#twenty-five days event

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: day twenty-five

Prompt — waterboarding ( @febuwhump prompts)

PLEASE BE WARNED THAT THIS SNIPPET IS VERY GRAPHIC, VERY TRIGGERING FOR CHOKING, SUFFOCATING AND GENERALLY VERY DARK!

TW: waterboarding (VERY DETAILED) interrogation, team Whump, leader whumpee, interrogator Whumper, nonchalant torturer, traumatic event, suffocating, choking, gagging, vomiting, spewing, dissociation

PLEASE AGAIN READ THE TAGS MIND THE WARNINGS

Henchmen led Whumper down into the basement where they held the Hero team. Whumper followed, hands in the pockets of their black combats, eyes skimming the cold stone walls as they waited for Henchmen to open the door.

“Supervillain said they refuse to talk,” said Henchmen to Whumper, looking back over their shoulder at them and frowning. “Said you’re the best interrogator in the city.”

“Yeah?” Whumper asked, tilting their head, tone bored. “High praise from Supervillain.”

“You don’t look like a good interrogator.”

Whumper let out a small hmph of a laugh which Henchmen went pale at. “I— I mean, it’s just— you’re young. You look younger than me.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” said Whumper with a shrug, half lidded eyes on Henchmen and the door. “I get paid hourly, so if you want Supervillain to pay me more, which I would appreciate—”

Henchmen shook their head and turned their attention back to the lock. “Right sorry.”

Whumper leaned their back against the wall and repressed a sigh. They weren’t a very patient person, which probably came with the job description but how many times had they had this same conversation with other employers.

The lock finally clicked and Whumper pushed off the wall, grabbing the door as they passed Henchmen. They met Henchmen’s eyes, looking up at them with the same blank expression they usually wore.

“Listen, henchmen, it gets pretty bleak when I’m interrogating. You sure you can stomach it?”

Henchmen nodded, though their face expressed their hesitance. “Supervillain said I had to accompany you.”

Whumper blinked, then glanced back at the stairs up to Supervillain’s house before sighing.

“Fine. If you want to impress him so damn much.”

Henchmen blushed, flustered. “I— I—”

Whumper was already walking down the stairs to the Hero team, ignored Henchmen’s embarrassment.

“You coming or what, sycophant?”

“Uh, yes!” Henchmen said and closed the door after them.

Whumper stood at the gate of the powered cell, frowning at the Hero team inside. Their eyes passed over each of them, Whumper knew some of them from the news. Especially the tallest one, Leader. One look at them and Whumper knew they wouldn’t talk if Whumper broke every bone in their body. The rest of them… well, Whumper had more faith in their own talents than the other member’s resilience.

Whumper’s eyes landed on a familiar face sitting furthest from the door, their lips twitching as they met Rogue’s eyes from across the room. Henchmen was getting to work opening the gate when Rogue spoke.

“Whumper?” Rogue asked, their voice a mix of confusion and fear. The rattle of chains as Rogue shifted forwards in the dimly lit cell, squinting.

“Hey, Rogue. Funny meeting like this, huh? How have you been?”

“Good,” said Rogue in that same guarded tone.

“Rogue?” Leader asked. “Who is this?”

“An old friend,” said Rogue, swallowing, their eyes going back to Whumper as Henchmen opened the gate and Whumper stepped through. “We grew up in the same neighbourhood.”

“Mmm,” Whumper hummed fondly. “In the Grouts of the city, eh, Rogue? How’s your mum?”

“She’s good.”

Whumper smiled. “Good, good. Tell her I say hi. She’s a lovely woman.”

“I will.”

“Good to see you, I hope you know this is all just business,” Whumper said gesturing to the cell and themselves with their hand.

“You don’t have to hurt us.”

Whumper’s smile melted from their face, eyebrows raising. “Oh? Your team are all loose lips, huh? You’ll just tell me about Superhero and his secret weapon?”

Rogue went quiet, so did the rest of the cell. A humourless smile crept onto Whumper’s face. “Yeah… I didn’t think this job would be that easy.”

“What do you want?” Leader asked. Whumper flicked their gaze to Leader who was on his knees, hands cuffed to a ring in the wall behind him like the rest of the Hero team. Yikes, what kind of sicko was Supervillain to have metal rings embedded in stone? Whumper supposed it didn’t matter.

“I want to get paid,” said Whumper, stretching their arms above their head. “Ugh, then I want to go home and watch TV. That sound good to you, heroes?”

“I think he meant… like what do you want with them,” said Henchmen quietly to Whumper. Whumper frowned and made a verbal “huh!” in exclamation.

“I just told them,” said Whumper. “Supervillain wants information on Superhero’s secret weapon, I’m here to get that information and get paid.”

Leader curled his lip back into a snarl. “Good luck with that.”

Whumper shrugged. “Thank you, Leader. However I am a professional, I don’t need luck. I’m trained to get stoic people chatty.”

“You really think Supervillain hasn’t tried? Torturing us, depriving us of food and water? Leaving us down here to starve and then when that didn’t work going back to torturing us? We’re built to endure,” said Leader with a mirthless smirk. “We don’t break.”

Whumper nodded. “Okay. We can do this the hard way then.”

Whumper turned to henchmen and asked them to grab a cloth and a hose to attach to the tap. “Oh, and a chair, please, henchmen.”

Henchmen left the room, their footsteps ascending was the only sound permeating the cell. Whumper walked over to the girl sitting directly opposite Leader. The only person on the Hero team that Whumper didn’t recognise. Maybe a new recruit? Leader lurched forward, but Whumper just cocked an eyebrow at Leader.

“What’s your name?” Whumper asked her. “This isn’t the interrogation yet, don’t worry. You don’t have to tell me. Just trying to diffuse the tension.”

Whumper looked at Rogue who kept their eyes trained on Whumper. “How long have ye been down here?”

“A while,” Rogue told them with a huff.

Whumper nodded. “Supervillain really starve all of you?”

“Yeah,” said Rogue, a little sheepishly.

“Nothing you’re not used to,” said Whumper with a little laugh. Rogue joined in, although a bit awkwardly. Whumper’s eyes scanned the other people in the room who looked a bit dazed at the flyaway comment. Then they reclined their head against the wall. “Oh. Sorry. You never told them.”

“It’s okay,” said Rogue with a shrug. “They were bound to find out eventually.”

Whumper nodded again. Then let out a sigh. “You don’t want to tell me Superhero’s plan, do you? Save you all some suffering.”

Rogue laughed. “Not a chance.”

“Well, god loves a trier.”

The door to the basement creaked open and Henchmen came down the stairs and left all the things Whumper asked for at the front of the cell, near the gate. “Ah. Wonderful. Thank you henchmen.”

Whumper stood in front of the team of heroes and cleared their throat while Henchmen attached the hose to the leaky tap.

“Okay. For my first trick, I need a volunteer. Leader?” Whumper asked with a smile. Leader scoffed but nodded. “Sure.”

“Excellent.”

Henchmen freed Leader from the wall, the cuffs staying on and led Leader over to chair that Whumper stood at.

“Sit down,” said Whumper. Leader obliged them, and Whumper grabbed Leader’s arms and brought them up over the back of the chair. It was all very gentle, very professional, as if Whumper wasn’t trying to hurt Leader. It sent warning bells off in Leader’s head, but all he could do was follow along with what Whumper was doing.

Henchmen handed Whumper another pair of handcuffs and Whumper thanked them. Whumper attached one of the cuffs to Leader’s cuff chain, and the other to the chair so Leader couldn’t move his hands away.

“Henchmen will you get the legs?”

“Of course.”

Before long Leader’s ankles were cuffed to the chair as well and Leader couldn’t get up from the seat.

“Alright, people. Last chance.”

“Do you worst.”

Whumper smiled. Then they tipped Leader’s chair back. Leader let out a soft oomph as the chair fell back the rest of the way until Leader was facing the ceiling, Whumper and Henchmen standing above him.

The last thing Leader saw was a towel coming down over his head. Leader would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared of what happened next. None of Supervillain’s men had taken his sight, or tied him to a chair just to force him awkwardly onto the ground. The top of his head was the only thing on the ground, that and his arms that were pinned beneath Leader’s weight on the chair, his legs in the air.

