with his tight grip on your thighs, and his deep moans that reverberated over your body, and the way his brow furrowed like it almost pained him to see you like this.  Your back arched so dramatically that he had to hold onto your hips tight to keep you in his mouth, but he managed to maintain what he'd been doing— in fact, he didn't stop even when you started to whine and cry, feet digging into his back as you tried not to explode from the overstimulation on your sensitive clit.  

"S-stop, s'too much, can't take it," you pleaded, looking down at him.

He looked back up at you with dark, dilated eyes that said 'you're gonna take it.'  His tongue lapped at you with renewed vigor, sending you tumbling over the edge again and again and again.

Tears were streaming down your face when he finally relented, standing up slowly and staring you down as he wiped his face with the back of his hand; your arousal had coated his mouth and most of his beard, too.  You bit down on your lip to stop it from shaking as he slotted himself between your legs again, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and smiling as he watched your gaze trail down every inch of newly-exposed skin.

You knew he was in good shape, because it was always obvious, but you still shivered a little when you were greeted with chiseled muscles, dusty-blonde hair, a few stray freckles and scars, and last but not least, the gauze wrapping on his arm where you’d patched him up before.  It was nice to see a piece of your handiwork on something so flawless, like how it must feel to design the frame that holds a Monet.  Your mouth was even watering as you followed the trail of hair down to where it was interrupted by his jeans, which were misshapen with the unmistakable outline of his neglected cock.  Either you could actually hear it throbbing, or that was just your heartbeat in your ears as he made a show of undoing his buckle and fly slowly.  

A breath caught in your throat as he slid the jeans down and kicked them off with his boots, his cock bouncing up against the bottom of his abs once he’d freed it.  You hoped to hide your intimidation, but you must have failed from the way he smirked and licked his lips as he stepped forward and pressed it against your stomach; you felt a little dizzy seeing the head of it reach past your bellybutton.  "That's how deep I'm gonna be in you, baby."

For all his delicacy and tenderness in everything before now, he must have had a change of heart; with a little growl, he pushed all the way into you with one brutal thrust, watching darkly as your head fell back in a choked scream.  He didn’t stop for very long, either, setting up a pace that was slow but unyielding, his length filling every part of you and then some with each slam of his hips into yours.

He grabbed your hair tightly and suddenly, pulling your head back to expose your neck to him.  He licked and sucked along your pulse until you were shaking against him, nails accidentally digging into his shoulders a little bit as you held onto him.

His lips trailed up to pull you into a frenzied, sloppy kiss, your mouth slack wide for him to explore however he wanted.

"Tell me how it feels," he growled against your lips.

It feels like my body is on fire but I like it.  It feels like you're shaping my insides to fit you exactly how you want.  It feels like you might split me in half before you're done with me, but if you stop now I'll fall apart even worse.

His grip on your hair tightened at your lack of response.  "Gettin' fucked too good to answer me, huh?  So full of my cock you can't even speak.  Is that right, pretty baby?"

You nodded as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your hoarse moans and sobs muffled by his skin.  

"Aw, poor thing," he purred, wrapping his arms around your back.  His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke to you in a deep mumble, the bass of his voice sending shivers down your spine with each word.  "You don't have to tell me, I know how it feels… you're so wet that you're fucking dripping, your needy little pussy is clamping down on me like it's the end of the fucking world, and you're screaming for me so loud I bet half the ship can hear you.  I know how it feels, baby; it feels so good that you're already about to come for me."

You gasped as he pushed you to lay back on the table, hoisting your legs up over his shoulders; you felt a bit whorish seeing your legs up in the air like that, especially when he leaned to the side to plant a wet kiss on your calf.

Soon he was letting your legs slip back down to his hips, leaning over you and caging you in with his thick arms, watching your face as he started to fuck you harder.  His long hair was at risk of tickling you as it fell down beside your face, but it was that Star of David necklace that was dangling from his neck and swinging right in your face with every thrust.  Slightly annoyed by it hitting your face from time to time, you stuck out your tongue to catch it, holding it between your teeth and finding that biting down on it helped you cope with the slight pain of him so deep inside you anyways.

"Baby," he moaned, inspired by the sight to grab your hips even tighter and slam into you even harder.  "Fuck, I'm close," he hissed.  "Gonna fill you up so good, baby, gonna ruin you for anybody else, huh?"

"Yes, Ari," you whimpered.  "I'm close, too…"

"Go ahead, pretty girl, wanna feel how tight you get when you come— when I make you come."

Trying to hold it back only made it hit you harder, and as your moans grew louder and your body began to shake, you felt your walls flutter and flex intensely.  He pulled his necklace out of your mouth and kissed you suddenly; it kept you grounded as you feared that the rest of you would float away, lost in pleasure so thoroughly that you'd never come back to reality.  His moans mixed with yours as they moved between your tongues, and just when you thought you'd break into pieces if he didn't slow down, you felt his movements stutter and his cock pump inside you.  You couldn't feel the warmth of it because you were already so hot all over, but the way his cock swelled as he came was unmistakable and overwhelmingly erotic.

He broke the kiss but didn't pull away, catching his breath while he stayed inside you, resting his forehead against yours.  

After cooling off for a moment, he scooped your limp body into his arms and lifted you into his chest; you wrapped around him and let him carry you to the other side of the room where he set you down on the pallet sleeping bags and blankets.  You whimpered as he pulled out, his softening cock still big enough to make you wince.  The gush of warm, sticky come made your cheeks burn even if it also sent a dulled tingle of arousal up your spine.  He was gentlemanly enough to wipe you off with a towel, mumbling something about how pretty you looked stuffed with his come, but you couldn't really focus on any of that because you were still waiting for sensation to return to your numbed extremities— brain included.

He turned his head and laid it on your chest, and you found yourself absent-mindedly scratching his scalp with your nails.

"That's nice," he whispered, but you could tell that already by the way his skin was erupting into goosebumps, and the way he held you tighter.

You must've laid like that for hours, or maybe it was just a few minutes, but it was one of those moments that felt like a piece of forever.  He lifted his head to look up at you, pulling you down a bit so his face hovered over yours.

"What's next for you after you get these women to Greece?" he asked quietly.

You chewed your lip as you thought about that.  "Back to DC, I figure, and then wherever they send me next.  I hear they might want me undercover in Cuba or Russia…"

"How often do you end up in Jerusalem?"

You squirmed a little beneath him, but he slipped his arm under your neck and pulled you closer; how were you supposed to think with his bicep right by your face like that?  "Uh, not often, but if I'm in town I'll give you a call—"

"Come with me," he requested softly.  "Get to Cyprus, go to Greece, and then meet me in Tel Aviv."

"Ari, I can't—"

"Why not?"

You laughed a little, but he clearly wasn’t joking.  "Because I have a job?"

"You won't need a job," he shrugged, "I make good money and you can just live with me."

