#I spent forever trying to figure out the angle on the lips and eventually just gave up

[saltwaterthievery-moved]

here’s another trans loz meme redraw since y’all liked the first one

#I spent forever trying to figure out the angle on the lips and eventually just gave up #sorry #rat rambles #my post #my art #legend of zelda #loz #trans #trans memes #lgbt #trans rights #trans link #loz link #video games #meme redraw #nonbinary #dysphoria #cw dysphoria #loz memes #botw #dysphoria memes #trans pride #lgbt memes #twilight princess #ftm #link #nintendo #gay shit

[illusionsofdreaming]

would it be okay to request headcanons with the main trio from TCF who aren't in a relationship with the (fem) reader yet but they like each other, the guys get hurt or something and the reader is so scared of losing them or was so anxious that she ended up kissing them? You can edit a few parts if you'd prefer! thank you, i know you have a lot of requests but you're the only one who writes x reader for them-

Notes: It took forever+forever but I finally gave up trying to perfect it- y'all just going to have to deal with these half baked potatos as I sob in the corner for my lack of functioning writing braincells.

+ 'nonny I know you asked for Fem reader but I'm just so used to writing gender neutral nowadays I actually forgot to write Fem reader in. Uh. I mean it's gender neutral so it should work regardless?? I'msorrypleaseforgivemeforthisblunder

Ft: Cale, Alberu, Choi Han

Cale Henituse

He’s covered in blood.

Again.

He glanced down at his shirt, once white, now completely soaked and rapidly losing warmth. The icky feeling of sticky cloth stuck on skin caused goosebumps to break out all over his arms. The lethargy that weighed on him was hard to ignore, but expected after using his ancient powers-

“Cale!”

He turned just as the full force of you barrelled into him and he staggered, unbalanced and would’ve fallen had you not pulled him back. He barely had time to protest at your rough greeting when you began frantically patting him down as if scouring him for weapons.

“There’s so much- where are you hurt?” you demanded harshly, your tone pitched higher than normal. “Raon call for Saint Jack and the others, medics- anyone that can help!”

“Y-yes! I-I will! Weak hu-human you better not die or I will destroy the kingdom!”

“Wai-“ his protests were ignored as the dragon flew off, leaving Cale dumbfounded with his jaw hanging down in disbelief. “Wait you don’t have to find the others, I’m fi-“

“Cale Henituse, if I hear you say ‘I’m fine’ I’m going to sock you to kingdom fucking come.“ you seethed. His lips snapped shut obediently, swallowing the aforementioned phrase down as a foreboding chill crept down his spine.

But I am..?

“How could you..” your voice shook even as you clung onto his soaked shirt so tightly your knuckles turned white. “You’re always doing stupid things like this…”

Cale frowned, feeling a bit indignant. Sure his plans weren’t the most thought out at times, but to call them stupid…

“If you waited for us to come, then you wouldn’t have to- why do you keep sacrificing yourself like this?”

That triggered an alarm in his head. What strange things were you talking about? The act of sacrifice were done by martyrs and selfless heroes and Cale Henituse was neither of those. He wanted to correct your misunderstanding but you were worked up and hysterical and it was with horror that he realised you were crying.

“________-“

“Don’t talk! Please, just conserve your energy- I won’t let you die, I promised the kids and the others- I won’t let you-”

The alarm bells in his head rang even louder and he fought to be heard over your rambling, “_________- no one’s dying, I’m fine-” it felt as if his heart had leapt to his throat as he stopped your fist before it could make contact. You really weren’t joking when you said you’d punch him. He tightened his hold on your wrist when you tried to twist out of his grip and swallowed nervously. “I’m not hurt _________,“ he emphasised, willing you to meet his eyes.

“Stop bullshitting me Cale- how much of a fucking idiot do you take me for? How can anyone be fine after losing this much blood-“

“It’s not mine.”

You stilled in his grasp.

“…W-what?”

He frowned. Was it really that hard to believe his words? “The blood’s not mine.” he repeated and made sure to meet your disbelieving gaze head on so that you could verify the truth in his words. “They were cut down before they could harm me. None of this blood is mine. I was not hurt.“ It was a partial lie. He did cough out some blood after instinctively activating the shield for protection but he felt that that was knowledge you’d be better off not knowing.

The coiled tension in you leaked out and Cale slowly released his grip on your hand and took a cautious step back - just in case. It was a good thing he managed to deescalate the situation before the others arrived. Just convincing one person was hassle enough and from experience alone, he knew the others weren’t as merciful when it came to learning about his injuries, regardless of severity or his protests otherwise. Cale shuddered. He really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Ron’s cold smile again. He glanced up and saw Raon’s flying figure and he waved lazily to the dragon hoping the young one would understand that the healers were no longer necessary, it had only been a false alarm.

“..ot.”

“Hm?” He looked down, hearing you mumble but didn’t quite catch what you’d said.

He was not prepared to be yanked forward and for your lips to mash against his. There was a brief sting where your teeth had caught on his lip and the uncomfortable sensation of having your teeth clack against each other, noses in the way. He froze, like a deer caught in headlights, thoughts reeling but before he could think of acting, to push or pull you in even closer-

You let him go just as abruptly and he staggered, breath stolen, mind in absolute disarray.

Then you slapped him. Which definitely cleared his thoughts. “You idiot!”

Stupefied, he watched as you stormed off, stuck in a daze as he cradled his face where his cheek and lips tingled for different reasons.

“…What..?”

Choi Han

Choi Han didn’t know what Cale saw in you back then, a complete stranger whom they saved by chance and nursed back to health with utmost care. You, who Cale insisted was the final key to their masterplan and then asked Choi Han to act as your escort.

There were many things Choi Han didn’t understand when it came to Cale-nim’s decisions. But that wasn’t so unusual and he’d never made it a habit to question Cale’s reasoning, having learned to be patient, knowing the pieces would eventually slot together in the grand picture. So although initially wary he was of your unclear history and affiliation, he stayed by your side and did his duty without question.

And perhaps after weeks of accompanying you, he’s beginning to see what Cale saw. Though powerless and weak, you were righteous and passionate, holding true to your belief even in the face of adversaries. You were the perfect replacement for the tyrannical ruler of the country, someone capable of salvaging the crumbling system of a neglected, abused society and lifting it to new heights and glory.

With the flames of revolution ignited, everything hinged on getting you safely to Cale on the final stage. While the revolutionaries fought and acted as distractions above ground, he escorted you through the abandoned waterways.

The undergrounds were dark and cramped, incredibly disadvantageous to a swordsman such as himself. When assassins leaped out in an ambush; Choi Han didn’t hesitate. Without time nor space to draw his sword, he pushed you behind him and raised his arm to block the strike.

As the momentum of the assassin’s blade stopped, it became simple matter to quickly disarm and finish them. Having checked and affirmed that there’s no forthcoming attacks, he urged you to hurry, now worried as they weren’t expected to be discovered so soon.

Something must’ve happened, we should hurry to Cale-nim’s side-

He was halted with a firm grip on his other hand and was pulled back as he was met with your stern, unwavering gaze and declaration that you will not move another step from this spot until his arm got treated first.

Which was a ridiculous request considering they were running on a tight schedule. He frowned and his fingers flexed against the hilt of his sword as you pulled him to the side.

When none of his objections were being heard, he tried reasoning with you. The wound may look horrible, but he’d assured you he’d angled his arm just so that the blade would’ve caught on his bone rather than tendons. It was a strategic move that not only blocked momentum but also kept damage to his non-dominant arm at the minimum. He would not have bled to death nor would he be crippled from it, something that barely needed the emergency care you insisted on.

“It’s not necessary, we need to get to the tower room first.”

“The room is not moving anywhere, I’d rather not risk having you develop an infection because you neglected to care for your wound.“

He flinched when alcohol was poured on the cut and Choi Han breathed out slowly, his frustration mounting as precious seconds passed. Something in his chest stirred uncomfortably. He’s not accustomed to having others care for his wounds, having spent so many years caring for them himself whilst hiding his weaknesses from monsters in the Forest of Darkness.

“I will attend to it after I’ve brought you to Master Cale’s side, we must-“

Your eyes flashed with anger as your grip tightened painfully around his arm. “So many things have been lost to reach this stage, I’d rather not lose more on the way there.”

“Cale-“

Perhaps you’ve had enough as well as the next thing he knew, your fingers dug into his arm and he found himself yanked forward and you pressing a hard, determined kiss that stole whatever he was going to say from his lips.

“Cale Henituse,” you said sternly when you parted and picked up a roll of bandages, “can afford to wait a bit longer.” you glared at him as if daring him to argue otherwise.

Not that it was necessary, considering he’d doubt he’d have the coherency to answer anything with the way all the blood in his body was rushing to his face.

Alberu Crossman

He didn’t feel anything upon the moment of impact. Only the shocking cold of metal being slid into his side and the vicious gaze of the perpetrator pressed up to his front.

The pain ripped through a moment later and he gritted his teeth, red spilling down his lips. It hurts.

Activity bursted around him, screams of fear echoed through the ballroom as guards rushed to his side. However one voice in particular caught his attention and he looked up to catch your horrified expression, lips parted in a desperate cry.

His forehead furrowed as a strange sense of guilt washed over him- he didn’t want you to see this- but he didn’t have time to explore the feeling as his hand latched firmly on the hand which still held the weapon in his side, preventing their escape.

His smile was red, “Caught you now, rat.”

═════☩══♛══☩═════

He tousled his hair dry with a towel as he read through the reports in his hand.

Alberu was exhausted, the fight to rid his side of his enemies’ spies had always been an ongoing and tedious project. His enemies were cunning and always played things safe however their impatience this time would cost them. Now that one of their own has fallen into his hands, they can start pulling in the net.

A knock sounded on his door and he didn’t bother looking up from his reports as he gave permission. “Come in.”

“Did you manage to find any new information from them?” he asked immediately as the door opened. Anything gleaned from the assassin would be beneficial to his cause. Not that he truly expected any confessions to be given this night. Any hired killer worth their salt would know not to betray the mastermind behind a hit. But there were more than one way to find credible information aside from words torn directly from the lips of a captive.

When no answer came, he looked up and immediately dropped the papers he was reading.

“___________…”

In the aftermath of the attack and the capture of the assassin he’d been immediately escorted to the healers for first aid. With the bare minimum done he’d left quickly to take control of the situation, calming the aristocrats and giving orders to assign all guests to be escorted to a room in the palace to rest from the unexpected development - the smarter ones would know this was just a way to keep all suspects in one place, stalling for time so that his trusted aides may work to narrow down the most likely suspects. He had been meaning to find you and explain once everything settled but this time you took matters into your own hands.

Your eyes glanced at the documents he dropped. “Am I disturbing your work?”

“No,” he replied instantly, fighting back the urge to shuffle the papers behind him. “No, you’re not.”

The room lapsed into silence once more as neither of you seemed keen to address the elephant in the room.

“About tonight…” he started slowly, “they had to believe I had my guards lowered.”

The truth was, though he believed you would not have been behind the attack, you had to be tested all the same. Should it be known you’ve been partial to this plan, it would’ve given the real culprits leverage to use.

You approached him and he wished you would say something. He noted the redness in your eyes and felt a stab of guilt lodge in his chest. “It had to be believable.”

You didn’t meet his eyes and your hand hovered over where his wound had been.

He lifted the edge of his shirt up to reveal the pink scar tissue underneath. It was ugly and badly healed due to the rush he had been in. “I wasn’t in any real danger.” he said softly, staying still and resisting the urge to shiver when your fingers traced the scar.

“You’re picking up bad habits from Cale.” You said so softly he would’ve missed it had he not been paying attention.

“The padded shirt under prevented the blade from going too deep.” he explained, hoping you’d understand that he hadn’t been reckless. Everything had been planned carefully. He slowly tucked his shirt back in as you withdrew your hand, already missing the warmth you brought to his skin just moments ago.

“__________…”

You leaned in and placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Don’t do that again.” you whispered against his cheek.

He could only watch in astonishment as you turned away and exited his room.

“..Okay..” he said hoarsely to the empty room.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #imagines #tcf x reader #cale henituse #alberu crossman #choi han #kiss #pre relationship #confession..? #i honestly don't have enough brain power to tag things rn #i also have not proofread this much so #it's A MESS #i'll come back to edit this when I'm more awake or something #ngl the whole time while i was struggling with this #i was thinking how ridiculous that i've spent so long agonising over writing with words #but consuming it would only take less than a minute LOL #now im back at 0 and im feeling a bit sad

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 8,912 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, sexuality, anxiety, fear, nudity, violence, gore, death of a character, typical TWD A/N: Here we are! The very final part of this series and it's a long one. It's definitely bittersweet. 257 page document and almost 130,00 words. Thanks for sticking with Y/N and Daryl this whole time. Hope you like it. A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N and Daryl head to the meeting place to try and put an end to Negan and The saviors.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl was staring over at you beside him in the bed. The sheet was swirled around your hips, allowing him to memorize the delicate angles of your shoulders blades and to trace the shadow of your spine down to the dimple in your lower back. You were sleeping soundly beside him somehow, probably just out of exhaustion. The two of you had practically torn the house apart last night tearing into one another feverishly with desire and scenes from it played on a loop in his head; your legs wrapped around his hips as he pressed your back into the wall, sweat beading up on both of you, your head thrown back and your eyes closed as you gasped in pleasure, completely letting go and surrounded only by sensations of him.

Daryl had pressed kisses and nipped at practically every inch of your soft skin, knowing some would leave faint bruises and reveling in the surprised noises his lips and teeth were eliciting from you. He could practically still feel your fingernails down his back, your lips crashing into his, your fingers in his hair. He could hear your laughter and see the fire in your eyes and blush in your cheeks when you’d both clattered into the nightstand as you tore each other’s clothes off and sent the lamp shattering on the floor. It had been a whirlwind of desire and passion and was borne of both of your fears and anxiety about what was coming. It was needy and full of love. It was heated and wild. Daryl had never experienced anything like it and neither had you... The feelings and sensations had been all-consuming and almost overwhelming. Unstoppable.

But afterwards, once you’d laid spent on the bed for a time, tangled with each other, you kissed him so softly and tenderly and with so much love he’d melted into warmth, and he’d returned it and told you how you were everything to him, how much he loved you, how he needed you to breathe, to live. And you’d returned every word. He was bewildered and still in disbelief that you felt the way you did about him. Your eyes drank him in and then you’d pulled him gently under a warm cascade of water and showered together, washing each other’s hair, caring for the bumps and bruises you’d inflicted on one another earlier in the lustful crescendo and physical venting of your frustration and worries, smoothing the rich lather over one another, refusing to part for a second. And this was delicate and tender. Your hands were light on each other. Your kisses were soft but still full of heat.

You’d collapsed against him in bed, completely content with his arms around you, but Daryl hadn’t been able to sleep a moment. Now it was almost time for him to wake you. It was nearly 3 am, and the plan was to meet Rosita at the gate at 3:30. You’d travel under cover of darkness to the place where Negan was to meet you that afternoon, allowing them both to conceal themselves in the trees on opposite sides of the field. And then you’d wait.

Daryl adjusted the sheet over himself as he rolled closer to you, needing to feel your skin against his. Both of his hands smoothed over your back and you felt so small and delicate beneath them. You stirred a little beneath his touch and he kissed your shoulder and swept your hair aside to kiss your neck. You let out a soft sigh and sleepy moan and Daryl wanted so much to stay hidden with you in his arms forever. Why the fuck did this goddamn world have to be the way it was? How was it that he’d only found something this good when everything else was utter shit? The constant shit coefficient, he thought to himself. Something Merle used to say.

“Do we have to wake up?” you breathed quietly, turning and curling into him, your fingers finding his bare chest and moving down his side to hold gently to him.

“Yeah. S’time,” he drawled. Your eyes flitted open and for a moment Daryl thought he saw a flash of fear in them, but the next moment it was gone.

“Okay,” you said.

The archer reached out and smoothed his fingers through your hair. Your hand covered his and you laced your fingers in between his.

“It’s almost done,” you said. But Daryl didn’t find that reassuring. You saw that he looked careworn and worried and pressed his hand over your heart so he could feel it beating. “Hey. Everything is going to be fine,” you said. “I love you.”

Daryl felt a swell of emotions, everything all mixed together at once. It was dizzying. “I love ya, too.” You leaned in and kissed him softly. The next moment you both rose and dressed and soon you were outside the gate with Rosita, on your way to the meeting place.

It was still almost pitch black when you arrived, except for the faintest glow of a lighter blue on the eastern horizon. The three of you walked the area in silence, shoulder to shoulder. There were a few walkers and you put them down like a well-oiled machine. You all picked the spots where Rosita and Daryl would post up with their scoped rifles. Daryl gave Rosita a boost so she could climb up into a large oak tree. She settled into the crook of two diverging branches and nodded, glancing down at you. “It’s good. I have a good view.” Her camouflage clothing made her nearly impossible to see against the leaves and bark.

You walked with Daryl across the open clearing and into the small copse of trees on the other side. After you’d found a suitable spot, he gave you a long look, frozen with his hand on the strap of his rifle.

“There’s still time,” he drawled. “Ya ain’t gotta do this. We can find some other way.”

You stepped close to him and rested your hand on his strong chest, feeling the beating of his heart beneath your fingers and the expansion of his lungs with each breath. “I do have to do this,” you said. You stared up into his blue eyes. “Everything is going to be okay,” you reassured him.

His eyes flickered between yours but your reassurance didn’t relieve the pit in his stomach. He cupped your face and kissed you, pouring everything into that kiss and soaking you up, breathing you in. “Alright. Let’s get this done.” He knew there was no talking you out of it.

You pulled your pistol and handed it over to him. “Just hold this for me for a little while,” you said. But you kept your knife in its sheath for now in case a stray walker wandered by. “Daryl Dixon. I love you. More than you know,” you said, taking one last long look at him.

His forehead was deeply lined with worry, but his voice was steady. “I love ya too.” And then he watched as you headed into the darkness to wait in the clearing while he took his place. _ _ _ _ _ _

The wait was agonizing. You were practically sick with strenuous anticipation but finally, after what had felt like an eternity, you heard a vehicle in the distance. You rose from your seat on the ground and stood in the small circle of depressed grass left where you’d waited. Your jeans felt damp with moisture from the morning dew that hadn’t yet evaporated and you squinted in the direction of the road. Eventually a tall, lean figure, immediately recognizable as Negan came into view. Despite the heat of the sun, he was wearing his characteristic leather jacket. You were surprised but relieved to see he was without Lucille. You began approaching him cautiously, aiming to meet him halfway, knowing that would be a good spot for both Daryl and Rosita’s fields of view.

You were about a third of the way there when he suddenly froze and spoke. “Y/N, is that a goddamn knife I see on your hip? What in the fucking hell did you think unarmed meant?” he growled. His voice was deepened in anger and booming across the open space to you.

You pulled it from the sheath and tossed it out away from you over your shoulder. “I needed something in case of walkers,” you said. You eyed him suspiciously but he seemed to relax. You noted that he had a pistol in a holster at his side.

You both resumed your approach but something over his shoulder caught your eye and every muscle in your body tensed. “I said come alone!” you spat at him. “I said no one else!” You started to back away but far from looking concerned, Negan simply laughed.

He whistled and Dwight came into view, but he was entirely different than when you’d last seen him in Alexandria, when he’d come to pledge to help you fight against The Saviors. He was now clothed in a filthy sweatshirt and sweatpants that looked like they could have been the very same ones Daryl had worn, and his face was covered in bruises. “This? Oh, this isn’t someone, Y/N. This is my new dog, Dwight.”

You gulped and your heart started to race. Oh, fuck. He knew. “What did—"

“Can we not lie to each other, Y/N?” he growled, interrupting you. “I fucking know that you know what he did. I FUCKING KNOW!” he roared at you, his usually handsome features distorting and his face burning red with anger. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t FUCKING figure out what sneaky little rat cunt was feeding information to Alexandria? How goddamn fucking stupid do you think I am?”

You were paralyzed and were praying that Rosita or Daryl would pull the goddamn trigger. They had to know something was wrong. Was Negan far enough into the field now that he wasn’t blocked by other trees?

“Get the FUCK DOWN and get the FUCK over here, dog!” Negan growled at Dwight. Dwight fell to his hands and knees, his head down, and he crawled the rest of the way to Negan. When Dwight reached his side, Negan glared down at him. “Now stand the fuck up right here, right next to me and keep your eyes on the goddamn ground.” His voice was dripping with contempt. Negan looked back up at you. You realized that Dwight standing next to him was, in all likelihood, blocking Daryl from taking a shot at Negan. “Are we doing this or what?” Negan said. “Come over here so I don’t have to fucking yell and you can tell me why in the hell I shouldn’t just wipe all three communities off the goddamn map.”

Somehow you steadied your nerves after seeing Dwight so changed and you walked the rest of the way toward him cautiously. Negan seemed to calm as you came closer and you caught him looking you up and down. “Lift your shirt up, Y/N,” he said.

“Fuck you,” you spat back at him.

He rolled his eyes. “I said lift it up, not take it off. There’ll be plenty of time for that later if you’re interested,” he said with a grin. “I want to see your waistband. Make sure you’re not hiding some cute little peashooter.”

You begrudgingly lifted your t-shirt up enough so Negan could see the waistband of your jeans. “Turn,” he said, moving his forefinger in a circle. You scoffed, but complied and turned around so he could see you weren’t hiding anything.

“Good,” he said as you came to rest back in your original position.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask to frisk me,” you snarked at him. He let out a chuckle and that wide goddamn smile grew on his face as he looked at you.

“Holy shit. I do miss you, Y/N,” he said. “And not just for the great ass.” You were taking a breath about to open your mouth to say something snarky back when suddenly Negan pulled his pistol and shot Dwight right in the fucking head. You watched the blowback of blood splotch Negan’s face like it was in slow motion. The cloud of gunpowder drifted lazily on the heat of the afternoon air. Dwight’s body crumpled to the grass in a heap like a wet towel and you stood paralyzed, in shock, staring at the place where that living man had just been standing. Your hesitation from the shock of what the fuck you had just watched only lasted for a split second but it was long enough for Negan. Dwight’s body hadn’t even finished falling when Negan lunged forward and grabbed you, spinning you roughly and pulling you back against his body, one arm looped around your neck.

There was nothing you could do. He had you.

“Fool me once, shame on you,” he hissed into your ear. “Fool me twice…” His arm around you was tight. You could feel his tensed muscles straining as he pulled you back against him. But there was a sharp biting to the muzzle of his gun pressed into your back. “Now what did I fucking tell you, Y/N? I said no goddamn Daryl, didn’t I? And you just can’t obey me, can you? I know he’s here. There’s no way he’d let his little lovebug come out here on her own.” Negan suddenly roared and his deep voice was so soaked with bone-chilling anger it completely paralyzed you. “Get the FUCK out here now, Daryl! Or I’ll shoot her in the fucking heart!”

Sweat was dripping into Rosita’s eyes as she peered through her scope. “Shit. Fucking shit!” The only thing she could see was you in the crosshairs. There was no way she could take the shot without risking hitting you instead.

And Daryl’s view was no better. His stomach had plummeted into the fucking depths of hell. When Negan roared for him to come out, the archer tried to think fast. What the fuck were his options? None. He had none. Maybe he could bargain for you. He’d go with Negan as his prisoner if he just let you go. He had to try. He had to try something. He was nearly hyperventilating. Calm. He needed to be calm for you if he was going to get you out of this.

“I’m not fucking playing games, Daryl!” As he roared angrily, his arm tensed and tightened around your windpipe.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and drew in as deep a breath as the paralysis in his diaphragm would allow. Then he shouldered his rifle and grabbed your pistol instead, stepping out from the copse of trees with it aimed in Negan’s direction.

Negan laughed into your ear and then you felt his teeth on it, biting. You tried to recoil from him but his arm held you tightly in place. It was terrifying how the man could go from roaring in anger to chuckling like he was having the time of his life with the flip of a switch. Daryl was still a way off, approaching with your pistol aimed. “Who’s your other friend?” Negan hissed into your ear. “The one over in the trees to the right.”

How the fuck could he know? How the fuck could he possibly know?

“I asked you a goddamn question, Y/N, and I fucking expect an answer.” Another squeeze on your windpipe.

“Why does it matter?” you wheezed out.

“Hmm. Good point. I’ve got everything I need right here,” Negan said. He pressed the gun into your back, eliciting a painful hiss of air through your teeth.

“How’d you know?” you asked, your hands gripping his strong arm in an attempt to lessen the pressure on your neck.

“Because I fucking know everything. You should have learned that by now.”

You were up on your tiptoes and the way he was pulling you back arched you into him, pressing your body against his. You were repulsed by the feeling of him against you. He laughed again, seeming to sense that you were raking your brain trying to figure out how he knew Daryl and Rosita were there. “That boy Eugene can build just about anything when given the proper motivation,” Negan said. His voice was silky and low. “When you said you wanted to meet, I tasked him with coming up with a way to make sure you really came alone. And you know what that son of a bitch came up with? Modified a camera to read thermal heat signatures. Now, I’m not even gonna pretend to understand how the fuck that works, but he did it. So, all I had to do was pull up, turn that shit on, and survey the meeting place. And with little Dwighty-boy under my thumb there was no rat to run off and warn you! And wouldn’t you know, when I fired that baby up there were three human-shaped heat signatures instead of just one. You must really think I’ve lost my touch if you thought I was going to take you on your word…” Your whirling mind was interrupted by soft footsteps in the grass nearby.

“Let her go,” Daryl growled. He was close enough now that Negan could talk to him without raising his voice. Your pistol was still aimed at Negan in Daryl’s hand but with the way Negan was holding you, you couldn’t imagine that Daryl could actually get a clean shot.

Negan laughed heartily. “That’s cute. You do know I have a gun pressed into your dearheart’s spine, right?” You felt the muzzle of the gun leave you for a moment as he showed it to Daryl, but a second later the bite of the steel was back. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a little Mexican stand-off!” Negan said. “But there is one thing I have that you sure-as-fucking-shit don’t. Leverage.” Negan leaned down and you felt his face in your hair. He drew in a deep breath and let it out dramatically. “Mmm-mm-mm! Smells sweeter than I remembered.”

The muscles in Daryl’s jaw flinched as his teeth clenched. “If ya let her go, ya can take me instead. Hell, ya can kill me right now,” Daryl said.

“Daryl! No!” Your eyes went wide and round with fear. “Daryl—” But Negan’s arm tightened against your throat and you fell silent.

“I’ll put this gun down and ya can kill me right now,” Daryl said again. “Just let her go.”

Negan was smiling a self-satisfied smirk and chuckled again. “Oh, how I love having you both by the short and curlies,” he laughed. “Now, why the fuck would I want to make a trade like that? I can get out of here with Y/N and fucking kill you later. Besides, the idea of me having little Y/N here,” he pressed the gun to your head and his arm unwrapped from around your throat and you felt his hand running down your side to grip your hip. “Me having her would torture you in ways I can’t even imagine. That’s so much better than just, pfft, shooting you in the fucking face.”

“Fuck you,” you spat at Negan. Angry tears were burning in your eyes but you were determined not to let them spill out. “You can take me but I won’t give myself to you ever again. And I know that’s the one rule you’ll keep. Willing ass only, right?”

The gun bit into your back again and Negan’s fingers swept the hair off your neck and then gripped around your throat. His hand almost reached all the way around your neck. “Oh, give it time, doll… The things I have in mind for you, you’ll be begging to be my wife again in no time, just to have some light, some sound, some warmth, something to eat besides tinned cat food. There’s something called learned helplessness. You ever heard of it, Daryl?” Negan’s voice was casual now, like he was having a friendly conversation over a beer. “These psychology researchers would deliver a tone before shocking rats in a cage. At first, when the rats learned that the shock came after the tone they’d try to escape as soon as the sound played. They’d scramble and run, looking for a way out.” Negan’s fingers drifted down from your throat and swept to your collarbone. “But eventually, when they realized they couldn’t escape, when the tone came, the rats would just freeze. They’d just wait for what was coming. They’d learned they couldn’t escape and they accepted it.”

Daryl’s hand started to shake a little with rage. If looks could kill Negan would have been dead ten times over. “I ain’t lettin’ ya take her. And ya won’t hurt her,” he growled.

“Now, why the fuck would you think that?”

“Because you’re obsessed,” Daryl growled.

“Ever heard the phrase ‘If I can’t have her, no one can?’” Negan’s tone was dark and for the first time you truly realized he might kill you. Your stomach turned. This was so fucking stupid. How had you been so fucking stupid? You were blinded by your desire to save lives, to protect the people you cared about, and to just get this whole fucking mess over with. “This is me. I’m Negan. If it ever comes down to me or someone else, even Y/N here, I will be the one to fucking walk away.”

“Daryl—Daryl, look at me,” you said. The archer’s narrowed blue eyes met yours. “Just shoot. Just shoot. You have to end this. It’s okay... Just shoot,” you said. “You can—you can shoot him through me,” your voice broke as you urged the words to fall from your tongue.

“Wow,” Negan exclaimed. “Holy fucking shit! That is some goddamn insane shit you just said, Y/N! Fuck me! No wonder I like you so much. That takes some massive gonads! Can you feel my cock getting hard?” he asked, pressing his pelvis into you. “Goddamn…” He let out a low whistle and looked up at Daryl, still laughing. “Oh, you can’t do that though… Can you, Daryl? Kill the love of your fucking sad, pathetic, little hillbilly life just to get the Big Bad Wolf?” Negan laughed into your ear again and you squeezed your eyes closed as you felt his breath on your neck. He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just below your earlobe, knowing this must be killing Daryl to watch, and the stubble on his face was rough against your skin. “He can’t do that to you, baby. What the hell were you thinking spouting out that—”

But Negan never finished his sentence.