Another towel added to the initial one on top of Leader’s head, then another and Leader could feel his heart in his throat when he heard tape being ripped. The towels were wrapped in a single layer of duct tape over Leader’s eyes and another layer below his chin.

Leader swallowed, his hands balling into fists behind him that was already causing pins and needles in his arms.

There was a moment of silence: the atmosphere balanced on a precarious edge of fear and tension. Whumper nodded at henchmen to turn on the tap and picked up the hose.

“Any takers?” Whumper asked again. They weren’t usually this nice to the people they were torturing, but Rogue was an old friend. “No? Okay. Sorry Leader.”

That was all the warning Leader got before he was inhaling water. It was slow, trickling into his nose and Leader realised with a sickening beat that Whumper was water boarding him.

Leader held his breath on instinct, shaking his head, his arms trapped uselessly behind him. His legs were kicking at the cuffs that kept them locked to the chair.

“Leader?!” One of their team asked, voice shrill. Leader couldn’t tell who, and his lungs were aching with how much he was struggling to get the towels off his face, turning away from the hose that was relentless.

“Leader!”

“Wait! Stop! Stop!”

Whumper stared impassively at all the team members, eyes half-lidded, one hand in their pocket as they regarded them all as if they were all just waiting in line for a coffee.

“You can stop this,” said Whumper matter-of-factly.

One of the members beside Rogue spoke up: “Leader wouldn’t want us to.”

Whumper dropped their head, a sardonic expression crossing their features. “Are you serious? Do you really think Leader is thinking about his ideals right now?”

Leader gasped, unable to hold his breath anymore and he started gagging on the air, gurgling water and retching, his body spasming and limbs pulling at the restraints. Whumper didn’t even blink at the change.

“The instinct when being water boarded,” Whumper began, “is to hold your breath. Which Leader here just learned is a bad idea because eventually your lungs want air.”

“Whumper,” Rogue said in warning, yanking at the chains holding them back.

Whumper’s impassive eyes met Rogue’s. “Leader’s body needs air, except he was inhaling water which triggers his gag reflex and is effectively scorching his throat as we speak.”

“Stop it!” One of the members cried. “Stop narrating your torture!”

Whumper shrugged. “Fine. We can sit in silence if you prefer.”

Whumper did just that. They fell silent and so did everyone else. Leader was choking, convulsing, fighting, gasping, all very wetly, the water pooling around Leader’s head as his body tensed. Leader pushed against the chair, his body going stiff as he tried to tilt the chair back up to stop the easy onslaught of pain.

His brain was screaming at him, his body fighting and not understanding that he should stop trying to breathe but his mind wouldn’t let him stop panicking enough to let him hold his breath.

Leader threw his body weight into his legs forward and to his shock the chair went upright. Then Whumper caught the chair and Leader gasped in sweet sweet air, gasping, gasping, not getting enough air and started choking and spluttering on it.

“You had enough Leader?” Whumper asked, their voice matching their face that was a cold, emotionless thing.

Leader was still breathing in air, trying to get his heartbeat under control, drunk on oxygen.

“Leader?” One of the team asked.

“No… don’t—” Leader rasped, then descended into a coughing fit. “Don’t tell them anything.”

“Oh,” said Whumper, letting the chair fall backwards again. “Sounds like you got a bad cough there Leader. You need some water?”

“No! Wait!” Leader protested.

Whumper let the hose fall over Leader’s face again, and Leader held his breath again like an idiot. Whumper stared down at Leader’s chest, wired so tight, trying not to let drowning bother him.

Whumper looked back at the other members of the team. “This is the easiest way to get answers from people, in my professional opinion. Plus it’s not disgusting, no lasting damage on Leader or you guys, except you know, trauma and psychological damage, but you know what I mean.”

Four horrified expressions looked at Whumper. Whumper glanced back to Henchmen who stood at the tap, their jaw tight.

Whumper knew it was a professional, practical reason why they didn’t really react to inflicting pain on people, but at times like this, when even Supervillain’s right hand was uncomfortable with Whumper’s methods… that made them feel inhuman. Wrong.

Whumper’s eyes found Rogue’s that were burning into them from across the cell. Strangely, they were the only eyes that Whumper really cared about. So funny how the past can creep up on you.

Well, a job is a job at the end of the day, Whumper might as well do one that they’re good at. The people in this room were Heroes because it was their talent. Whumper’s talent was pressure point and pain, and knowing just how far to go to get someone to snap.

Leader gasped below Whumper, bringing their attention back to the writhing worm on a hook below them. “Ah. There we go. The inhale. Human anatomy fucks you everytime, huh, Leader?”

“You’re a sadistic bastard!” One of the team members screamed.

Whumper frowned. “I don’t enjoy this. It’s just a job. Same as you Heroes, and your Superhero. Ask yourself this, if Leader was in your position and you were in his, would he protect you or would he protect Superhero?”

“You’re a bastard!”

Leader wheezed, trying to push himself up again, but Whumper had placed a foot on the chair by Leader’s head. “Ah, ah, ah. Leader. You’re not breathing again until someone starts talking.”

Leader convulsed erratically under the water, trying to lift his head up to try and get some air in his lungs. He craned his neck up, but the air attacked his senses and Leader gasped and fell back again. The hose mercilessly flowed over his nose again.

Whumper looked up suddenly. “Hey, do any of you know if Leader has asthma? Cause if so you need to decide faster, this is not a good thing to do to people who are asthmatic.”

“And it’s a good thing for normal people?” One of them asked and Whumper scoffed.

“Semantics,” they said.

“We have to tell them,” said Rogue quietly.

“What?!”

“We can’t Rogue.”

“Listen,” Rogue said, their voice edging on desperate. “I know Whumper, okay?! They’re not going to stop until they get what they want. They can sit here all day and torture Leader and not feel a thing.”

“Rogue’s right,” said Whumper with a sigh. “I get paid by the hour, so really this whole debate back and forth is good for me. Financially I mean. Take your time. Leader, do you mind if they take their time?”

Leader gurgled and choked and spluttered.

Whumper smiled at the team. “See? He’s fine. Take your time.”

“Oh shut up, Whumper,” said the quiet girl. Whumper looked at her, the new one that sat opposite Leader and wouldn’t offer her name. When she looked at Whumper now her eyes burned with a sizzling hatred.

Whumper smiled at her, recognising that level of hatred as their own. Whumper remembers being where she was, powerless to stop bad things from happening to the people they loved.

It felt full circle, that moment, and it ignited something within Whumper that was a little feral, and broken, and wrong. Whumper’s eyes flashed at her, whose glare was unbroken and burning a hole through Whumper’s head, or it would if it could.

Below them, Leader was still spluttering and choking and gagging and wrenching and writhing but Whumper’s attention was fixed on the new girl now.

“Huh. You’re chatty now? Wanna share your name?”

“No,” she said. “I want you to die.”

“Thats a little forward, considering we’ve just met,” said Whumper, glancing at Rogue, whose wide eyes were fixed squarely on the girl. “They always like this, Rogue? Little rude for a Hero.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t give a fuck what you think of me.”

Whumper hummed to themselves. They moved the hose away from Leader’s head and smiled wanly at the sounds of Leader gasping and coughing on air again.

“Still with us, Leader?” Whumper asked, not taking their eyes off of the angry girl.

“Go… go ffu—urself,” Leader wheezed between laboured breaths.

“Waterboarding is special, huh, Leader? You need breaks in between or it’s not as effective.”

“You—”

Whumper pressed the hose back to Leader and Leader immediately started coughing. Whumper smiled at the girl whose jaw tightened at Whumper’s blasé style of interrogation.

Whumper took the hose off of Leader again, to more coughing and spluttering.

“How’s the cough, Leader?”

“Ff—” Leader didn’t even get a syllable out before Whumper pressed the hose down on his nose again.

“Leader!” One of the other teammates exclaimed, but Whumper had their gaze trained on the girl. Watching her muscles tightening.

Whumper smirked.

Oh they just found the weak link. Maybe they had a special relationship with Leader.