Your throat went dry as you stammered, trying to figure out if he had seriously just asked you to quit your job and move in with him.

"You'll like Israel.  You speak some Hebrew don't you?"

"Uhh, yeah but—"

"Then what's stopping you?"

You couldn't answer because you didn't even know where to start with all the things that were stopping you.  Your mouth opened and closed silently like a fish out of water, and he laughed at you lightly.  

"Just say yes," he encouraged gently, and your heart twisted as you wondered if this was part of the deal, if you needed to do everything he wanted to keep him on your side.  You were on an Israeli ship, sailing international waters; if he changed his mind now, he could still sell you out and have these people arrested or worse.  But he wouldn't do that, right?

Perhaps the more important question was not 'would he do that?' but rather 'are you willing to find out?'

"Yes," you heard yourself answer before you even realized you were considering it.  

He grinned, hugging you tightly.  He was already rambling about how great it was going to be and how he would spoil you all the time and maybe find a way to get you hired as a contractor at Mossad so he could bring you along on missions, but you couldn't hear it past the ringing in your ears. You desperately needed sleep, and his arms were warm and welcoming as you drifted off.  He kissed your forehead before letting his eyes fall shut as well, joining you in unconsciousness.  

The swaying of the ship was like being rocked to sleep, so much so that you slept for an uncharacteristically long time: you were just a few hours out from your destination when you awoke, in fact.

Instead of getting up and attempting to acquire some food, you laid there staring up at the ceiling as his heavy arm draped over your chest.   Even in his sleep he had power over you, refused to let you go.  You tried to remember how you'd ended up in this situation but instead you found yourself fantasizing about a chance at love.  After running around the world for so long, there weren't many good men left to settle down with.  And Ari was maybe not an entirely good man, but you believed him when he said he would treat you well.  You'd shacked up with a lot worse in your time, when you were young and reckless and thought the worst thing you could be was alone.  Still, a long-suppressed desire for companionship was awakening in your mind and you weren't going to swallow it back down this time.  Smiling, you lifted his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles.  If what he wanted in exchange for his cooperation was your affection, you could do that.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,823 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, violence, mentions of suicide, gore, sexuality, fear and anxiety, disturbing imagery, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N heads outside of the walls for a distraction after the distressing day before. She returns in the evening to learn some concerning news.

Your name: submit What is this?

You woke early from fitful sleep plagued with the same old nightmares. It was still dark out and you knew no more sleep would come, so you decided to be productive again. Meat was always scarce, and after the news of Denise the day before, you needed a distraction. Not to mention having to relive old traumas… After quickly dressing, you stepped out on the porch into the cool morning air. Normally you would have asked Daryl if he wanted to join you, but the house across the street was still dark and you hoped that, for once, he was getting some sleep. Though with the events of the previous day, you really doubted it.

You grabbed your bow and headed for the gates. Sasha was on duty and she pulled it open for you with a kind but sad smile as you went out.

You spent all day outside the walls, engrossed in hunting, and it was after dark when you returned, hauling the rabbits with you over your shoulder. Tobin, a longtime Alexandria resident was on gate duty and you thanked him with a nod as you came in. He seemed particularly stoic but you attributed it to the prior day’s events. Denise was beloved by most of the people in town, especially since she had taken over after Pete’s demise… You made your way toward Aaron’s house and saw that the garage light was on and the door was open. You went in, expecting to find Daryl there tinkering on his bike, but the garage was empty and Daryl’s bike was distinctly missing. He must have parked it outside his place. You knocked on the door into the house and Eric answered it with Judith in his arms. You greeted them both with a smile but Eric’s face was grave and he was white as a sheet.

You throat tightened and your stomach dropped when you registered his expression. “What’s the matter?”

He gulped and stepped back to let you inside. “Have you been out all day?” he asked you.

“Yeah. Since before the sun was up,” you said, gesturing to the rabbits over your shoulder. Your heart started racing. “Eric—what’s going on?”

He shook his head and opened him mouth to speak but no sound came out. Turning on his heel he walked further inside and set Judith down on a blanket on the floor before he faced you again. “It’s—It’s bad,” he said seriously. “Carol left.”

Your brow contracted. “Left? What do you mean she left? Why? For how long?” Your thoughts immediately turned to Daryl. He and Carol were very close. You were sure he was worried, angry. He’d probably try to go after her.

“She left a note. I—I don’t think she’s coming back,” Eric said softly.

You paused for a moment. “Did Daryl go after her?”

“Rick and Morgan did. Daryl was already gone when they headed out.”

You stomach lurched and your head spun. “Gone—Gone where?”

Eric just stared at you.

Your breathing was speeding up. “Gone where?”

He averted his eyes and shrugged. “Best guess is back to where��� it happened. To try and track them.”

You felt like you had been punched. “No. No, no, no,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Eric. “I—no. He can’t.” You tried to heave in a breath but your lungs felt tight. “I need to sit down,” you gasped, practically collapsing into a nearby chair as your knees felt like they were giving out.

“Glenn, Michonne, and Rosita went after him this morning,” he said quickly. Your eyes shot up to his face.

“Okay…” You waited expectantly for more details.

“But—they left early and none of them are back yet.” He looked mortified that he had to be the one to unload all this information on you.

You hung your head into your hands. “Oh my God. No… Fuck! Shit!” You stood up abruptly, the brace of rabbits forgotten and paced the length of the kitchen. “Okay. Okay. So, I’ll get some of the others and—and we’ll go look for them. Right? I’ll go find them and we’ll bring them back,” you said, more to yourself than Eric.

He winced, his expression regretful, anxious. “There’s… there’s something else.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Isn’t that enough?!”

He grimaced. “Rick came back after he and Morgan went out. They think Carol had a run in with some of the Saviors not too far from here. Morgan stayed out to follow her trail. They think she might be hurt but they don’t know. But when Rick came back—Maggie is sick. Very sick.”

“Sick how?”

“She—she thinks something with the baby. She was in a lot of pain… Rick loaded everyone up to get her to Dr. Carson at The Hilltop.”

You mind was whirring. “Okay. Okay…” You sat there, trying to process all this, wringing your hands. “Goddammit!” you said, taking your head in your hands again. “What the hell?!” You looked up at Eric desperately. “Who all went to Hilltop?”

“Pretty much everyone. Aaron went. And they took Eugene to get treated too since he was awake. I volunteered to stay here and watch Judith.”

You stood up and paced the length of the room. “Goddammit, what the hell is Daryl thinking!? I told him! I told him not to—” You broke off, gritting your teeth. Your hands clenched into fists. You turned over your conversation with Daryl the night before. You realized he had never said he wouldn’t go after The Saviors who had killed Denise. You now realized he’d been very specific about which words he spoke.

Eric shrugged vaguely. “I know. But—he’s…”

You sighed and shut your eyes, pinched the bridge of your nose hard in an attempt to ground yourself with something. “I know.” You looked back at Eric desperately again. “What do we do?”