Daryl couldn’t explain it but despite the rolling boil of rage in his chest, or maybe because of it, time seemed to slow down in front of him and his hand suddenly had never felt steadier. He saw Negan as a target on the other end of the sight on the barrel of the gun and knew in his core that if he pulled the trigger at that exact moment that the bullet would find the intended target. And he squeezed off a round and watched through the hazy cloud of powder smoke as the bullet buried into Negan’s head.

What he hadn’t expected was the sound of a second shot.

It took him a moment to understand just what had happened. Had Rosita fired too? But as Negan’s now lifeless body crumpled beside Dwight’s, you fell too. Daryl expected you to bounce back up, to rush away toward him, but when you fell you just were lying there still on the soft grass.

Then he was a blur of movement and was beside you instantly on his knees. “Y/N? Y/N!” Your eyes were shut. Daryl’s hands immediately lifted you to cradle you against him, trying to rouse you, and that’s when his hand came away warm and wet and crimson from your back. He stared at it in a cruel realization. When he’d shot Negan, perhaps as some reflex on dying, Negan had squeezed the trigger of his gun and a shot had gone into your back.

Rosita was tearing across the field as fast as she could, her lungs on fire, and when she arrived beside Daryl on the ground she looked down in horror at your still body. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” she gasped. “Daryl—”

But her presence and voice seemed to snap him back to action. “Go get Negan’s vehicle. It’s closer. Go!” he roared. She pushed Negan’s corpse over and found the keys in his pocket before running as fast as she could to the waiting Jeep.

Daryl was still trying to rouse you. “Y/N! Y/N, open your eyes! Y/N, open your eyes dammit!” he roared. “Look at me! Y/N!” But your head simply lolled a little as he jostled you. He hesitated only one more second before pressing his fingers to your neck. Pulse. You had a pulse. He let out a rush of air, or maybe it was ripped from his lungs. “I’m not lettin’ ya die, dammit! Ya ain’t—ya ain’t dyin’ on me! I need ya!” He tore his shirt off. He lifted you enough to see the blood soaking the back of your shirt and dripping onto the grass beneath you and he pressed the bundled fabric of his clothing as hard as he could to the spot that seemed to be the origin of the crimson river.

The roar of an engine behind him pulled his eyes from your paling face and Rosita came roaring into view in the Jeep, which slid on the grass a little as she stomped on the brake pedal. Daryl stood, lifting you in his arms like you weighed nothing and Rosita hopped out to pull the back door open. The archer slid inside. Rosita rushed to grab the guns from near Dwight and Negan’s bodies and threw herself back into the Jeep, slamming it into gear and turning in the direction of Hilltop, her foot to the floor.

Daryl could feel your blood soaking through his shirt. Every passing moment his terror grew and you showed no signs of stirring. He cupped your face with his free hand, wincing as his fingers left smears of your own blood wherever he touched you. He huddled forward and pressed his forehead lightly to yours and Rosita could tell he was talking to you, whispering, but she couldn’t make out the words. Her stomach lurched every time she glanced in the rearview mirror.

She pressed her foot to the floor and the Jeep leaped over the pavement, but still she willed it to go faster…

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl sat slumped over, his head in his hands, frozen. He vaguely registered a door opening somewhere behind him and he straightened up enough that he caught sight of his hands and saw the dried blood all over them. In some spots it was thick and flaking off while in other places it filled all the lines of his palms like someone had purposely painted it there, a red wash over his skin. He stared down at his hands, his vision going in and out, blurring and then sharpening, blurring and then sharpening…

The door opening had been Rosita entering the medical trailer. She hesitantly made her way over to Daryl and lightly touched his shoulder. He flinched, startled, and turned to look up at her with a dazed and desperate expression. She gulped and gave him a sympathetic look, her brow drawing downward over her eyes, but he didn’t seem to really be registering anything. He looked completely unlike himself. She pressed a damp cloth into his hands and he mechanically began rubbing away the dried blood on his skin, moving simply because she’d prodded him.

Her eyes drifted over to the bed Daryl was slumped beside and her throat constricted. It didn’t even look like you. Your skin was so ashen. Her stomach twisted. She should have stopped this—should have pushed back about the plan, but she’d been so blinded by her own hunger for revenge and this was where it had led. “Daryl—you should let the doctor give you something… some fluids, some medication—”

“No,” he croaked. The towel in his hands, now smeared with rusty red, fell to the floor carelessly.

Rosita gulped and rested her hand over the wrapping around the crook of her elbow absently. As if on cue, Dr. Carson appeared around the curtain divider. His eyes fell on you lying on the bed first and then drifted over to Rosita again.

“She probably is going to need another transfusion soon,” he said softly.

Rosita nodded. She, luckily, was blood type O negative, the universal donor. “Anything she needs,” she agreed.

Daryl’s eyes lifted and fixed on the doctor. “Why ain’t she awake yet?”

“Her body went through a lot of trauma with the gunshot and then the surgery… that with the medication, the painkillers, anesthesia still wearing off it could take a while.”

Daryl slumped again and rubbed his hands over his face.

Rosita glanced at Dr. Carson. “Can I talk to you?” she tilted her head away from the curtain divider and he followed her around it to the other side. “Tell me,” she said. “How is she? Really?”

“She lost a lot of blood. The bullet hit her right scapula and shattered it but that also stopped it from going clear through. If that had happened, she probably wouldn’t have even made it here. I was able to get the biggest bullet fragments out and I had to put in some plates to stabilize the area. My best guess is that everything will be fine. She’ll wake up, and except for some residual pain in that shoulder and maybe a little reduced mobility, in all likelihood, she’ll be just fine after she’s completely healed.”

Rosita wanted to heave a sigh of relief but she knew there was a qualifier. “But you’re saying there’s a chance she won’t wake up, that she lost too much blood,” she said.

“Yes. There’s a chance,” he said. “You should prepare him for that if you can.”

She shook her head. “There’s no preparing anyone for that,” Rosita said. “How long until we know?”

“If she doesn’t wake up in the next day or so I’ll start getting concerned,” he said quietly. “But all her vitals are trending in the right direction.”

“A day. Alright. Thanks,” she said. Dr. Carson breezed away and Rosita stepped around the curtain again. This time Daryl was right at the side of the bed and he had your left hand pressed between his, his eyes closed. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was praying.

Rosita pulled up a chair and set it slightly back from the bed you were in, feeling like she needed to be there but also needed to give Daryl some space with you. After everything their family had been through, all the people they’d lost, she’d never seen him like this. She was never a religious person, especially after the apocalypse, but at that moment, looking at how Daryl was with you, she sent a prayer into the ether.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl had finally collapsed on the edge of your bed out of pure exhaustion. His will had been strong to stay awake, to sit a vigil beside you, but his body eventually had other ideas and finally gave up.

But the slightest movement of your hand in his and he was sitting up stock straight, staring down at it and wondering if he was imagining things. His heart was hammering with renewed hope. There was a soft noise that fell from your lips and he knew he wasn’t imagining that. Daryl was instantly on his feet. “Doc!” he roared, and Dr. Carson was there in an instant. Daryl watched as a grin widened on the doctor’s face and he finally felt his body relax some.

Dr. Carson pulled a small penlight from his shirt pocket and clicked it on. You were moving your head a little on the pillow, but more than that, your left hand was squeezing onto Daryl’s and your grip was strong. “Y/N? Can you open your eyes?”

It seemed to take some effort but they fluttered open and Daryl gripped your hand in both of his and let out a gasp of relief.

Dr. Carson flicked the light over each eye and straightened up with a smile. “Normal pupillary response,” he said, grinning at Daryl. “How are you feeling?” the doctor prodded you.

You gulped and seemed to take stock of the moment. “Like hammered dog shit,” you rasped.

Dr. Carson and Rosita chuckled while Daryl let out a gruff laugh and squeezed your hand in his. He smoothed his fingers through your hair and you turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his.

“There you are. You’re here,” you said softly. Dr. Carson and Rosita, who was still hanging back, both stepped around the curtain divider to give you and Daryl a moment.

“Course ‘m here,” he drawled, still stroking your hair gently. “And so are you.”

Your eyes closed for a moment and you drew in a few deliberate breaths. “What—what happened? Negan—did he get away and—”

“He’s dead,” Daryl said. Your eyes snapped back over to his face. They were a bit round and unsure.

“What did you just say?” Your brain was a bit foggy. You wanted to be sure you had heard correctly.

“He’s gone. Dead. I—I shot him,” Daryl said. “With your gun.”

“You shot him,” you repeated.

“Mhm,” Daryl said, nudging his nose up in a nod at you.

You finally glanced over at your right side, the apparent source of the pain that seemed to be radiating in waves. Your arm was in a sling and fixed close to your body. “You shot him,” you said again. “What—what happened to me?” you asked. “Is my arm broken?”

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip anxiously for a moment. “When I—I shot Negan he squeezed off a round from that pistol he had. It went into your shoulder. Shattered your shoulder blade. Ya had to have surgery. Dr. Carson fixed ya up. Put some hardware in.”

You stared at him with your brow drawn slightly down but eventually nodded to show you understood. “So, I’m bionic now, is what you’re telling me.” There was a somewhat playful look in your eyes, but Daryl didn’t smile.

“Y/N—‘M sorry. S’my fault ya got shot,” Daryl said and you could hear the tension, the anguish in his voice. “Ya almost died. Ya coulda died…” Now his blue eyes turned downward and he couldn’t or wouldn’t look at you.

“How could you think this was your fault? If it was anyone’s fault besides Negan’s, it’s mine,” you said. You squeezed his hand as tightly as you could but you were feeling weaker by the second. “The whole plan was mine. And it was shaky at best but I—I didn’t care. I just thought I could end it. It’s not your fault. I told you to shoot him through me, remember?” Your voice failed and you leaned back into your pillow and closed your eyes. “I feel really tired…”

Daryl looked up at you again, guilt still swirling in his stomach. “You lost a lot of blood,” he drawled, his stomach twisting with fear again as he remembered how his shirt had soaked through with your blood and then it was running all over him and the back seat of the Jeep. “Just rest now, alright?”

But you forced your eyes open again and looked over at him. “What happened? With the rest of The Saviors?” Daryl could easily read the anxiety on your face but he shook his head.

“Rick and Michonne came back. With the scavengers. It’ll be over soon. Ya ain’t gotta worry,” he said, hoping to soothe your fears. “Everyone is safe back home. Some of The Saviors tried to get to Alexandria but those bombs you and Rosita wired up? Blew a bunch of ‘em to hell. Don’t worry about anything. Just rest.”

But you gulped and started to shift in your bed, grimacing with every movement but apparently determined. At first Daryl’s heart sank. It looked like you were moving away from him. But when there was as much space as you could create on the bed your eyes found his again before glancing at the created spot next to you, and he understood. “Come up here. Please,” you whispered. Your voice was a little raspy again. “I need you.” There were tears glistening in your eyes. It was settling in how narrow of an escape this was.

“I don’t wanna hurt ya,” Daryl said, worried about bumping your arm. The bed was narrow.

“Then get up here,” you said again. “Please.”

How could he deny you that? Daryl toed off his boots and very carefully settled in next to you on his side, facing you as you pressed back into your pillow. He rested his hand on your uninjured arm and studied your face in profile. Your eyelids were growing heavy again and each blink lasted longer and longer. “Daryl…”

God, his name leaving your lips was still the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard in his life. “Hmm?” he hummed, his finger drawing idle circles on your soft skin.

“I love you.”

Daryl’s breath caught in his throat and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get the words out without his voice breaking. He leaned up on his elbow and kissed you when you turned to look at him, gentle but yearning. “I love you,” he said quietly when he pulled back. “Now rest.”

And now, having heard those words and with the weight and warmth of him beside you, the familiar smell of leather and the outside air and smoke, you did.

_ _ _ _ _ _

A few days later You were sitting up in your bed with Rosita on one side and Daryl on the other. You fingered the cards on your lap and gave Daryl a long look. There was a pile of poker chips on the table beside you and you pushed them onto your bed and looked at Daryl again. “I think you’re bluffing,” you said. “All in.” You gave him a satisfied smirk. His blue eyes narrowed and stared back at you.

Rosita let out a scoff and threw her cards down. “I’m out. I fold,” she said, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Well?” you prompted Daryl. “Show ‘em.” You flipped your hand. “Two pair.”

Daryl let out a low growl and turned his over. “I got nothin’.” You laughed and grinned at him.

“I knew it!” You started to gather the chips up with your uninjured hand, piling them on the side table again, adding many more of Daryl’s to your stash.

“Considering how well she can apparently read you, it’s amazing it took the two of you so long to figure out you were crazy about each other,” Rosita pointed out.

Daryl shot a glare at her. “Ain’t quite the same,” he said.

The game was interrupted when Enid came around the curtain divider with a huge bouquet of tulips in her hands. “From Ms. Thompson,” she said, shuffling some things aside to make room for them.

You let out a small, uncomfortable groan. “Can you tell them to stop?” you asked Enid. “It’s getting embarrassing…” You trailed off glancing around at all the flowers and cards and other gifts covering every available surface.

The next second, as if on cue, Jesus stepped in with a loaf of some sort of bread in his hands eliciting another groan from you. “What the heck…” you trailed off. He laughed heartily.

“This one is from Mr. and Mrs. Devon. I think she said beet bread, but honestly I’m not really sure,” he said, setting it down and eyeing it uneasily.

The two of them, Enid and Jesus, were staring at you expectantly.

“…what?”

Enid grinned. “Are you in the mood for more visitors?” she asked. You gave her a questioning look.

“Uhh… I guess… as long as they aren’t bringing more strange vegetable loaves…”

“What about a lot more visitors?” Jesus prompted.

“What is—?” But you didn’t even finish your sentence before Aaron rounded the curtain, with Gracie in his arms. Your breath caught in your throat and your eyes immediately welled up with tears to see your dear friend. And he was actually smiling. “Aaron.” It was all you could get out. Daryl was looking at you fondly and got up from his place beside you to make room.

“I can’t even tell you, again, how mad I am at you for doing something so insane, but also how glad I am that you’re alive. And I wish I could hug you, just one giant bear hug, but I won’t,” he said, nodding at the sling on your arm. He adjusted Gracie in his arms and beamed at you, nodding. “It’s over,” he said.

You wiped away a tear that managed to leak onto your cheek. “It’s over.”

Aaron grabbed your hand in his and gave it a brief squeeze before moving down the side of your bed to stand by Daryl, who he did grab into a one-armed hug that made you laugh. The next thing you knew, the small area of the medical trailer you’d been occupying, already adorned with gifts and notes from the Hilltop residents who remembered you from your time there, was filling with… everyone. Daryl’s family, now your family, was filing in. Michonne, Sasha, Carl, Rick and Judith… all of them were there and whole, looking extremely relieved to see you awake and alert, but obviously also still worried about your condition. Maggie came in too. You glanced around at them, a little overwhelmed, and your eyes landed back on Daryl, who was standing at the end of your bed and had one corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile. He turned to look at Rick.

“Hey—Didya get it?” Daryl drawled.

“Oh, right. Carl, take Judith for a minute,” he said, handing off the bouncy little girl to her older brother. You watched, puzzled, as Rick disappeared around the curtain for a moment and then reappeared with a bag in his hands.

“Normally, we would have wrapped it better for you,” Michonne said, “but, you know, the apocalypse and all,” she joked.

“I wish we could honestly say it’s from all of us, but it’s mainly from Daryl,” Aaron said.

Rick set the bag down on the bed and you gave Daryl a questioning look as you managed to use your one good hand to unfurl the scrunched brown paper top and reach inside. You froze when your hand closed on a familiar feeling bundle. Your eyes zipped back up to Daryl’s face and the little smile he’d been wearing grew into a knowing smile at the look on your face.

“Are you shitting me?” you asked. Aaron let out a hearty laugh and it warmed you to hear it. You hadn’t heard him laugh since Erik’s death. You pulled out a sealed bag of coffee beans and stared at it, before glancing back at Daryl. “Where in the hell—” You upended the bag and poured out about seven more bags of coffee beans. “I don’t—what—” You shook your head in disbelief and grinned at the archer. “I mentioned this to you once… like… I don’t even know how long ago…”

Daryl shrugged and hummed a noise of acknowledgment.

“Where in the hell did you find these?”

“Figured that asshole probably had a stash of ‘em in The Sanctuary,” he drawled. “Asked Rick to go look. I was right,” he drawled.

You shook your head as you stared at him, your heart brimming, completely full. “I feel a little bad about rubbing how bad you are at poker in your face now,” you joked, eliciting laughter all around.

Rosita stepped forward and gave you a look. “No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe I don’t…” you said. “I don’t—thank you,” you said, glancing around at everyone. “This is—I mean, it’s just coffee but… thank you. And I’m just glad to see all of you.”

Dr. Carson poked his head in. “Alright. That’s enough excitement for one day. Y/N still needs to rest. Everybody out.”

Aaron gave your good shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passed. “We’re staying a bit. So, we’ll see you tomorrow. Oh, and Carol is on her way from The Kingdom.” You leaned back against your pillow and nodded, suddenly tired.

“Good. Tomorrow then.”

Everyone filed out except Daryl, who helped you repack the unexpected gift and clear away the remnants of your poker game. You sighed as he sank down in the chair at your bedside. “When can I get out of here?” you asked. “I want to sleep in a real bed with you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up again and he nudged his nose up in a nod. “Couple more days.”

“I can’t believe you found that coffee,” you said.

“Should last ya a bit, right?”

“Yeah, probably, like, a whole week maybe,” you joked. Daryl let out an amused huff and smiled at you. He grabbed your hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your fingers.

“I wanna sleep in a real bed with ya too.”

“You can go sleep in a real bed without me,” you said. He’d been sleeping in the chair beside you since you’d arrived and you couldn’t imagine that it was at all comfortable.

“Nah. I couldn’t.” He leaned up and pressed his lips to yours. You kissed him back eagerly.

Epilogue

“Shoulder sore?” Daryl’s voice behind you followed by the feeling of his arms around you and then his body pressing into yours. He’d caught you out on the porch, watching the rain, rubbing your shoulder absently with the other hand.

You nodded. “Little bit. Probably from the storm.” You had a mug in your hand and there were curls of steam drifting up from the surface. Daryl peered over your shoulder into it. It was coffee, and he smiled. “But check this out,” you said, moving your injured arm so your elbow lifted slightly above the level of your shoulder.

“Progress,” he said. You were still working on getting full range of motion back. Dr. Carson said you may never be back 100%, he’d had to reconstruct so much after the destruction by the bullet, but you were determined. Daryl swept your hair aside and pressed his face into the crook of your neck and left a kiss on your skin, breathing in your smell. You were wearing one of his old flannel shirts and he pulled it down to reveal your bare shoulder, leaving a kiss there, too. You leaned back against him, content. He could see the very end of the surgical scar and his fingertip traced it before his lips found that too.

“You know what I just realized?”

“Hmm?”

“We both got shot in the right side. Dwight shot you, Negan shot Dwight, you shot Negan, Negan shot me. It’s like some fucked up connected cube of shooting.”

Daryl let out a huff and shook his head. “But we’re the only ones left standin’.”

You set your mug on the railing and turned into him, facing him now, your expression pensive, matching his. “What are you thinking?” you asked him.

He shook his head. “Honestly? Nothin’.” His hands went gently to your lower back. “You?”

“I’d like to go back to bed with you,” you said. “It’s storming. We don’t need to hunt in this.”

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod. “Ain’t gotta tell me twice,” he said. The next second he scooped you up in his strong arms and you laughed as he carried you back into the house and up the stairs, your mug forgotten outside. He set you gently down in bed, minding your shoulder, and then collapsed beside you, moving into you needily. His hands immediately slipped under your shirt and smoothed over your soft skin and you met his lips urgently with yours, tangling your legs with his.

Life since The Saviors was largely peaceful. There were still struggles. People needed things, the communities needed supplies… The walkers were still out there. But without the threat of Negan lurking somewhere in the shadows of your mind it felt like an entirely new world. It felt the way you had always felt when you were only with Daryl, but now it felt like it all the time. There was nothing else you could ask for. The two of you would have been content with each other and nothing else.

You knew there was likely to be another fight someday, but you also knew that the worst of your life was behind you. And Daryl had realized the same thing too. Neither of you could understand how in the middle of the fucking shitstorm of a zombie apocalypse, with the insanity of Negan, you had found each other and managed to make it through. It was something you talked with Maggie about a lot, and your heart ached that Glenn had been taken from her so cruelly, now knowing what they had because you had it yourself.

You were coming home after one such visit. Maggie and Jesus had made the trip and you all had gathered at Aaron’s, watching with delight as Gracie and baby Hershel cooed at each other. You found Daryl in the living room and gave him a curious look. He had an expectant expression on his face and you laughed and cocked an eyebrow at him. He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth and ducked his head for a moment. “C’mon in here,” he said, his eyes flickering up to meet yours again.

“Okaaaay… you’re kind of freaking me out,” you said. You wandered over to him and his hands went to your hips reflexively. He seemed nervous but you couldn’t understand why. “What is going on?”

Daryl cleared his throat and then shoved a hand into his pocket. He opened his palm flat and you stared at what was sitting there. A delicate, silver ring. Your eyes shot back up to meet his. “I ain’t gonna get down on one knee or anything stupid,” he said, rubbing his free hand a little nervously over the back of his neck, “but, uhh, I want ya to be mine. Will ya?” He braved a glance back up at your face and caught the stunned expression melting away into a brilliantly happy smile that immediately sent his heart fluttering.

“Is that even a question? Daryl, I’m already yours,” you said.

“Well, I just… want to make it official,” he drawled. “If ya’ll have me.”

You gave him a somewhat teary smile and offered him your ring finger. He slipped it on. It was a perfect fit. “It’s official,” you said, grabbing him and sinking into a kiss. When you pulled back, you glanced down at the ring on your finger. “How’d you know what size? And where the hell did you find this?”

“I made it. Melted some shit down. Aaron helped me actually.”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re telling me Aaron knew about this and managed not to give it away? Wow… That’s actually shocking.”

“Anyway, the size… I measured your finger with a bit of string while ya were sleepin’,” he admitted. “Ya know, s’funny, ya sleep much deeper now.” You gave him a look. You hadn’t had a single nightmare since the end of the war.

“Yeah, I wonder why that might be,” you said sarcastically. No Negan, and Daryl always next to you? A recipe for a perfect night’s sleep.

The End.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Enough for me

Series masterlist

Word count: 1796

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: None (lmk if I need to add any)

Summary: You decide to tell Natasha how serious you are about your relationship and things don’t go exactly as you hoped but it’s still good.

A/n: Thank you to the multiple people who wanted another part in the mini flustered series that I’ve totally made up as I went along. Also I want to clarify that although this could be read as a part four to flustered it honestly isn’t super related so you can definitely read it seperately and it wouldn’t matter to the plot bc there is no plot besides soft nat. Also I don’t know if this one is any good because I didn’t edit as usual but hopefully you all enjoy!

You admire your work as you gaze out over the table you had just finished setting up. It had taken some work dragging a table all the way up to the roof and then having to make multiple trips to bring up all the plates, glasses, cutlery and food, not to mention the other things like candles you had set up. The effort was totally worth it in your opinion though because anything for Natasha was worth it.

You’ve spent a lot of time together since your first date and have gone on a couple more but so far all of your dates have been pretty casual and nobody on the team knows about you so you want to do something special to prove that you’re serious about her. Although looking up at the sky you realize you probably should have chosen another night and you cross your fingers that it doesn’t start to rain until after you’re done.

Your cell phone ringing interrupts you. “Tasha?” You answer it, looking at the caller id as you pick it up.

“Hi Y/n.” She responds. “So why am I supposed to call you?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused.

“You told me to call you at seven so I’m calling.” She says and you slap your hand up to your face because you can’t believe you forget that part of your plan.

“Right sorry, I forgot.” You tell her. “Anyways I need you to put on something nice and come up to the roof.”

“Mysterious, I like it.” She says which makes you smile. “I’ll be up there in five minutes.”

“Okay, see you then!” You respond before hanging up and panicking. You didn’t expect her to be so quick and five minutes really isn’t a lot of time. You still have approximately one hundred candles to light and you’re not sure that you can get it done on time. 

You run around, trying to be careful and not burn yourself, and start to light all the candles that were all over the ground surrounding the table and the pathway to the door. Just as you’re finishing lighting the last one and standing up the door to the roof opens and Natasha steps out. She’s gorgeous as always but you especially love this dress on her. It’s black like most things she wears and is tight fitting at the top but slowly gets looser until it flows around her legs. You love it because you can tell she’s dressing to look beautiful and not sexy which she only ever does if she’s letting her guard down (so not very often). You are well aware that your jaw is open and you’re blatantly staring but luckily she’s busy looking around at your setup so you have time to collect yourself.

“Do you like it?” You ask her.

“It’s beautiful.” She breaths in response.

“Not as beautiful as you.” You reply and it’s so cheesy that you nearly regret saying that but there’s a light blush on her face and she’s smiling so you smile back and take a seat at the table, gesturing for her to sit with you. 

“So what’s on the menu?” She asks lightly as she sits, still smiling.

“Just some paninis and lentil soup, hopefully it’s still warm.” You tell her.

“Well I’m sure it will be good either way.” She responds before taking a bite and moaning in delight. “It is amazing, thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” You say. “Now how about you tell me about your day?”

You listen attentively as she complains about paperwork and schedules and as she practically glows as she tells you about a new move she had used to take down Steve in training today. You love listening to her, it makes you happy that she likes talking about mediocre things with you and there’s a level of domesticity to it that makes your heart feel full. You just want to know everything about her, no matter how boring people deem it to be because it’s important to her and therefore it matters a lot to you.

You talk to her for hours comfortably as she continues to share but also asks you questions. There is never a lull in the conversation and you could listen to her voice forever. Eventually though, long after you both finish eating, the conversation dwindles to a comfortable silence. At least for her. You’re inwardly freaking out because you want to tell her exactly how much she means to you and although you think she’ll react well it’s not a guarantee. 

“What are you thinking about?” She asks, always observant. 

You gulp nervously but answer truthfully. “I’m thinking about how I am more serious about you than I’ve ever been about anyone before, even if it’s only been a few weeks.”

“I’m more serious about you than anyone too.” She replies. “But I think you already knew that.”

“I hoped so.” You tell her, continuing on your path since so far she is reacting well. “I was-I was thinking that maybe we could tell the others about us now, or at least stop hiding it and wait until they find out.”

“But I thought you were fine with it just being for us for now?” She asks, a frown tugging at your lips. Your heart sinks at her expression-you never meant to push boundaries that she wasn’t comfortable with yet.

“And I’m still fine with that.” You reassure her quickly. “I just thought it might be nice to tell the others but it’s totally cool if you aren’t okay with it.”

She stands up and starts to pace a little. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Hey, hey.” You stand up too and grab her gently by the arm so she stops and faces you. “It’s okay, we don’t have to do it, I just thought it would be nice so everyone knows how much I love you.”

Instead of calming her down your words only seem to make her more anxious. “You what? You-you love me?” She stutters out.

“Shit I am so sorry Natasha I promised not to rush you.” You immediately apologize, hoping that you didn’t mess things up to badly.

She picks her way through the candles carefully and sits down on the edge of the roof, her feet dangling over. You follow, sitting beside her, making sure you don’t accidentally do anything to further surprise her. She sits quietly, obviously deep in thought and you think as well. You know, or at least you hope, that Natasha won’t break up with you already because of this. You just wanted to give her a special night and the first part of it went great but you just had to push too far. You had promised that she would dictate the terms of the relationship when you had first asked her out but of course you weren’t able to follow through. You just wish that you could hear her thoughts so you could try to fix your mistakes. She stays silent and only speaks up after a few more agonizing minutes.

“I’m sorry-” She starts and you interrupt.

“It’s okay if you’re breaking up with me.” You say and she watches you with a strange look on her face.

“You just told me you love me-I’m not breaking up with you.” She tells you and you sigh in relief. “But I can’t say it back, not yet anyways.”

“That’s completely okay.” You reassure her, slightly disappointed but understanding and just happy she wasn’t breaking up with you.

“I want to but I can’t.” She explains, her face visibly upset, seeing a hint of your disappointment. “It just doesn’t work, I can’t say it, I’m sorry. But if you want to we can tell the team about us.” She turns away when she’s done, biting her lip, afraid of your reaction.

“Tasha. Tasha.” You say, waiting until she turns back to face you to continue. “We won’t do it unless you’re ready and it’s okay that you aren’t. I’m not going to take back my words, I do love you and being able to tell you that and be here with you is enough for me, you don’t need to do anything.”

She pauses a moment and you can’t read her expression so you start to get nervous. Maybe you should have taken back the ‘I love you’ part of your mini speech. Before you can overthink too much she throws herself at your side, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and resting her in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you.” She mumbles against your skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m happy with this because having you is enough for me because I love you.” You tell her, awkwardly un-wedging your arm from between your side and her body and wrapping it around her, rubbing her back in mindless patterns.

She shivers slightly, not from the cold. “Can you say that again?”

“What, I love you?” You ask, confused.

“Yeah.” She says, almost shyly, nodding her head against your neck.

“I love you.” You tell her, kissing the side of her head at an awkward angle. “I love you. I love you so much Tasha.”

You repeat it over and over for a few minutes, feeling as though your heart is going to burst. You no longer care that she can’t say it back because she has her reasons but she wants you to say it and she’s cuddling with you and you never want to let her go because this moment is so perfect. 