Whumper told Henchmen to turn the tap off and dropped the hose to the floor. Things just got interesting.

“You can put Leader upright,” said Whumper to Henchmen as they walked to the angry girl. Whumper crouched down in front of her. She glared up at Whumper.

“Whumper,” said Rogue in warning. Whumper smiled down at the girl and said: “Rogue, if you try and dissuade me again I will have Henchmen gag you.”

The girl’s eyes flicked briefly to Leader who was pushed to an upright position. Leader spewed some water from his lungs onto the floor in front of him, head lolling forward and groaning.

“What’s your name, little Hero?” Whumper asked.

“Little Hero,” she replied, eyes hard as she stared at Whumper.

Whumper grinned. “Funny.”

Whumper got to their feet and walked over to Leader, purposefully. They ripped the towels from Leader’s head and grabbed one, coiling it meticulously into a shape resembling coiled rope. Then Whumper shoved it between Leader’s teeth, thankful that the towel was long enough to tie it behind Leader’s head and double knot it.

Leader groaned behind the gag.

“Okay,” said Whumper. “Because you all seem like good guys, I’m giving you a bonus last chance to tell me what I want to know before I really traumatise you all.”

Leader wasn’t even really there behind the eyes anymore, just trying to focus on breathing, on surviving. He wasn’t even pulling at the cuffs anymore.

“How can he answer?!” Rogue demanded hotly. “You just gagged Leader!”

Whumper’s smile seemed to suck all the coldness from the room. “I’m not asking him questions, Rogue. I’m asking all of you. Now then. We go again.”

This time, Whumper left the chair upright and just yanked Leader’s head back. Then Whumper grabbed the hose and grinned at everyone.

He stuck it on Leader’s nose. After a few seconds it was as if Leader was being electrocuted, his body convulsing violently against the chair to the cries of his teammates.

“Stop!”

“Stop it!”

“WHUMPER!” Rogue screamed, all of them struggling and pulling on their restraints. Whumper didn’t react. They didn’t even look at any of them.

“Stop please!” One of them cried wetly, oh yeah. Good. Tears meant they were almost there. On the verge of telling Whumper what they wanted to hear.

Leader’s hands and ankles were bleeding from how hard he was pulling and straining at the cuffs. Whumper had to commend the team, they don’t think they could withstand seeing someone they love and trust being tortured like this.

“THE WEAPON IS A PERSON!” Whumper pulled the hose away immediately, head swivelling to the confessor. Whumper grinned when they saw it was the little Hero. Oh, Whumper knew she would snap first.

Whumper smiled sweetly while Leader coughed and vomited water from his lungs pathetically. Whumper pulled the gag from Leader’s mouth and more water pooled out, Leader’s throat expanding and vomiting water onto the ground. Well, Whumper wouldn’t be a good interrogator if they let their leverage die.

“Who?” Whumper asked softly.

The entire team was shivering, chests heaving, emotion running heavy through them, as if they were all getting water boarded. Hero’s wide eyes were on Leader who had appeared to go unconscious. Whumper didn’t care.

“Who?” They asked again, more firm this time.

“Let him go.”

“Tell me who or I’ll slit his throat right now, Hero.”

Hero pursed her lips at Whumper, eyes burning.

“Oh,” Whumper said, glancing between Hero and Leader. “Oh… you’re not in love with him, are you? No. That wasn’t loving forlorn glances that was… that was guilt, wasn’t it?”

“Whumper please—” Rogue begged but Whumper held up a hand that effectively silenced them. Hero sniffed, eyes glued on Leader in the chair.

Whumper smiled. “Oh Supervillain is gonna laugh when he realises he had Superhero’s secret weapon locked in the basement this whole time.”

“Henchmen, will you be a dear and check Leader’s pulse for me?”

There was a few seconds of silence, the team waiting with bated breath that turned into a collective sigh when Henchmen said: “still alive.”

“Wonderful,” said Whumper. “We need to bring him upstairs with us—”

“No!” Hero yelled, struggling against her own restraints. “Leave him alone! It’s me you want, take me,” she pleaded, tears streaming freely down her face.

“To make sure he’s okay,” said Whumper pointedly. “When waterboarding goes wrong sometimes people get hypothermia, so we have to be careful. But don’t worry, Hero. You’re coming too.”

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump25 #febuwhump day 25 #febuwhump day twenty-five #febuwhump prompts #water boarding #waterboarding #tw waterboarding #cw waterboarding #tw: Waterboarding #Cw: waterboarding #tw choking #choking #suffocation #suffocating #suffering #traumatic event #forced to watch #torture #torture whump #tw torture #tw psychological torture #hero team Whump #team whump #team leader whumpee #team leader whump #dissocation #choking on water #vomiting

[koishua]

"no dw he's super friendly!!" after i was pounced on by a massive dog that im not familiar with 🧍🧍

#tp #ma'am do you not see the bag and suitcase im hurriedly pulling behind me???? do i look like i CARE if your dog is friendly?? #get it off me oml #today has been eventful. awful cramps + travelling back to work + exam stress + bus only once an hour bc it's sunday #so i had to drag my bags with me walking for twenty minutes which isn't bad but i was on a time crunch and my train was gonna arrive soon #and this dog jumps on me and the owner can barely hold it back #and the train ends up coming in five minutes late (pretty standard DB behaviour) #AND it's filled to the brim with middle aged smokers all pushing each other to get to the big soccer game #i hate match days. so much. all of the streets become clogged and a three minute underground train becomes a forty five minutes struggle #plus EVERYONE and their mothers are smoking and it stinks and burns #sick and tired of the yellow and black merch y'all iykyk

[187days]

Day One Hundred Twenty-Five

Hey. Guess what? It's track season.

We've got a big, talented team and a mostly clear track, so we're off to a great start!

But, of course, before I went and coached my team, I taught my classes. They were very chill today. My freshmen were just reading their books, which meant I was reading my book, too. My seniors had a vocab quiz followed by reading about environmental and energy policymaking. Then they capped it off with some test review on their own. They're all accustomed to multi-tasking, so they kept up a conversation while they worked. They asked me for updates from the Senate re: banning TikTok (not much to report yet), chatted about sports, etc... Like I said: it was chill.

#teaching #teachblr #teacher #edublr #education #high school #social studies #coaching #track #conversations about current events #day one hundred twenty five

[chasingmidnights]

'Tis the Season: Holiday Special

Day 25 - Draco Malfoy - what the holidays might look like with Draco Malfoy. The holidays with Draco are always extravagant. Usually more than you can ever ask for, because he likes to spoil you. But you love every minute of it. Usually the holidays are spent seeing different theatre productions, one year he took you to see Anastasia. However, your favorite thing to do is help decorate the manor. Decorating it for manor, brings a warmth back to the place. Once the decorating is done, you and Draco cozy up next to the fireplace with the new kitten the two of you had just adopted as Draco reads various Christmas stories to you.

#tis the season #holiday special #25 days #day twenty five #holiday season #multi fandom #multi fandom event #holiday moodboard #holiday moodboards #holiday moodboard event #moodboard event #draco malfoy #the holidays with draco malfoy #draco malfoy moodboard #draco malfoy holiday moodboard #draco malfoy fandom #draco malfoy drabble #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy au #harry potter au #harry potter fandom #tom felton #tom felton fandom #tom felton characters

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala. 

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before. 

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts. 

You wished you were only a tourist. 

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time. 

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed. 

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you. 

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted. 

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman. 

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll. 

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket. 

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again. 

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways. 

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better. 

That was when you first saw him. 

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came. 

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark. 

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable. 

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head. 

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?” 

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words. 

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact. 

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering. 

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee. 

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long. 

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble. 

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that. 

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone. 

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different. 

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place. 

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms. 

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures. 

You were always kept on the ground floor. 

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED 

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress. 

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well. 

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp. 

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched. 

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain. 

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again. 

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing. 

There was someone….out there. 

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with. 

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen. 

A yell. 

A scream. 

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass. 

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still. 

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet. 

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence. 

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you. 

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.' 

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort. 

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls. 

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you. 

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct. 