He shrugged, at a loss for words now. “I think there’s only one thing we can do.”

Your jaw clenched. “Wait.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

And you waited. And you waited. And you waited. You weren’t good at waiting, even in the best of times. You refused to sleep. You refused to eat. You stood watch at the top of the gate and stared into the darkness which became dawn which became mid-morning. Still there was no sign of anyone. Everything was too quiet. You felt more and more nauseous by the minute, your stomach turning with anxiety.

Finally, a vehicle came into view in the distance. You raised the scope of your rifle to your eye. The RV. It was the RV. You continued to watch as it approached and you could see that it was Rick driving. You finally lowered the scope and the nauseous feeling in your stomach changed to a hard pit.

He stopped at the gate and raised a hand to signal that it was alright to open the gate. You climbed down and yanked it open, letting him drive through. The back of the RV had barely cleared the gate when he shut off the engine. You rushed to await whatever was to come, but you had a feeling like pins and needles prickling up your spine and a heavy weight on your chest. It was hard to draw air.

The door opened and people began to step out. But their faces… they weren’t themselves anymore. They were changed.

You knew that look; that wide-eyed, hundred-yard stare, the terror in their eyes. You had seen it on yourself, on your brother, on many others after they tangled with Negan. You knew what it meant. And there seemed to be a lot of people missing. Your people missing. You forced in a breath and just watched as they stepped out. Who was there and who was missing? Rick came around from the other side, and if possible, he looked worse than all of them.

“Rick…” you said, rushing over. He hardly seemed to hear you. “Rick!” You grasped his shoulders and his blue eyes, frantic and wide landed on your face.

“Judith?” he rasped, in a fog.

“She’s fine. She’s with Eric. Rick,” your voice broke off. You glanced at everyone who was pouring out of the RV, trying to take attendance.

“You were right,” he said, nodding almost imperceptibly. Tears were welling up in his eyes. “You were right. You were…” he trailed off.

Your eyes landed on Michonne and Rosita as they stepped out of the RV. “Daryl?” you demanded. You squeezed Rick’s shoulders to bring him back to you. “Daryl?!?” you urged.

He looked away down at his boots. His answer came in a whisper you almost couldn’t hear. He couldn’t look at you while he said it. “They have him.”

The breath was ripped from your lungs and your hands slipped from Rick’s shoulders. You staggered backwards, reeling. Suddenly Carl was there and he grasped your arm firmly. When you took in his expression, you were amazed that he looked better than anyone else. Of course he did. He’d grown up in this screwed up world during his formative years—he’d been at the prison when it fell, he’d had to put down his own mother… You, on the other hand, were spinning.

“He’ll be okay,” Carl said. “Daryl’s strong. He’ll fight.”

You shook your head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Suddenly Aaron was beside you. You’d never seen him look worse. He was as white as a sheet and shaking. His eyes were wide, red, and puffy.

“Oh my God,” you launched yourself at him, grabbing him into a tight hug and unable to stop the tears from pouring down your face. “Oh my God.” He hugged you back weakly. You pulled back and looked at him, clasping his face in your hands. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” you said, doing your best to reassure him.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey! Stop it. Stop. Everything—everything is going to be f—fine,” you said, pulling yourself back together while he was going to pieces. “You’re okay. Eric is okay.” You released your hold on your dear friend and nodded. “Go see Eric. Go home.” Aaron gave you another fearful and concerned look but you simply wiped the tear streaks from your cheeks and nodded. “I’m fine. Go home.”

You spun around again to look at the rest of the ragged group and started mentally going through the list of people who had gone out. “Maggie?!” you demanded suddenly.

“She’s at Hilltop,” Carl said. “Sasha stayed there, too.”

Your brow drew down low over your eyes. Something about that statement struck you as odd. “And Glenn?”

Now Carl looked away, and you could see light glistening in his eyes.

“No. No… Oh my God. No.” You put a hand out and had to lean on the RV, at risk of collapsing from the lightheadedness that flooded your brain.

Carl looked at you with a mixture of devastated and angry tears in his eyes. Your hand flew to cover your mouth and tears broke loose and streamed down your face again. You again glanced at the people wandering away toward Rick’s house. Michonne. Eugene. Rosita. Your eyes shot back to Carl, a sense of apprehension almost overwhelming you. “A—Abraham?”

Again, Carl shook his head.

He turned away from you, leaving you spinning, and grasped his dad’s arm. “Dad. Come on. Let’s go see Judith.”

You felt like you were going to be sick.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“I’ll go.”

Rick stared at you. “I—I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You aren’t asking,” you countered.

“I’ll go myself. I—”

“You’ve got kids. You’ve got a baby. Hell, you’ve got a whole town to look after now, Sheriff Grimes. And you need to get ready because they are coming. They’ll expect you to be here. You’re the leader. Just—I’ll go.” Rick watched the muscle in your jaw twitch. “You know I have to go.”

Rick heaved a sigh. He knew you’d go regardless of whether or not he wanted you to. He knew you did have to go. This was you and this was Daryl. “How?” he asked you. “How are you gonna get him back?”

“Don’t worry about that. That’s my job. I know more about Negan and that place than anyone. I will get him out. I promise you. I will get Daryl out.”

Rick let out a long slow exhale, with an edge to it like a growl. “I don’t suppose I have any real choice in the matter anyway,” he said.

“You don’t.”

Rick sighed again, rubbing a hand over the heavy stubble on his face.

“Rick, listen to me. They are going to come and the first thing they are going to do is take all your weapons and all your ammo. That inventory Olivia keeps of the armory? Burn it. And take some of the guns and ammo, just enough so they won’t suspect anything, and hide them outside the walls. Outside. If you hide them in here, they will find them. And when they do, someone else will die.”

Rick gulped and nodded. He felt like an icy hand had seized his heart in his chest. “Alright.”

“And there’s one more thing… Negan and his assholes—they cannot know that we are connected. Do you understand? You need to make sure that no one ever mentions me, okay? Like I don’t exist.”

Rick gave you a questioning look but nodded.

You gulped at the constriction in your throat. “I’ll tell you everything at some point but right now I need to go. I don’t want Daryl there a minute longer than he has to be. You understand everything?”

Rick nodded gravely. “Yeah. I’ve got it.” He hesitated. “Be careful.”

“I will.” You turned on your heel and went home to prepare.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were concealed in the woods outside the nearest Savior outpost. It had taken you far longer to get there than you had hoped and you’d had to go pretty dark to find it… You killed more Saviors, but not all of them. Some you had kept alive for a little while, until they had given up their information on the location of the satellite outposts and lookouts. You glanced down at your jeans and t-shirt. They were filthy but still a bit too well kept. You wiped the walker blood on the blade of your knife on your shirt and then took the edge of it to your clothes, placing a rip here and poking a hole there. You looked at your arms. They were scratched and bruised from fighting your way through the woods, through walkers, through soldiers of The Saviors to get here. Good. You wanted it to look like you were having a shit time. You heaved in one last breath; your heart pounded. You were terrified, but the thought of Daryl being held by them sent an urgent shot of fearlessness through you. It had already been too long. You didn’t allow yourself to run through the what ifs… You gritted your teeth and stepped out of the woods, approaching the front of the outpost with your hands up.