Unfortunately the weather has other plans and just as your words start to die out the sky open, a few small drops then a complete downpour. The soft glow that once covered the roof from the candles disappears as they go out, releasing smoke. You know you have to clean things up but you figure it can wait until morning, once things are drier, so you take Natasha’s hand and pull her up. She starts to run towards the door, helping you so you don’t step on the candles, giggling the whole way. Technically things hadn’t gone to plan, her not wanting to tell the team or say she loved you and it raining at the end, but those things don’t seem to matter when you see her bright smile, her hair plastered to her face but somehow looking as beautiful as ever. And it matters even less when she pulls you inside and immediately presses you to the door, kissing you hard. You’re more than happy to fulfill her request when she pulls away, asking for you to say it again. Anything to keep her happy and make her feel loved.

---

<<<previous chapter // next chapter>>>

Taglist: @fayhar @stephanieromanoff @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @acertainredhead @madamevirgo @megaqueenmaeve @cherryblossomskye @thewidowsghost @nyx-aira @stephanieromanoff @stop-drop-and-drumroll @peggycarter-steverogers @casperlikej @wandas-vis @mxxnmocha @king-star​ 

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #x reader

[suitetarts]

pockets full of stone

A mer-may collab with @miranhas-art 💙 See below the cut for another gorgeous Mari illustration! ... and my fic

Din Djarin nearly dies (again) and meets someone from the stories he heard as a child. He didn’t expect them to be so sassy, though.

Rating: General Word Count: 2.8k Warning: Description of drowning, thoughts of death, vomiting (water) AO3 Link

A push, grunt, then a large splash into the lake’s dark and chilled waters. 

This was the last time Din was going to talk business on a pier without his jetpack. He knew the bounty was desperate, and for Maker’s sake, the Quarren had thrown his body weight around earlier on the Crest trying to piss Din off by scaring the kid. He should have known better.

Din pulls himself back to the present and away from any blame. He could worry about that later. Or never, and he supposes he’ll find that out soon. His whole body feels incredibly heavy, much more than what he has grown used to over the years. Where metal meets man, he is dragged down; the weight of his padding and armor applying an inescapable pressure as the moonlight fades to black above him. He tries pulling at the water with his arms while kicking with his legs, grasping for anything, but still he feels himself sinking deeper. 

Wait, the… Who would take care of the baby if Din can’t....

His breaths are coming fast as he tries and fails to calm himself. Keeping his body upright means that the water still hasn’t crept into his helmet, which is something he can work with. But only for a short few moments. Din realizes he’s probably going to run out of breathable air before he reaches the bottom of this icy lake, much less walk out of it, as he continues to sink.

Din’s mind begins to fog as he figures he might be able to save himself if he loses some of the beskar. He doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on this, as close to his heart and soul the beskar may be. The armor will be at the bottom of the lake whether he succeeds or fails, so he gets going. His normally nimble fingers are cold and difficult, and they fail to find purchase on the slippery latches of his pauldrons. The cape wrapped around his chestplate in such a way to make it nearly impossible to remove without being able to look down and see it. His head lolls forward, allowing water to rush into his helmet and the dwindling air pocket. Din’s mouth and nose are full of water, his throat contracts, his chest stutters, his lungs burn. He can’t focus on the latches to his armor or removing his belts, all he can feel is the cold depths rushing all around and within.

Fuck.

Fuck.

The Mandalorian reflects for a moment. He’s done his best, but his best wasn’t good enough. This is it. He’s flirted with this for years, and it's finally here. Is it honorable? Probably not. Is it what he deserves? Most likely. What’s his legacy? A lifetime spent trying to be worthy of being saved, only to waste it. Figures.

Before Din lost consciousness, two glowing blue lights rushed towards him, but he was too far gone to care. He was finally warm.

Death is a funny thing. No one really knows what happens in the instant before it actually happens. Everyone says they know, but obviously they don’t. There’s no certainty in death, just like in life. What happens to someone when they cross the veil, from one world to the next? If it's anything like traveling at lightspeed, Din knew that like the back of his hand. A shudder felt through the hull, a pause, and then that’s it. Silence and flashes of stars, except perhaps these would fade to black before long. What would he see in those stars? A story?

If Din was to see a story before he died, he knew plenty of them. He had once been fond of the stories that came from strangers. He would beg his father to take him to the cantina, to let him sit in the dirty booths and eavesdrop on the travelers talking about their recent journeys to Coruscant or to any number of exotic planets in the outer rim. The idea of being totally free to do whatever Din wanted in the whole entire galaxy was so thrilling, especially compared to his reality of being tied down to his father’s shop in the bazaar forever. What kind of story would that make for, compared to what was out there in the stars? There were dashing pilots, gunners and soldiers, merchants, bounty hunters, peacekeepers, missionaries. Stories of war in far off places, of mysterious species unlike anything he’d ever dreamed, of personal loss, of unexpected love. Whenever he asked to go -- before, that is -- his mother would give his father a look, one that was always angled so that Din couldn’t see, and then his father would relent and take the young boy out for the afternoon. But eventually, both of them would shush him when he asked. They stayed inside, ‘it’s not a good day’ his mother said, and kept the store closed. There were whispers of war, a real war. The whispers were exciting to Din at first, they reminded him of the stories. The heroes were going to swoop in to stop the bad guys and put everything back to normal. But then the whispers grew into screams, explosions, shooting. Where were the heroes? All the thrilling things he had heard in the cantina, but terrifying and happening to him with no one here to--

Stop. Din’s dead, and yet he continues to torture himself. If he gets one last laugh, it should be at himself.

Din didn’t want a story, or to relive his life. What about something he never got to do? He had always hoped that he could live in a fantasy, if only for a moment, where he could have a simple life. A moisture farmer on some backwater planet, or a working class mechanic for a Mid Rim starport. Although that was never a life he would actually want for himself, a simple life was always a nice thought for a different Din. One who wasn’t so…. damaged.

So here he is, a man on the brink of death. Is he seeing his life flash painfully before him again, is he living in a dream, is he nowhere at all?

A kiss. He’s being kissed.

Now, Din had never kissed anyone on the lips in life. He knew the steps, the basic mechanics, but he imagined that it was a much different experience to be kissing an actual active participant and not just the skin on the back of his own hand. There was a certain give and take that he was looking forward to -- a dance, a battle of will fought with plush lips and soft tongues. Even beyond the direct battlefield, there was the periphery of where one’s hands would be, knees intertwined, legs weak and swaying. His arm wrapped around their waist and his fingers brushing tenderly over their cheek, while they pull him in by the shoulders until they melt together.

He would have much rather died in a kiss like that.

In this brief moment of purgatory, however, he can settle for this one chaste kiss. This ‘kiss’ he is having now, if it’s to be called that, is… Hmm. It isn’t what Din imagined. Everything is dark, and it's not anything like a dance. This person seems to be gasping into him with their mouth wide open, like a fish out of water. Whoever he’s kissing has clearly never done this before either, otherwise why in Maker’s name would anyone want to kiss again? He strains his arms to reach forward at whatever is capturing his lips, but he can’t find his strength. He had never known that kissing would need to be so rushed, or involve so much blowing of air? He --

Oh.

Din grunts around a cough, finding himself on his back and in quite a bit of pain. His insides feel like they are saturated and about to burst. He rolls over onto his hands and knees on the muddy banks of the far side of the lake so that he can proceed to throw up an obscene amount of water, which only makes the burning in his lungs more and more painful with each heave.

A sigh of relief, a soft voice breaking through the silt caked in his ears which seems to speak only above a whisper. “I-I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Din freezes. The discomfort and pained heat in his chest is nothing compared to the inferno under the bare skin of his face. He continues to stare at the ground, but shifts his eyes up so that he is looking in the direction of his savior.

A human, scantily-clad with only a dark cloth wrapped around their chest and some sort of leather skirt, sits in front of him on the rocks, their legs still partially submerged in the murky lake water. They thumb at their wet lips as they smile at him, and he feels a blush creep from his face all the way down his chest. Those glistening, smiling lips had been on his lips.

His lips.

His face.

The Creed.

Despite a sensible voice in Din’s head trying to remind him that they had saved his life, despite the weakness that pervaded every inch of his body, a flare of anger rises in him. He is dar’manda now, because of them.

He pulls himself up into a seated position on the lakeside and puffs out his chest, only to find the pain evaporating his anger. “What did you do….” he asks himself.

Their smile fades as their brows furrow. “I think that’s pretty obvious. I saved your life.”

“I didn’t mean-- My life?” Din sighs around a laugh. He’s done this before, hasn’t he? Why’s this different from the cantina? Because this person isn’t made of metal? He knew going along with anything less than what the Creed requires of him would become a slippery slope. The tears come easily and he does nothing to stop them. “No, my life is over.”

They set one of their hands on the rock beside them, leaning their weight onto it and towards him. They open their mouth around a smirk, then pause. They start again, but with a blank sincere expression. “Why’s that?”

It’s probably the adrenaline from nearly dying and being unmasked again, but for a moment Din considers grabbing their arm and pulling them in for a real kiss. What does it matter now? His body shows no signs of his thoughts, not a single twitch of muscle, but his face must be betraying him as he watches their eyes train in on his as they purse their lips and smile with their dark, shimmering eyes. Whatever blush he still had on his face grew a shade darker.

“You’re a bold one.” They say around a smile, their long fingers twisting through their hair.

Din squeezes his eyes shut and turns away from them, towards the dark sky full of stars. His voice cracks as he gives weight to the words running through his mind, to the feeling of emptiness inside. “I’m dar’manda.”

They snort, and Din can’t help but whip his head at them. 

“Can’t be that big of a deal if I’ve never heard of it.”

Din expected them to not know, but not for them to be so arrogant about it. He had an explanation ready, but since he was caught off guard and doesn’t want to get lost in the weeds with this person, he summarizes the summary as, “It means I’m done. I can’t wear the armor anymore.”

“Because I saved you?”

“Because you’ve seen me,” Din explains, finding the familiar words of his Creed. “No living thing can see me without the helmet. That’s… that’s the one rule. And I broke it.”

“But I’m the one who broke it.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

They blow a raspberry and wave at the air with their free hand. “You humans really can be so dramatic.”

Din pauses, squinting up at the twinkling stars as he absorbs their words. Well. Now he’s curious. He brings his gaze back down at his savior. It's dark and he’d just drowned, but he didn’t see anything… off.

“You seem human to me,” he says as he turns over and sits back on his haunches.

“You seem duller than I hoped.” They bite their lips around a smile as they laugh softly. They pull their legs out of the water; the skirt seems to shine iridescent in the moonlight, like facets of a precious gemstone. Their feet were…. Hm. Their skirt, their legs, are covered in leather? No, scales…. 

Din finds his mouth gaping as he stares at a tail, the fin slapping wetly against the rocks in step with the drum of their fingers against their thighs -- singular, thigh?

As he struggles to think of a good first question, they purse their lips in thought. “Let me go get your hat,” they say before quickly slipping back into the lake.

“W-wait, it’s not a...,” Din calls out stupidly, launching himself slowly and awkwardly from his haunches and reaching out in the empty air where they once were. 

This can’t be real. Mystical, intelligent beings with the head and upper body of a human, but the fins and tail of a fish. He was more than familiar with the stories, but such creatures were just children’s tales. Although, what was fiction now that he is taking care of a fifty year old infant with telekinetic powers? The galaxy was a big place, he supposed.

The mer-person seems to come back just as fast as they’d left, setting Din’s helmet on the shore at his feet before pulling themselves back up to sit their colorfully-scaled behind on the rocks.

Din reaches down and fumbles for a moment with the beskar, checking the inside before placing it back on his head. The pads are damp and uncomfortable, but not any more uncomfortable than feeling so exposed. “Thank you.” 

“It's no problem, hat boy,” they prod as they casually clean their fingernails. Din bristles.

“It’s not a hat.”

“And I’m not alive,” they say seriously, looking at Din’s eyes through the visor somehow. The jovial tone fades to a comfortable yet tense silence. He tilts his head, waiting for them to continue their thought.

“Why get yourself all worked up? No one would believe you if you told them about me anyway.”

“I would know,” Din states softly. The tension dissipates but the two stay motionless. Din contemplates and shrugs minutely in defeat. He would know, yes, but he already knows. This isn’t the first time he’s failed when his Creed has been tested. Yet, who would argue whether droids or mer-people are ‘living beings’? The line is blurry, so it's up to Din to decide when the line is crossed. Considering his responsibility to his foundling’s care, he pushes the thoughts of being dar’manda far from his focus, into hiding in the recess.

Ripples from the lake, bouncing moonlight off of its surface, catches his attention. Save for a brief fading view of two blue lights in the dark water, nothing. They are gone, and Din is alone. His wet lungs wheeze as he reaches down, patting along the areas where they had been, searching for any remnants of their existence. An imprint, a misplaced item, a loose scale. Not a trace.

After a moment, Din pulls himself to his feet and trudges up through the pocket of trees surrounding the lake to a small path leading back to the pier. It had only been ten minutes or so since he had been pushed into the lake, but the bounty and his client were gone. Din assumed they both left giddily, since the bounty could think he was dead and the client didn’t have to pay the back half of his premium. Wasn’t the first time, after all.

The Razor Crest’s security lights flickered to life as her prodigal son returned, the side bay ramp welcoming him inside with a flick of the wrist. As Din walked up the ramp, he was faced with an empty carbonite rack -- and more accurately, what amounted to an empty coffer. He wondered if he still had some of the murky lake water swimming through his brain because he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The beskar helmet quickly pivoted away from the carbonite chamber as he heard a grumble and the shuffling of blankets. The baby stirred from their shared cot, chirping and cooing to be held. Din crossed the hold with long, swift strides and obliged, removing his damp and filthy gloves to thumb over the baby’s warm cheeks.

Din sucked in a breath to speak, but paused. No one would believe you if you told them about me anyway. He would always know, but… He had nothing to hide from his sweet little foundling.

Din sat on the floor below the cot, leaning against the wall as he cradled the sleepy babe in the crook of his legs. The lake water dripped off of him slowly, glinting in the safe yellow glow of home as Din told a story.

#the mandalorian #mando #din djarin #original gender-neutral character #mermay #mando mermay #the mandalorian fanfic #mando fanfic #fic and art collab #gen fic #no romance or smut #pov din djarin #din centric #mando may

[champion-prism]

So Fine

Leon x F!Reader, Smut

Requested by anon: Hi! Could I request a childhood friends to lovers smut fic with Leon? Like Raihan, Leon, Sonia and Y/n were all rivals, and both raihan and y/n become the dragon type gym leaders, and the whole group parties together and drinks together, and it’s on one of those nights that Leon finally makes a move. (Female reader. Also I absolutely adore your fics They’re so well written💗 keep it up bb) 

A/N: a’ight so the partying bit is nonexistent and the drinking is mentioned only bc I’ve never partied and I hope I never will. Drink responsibly y’all. Or don’t drink at all, that is also okay. Also, everyone is coherent and everything in the fic is consensual.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: There’s NSFW up ahead!

The Wild Area is quiet, almost eerie in the silence of the night, broken by the soft sounds of childrens’ voices. 

 You and Leon sit around Charizard’s lit tail, warming yourselves before you head into your camp to turn in for the night. Leon is talking about how he wants to head in the direction of the Dusty Bowl- if he can find it.

  “Maybe I should try to get someplace that isn’t the Dusty Bowl,” he muses. “I’ll get lost and wind up there, instead.”

 You laugh as you ask him what he wants to go to the Dusty Bowl for.

  “I really want to catch a good Ground Type,” he explains. “Maybe a Tyranitar, or a Rhydon.”

 Your eyes light up at the mention of a Tyranitar.

 “Ooh, a Tyranitar?” you say. “Maybe we should go to the Dusty Bowl together, I’d love to look for a Tyranitar. One of the strongest dragon-types there is.”

 Leon shakes his head at you. 

 “Always with the dragon-types,” he says. “I have nothing against them, but shouldn’t you not be limiting yourself to a certain type? I mean...you might get KO’D in Ballonlea and Circhester.”

 You shake your head. 

 “I’m not going to have a full Dragon team yet,” you explain. “But eventually I’d like to phase over into one. I figured, if I can manage to get my hands on a Duraludon and a Charmander, that can take care of the Fairy and Ice weaknesses.”

 Leon scoots slightly closer to you. When he smiles, you can see his light blue braces. 

 “When I’m Champion,” he tells you, “I’ll get you all the rare Pokemon you want.”

   The rest of the night is spent teasing him lightly for his ambition, and Leon laughingly claiming you’ll be sorry for ever doubting him. He hesitates a bit when you both stand to go into your respective tents, and after a few seconds of bouncing on his heels, he moves forward, gives you a quick peck on the cheek, and practically runs into his tent. You giggle slightly as you call a good night to him. 

 He keeps his promise. When he becomes Champion, he proudly presents you with an egg- light orange in colour with red speckles. You thank him with a peck on the cheek and a giggle, and he throws his cap at you and runs away.

 Somehow, that’s how it stays. You become busy. You know Raihan is training hard to beat Leon, and you’re training hard to perfect your dragon type team. You travel all over Galar. You crawl along in the bushes and wade into ponds and spend god knows how many days in Axew’s Eye, raiding Dynamax dens to find a Noivern or a Sliggoo. When you hear from Leon, you tell him how well your now-evolved Charizard is doing.

 He travels abroad sometimes, brings you back exotic Dragon types. A Swablu from Hoenn, a Dratini from Kanto. He promises he’s going to get his hands on a Bagon someday, and you tell him not to go through too much trouble. He just gives you a peck on the cheek, tells you it’s no trouble, as long as it’s for you. 

 Chaste kisses on your cheek. One to say hello, one to say goodbye. A congratulatory kiss on the cheek when you become the Dragon type Gym Leader at sixteen (Raihan demands one, too- he gets a ghost kiss from Leon’s Dreepy). Leon’s cheeks don’t heat up when he does it, not anymore, nor is he flustered the way he was the first few times. You’re friends, affectionate friends who kiss each other on the cheek, glance at the other’s lips and look away, tuck loose strands of hair away from each other’s face, but keep yourself from playing with it. 

 You’re busy, you tell yourself. Much too busy to do anything than push away the schoolgirl crush you’ve always had on Leon, much too busy training and learning, much too busy to do anything but let the years pass, and here you are now, an adult, fully absorbed in the rhythm of daily life. 

 It’s one of your designated hangout nights. Leon’s in Hammerlocke to destroy Raihan in an exhibition match, and afterwards, you, Raihan, Sonia, and Leon head to one of the underground pubs, one of Raihan’s discoveries, and your personal favourite. Sonia is the most responsible, Raihan is the least- by the end of the night, she’s laughing at and guiding an obviously drunk Raihan into a taxi (non-Flying; can’t risk him puking down at people from the sky). You and Leon are moderate, lightly buzzed enough to feel good, not buzzed enough to be Raihan. You decide to just walk the empty streets, shoulders bumping into each others as you walk, the cold night air biting into your faces.

 Leon walks closer to you as he wraps an arm around your waist, sliding underneath the hem of your short top. You shiver and move closer to him, putting your own arm around him. The side of your face bumps against his shoulder and you giggle, both of you talking and wandering around Hammerlocke until you eventually reach the hotel where Leon is staying, at which point he looks up at it, and glances at you. 

  “It’s pretty cold out here,” he whispers. “Maybe we should just hang out inside.” 

He sways slightly, pressing his forehead against yours as his grip on your waist tightens. You nod your assent, and the two of you make your way up to his hotel room. 

  The atmosphere is different, here- Leon dims down all the lights before kicking his shoes off and collapsing on the bed, patting a spot beside him. You follow suit, resting against the headboard with your body angled towards Leon. His eyes rove up and down your form, coming up to meet your eyes and stare intently at you. 

 His eyes are lidded as he moves forward to give you a peck on the cheek. You giggle at him, and tip forward to return the favour, kissing the corner of his mouth. He says your name, close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek. 

 He kisses your forehead, and he doesn’t pull away before pressing another kiss to your cheek, and all at once you’re aware of the heat between the two of you; you ignore it in favor of kissing his chin, and kissing his cheek again, and that’s fine, because friends can give each other kisses, right?

  You’re just relaxed from the drinking and acting silly. 

 Leon leans forward and places a light kiss to your earlobe. His head dips as he kisses your neck, then pulls back to look at you.

 He’s staring at your lips, eyes lidded- your heart pounds as his hand comes up to cup your cheek, and he angles your face towards his.

 “Leon,” you breathe. 

His lips are soft on yours, barely there as they brush past your lips. Your lips part ever so slightly as you lean towards him, and he kisses you- a soft, closed kiss where you move your lips gently against his.

 There are warning bells going off in your head- Leon is your friend. Your childhood friend. This is one of those friendships that is supposed to last forever, and you really don’t want a patch of awkwardness between you because you ended up making out one night. Or...doing something else you might regret.

Your hands come up to rest against his chest as he deepens the kiss, and all the warning bells go off. Suddenly, you don’t know anything beyond how good it feels when he kisses you, hot and open mouthed and much more... desperate... than before. One of his hands is at your waist, pulling you closer as he adjusts himself so that he’s over you on the bed. His mouth leaves yours as he begins to kiss your jaw, tongue swiping against your jawline. His hand moves under your shirt, fingers pressing into your sides as he kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck. You moan slightly when you feel his teeth nip at the sweet spot on your neck, and his mouth moves to explore lower, a kiss pressed into your cleavage as he moves down to the swell of your breasts, tugging your collar down to expose more skin. 

 “Leon,” you say, breathing heavily. 

 Your voice seems to snap him out of it. He jerks his head back to look at you, golden eyes wide and searching as they look into yours. 

 “I’m- I-” he starts, sitting up. He swallows, and takes a deep breath.

 “Lee, I…” you sit up, too, reaching for his hands. “I don’t want for things to be awkward between us,” you say, ignoring every feral urge in you that tells you to pull him back over you and go wild. 

 “They won’t,” he says, breathing heavily as he stares at you, pupils dilated. “I like you,” he says,  moving forward to bury his face in your neck. 

 “I’ve liked you for years, now,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss on your skin. “And we don’t...we won’t do anything you don’t want to. I just need you to know I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I’m in- I...want you.”

  You press yourself closer to him, hands coming to clutch at his biceps. 

 “I like you, too, Lee,” you admit, whining slightly as he nips at your neck at your confession. He’s kissing your neck again, and you moan when you feel his tongue on you as his hands slip under the hem of your top, pressing into your skin just below your breasts.

 “Do you want to do this?” he asks between feverish kisses to your neck and shoulders. 

 “Ye-yes,” you manage, your head full of nothing but Leon right now- his scent, his warmth, the way his tongue feels on your skin, the way he’s leaving bites on your collarbone and neck, his hands pulling you closer- he presses into you so you lay back against the mattress, supporting himself with one arm as he tugs on your shirt with his other hand. 

 You pull your shirt off over your head, and watch as an almost feral expression takes over Leon’s face as he sees your clothed breasts. He’s on you in a second, one hand sliding underneath you to unhook your bra, the other tugging it off and throwing it to the side.

  “Fuck- yes,” he gasps, kissing your bare breasts and nipping gently at one, making you whimper. It makes heat pool in your stomach when he swears- Leon almost never swears, and you like this new side to him you’re seeing. 

 “I’ve wanted to see you like this forever,” he admits, squeezing a breast with one hand before his tongue flicks over your nipple. 

  “You have no idea,” he sucks your nipple into his mouth, tongue swishing around before he pulls away, “how much I’ve thought about this,” he comes up to press a hard kiss against your mouth “how long I’ve wanted you for,” he presses his hips against yours, making you moan.

 “Leon,” you moan out his name, bucking your hips against him, whining when he pulls back a bit and chuckles.

 “You look cute,” he tells you, an almost innocent smile on his face. “All flushed and warm, so needy for your Champion.”

 “Leon,” you gasp, hands tugging at his shirt, legs bending to wrap around his waist, trying to press into him.

  “Lee, don’t tease,” you whine, and he obliges, pulling his shirt over to his head, exposing his bare chest and stomach.

  He’s gorgeous. 

 You run your hands over his chest, making note of how he whines when your hands brush over his nipples. He presses his whole body against you, kissing your mouth, dipping his tongue in and moaning, clothed hips thrusting slightly against yours. 

  Your fingers hook into the waistband of his pants, tugging at them. He pulls back again, sitting on his calves as he tugs your pants off, tossing them away. You lie exposed in front of him in nothing but your dampening panties, and he gives you a smug look before kissing your stomach, going lower. 

 Your hands grip his hair as he begins to place butterfly kisses over your panties, teasingly biting the insides of your thighs from time to time. You plead with him for you don’t know what, an unbearable need for friction building in your intimates. 

  He darts his tongue out and begins to suck on your clothed clit, his face pressed between your legs. The wet spot on your panties grows, and you cry out for him as his thick fingers push your panties to a side and rub gently over your folds. 

 He pulls your panties off, eyes widening at the sight of your wet folds, swollen and puffy. 

  “Is this for me?” he asks, head tilted to a side as he looks up at you.

 You whimper and nod, bucking your hips.

 “Use your words, baby,” he says, nipping at your inner thigh. 

 “Leon- it’s for you. It’s all for you, I- ah!” you arch your back as he buries his whole face into your pussy, fingers rubbing at your clit as his tongue dips inside of you, moving around. 

  “Leon- oh, Lee,” you whisper, “I- ah- you feel so good-”

 You can feel your high building, your intimates pulsing as he eats you out like a starved man. When he pulls away, you nearly cry, desperately begging him to let you cum. 

  Your arousal shines on his mouth as his tongue darts out to lick his lips, wiping off his mouth with his hand. He smiles at you, that sweet smile of his, crawling over you as he kisses your body, one hand pushing down his pants. You glance down between your bodies to see his cock, dark red at the tip and leaking precum as he strokes it gently. 

  “I’m gonna make you feel good,’ he says, moving up to kiss your lips. “I love you,” he mumbles against your mouth, pressing another open kiss on you, “so much.”

 Your arms circle his neck as you pull him deeper into the kiss.

  “I love you, too,” you pull away, looking into his warm golden eyes. He kisses you again, your legs wrapping around his waist. His cock brushes gently against your wet pussy, and you press your fingers into the muscle of Leon’s back as he continues to kiss you softly and slowly.

 “You sure about this?” he asks, mouth against yours. 

 “Leon, please,” you say, your teeth lightly grazing his lip. “I need you.”

He presses his face against your shoulder as his cock pushes into your entrance, a strangled moan in your throat as you try to adjust to his size. He’s thick, and you mewl as he pushes in deeper, involuntarily clenching around him. 

 “Oh, fuck!” Leon gasps as you tighten around him, eyes wide and mouth gaping slightly.

 He takes his time pushing himself inside you, both giving you time to adjust to him, and giving himself time to savour you, the way your warm insides clench around him, the way you throb with your arousal, how tight and wet and perfect you are, even better than you were in his fantasies. He pulls back a little and pushes in deeper, kissing you all over your face as he rocks slowly into you, pace quickening when your nails dig into his back.

  “You’re- you’re so big, Lee,” you moan, heels pressing into his back. “I- oh- you feel so good.”

 You hear him breathe a laugh, and he licks over some of the marks he left on your throat. 

 He begins to move faster inside you, wet smacking sounds getting louder as he begins to lose himself to the pleasure. You arch your back and squeeze your eyes shut, moaning a chant of his name as he hits that perfect spot inside of you, your head going blank save for the building pleasure.

  His hand presses into your soft breast, and you drag your nails down his chest, making him cry out. You pinch and pull at his nipples, heat searing and your own pleasure spiking as his face contorts in bliss, groaning your name as you take his whole length.

  “I’m gonna- hah- ah! I’m gonna make you cum, baby, I’m-” his thrusts speed up, a hand going down to rub at your clit.

 You cry his name out louder as your high approaches, and he pounds into you, his gasps and moans mixing in with yours. He tells you you’re his, all his, that you belong to him, and you agree, throwing your head back as your pleasure peaks.

  You scratch down his back as the tension snaps, your orgasm washing over you as you pulse around his cock, his name on your lips. He rides you through your orgasm, wide eyed at the sight of your flushed face and chest, how brazenly lustful you look as you cum around him, pussy clenching tight. He pumps into you, and with one rough thrust, he presses his cock deep inside you and moans as he goes over the edge, rocking his hips against yours as he cums, spilling his seed deep inside you with a broken cry of your name.

 He almost collapses on you, face resting on your breast with his cock still twitching inside you as you both come down from your high. Leon’s breath fans over your heaving chest, and he slowly pushes himself up to pull out of you, keeping your legs apart to watch his cum drip out of your cunt. He almost wishes he could take a picture of you like this, looking so obscene, nipples perked and pussy leaking with his cum. 

  Your hands reach out to him as he gets off the bed, and he kisses you softly on the lips, telling you he’ll be right back to clean you up. He goes into the bathroom and emerges with a wet towel, cleaning you up as per his promise, tossing the towel away and snuggling into your naked body as you pepper soft kisses on each other, holding each other’s bare bodies tightly as sleep overtakes you.

#leon #leon pokemon #champion leon #leon x reader #pokemon leon x reader #champion leon x reader #dande #champion dande #dande x reader #pokemon swsh #pokemon imagines #pokemon fanfic #anipoke #anipoke dande

[safertokiss]

Hate the Game, Love the Player

A/N: Let the fun times ensue! I really liked this prompt and a story kinda just wrote itself in my chaotic brain so here we are. I relate to this prompt greatly, I will admit, so it was extremely easy to channel. Anyways, thanks for reading and life’s a party.

Prompt: "spence i fucking hate chess. i just like spending time with you." (Anonymous)

Pairing: SPENCER x READER

Category: Fluff and SMUT

Word Count: 4k

ENJOY:)

~~~

MASTERLIST

~~~

Spencer Reid. Spencer Fucking Reid. What a man.

You had been pretty much in love with the resident genius since the second you stepped foot into the BAU for your first day over a year ago. You could remember your first meeting plain as day, the way he stuttered out an introduction while a bright blush covered his entire figure, the way he fiddled with his hands to stay grounded in the moment. You had found the whole interaction very adorable and had decided in that moment that your heart belonged to him.