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting. 

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English. 

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.” 

Military? Raid? 

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood. 

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise. 

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway. 

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull. 

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.” 

That certainly got the attention that was needed. 

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind. 

Home.

Did you even have one of those left? 

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it. 

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver. 

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over. 

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie. 

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light. 

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”  

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible. 

Blue-gray. 

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter. 

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock. 

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates. 

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it. 

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt. 

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?” 

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision. 

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would. 

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.” 

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?” 

Again, you shake your head. 

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch. 

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile. 

But now wasn’t the time for that. 

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.  

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.” 

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street. 

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer. 

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree. 

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.” 

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward. 

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall. 

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you. 

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.” 

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more. 

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.” 

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears. 

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus. 

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment. 

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.” 

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you. 

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal. 

You can’t help but smile. 

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases. 

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door. 

It nearly made you cry. 

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly. 

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand. 

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?” 

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?” 

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return. 

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way. 

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room. 

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning. 

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so? 

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it. 

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling. 

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it. 

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope. 

Tap-tap, tappity-tap. 

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood. 

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala. 

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving. 

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay. 

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva. 

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you. 

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings. 

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick. 

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it. 

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten. 

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation. 

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid. 

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself. 

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder. 

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain. 

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in. 

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open. 

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them. 

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks. 

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse. 

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.” 

 “Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck. 

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?” 

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns. 

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?” 

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock. 

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.” 

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?” 

You watch him before nodding tinily. 

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?” 

 Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. 

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly. 

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?” 

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin. 

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.” 

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs. 

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.” 

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet. 

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost. 

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked. 

You take a long, deep, breath. 

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course. 

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go. 

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on. 

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword. 

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat. 

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.” 

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer. 

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold. 

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head. 

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat. 

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat. 

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable. 

Enigmatic. 

König’s reverential face is soft with care. 

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat. 

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material. 

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17. 

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone. 

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses. 

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after. 

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you. 

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?” 

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.” 

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope. 

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side. 

Live well. 

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness. 

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it. 

 ‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.” 

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.” 

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat. 

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them. 

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry. 

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device. 

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering. 

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact. 

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women. 

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?” 

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

TAGS:

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[roosterforme]

Stateside | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley made a mistake last summer when he left for his deployment without ever asking you out, and then he thought about you a lot when he was gone. He was stateside again for less than a day when the other guys coerced him to help with a fundraiser at the Hard Deck. A friendly wager with the squad might not be the only thing he wins by the end of the night.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, drinking, swears

Length: 4500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger Written for Pick Your Poison

Bradley had barely been stateside for twenty four hours when he woke up in his bed at noon to an array of texts arriving all at once. Five months on an aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with nothing much going for him left him surprisingly exhausted. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his friends, he just needed a full day to himself to readjust. 

He groaned and rolled over after glancing at his phone and seeing the words Hard Deck in a message from Jake. He closed his eyes again after tossing his phone aside, but about ten seconds later, he cracked them open again. If there was one thing he had consistently thought about over the course of those five months, it was you. Your bright smile, your perfect laugh, your navy blue tee shirts that said The Hard Deck across the front.

When he reached for his phone and checked the message from Jake, he sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. Maybe this could be an excuse to see you again sooner rather than later.

Hangman: Hey, we need you to come to the Hard Deck tonight. It's the annual charity event, and Bob can't make it. We're short a bartender. And don't try to bitch out of this, Phoenix told me you're home.

Bradley covered his face with his hand and thought long and hard about this. The real bartenders would be there to help which meant there was a chance you'd be one of them. If he volunteered for this, then maybe he'd find himself in close quarters with you for a few hours instead of the other Naval officers he'd been stuck with for months on end. Just the idea of accidentally bumping into you while pouring a beer had him texting Jake back.

Yeah, I'll be there.

Even though he was still pretty tired later in the afternoon, Bradley took a shower and then spent some extra time on his hair before dressing in his lucky shirt. That five month deployment was the reason he didn't ask you out during the summer, and now he was nervous to see you again. He had good intel from Penny that you'd been single the last time he saw you in August, but what if you had a boyfriend now? Or worse, what if you didn't even acknowledge him when you saw him?

He groaned as he looked in the bathroom mirror. Hours, possibly even days... that's how much time he'd had you on his mind while he was away. And for what? A crush on a girl who was probably too young for him? A cute bartender at the Navy hangout who definitely got asked out nightly? Shit. He was a lost cause. 

And now he was going to be late if he didn't leave right away. He grabbed his keys, and headed out to his Bronco which he had missed dearly. So if nothing else, he'd get to cruise around later after the event. But on the ride to the bar, all he could imagine was how you'd look in the passenger seat, smiling at him at every stoplight and singing along to the radio. 

"Fuck," he grunted as he parked next to Jake's truck before heading inside. He let his heart fill with hope as he strolled in to find Penny, Jake, Javy and Reuben behind the bar with two bartenders. But neither of them were you.

"Rooster!" Reuben cheered, and soon he was being clapped on the back and high fived by the guys he hadn't seen in months. It was nice, but he couldn't help but think that his smile would have been more genuine if you were here.

Jake smirked. "So glad you left your perch and joined us."

Bradley laughed as he gave Penny a hug. "Come on, man, I literally just got home."

Penny smiled up at him. "Thanks for filling in. It'll be great." Bradley really wanted to ask her about you, but then Penny patted him on the cheek before turning to reach under the bar top. "This will be a breeze for you guys," she said, handing matching shirts to the four of them. "Just a basic bar menu tonight. No super fancy cocktails. Just beer, wine, some pre-made sangria, and a few different kinds of shots."

Bradley started to unbutton his lucky shirt before pulling the new one on in its place. He smoothed his hand along the front of the blue shirt that said THE HARD DECK FIGHTS CANCER, and he noticed the two bartenders glancing at him. They were both cute but decidedly not what he had been hoping for tonight. 

"Hey," he asked them with a nod. They smiled in response, so he decided to just go ahead and ask them about you.

"She quit a few weeks ago," the first one told him. "After she graduated from law school."

"She moved, too," said the second one. "Left San Diego."

Shit. He was too late after all, nodding in response to them as he pressed his lips together in a firm line. He'd never been any good at this kind of thing, which was why he always fell into casual relationships. What should he have done? Asked you out, gone on a handful of dates and then tried to persuade you to wait five months for him? Just for him to get deployed over and over again? That wouldn't have been fair to you.

But he didn't feel like it was fair to him either, because right now he was having a hard time even remembering exactly how pretty you were and the precise tone of your laughter. Probably for the best. At least he only needed to do this event for a few hours before he could leave and go for a long drive. He swallowed down his disappointment and turned toward the guys who were in the middle of conversation. 

"How about a side wager?" Javy asked, tossing a bottle of vodka up into the air and catching it over and over again. "You know, for the charity?"

"What did you have in mind?" Bradley asked as Penny went to peek outside. "Because I doubt Penny will let us strip for charity again after last year. The two of you scuffed up the bar top," Bradley added, gesturing at Jake as well.

They both started laughing like idiots before Jake said, "Nah, let's give Penny a break this year and just tally up our tips at the end of the night. Whoever donates the least amount of tip money to the charity is the loser."

"Oh, that's a great idea," Javy said as he ate the orange slices and cherries that were meant to garnish the drinks. "What's the punishment for losing?"

Reuben smirked and said, "Loser has to report to the tarmac on Monday in his underwear. Instant push ups from Mav."

"Deal," Jake said.

"Absolutely," Javy agreed.

Three pairs of eyes settled on Bradley, and he slowly said, "Okay." If he strolled out of the locker room in just his underwear and boots on his first day back from a long deployment when he was supposed to sit down with the admirals and Maverick and have a debrief, he'd probably earn a greater punishment than just a few push ups. But it was for the charity, so he'd do it.

But he soon learned he'd made a mistake after Penny called out, "Let's get started," and propped the doors open. The first person through the door was Reuben's wife, followed by Javy's fiancee and Jake's girlfriend. And all of her sorority sisters. 