The two guards in front saw you immediately. “Freeze! Don’t move!” Automatic weapons pointed at you.

You obeyed. They approached.

“Holy shit,” one of the men said as they got closer. He exchanged a look with the other.

“Son of a bitch,” the second man said matter-of-factly. “You gave us quite the run around, little lady. Negan had whole crews out looking for you.”

Your chest was heaving with nervous breaths. “I—I know. I made a mistake,” you muttered. You didn’t have to try to sound scared. You were. There was a quiver in your voice, but you knew it would work to your advantage. You wanted them to see you as helpless, scared.

“A big one,” the first man agreed. “Search her,” he said, nodding to his associate. He trained his gun on the center of your chest.

The second man frisked you, lingering a little too long with his hands on your body. He removed your knife from the sheath at your hip and clicked his tongue. “Damn. Too bad we can’t have some fun with her first,” he said, hungry eyes wandering over your body and back up to your face.

Revulsion twisted your stomach.

“Too bad,” the other agreed. “But you know what Negan said. She goes straight to him. What do you want? Why are you here?” he pressed.

“I—I want to come back,” you said quietly. “I can’t stay out here…”

This drew chuckles from them. “Negan was right,” one said to the other. “He called it.” He pressed the muzzle of his gun into your back. “Walk slow. Toward the building.”

“I’ll call it in. Damn, is he gonna be surprised. Might even throw us a bonus for bringing her in.” He raised his radio to his lips. “This is Rich at satellite outpost Beta-2. Repeat, this is Rich at outpost Beta-2. Anyone copy?” There was a brief burst of static before another voice responded through the speaker.

“I copy Rich. This is D at Sanctuary. What do you need? Over.”

“We’ve recovered a wanted individual who fled Sanctuary. How would you like us to proceed? Please advise. Over.”

There was another pause. The other man grabbed your wrists roughly and zip-tied them together behind your back, cruelly tight.

“Who do you have?” came the voice again.

“We’ve got Y/N.” He said it with relish and his eyes flew to your face again, a small smirk on his face.

The pause this time was even longer and your stomach turned. What if this wasn’t going to play out as you thought it would? What if he just decided to kill you? Then Daryl may never get out… Finally, the voice responded again. “Negan wants her brought here to Sanctuary immediately. Secure her and get her here now.”

It was done. You were going back.

You were thrown roughly into the back seat of a truck and once you were in, they zip-tied your ankles together too. The whole ride, the man in the passenger seat stared at you while he spun your knife with the point stuck down into the center console. Your heart never slowed from its sprinting in your chest.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you saw the familiar building coming into view and the truck stopped at the double doors. The man in the passenger seat cut the zip-tie around your ankles and soon you were roughly pulled out of the back of the truck by the elbow. You were pushed toward the double doors and forced inside. The sounds, the smell of the place brought memories flooding back to you and you began to feel lightheaded as you were herded up the stairs. You were met at the top by two of Negan’s apparent lieutenants, Simon and Dwight.

Simon was glaring at you and his nostrils flared. “Well, looky what the cat dragged in, Dwight.” He let out a low whistle. “What can I do for you, Y/N? Oh, and may I just say that you look like shit.”

You gulped at the lump in your throat. “I want to talk to Negan,” you said quietly. You glanced at Dwight beside Simon and that’s when you noticed that most of the left side of his face and ear were horrifically scarred—burned. When you had been at Sanctuary, Dwight and his wife and her sister were workers with you and your brother. You had gathered from what Daryl said that Dwight had escaped and ended up going back. Now he had moved up to being one of Negan’s right-hand men.

You let out a gasp as Simon backhanded you across the face hard. You tasted blood from a split in your bottom lip. “Of course, you want to see the big man,” he growled, stepping right up into your face. “You’ll see him when we say you can see him.” Simon grabbed you roughly by the elbow and dismissed the two men who had brought you in from the outpost. “Let me escort you to your accommodations, Y/N. I reckon you’ll find them familiar.” Soon you were in front of a metal door with a ‘#1’ painted on it; the cell you’d been held in when you’d first been brought to The Sanctuary with your group. Simon’s grip on your arm was like a vice. He smirked as he yanked the door open and shoved you inside, into the blackness. “Enjoy,” he snarked. “I’ll be sure to have fresh towels and the room service menu sent right up.”

“Simon—” you started, but you were cut off when he slammed the heavy door in your face, leaving you now in complete darkness.

Fuck. Was this what Negan had said to do with you? You had a hunch it wasn’t… Simon was a prick. He was volatile. You were willing to bet that he had taken it on himself to teach you a little lesson before taking you to see Negan. The zip ties on your wrists were cutting into you and it was nearly impossible to get comfortable with your arms pinned behind your back the way they were. You shifted your position on the floor and tried to alleviate some of the pressure.

You had no idea how long you sat there in the darkness, but it was at least several hours before you heard voices and boot steps on the other side of the door. You pressed your back into the wall and managed to stagger up to your feet. When the door cracked open, the light coming in even from just the dim overhead lights in the hall seemed blinding and you winced. At first all you could see were silhouettes in front of you.

But as they came into focus and your eyes adjusted you saw that it was Simon and Dwight, this time followed by the man himself, Negan… complete with leather jacket and his signature baseball bat slung over his shoulder.

[whimsicallyreading]

Dark Roast, No Sugar

“Last night I woke the hell up. I realized I need you here, as desperate as that sounds, yeah.” - Jon Bellion

Masterlist

Chapter Nine-

Aelin showed up to the police department in a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt. She didn't even bother putting on the new-ish sneakers she owned, opting for the ones with holes because they didn't squeeze her feet. It wasn't the first impression she wanted to give, but you deserve a little forgiveness when making a whole-ass human.

Leaning over the dash of the car, she presses a friendly kiss to the side of Chaol's face. "Thanks for the ride, boys."

His cheeks redden, and Dorian leans as much of his body as he can into the front of the car, "No sugar for me?"

Aelin laughs and kisses his cheek good-naturedly. "Feel less left out now?"

"Much better," the corners of his happy smile dim, his blue eyes dart to the doors of the precinct. "Are you sure you don't want me to call you a lawyer, Aelin?"

Chaol nods his agreement beside him, his hands clenching the steering wheel despite the car being in park. "Do you want me to go inside with you?"

Aelin feels a bubble of warmth blossoming in her chest. Their worried faces and eagerness to help her- it was almost enough to warm an assassin's heart. "Don't worry. They just need me to clarify a few things in my statement. Nothing serious. Paperwork issues."