You guys had hit it off almost immediately, surprising absolutely no one on the team, and a beautiful friendship quickly bloomed between the two of you. While you certainly loved being his best friend and colleague, you were stuck.

 As more and more time passed with Spencer at your side, you couldn't stop the feelings you harbored for him from dramatically increasing. You had always read those stupid, sappy romance books that, more often than not, revolved around a close friendship being troubled by one half of the duo catching feelings for the other. Even worse were the stories where they didn’t end up together. You hoped that that wasn’t going to be the case for you and the doctor.

Of course the feelings weren’t just one-sided. It was blatantly obvious to pretty much everyone on the team, yourself included, that he felt the same exact way about you, and while the knowledge of his affection was encouraging, it didn’t amount to much because you knew he wasn’t the type to admit his feelings outright, especially to a female. Since there was no way in hell he was going to make the first move, you had been trying your hardest to make your advances as obvious and clear as humanly possible, hoping that at least one of them would finally lead to more. You had reached a point where you were so desperate you were willing to do the unspeakable for him. It was time to do the completely unimaginable.

“Hey Spence!” You watched his body jump slightly before swirling around in his chair to make eye contact with you, giving you a perfect view of his figure. He looked especially good today for some reason and you suspected that had something to do with your sudden willingness to go through with the one thing you had hoped you would never have to do. “Yeah?”

Oh boy here we go, now or never. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to maybe teach me how to play chess sometime? I’ve been meaning to learn how for quite a while now.” You certainly didn’t miss the way his face lit up with excitement at your question, quickly confirming that you had had the right idea and made the right decision asking.

“R-really? You’d actually want to do that? Oh wow, I’d love to teach you sometime! Maybe uh, if you want of course, you could come over tonight after work and we could start then. I’ll even um-I’ll even try not to win so you could have some fun! Oh um-uh not that you wouldn’t be able to win on your own, it’s just that-” 

“Spence, slow down”, you said with a chuckle, unable to contain the smile that covered your lips. “Tonight sounds great. I’ll meet you at your place after we get out of here, ok?” The stupid childlike grin that spread across his face was intoxicating and made you somehow fall even deeper in love with him. It was honestly baffling that someone as seemingly perfect as him could actually exist. God, how you hoped the two of you would at last grow some balls tonight and do something, finally putting that built-up tension to rest. Well, hopefully not to rest. You certainly wouldn’t mind it sticking around forever, as long as he was by your side to ease the borderline torture whenever it reared it’s ugly head.

“Ok uh-yeah that sounds awesome! S-see you tonight then. Oh and don’t forget to bring earplugs for when you inevitably get tired of hearing me explain the complexities of the game for the thousandth time”, he shyly added at the end. You didn’t even attempt to stop the lighthearted snort that escaped at his words. Like you could ever possibly grow tired of listening to him? That’s a big, fat negative. Giving you one last wide grin, he spun back around and began working on his files again, leaving you vulnerable to the not exactly innocent thoughts swirling around in your head.

You were going over his house tonight, the two of you would be all alone. Sure, you had been over there plenty of times before for various reasons, but this felt significantly different for some reason. Maybe that was down to the fact that you fully intended on making some kind of move tonight, in turn, hopefully, making your intentions completely clear to him. You had no definite way of knowing how far things would end up going later, but you certainly had a preference of where you wanted things to end up. Too many days had been spent pining over the young doctor, and at this point it was the only thing you could think of that would satisfy your desires.

Would he even want to though? As close as the two of you were, the topic of sex or anything even remotely sexual never seemed to breech into your conversations, as much as that disappointed you. It wasn’t exactly that you were worried about him not being into that kind of stuff, it was more of a deep rooted insecurity that often made you question whether or not he would ever want to do something of the sort with you. You quickly pushed the thought out of your head, deciding that the only way you were ever going to know for sure was if you worked up the courage to make some sort of significant advance in his direction tonight. 