"Shit," Bradley grunted. "Did you make me come here just so I would lose?"

Javy was handing out pint glasses that they could use as tip cups as he smirked, and Bradley was wondering if there was any way he could actually stuff his discreetly with cash from his own wallet.

"You'll be just fine," Jake drawled as the jukebox came blaring to life. But even the music was mocking him as Slow Ride started to play, and Bradley had people in front of him expecting him to make them drinks. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jake's girlfriend open her purse and start stuffing Jake's tip cup full. "I feel like that's considered cheating," Bradley told her, and she rolled her eyes and smirked before tucking five dollars into his cup as well.

"Don't tip Bradshaw, Sweets," Jake complained. "We made him come here as a buffer!"

"I knew it was a setup!" Bradley groaned as he listened to someone ask him for some wine and some beer. That was easy enough. He knew how to do that. Or at least he thought he did, but then one of the bartenders who had volunteered for the night told him he poured too much wine into the glass.

Then a woman asked him for a green tea shot, and he stared at her blankly. He leaned closer to Javy and asked, "What the hell is in a green tea shot?" 

"I don't know," he replied as he poured two pints at the same time. "But you better figure it out, because your tip cup is still practically empty."

"Shit." He was scrambling to flag down the young bartenders again when he froze. He only caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye, but he knew it was you simply by the way you moved and the color of your hair. And then you sat down in the only empty stool left at the bar and smiled at him, your voice drawing his eyes up to your perfect face. 

"Rooster. You're back."

The little thoughts and fantasies he'd indulged in while deployed had nothing on the real thing, and he knew he was blushing as you smiled and waited for him to respond. But it had been months since he'd been this close to you, and now he was really beating himself up for not trying to make you his sooner. Because if you were his, he could do all the things he wanted to do right now. Like kiss you.

"Rooster," you repeated with hesitation in your eyes, your voice softer, nearly drowned out by the jukebox. 

"They said you quit," he blurted out as he leaned on the bartop, curious as to why you were here tonight. "And that you moved."

Your eyes went a little wider as you nodded, your smile still soft. "I did. You asked about me?"

"Can you make me a green tea shot or not?"

Bradley begrudgingly switched his focus to the woman next to you and sighed. He was about to tell her he didn't even know what that was, or that maybe she should fuck off so he could talk to you, but then you reached out and ran your fingers along the back of his hand. 

Your touch was brief but intentional, and all of the irritation seemed to ease out of his body as his gaze snapped back to yours. "Yeah," you told the other woman as your finger grazed his knuckle one more time. "He can make you a green tea shot."

"I don't even know what's in it," he told you, with a helpless smile, trying to fight the urge to reach for your hand. 

You kind of shrugged as you said, "I do. I'll talk you through it."

Bradley's smile grew which left you giggling as he said, "I'm kind of helpless back here. Nothing like you."

"Well, you can learn from the best," you told him, reaching out to squeeze his wrist before pointing to the many liquor bottles behind him. "Irish whiskey and peach schnapps," you told him, leaning on the bar now, so close that he just couldn't bring himself to turn away from you. 

"Okay," he said, memorizing the exact color of your eyes. "Thanks for doing this."

You bit your lip and smiled up at him, and when Bradley moved just slightly closer, he thought he heard you whimper. Your eyes were full of emotion that reflected his own as you said, "Focus, Rooster. Irish whiskey and peach schnapps."

He nodded once and then finally moved away from you as he scanned the bottles and grabbed the two you told him. "Good," you said, pointing to the mini fridge and saying, "now get the sweet and sour mix. It's in a pink jug. Yeah, you got it. Now you need a half ounce of each."

Bradley listened to you explain how to use the shaker while he gave you another helpless look. "I'm just a simple beer or bourbon drinker," he said as he strained the drink that his customer had been waiting several minutes for into a shot glass.

You laughed and said, "I know you are, and it's kind of endearing that you don't know what you're doing. Now top it off with a splash of Sprite." 

Bradley grabbed the soda gun, pressed the little green button and then looked up at you again. "This is endearing?" he asked, finally sliding the shot to the annoyed woman who unenthusiastically put a dollar in his tip cup and turned away.

"Very," you promised him. "And now I want you to make me a kamikaze shot."

He gave you a bland look, but his heart was pounding. "Are you joking right now?"

Bradley was hyper focused on your lips as you said, "Not at all. You can handle it. It's vodka, triple sec and lime juice. I prefer Finlandia. Impress me, and I'll leave you a nice big tip for the charity."

Then he groaned. He had forgotten about the wager and the other patrons looking for drinks and just all of it. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Thanks, but I'll probably still end up in my underwear at work on Monday morning." 

When he pushed away from the bar again, your eyes dipped down to his jeans before snapping back up. "Underwear?"

"Yeah," he grunted as he reached for the type of vodka you liked best. You told him how much to use, and he dumped it in a shaker. "The guys coerced me into volunteering tonight. I literally just got home from deployment, but here I am... their scapegoat," he said, arms held out at his sides. "They threw out a side bet based on tip money, and next thing I know, all of their wives and girlfriends show up with a bunch of cash."

While he shook your kamikaze shot, he watched you turn first to your right and then to your left, eyeing up the overflowing tip cups in front of Reuben, Javy and Jake. Your lips parted, and you gaped at Bradley, but your eyes looked a little devious now. "You know, all of this makes a lot of sense since the guys made me come tonight."

Bradley carefully poured out your shot and asked, "What do you mean they made you come?" He realized his voice sounded annoyed, but how did they all have your phone number anyway? He'd been standing here thinking about asking you for it, but they were apparently already texting you. 

You accepted the shot and took a small sip to taste it. "They kept messaging me earlier today, saying I absolutely needed to be here tonight. They said it was important I made it to the charity event." Then you tipped your head back, and Bradley was treated to the soft looking expanse of your neck as you swallowed down the rest of the shot he made. When you were done, you set the glass down and licked your lips as you dug some money out of your pocket. "That was delicious."

While you loaded his cup with all the cash in your pocket, Bradley tried to ask you where you lived now. If the guys were bugging you earlier today, you couldn't be that far. But before he could get a word out, you pushed yourself up so you were kneeling on the bar right in front of him, and he looked up at you as you grinned down at him. 

"Don't worry, Rooster," you said as you ran your fingers through his hair. "I got you." Then Bradley was reaching for your hips. He didn't fucking care if the place was packed, he was ready to haul you off to the back hallway and ask you if he could kiss your pretty lips. You beamed at him as his hands met your body, but you just cupped your fingers around your mouth and shouted over the music, "Come get your drinks from Rooster! He knows how to make everything! But kamikazes are his specialty! And he's hot!"

His eyes went wide as you slipped out of his grasp and back onto your stool while an influx of mostly women queued up in front of him. "What did you do?" he asked, trying to mentally process an order for a cosmopolitan while stumbling over you calling him hot.

"I'm helping you not embarrass yourself at work. Keep the vodka out. Grab the Cointreau and a martini glass. We're about to show the guys what's up."

Bradley struggled through drink after drink as quickly as he could, but you never gave up on him. Occasionally you'd slide things out of his way or point out where he could find something he needed, and at some point you grabbed a second pint glass for his overflowing tip money. And all the while, he stole as many glances at you as he could while he worked. 

When Penny eventually walked behind him, patted him on the shoulder and said there was less than an hour left of the event, she also shared a smile with you. But there was no hope. The other guys were already working on their third tip cups each. "I don't think I can make up the deficit," he groaned, pulling up the hem of his shirt and wiping his brow with it. 

"Oh, that's a great idea," you mused, leaning across the bar and pulling his shirt up higher. "Take it off."

He stared at you as you tugged on the fabric. "Take it off?"

You nodded, the moevent exaggerated as you said, "Absolutely. Take your shirt off." As he looked around awkwardly before pulling his shirt over his head, you cupped your hands around your mouth once again and said, "He has six pack abs!"

Now the guys were glaring at him. "So do I!" Reuben complained.

"Don't you dare take your shirt off!" his wife told him, pointing at him in warning. 