Dorian and Chaol had shown up right as she was walking out of the front door of The Stag. When they realized she was leaving and offered her a ride... Aelin couldn't say no. Not with how her feet were aching.

It took some more reassuring, but they finally agreed to let her leave their caring grasps.

Fenrys met her at the door with a smile, "Hey, Baby Mama. Looking beautiful."

Aelin is surprised to find she's genuinely happy to see him. She can't help the toothy grin he brings out in her. "I'm well. How are you this morning, Fen?"

Fenrys lights up at the nickname. "I bought us some donuts. We have a hard day of work ahead of us, and I figured we would deserve a treat in advance."

Donuts sounded phenomenal and vastly improved her outlook of the day.

He steers her through the PD, and several heads turn to stare as she passes. Aelin didn't particularly care. Whatever they thought they knew about her, they probably didn't.

When they finally reach Rowan's office, they find him slumped over a laptop at a desk piled high with neatly stacked papers. The room is minimalistic. Only necessary office items were visible—no personal effects, knickknacks, or pictures of any kind adorning the space.

Rowan himself is also in his usual state of neatness, minus the dirt she could see staining the underside of his nails. He must have been gardening this morning.

Aelin doesn't bother with greetings. She grabs a chair opposite him and sits down. The last few days, she'd been feeling more drained and quick to tire. At first, she attributed it to the baby getting larger and demanding more of her body's resources, but now Aelin started to think that she caught a bug galavanting through the night.

Fenrys set a blueberry donut and a cup of hot tea in front of her. Bless him. Aelin mumbles her thanks before stuffing her mouth.

Rowan shuts his laptop with a snap and replaces it with a yellow notepad. "Alright, Aelin. I need a name. Who do you think is doing this?"

"When is Aedion getting released?" She says around a mouthful of glazed blueberry.

Fenrys slumps into an office chair at a tinier desk in the corner of the room. "This afternoon."

"If all goes well at this meeting," Rowan tacks on the thinly veiled warning. "I need a name."

Aelin leans back in her seat and takes a deep breath. There was a strange heaviness in giving his name. As if speaking it would materialize him into existence in front of her. Her goal when she moved to Ornyth was to forget about him and push her old master as far from her mind as she physically could, but she supposed it was naive to think he wouldn't come looking for her.

This wasn't just for her, Aelin reminds herself. Aedion would benefit from this conversation.

"His name is Arobynn Hammel. He's thirty-five, red hair, grey eyes, and an utter asshole." Aelin lays the name of her childhood tormentor out on the table. A bad taste sours her mouth.

Rowan tosses the notepad to Fenrys, who relays what she said to the paper. He looks at her over his desk with an unreadable expression. "What is your relation to Mr. Hammel?"

"Why?" Aelin chuckles as if the stress is trying to escape her with each half-hearted chuckle. "Do you want to know if he's my baby daddy?"

"Yes," Rowan and Fenrys say simultaneously.

Aelin's smile falls, and she scowls at both of them. They didn't know better, but she still felt insulted.

"He isn't, but I suppose he probably would have liked to be. Make sure to underline that," she points at Fenry's pad of paper. "Arobynn raised me. I don't think he was legally a foster parent, but he is who I was given to in the shuffle after the occupation."

Rowan dips his chin. Green eyes focus on her intensely, as if he's trying to absorb and commit her every word to memory. "How old were you when they put you in his care?"

"Eight," Aelin breathes out, a sharp tingling of grief comes with that admission. "I lived with him from the time I was eight until I turned nineteen."

"Why do you suspect him of producing and distributing Synth?" Rowan asks the nail-in-the-coffin question, and Aelin has to bite back old instincts to lie and conceal this information. It makes her feel vulnerable to expose Arobynn.

Vulnerability isn't an emotion she handles well. After all, when you bare your neck to someone, it becomes within their power to cut their throat.

"I've seen where he makes it, and I oversaw some of his high-risk contracts and dealings with the distribution," Fenrys chokes beside her, but he smothers it with a cough. Even Rowan looks a little taken back, eyes narrowing.

"At what age did you start assisting with his-" he struggles to find the words. "-His business practices."

Aelin blinks, "Eight."

This time, neither of them covers their reactions. They both freeze in their seats, an air of disbelief hanging over them. Aelin feels a chill and tugs at the hem of her shirt, wishing the sleeves were longer.

"What?" Rowan is the first to break the tension.

"I was displaced in the occupation," Aelin begins the watered-down version of her sob story. "I was carted into Adarlan and placed in the care of Arobynn Hammel. Within a couple of months, he was already using me as a mule to get orders across Rifthold. He trained me in various skills to carry out larger jobs, along with a few other children."

"There were others?" Rowan looks saddened by that tidbit.

Mentally Aelin wants to laugh.

Of course, he would be upset at the prospect of other good children suffering from such a fate.`Ones who had the potential he thought she lacked.

If only he knew what bastards they all grew up to be, and she by far was not the worst of them.

Fenrys' eyes were gleaming with more pity than Aelin was comfortable with because, unlike Rowan, she knew it was directed towards her. Gratefully he didn't dig too deeply. Instead, Fenrys picked up the next question. "Can you name the others?"

Aelin bites her lip, leg fidgeting under the table. "Tern Fletcher, Archer Flynn, Adam Mulligan, Lysandra Ennar-" she swallows past the lump in her throat. "Samuel Cortland and myself."

"Lysandra was involved?" Rowan leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. He hasn't looked away, barely blinked, since the questioning began. Aelin feels naked as his eyes seemed to be raking in her every movement.

"Not-" she tries to think of how to phrase it in a way that respects her friend's privacy. "She wasn't involved in the same capacity I was."

"Are the others you know still working with Hammel?" Rowan asks, and Aelin gladly lets them move the conversation away from Lys. She wasn't comfortable digging into her friend's wounds when she wasn't around.

"I suspect Mulligan, Flynn, and Fletcher. They were extremely loyal, and as of the last time I saw them, very active in the business." Aelin fondly remembers the beat down she laid on Archer before their parting words. He sold them out, and she hopes for his sake that they never run into each other again.

Fenrys looks up, "What about Samuel?"

"What?" Aelin flinches, the question taking her back.

"Samuel Cortland," Rowan reiterates. "You named him as one of the employees in Hammel's custody but implied he's no longer active in the business. Where is he then?" He leans forward, and Aelin wishes she could shrink back. "Would he be willing to speak with us?"

"Children." Her voice comes out as gruffer than she intends. "We were kids. Not employees. It wasn't a mutual agreement. None of us could consent to what became of us."

Aelin is surprised by the emotion that makes itself known. She swallows back the tears that want to fall and stuffs her trembling hands under her thighs. The implication any of them had a choice in serving Arobynn was disturbing and utterly wrong.

The taste of skin between her teeth, blood crusting under her nails, and being surrounded in pitch-black darkness consume her. Aelin suddenly feels more ill than she had this morning.