Eventually ignoring your raging inner thoughts and returning to the task at hand, you couldn’t help but check the clock every few minutes, anxiously counting the minutes until you were able to leave this place and get to his. 

~~~

You had all but sprinted out of the office earlier once your shift had come to an end, rushing to get to your car so you could leave. 

The excitement that had been pumping through your veins was intoxicating and made you question all the seemingly silly nerves you had felt building up throughout the day. What was there to be nervous about? It was just chess. However, as you pulled into his apartment complex’s lot, you realized that it was so much more than just chess and the nerves came rushing back through you like a fucking tsunami.

You didn’t even want to discuss the way you felt right now, perched directly outside of his apartment, dazedly staring at the wooden door. Was it too late to just turn around, go home and forget that this whole damn thing ever even happened. A lucid fever dream, that’s what this could be if you just left. 

No. You wanted and needed this. Here’s hoping Spencer did too.

You cautiously raised your fist before gently knocking on the rough surface a couple of times. You were able to hear some slight movement from inside and just as you were taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself down a bit more, the door swung open, an equally nervous and excited looking Spencer now standing opposite you. God he was so pretty.

“Hi”, he quietly spoke, his eyes absentmindedly sweeping across your frame. You were easily able to detect the anticipation that radiated off of him in waves, the same feeling emanating from deep within you as well. “Hey Spence”, you breathily whispered, a shy smile gracing your lips.

After a brief moment of just silently staring at each other, Spencer snapped out of his apparent stupor and awkwardly angled his body to the side so you could come inside, gently shutting the door behind you. Immediately after entering his apartment your eyes drifted to the kitchen, noticing that he had somehow managed to cook dinner for the two of you in the very short time since you guys had gotten out of work, him leaving the office slightly earlier than you did. The kind gesture made you feel warm inside, the situation as a whole feeling amazingly domestic. 

“Oh my god. Spence, you really didn’t have to do all this. It smells amazing!” You watched the young doctor ripen into a tomato at your words, feeling your desire for him deepen even further. He blindly followed you as you made your way towards the kitchen to investigate his hard work, passing by the fancy, little chess board you had always ignored before on the way. “It’s no problem at all Y/n, can’t have you learning on an empty stomach right?”, he teased as you let out a light giggle at his thought process. “I suppose you are the doctor here”, you answered with a joking tone. “Shall we then?” Suddenly feeling much more comfortable in each other’s presence, the two of you quickly ate, Spencer’s cooking completely blowing your mind.

“Ok as amazing as that was Spence, I believe it’s chess learning time!” You succeeded in portraying genuine excitement at your statement, simply opting to instead think about all the possibilities of what could happen, rather than the game itself. The evident excitement that exuded from his slim figure was more than enough encouragement for you to get the ball rolling and waltz over to the mahogany table, promptly assuming your position across from him. “All you Reid, I’m completely at your mercy.” You saw him swallow hard at your choice of words and found yourself slyly smirking at his reaction. Quickly clearing his throat, he jumped right into things.

“O-ok so basically to start off there’s um-six classes or ranks for the pieces. You have the pawns, the rooks, the knights, bishops, kings and queens and uh-each different rank has their own move set or “abilities”, if you will. Before every game there’s a specific order that they…”

You tried. You really, really tried to focus on what he was saying, but there was no stopping your mind from wandering to more pressing matters. For example: how unbelievably hot he looked rambling excitedly about one of the most boring things on the planet. He made you actually look forward to playing. In all honesty, you already knew how to play the dreadful game, thanks to years and years of mandatory family bonding time with your dad when you were younger. Spencer didn’t need to know that though. 

Eventually his instructional spiel had come to an end, the two of you now having moved on to a couple practice rounds to get the hang of things. You hated fibbing to him about your previous experience with the game, but it was well worth it to see the way his face lit up with every word that fell from his lips. After engaging in several “practice” games, Spencer had deemed you suitable for the real deal, offering to still help you along the way if you needed it, for which you thanked him.

The first few trial games that you guys played through went by pretty smoothly and while you were nowhere near beating him, you were able to hold your own weight fairly well. Sure, you had had previous experience from your childhood, but it had been so long you found your skills were kind of rusty and they presented themselves as such. The longer you both played the more you remembered, reaching the point where you were actually rivalling him and giving him some sort of competition. You could see how impressed he was with you, but there also seemed to be some layer of pride boiling underneath the surface. While you loved his reactions to your “newly” acquired skills, things were going much too slow for your liking and you knew exactly what to do.

“How about we up the stakes a little bit, hmmm?” He looked up at your words, a curious look crossing over his features.

“What did you have in mind?” You watched him visibly gulp at the suggestive smirk that slowly adorned your face. Momentarily ignoring his question, you began to reset the board, the clinking of game pieces being the only sound filling the apartment, that and Spencer’s bated breath as he waited for a response. 

“Ok, I’m sure you’ve heard of strip poker before?” You watched him hesitantly nod his head in agreement before continuing. “Well how about we play some strip chess, make things a bit more exciting, yeah?” The speed at which a blush overtook his features would’ve been alarming to anyone else on the planet, except for you of course, who found it utterly adorable.

“I uhh-I y-yeah, sure. Sure! We can do that. It sounds kind of...fun? What um-how would that work exactly?” You gave him a bright smile at the evident eagerness laced within his words before explaining your thought process on specific rules for the game. 

“Well I’m thinking that we don’t have enough layers on to remove something everytime we capture an opponent’s piece...soooo..maybe every two pieces captured by the other person you have to take something off? Yeah that sounds like it should work. Good?” You watched him seem to mull over things quickly in his head before nodding with slightly more confidence than he had exuded before. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

Around twenty minutes later, the two of you were stripped down to the bare minimum, you in just your panties and bra, him in his boxers, both of you finally seeming to understand the weight of the current situation you were in. You certainly hadn’t expected to give Spencer this big of a run for his money, but you were glad you were able to best him at least a few times. However, depending on the next few moves, you guys were so close to crossing a line that neither of you could possibly come back from. 

Unfortunately, while you were too busy worrying about what was about to happen, Spencer had cornered one of your pieces and captured it, making it his second piece of yours captured since the last article of your clothing had come off. His head jerked up towards you as he realized what his small victory meant. Shit. Were you really about to expose yourself to him, willingly at that?

Yes. Yes you were.

Spencer watched with wide eyes and labored breathing as you slowly reached behind your back to undo the clasps on your bra, the material falling forward slightly, until you removed the straps making the lacy garment come off completely, sending a shy smile in his direction. You swear you saw his eyes darken as they widened even further at your bold movement, his Adam's apple bobbing at the sight of your bare chest right there in front of him. Unable to think about it too long and suddenly emboldened by his reactions, you quickly made your next move while he was basically hypnotized by your tits. Maybe this could work to your advantage after all. 

Realizing that the boy genius wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon, seemingly too invested in his personal peepshow, you snapped your fingers in front of his face to grab his attention. His eyes immediately snapped up to meet yours, embarrassment coating his face as he cleared his throat. “Oh I-um-sorry. I was a bit d-distracted”, he nervously chuckled, aware he had been caught ogling your body like a horny teenager, not that you minded in the slightest.

You could easily tell how frazzled the young doctor still was as he took his turn, making a move that there was no way in hell Spencer would have ever made with a clear mind. An excited smirk graced your face as you registered what he had just done. And based on the way his eyebrows furrowed, it seemed as though he had too. No fucking way. 

“I uhh-uhh...shit. I-I um…”

Making sure to maintain steady eye contact with him, you slowly leaned over the table, your breasts pushing together perfectly to compliment the show you were putting on, and confidently made your final move.

“Checkmate.”

As the two of you sat there just staring at each other, you noticed his breathing becoming more and more labored, his eyes completely black with desire, yours probably looking the same.

Fuck it, let’s go.

The speed at which you shoved the board clean off the table and climbed across it into his lap was astounding, immediately smashing your lips together as you successfully straddled him. He moaned into your mouth at your eagerness and it only egged you on further, roughly tugging on his hair as your lips moved in synchronicity. Reluctantly prying your lips away from his, you stared directly into his black orbs, your chest heaving.

“I want you.” You watched his pupils dilate at your words, a low groan leaving his lips.

“I want you”, he reciprocated with sincerity in his tone. Moaning at his agreement and admission you desperately reunited your mouths as he swifty lifted you onto the mahogany table, stepping in between your welcoming legs so your bodies were as close as possible. 

You both needed this. Badly. It was inevitable that at some point the two of you would finally snap, mutually ravaging each other in the most animalistic of ways. It was like a switch flipped inside the two of you, totally disregarding the way you normally acted on a day to day basis. Honestly you had no idea Spencer had it in him, this feral, primal side of him. But you fucking loved it.

As soon as he stepped between your legs and reconnected your lips, his large hands pawed at your chest, squeezing the pillowy flesh like it was his favorite hobby. The moans pouring from your lips only fueled him further, his grip becoming noticeably stronger. Letting his hands roam wherever they pleased on your body, you raked your own up and down his chest, bright red streaks left behind in their wake, making him groan uncontrollably. 

“God Y/n, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. Since the moment you walked in I haven’t been able to control myself around you. You drive me fucking insane.” His words only increased the veracity behind your moans as you reached down to palm him through his boxers, which weren’t doing much to hide his rather large excitement. He threw his head back with a groan, his mussed hair protruding in every direction possible. “Spencer pleaseee!”, you begged, desperate for him to touch you and give you more. You needed more.

Seemingly getting the hint, he immediately ripped your panties off before roughly thrusting his fingers into you, exploring your heat eagerly, moaning at the overwhelming warmth and wetness surrounding them. You cried out at the intrusion, instantly latching onto him, your nails digging into his back as your body arched into him. Your reactions drove him insane, his digits consistently pumping in and out of you, making your whole body tremble as you felt your release speedily approaching. 

“That’s it baby, let go.” As soon as the words left his mouth, you felt yourself completely tense up before releasing all of the tension in a blissful moment, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips. “Spencer!” He watched with hooded eyes as he pushed you over the edge, evident pride rushing through his veins. The fire inside of you came rushing back, reigniting every inch of your body, craving for more.

You tugged on the hem of his boxers, trying to convey your desires, watching him get the hint fairly quickly and hastily remove them before stepping back between your legs. Surging forward you latched your lips onto his and wrapped your legs around his waist, effectively tethering himself to you and urging him to continue. You could feel him hot and heavy against the inside of your thigh, but it simply wasn’t enough, him seemingly thinking the same thing, soon feeling him position himself against your throbbing core.

Both panting with anticipation and desire, he looked up into your eyes, searching for any kind of sign that this was for sure what you wanted. You frantically nodded your head, a desperate gleam in your eyes. “Please Spence! I need you!”

Seemingly satisfied with your response, the young doctor let out a feral growl before thrusting his entire length into you on the first stroke. You both whined out at the feeling, latching on to each other like your lives depended on it. “Holy shit, Y/n. You feel so fucking good.” His words triggered an unnecessarily loud moan to escape your throat, feeling yourself unwillingly tighten around his cock. The pace he set was brutal as he pounded you into the table over and over again. 

That stupid chess table. You could confidently say that this was worlds better than any of the many games you had both played earlier in the night. If things worked out your way the two of you would be doing this a lot more often instead of playing chess.

Even though the two of you had only been going at it for a fairly short time, you could already feel your climax speedily approaching and, based on the way he kept scrunching up his face, you’d guess he wasn’t very far behind. 

“Spencer please! I’m so close, baby please!”

The guttural groan that escaped him was sinful and ignited your insides with a fire that you didn’t even know existed within you. As he roughly thrusted into you, your body slamming against the hard surface below you, you felt yourself quickly tumble over the edge, your vision going spotty at the intensity of your orgasm. The way you screamed out his name and clenched around his cock was too much for Spencer to handle, him following you closely behind and filling you up completely with his seed. 

The two of you held onto each other desperately as you waited for your bated breaths to return to normal, a light sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Giving you a soft smile, drastically different from the man who had been inside you moments ago, he carefully removed himself from you before walking to the kitchen to get some towels. After cleaning the two of you up, he gently picked you up and carried you to his bedroom, both of you settling immediately under the sheets, clinging to each other.

As Spencer softly played with your hair in the comfortable silence, you could feel the two of you giving into the slumber that was calling out to you. However before you gave in, you needed him to know how you truly felt.

“Hey Spence?”

“Yeah baby?”

“I fucking hate chess. I just like spending time with you.” He chuckled softly before responding.

“I like spending time with you too.”

Taglist: @hopebaker @pastathighs @psychedellic-phase @gloryekaterina @sleepysnapesnake @racharr @etherealgubler @furiouspartyrebelhoagie @andiebeaword @liaabsurd @cielo1984 @starkeybaby @victomizedbyreginageorge @rainsong01 @moonlight-jukebox @gretaamyk @httpnxtt @rachelxwayne @watermelonstyl @goldnratio @cheyxminds

#cm fic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencerreidsmut #smut #fluff #cm smut #mgg #matthewgrayguber #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #mgg fic

[yellowocaballero]

The Crocodile's Dilemma: In Which Helen exploits Michael's Labor, Michael suffers an un-identity crisis, and unpaid internships should be illegal

It’s tough being a teenage embodiment of the Spiral. Your boss/wine aunt figure Helen’s a Tory, your inattentive cousin figure Mike Crew keeps attending philosophy classes and day drinking, and you’re pretty sure that this internship doesn’t have any dental. At least it’s good job experience for your future career in...being evil? But do you even want to be evil?

This small story is technically part of my Roleswap AU, but I specifically wrote it so that no knowledge is required. Still, if you’re wondering why Michael’s an eighteen(ish) year old, Mike Crew’s an Avatar of the Spiral, and everybody is obsessed with Melanie King, check it out. Still, no need. Rest under the cut.

Maybe Helen was right.

Not that Helen was ever strictly right, much as Helen was never wrong, but Michael just had to be doing this whole fear demon thing incorrectly. If someone had explained the whole fear demon thing to them two years ago (“Okay, so it’s like you’re the semi-sentient appendage of an extradimensional force of evil that has to consume trauma relentlessly in order to propagate its own debatable existence, also you’re nonbinary now, no those things are not strictly related, probably”), then they would have called them crazy. Which, of course, they were, but that wasn’t the point. So long as the point existed. So long as anything -

An essential theorem within quantum physics was the quantum Zeno effect. 

Simply put, it was the fact that a quantum state would decay if left alone, but does not decay under continuous observation. Even observing the results after the photon is produced leads to collapsing the wave function and loading a back-history as shown by delayed choice quantum eraser. If something was seen, it no longer existed; if something persisted unperceived, it would exist as long as it liked. 

So it was explained to Michael by the physics professor he was torturing that day. Michael had trapped the man in the physics building of his university, lured in by one too many late nights in his office and the persistent sense that his life was going nowhere meaningful. After a few classes spent sitting in on his Physics 101 class, maintaining constant and forever eye contact, Michael had eventually tricked the man into giving a persistent and ongoing physics lecture to an empty classroom, desperately trying to explain the inexplicable to a college freshman who did not care. Truly miserable, yet ultimately harmless - Michael’s favorite kind of trick. 

But, despite themself, Michael grew interested. They didn’t understand any of what the man was talking about, but that was all of the fun. Understanding ruined the magic of things; broke down the beauty of the universe into cogs and gears. No thanks. They could tell that it bothered the professor, that he said so much and yet knew nothing. That there was so much he would never know, and that he wasn’t so smart after all. How would any of his colleagues respect him?

“So photons degrade if they’re observed?” Michael asked one day, after...some period of time. They had raised their hand and everything, they were so proud of themself. Uni was just like secondary school after all. “Is that true of people too?”

The professor had sweated, deeply uncomfortable with Michael as a person and as a non-euclidean concept. “No - no, not at all. Humans are much more than photons -”

Michael grinned. It wasn’t quite right. “Are you sure?”

The professor sweated harder. “I - no, I’m not. But humans are constantly observed by - by the universe, or something.”

Michael grinned sharper. “Are you sure? Are you being observed right now? Are you sure?”

And the professor was not sure, not anymore, and the fragment of this man’s reality collapsed. 

Well, Michael thought to themself, slipping out of an improbable yellow door, that’s another Statement for the Magnus Institute. Not that they would read it. 

****

“Now, remember this - the first step to being a successful Avatar is presentation!”

Michael squinted at Helen dubiously. “I thought we were fear demons?”

Helen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with two sharp knife fingers. It looked as if it hurt quite a bit, but Michael reasoned that they had probably gone through the fifth dimension. “This is the stupidest dimension - fine, fine! Fear demons, then. It is absolutely vital that we conduct our business with style, grace, and the slightest sprinkling of pizazz!” 

Just for the flourish, Helen twirled her fingers, and a faint shower of confetti came raining down from the ceiling. Michael sneezed. 

“I thought it was vital that we harvest fear and trauma from people to propagate our cursed existence,” Michael said. 

Helen’s eyebrow twitched. “More than two things can be vital, Michael. Please pay attention. Now, as a demonstration, I’d like you to take a gander at that man over there.”

Obediently, Michael looked across the bar. They were sitting on barstools in a high-class pub, because Helen knew her worth and never settled for anything less, with glass counters and lots of private booths. But all pubs had their sad men drinking alone, and this one was no exception. 

This man wasn’t sullen and slow like a lot of them. He was wearing a nice suit and thin tie, looking straight out of Canary Wharf. Michael silently agreed with Helen’s choice - they took eat the rich very seriously, and also literally. He also seemed a little jumped up on something, with shaking hands and erratic eyes. 

“He looks happy,” Michael observed. “Think it’s his birthday?”

“He’s on cocaine, Michael,” Helen said flatly. “Cocaine. We are at a posh bar, and he is currently doing a line off his watch.”

Oh! Michael suddenly felt very uncool. They had never been one of those people in secondary school who did cocaine. They hadn’t been cool. “I knew that,” Michael bluffed. “What are we going to do to him?”

“Take the teenager as your intern, they said,” Helen groused, “it’s investing in the future, they said, it’ll stop them from eating you when they grow up, they said.” She sighed, jabbing a finger at the now very obviously coked up man who was staring at the bottles behind the bartender as if they were whispering secrets of the universe into his ear. Helen liked that one. “Use your intuition. Find a good angle to squeeze. What are his weaknesses to exploit?”

Oh, Michael knew how to do this. They shifted vibrations just a bit, dropping out of what Michael liked to call the ‘mild’ spectrum into the ‘spicy’ spectrum. They were distantly aware of a patron’s glass shattering. 

They squinted at the man, picking out his little fears and insecurities like Dionysus picking grapes. Maybe. Michael had gotten a C in English, but they were somewhat cognizant of the Spiral munching heavily on Bacchanalia. Sometimes they felt like some of those children who spoke in tongues and claimed to be from a past life. That had also been the Spiral.

“He owns a Nintendo NES,” Michael said confidently, absolutely sure that this was important. Helen groaned. “His house is painted white, and his girlfriend does tax fraud.”

“Something relevant?” Helen hinted desperately.

Michael just squinted at her. “Relevant to what?”

“...good point. But something useful, please.”

Picky. Michael scowled, but gave the man another good gander. “He only remembers faint details of his father’s face, and he worries that his recollections aren’t accurate,” Michael proclaimed finally. 

Helen clapped, delighted, as Michael took a careful sip of their water, turning it into fizzy water. She took a sip of her own wine, turning it into champagne. Or maybe just sparkling unreality? “Wonderful. Now, how should we play this? Insert a false father into his life, completely separate from his recollections, or is that a bit too Stranger? I suppose we could do some good old-fashioned gaslighting, but sometimes that’s just a bit too Melanie, if you catch my drift -”

“Are you jealous that the Archive girls are better at gaslighting than you are?” 

“Shut it, kid,” Helen hissed, before taking a long drag of her champagne. “My vote is that we convince him to top off his coke bender with some LSD. Then he hallucinates - oh, he hallucinates that he’s in a mental institution, that’s a good one -”

“Why don’t we shift everything thirty cm to the right?” Michael asked brightly.

Helen squinted at them. They beamed back. 

“You are so bad at this,” Helen said. 

Michael would have felt crushed if Helen didn’t express this sentiment roughly once per lunar cycle, contrariwise. As it was, they bore the criticism with a stiff upper lip. Helen had her way of harvesting fear from unsuspecting humans, and Michael had theirs. “Look, Helen, you’re being uncreative! We don’t have to traumatize people every single time.”

Helen squinted further. “We’re personifications of deceit. We eat trauma.”

“No, we eat confusion,” Michael pointed out patiently. “Look at it this way. If you give someone one really terrible experience, then they repress it for the rest of their lives and consider it a brush with Hell. One and done, see? But if you minorly inconvenience them for a really long time, then they’ll never be able to break out of it. They’ll feel as if something’s wrong, but they’ll never know it. You can keep the game going for years that way!”

The idea was very good. Michael had been working on it for a while. Truth be told, Michael felt bad traumatizing people outright and making them scream and cry and everything. They always felt as if they were doing something wrong by making other people’s existences a living nightmare. Michael much preferred rigging a corn maze so you were stuck in it for days inside the maze but only an hour outside. It was funner, and much more confusing. 

But Helen just pursed her lips and stared Michael up and down, making them squirm awkwardly on their barstool. Finally, as if she was delivering a life sentence, she imperiously said, “Well, we all have our different styles, I suppose! It would be quite boring if we were both exactly the same.” Michael nodded vigorously at this, and Helen held up a scaly claw. “But! You’re my intern, which means that you’re learning from the master here. So shut up and let me teach you how to ruin lives.”

“Yes, boss,” Michael said miserably. 

Helen tsked, but she patted them on the head anyway. It tasted like batteries. “Honestly, kid. A literal bleeding heart’s fun for the whole family, but a metaphorical bleeding heart will get you nowhere in life. You can’t exist as you are and feel bad for them. It ruins the point. It’s a paradox.”

“I thought we liked paradoxes, though?”

Helen shrugged, downing the rest of her wine. “Rules for thee but not for me, honey. But I’m a good boss and drunken aunt figure, so I’ll appease you today. Now come on, let’s convince this bar to vote for Brexit.”

They did. It was quite fun after all, tricking a roomful of people into doing something actively against their own interests. But something about the whole thing left a strange taste in Michael’s mouth: not the good kind of strange, or the bad kind of strange that was also good. Just strange, and undeniable, and something that couldn’t be exploited at all. 

****

Maybe Helen was right. 

Not that Helen was ever strictly right, much as Helen was never wrong, but Michael just had to be doing this whole fear demon thing incorrectly. If someone had explained the whole fear demon thing to them two years ago (“Okay, so it’s like you’re the semi-sentient appendage of an extradimensional force of evil that has to consume trauma relentlessly in order to propagate its own debatable existence, also you’re nonbinary now, no those things are not strictly related, probably”), then they would have called them crazy. Which, of course, they were, but that wasn’t the point. So long as the point existed. So long as anything -

Michael was a bad fear demon of the Spiral and Infinite Twisting and That Is Not What It Is and The Twisted Door, etc, etc, All Fear Its Name, etc etc all Hail, because they didn’t always like how their internal monologue could no longer be described through common language. Words and images and understandings were nothing but approximations for Michael now, and sometimes it was frustrating existing outside the boundaries of understanding. Which, of course, was the point, so long as the point existed, so long as anything existed -

It wasn’t always easy. Still, nobody ever got what they wanted if they weren’t willing to put the effort in. The adult world and labouring under capitalism wasn’t easy for anybody. That was what Mum had always said. Who was Michael to complain about their 9-5? Or 24/24? Or infinite/infinite? Or nothing/nothing? Or -

Was it too much to ask to have a linear thought once in a while? 

Helen wouldn’t understand. There were only two other approximations of concepts that Michael knew, and Helen would hardly be any help. The other “person” would probably be a better sounding board, but there was the fact that he was kind of pretentious. Still, it was better than nothing. Well, it was nothing, but only in the sense that everything was - argh!

A yellow door appeared in a nondescript basement, and Michael appeared with it. They melted out of the “wood”, taking a second to check their outfit for this apparition - a nice vintage 50s dress with a painstaking stitch that reminded one of the oppressive nature of housewifery, nice. They elongated their curly blonde hair from a roguish mop into a nice little shag and melted into the crowd. 

It must have been a passing period, because Michael was buffeted to and fro by tall white men wearing backpacks and shorter white girls hoisting strangely identical water bottles. Somewhere Northern, Michael decided, likely private and small. Not that it strictly mattered, but it helped to solidify their grip in reality a bit if they had some idea. They already knew geography was purposeless and a distraction from the real issues, like shrimp, but occasionally it could be useful. Helen had been careful to impart the central tenet of existence as a non-euclidean concept in undefinable space in the twenty seventh dimension: location, location, location!

It was obviously the Philosophy Department, because all philosophy classes were held in old basements built in the ‘60s in identical hallways. For kicks, Michael turned all of the school hallways inwards and sent them in a mobius strip, and changed all of the door numbers into a headache. The key to enjoying your job was to take initiative in the workplace environment and to just have fun with it!

Michael found themselves in front of a door identical to all of the others, with fake laminated wood, and they decided to go in. The universe had guided them to this door for a reason, and who were they to reject its call? 

The small classroom was like most other small, private colleges in unpopular departments that nobody cared about. Lots of single person desks - Michael snapped their fingers and turned them all into left-handed desks - complete with a smartboard and a teacher’s podium. It was already half-full, so Michael carefully slid into a chair in the back and pretended that they had been there all along. A student wandered close, convinced that this was her seat, but Michael successfully convinced her that a different seat near the front was hers, prompting an impromptu game of musical chairs that sent ripples through the otherwise sedate classroom.

There was a blond student already sitting in the front, flipping through a spiral notebook and clicking a pen in no particular pattern. He was wearing a pea coat, jeans, and his hair was weirdly perfect. Michael wished they had a notebook. Was this what you did in university? They had never had the opportunity to go. 

Actually, they had never quite graduated secondary - three months away from graduation, actually. It probably wasn’t all that important. You didn’t really need a diploma to become a trauma eating fear demon. Was there a university of eating fear? That would be funny. What would the classes be in, ‘Enforcing the Powerlessness of Capitalism 101’? What was the difference between that and a Business major? 

Maybe Business majors were the real fear demons, Michael thought grandly. It was a good thought, they would have to remember to tell it to Melanie later. Melanie would approve. Hadn’t Tim been a business major? Yeah, in that case she would definitely approve. 

The student sitting in the front seemed to have finally noticed the game of musical chairs, and as the professor started clearing their throat and announcing something unimportant to the class, he turned around to find Michael sitting in the back of the class. They waved cheerfully. The student scowled. 

‘What are you doing here!’, the guy mouthed angrily. 

‘Hi Mike!’ Michael mouthed back. 

‘Go away!’ Mike mouthed back. 

‘But I’m going to eat your teacher :(‘ Michael mouthed back. They didn’t actually frown. 

‘ >:(!’, Mike Crew mouthed back, also without changing his facial expression. 

This was probably why Mike wasn’t Michael’s biggest fan. Which was a pity, because Michael thought Mike was really cool. He had the coolest name, for one. But shorter, and snappier. Mike was the kind of name girls would call you at clubs. Michael was what, like, your Mum would say as she yelled at you to clean up your room before her book club girls came over. Why were they girls? They were, like, fifty.

Mike Crew was an Avatar of the Spiral completely unwillingly. Chosen as a child and chased throughout his life by an improbably long lasting Lichtenberg scar, he had eventually succumbed to the inevitable and transformed into an even more improbable man. Personally, Michael found it strange that ‘inevitable’ and ‘Spiral’ was in the same sentence, but - well, it had to be everything at one point. Even a melting clock was right once an endless twilight. 

Strangest of all, Mike Crew was a philosophy major. The class, of course, was a high level philosophy course. Mike Crew had been in uni - well, a while - and he tended not to waste his time with the boring shit anymore. Michael listened with interest as the professor dived into the lecture. 

Two minutes in, Mike subtly gathered his things and slipped into the conveniently empty chair next to Michael. He was still glaring at them, as Michael tried their best to look innocent and cute. The effect was a little ruined by the inherent maliciousness of Michael’s pores, but they liked to think it was the thought that counted. 

“To continue our conversation on the topic of paradoxes,” the professor began, “I’d like to introduce a few thought experiments for your consideration as a class. I’ll mention the concept, and then allow you to break into pairs to discuss them.”

Mike leaned into Michael’s ear. “We were discussing Descartes!”

“But isn’t this more interesting?” Michael asked. 

“If you give my professor a mental breakdown we’re going to fall behind on the syllabus!”

“The first paradox I’d like to bring to your attention is the Crocodile’s Dilemma.” The professor flipped to a new slide, which helpfully had a big crocodile on it. Michael admired it. They had seen a crocodile at the zoo once. “Similar to the liar’s paradox, the premise states that a crocodile, who has stolen a child, promises the parent that his or her child will be returned if and only if he or she correctly predicts what the crocodile will do next. The outcome is fairly obvious if the parent states that the crocodile will return the child, but the crocodile faces a dilemma if the parent states that the crocodile will not return the child. No matter the outcome, the crocodile is made a liar: if  the crocodile decides to not give back the child then the statement proves to be true, and he ought to return the child, thereby making it false. Whatever the outcome, he still violates his terms.”

Michael raised their hand. Mike forcibly lowered their hand. 

“If I give your professor a mental breakdown then you’ll have extra time for the test,” Michael whispered back. Mike seriously considered this notion.

“The next paradox is slightly related,” the professor continued. “The Infinite Hotel Paradox.” Michael’s face stretched into a grin as Mike Crew groaned. “It is demonstrated that a fully occupied hotel with infinitely many rooms may still accommodate additional guests, even infinitely many of them, and this process may be repeated infinitely often. This is what we call a veridical paradox: it leads to a counter-intuitive result that is provably true. Therefore -”

“Okay, yeah,” Mike Crew said, slumping in his seat. “You can eat him, this guy is just begging for it.” 

“Yay!” Michael went in for the hug, before Mike pushed them away. Michael’s quest for a cool big brother failed yet again. “Do you want to call the -”

“They’re your hallways,” Mike said, persnickety as always. Maybe he was just jealous that he wasn’t a hallway? 

Michael raised their hand, patiently waiting for the professor to call on them. He stumbled in the middle of his lecture, adjusting his thick glasses. 

“Uh, yes, Miss -”

“You no longer understand gender,” Michael said pleasantly, as they always did whenever they were misgendered. It was an understandable mistake, so they didn’t do it maliciously. Frankly, they just thought it was healthy. Everyone should not understand false things. “Professor, I have a question about the Crocodile’s Dilemma.” They waited for the professor to nod, somewhat confused. “How do you know that didn’t really happen?”

The professor blinked lethargically at them. “It’s a thought experiment. It’s not real, it’s just an idea proposed by philosophers to represent -”

“What makes you so sure?” Michael asked cheerfully. “Crocodiles eat babies. Or dingoes. I think I read a story about this happening in Australia, didn’t you?”

“I - I suppose I did, yes -”

“We wouldn’t talk about it if it didn’t really happen.” Michael felt their voice fall into a rising lilt, like an attractive song that was played to a concert hall but heard only by you. They were distantly aware of Mike lulling the rest of the students into their own hazy daze: aware enough to be confused, but trapped in their seats and the fog of misunderstandings. “Fiction isn’t real. Reality is real. But a thought experiment is in between, isn’t it? Something that strains the boundaries of reality, that proves the fundamental concepts of life, told through a framework of an intrinsic lie. A paradox is a lie telling the truth. You are a truth speaker telling only lies. What you know isn’t so much as anything at all, is it? What do you really know, anyway?”

“One of us tells only the truth and the other tells only lies,” Mike Crew called out, bored. But his eyes were shining in endless refraction, infinite rooms holding infinite guests. “But is it really a lie if you had mistaken it for the truth? What lies are you living, Dr. Young?”

Dr. Young was stammering, eyes swimming, and Michael didn’t dare to break eye contact. It was a delicate spell they wove, but Michael wasn’t so bad at bringing this simmer to a boil. Cooking was about improvisation, and Michael had always been great at that. 

“If your life is a lie,” Michael breathed, “then are you really alive?”

It was clear, when it happened: the professor started inhaling deep, deeper breaths, chest wracking with heaves. His eyes rolled up in his head, he clutched at his chest, and he finally slumped down on the floor. He twitched, jerking slightly, and he would continue jerking. At which point the students would become aware, and they’d call an ambulance for him, and he would be perfectly alright in the end. If a little mentally scarred. 

“Damn,” Mike Crew said, almost impressed, as both he and Michael stood up. He shoved his pens in a backpack, glad to be free of his examination for another week. “What’d you do to him?”

“Made him think he was dead,” Michael said serenely. “He thought his heart had stopped beating so he had a panic attack. He’s going to have to make an appointment with a psychiatrist but he probably should anyway, work’s very stressful for him.”

“Guess I have the rest of the hour off,” Mike sighed, as he held the door open for Michael so they could slip out of the back of the classroom. It was yellow, and a little strange.  “Want to grab a pint with me at the campus pub?” He paused a beat. “Wait, are you even old enough to drink?”

“I’m as old as eternity and reborn every second.” Michael paused a beat. “But I was eighteen last time I checked, and I’ll probably be eighteen for a while, so yes?”

“Great, let’s roll. I need a drink.”

****

Mike’s uni’s pub (Michael had asked the name of the uni but the information had, unfortunately, been lost in next Tuesday, so they’ll know then) was the exact opposite of the high class pub Helen had taken them to. Instead of glassy, shiny, and chromey, Mike’s pub looked strongly as if very many people had puked in it and the staff had tackled the problem somewhat half-heartedly. Michael enjoyed the sight of the puke existing in all points in time simultaneously, giving it a sort of weird yellow-ish shine. Actually, maybe all puke had that yellowish sheen?

When they asked Mike about it as they hopped up on the bar, he just sighed. He flagged the bartender down for a pint, and when the bartender squinted dubiously at Michael they revelled into the micro-confusion of ambiguous ages. Micro-feeding? Like mini muffins?

“Helen made a mistake hiring you. She’s stuck us with a perpetual teenager.”

“I’m as much a teenager as you are a uni student,” Michael said pointedly. 

“I’m not an embodiment of the It Is What It Isn’t Is,” Mike said, oddly aggressively. “I’m just a normal Avatar.”

“Fear demon.”

“Melanie King isn’t always right and I don’t know why everyone thinks she is.” Big words from an honored Special Guest on her show. There were many in the fear demon community who would kill for the honor. It was a good thing she hated intruders in her Archives - otherwise they’d never leave. “But I’m no different from - that douche Peter Lukas or that stoner Elias Bouchard or that btich Annabelle, okay? I’m just a guy. Who eats trauma. Plenty of guys do that.”

“Very good denial of reality!” Michael approved. “Normally Helen tells me to go further into denying reality as a concept, though.”

“God, you hallway people are impossible to have a normal conversation with.” Mike huffed, clearly not as irritated as his words would imply. Michael also approved of the incongruity. “I’m assuming that you’re here for absolutely no reason and that you have no idea why or how you ended up at my uni.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, I am here for a reason.” At Mike’s extreme surprise, they hurriedly clarified, “Not with any goal, meaning, or intention in mind! But I just wanted to talk about something to someone who wasn’t technically another facet of my meaningless whole. Helen and I are as index and ring fingers on the same hand, but we don’t really get each other sometimes, you know?”

“Does that make you the pinky finger?”

“I actually had a hypothetical for you.” At Mike’s nod, Michael snagged a napkin from the stack on the sticky bar and began creasing it, somewhat anxiously. “Let’s say, hypothetically, you were a teenagerish nongendered sentient hallway intern who happens to eat trauma.”

“This isn’t much of a hypothetical,” Mike said flatly. 

“I’m a hypothetical person. And I’m only a person hypothetically.” Michael started making little folds in the napkin, twisting it up into a strange origami. “So, let’s say, hypothetically, that this person - their name is Michael - enjoyed being them. It wasn’t always fun, and sometimes they kind of missed the world making sense, or at least not making sense in a familiar way. And sometimes Michael got tired of being a sentient hallway and wanted to finish secondary. And maybe even sometimes Michael grows sad that both their parents were eaten by their new boss, who is kind of a Tory! But that’s all fine. Michael’s probably happier like this than they ever were even when they did have parents.”