Bradley knew his cheeks were flushed, and all he really wanted to do was talk to you and hopefully kiss you. And he really wanted to do all of that with his shirt on, because he felt a bit like a stripper now as you reached for a third tip cup. The cash was filling it up quickly, and he smirked as he thought about Reuben, Jake or Javy in their underwear instead of him. And it was all for a charity after all. 

"Make him use the shaker!" you urged a woman who looked like she was in her seventies and holding a crisp fifty dollar bill. "Make him flex."

Bradley groaned your name which sent you into a fit of laughter, your second empty shot glass still in front of you. "This isn't right," he complained half heartedly as he shook the older woman's Mai Tai with flexed abs and biceps. 

"It is so right," you told him, and he appreciated that you were scoping out the other guys' tip cups instead of looking at him right now. "Keep going. It's going to be so close." And then that fifty ended up in Bradley's cup when he handed over the cocktail, and you said, "Or maybe not!"

"Last call for the fundraiser!" Penny shouted over the crowd, and Bradley almost sighed in relief when the last few people ordered beers and a glass of wine. And then it was all over, and he had a huge amount of cash in front of him along with you. But he didn't care about the tips as much as he did getting to finally talk to you. The fundraiser was technically over, and you were looking at him the same way he was looking at you.

When he took a breath to suggest you and he go for a walk, he felt a hand on his bare back. It was one of the young bartenders who was helping out, and she said, "I can count up your tips for you," with a smile.

"Nope," you said, reaching for his cups yourself and shooting her a glare. "I'll do his. You go help Coyote." You didn't move again until her hand slipped off of his back and she walked away, and then you looked at Bradley and asked, "What are you going to do for me if you win?"

He watched as you quickly sorted the bills into efficient piles as he pulled his shirt back on and leaned against the bar. It had quieted down significantly, and now Penny was taking a few drink orders while everyone else seemed to move to the tables. He felt like he had a moment of privacy with you as he said, "I guess that depends. Apparently you moved away, Sweetheart."

"I did," you confirmed with a smirk as you counted up his twenties. 

"But you came back tonight."

You rolled your eyes, still smiling as you moved to the pile of tens. "I'm not too far away. I took a full time job and moved to Del Mar. The guys told me I needed to be here tonight for a special surprise. They said something I had been missing was returning. So I came down."

Bradley's fingers flexed on the edge of the bartop. "They did?"

You looked a little vulnerable as you stacked the bills in one pile and said, "Eight hundred and seventy one dollars." 

He nodded once and pushed the money aside without really looking at it. "You'd been missing something, Sweetheart?" he pressed gently, heart pounding in his chest. 

You bit your lip as your eyes drifted closed when he rubbed his thumb across your cheek. "I guess I must have asked the guys one time too many if they knew when you'd be back from your deployment."

"Oh," he rasped as you looked at him again. "You missed me?"

"Yes," you whispered. "I was going to ask you out, but then you were just gone. And they told me you were deployed, and I thought I really missed my chance. And I didn't even know if you were single or not, so I-"

Bradley had heard enough, so he kissed you. Just a soft press of his lips to yours, but you practically crawled onto the bar to get closer to him. And it was better than he spent the last five months imagining it might be. He could taste the vodka and lime on your tongue as it met his. Your fingers gently combed through his hair again, and he moaned, "I missed you too, Sweetheart."

Your laughter was soft and sweet as your nose brushed against his, and then he jerked back a few inches as Reuben shouted. "Yo, Rooster! There's time for that later, man! How much tip money did you make?"

"Eight hundred and seventy one," you replied as your fingers trailed down his scarred cheek to rub his mustache before you pecked him on the lips. The three guys groaned in unison, and Bradley watched your face light up in a beautiful smile. 

"This is not why we told you that you had to come tonight!" Jake whined, pointing at you and pouting. "You were supposed to distract him, not help him win! He was just supposed to turn into a bumbling mess and admit he has feelings for you!"

You turned away from Jake, and you asked Bradley, "So, do you have feelings for me?"

He huffed out a laugh before he hopped up to sit on the bar, swung his long legs over to the other side and hopped down again. You jumped from your stool and into his arms when he said, "I thought about you the whole time I was away, Sweetheart. I wanted to ask you out in the summer, but I didn't think it was right to hope you'd wait almost half a year for me to be stateside. For us to be together again."

"Bradley," you moaned. His hands found your hips just like earlier, and this time he pulled you snug against him while your fingers teased through his hair. "If a guy is worth waiting for, then I'd wait forever."

He kissed you again, tasting and nipping the lips that he'd dreamed about. Inhaling all of your sweetness that his mind didn't do justice to when he'd been away. Feeling your smile against his lips for the first time.

"Let me ask you again," you said, pausing between kisses. "Since I clearly helped you win the bet, what are you going to do for me?"

"Anything you want," he said immediately as you started to push him toward the door with a grin. 

"How about we go for a long drive? And we can talk about how the next time you're deployed, your girlfriend will be waiting patiently for you to return?"

Bradley scooped you up, sending you into a fit of laughter as he carried you directly to his Bronco.

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

Bradley was exhausted on Monday to the point where the travel mug of coffee you sent him with did nothing to keep him from yawning out on the tarmac at 8:00. But every yawn ended with him smiling as he thought about how perfect the weekend had been. In the very early hours of Sunday morning, you'd agreed to be his girlfriend. And now he was waiting for the cherry on top of it all.

He didn't have to wait long as he stood between Reuben and Javy, the three of them looking nearly identical in their matching flight suits and boots, standing at attention in front of Maverick. Then Jake came strolling out, and Bradley instantly started laughing. 

Maverick turned, took one look at Hangman in his boxer shorts and combat boots and said, "I don't even want to know what's going on here, I just want five hundred push ups."

Jake's eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his face as everyone else tried their best to hold in their laughter. Bradley took his phone out as discreetly as he could and snapped a picture of Jake panicking on the tarmac before he dropped down onto the ground and started on his punishment. 

"Everyone else to your jets," Mav barked, and Bradley didn't stick around to hear him say it again. Instead he texted you the photo of Jake along with a short message.

Couldn't have pulled it off without your help, Sweetheart.

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

The way I would die of this man just casually started calling me his Sweetheart. I love that he swept the guys to win the bet! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[ssahotchnerr]

Hey love, could you pretty please do an Aaron x reader where it’s there wedding day and she starts getting real bad anxiety about marrying him. Not because she doesn’t want to but because she feels like he is surrounded by so many amazing people who uplift him that she could never compare. Just in the mood for fluffy comfort Aaron 🥹

enough

cw; fem!reader, a LOT of angst but it's comforting??, heavy 5x9 references (i'm sobbing actually), anxiety descriptions, aaron cries 😭, comfort and a happy ending don't worry!!!! wc; 2.4k

"nervous jitters?"

"you could say that." you replied - while staring off into space, while bouncing your crossed leg, while kicking your slipper on and off your heel. your head moved downward as your fingers clutched onto the seat of the chair you were sat in, harshly enough for your knuckles to turn white.

jj pulled the curling wand away from your face an inch, "careful, try not to move."

"sorry."

yet another wave of guilt rippled through you, as this wasn't how you should feel on your wedding day.

last night, you were surrounded by the people you now consider family, celebrating a new chapter. or rather, a beginning. aaron's permanent grin was engraved in your mind; you've never seen him so carefree, happily conversing with his colleagues, gazing at you as if he'd won the lottery (to him, he had). you were positive there wasn't a second where his arms hadn't been wrapped around you.

before parting ways for the night, he had pulled you to the side, to a more secluded area. he gave you long, sweet, deep kisses, holding your body close to his, as you weren't going to see each other until the two of you officially, and finally, became one.

just as him, you had been on a similar high, more than ready for this next adventure, in pure disbelief that in less than twenty-four hours, you'd be a hotchner. so now, whatever this was, had quite literally come out of absolutely nowhere.

when you awoke this morning, rather than the excitement you had expected, you were greeted with an empty, terrifying pit in your stomach.

as the day carried on, pre-wedding activities in full motion, it followed, and the void within only grew and grew. it was gravely unsettling; you were more fidgety, on edge, you hadn't been your usual talkative self. and despite being surrounded by your newfound family - jj, penelope, and emily more specifically - you couldn't help but choose to remain alone in your thoughts.

jj studied your face through the mirror, before securing your hairpiece in place. "there." her hands found your shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze. "sit tight, i'll be right back."

you nodded, blinking your eyes to prevent the budding tears from slipping - and to not ruin penelope's handiwork, mascara sure to stain your cheeks. she left, leaving you alone.

but as promised jj returned no more than five minutes later, only she remained at the doorway, her head peeking in. "someone's here to see you."

after giving you a consoling smile, as if she knew - profilers - she vanished, leaving door slightly ajar.

your hand had only just touched the knob when the door moved a centimeter back, slight pressure holding it still to refrain from opening fully.