"Of course, Aelin." Fenrys placates. "That's understood. We just need to know where Samuel is. He could be very useful to the investigation."

"Dead," Aelin throws the word out like a dying fish on the table. "He died."

It hurt to say that. Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. Sam dying was worse than talking about Arobynn. A million times worse.

Aelin tries to swallow the lead rock in her throat. Arobynn didn't deserve to be known. His legacy was of blood, abuse, and control. It belonged in the sewer alongside his corpse.

Sam, on the other hand, deserved to be known. He abandoned by the system, forgotten by his family, and still chose kindness above all else. Sam's story deserved to be told, and it killed Aelin that it hurt her so much to share it.

"How did he die?" Fenrys prods delicately.

"What?" Aelin asks dumbly, heart accelerating in her chest.

"How did Samuel die? Any details you can give are beneficial. and you agreed to cooperate." Rowan reminds her sternly.

Mala save her, she couldn't go into detail about how she found him. She couldn't. Aelin feels blood rushing up to her head, and the room seems to sway.

"Sam. He liked to be called Sam-" Is all Aelin manages to choke out. "Excuse me."

Pushing herself from the desk, she shakily bolts for the office door. Their complaints are silenced as the glass shuts behind her. Outside, Aelin can feel the trembling beginning in her hands and spreading up her arms.

Sweat beads on her forehead in the oppressive heat of the building, but when she rubs her face, it feels damp and cold to the touch.

Aelin frantically strides down the hall, eyes darting around madly for a bathroom door. Nausea was creeping up her throat, and she really didn't want to throw up in someone's trashcan. She knew she was moving quickly, that someone might see her and become alarmed, but anxiety made everything feel like it was moving in slow motion.

A dainty hand grips her elbow and tugs in gently. "Follow me, dear. I can help you."

Aelin's head is swimming, and she allows the calming voice to steer her back in the other direction. When the person pushes open the bathroom door and Aelin sees the navy blue stalls, she rips her arm away and falls to her knees before the porcelain bowl.

Long, slender fingers pull her hair back from her face and rub her shoulders as Aelin loses her breakfast. "You are okay," the voice consoles—a hand massages up her spine and soothes the aches there.

Aelin's whole body is shuddering now. Her stomach rolls over itself, and the muscles of her diaphragm are quaking with exertion. She doubts she could get to her feet if she tried. A strand of drool hangs from her lips, and Aelin would be humiliated if her head wasn't still reeling.

Gouged eyes. Bent fingers. Blood on her lips.

A wad of paper towels appears and dabs at her cheeks, which Aelin hadn't even realized were wet with tears. She failed to notice that her body was shuddering under the intensity of the sobs coming from her. The woman continues to pat her cheeks and nose. Then to her mortification, it swipes at the spit hanging from her mouth.

Mala end me now, she mentally pleads.

Aelin looks up to find a woman with raven hair and onyx eyes looking at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, dear. I don't mean to overstep. I've been where you are before. Please don't be embarrassed."

Opening her mouth, Aelin makes to apologize, but another crackling sob breaks from her chest instead.

She's just tired. Tired of being sad. Tired of feeling sick. Tired of being unable to even say his name without breaking down.

Arms wrap around Aelin's shoulders and tug her into an embrace. She allows her face to burrow into the woman's blazer as the grief racks through her body.

"Oh, sweety. It's going to be alright. I promise whatever is going on right now will work out." Fingers rake through Aelin's hair soothingly. It turns her to jello in the woman's arms. Her presence was just so motherly in a way that Aelin sorely misses.

She holds Aelin tight until she's calm enough to hold a plastic cup of water without dropping it. The woman helps her stand and wipes the mascara smudges off her cheeks with a damp towel. "There you go," she tosses the towel in the trash when she deems Aelin presentable. "Brand new, again."

"Thank you," Aelin breathes out at last. "I don't even know what to say."

"Say nothing," the woman waves her hand. "I've been pregnant before. Hormones. Nausea. It isn't an easy ride, dear. Besides, no one comes to a police station for a good reason." The woman pulls a stick of gum from a purse sitting on the sink and offers it to her. Aelin accepts it gratefully.

"Has anyone told you that stress isn't good for you?" Her kind eyes bore into Aelin worriedly. "You look very pale."

"I've been told. Many times." Aelin rubs her forehead, an ache already forming there. "I just don't have much of a choice."

"What's your name? I'm Maeve." She smiles and extends a hand for Aelin to shake.

Aelin takes the hand, happy that they aren't trembling so badly. "Aelin."

"Do you have any name ideas for the baby?" Maeve's eyes glance down towards the slight swell of her belly a little wistfully.

Names? Aelin periodically forgot that the human growing inside of her would pop into the world and require such a thing. It was a far-off event where she had plenty of time to accommodate for things in her head. In reality, she was halfway through her fourth month.

Time was ticking.

"No. I don't have any ideas yet." Aelin admits.

Maeve pats Aelin's shoulder kindly. "That's just fine. Ignore my curiosity. You have plenty of time if-" she emphasizes, "you take better care of yourself."

There is a knock on the door. "Aelin, are you alright?"

Rowan.

"Yes. I'll be back in a minute," Aelin says through the door.

She waits until his footsteps echo back down the hallway before she makes towards the exit. Eager to leave the bathroom and the memories of her awkward breakdown with it. "Thanks again. Really. I appreciate it."

Aelin truly meant it despite the utter humiliation she felt.

"Let me walk you back to Rowan's office?" Maeve asked. "It's easy to get turned around in this building."

They walked in a comfortable silence back to the office. Maeve's demeanor is so tranquil it surprises Aelin when the demure woman pushes the door open without knocking. "I have a delivery for you boys."

"Chief?" Rowan stands up, confused.

What? Aelin blinks and turns back to the woman, noting the black and whites and the metal badge on the breast of her blazer. The same blazer Aelin had just cried on.

Blood rushed to her face, and her brain curdles in her skull. Of course, it was the law of Orynth whose arms she just broke down in. Adarlan's Assassin reduced to a ball of hormones clinging to the chief detective of Terrasen like a baby clinging to its mother.

"Has she caused trouble?" Rowan's eyes glint with steel.

If you've done anything to degrade me to my boss, the deal is off.

"Not at all. We ran into each other in the bathroom and had a lovely chat," Maeve brushes an invisible piece of dust from Aelin's shoulder. "I will let the three of you get back to business. You are in excellent company."

Aelin's lip quirks. Just the opposite. She loves me. Congratulations, you are already reaping the benefits of my presence.

"Oh, and Fenrys?" Aelin looks at Fenrys, who is actively ignoring them. "The reports you promised are late. Have them to my desk by the end of the day, please."

"Will do, Chief." Fenrys' reply is dry and lacks his usual pep.

Aelin notes the worried glance Rowan throws him, but he swiftly covers it with an expressionless mask. "I will make sure he gets it done."