Mike Crew stared at them a little, slowly sipping his pint. 

Michael hunched their shoulders, and folded up the napkin further and further. They had read somewhere that any piece of paper can only be folded seven times. They folded the napkin seven times, then eight, then nine, then ten. That was something nice about the way things were now, they supposed: no rules, absolute freedom. Only rules, no freedom. That was what Dr. Yung would call a paradox. “But maybe the worst part about this new job is that Michael doesn’t really like hurting people. Sometimes it’s fun to randomly make people very upset, and you always kind of end up doing it anyway, but after a while Michael feels kind of bad about it. Michael likes doing other things better, like making terrible roundabouts and rearranging the pages of books. Maybe they even like reading books. They like reading comic books backwards, from the last page to the first, so every panel is a surprise.”

“There’s lots of ways to be a fear demon,” Mike pointed out, almost gently. Maybe only because he could relate. “Look at me. I’m not feeding off anyone. Just myself.”

“But I like the way I do it,” Michael said, frustrated. “Helen keeps trying to get me to do it the way she does it, but the point is that we aren’t the same. What’s the point in having two of us if both our viewpoints are the same? We’re different in every way, but we’re the same being. I just want to be the Spiral the way I want. Not the way Helen wants.” Their voice lowered, almost unwilling to say what they were about to say. “Not the way the Spiral wants.”

Mike stared at them for a long time, slowly sipping his beer, and Michael focused their efforts on forcing this improbable napkin into something that could be beautiful. A lotus flower? A mobius strip? Or should they just let it happen as it happens, and see what form it decided to take? 

Finally, Mike said, “You are the Spiral.”

“Then why am I always disagreeing with it?” Michael asked miserably. 

“Why are you, Helen, and the Spiral always disagreeing?” Mike pointed out. “Maybe that’s the point. So much as anything’s a point. Isn’t it the most perfect paradox of all, to split yourself into portions that are always disagreeing and bickering? Maybe everything you’re feeling is on purpose. I mean, it’s kind of improbable that you’re feeling at all, right?”

“I retained a lot of humanity,” Michael said. “Maybe a bit too much, actually?”

“Right.” Mike nodded decisively. “Then that’s the appeal. A human mind will always strain against its confines. It will always want different, want the same, want the old and the new and the perpetual and the fleeting and the eternity and the moment. What’s more nonsensical than a human? What’s more contradictory than human nature?” A dark shadow passed over his face, just for a second. “The Spiral kidnaps us and turns us into it. One part of our minds is entrenched in its eternity, and another part is always screaming in agony. But predominantly we are the unholy mixture of human and Entity, oil forced into water. It’s so intrinsically horrifying and wrong that we just get used to it. We are both demon and human, and so we’re neither, and so we’re both. Isn’t it weird, Michael, that unlike so many other Avatars, none of us want to be here?”

“You’re a very philosophical person,” Michael said diplomatically. 

“Thanks, I think too much about my lot in life.” Mike Crew sighed, slumping on his barstool and knocking back more of his pint. “I wish you and Helen would stop showing up in my life so often. When you aren’t around, I can almost pretend I’m a person.”

“That’s why we show up,” Michael felt obligated to point out. 

“Yeah, I know,” Mike said glumly. “I always know. I can’t stop knowing.”

There was nothing Michael could say or do that fixed this, or that could make Mike feel better. They understood, just a little - that nostalgia for a kinder time. But maybe it was more that Mike never had those halcyon, innocent days. He had lived life since childhood in aching knowledge that his days were numbered. Maybe that’s why Mike was allowed to live life as a human even now: his human life was just as confusing and isolated as his afterlife, and that when fear stained every second of his life there was no point in ceasing it. 

Maybe Michael couldn’t keep their human life because they had been happy. At the very least, they had been ignorant. That was one thing the Spiral could not abide: ignorance. 

These days, Michael knew everything. They knew everything so, so much.

So, in lieu of comforting falsehoods, Michael offered Mike Crew a slightest sliver of truth. They passed Mike the little piece of origami that they had made, and let Mike cradle it in his large and smooth hands. 

The origami had no shape. It wasn’t folded into anything. It was just a meaningless amalgamation of points, corners, and creased paper. It didn’t look like anything at all. 

“See?” Michael pointed out. “It’s a bear.”

Mike Crew smiled weakly. “Looks like a sea goat to me.”

There was something beautiful in ambiguity. When something was nothing, it could be everything at once. That was rather Michael’s favorite thing about it. 

“I think it’s a self-portrait,” Michael decided. 

And that, at least, was as true as anything else. 

***

Michael wandered their hallways. 

On some level, they were pretty much perpetually doing that. Even as one facet of them talked with Michael in a campus pub, even as another helped Helen convince a high class pub into voting Brexit, even as they traumatized a physics professor, they wandered these hallways.

Make no mistake: everything in this story has/will/is happened/happening simultaneously.

Of course, on another level Michael was literally their hallways, and thus they were not so much wandering as existing. Pulsating, one could say. Even twisting, if one would be so bold. 

There was a mirror, in the hallway. Not a funhouse mirror - although Michael did enjoy popping out from those and scaring Nikola - but just a mirror. Gilded around the edges, ornate with swirling curlicues. You could see yourself in it. You could see a lot of yourself in it. It wasn’t what you had always looked like, not really, but you just had the sense that this was what you really looked like. Maybe you had always looked like this, and everybody was just too polite to tell you. Were you really a brunette? This mirror had to be right. You had been a blonde all along. Nobody had told you. They were laughing at you. They were laughing -

But this was Michael, and Michael’s, and nothing in here could harm them. It was even comforting. They looked at themselves in the mirror, and saw themselves same as ever. Or not same as ever. They were still Michael, so far as Michael was Michael.

Shortish. Blondey. Raggedy hair. Curled as much as anything’s curled. Fun clothing that they really enjoyed. Tall shoes, because they liked feeling tall. Similar dimensions to the golden number. Non linear, but who’s counting? It was what they typically looked like. 

But, just for a second, Michael even fooled themselves. They saw someone in the mirror that they were not, someone who they had never been, someone who they never will be. Someone different.

Michael, just like everyone else, couldn’t stop themselves from reaching out. Come back. Come back! Let me touch you, let me be you! Michael’s fingers brushed the shiny glass, and the world tilted sideways, and Michael fell into where the sidewalk ended.

They emerged, or maybe they had always been, inside a bedroom. It was a nice little suburban bedroom. It had a peaked ceiling and a window seat. The walls were a soft, navy blue. There was a young person, lying on the shag carpet, leafing through a book. Big headphones were over their ears, and they were bopping along to music. Disco. 

Michael stood, an intruder into a familiar space, and watched the stranger. Their throat felt oddly tight, and their eyes felt strangely hot. The stranger was smiling faintly, flipping the pages of their book somewhat mindlessly. They were reading it for school. Flatland. It was just an assignment, but it was really fucking them up. It was making them think about all of these things that they didn’t normally, in new dimensions. It was really cool. All of their friends were just reading the Sparknotes, but they really wanted to talk about it with someone. 

 This, of course, had happened. It will happen in the future. It was happening now, as Michael watched the scene with an electric sadness. It would never happen, because the Spiral had never been here, and never would be, and always was. 

A knock echoed on the door, several sharp raps. Michael didn’t notice, legs swinging to the music. 

The knock on the door hit louder. “Michael!” A voice echoed from behind it. “Michael, are you ready to go?”

Michael reached up and slid off their headphones, without looking up from their book. “Coming!” They called back. “Be right there!”

The Spiral watched Michael, who hummed absentmindedly as the door knocked again. Dad was downstairs, making sure the gas was off and shutting off the lights. Mum was knocking, knocking, knocking, on a door that was and will always be wood. 

“Have you packed yet?” Mum called. 

“Sure I have!” Michael yelled back, glancing at the empty suitcase on the bed and the messy pile of clothes right next to it. They pushed themselves up, flipping the book shut and rising to their feet. “Be right out!”

“Hurry up,” Mum called, as the Spiral mouthed the words along with her. “We’re going to be late!”

The Bermudas aren’t going anywhere, Michael thought spitefully. They stuffed their clothes haphazardly in a suitcase, took far more care to pack their laptop and DS, and shoved Flatland in a side pocket of their backpack. 

When Michael slung on his backpack, unfolded the handle from their suitcase, they were not even looking at the door they left through. They were entirely focused on managing the unruly suitcase, and walked straight through the crazed yellow door.

Of course, Michael walked out. Slightly stranger, a little better, a lot worse. Exactly the same. They were back in their hallways again, fresh from their little suburban bedroom and the child exiting one world and entering one quite different. Maybe one part of that child would always be in that bedroom, another part in these hallways, and another part always caught in that doorway and the transition. 

Simultaneously, in all points in time, Mum knocked on that wood door, and Michael never let her inside. Simultaneously, at all points in time, Michael watched it all happen.

They hadn’t expected it to be so comforting. At all moments in time, in a little corner of their heart, Mum knocked on their door. If the Spiral lived in your soul and beat your heart, it was easy to find the beauty in it - the magnificence of eternity, and the joy in the moment. Mum was with them - literally, as he was pretty sure Helen was still digesting her. Maybe nothing was ever truly over - just over there.  

Michael stuck their hands in their pockets, whistling a jaunty tune that highly resembled the Shepherd’s Tone. Their hallways pulsated comfortingly, and Michael carefully toed off their platform shoes and eyed down the infinite hallways. No rugs for a while. 

Maybe Michael, Mike Crew, and Helen should get together more often. Just the three of them. They would drive each other batty. It would be a lot of fun. 

Michael set off running down the hallway, and skidded on their socks down the hardwood floor, whooping in joy as they skidded endlessly towards eternity. 

#my writing #the magnus archives #tma #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fanfic #michael the distortion #helen the distortion #michael #helen #michael shelley #helen richardson #mike crew #the distortion #the spiral #Michael views their life as an embodiment of terror and unreality as roughly equivelant to capitalism #Helen is kind of regretting hiring this kid but it's probably the only thing stopping them from eating her #Mike Crew really really really hates his fear cousins #i had to open a lot of wikipedia pages for this so you're welcome

[alwaysfeelingsaintlike]

Driving Me Mad [G.W] - Part 5

Series Description: You and George come up with a plan to pretend to date each other. But what happens when you actually start to catch feelings...

Pairing: George Weasley x Gryffindor fem!reader 

Word Count: 2.2k

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @fadesbrina, @sweetlyblushedbouquet

Description: You and George head to the party and things between you heat up quicker than expected

                                                            X

You arrived back at the castle just as the party was about to begin. You made your way to the Room of Requirement where people were excitedly awaiting your arrival, mainly for the goods you were bringing. As you walked into the room, you were greeted by the sound of applause and cheering. George made his rounds and you followed him, as he handed out the occasional butterbeer before placing the crate on a nearby ledge. A mob began surrounding you both and George grabbed two brews and pulled you away from the crate before the crowd could attack. 

You spotted Cho and Marietta across the way and walked over to them, mentally prepared to be bombarded with questions.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s decided to grace us with her presence,” Marietta spoke. 

“It’s about time! We’ve been dying to know about your new beau,” Cho added.

“Not much to tell. We’re just friends, at least for now.”

“No need to be coy, it’s just us. You can give us the details,” Cho persuaded. 

“Honestly Y/N, people are already speculating.”

“Let them speculate, it’s none of their business anyway,” you smirked, knowing the plan was going perfectly.

“Just promise you’ll tell us when things become official. I’d hate to hear about it from someone else,” Cho added. 

“Of course I will tell the both of you if something happens. For now though, I’m just happy to have an old friend back.”  

As the conversation continued, you stepped away momentarily to grab another drink. You approached the crate and grabbed a brew  when another hand reached for the same bottle. 

“Oh, sorry!” you said, pulling your hand back. You turned to see who you were apologizing to, when you spotted a familiar face. “Roger…”

“Hi Y/N. How’ve you been?” he asked. 

“I, uh, I’m-“ before you could fully answer, Ms. Fleur Delacour was by Roger’s side, practically hanging off his shoulder. She spoke something French to him and it was only then that she noticed you standing there. She gave you a confused look and Roger interjected.

“Fleur, this is my friend Y/N,” he introduced. You gave her an awkward smile and a small wave as she responded with, “Bonjour.” Seconds later she was whispering with Roger again and you ran through options of how to get out of this situation.

“Y/N, there you are!” you heard George say a few paces behind you. You turned to locate him and were blindsided when you found he was suddenly inches away from you. He gently wrapped an arm around your waist to draw you close to him and he cupped your face with his free hand as he lifted your jaw up to meet his face. He kissed you with such passion and you tried to hide the surprise that had come over you. George slowly released your lips and moved his arm to rest around your shoulder. 

“Oh, sorry mate. Didn’t see you there,” George commented with a smirk. You looked toward Roger and Fleur to see them both surprised as well. Roger made some small comment to excuse them from the scene and you turned to George, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry if I took you by surprise. I just saw you were ambushed and I did the first thing I could think of to help.”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“You…you’re not mad?”

“Mad? No, of course not. I mean, you took me by surprise but I’m not upset about it.”

“Good thing, because I think just about everyone knows about us now so we’re gonna have to keep this up.” You turned to face your peers and found everyone gossiping in their respective cliques, trying to hide their looks in your direction. 

“Well George, I’d say we are officially a couple.” You squeezed his hand and returned to your group of friends. You needed a moment to catch your breath. The kiss was so unexpected and you didn’t want to admit it, but it swept you off your feet. Were you in too deep with this plan of yours? At this point, did you even want Roger back? Your mind was spinning and you didn’t really want to field all the questions from Cho and Marietta. You impulsively made the decision to just leave and return to the common room, where the only people there would be some young Gryffindors who wouldn’t bother you. You grabbed a book from your bedroom and curled up by the fire, trying to distract yourself from the current situation at hand. 

 “Had enough of the party?” A voice called to you. You looked up, half expecting to see George but it was his twin brother standing in the doorway. 

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know I just had a lot on my mind and I wanted to sit and think away from everyone.”

“Mmm,” he responded, merely nodding his head. “I thought you’d be with George.”

“I could say the same for you. But evidently he’s escaped both of us.” You thought that would be the end of your conversation since Fred had been so short with you lately, but he surprised you by sitting next to you on the couch.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he asked you..

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. What’s your angle here?”

“My angle? Look Fred, I don’t know why you’ve been so cold to me recently. We’ve known each other forever and I don’t get this.”

“We’ve been friends for ages, but the minute you hurt George we won’t be. He’s not like Roger, he won’t move on so easily. He’s better than a rebound.”

“I know that. He’s probably my oldest friend and I’m not willing to lose him over something stupid.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re taking advantage of him just because he’s giving you attention. He deserves better than that.” And with that, he stood up and walked away. You were a little taken aback. Fred had been icy toward you, but you never imagined he would confront you with such spite. You knew he was just being protective but it still hurt. You thought you were friends and the fact that he didn’t trust you with George hurt a little. It was hard knowing you couldn’t please Fred, and you doubted George would ever date someone who Fred didn’t approve of. At that moment, you considered letting Fred in on the plan, but you weren’t sure that would do any good.

You felt utterly confused. Your heart was telling you one thing while your head was in complete disagreement.  

                                                             X

George saw you make a quick exit and he knew he had messed up. He acted on impulse instead of thinking through the situation and now things were different. You may have said things were okay, but actions speak louder than words. The worst part was he didn’t even know what he should say to you. Instinctually, he wanted to follow you back to the common room where you were likely lounging. But he hadn’t the faintest idea of what he could say to remedy the situation. The worst part was everyone was now gossiping about you and approaching him for details. After one too many brush offs, he decided to leave and go for a walk to the astronomy tower. This was his spot to think and get away from everything and he knew he would be alone there.

He was confused on multiple levels. After kissing you, he was rendered speechless. The spark was everything he imagined it would be, but he wasn’t sure that feeling went both ways. You seemed so calm after everything, almost like it didn’t phase you at all. He felt stupid for thinking you might actually have feelings for him. 

But what to do next? Should he cut things off now before things changed too much? At this point, your friendship would be changing in one way or another. He could use the easy out clause to end things before the effects set in. The only downside was it seemed a little too late to pull this move. You had kissed and everyone had seen it. They assumed you were together now and it would be tough to explain a sudden separation. 

He went back and forth with both ideas and eventually decided he wouldn’t make any decisions before talking with you. You were definitely thinking a lot of things too and he didn’t want to assume he saw your side of things. 

George felt nervous walking back to the common room, as he figured you would be there, waiting for him so you could talk. You stepped into the common room and found his theory was partially correct. You were curled up by the fireplace with a book resting on your chest, sound asleep. He didn’t feel the need to wake you and normally he would’ve carried you to bed, but something about that didn’t feel right considering how you had left things. Instead, he gathered a blanket from his bed and laid it on top of you. Then he extinguished the fire that was burning and gave you a soft kiss on the forehead. 

                                                           X

 You woke up and found that you had fallen asleep on the sofa in the common room. You wish you could say this was a rare occurrence but it happened a little too often. You loved spending time in the common room by the fire where there were always a few people moving through. You spent a few nights up late reading on the couch or pulling all nighters doing homework and many times you fell asleep. The surprising thing was that there was a quilt draped over you on this particular morning. A quilt you recognized to be homemade and “Stitched with Love” by Molly Weasley. You had a similar one when you were a child and you knew this particular quilt belonged to George. you folded the quilt as you gathered the courage to approach George. You weren’t sure how he felt after last night but it seemed that you weren’t so emotional since you had the night to sleep on it. Before approaching his room, you thought about where you stood regarding this situation. You admitted to yourself that you wanted to pursue a relationship with George. But you weren’t going to. And you didn’t need Roger back, but this deal wasn’t solely for you. George was doing this for Angelina, and you didn’t want to break things off and ruin his chances with her. 

You carried the blanket in your arms and softly knocked on the door of his dormitory. The door opened shortly after and you found a bed-headed Weasley in the doorframe a moment later. A shirtless bed-headed Weasley at that. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to return this,” you said to George. A blush crept up your face as you tried to avoid looking at his bare torso.

“Oh no, it’s fine. Do you want to come in?”

“Eh, is Fred asleep?”

“No, he left for breakfast already. Please, come in. I actually wanted to talk with you after last night.”

“Oh. Okay,” you followed his recommendation and made your way into the room that was a slight mess. “Sorry to barge in on you like this,” you said as you took in his current appearance. Seeing George shirtless was making things more difficult. 

“No, you’re fine,” he said as he pulled on a sweater.  “So, about what happened last night…”

“George, you don’t have to explain it to me. I know it was just part of the role you were playing and that it didn’t mean anything. Don’t sweat it.” You were trying to convince yourself this was the truth, but you didn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth.

His face looked a little…disappointed. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was gonna say. It meant nothing,” he trailed off.

“We do need to prepare for the aftermath of it all. Rumors and gossip as well as acting coupley. I hope you’re okay with public displays of affection because I really think we need to sell this”

“Just the usual then? Hand holding, arm around the shoulders, hugging…?”

“That and more. Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine. Now I’m going to get changed and we can head down to breakfast as a couple.”

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted. You scurried out of his room and walked back into your dormitory for a change in attire. The interaction went better than expected. You were worried things were going to be awkward but things seemed to return to normal pretty quickly. Now you just had to keep your feelings under control as you pretended to be a couple. No big deal.

You prepared for breakfast as quickly as you could and found George waiting for you in the common room. “Ready boyfriend?” you winked at him. He smirked back and put his arm around your shoulder. “About as ready as I’ll ever be.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley fanfic #weasley twins fanfic #hp fanfic

[ladyfogg]

May I? - 27/?

May I? - 27/?

Fic Summary: Ensign Faith Diaz struggles to hide her mental illness from her fellow shipmates aboard the Enterprise until an intrigued Data goes out of his way to try to understand her behavior. At his insistence, Faith tries to figure out what she’s truly passionate about and eventually seeks the professional help she needs. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Data/Female OC

Warnings: tw: depression, tw: anxiety, fluff, friends to lovers, eventual smut

The lights in the bedroom were dim but Data could still see the outline of Faith’s body by the moon shining through the blinds. Her back arched as he thrust into her from behind, his hands holding her hips for leverage. She rocked and moved with him, panting and twisting the bedsheets as she did. They had not done this position before and he found he quite liked the visual. And judging by the noises Faith made, he was sure she enjoyed it as well.

“Oh, Data!” she moaned.

The high pitch in her voice let him know he had found the correct angle. But her body did not shudder so he readjusted by a fraction of a degree. He earned a loud whine for his efforts and felt the way her body jolted in pleasure.

He calculated that at his current rate of speed if he maintained that angle and applied manual stimulation…

She feels so good.

The sudden stray thought interrupted his processes and he immediately froze. He had heard of humans experiencing such random thoughts before but he himself had not been able to replicate it on his own. To experience such a phenomenon himself had taken him by surprise. It was not just the appearance of the thought that struck him but the thought itself.

He had been enjoying himself as much as he can during their sexual acts. The smoothness of Faith’s skin had always intrigued him and the sensation of being inside her was not something he could quantify. And yet, his brain had decided that it felt good.

“Data?” Faith panted, craning her neck to look back at him. “W-Why’d you stop?”

“I had a thought.”

“Now?”

She did not normally get annoyed with him but it was evident by her tone that she was.

Data looked at her, bent before him, her buttocks flush against his lap, and the tantalizing dip of her spine as her top half rested on the soft mattress. Her wild hair was in her eyes and he reached out to push it away from her face as he draped his chest along her back. She whimpered when his breath ghosted across her ear.

“You feel good, Faith.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Wha…what do you mean?”

Data began to move again and though it was not the precise angle from before, Faith still responded to it. She moaned again, louder than before.  

“I am enjoying being inside you,” he went on. “I do not wish to stop anytime soon.”

Faith gasped and Data slid one arm around her chest so he could hold her as close as possible. She wiggled and moaned, rutting along with him as much as she could with the small space she had.

“Stars, Data! When you talk like that while moving like that…” She could not finish her sentence without moaning again.

“By my calculations and judging by our previous experiences, I estimate you can handle at least another two hours of sexual intercourse before requiring rest.”

“Oh god! Please don’t make me wait that long before I can cum.”

“I did not say you had to. In that time, you will experience several orgasms.”

He let her go so he could push himself up again. Minutes later, when her release took hold, she called his name louder than he had heard her done before.

They made love for as long as she could handle until she was a shuddering mess and her slow movements showed she was fatigued. Only then did Data finish, making sure to stay buried in her warmth until the moment of completion ended. It was an impulse that had developed over the course of their relationship, as he noted Faith seemed to enjoy it as much as he did.

Gently, he slipped out of her and laid on the bed, his hand running soothingly up and down her back. She did not move right away, only laid there spread out and panting.

“Faith, are you alright? Was that too long for intercourse?”

“I’m fine, just gimme a second.” Her words were slurred but he could still hear the satisfaction in her tone.

Eventually, she grunted and rolled over so she could face him. “Dear god, Data. That was the most intense lovemaking yet.”

“I am glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“And you did too apparently,” she said with a grin. “Did you really feel something or was that your attempt at dirty talk?”

“I was not attempting anything other than making you orgasm.”

“Mission fucking accomplished.”

“Did my talking elicit an arousing response?”

Still grinning, Faith drew closer, reaching down to take Data’s hand. She slid it between her thighs where he could touch the wetness there.

“Definitely.”

“Duly noted.”

He kissed her deeply while his fingers stroked the bundle of nerves that made her quake. She moaned, throwing her leg over his hip to allow for easier access. He had assumed she would need a break but it seemed his calculations were off.

He drew away from the kiss so he could study her expressions as he touched her. As many times as he painted her face, it was never enough. He never felt like he could truly capture what he saw when he looked at her. From the pinch of her eyebrows to the dip of her nose, to the way her bottom teeth dug into her full lip…it was all too beautiful to comprehend.

Data coaxed another orgasm out of her before she rolled into her back with a dreamy sigh.

“If this is what our vacation entails I’m mad I didn’t agree to take shore leave sooner,” she said with a satisfied hum.

Their shore leave had so far consisted of very little activity outside of their small stretch of beach

The first two days, they had taken the time to adjust to their surroundings and see what the hotel had to offer. There were numerous amenities, including a full-service spa, various small restaurants, and other recreational activities. Faith was not interested in most of them, except the spa where she had received a massage which she had described as leaving her boneless.

Other than that, the rest of the time was spent swimming or laying on the beach.

Lovemaking had also been a priority.

Data had noticed that Faith’s sexual appetite had greatly increased throughout their vacation. He concluded that since neither of them was constantly required to split their attention between their various duties, she was taking advantage of their alone time. Data did not nor would he complain. He was fascinated by the change in both of them.  

“I do not require rest and am happy to continue our sexual explorations during the time we have.”

“You’re too good to me.” She kissed him softly before forcing herself to sit up. “Mmmm, why can’t we just stay here forever?”

“I am assuming you do not actually mean forever.”

“I don’t. But it still sounds nice.” She draped herself across his chest, tracing the lines of his abdomen. Her wild hair and hazy eyes made Data stare, once again struck by her beauty.

“It does sound like an enjoyable way to spend our time. Though I do think you will grow mentally restless with nothing to do other than swimming and making love.”

“Probably. But it’s a sexy fantasy to have.”

“On that, I agree.”

They laid there for a time, Faith tracing her fingers across his skin while Data studied her. He was intimately familiar with all of her expressions. The one she wore now seemed hesitant, as though she wanted to say something but had not worked up the courage to do so.

“What is on your mind, Faith?” he asked, allowing one of her curls to wrap around his finger.

She smiled. “You and that positronic brain of yours.” She fell silent for a moment. “I have a present for you.”

This intrigued Data. It was not a special occasion or holiday so he had not anticipated receiving any gift. “I must admit I am curious. Why do you seem so worried?”

“I don’t know if you’re going to like it.”

“Faith, you should know by now that I greatly appreciate anything you give me, regardless of what it is.”

Her smile widened and she leaned in to kiss him before slipping out of bed.

“You did not have to go through the trouble,” he continued as he sat up.

She crossed the room to their belongings. “It wasn’t any trouble. Well, that’s not true. It was a little bit of trouble but I wanted to do it. I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you.”

She dug around in their bag for a moment before withdrawing something and hiding it behind her back. When she returned to his side, she said, “Close your eyes.”

Data promptly did as she commanded. Faith picked up his hand and placed an object into it. He knew by touch instantly what the chemical makeup of the item was so when he opened his eyes, he was not surprised to see a piece of neatly rolled paper, tied with a red ribbon.

“Thank you,” he said automatically.

Faith chuckled. “Open it, Data.”

Curiously, Data carefully untied the bow before unrolling the small scroll. He was surprised to find his own likeness staring back at him. The image had been carefully drawn in thick pencil, with smaller lines added to shade in and include minute details. While it was not an exact reproduction, it was fairly close.

“Faith? Did you draw this?”

She nodded with a proud smile, shoulders relaxing when she realized he liked it. “I noticed that you don’t paint yourself,” she explained, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I decided to try my hand at drawing, even took a couple of classes. What do you think?”

He had not known she had been taking drawing lessons. With their full schedules, he had not had the time to ask about any recreational activities. He had assumed since she was so tired, she did not have the energy. Now it seemed she had sought some out on her own.

“This is very good,” he said. And he meant it. “Your strokes and lines were done with confidence and precision and your attempt at shading was well-executed.” He felt a wave of affection and smiled at her. “Thank you. I have never received a gift quite like this.”

Faith beamed. “I’m so glad you like it. I know you love art and painting, and while it’s not really my thing I wanted to try. You’ve done so many wonderful paintings of me, I felt I should return the favor.”

“Perhaps we can hang it in our quarters when we return to the ship.”

“I would like that a lot,” she said. “Actually, I was thinking maybe you could do a family portrait of us. Me, you, and Spot.”

At the word “family”, Data tore his eyes away from the drawing. “Do you consider the three of us a family?”

“Well, yes. Don’t you?”

“I do. I appreciate that the sentiment is shared.”

He carefully placed the present on the nightstand as Faith made herself comfortable next to him. Drawing up the blankets, Data pulled her in close and settled against the pillows.

“Faith, may I ask you something?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“We have been a couple for several months now. When do you believe you will feel comfortable talking about the subject of marriage?”

Her head, which had been resting on his shoulder, snapped back so she could stare at him with wide eyes. “Uhh…what…when…” She struggled to speak. “You…want to marry me?”

“Is that not something you desire?”

“I’ve honestly never really thought about marriage.”

“Oh. I see.”

Faith sat up, placing a comforting hand on his chest. “But that was before!” she said quickly. “Before I met you and before we started our relationship. Marriage was never on my mind because, honestly, I never thought I would feel close enough or comfortable enough with someone to consider it.”

“Has that changed?”

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about what it would be like if we got married.”

Data placed his hand over hers. “I feel it prudent to let you know that I do intend to propose to you in the future.”

Faith did not do or say anything for thirty full seconds, except rapidly blink. Data gave her a curious look.

“For once, I am having trouble reading your expression,” he said. “Some help into what you are feeling would be appreciated.”

Faith smiled. “It’s one thing to think about marriage, it’s another to talk about it. The same as any other fantasy.”

“Does this change your mind?”

She shook her head, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “No,” she said. “It just makes the fantasy more of a reality, which is scary.”

“In what way?”

Faith sighed and curled up against him again. “In a fantasy, everything goes how you want it to. In reality, there’s a chance of making a mistake.”

“And you feel marrying me would be a mistake?”

“Oh, stars, no! I’d be the luckiest woman in the galaxy if I had a chance to marry you I just…” She struggled to find the words. “I guess, I’m just afraid that you’d eventually think marrying me was a mistake.”

Data was confused. He could not follow her logic. “I do not understand.”

“Data, these periods of anxiety and depression most likely will never go away. Which means I’ll be experiencing them throughout the rest of my life. The thought of you having to deal with that makes me feel so guilty.”

“I do not see it at ‘dealing’ with anything. They are a part of you. You are operating under the assumption that I regard this as a chore. I do not. I am sorry if I made you feel like it is.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Faith assured him, hugging him tighter. “I guess to me sometimes it feels like a chore. And I know in previous relationships I was told it was…”

Hearing these words made Data feel angry. Not the explosive anger he had experienced prior. A more subdued version.

“Whoever made you feel such a way was wrong!” he said, his voice taking on a stern tone. “Loving you is not a chore.”

Faith looked up, brown eyes wide. “Data…”

“Faith, you are a wonderful woman. I am the luckiest sentient being because I get to experience you. All of you. And I do not want to experience another.”

He kissed her forcefully, needing to show her how much he meant what he said. Within seconds he had her on her back beneath him, her hands running up his shoulder blades as she allowed him to deepen the kiss.

Though he had made love to her for hours, he could do so again. He wanted to do so

The tiny gasp that escaped her lips as he pushed into her was instantly swallowed by his kiss. Data went slowly, taking his time. He knew the speed that Faith liked, how deep she needed him to be to reach orgasm, but he was not thinking about her pleasure at that moment. He only thought of his own growing need.

Data buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat-slick skin. He used to not understand how olfaction connected with sexual intercourse until he became sexually active with Faith. He then understood that it was connected to scene memory. Smelling Faith’s skin at such a close range, during such an intimate moment, brought to the surface memories of their numerous sexual encounters.

It made Data remember how she felt, how she yielded to his touch. How she sounded when he took her in his arms.

When he finally had his fill, his release came naturally. Faith lay sprawled beneath him, her brown eyes shining at him with hazy wonder as she dragged them open.

She reached up, pushing his hair back from his face, thumb stroking his ear as she tucked it back.

“Data,” she breathed in a soft voice. “Did you just…give into impulse?”

“I have given in to impulse before.”

“Not like that.”

He shook his head. “No, not like that. Was it…satisfying?”

“It was wonderful.”

“I did not hurt you did I?”

Faith smiled and shook her head. “No, you didn’t hurt me. Although now we definitely need a break because I am sore. Not in a bad way. In a very, very, good way.”

“You should sleep. You must be very weary.”

They settled into comfortable positions and Data turned off the dim lights, plunging the room into darkness. By then the moon was hidden behind clouds. But it was not the total darkness of space around them. Ambient light from outside gave the room shadows and it was not long before Data heard Faith’s breathing become slow and even.

She slept curled in his arms. Data held her for some time. He did not want to activate his sleep program. Rather, he decided to lay there and contemplate. After several hours, he extracted himself from her embrace. Silently, he stepped out onto the porch. The waves were close enough for Data to step down and be standing in the water.

He stared out at the vast ocean, understanding why Faith was drawn to such scenery. It was hard to think of anything else when faced with such an endless view.

In many of the outcomes, he calculated he saw Faith leaving the Enterprise in six-five point two percent of them. Of those scenarios, he joined her eighty-nine percent of the time. That number steadily increased as their time together grew.

It would not be long before it was one-hundred.

Of the scenarios where he did not immediately join her, he calculated he eventually would within a short period of time.

Either way, Faith was a part of his future. It was as he told her when he said he loved her. He could not see a future for him that excluded Faith.

Data stood watching the water until the suns began to rise. He knew Faith would enjoy the view so he went back into the cabin. She was still sound asleep, spread across the bed and tangled in bedsheets. He smiled at the image, having never seen Faith so relaxed.

He crawled back into bed, hovering over her. “Faith?” He drew back her hair away from her ear.

She stirred in her sleep, leaning into his touch. “Hmmm?”

“The suns are rising. It is a remarkable sight.”

She rolled onto her back, yawning. “You’re a remarkable sight.”

“Come see.”

She lazily lifted her arm and Data helped pull her out of bed. With the blanket draped around her shoulders, Faith shuffled outside with him. Together they sat on the top step, watching the sunrise and the tide pull back. Her head rested on his shoulder.

Data knew he would remember this moment. Not just because he remembered everything, but because of the significance. There were several of his memories of Faith which he had categorized by importance. This would certainly be one of them.

“What do you wish to do today?” he asked.

She slipped her arm through his. “Just this.”

Because he could not think of a better way to spend their time, he smiled. “If you wish.”

#may i? #Lt. Commander Data #commander data #lt commander data #data tng #Data Soong

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

summertime mindset - p. 2

bracelets & coffee

masterlist of summertime mindset

Timing is hard to get right and summer doesn’t last forever. You and Tyson learn the hard way.

word count: 2.4k

note from the writer: if you haven’t read the first two parts (part one and the prologue) then do it now! all linked in the series masterlist! 

SUMMERTIME

Tyson was, without any competition, the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes on. The summer was treating him well, he was all tanned skin and muscle and you were very much enjoying the view as you sat in the backyard of your aunt’s house, watching him and Michael play a two-person game of spikeball. You were sitting in a lounge chair, Rachel on your left and Kacey on your right, your eight year old cousin sitting on the grass across from you.

You were trying to focus on what Kacey was telling you, you really did, but it was hard to pay attention when Tyson was running around the yard with his shirt off, laughing loudly and getting extra competitive.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Rachel commented, and apparently it was loud enough for the boys to hear because Tyson tipped his head back and let out a laugh. You flushed, and it didn’t help that Tyson decided to embarass you further by winking at you and flexing his muscles like the dork he was. Kacey made a gagging sound, and your little cousin, bless her, giggled like she actually knew what was going on.