"don't open it all the way."

"aaron?" at the sound of his voice, you fought the instant urge to sob. but the utmost amount of comfort filled you too. it took a second, but you found your voice, "you're not supposed to be here."

"well technically, i just can't see you."

"still." you insisted. your tone was flat, rather than being full of giddiness due to your future husband sneakily paying you a forbidden visit - like it should've. "they're going to be looking for you."

"then let them." aaron answered simply, not concerned about that in the slightest. "are you alright?"

you immediately fell silent, and aaron patiently waited a minute, but still - nothing. the extended period of quietness, scared him, given the day's event.

please, not cold feet.

and given the current circumstances, there was only so much he could do. aaron dropped his hand to his side, weaving through the small gap. "here, give me your hand."

your hand quickly found his, the promptness allowing aaron to breathe. the familiar weight felt like home; your hand always fitting perfectly within his. your hands always cold, his warm. yours soft, his rough.

his thumb drew circles on the back of your hand, an invitation to open up. "what's on your mind?"

you bit your lip in thought, taking a heavy enough breath aaron could hear it without straining his ears.

"honey?"

"first, i want to preface this that i do want to marry you. i don't want you thinking otherwise." your voice was firm, meaning every word.

"okay..." here was a brief hesitancy in his voice despite your promise; a tinge of worry, some question. however, he managed to keep his voice steady, for the most part. you, however, still recognized the waver of uncertainty.

"just," you released a breath, your voice small. "i envy you."

aaron was quiet for a moment, and when he did speak, the confusion was obvious in his voice. "you envy me?"

"you have," you took a breath, gripping onto his hand. "so many wonderful amazing people around you... i don't even know where to start. they've been with you, stuck with you, for far longer than i have. how do i compare to that? god, dave's practically paying for this whole thing. because of you, for you. no matter who you would've married, he would've done exactly the same. i'm not special."

"sweethear-"

"i want to be enough for you." tears pinched at your eyes, your hold on his hand lessening - which frighteningly felt like you were letting go completely. "you deserve," you took another breath, and this one rattled through you. "everything. and i'm afraid i never will be."

aaron only clutched onto your hand tighter, refusing to part. his eyes squeezed shut for a moment, taking a silent, deep breath. "are you wearing your dress yet?"

after all that, you weren't too sure of how he would respond, but you certainly hadn't expected that. "no? once-"

aaron released your hand. and after looking in both directions of the hall to be certain he was in the clear, he swiftly entered, the door clicking shut behind him.

"aaron." you stared at him, your eyes wide in alarm. you barely had the time to process him in his tuxedo, or have the thought to push him out. "you can't be-"

"enough?" aaron looked at you, baffled. exasperation, pain, and love all present in his eyes. "how can you say that?"

"i-"

"you... are everything. my everything." he moved to your left, pacing away for a moment, quickly internalizing a way to get it across solidly, so you wouldn't dare question otherwise again. he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "did i ever tell you, what haley told me before she died?"

you blinked in surprise, but shook your head. while you knew the story, offered reassurances after nightmares and the topic of haley had never been off limits, aaron had never gone into detail over... the final moments. you never pushed, never asked - if it was something he chose to keep to himself, to have that part of haley close to him and only him - of course you respected that. they were vulnerable, painful memories, not easy to relive.

he sobered, his posture and expression changing before you, alight with a ghost of the past. a tender, solemn fondness was in his tone as he recalled the line. "'love is the most important thing.'"

your eyes studied his face, silently urging him to continue.

"and while our relationship had it's hardships, she wanted jack to believe in it - love - and had me promise her that i'd show him."

"aaron..."

"he believes, because of you."

"i-"

"i believe," his eyes found yours, full of a sincereness you've never seen from him. "because of you."

you opened your mouth to speak again, but no words came out.

"haley was right." he chuckled softly, with a small shake of his head, "honestly, and while i understand why now, for a long time i was furious she made me promise that. because i wouldn't be able to keep my word. before that... day, i'd already given up. lost hope that i could find it again, that it was even possible, or whether i deserved it. haley and i were together for a long time, you know that. being with her was all i knew, what i was used to, and part of me thought maybe someday, we'd manage to work things out. and suddenly, she was gone. it was too late - i was too late. i failed her, and i'd continue to fail her."

"and then you came into my life, and turned my world around completely. never did i think i would love again, let alone get on one knee and ask someone to marry me. but here we are. here you are."

aaron took your face into his hands, as delicately as he possibly could - as if he feared he would break you.

"because of you, i kept my promise to haley. jack knows, he sees the love i have for you every day. and although he 'ew's' at the sight of us kissing here and there, he'll grow up understanding. he'll know the importance, as promised."

"and you saved me. you saved from a looming downward spiral. i saw it happen to gideon, it's happened to countless others within the bureau, and i could've been the next. i told someone once; it's consuming, this job will eat you up if you let it. but instead of letting it, instead of ruining my relationship with jack, you managed to pull me from that impending darkness i was headed toward."

tears were continuously trickling down your cheeks, utterly speechless.

"you're enough. god you're more than enough. and if that doesn't... i'll prove it to you everyday if i have to. if you'll let me." a broken exhale left his lips, choked up. "i promise."

still unable to find the words, and actions speaking louder, your fingers grabbed onto his tux, pulling his body to yours and wrapping your arms around his middle, burying your face into his chest. in the back of your mind, you made a mental apology to penelope, and hoped you weren't soiling aaron's dress shirt too badly.

aaron's shoulders dropped at the contact, in relief. he pressed his lips to the top of your head, his arms wrapping around your shoulders and holding you close. next, he's the one who took a shaky breath.

"so, i'm the one who should be afraid."

"what?" your voice cracked, peering up at him, your chin on his torso.

"baggage." aaron sighed, tearing his eyes away from yours, his hands running along your back soothingly - or rather, to soothe himself. "i'm the widowed father. i'm the one who's never around. i'm the one who's scarred, in more ways than one. i don't want to limit you, to keep you from a life you've always imagined for yourself. like i did with haley."

"don't say that."

"every day, i wonder why i'm the one you chose to be with. wonder why you love me. i think that it's too good to be true, that i'll wake up. or someday, you will."

"aaron."

he sighed, tears sliding down his cheek.

"you are not scarred, aaron hotchner." you cupped his face and angled him so he was looking at you, wiping the droplets away with the pads of your thumb. "far from it. the life i imagine, is with you. this is it." you found it in you to let out a small laugh, refreshing after the morning you've had. "that's why i was so worried."

he also couldn't help but laugh gently through his tears. "you shouldn't be."

your hand slid to the back of his neck, winding your fingers through the nape of his hair. "you've, very unfairly, dealt with the unfathomable. the unimaginable. but that doesn't make you broken. i find it admirable actually, and it's one of the things i love about you. you're strong aaron. to go through something like that, and come out on the other side of it, both the tragedy and the recovery part of it. a lot of people wouldn't be able to do the same."

aaron looked at you, listening, his head tilting as he leaned into your touch.

"despite what you think, you're a good father. i adore you with jack. and with the horrors you see, every day, you still come home with a calm face. you never fail to give us your all - your sweet loving self. you're always present, even if you're physically aren't here. because you're out there making this world a safer place for so many others. for jack, for me. you really don't give yourself enough credit."

aaron remained silent, his gaze beginning to tear away from yours. but you stopped him, with a finger under his chin to direct his focus back to you.

"you may have scars, but they aren't you. they may contribute, but they aren't you."