What was that? Aelin tries to pry an answer from Rowan, but he avoids her look.

When Maeve leaves, the tension eases from the men's shoulders.

"You are trouble," Rowan tosses at her without venom.

Aelin picks up the cup of tea she left at his desk, glad it's still warm. "Yes, but only the best kind."

"We haven't laid out a single plan for weaseling out Arobynn," Fenrys makes an irritated face at them. "If either of you could focus for ten minutes, we can do the rest of the questioning later, but we need to start throwing out ideas."

"Did Rowan piss in your tea in the last ten minutes I was gone?" Aelin shoots back, not appreciating his sudden attitude.

"Thirty," Rowan says. "You were gone for thirty minutes. That's why I came looking for you. Also, ruining beverages is your thing, not mine."

Damn, had she been gone that long? A glance at the clock confirms he was correct.

When she turns back to Rowan, there is almost something like worry in his eyes? That couldn't be right, Aelin rubs that aching side of her head again. She needed to stop reading so deeply into things.

"We can continue with questioning later," Rowan announces. "Fenrys is correct in saying we need to start making plans. You've given us enough to work with for now."

They sat back in their chairs, pulled out more notepads, red pens, and sticky notes. Together, Aelin helped them form a list of potential places Arobynn would be laying low. Hotels, rental homes, and vacant manors. He had a taste for luxury Aelin knew he wouldn't sacrifice for anonymity.

Test results were still running on the Synth. Technicians had let them know it showed highly abnormal properties compared to average street drugs, and they promised to send them an extensive report when they were through.

Rowan had hushed any potential news stories about The Stag shooting. He didn't want anyone who may know Celaena to catch wind and start snooping around. Aelin was his best lead, which afforded her a certain level of discretion he acknowledged.

They didn't know about the Bane patrolling her block at night, keeping their eyes on the streets for unusual activity.

The clock ticked, and the light beaming through the winders grew warmer as the afternoon trickled away. It was nearly five o'clock when Rowan declared then done for the day, and Aelin was utterly exhausted.

"Come on," Fenrys offered her a hand to help her stand. "I can drive you by the prison. Aedion should be getting checked out as we speak."

"Thank you," Aelin accepts the help. Her feet ached, and she felt entirely drained. It was good Fenrys was offering a ride, or she'd have to call Dorian to come and get her.

Together, the three of them made their way to the parking lot. Conversation between them was sparse but not unpleasant. They'd fallen into a rhythm at some point while working together. It helped break up some of the awkwardness between her and Rowan.

Aelin hustled a little bit when she spotted Fenry's luxury car. She wanted to claim the front seat before Rowan did. Her gut couldn't handle the stress of riding the back.

Her fingers barely grazed the polished handle when Fenrys started yelling.

Arms wrapped around her waist, and Aelin's face throbbed as it found itself slammed into the asphalt. A loud explosion rattled her ears, and chunks of debris went flying through the air. A thick foggy smoke started filling the air, and she immediately started choking on it.

A dense weight lifts off her back, and hands grab her shoulders, rolling her body to face the clouded sky instead of the ground. Rowan is in her personal space immediately. He's speaking to her, but no sound is penetrating the ringing in her ears.

His hands are running along her arms, the side of her face, checking for injury. Aelin tries to ask him if he's alright, but he doesn't seem able to hear her either.

Suddenly, Fenrys is there, and he's grabbing them both by the arms. They are moving away at a sprint. Fenrys is yelling, but the smoke is stinging her eyes, and even seeing is becoming hard.

There is another explosion, and Aelin can feel the tremors beneath the soles of her shoes as the three of them hit the ground once more.

People are pouring out of the precinct. Aelin spies Cheif Maeve at the front of them, ordering people out of the building. Red and blue lights reflect off the smoke, and she knows that ambulances must be on their way.

Rowan is lying beside her. She hadn't noticed the rips in the back of his suit jacket at first, but there were long gouges in the material, and smoke wafted off a couple of scorch marks. The fact he'd thrown himself over her body and shielded her from the explosion was only starting to register when something warm squeezed her hand.

Are you okay? Green eyes were scouring her body for wounds.

I'm fine, Aelin assures him. She's more concerned about the spots on the back of his suit growing wet as he bled.

"Someone blew up my car," Fenrys is gaping at the spot where his vintage ride used to be. All that remained was a roughed-up frame that was lit ablaze like a campfire.

"Gods," Aelin breathed out, the ringing in her ears dying down. "I almost died."

Rowan hadn't let go of her hand and made no move to do so as his eyes fixed on the burning car. "That was meant for us."

He didn't have to elaborate for Aelin to understand. Whoever had placed the bomb hadn't been targeting her, but Rowan and Fenrys. They arrived and left work together. The bomb wasn't there when they got to the precinct this morning, so someone must have placed it while they were inside.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" Fenrys runs a dirty hand through his hair.

Sirens wailed as paramedics filed into the parking lot. Other detectives and officers were starting to approach them. Firefighters approached the car with extinguishers and began to tame the burning fire.

Aelin didn't have an answer. Just the sinking feeling that the game they'd entered into had more players than she'd thought.

Here is part one of the mass updates! Thank you SO much for reading. I’ve gotten so much feedback and love on this fic it’s been so wonderful 💚

I do have an ✨IMPORTANT QUESTION✨

Would you all prefer I have tag lists specific to certain fics or an overall tag list for ships? So one tag list for all of my rowaelin fics, one for all my quinlar fics, or would you like me to keep it as I have been? Please let me know! ✨

Tag list- Let me know if you would like to be added or removed. :D ( names in bold won’t tag)

@thisismylibrary​

@highladywhitethrone​

@bee55​

@royalsqueeze​

@rowaelin-cressworth​

@booknerdproblems​

@sjmships​

@ladyfireheart-and-buzzard​

@wordsxstars​

@rowaelinismyotp​

@courtofjurdan​

@emmiesbook​

@killian-me-slowly​

@miserablemusings​

@aelinchocolatelover​

@booksbqueen​

@flamingveritas​

@tomtenadia​

@fromthelibraryofemilyj​

@loudphantomdragon​

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​

@superspiritfestival​

@swankii-art-teacher​

@charlizeed​

@nish247

@vasudharaghavan

@maybekindasortaace

@mariamuses

@frosted-crackers

@foughtconquered

@live-the-fangirl-life

@ghostlyrose2

[bunny-xoxo]

Modern!au Hange Zoë Relationship Headcannons

Hange Zoë x reader

a/n: hi!!! This is my first post for aot on this blog! Plspls tell me your thoughts and if you guys like this :) requests aren’t open quite yet but will he soon, I just need to finish some things up in my drafts first :) you can look at WIP page on my pinned post on my blog to see some other aot works I’m working on atm before I open requests :) pls enjoy !!! I luv them on god

gif not mine, credit to owner

Please tell them to go to bed, they have no self regard for their sleeping habits and WILL stay up for 2 days straight