They continued their game, and Michael swatted the ball at an awkward angle, sending it flying across the yard. As he chased after it, Tyson rushed over to where you were sitting and gave you a quick kiss before heading back to his game. Kacey rolled her eyes, but you couldn’t care less in that moment as you smiled widely. It was always like that with him, smiles and laughs and feeling like you were on top of the world. Your younger cousin gasped as she remembered something, shouting a quick ‘I’ll be back’ before dashing into the house.

“This one’s for you, Rach!” Michael called dramatically, and Tyson was giggling at his goofiness too hard to return the serve, allowing him to score a point. Rachel grinned at her boyfriend, shaking her head in mirth and you simply leaned back and smiled, basking in the feeling of total contentment as you sat with your friends.

“Come on, Tyson, you’re supposed to be a professional athlete!” Kacey chirped her brother and you giggled at the mock-annoyed look he gave her. It didn’t last long, because the game started back up and his competitive nature returned. You were pretty sure he was up a few points, but he acted as if it was the game winning point they were playing for. It was then that your little cousin reappeared, holding a box of colored string.

“We can make friendship bracelets!” She cheered, and you couldn’t exactly say no to her, so you sat up, along with Kacey and Rachel, to sift through the box and find the colors you wanted. You had already made an anklet for yourself the week prior, and a bracelet for both your little cousin and Rachel. You bit your bottom lip, unsure of what to make, until a cheer from the spikeball game in front of you gave you just the inspiration you needed.

“Hey, Tys?” You called, still searching through the box of string. Rachel and Kacey had already picked out theirs, and your little cousin was helping them cut the lengths they needed. You glanced up, seeing that Tyson was waiting for you to continue with that same grin on his face that he always wore, that same one that never failed to put a smile on your own face. “What are your favorite colors?”

“Babe, I’m colorblind.” He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes. This got a laugh out of everyone around you, your little cousin giggling enough to put a smile on your face.

“Just shut and tell me, you dork.” You couldn’t help the way your response was delivered with a chuckle, but he was grinning at you like the doofus he was that you had come to admire.

“What are your favorite colors?” He asked, moving closer to you as Michael declared a break. You took a second to admire Tyson, the tanned skin that was on display, the slight sheen of sweat across his torso that shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was. He had been letting his hair get a bit longer, and you made a mental note to tell him later that he should let the curls grow out more.

“Tyson, just tell me.” You pouted, though it didn’t last long as he pressed a kiss to your lips that had you grinning like usual. You sighed, and he chuckled knowing he had won without even having to put up much of a fight. “Fine, I like yellow, orange, and pink.”

“Then I like those colors.” He told you, the cute moment lost as Kacey made a gagging noise, again, at the cheesiness of her brother. You chuckled, giving Tyson the extra kiss he ducked down in search of once again before searching through the box of string to find the right colors. “Are you making me a bracelet?”

“Yeah, and I wanted it to be your favorite colors…” You trailed off, grinning as Tyson playfully rolled his eyes. You vaguely heard Rachel mutter a ‘cute’ to Michael, and him question why she didn’t make him a bracelet. His comment earned a slap to the shoulder, and you grinned at how happy your cousin was with her boyfriend, how happy you were with Tyson.

“Well, I want a bracelet that’s your favorite colors.” Tysons shot back. “That way, I can always have a piece of you with me.”

You flushed at his comment, heart soaring. Kacey teasingly gagged.

Again.

PRESENT

If you thought that getting sent a picture of Tyson threw you for a loop, you were completely knocked off your feet by seeing him in person. Immediately following your run-in with him at the grocery store, you had texted Rachel and told her to call you ASAP, and then spent another half hour freaking out to her on the phone about how good he looked and how you missed him.  

For the most part, she listened quietly, only interjecting at points to ask questions about how he looked and what he said. You had repeated the entire conversation verbatim—well, the parts you could remember through your panic—and she was set on analyzing his every word.

“Well, are you going to text him?” She asked the question you had been avoiding the whole conversation. The one you had contemplated on the entire drive back to your apartment.

“I don’t think so? I mean, it was really weird seeing him.” You confessed. You weren’t sure that you could handle getting left on read by him again, even if he did make it seem like he wanted to talk to you too. “Whatever you do, don’t tell your mother about this.”

“Are you kidding me? She wouldn’t leave me alone until I told her every last dirty detail.” She chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at her word choice. There weren’t any dirty details, he had barely gotten within five feet of you the whole time. “Just keep me updated if he texts you.”

He did text you, three days later at the very end of your lunch break. You saw his name pop up on your screen just as you were shoving your phone in your bag and your class was filing back into your room after recess. You didn’t dare read it, not that you had the time since students were already calling your name, so you tucked the device away and pushed any and all thoughts about the hockey player to the back of your mind.

By the time the last bus left and you were finally in your classroom alone, you took a breath and unlocked your phone. Your eyes scanned over the message, once, twice, three times before you actually came to the realization that you would have to come up with a response. You had, after all, basically invited him to text you by telling him your number had stayed the same.

Can we talk?

The simple message was how you found yourself sitting anxiously in a nearby coffee shop the following Sunday, having agreed to meet him there. It was a neutral location, one that if need be, you could slip out the door and leave him behind.

Your leg had been bouncing restlessly since the moment you sat down, but your eyes were glued to the door and you froze when a familiar set of curls and brown eyes entered. Instead of ordering, he spotted you in a booth and headed straight to you. He wore an apprehensive smile, and you offered him one weakly in return.

“Uh, hi.” He mumbled, and you repeated the stitled greeting, taking a sip of your coffee to avoid having to come up with the first thing to say. He had invited you, you weren’t going to be the one to make awkward small talk. “I’m sorry, so fucking sorry.”

It was like a switch had been flipped in him. One moment he was cautious, obviously and understandably nervous, but now he was clearly upset. You could still read him, like summer was just last week and you had spent the past few months practically glued to his side, so you could see how much whatever he wanted to say was eating him up inside.

And something changed inside you, too. You had been so torn up about losing touch with Tyson for so long, but the blame wasn’t just on him. Conversations go both ways, and you honestly couldn’t remember who had sent the last text.

“It’s not just your fault, I stopped texting too.” You shook your head, voice quiet and gaze trained on your cup. You could practically feel the distress radiating from him, and you wanted to reach across the table and comfort him. But you didn’t, you stayed rooted to your spot and let him say what he needed to.

“No, I promised that I wouldn’t let you go and I—I did, and I should have tried harder.” His words were rushed, so far from the Tyson you were used to that you were unsettled. Though, you figured he was thrown by your silence, too. “It’s just, when the season started I got so busy, and that’s not an excuse, I know, but it just got harder and harder to send a text with every day that passed since the last one you sent, and eventually I just… stopped. And I blame myself, even if you don’t.”

“Tyson…” You sighed, finally forcing yourself to look up and meet his gaze. He looked as disheveled as he sounded, and though he had grown with the years that had passed since you had last seen him, his eyes stayed the same from the last time you had seen them this close in person—red-rimmed and bloodshot. “Don’t carry this on your shoulders, if you need me to forgive you, then I do. I don’t want you to blame yourself.”

He smiled then, small, and it wasn’t nearly as wide as the ones you were used to receiving from him but it was something, and you were already back to wanting as much as you could get from him. You mirrored his expression, leaning back in your seat. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from your chest, just getting to sit down and talk with Tyson again.

And you did talk. You talked about how his hockey career was going, that he was improving with every game and that his teammates were his best friends. You told him about how Rachel and Michael were doing—they had just gotten their first apartment together, you tried to brush away the thought that if things had been different, that could be you and Tyson. You told him about your job, and he nearly jumped out of his seat in excitement that you got your dream position, the one he had heard you talk about excitedly all summer. He listened to you complain about your roommate that you didn’t get along great with, and he told you a few funny stories about when he lived with JT.

You also talked about Jon.

You had been dating Jon for three months, and it was nice. He was a nice guy, had nice friends, and had a nice, steady, job. But it was just nice. You’d never admit it to anyone—save for the one time you got wine-drunk with Rachel when she came to visit— but you felt like you were comparing your relationship with Jon to your time with Tyson. And Jon really wasn’t winning that battle.

Tyson tried to act like he wasn’t bothered by the fact that you were dating someone else, but you could see through him easily. And you understood, there had been a time when you thought that Tyson was it for you, and the image of him being with someone else made your stomach churn.

But you ignored that, because for the first time since you had met Tyson, you were just friends.

“Are you, uh, seeing anybody?” You hated the stutter in your question, you tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter if he was. Hell, you were in another relationship. But he was Tyson, your Tyson, and you don’t think you’d ever be able to get over that. He drew his brows together, pulling a face like he couldn’t believe you’d even consider that he was seeing someone else and you tried not to read too much into it. As quick as it happened, he schooled his features, gaze dropping to the tabletop as he shook his head.

He reached a hand up to run through his curls, something he had done a dozen times since sitting down, but this time a flash of something yellow and orange and pink on his wrist caught your gaze. He rested his hands on the table, and yours shot forward to grab his wrist and push the sleeve of his sweatshirt up before you could even tell yourself not to.

“You still wear it?” You questioned, looking between him and the bracelet you had made him two years back. You ignored the rush that went through you at the feeling of him under your touch, but were hesitant to pull your hands back nonetheless. The tips of his ears turned crimson, and suddenly he was sheepishly looking anywhere but you. But he spoke his next words with so much confidence, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and it contrasted his demeanor so much you wondered if it truly was that simple.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

#tyson jost #Tyson Jost x reader #Tyson Jost imagine #Tyson Jost series #Tyson Jost fic #Colorado Avalanche #Colorado Avalanche imagine #Colorado Avalanche x reader #NHL imagine #NHL x reader #hockey imagine

[thecl0wnwars]

Safe

(GN reader x Maul)

anxiety tw

grief/loss tw

brief self harm tw

slight blood tw

ptsd tw

pls read at your own risk, you’re responsible for what media you consume

-

In honour of my anxiety getting sososo much worse, I present to you: an angsty/fluffy imagine where the reader suffers from anxiety in the months after whilst trying to grapple with a close friends death and Maul comforts them to the best of his abilities, enjoy x

prompts: “you’re not alone. i’m here”, “take a deep breath”, “you don’t have to go through this alone”, “you’re safe”

“Everyone’s dismissed.” With a wave of his tattooed scarlet and black hand there’s the sound of chairs scraping against the tiled floor and mumbling voices lost on my ringing ears as a mixture of the Shadow Collective and Death Watch members begin to filter out of the meeting room after another long mission debrief. The last of them are rising from the table and as they grow out of earshot I see Maul slump over, façade beginning to slip. He exhales listlessly from his seat at the head of the slab of stone, head tilted in my direction. To his right, my usual seat is empty, and to his left, Savage leans down slightly to talk to him, whispered words not quite reaching my ears from my place at the opposite end of the table. Maul hums in recognition as his brother speaks, but he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention as I feel a pair eyes burning into the side of my face again, piercing me desperately.

I came in late to the meeting, ignoring the pitying looks from those around the table and the unflinching gold of my fiancé’s stare that had, on multiple occasions, broken away from the presentation and crossed the room to me and then to the empty seat on his right with a barely contained anxiety as he spoke throughout the conference, eyes unwavering in their attempt to gain my attention. My mind had been elsewhere though, stare pinned to the table before me as I worked myself through my racing thoughts. Physically, I was in Mandalore, mentally, I was back there.

I flinch at the awful memory, eyelids fluttering shut as scenes of my close friends death just a few months prior begin to play over in my head once more like a film stuck on replay. I should’ve been there, they’re dead because of me.

Inhaling sharply, I desperately try to push back the mental images of them lifeless, desperate to picture them any other way: smiling with their arm slung over my shoulder, sitting opposite me on the bed of their childhood home while we do our homework, laughing till they cried at a silly inside joke of ours, small pudgy fingers clinging to mine on our first day of school: determined to be together forever. So much for ’forever’ I think. It's no use, any memories I have of them are now brutalised. All I can picture is their face in my hands, slick with sweat, a dribble of ruby blood trickling from the corner of their mouth as they use the last of their strength to sputter out half-words I’m still unable to make sense of even now, almost a whole two months after the ordeal. I can still hear them though, crystal clear like they’re here with me now, voice raspy and broken and quickly beginning to blur out the sound of a chair harshly scraping against the marble floor and metal feet clambering against tile. I clench my now clammy hands into fists over the table, fingernails forming half-moon indents into the smooth skin of my palms as I screw my eyes shut and try to mask the memory of my hands covered in their blood - pressing against the gaping wounds in their torso - with the pain of my nails now breaking skin. It’s what I deserve, I think, I couldn’t even save them, couldn’t even hear their last words. My fault, my fault, my fault.

I’m acutely aware of the sound of my heartbeat stuck in my throat, thrumming at too fast a pace against my throbbing chest. I lift my bleeding hands to either side of my face, a gasp leaving my parted lips as I hunch over – curling into myself protectively, ”Not this again,” I whimper aloud. This is my third panic attack since this week, three out of the countless others I’ve endured these past few months. You’d think that would mean that by now I’d be used to it, that I’d be able to control them, but if anything, they’ve just gotten worse and worse.

“My fault, my fault, my fault.”

“Y/N!”

My eyes spring open at the sound my name being shouted, y/e/c orbs blinking to find the same stone expanse of the table staring back at me, and then a red hand slips into my field of vision, dipping to press against my sternum as it pushes me upright again. Maul.

I’m vaguely aware of my back softly hitting the splat of the chair behind me, eyelids blinking open and closed, and with each flutter releases a trickle a salty tears I hadn’t realised I’d been holding in until now. The conference room is empty, Savage nowhere to be seen, and my chair has been turned to face Maul as his lean figure hunches over in front of me protectively. I begin to relax into my seat once again at his presence, breathing in shaky bursts as I feel his hands slide from my front to my grasp at my still-clenched fists. Warm and steady fingers then begin to work apart my vice-like grip, unravelling my shaking appendages from my battered palms as his patiently flattens each hand and then interlaces them with his own. As he does this, I find myself angling into him, his familiar touch grounding me momentarily. Amongst the havoc of my mind he offers me a temporary calm, a safe haven. I never want him to stop touching me. Lately he’s the only thing keeping my steady when all I want to do is fall apart.

“‘M sorry,” I eventually mumble out, still breathless.

He audibly gulps and then crouches until our faces are level, resting the expanse of his forehead against the clammy skin of my own, humming at me as I shudder and our foreheads clatter together a moment. “Y/N, darling,” his voice is like honey, pleading as his lips press a gentle kiss to the tip my nose. “Take a deep breath,” he continues, his own fanning across my flushed face as he coos at me.

I nod, eyes sliding shut again as I attempt to zero in on his voice, squeezing his hands while I try to replace the feeling of blood and flesh and cavernous wounds I know I can’t mend with the familiar security of my lovers palms. Despite this, more tears begin to helplessly leak from the corners of my eyes, heavy and trailing down my cheeks now like streams of water as a broken sob finds its way up my throat and escapes my parted lips, “I-I can’t stop! I can’t stop seeing them, hearing them. I-” my next words lost as my breath hitches in my throat, aching as I begin to gasp for air that simply evades me once more. Panic sets in again, adrenaline pumping through my veins as the sound of my dead friends last whimpers fills my ears.

I’m brought back only by the sound of Maul’s voice breaking through once again, “I know, I know,” he murmurs down at me, tone pained as he lifts his lips to my forehead and presses an urgent kiss into my heated skin. “I am sorry, my starlight. You do not deserve this pain.”

I choke again, furiously shaking my head. He’s wrong. I do deserve this pain. My closest friend, the person I’ve known all my life, who knows me better than me, is dead. Gone. Forced out of existence. I could’ve stopped it, helped them. I should have. We were supposed to be there for each other. “It hurts.” I gasp, my body trembling as another broken wail leave my lips. I’m there again, my throat tightening as I begin to blur the lines between the sweat from my hands and the blood I spent hours scrubbing off after that mission on that ride back to Mandalore without them.

I barely register his fingers squeezing mine, still clinging to me as he pulls away slightly to look at me again, “Breathe, darling,” he urges, a note of panic in his voice. But it’s like I’ve forgotten how, the air robbed from my lungs for what feels like a eternity, for a moment I’m sure I’ll suffocate and die. Just like them. Dead. Gone. My fault, my fault, my fault-

“Y/N.” My eyes snap open again, chest still heaving as my fiancé’s saffron eyes abruptly replace the images of blood and death. He hadn’t yelled, barely even spoke loud enough to create an echo across the room, its his tone of voice that drags me back to reality again, agonised at the sight of me and full of distress. “I’m here,” he murmurs, “I am here. Let me help you, my love.”

I gulp, eyelids once again falling closed a moment as I work on steadying my rapid breathing, swallowing away the lump in my throat. My heart still thrums persistently in my chest but the pain of suffocation eases as I realise: I’m not dying. All the while, Maul peppers my face with lingering kisses, whispering loving, calming words into my feverish skin.

A long moment passes before I finally open my eyes again, lifting my gaze to see that he’s already watching me, intense stare scanning my face for anymore signs of hysteria and panic. “I’m OK,” I eventually speak, squeezing his fingers reassuringly as I then untangle my hands from his, wiping the sweat from my palms onto the legs of my pants. “I-I’m sorry,” I begin, only to be cut off as he brings his hands to cup either side of my face, calloused skin tenderly stroking away tears and angling my face so we’re eye to eye once more. We lock gazes, his laced with an ever-present concern, a juxtaposition to his calm and grounding expression. “You have nothing to apologise for, you did nothing wrong. It’s not your fault.”

In spite of his confident reassurance I sigh dejectedly, my stare beginning to trail away from him. They should still be here, would still be here, if I had only gotten to them sooner.

“It is not your fault,” he repeats as if reading my mind, this time with more force, calloused thumbs rubbing against my cheeks to regain my attention. “Not your fault. You did everything you could. And it’s hard, I know it’s hard, but you do not have to do this alone. I won’t let you.”

“They should still be here,” I utter at last, voice coarse and raspy with emotion. But they’re not. I exhale shakily, opening my mouth and closing again as words begin fail me. They’ve always been here, it’s always been me and them, and now it’s just me... and Maul. I flicker my gaze back up to him and sigh, melting to putty in his embrace. I’d be a mess without him.

Mumbling another apology that he brushes off, I lift my hands find the back of his neck and pull him into me. Our foreheads gently bump together, eyes slotting closed as my lips find his, my mouth pressing against his own with a feverish want. His kiss is a welcome distraction from the now faint ringing in my ears and my still racing thoughts. I sigh into it, putting all the words that I can’t bring myself to utter and all the feelings I can’t even begin to find the words for into our locked embrace, quickly going dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

He pulls away after a moment longer, both of us pausing to catch our breaths. As I shakily inhale, I lift my eyes to see his are still closed, forehead glued to mine as a temporary calm begins to set in, “I’m here,” he mumbles into the small gap between our lips. “I love you, and I’m here,” he continues his mantra, pulling me into him again. I’m carefully lifted from my spot, cradled into the security of his arms as he takes a seat on the chair I’d just occupied. “You’re safe,” the words flitter from his lips again like a promise, and as I bury my head into the crook of his neck, I think I believe him. For the first time in weeks I know: I don’t need to carry the burden of my loss on my own anymore, I’m safe.

_

please note that not everyone’s experiences with anxiety and ptsd are the same! the way that i’ve written this imagine is loosely based off of how i’ve experienced some of my panic attacks and ptsd so please refrain from making any shitty comments xxx

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars #darth maul #mandalore #savage opress #maul x you #maul x reader #anxiety #panic attack #maul angst #maul fluff #ptsd tw #anxiety to #self harm tw #honestly this is kinda shit but after the past couple days i’ve had i needed some self indulgment x #Star Wars rebels #mandalorian #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #captain rex #obiwan kenobi #the mandalorian #feral opress

[dreamii-yume]

hello! can I request a spicy dream of jamil and leona finding out that their s/o trying to escape with the help of a random student (not twst main characters) they are friends with?

Warning!!!

Even though Yume proof-read this Sinfic like crazy, I’m sure there’s still a lot of misspelling and wrong grammars that I overlooked! I usually use MS Word to check some wrong things in my Fics but since my Laptop died out haa~ (*´Д｀*) Yume gotta improvise now.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Since Jamil’s birthday just pass like SO long ago,  I hope you don’t mind that I chose to do only him in this request~! Sorry Darlings! But we gotta simp for him for another time!

I TRIED to finish this Sinfic before Jamil’s birthday but aahh…Online class held my ass back (´Д` ) Jamil, I’m sorry it’s late, I love(?) you but I only ask for one thing and that’s to not make Kalim cry anymore, ya hear me!? .°(ಗдಗ。)°. 

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Locked and confined by a dangerously in love Jamil, Darling has to really use her creativity to escape! Fortunately or unfortunately, there was finally someone willing to help her out! But I wonder if it’s really that simple~?

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Pulling you closer, you did your best to clasp your lips against his in hopes to bring him a satisfying experience. Your mind felt hazy and your mouth quavered as your tongues interacted with each other. The only thing that was on your mind right now was to just focus on this kiss, ignoring the dread and spark of uncomfortableness crawling up your skin.

“Mm...You’ve gotten better.” This man, Jamil finally let go, dragging his tongue across yours for an unnecessary moment. With a red, embarrassed face, you felt as if you’ve shrunk down as your lips trembled slightly. Jamil looked down at your kneeling figure on the bed with a smirk, the golden shackles tightly secured around your ankles suited you abnormally well. “I guess that’s just expected from you. Good job.”

Of course you did good, you knew damn well how much he was going to hurt you if you didn’t. 

As much as you preferred to say such response, you chose to stay quiet instead and looked down. His hand stroked your hair, petting you like some kind of an obidient dog he trained. Well, in your current situation, that metaphor doesn’t really feel that far off actually. You jokingly but morbidly thought that it’s just a matter of time before he decides to put a collar on you and calls you pet names rather than your own given name. You shivered at the thought, you wish it could just remain a dark joke but something tells you it’s a sign from the future. 

“...Do you know what day it is tomorrow?” You looked up at him with tired eyes, dark circles were already forming around. Still, you tilted your head, trying to jog your memory for what he could be talking about. It was tough, you don’t even know the exact date of what today is. “It’s kind of a special day for me, just so you know.”

You blinked as Jamil smiled at you, his hand slowly moving from your head to caress your cheek. You gulped nervously as he looked down at you, he was challenging you to guess what he was talking about. “...Huh...” You let out a single sound of confusion, blinking repeatedly. “Wha...?”

However, with that kind of response, Jamil’s smile turned upside down in disappointment. You flinched as the hand on your cheek tightened and began glaring at you, enough to cause a spark of panic to run down your spine. With your disoriented self, you internally searched all the remaining files located in your brain, which was not very much to begin with and yet, you can’t quite figure out what this special day seems to imply. Your heart beats faster as Jamil’s expression darken the more you stay quiet, you’ve spent enough time with this guy to know how much of a bad news that is.

“...B-Birthday...!” You blurted out in pure instinct. You weren’t sure of it, it was a guess that you only formulated based on the time that you knew before getting confined in this room. You knew it’s risky to leave something like this to luck, but right now, you have no other choice but to believe in yourself. “I-It’s...It’s your birthday, r-right…?”

Jamil stared at you for a while, his eyes staring deeply within your soul, something that made you break in cold sweat. You were prepared to whatever hell this guy will bring you once he confirmed your answer was wrong, but it still doesn’t change the fact that it still scares you. However, Jamil eventually gave you a smile and grabbed your chin to bring you closer to him. “Correct~” He whispered and never in your life had you felt this thankful for your luck. “…And do you know what will happen during that day?”

Just when you thought that your game of Verbal Russian Roulette was cleared, another question pops out from his mouth. This time, the answer could be anything, what will happen during his birthday? Obviously, Kalim will never pass off the opportunity to throw a feast that can feed an entire kingdom just to celebrate his best friend’s birthday. That was the obvious answer, but Jamil has a different look in his eyes that awakens the overwhelming doubt in you. You don’t know the answer, why was he making you guess in the first place, it’s his birthday, isn’t it?

With a nervous gulp, your face paled and looked down before shaking your head slightly. “…N-No, I don’t…” You admitted, voice suddenly felt weak, despite feeling really strong in your head. 

To your surprise, Jamil just chuckled and you felt his hand tuck a strand of hair behind your ears, slightly fixing your appearance. “That’s fine, it’s not like you would know it in the first place. I was just teasing you.” He said with a smirk and you couldn’t help but to glare at him slightly. He sounded like he was being playful by those words but you knew this guy was deriving off sick pleasure by seeing your panicked form. 

Jamil then grabbed you by the chin, pulling you close to him just enough to land a gentle kiss on your cheek. It still made you squirm in discomfort but gestures like these were still better than those times where he’s feeling aggressive. He then leaned into your ear, his voice has the natural ability to make you shiver from head to toe. “Tomorrow...is the one day that I would be considered as the number one priority.” He said, you could feel his hand stroking your thighs and it was making the little hairs stand on its end. “It’s a special day where everyone would be heeding all my needs.”

“...And that includes you.” You didn’t know what he was trying to get out of this. You so desperately wanted to bitterly state to him how the day didn’t need to be his birthday for you to obey him. He already had you following every of his beck and call, forcefully so. “That’s why, tomorrow...”

“I want to make you mine. Let’s become one, (Y/N).” Jamil finished, you couldn’t see him from your current angle but you could practically feel his lips twisting into a smirk. “A special event for a special day. Don’t you think that’s wonderful?”

You didn’t respond, even if your heart felt like it stopped beating for a while as you could feel yourself paling instantly. You kept your emotions calm, probably because you were at a loss of how to react, but a single strand of sweat drips down your forehead. It was enough to scream just how much distress and panic you were feeling inside your mind. 

You didn’t know if Jamil detected it or not, but regardless, he chuckled once again. He pulled away from you, his fingers brushing against your face for another uncomfortable second. “I have to do something now.” He said as he stood up from the bed, leaving you to stare back at him with a gulp. “You don’t have to think of anything else, I’ll take care of you so, stay in this room as always.”

“I’ll come back soon, my Little Diamond.”

With a final chilling smile, Jamil waved at you slightly before fully exiting the room, leaving you to think in your accordance. Your eyes lingered at the structure of the door for an unnecessary amount of time, your head in shambles. Then, a minute passed by, the ticking of the clock was becoming louder and louder until it was downright deafening. Your mouth that was left ajar in shock began quavering and without any particular reason of why, your hand clutched your chest, wrinkling your sleeping dress. You began to breath heavily, you tried to control the panic but your heart rate was sky-rocketing that it feels like you’re going to get suffocated, your mind slowly getting light-headed.

Jamil just dropped the weight of reality on your already fragile self that it was difficult to keep the tears from pouring out of your eyes. He said something so concerning and walked away like you’re just going to accept something like that. It almost feel like he’s just pulling a prank on you, to see you panic like this because he knew how terrified you would be once a situation like that had befallen on you. It would’ve been fine if it was a joke, you wouldn’t even get mad and even praise him for sounding so convincing, but the man you’re facing here is someone named Jamil Viper. This man who had forcefully hid you from the world for who knows how long now, the man who had made you do things that you weren’t willing to do, the man who didn’t hesitate to bruise and scar you if you go so much as to talk back against him.

You knew more than anyone else that this man was not one to pull such a joke like this.

You scooted back towards the headboard of the bed, your body was trembling so badly that the thick, fluffy blankets you desperately wrapped around you was doing nothing. The air conditioning in your room wasn’t even blowing that strong, the temperature has nothing to do with how much you were shaking. Yet, you buried yourself in the blanket, hoping to just shrunk down in a molecular level and disappear. You were scared, what else were you supposed to feel? The thought of being forever bounded with someone like Jamil is just…Frightening.

It’s not like you were a stranger to his touch either, his hands had already travelled around your body and reached places that your mother told you as a child to never let anyone touch. It started out with suffocating hugs and forceful kisses, you could still feel how tight he gripped your jaw at that time. His hands came next, you felt them caressing every little part of you, from your thighs to your stomach then, to your breasts. You remember how you couldn’t stop crying that night, unfamiliar of a man’s touch as Jamil’s whispers haunts your ears. The feeling of his hand kneading your breast and the other stimulating the wetness of the flower between your legs, it all filled you with shame up to this day.

Your virginity was the only thing that he never dares to steal just yet and for a moment, you thought that he may just be the romantic type to wait until marriage, but this night, you were stand corrected. It feels like you’re going to break down with just his little inappropriate touches that leads to momentary orgasms, how much more would it damage you when he finally stuck his seed inside you? The thought made your heart drop for a second and you quickly clasped your hands in front of your mouth. You could’ve swore bile had piled itself in your throat right there but thankfully, nothing came up.

You moved your legs slightly, closing them in anxiety but flinched at the sound of the chains clanging together. You pulled the blanket off your ankle, staring at the golden shackles decorated with dazzling rubies, it was beautiful but you wished Jamil placed that beauty in some other accessories out there. It was pleasing to look at but you hated these shackles, you can’t get used to the sound of it at all. It was like it was mocking you about how utterly hopeless your situation is, that you could never ever escape from such a life. In which, in a sense, makes you even more depressed on how true it sounds like.

Don’t get yourself wrong here, you really did tried your best to escape this hell of a room you’re in. There was a window giving you a fair share of sunlight but it was on the opposite side of the room and these shackles were stuck to the wall and could only go so far until the bathroom. There’s also the possibility that the room you’re in might be on the highest part of this place, you just can’t see Jamil making the mistake of putting you in a low place if he so badly wanted to keep you in here. You would want to try other various things to get off your binds but the moment Jamil sees a single trace of you trying to damage these chains is another opportunity for him to mess up a part of your body. You shivered and unconsciously scratched your throat, the lingering feeling of his hands were still on them. 

Aah, you don’t want this, you never wanted this, whatever did you do to your past life to deserve this? You didn’t want to sound like a whiny child but at this point, you were running out of options. As expected, you’re just no match for someone like Jamil, was this why he chose you in the first place? You played almost all tricks in the book and the remaining ones doesn’t seem so likely to work and the one thing that still makes you, yourself, is going to be taken away tomorrow. You’re so exhausted that you just want to sleep forever in this soft bed, but at the same time, you didn’t want to give up just yet, not when you already made it this far.

…But that still raises the question, what else can you do…? You have…no more valuable moves to play.

It’s checkmate.

You shivered at your own thoughts, no, that can’t be it. There has to be something else you can do! Something, something, something…! Once tomorrow comes, Jamil will finally take your virginity and that would absolutely seal your fate. That is the last step that bounds you forever with that guy and you…You don’t want that! You definitely need some kind of plan before that could happen, you need to be free or else, you’ll-

“Excuse me.”

In the midst of your breakdown, a knock on the door had you letting out a small yelp but at the same time, saved you from falling deep into your own desperation. You turned to the door in fear, only to quickly breathe the most relieved sigh you could possibly make as it opened for a different person and not the person you were dreading to see. It was just a Scarabia student who you happen to be familiar with, since he’s really the only person you’re able to see. The student who holds the job to bring you food when Jamil would be unable to. “The Vice Dorm Leader seems to be really busy right now so, I was instructed to bring you dinner.” He informed as he carefully placed a small table in the middle of your bed.

“Ah, thank you…” You said as you sniffled whilst he placed the plates of food in the table. He took one small glance at your appearance and you could already tell how guilty he looked like as he quickly looked away with his eyebrow slightly scrunched together. Your eyes softened, you always considered the Scarabia students as the nicest students in Night Raven College, probably influenced by their happy-go-lucky Dorm Leader. It’s just a shame how loyal they are with Jamil as well, considering how they know about your current situation but never really talked about it outside they’re dorms. You don’t blame them though, you knew they weren’t bad kids who doesn’t care about what will happen to you in this room, you knew that they were questioning Jamil inside their minds too.

This guy finished placing all your food on the tables, drinks and all, ready for you to eat without any problem. You give him a slight smile but you didn’t touch the food just yet. Bothered by his own conscience, the guy couldn’t help but open his mouth, seeing how utterly depressed you are. “Um…It’s not my place to say this but…” He started, taking a deep breath. “…Whatever our Vice Dorm Leader did this time, I’m sorry…Just please stay as strong as possible.”

You looked at him with your eyes slightly widen, his unexpected words somehow raised your heart up. He smiled at you slightly but quickly realized what he just said, covering his mouth. “Ah, that’s bad, I forgot I’m not allowed to interact with you for more than three minutes.” He said in panic before waving at you and turned his heel. “I’ll be going now…! Goodbye-“

“Why?” The guy stopped in his tracks and widened his eyes when he saw your teary eyes. “Why are all of you putting up with this?”

“Hey…Don’t you think this is wrong? Why are you all still following Jamil like this?” You looked up at him with an upset look. You felt bad confronting this one student whose only job is to bring you food like this, but you just found your mouth moving by itself. “It’s wrong, isn’t it? This isn’t fair for both you, me, and everyone else so…Why?”

“A-Ah...Please don’t cry...! Um...!” The guy scratched the back of his head, clearly hesitating whether he should just bolt out of the room or answer you right here and now. “…We know it’s wrong, but…It’s not like it’s that easy to go against our Vice Dorm Leader like you said…” 

“Even if we want to help you, we can’t…That puts us in the dangerous risk instead, considering what the Vice Dorm Leader can really do.” He explained, biting his bottom lip. “Our Dorm Leader is kind and really believes in our Vice Dorm Leader too so, we don’t want to cause him any more trouble than he’s already receiving.”

You pursed your lips together and wiped your frustrated tears. “Y-You’re right…I’m sorry for lashing out on you like that...” You apologized, no matter how desperate you are, you just don’t think you can live by the thought of endangering a bunch of innocent lives just to escape. You looked up at him as your vision clears up, your mind throwing away any irrational thoughts to leave space for critical thinking. That’s right, a bunch of innocent lives are in stake here but this guy...This guy can...

You slowly widened your eyes as a spark of hope came knocking at your door. There is still another way after all! “T-Then…! Would you listen to me!?” You suddenly yelled, startling the poor guy. “You alone is fine!”

The guy looked at you in bewilderment. “H-Huh…!? Are you saying that your gonna sacrifice me or something because that’s…!” He panicked but you quickly shook your head and hopped off the bed.

“No! Of course not! That’s not what I meant!” You said as you walked towards him and grabbed both of his hands, looking at him sternly. “I meant that the others don’t need to get involved, you alone can help me escape!”

“L-Like I said…”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to worry!” You leaned closer to him, your determined eyes were all fired up for the first time in a while. The poor kid didn’t know where to look as his face turns red and the hands you were gripping was beginning to sweat as well. “I’ll definitely come and protect you!”

“The more people I ask for help, the more risk of Jamil finding out, that’s why I only need your cooperation for this mission.” You said. “If we could pull this off and I successfully escape, I can come and look for help. 

“There’s no way I’d just leave you guys to face Jamil here just in case he goes berserk.” You said in a giggle, rendering the guy vulnerable to your touch. Finally, you looked up at him with a pleading but determined look. “That’s why...Would you please hear me out?”

The guy gulped down, nervous of the next words he was going to say. On one hand, he knew that he should just refuse, seeing how he doesn’t even know whether he’ll be able to pull whatever plan you have. But looking at the fire in your eyes, he really do feel sympathetic of your situation and understood your desire to be free. Even he doesn’t want you to live like this but he’s powerless on his own. 

“I-I get it...” He hesitantly said, unsure eyes couldn’t hide just how many doubts was lingering in them. “But if it goes down south, I’m pulling out, okay?”

You lighted up with a huge smile of appreciation. “That’s fine! I won’t let you be in harm’s way!” You swore as you let go of his hand. “Let’s be quick, Jamil might come back soon...!”

“So, listen carefully to what I have to say...”

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Continue the Spice~?

So...Remember how during Jamil’s birthday, in one of his Birthday crumbs, I mentioned that I got so hornii and accidentally spilt wine on my laptop...?

Uhh...THAT’S IT. THAT was the reason why my laptop broke down (´；ω；`) Yume being so stupidly hornii became her own downfall lol Be careful not to make the same mistakes I did, Darlings! Stay hornii but responsible hornii, ya feel!? (＞人＜;)

#twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland #jamil viper #yandere jamil viper #yandere #scarabia #sinfic #Spicy Dream #Yume forgot to tag again~! hooray!

[risthebrave]

day 03; “ophanim”

free-form; angel harry, half-angel and half-demon louis

“In the Bible, there were three spheres of angels,” Harry explains, and Louis rolls his eyes. “The First Sphere contains the angels that serve as the heavenly servants of God the Son incarnated. Seraphim, Cherubim, and the Thrones, or Elders. To the Jews, that included the Ophanim which were seen in Ezekiel’s -”

“I’m sorry,” Louis interrupts loudly, ignoring the irritated look Harry sends him. “Why is this important?”

Harry’s eye twitches, lips flattening into a line as he stops his pacing. He looks awfully grumpy for who Gabriel said was one of their best goodness mentors, arms crossed over his white shirt and stance stiff. His wings are crisp and pure white - bright enough to make Louis’ eyes burn if he stares too long. He’s the only angel Louis has seen so far besides the archangels to actually follow the stereotype and dress in all white and the thought makes him smile. “I’m trying to explain the angel hierarchy so you can understand how things work around here.”

“Then why don’t you get to the important part instead of babbling on about shit that doesn’t matter,” Louis says, arching a brow. “I’m pretty sure I got it anyway. The Order of the Angels are part of the Third Sphere where regular angels report to Seven Archangels as the superiors and the seven report to the Second Sphere and the Second Sphere reports to the First. Really complicated stuff, I’m blown away.”

“How do you even know that?” Harry frowns. “Marla said the others barely got to explain anything to you before you chased them off.”

Louis scoffs. “I’m not dumb. I learned the basic stuff about the system ages ago.”

“The demons taught you about our systems?” Harry frowns, the distaste dripping from his voice undeniable.

“Yeah, they do,” Louis says dryly. “Hierarchies, habits, hundreds of methods of murdering angels…”

He said it in hopes of eliciting a reaction, and he gets exactly what he wants. Harry goes rigid, eyes flashing. “Don’t joke about things like death and murder,” he says darkly. “Not here.”

“Death is inevitable,” Louis dismisses. “Even for you and me. The demons taught me that too.”

Harry sighs. “This would be so much easier if you just listened,” he says flatly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Louis asks sweetly, smirking. He swings his legs from where he’s perched in a chair, Harry stood across the room from him.

“If you listen, you can learn,” Harry insists. “Learn how to be an angel and how to maintain goodness.”

“Well, that sounds boring,” Louis says, feeling satisfaction flicker inside him when Harry has to squeeze his eyes shut in exasperation.

“You have to listen,” Harry says firmly. “Those are the conditions. You have to try.”

“But I don’t want to,” Louis says, shrugging.

“How do you know you don’t want to when you haven’t tried once?” Harry asks. “When you haven’t even tried to learn about angels and how -”

“I can’t be what you and Gabriel and the others want me to be,” Louis interrupts flatly, “and I’m sure you’ll see that for yourself eventually. I can’t be an angel or believe in any of the bullshit you’re preaching about me being able to learn something that cannot be taught. I’m not like you and I never will be.” He lets out a harsh, bitter laugh. “None of your lessons in goodness will ever change that.”

For emphasis, he stands up and plants his hands on his hips, letting his wings unfold in proof. Harry’s eyes track them, a grimace curling his lips. He doesn’t even bother to hide his discomfort and it just makes Louis even more mad.

“This unnerves you, doesn’t it?” he says, blood boiling at the sight. “My existence unnerves you because it proves everything you know to be true as wrong.” He ruffles his feathers, blood boiling when Harry averts his gaze. “You can’t even look at them.”

Unlike Harry’s pure white feathers, Louis’ wings are a stark shade of slate, lighter than charcoal and darker than ivory. The perfect shade of gray. And it’s really only fitting, he supposes. He’s the mix of both worlds - half-angel and half-demon. He’s not good or evil - he’s in between.

And that’s what drives both angels and demons completely mad.

Neither side knows what to do with him, knows what to do with the boy who crossed the bridge between both kinds that had for so long been unbridgeable and changed the game forever. He is the product of a forbidden match and the source of chaos that neither demons nor angels know how to deal with but seem to think they have a claim over him anyway. He is a source of conflict.

He tracks the movement of Harry’s jaw as he grits his teeth, frustration radiating from his figure. If Louis weren’t so pissed at him, he’d find the whole irritated facade attractive. He’d find Harry attractive. He is objectively handsome, Louis can admit. All angels are to some extent, but Harry’s looks exceed even that bar - all sharp angles and classically beautiful features. Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t notice it, or if he said his eyes didn’t linger on the angel’s biceps and how nice they look with his arms crossed like that.

But beyond that enticing exterior, Harry is no different than the other angels Louis has met - perhaps, even worse. He doesn’t get it, is the thing. He thinks he can teach Louis about goodness and that eventually his wings will turn white and any remnants of his demon DNA will drain out of him like sweat off his skin. That he can just choose a side even though his blood is woven with strings of both.

That’s what they all think - what the demons thought too when it was their turn to try and convert Louis. Because that had been the decision made when Louis’ parentage had been confirmed two years ago. Two years with the demons. Two years with the angels. And then, on his twenty-fourth birthday, he’ll choose a side.

Louis had been raised on Earth - raised with the humans. He grew up in the system, passed from foster home to foster home until he turned eighteen and was let loose on his own. That’s also when his divinity became too strong to conceal. It hadn’t even been a week since his birthday when he woke up with a searing pain between his shoulder blades - the exact spot where eventually his wings sprouted, tilting his world on its axis and sending him reeling. He remembers the day like it was yesterday, the memory making him feel almost nauseous.

“It doesn’t matter if I can look at them not,” Harry says shortly, breaking him out of his thoughts. “It’s my responsibility to mentor you - to teach you goodness. And that’s what I’m going to do whether you cooperate or not. Because I believe there’s potential in you: potential that you can learn the way of the light as you’ve learned the way of the demons in the last two years. You have a decision to make at the end of all of this, Louis.”

“Like I don’t already know,” Louis snaps, annoyed. Harry’s speaking as if he hasn’t been reminded of his impending choice every day since he grew his wings and was taken by the divine beings, poked and prodded at by demons and angels alike, studied and talked over like an object on auction. He’s well aware of what they decided for his destiny - what was decided for him since never once did either side ask his input. He spent his time with the humans being passed from home to home only to end up with the same fate here.

After two long years with the demons and these tumultuous last couple months with the angels, Louis is tired. He’s tired and he’s weary and he’s angry. He doesn’t give a shit about either side - if anything, he thinks he’s better off with the humans. Earth is a mess, he knows, but it’s also completely gray.

Humans are just like him, a mix of good and evil. They exist in the in-between and it’s allowed. Louis has spent his entire life feeling lonely, but at least in the human world, he hadn’t actually been alone. He hadn’t been the odd one out - he was just one in a sea filled with a million shades of gray.

“You can argue or fight it all you want,” Harry says slowly, brows dipping in the middle. Louis can see the way he tamps down any feelings of annoyance and frustration, determined to be peaceful and saintly like all other angels. All traces of potential anger that Louis had been thriving on have vanished from his tone along with any hopes on Louis’ side that he could truly get to him. He’s truly just the same as everyone else - angel or demon alike. “But you’re here for almost two years before you make your decision. You may think you can’t be one or the other, but you can and you will be whether you like it or not. Neither side will allow any other alternative. It’s my duty to show you our way of life and that’s what I’m going to do whether you let me or not. It’d be much easier, however, if you were cooperative and actually tried to fit in here.”

Louis scoffs. “I can’t fit in. In case you missed it the first thousand times, I’m not an angel.”

“But you could be,” Harry says easily, fixing him an intense stare. “You may think it’s impossible because of your blood, but I know you can. And I intend to prove it.”

“What makes you think you have any chance?” Louis asks, tone bored. “What makes you think you have a chance when the four other angels assigned to teach me couldn’t last longer than a week. It’s only been one day and I’ve gotten to you too, you can’t deny it. How much longer will you endure it?”

“I’m a Paragon,” Harry says calmly, still trying to be peaceful even as Louis tries to goad him. “I’ve worked my entire life helping humans choose the right path and guiding them to happiness and contentment and I’ve surpassed all other angels in my class. I was blessed with this title along with only nine other individuals, because I represent the supreme ideal of goodness. And on the day I ascended, I made a promise that I’d do everything in power to help as many people as I can choose good, including you. And you will not be the black mark on my perfect record.”

Louis’ lips curl, fingers clenching the fabric of his white tunic. “You forget my mother was a Paragon,” he says coldly. When Harry flinches this time, he doesn’t feel an ounce of satisfaction. Riling the angel up these past few days might have been entertaining, but it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t and will never understand Louis - will never even try. He tries to keep his tone even as he continues, “She ascended like you - was just as good and noble as you to be given that title and yet she still ran off with a demon. She fell in love with and then chose to be with a demon, to reproduce with one and create me - an abomination in your eyes and the eyes of everyone else. Would you call that good? Would you call that ‘perfect’?”

Harry doesn’t respond, rendered silent.

december word prompt challenge 12/03/20

#dwpc #freeforms #word prompts #not a wip but #let's call it #angel/demon au #so i can find it #also the way that these keep getting longer and longer... #shout out to lovely jas for saying angel harry is underrated

[foramomentonly]

In the Dark I Know That You Do

Summary: I have a headcanon that Alex slept with a photographer overseas and, as a result, some tiny art gallery in New York is displaying artfully erotic black and white photographs of him. He signed the release form when it dropped in his inbox because the pictures made him feel powerful and sexy, and he figures no one he knows will ever see them.

Then I thought: What if Michael sees them?

Author’s Note: I feel the need to say that this fic, and all my other fics, like my blog, is Maria-friendly. Just putting that out there.

Title is lyrics from "I Want You To Love Me" by Fiona Apple.

Read on AO3

Alex hears a soft, shuttering click and turns his head. 

“This okay?” Josué asks, lowering the camera from his face and smiling softly. “You’re just—so fucking gorgeous, man.”

He’s squatting naked across the room, just returned from the studio’s tiny bathroom. His thighs are thick and meaty, the muscles corded as they support the weight of his body. The sight of them makes Alex burn, makes the vivid memory of him grinding down on Alex’s cock, riding him single-mindedly as Alex gripped those same thighs tight flood his senses. Alex feels weightless, somehow simultaneously above his body, and very much in it; he feels every scratch of the stiff sheets underneath him, every delicious ache from the evening’s activities, but they only serve to elevate this heightened feeling that Alex is good and right and glorious. Alex laughs, runs a teasing hand up the length of his own naked torso, his fingers catching in his dog tags. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and Josué grins, raising his camera again, the lens re-focusing and the rapid-fire, fluttering click resuming. 

Alex stares down the lens, willing the camera to stop time, to capture and hold him in this moment and this feeling forever and for real. He’s twenty years old; he’s free, he’s whole, and he’s alive within himself for maybe the second time in his godforsaken life, since the moment time failed to stop in the first place and Jesse Manes had crashed into the shed and into Alex’s sacred space, defiling it and him and the only thing that had ever felt right to him. The only person. Because time, unfortunately, doesn’t work like that.

Alex hears the soft buzz of his phone vibrate on the wooden table and looks down.

“Shit,” he breathes, picking up his phone and staring at the name and subject line next to the little e-mail icon: Josué Medina, Photo Release.

“Is something wrong?” Maria asks from across the table, and five pairs of inquisitive eyes focus in his direction.

 They didn’t plan this gathering, but Michael, Isobel, Max, and Liz were having a drink when Alex wandered into the Pony, and it seemed rude not to sit with them. Traffic petered out as the night went on, and Maria eventually joined them, and before he knew it Alex is nursing his third beer at a reclaimed wood table with five people who’ve been in his personal orbit for so long that it never occurred to him they haven’t actually spent much time together as a group. It’s awkward.

“Who’s José Medina?” Isobel asks, leaning shamelessly into Alex’s shoulder to better read his phone screen. Max, sitting on her other side, pulls her back.

“Iz, personal privacy?” he chides.

“It’s Ho-sway,” Alex corrects, sounding the name out phonetically. “And he’s someone I knew—Jesus, seven years ago?”

“Oooh,” Isobel drawls, “so he’s an ex.”

“He’s not an ex. He was—”

“An itch?” she supplies, and Alex kind of hates her.

“Sure,” he says, rolling his eyes and pretending to miss the way Michael’s briefly flash with something unreadable when they cross gazes across the table.

“So, this is a booty call?” Liz asks, chin in her hands and eyelashes fluttering suggestively. “Is he passing through town and never quite got you out of his system?” 

Alex forgives her much easier; her blood is basically tequila at this point in the night.

“Seven years ago,” Maria cuts in, redirecting the conversation kindly. “You were overseas at that point, right? First tour?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I was on leave in Italy. He was—well, is a photographer, from the looks of the e-mail, but at the time he was just a student. I don’t know why he’s sending me a release form.”

Alex scans the e-mail. It’s brief pleasantries and apologies for popping up unannounced in Alex’s inbox, all written with that easy, magnetic confidence that drew Alex in so many years ago. And then there’s the ask:

There’s a call for submissions for this arthouse photo book on queer military personnel as erotic subject. It’s not fetish; it’s art. It’s a tiny press and less than fifty people will ever see it, but it would be a big deal for me. I want to submit the photo attached and I need your consent. I know it’s intimate and I understand if you aren’t comfortable. But a guy can try, right? If it helps, it’s just for us, you know? It’s not going mainstream anytime soon.

Alex doesn’t understand half of what he’s reading; well, he’s unfortunately very familiar with the dark side of fetish since he lost part of a limb and gained a prosthesis. It’s the reason he’ll never re-activate his Grindr account. But the rest goes completely over his head, so he just taps the icon to open the attached image file.

It’s. 

It’s intimate, all right. 

Erotic, for sure, though the image stops short of full nudity. 

And, before he can really fully process what he sees, it’s tugged out of his hand by Isobel’s bony fingers.

***

Michael is trying to focus on the conversation around him—on Maria, beautiful and loose by his side; on Max, reserved, but happy, flanked by his best girls; and decidedly not on Alex, staring at his phone with a dazed expression, lips parted softly and quirked in a barely-there smile. He shouldn’t care that Alex is receiving an email from a long-lost fling, or that he’s staring at said email as though transported. Michael is so fixed on not watching Alex out of the corner of his eye that he misses Isobel leaning over to pluck Alex’s phone out of his loose grip, and jumps at Alex’s cry of protest.

“Excuse me!” Alex says, turning towards her incredulously, but making no move to take his phone back.

“Damn, Alex,” Isobel whistles, tapping at his phone with two fingers to enlarge and then zoom in on the screen. “Save a horse, ride an Airman.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but there’s a proud, playful smirk pulling at his lips.

“Lemme see!” Liz cries, reaching across Max for the phone. Max looks back and forth between Liz’s grabby hands and Isobel sliding the phone her way, then shoots Alex a plaintive, deer-in-headlights look.

Alex shrugs.

“Isobel probably already forwarded it herself,” he says easily, and Isobel nods shamelessly.

Liz picks up the phone eagerly, mouth dropping open in an exaggerated grin, hand on her chest, faux-scandalized. Michael watches Max’s eyes dart over in curiosity, then quickly away again, back straightening and eyes fixed forward. He coughs gruffly.

Liz passes the phone across the table to Maria. Maria hesitates, looks questioningly at Alex.

“It really is fine,” he assures her, eyes sliding to meet Michael’s gaze next and raising a brow, almost in a challenge. Michael gazes over Maria’s shoulder and inhales sharply.

The image is in black and white, maybe so it will pass as high art rather than cheap erotica. Though Alex in the picture looks anything but cheap. He looks—He looks fucking sinful. He’s lying on his back on a small, messy pallet bed in what looks like a sparsely-furnished studio apartment, clearly post-coital. His hair is short and messy, soft tendrils sticking out at wild angles. He’s clearly naked, but his closer leg is bent at the knee, foot planted on the mattress, preserving some semblance of modesty. Michael notices with startling clarity a small bead of sweat caught mid-roll down the crease of his hip. One arm is thrown over his head languorously, the other resting on his chest, long fingers tangled in his dog tags. He’s thin, the outline of his ribs visible thanks to the stretch of his arm, but his body is toned and tight, the small swell of his bicep and the curve of his quad and calf muscles evident even at a distance. His head is turned towards the camera, dark, hooded eyes gazing directly down the lens, full lips quirked as though in acknowledgment of his audience. 

It’s the expression that truly unsettles Michael. He knows that look. Intimately. Has spent hours and days and years, a whole lifetime coaxing that look onto Alex’s face with his hands, his mouth, his reverent touch, and all the other ways he’s pressed unspoken truths into Alex’s skin. Alex is at peace, lazy and comfortable and confident in his body, in its form and how he’s using it. This is an Alex blissfully alive and shameless in his own skin, absent the unrelenting control with which he holds himself back, the careful disassociation and denial of his own needs and desires. This is Alex basking in himself rather than swallowing himself whole. It’s intimate and sexy and, until now, Michael had thought only he had seen Alex like this. Only he had earned it.

Michael tears his eyes away from the screen, away from an Alex that’s no longer just his to focus on an Alex that isn’t his at all.

“So, this guy wants to display it or something?” Liz asks.

“Sort of,” Alex says. “There’s some kind of art book he wants to submit it to.”

“Would you get paid?” Maria asks, and Alex snorts, taking his phone back from her when she holds it out to him. 

“I posed for it for free, so I think that window is closed.”

“So you knew he was taking it?” Michael asks abruptly, and Alex furrows his brow.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. 

Michael is suddenly aware of several pairs of eyes on him, and he nods hastily and stammers, “Good. You know. That you weren’t—that you didn’t not know.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Isobel asks, examining her manicure. She seems bored with the conversation now that there’s nothing in front of her to ogle. 

Alex takes a breath, looks down at his screen again.

“I’m gonna sign the form,” he breathes, and Liz actually claps in delight.

“You sure?” Michael can’t stop himself from asking, even as Maria kicks him with the heel of her boot under the table. “Doesn’t seem like something you’d be into, is all.”

Alex narrows his eyes and quirks his lips teasingly, but there’s a bite in the tone of his voice when he asks, “You trying to slut-shame me, Guerin?”

“Never,” he drawls in return. 

Their eyes lock and their smiles slowly fade. 

“I would never,” Michael adds, softer and more sincere. Alex nods once, looks away.

“It’s a gorgeous photograph, Alex,” Maria says, smiling warmly at him. “If you want to share it with the world, I say go for it.”

“And I say let’s go for another round,” Isobel declares, holding up her empty glass, officially over it. “Michael, I believe this one is yours?”

“It’s mine, actually,” Alex says easily, effectively ending the conversation. He grips the table for support as he slides out of his chair and stands, pocketing his phone as he goes. “I’ll be right back.”

***

They’re saying hasty good-byes in the parking lot, Liz and Isobel piling into Max’s car, Max extremely sober behind the wheel. Maria heads back inside to help her staff close up, and Michael stands quietly with Alex, waiting on his rideshare.

“You seem pretty sober to me,” Michael comments, pulling his jacket tighter around his torso.

“I’m tired,” Alex admits, “and my leg is bothering me. It’s just easier for tonight. I’ll pick up my car tomorrow.”

He glances sideways at Michael.

“You don’t have to stand out here with me,” he says. “Go inside and help Maria.”

“Why’re you releasing that picture?” Michael blurts, not realizing the words he’s speaking until they’re out there, irretrievable, and Alex turns slowly to consider him.

“I liked remembering how I felt when Josué took it. I felt free,” he says quietly, and Michael is shocked he’s even deigning to answer. “I was far away from Roswell and everyone in it. I felt strong, like I was in control for once. Maybe if the photo’s out there, that feeling won’t seem so far away.” He smiles mischievously. “And, I mean, I looked good. Hadn’t been too long since basic.”

Michael catches his gaze, holds it.

“Did I make you feel free?”

Alex’s smile is small, but genuine.

“You used to,” he breathes. “For awhile you were the only thing that made me feel that way.” 

 Michael feels his whole body release, as though he’d been holding in a breath, clenching every single muscle unconsciously. Alex shakes his head.

“What?”

“That’s too much pressure,” he says. “No one person can be everything good for someone else.”

Michael looks down and kicks at the dust and grime of the parking lot with his boot, and thinks of Maria.

“I told you I couldn’t be your medicine,” Alex continues, “but I think I was doing the same thing to you. Maybe that’s why I reacted they way I did when you started acting out.”

They let his confession hang in the air between them before Michael, now in possession of a one-track mind apparently, speaks.

“So you aren’t worried someone you know is gonna see it?” Michael asks softly.

Alex shakes his head.

“That’s why it feels safe,” he says. “New York, the 'art scene.' That’s a whole nother world.”

Michael nods, stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“So, what if someone wanted to see it?”

Alex looks at him blankly.

“What if I wanted to buy a copy?” Michael explains. “I mean, you’re right. You were in spectacular shape back then.”

Alex bursts out laughing.

“Not like now,” Michael goes on, grinning as Alex’s shoulders shake. “You really let yourself go, private.”

The silence between them as their laughter dies is the most comfortable of the night.

“I’m okay with that,” Alex murmurs as a car pulls into the lot and a notification pings on his phone. “Good luck tracking it down, though.”

“Alex?” the driver of the car asks, rolling her window down an inch.

“Yeah,” Alex says, and pulls the car door open.

“Night, Guerin.”

“Sweet dreams, Fabio.”

It takes Michael three months to find the book after Alex mentions that it's out and his photo made the cut, and it takes some intense eBay stalking at that, plus he's out $60—indie press, my ass, he thinks as he clicks purchase. 

#rnm #rnm fic #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #isobel evans #max evans #liz ortecho #maria deluca #maria-friendly #my fic #background miluca

[soggybensolo]

Sweet Little Lies

CHAPTER ONE

Over All Summary: Reader is a princess taken from her homeworld after a deal with the first order went sideways. a reborn young man by the name of Kylo Ren ( her captor) had taken it upon himself to train the princess- who believes to be a force wielder- in the only way he knows how. she must endure the many trials he had to face in his awakening to the dark side. things over time eventually change when the princess develops a small sense of Stockholm and Kylo Delusions of grandeur. together they form a bond of codependency… UNTIL something happens that splits the two forever.

<INTRO

WARNING: DEPICTION VIOLENCE/ABUSE. PLEASE READ AUTHORS NOTE FOR FUTURE WARNINGS.

A/N: if you are uncomfortable with abuse and or uncomfortable with the ideas of NONCON, manipulation, or death please do not bother reading this. don’t waste your time. this is a work of fiction and does not depict my views. 

slow burn.

There was a muffled rattling sound and slight vibration in the floor. (y/n) had her eyes closed, she was too scared to open them. She had not seen sunlight since taken from Taigawa. She had no idea where she was or what she was being held in. As soon as she was brought onto the ship she was knocked out cold. The Jedi killer was taking precautions, he didn't want to risk accidentally killing (y/n). He had put her limp body in a cage used for rare animals and covered the cage with a thick heavy material. It was cruel and unusual, but he didn't care. Neither did his other comrades. He didn't get to where he was by being polite and thoughtful. He was none other than Kylo Ren, a wild card in Snoke’s deck and the best damn killer to bet money on. Kylo had a personal agenda to stick to. His job was to find the force user, present them to Snoke, and be praised for it. If he was going to live up to his expectations then he would have to put forth a hard effort and stop at nothing. He wasn't scared of dying and he wasn't scared of battle. Kylo Ren was jaded to emotions. The only thing he ever felt was anger and nothing else. Kylo had trained himself to be mind over matter. If he was hungry, he would think of food and he was full. If he were tired, he'd talk himself out of sleep and would build up energy by using the force. He was one step from being a complete sociopath.

  As the cage (y/n) was in came to a stop, she held her breath. She could hear two voices, one she had already heard before and the other she hadn't. When the voices had stopped, (y/n) opened one eye but still saw nothing. Then, all at once her cage was filled with light. The fabric covering her cage had been pulled off, and she quickly sat up. There was a throne in front of her and sitting in it was a very tall humanoid alien male. His skin was sickly pale and his eyes were a piercing pale blue color. It was the Supreme leader of the first order and current master to Kylo Ren. He rose to his feet hastily and hunched over. A deep unsettling growl rumbled in his throat.      

 “I had believed it was the king who was force sensitive but now I can see I was wrong,” he said. “Bring her to me so that I can have a better look at her face.”

The same knight as before, Kylo Ren, ripped open the door to the cage, and with a firm grip he yanked out the girl. When her feet wouldn't move he dragged across the floor and held her upright. The pale alien gripped her face tightly and examined her from every angle. His hand was ice cold against her skin and it felt as if he were just a walking corpse that somehow still had life from within. His sunken in eyes looked so hollow and empty. They were nothing compared to (y/n)'s.

  Her eyes were a rich and still had a very youthful and naive shine to them. Where she was from her looks were rare and only belonged to her father's bloodline. Her hair was was long and the color of it (h/c). She was all Ephraim. The only thing she took after Adah was her small frame and her petite nose. (y/n) was a beautiful Taiganian human female. 

“Where did you find this one?”

 “She is the king's sister, (y/n).” answered the Knight of Ren.

Master Snoke scoffed. “It was his sister all along. Pity, I was hoping to have a new apprentice.”

 Kylo's grip tightened more around (y/n)'s arm. Snoke had other apprentices before him but Kylo wanted to stay the main focus.

“What shall I do with the girl then, Supreme leader? Shall I kill her?”

 “There’s no need for that… but do what you must, Kylo.” sighed the old sovereign.

     Kylo tugged (y/n) all over the grounds of what seemed to be ruined and abandoned planet. shabby buildings were close in distance but all different sizes. The sky was gray and the air humid giving the area an overall murky appearance. She judged by the numerous storm drains, that rain was constant in the area. (y/n) couldn't help but wonder if the planet he had taken her to was Hell. 

 (y/n) stumbled as she was being led to one of the empty buildings that looked the most out of place, it was a hut. The hut looked mostly new like it had just been built not that long ago. It was an elongated adobe made for two. Upon entering the hut, right in the center, was a small clay oven likely used for warmth more than food. The hut was warm when Kylo wanted it to be but it was mostly ever dark, cold and lonely.

   Kylo pushed (y/n) down a narrow hall. He was taking her to one of the rooms that were not being used. It was smaller than his and just two steps away.  Across their rooms was a tiny washroom big enough for one person at a time. It was nothing compared to the luxurious refreshers she was used to. The hut, in general, was nothing compared to her home on Taigawa.

   There were nothing in (y/n)’s quarters. Just a high up glassless window and a pile of ripped up cloth on the floor where a bed should have been. There was no lamp for light or anything to keep the room warm. It felt more like a prison cell than a bedroom. The area smelled wet as if there was water but nothing was dripping from the ceiling and no puddles on the dirt floor.

 (y/n) wrapped her arms around herself, she was out of her element and all she could do was cry.

   “Shut up!” said Ren as he shoved the princess to the ground. 

   Her yellow gown dirtied the instant it met the floor. Curling up into a ball, she brought her head into her hands. Her sobs growing worse. She wished nothing more than to have been killed like her family instead of taken to a strange place by a strange man. She had no idea why her life was spared or why she was important to the knight at all. With the royal family dead, and her kingdom taken over by the first order she was no longer relevant. To the artisan and his apprentice, she was just a girl.

   The masked knight before her squatted down. He was silent for a moment, the room was filled with the sounds of her sobs, and the release of air from his helmet. “You still cry, how pathetic.”

  Young (y/n) lifted her head. Through tear-filled eyes, she peeked at his face. He could have been no older than she was. His physiognomy stern, but he was still very wet behind the ears. She could make out a large nose and what seemed to be scattered freckles and moles. Her vision was too blurry to depict anything else. She could not understand how someone who was practically still a boy, could be so wicked.

   “How is it you are the one the force chose?” he asked picking at a lock of her.

   “I don't know what you're talking about.”

   Kylo tilted his head, lips pouting. “You don't? I think you’re lying, I don't like liars.”

   “I’m not lying.” It was half true. (y/n) knew what the force was but she didn't know how to use it. She was never allowed to talk about it. When she had confided in her mother at a young age she was kept hidden from the outside world in fear she would be taken and forced to be a padawan and one day a Jedi. Taiganian's were not fighters, they did not stand for war. The day Hiram boasted about being one with the force she figured her gift was nothing more than an illusion, a game on her mind. That it was her brother who was meant to be a Jedi knight.

  “I felt it when I killed your family.” Kylo tugged on the hair in his hand. “You caused a ripple. You moved me.”

   (y/n) tried to free herself from his grasp but when she tried to move away he only tugged harder. She let out a small whine that only encouraged him. He tangled one hand at the nape of her neck and slapped down the other on her temple, the leather stinging her skin. He clenched his jaw and brought her face close to his. “Perhaps I shall demonstrate what the force can really do!”

   Searing white-hot pain shot from the center of her brain had filled her body entirely. She had lost control of her arms and her legs spasmed. She felt as if she were being crushed while set on fire, all while being skinned alive. Invisible needles pricked at her fingers and nonexistent cattle prod was poking at her heart. All she could do was scream. When He let her go, her body stayed glued to the ground. She had no strength to move, or make herself comfortable.

   Her lungs burned and her throat was hoarse, she was crying out loud but no sound could be heard. Kylo stared at her body unapologetically. “You didn't like that? Well, it was fun for me.” one of his large hands crept around her throat and pressured it. He was testing her capabilities, sizing her up, trying to determine her force. It was buried but it was there. “If you do not wish for this “fun” to continue, then maybe you should fight back. Show me the force! Use it on me!” (y/n) found the energy to shake her head no. it's not that she didn't want to stop him, she just didn't know-how.

 “No?” he mocked, pressing his fingers tighter around her throat. “You're so weak!”

   Kylo squeezed harder and harder till he shut off her airway completely, holding that her way till she had passed out. He was frustrated with her. He believed she was not worthy of the force. If she did not know how to use it, then she did not deserve it. He spent time coming in and out of (y/n)'s room debating if he should just kill her or not. Each time he entered he changed his mind.

      He would come close to taking her life but would then talk himself out of it. Not because he did not have the courage but because she had the force. He knew he could make something out of her. All he had to do was seduce her into the dark side. Show her all that it had to offer, but Kylo was not sure it would work. (y/n) was weak and her power was small. He would have to teach her the way he was taught. He himself was still learning.

      He would have to teach her.

   The night was still unlike the evening that had past. No crickets were chirping, no wind whistling and no rain falling. In some way in the stillness of the night, (y/n) had managed to drift off into sleep. 

  Not too long after she had cried herself to sleep, she was awakened. Kylo had ripped her up off the floor abruptly and shook her violently. “You don't get to sleep!”

   Her eyes went wide and she was scared. She had not been expecting him to just snatch her so suddenly. Kylo threw (y/n) halfway across her room then used the force to pin her to the wall. “You don't get to sleep till I say you can, and I will say you can when you show me the force!”

   (y/n) shook her head, not wanting to look directly at him. He was wearing his mask again and it scared her. She did not like not seeing his face. It left to much up for her imagination. He could be looking at her with murderous eyes. The eyes are the window to the soul. If she cannot see his eyes then she cannot see his soul. If she cannot see his soul then she cannot see his intentions. Shutting her eyes, she tried to use the waves around her but could not muster up the means to see through him. She had not yet opened her mind's eye because she had not been taught to harness the power of the force. Her efforts were useless.

   “You tell me, no but I can feel you trying to penetrate my mind.” his modified voice hissed low in his throat. “Show me what you can do.”

   (y/n) parted her lashes and shook her head again. She had no idea that what she was doing was actually using the force. Kylo grew angry and gripped the sides of her head.

   “Show me the force!”

   When she failed to comply, just like earlier, he took control of her mind. It was so much worse than the first time. Kylo was in her head and breaching her thoughts. He heard every thought she ever had and saw every memory she ever made. He saw things not even she remembered. Her entire life played before him like a cinematic movie. He knew all about her now; her ups, her downs, her likes, her dislikes, her language, and her culture.

   “If you want me out of your mind, then fight me!” he grunted over her screams. “Fight me!”

   But she couldn't fight. She did not know how.

      “Do it!”

        Nothing.

      “Do it! Use the force!”

      Still nothing.

   “I can feel the force in you! Do not deny it! Show me!”

   Absolutely nothing.

   Drunken by rage, Kylo threw (y/n) to the ground. His fist raised above his head collided with her cheek. She didn’t move she just stayed still. Her mind was racing, trying to figure what it was that just happened. When his fist came again she saw stars, and everything came together. He had punched her. Before she had time to recover from his blow he dragged her body from her room to the front of the hut. He was taking her outside. For what? She didn't know.

   Tugged to her feet, (y/n) struggled to stand straight. She was nearly knocked back when he threw a long wooden dowel her way. She had hardly caught it in time before he had grabbed a stick of his own and whacked her with it. (y/n) fell into a puddle of mud, her dingy yellow gown, now wet, clung to her legs. Pushing herself up to her knees, she pulled herself from the puddle, gripping the sopping heavy fabric as she crawled. She was so focused on getting out of the mud that she hadn't seen Kylo come at her.

   THWACK!

   (y/n) winced as the thick dowel came across her back, knocking her back to the ground. Rolling over she stared up at the sky. Streaks of luminosity were barely peeking through the clouds. The morning was arriving. She had survived one day of torture. 

THWACK!

   The wooden dowel had collided with her stomach, and all the air had left her body. Gasping hungrily at the oxygen she almost missed the stick coming again. (y/n) rolled to her left, dodging him. He came once more, and she rolled to the right landing right back into the liquid dirt.

   “FIGHT!” Kylo let his stick fall from his grasp.

      Straddling (y/n), he flipped her over so her face was in the mud and he held her head under. She kicked her legs but it wasn't enough to knock the boy off of her. She would have used her arms if he hadn't been restraining them behind her back. His hands were large and her wrist was tiny, it didn't take any more than a couple of his fingers to lock them in place. He was bigger than her and far stronger than her. This was a boy who was trained personally by the supreme leader of the first order, and the boy was his apprentice! She did not stand a chance against the likes of Kylo Ren.

   He lifted her head and brought his mask to her ear. “Why do you insist on being so weak? Why do you not try? Is it because you're not strong enough?”

   She only cried out in pain. There was nothing she could say to him.

   “Submit to me and I will teach you the ways of the force.” He said just above a whisper. “Let me show you what the dark side can do for you, and you will never be weak again.”

   “No.” She finally spoke.

   PLOP!

   He pushed her face back into the mud, smothering her some more. After ten seconds he pulled her head back up. “Let me be your teacher!”

   “No!”

   PLOP!

   Her screams were muffled by the mud. Although her voice could not carry out loud he could still hear her. She was struggling to breathe and if he wasn't too careful he would kill her. So, lifting himself off the ground he brought her up with him. (y/n) gasped for air and spit up wet dirt. She was relieved she was still alive but frustrated in his antics. He was being very childish.

   “If you refuse me then you shall be considered a traitor!” Kylo locked (y/n) back in her room and he did not return for three days.

   The hut was silent and still. (y/n) could not feel anyone home, he had left her alone. She could have made an attempt to escape but she did not have the energy. She had not slept in the time he was gone, because without him there she knew other things could get her and she wanted to be awake in case he returned and tried to wake her like the last time. 

You don't get to sleep till I say you can… I will say you can when you show me the force. 

Show me the force.

   Submit to me and I will teach you the ways of the force.

   … let me show you what the dark side can do for you.

   His words were implanted in her like a seed, sprouting over and over. He had left a mark on her and she thought carefully. She was not raised to pick a side whether it was good or evil.  She knew Jedi were good and that they were one with the force. However, no matter how many times Luke Skywalker roamed Taigawa he never came to her like Kylo Ren did. Surely if he had found her first she would have fallen in the right hands. Kylo did not ask her to join his side, he took her. Would Luke have taken her against her will like Kylo did? Would Luke have killed her family? Was she meant to be a Jedi?

   If she were meant to be a Jedi then the light side would have taken her before the dark side did. Though she did not surrender to the dark, it was the path that claimed her first. Even if she did choose to submit, she would not make it. (y/n) could not use the force because she believed (in denial) that she did not have the force. Kylo claimed to have been moved by her and claimed he could feel it in her but she did not want to believe it! To use the force and to join the dark side would be to betray her home and her family's legacy. The Taigania's were not forgiving people.

     After three days Kylo Ren had returned. 

   “Have you reconsidered my offer?” his voice was clear as day and it sent jolts through her bones. It was the only voice she ever heard now.

   When (y/n) did not respond, Kylo nudged her with his boot. “Answer me, girl.”

   “No.” she whispered frail. 

   He said nothing, only dropped to his knees suddenly and gripped her head. She cried out in pain and her back arched from the cold hard ground. He lifted her head once only to slam it against the floor. (y/n)'s brain rattled in her skull and the pain in her head was nothing compared to the pain that came with the force torture. Every time she thought it couldn't get much worse, he found a way to take it up a notch and every time he tortured her mind it always felt different.

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