It does not matter if they’re in bed with you either, they will lay with their back against the headboard and you cuddling into their side while they stroke your face until you fall asleep and then IMMEDIATELY start reading

The amount of times you’ve woken up to them still awake in the middle of the night looking at you like 👁👄👁😃 good morning sunshine~~ just go back to bed ~~ maybe you’re dreaming ~~ , cause they KNOW you’ll scold them and they’d like to avoid that at all costs

PLS they definitely wear one of those stupid little head light things so they can read while you sleep

AND IT JUST ADDS TO THE DISORIENTATION YOU FEEL WHEN YOU WAKE UP ABAJSKWJWNA

* 💡

* 👁👄👁

“good morning sleepy head”

I truly feel like they’re a pro at getting you to fall asleep though, not even so they can stay up they just are so good at soothing you

That one spot in between your shoulders thats always sore? They’re hands find it without you even having to mention

The way you have to cuddle laying on your right side and your left? They’re already adjusting themselves on the couch so that can happen

The way you like kisses on the top of your head but not your temple? Check ✅ they’re fingers are resting at your temple to remind them it’s always the top of your head -as if they’d forget-

Expanding on this, they’re just so good at remembering details about you in general???

And of course some of it is the basics like your favorite snack, your favorite candle, the current show your binging, the laundry detergent you always buy, etc.

But some of it you wouldn’t have even asked them to remember?? Like it gets more and more obscure the longer you’re together

Like how you wouldn’t like the leather seats in their car, which you mention once cause the skin on your legs were sticking to them in the summer

And then they’re in the market looking for a new car and this one doesn’t have leather seats, which to yourself you’re like oh cool :)

But then they just bring it up while you’re driving with them one day like

“Isn’t it nice that now when you wear shorts your legs don’t stick? I tried keeping that in mind for you, babe.”

And it’s just??? You’re almost questioning how they even KNOW that until they tell you about the one ☝🏼 time you mentioned it and it was at least a couple years ago and it’s just??? Thank you?!?

But yes, anything you do Hange WILL remember it for better or for worse cause they just see it as a part of getting to know you and love the person you are!

Okok emperor fidgety over here ‼️

WILL talk with their hands so intensely that they’ve knocked over countless drinks, vases, has even flung their fork once

Queue wide eyes and awkward laughing while they blush a little before they rush for a towel to clean up their mess

But will still continue to ramble while they clean, nothing stops their talking

Carpet cleaner is your best friend

Let’s just say when the two of you decided to move into a new place together, hunting for hardwood floors was a must

But BECAUSE this fools always making a mess and needs to just ~lower the chaos a teensy bit ~ they WILL grab onto your hands while they talk

They’d be getting particularly animated and loud and you’d just let out a giggle and nod your head, letting them know you’re listening and they don’t have to be so loud

And they’d just giggle and shush themselves and be like sorry sorry I know with some big stupid smile on their face

They’d reach their hands out and grab yours and clear their throat and raise their eyebrows a little,

“Ok, so, here’s the best part though. Get. This.”

And they’d just go back to ranting but this time they have so much more energy being focused into you rather than combusting out of them

Their eyes are locked onto yours so hard, no longer darting all over the room while they speak

Their hands moving yours only a little, swinging them up and down, squeezing them when they get particularly excited

Their voice is more hushed and deep, their words shooting sharply at you with an intensity vibrating off them making your cheeks burn

Now, when something would normally result in a flying fork, instead it’s a tug on your hands to bring you closer while their voice gets heavier and quiet - almost a whisper - sharing this moment with you and ending it with raised eyebrows and a squeal - sometimes even shaking your arms about if it’s especially exciting news

Speaking of ranting, when you rant you better expect Hange to get JUST as involved as you

You’re frustrated? Yeah Hange is getting heated too, riling you up in the process, it’s their problem now too

You’re happy? Hange is squealing and jumping up and down with you as if they got the promotion ajakskajaja

I feel like the only exception to this would be if you were stressed, upset, or sad

They’re immediately quiet and looking all over your face for any sign of distress with the most sincere eyes

Nodding and responding with little hums of understanding, ready to scoop you into their arms the moment you need them too

The RULER of taking care of their s/o when they’re down or sick

Not only cause they know everything there is to know about your existence lmao

But cause I think they’re smart enough to be able to not be over bearing when they’re taking care of you

They’ll check in a lot for sure, but never smothering you more than you’d like lmao

Their love language is definitely quality time in my opinion

Do you remember how excited they were when Eren agreed to listen to them talk and they talked literally ALL night?? -I miss them like this pls-

Please just spend time with them while they’re doing research at home or reading, they’ll never feel more loved and appreciated

Ok but like :

It’s late, it’s been dark outside for hours now. Your eyes became heavy hours ago but, you don’t have work tomorrow, and you’d hate leaving Hange in here by themselves, so you decided on cuddling up in the living chair in their office - that they definitely put in there for you - on your phone. You were scrolling mindlessly through apps trying to keep your mind stimulated enough when you heard their chair move from the spot they were in for the first time since you’ve been in their. You looked up to see them crack their neck and stretch their arms above their head, they’re shirt riding up just above their belly button.

They sighed deeply and slowly walked over to you, running their hands down the side of your face and cupping your cheeks to turn your head up to face them.

They leaned down at an agonizingly slow pace and pressed a deep kiss on your lips

“Let’s go to bed now, yeah?”

And while you were laying together drifting off to sleep, they’d just kiss your head one more time and tell you how much they love you

Pls you’d mean the world to them

HANGE IS A SEXY DRIVER HANGE IS A SEXY DRIVER HANGE IS A SEXY DRIVER

Like,,, WHEWWW

This isn’t even a relationship HC LMAO

I mean a little -

They’d LOVE to go on roadtrips with you, you can’t tell me otherwise

A fun stupid adventure to buy shitty souvenirs along the way? Meeting strange people and getting all these new stories together? Hange is at peace like this lmao

But more on them driving 👁👅👁

Definitely drives stick, and they’re a FAST driver

Always a little above the speed limit

So good at changing lanes, especially on the freeway

The way they check over their shoulder?? Lawd almighty

Sometimes they’ll check over their shoulder that’s facing you and flick their eyes to your’s for a moment, cause they can feel you staring at them in that brief moment, and they’ll just raise their eyebrows and shoot you a cocky little side smile

And then after they change lanes they reach a hand over and squeeze your thigh before they keep driving

Ok does have bad road rage though LMAO

Not in a dangerous way they just,, swear very loudly in the car and then roll their eyes and apologize that there’s idiots on the road LMAO

Anyways

All in all, Hange is a very attentive and loud partner, so I hope you’re ok with chaos and intensity

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a/n: thanks for reading yall!!! Feel free to check out my blog, more aot content coming soon! And I always love to hear from you guys :)

-🐇out

taglist: @plutowrites