"are you sure?" his voice fell to a whisper, eyes desperately searching yours, his own dampened.

you nodded earnestly, your bottom lip quivering a small amount. "i've never been more sure of anything. i promise."

and with that, aaron's lips found yours, kissing you even more deeply than he had the previous night. from the urgency that soon developed, it was clear just how needed this conversation was, on both ends. providing closure, clarity. the kiss sent a buzz right through you, instantaneously making up for the all the lost time you had spent brooding.

you forced yourself to pull away - only when air was needed, and to simply stop. you would've gladly kissed him longer, and aaron likewise, but the two of you were on a schedule.

his forehead fell against yours, a rather boyish, adorable smile on his face. "so, are we good?"

you nodded, your lips pulling into a smile as well, the giddiness you've been missing finally present. you reached up, gently blotting away any lingering tears of his. "we've always been."

"wedding still on?"

you rolled your eyes, gently smacking his chest and making him laugh. "duh."

"okay." he grinned, pecking your lips gently. "i better go. if someone catches me in here-"

"-you'll be in trouble."

"big trouble." he grinned, pulling your hands forward to bring you in for yet another kiss. "i love you. you never saw me."

you chased his lips - just one more. "never did."

aaron laughed, his brown eyes just sparkling. "i'll see you soon. you know where to find me, i'll be waiting."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you

[storiesfromgaza]

Hello, everyone.

This may be the finest and most important article I've written since the creation of this blog, so kindly read it carefully and pay attention.

And share it so that everyone can see it.

There are many events happening tonight, and I will try to summarize them for you so that you have a complete understanding of what is happening.

Twelve days ago, a gruesome incident occurred, most of you have probably heard of it: the occupation forces shelled the Al-Ma'madani Hospital in Gaza, resulting in the deaths of over a thousand people, including patients, their families, doctors, and young children.

Has the occupation been content with this? The answer is no.

Since that day, they have been threatening another hospital, Al-Quds Hospital, with the promise of bombing it, leaving civilians and patients inside in a state of terror, awaiting death at any moment.

The first time this happened, it spread across social media platforms, especially Twitter, and many people protested, causing the occupation to halt its actions.

Today, twelve days after the Al-Ma'madani Hospital massacre, they have once again sent severe threats to the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS) for the immediate evacuation of Al-Quds Hospital, as it is destined to be bombed.

"🔴 Urgent: We have just received severe threats demanding the immediate evacuation of Al-Quds Hospital as it is set to be bombed.

Since the early hours of the morning, the vicinity of Al-Quds Hospital has been witnessing continuous airstrikes, resulting in the destruction of some buildings within a 50-meter radius.

📢 Please share, save Al-Quds Hospital! 📢

#GazaUnderAttack #GazaUnderSiege #Save_Al-Quds_Hospital

"

The second matter, three days ago, specifically on Friday, the twenty-seventh of this month, the occupation completely isolated Gaza from the world by cutting off the internet, telecommunications, and electricity. They were prepared for a brutal massacre that occurred that night and lasted for two days.

I'm talking about indiscriminate bombardment using all kinds of weapons on all areas of Gaza, whether they were churches, mosques, schools, or homes, regardless of their occupants, be they children, young people, women, or the elderly.

During that period, social media platforms and indeed the entire world were abuzz with the issue.

People from various backgrounds, nationalities, and religions unanimously agreed that it was inhumane to isolate them from the world and deny them the right to have a voice.

They were searching for solutions they could implement.

Some took to the streets, demanding the return of the internet, while others began sharing their plight on social media, primarily on Twitter.

They reached out to activists and officials who had the means to help.

One of the most prominent solutions that everyone turned to was contacting Elon Musk, the former owner of Twitter (X) and the current owner of SpaceX, to enable the people of Gaza to use the internet via Starlink's private satellites.

They hoped that he would hear their plea, as it was their only hope.

He tweeted:

"Starlink will support connectivity to internationally recognized aid organizations in Gaza.

[ComStar]

"

On the same day, five hours after the publication of this tweet, the Israeli Minister of Communications commented on it, saying, in essence, that they would use all available means to prevent the supply of Starlink internet to Gaza because Hamas would utilize it. He also threatened that if this were to occur, he would sever all his office's ties with Starlink.

Now, let's discuss the issue of hostages for a moment because it is of utmost importance to understanding the situation.

On the twenty-fourth of this month, Yasmin Porat, one of the hostages, came forward to talk about her experiences during her captivity.

I will now share some of what she mentioned in the interview:

She stated that Israeli forces eliminated everyone, including hostages, amid heavy crossfire and tank shelling.

She highlighted the contrasting behavior of Palestinian fighters who offered hope for safe passage to Gaza. Israeli forces disrupted this hope with a storm of gunfire.

Palestinian fighters treated the hostages humanely, offering them hope of a safe passage to Gaza, despite the chaos.

This compassionate act stands in stark contrast to the chaos that unfolded.

After the interview was broadcast, it was completely deleted and blocked from all social media platforms and even from Kan's website. Moreover, Yasmin's account mysteriously disappeared from the "Haboker Hazeh" program, raising concerns of censorship.

Below, you will find the interview recording.

During that period, the Al-Qassam Brigades continued their communication with the Israeli government in order to release some prisoners for humanitarian reasons, including their age and health, among them two elderly women, one of whom is named Yohav Levisheitz.

But the Israeli government showed no interest in the matter whatsoever.

As a result, they decided to release the two elderly women.

Before leaving, one of them, Yohav Levisheitz, insisted on shaking hands with one of the resistance fighters who she was their captor, as you can see in the following video.

-Tumblr doesn't allow me to post two videos in a single post, so I will provide the video link on the blog-:

https://www.tumblr.com/storiesfromgaza/732027117370572800/al-qassam-brigades-released-two-of-the-hostages?source=share

After this, she insisted on participating in a press conference to share her experience, saying:

"When we arrived in Gaza, they initially told us that they believed in the Quran and that they wouldn't harm us.

They said they would treat us as they do with those around them.

We were under tight security, and medical professionals arrived to ensure we had the medications we always took.

They showed great concern for our health.

Our place of rest was the mattresses.

We had an accompanying doctor who would visit us every two or three days to check on our well-being.

In addition to a paramedic who looked after us and provided us with our medications.

They took on the responsibility and made sure to provide the necessary medications.

They looked after our hygiene meticulously to safeguard our health so that we wouldn't fall ill.

It was they who took care of cleaning the restrooms, not us.

They provided us with everything we needed, and I acknowledge their help in that.

If equivalent medications weren't available, they offered suitable alternatives.

They were remarkably courteous (kind) and ensured we ate well, sharing the same food they ate (bread, cheese, and cucumbers)

We were treated with kindness, and they paid meticulous attention to every detail.

Women among them understood the importance of feminine hygiene and ensured we had everything we needed.

Hamas had meticulously planned everything for a long time, providing us with everything we required, even down to shampoo and conditioner.

The inefficiencies of the army and Shabak (Israel Security Agency - ISA) greatly impacted us; we were pawns in the government's game."

After this, Western media outlets, with CNN at the forefront, distorted Yohav's words and published that she said, "I went through hell."

BBC, on the other hand, released two versions of the statement.

They published the original statement by Yohav on their account dedicated to the Arab audience, while on their accounts for Western and Indian audiences, they published a manipulated version of her statement that included the same content as previously published by CNN.

These are the testimonies of two different women captives, both of whom unanimously agree that they were treated with excellent humane treatment, and no one tortured them or attempted to harass or disturb them.

On the other hand, both of them agree that Israel did not care about their safety in any way and, in fact, they would open fire in the presence of the hostages, leaving behind lifeless bodies hit by their deadly bullets.

Now, let's focus for a moment on the point of Israel and the prisoners.

Two days ago, Abu Ubaida, the official spokesman for the Al-Qassam Brigades, made a lengthy recorded speech in which he spoke about the prisoners.

He said:

"There have been numerous contacts in the prisoner file, and there was an opportunity to reach an agreement, but they delayed and did not show real seriousness in releasing the prisoners.

Instead, its barbaric shelling and continuous crimes have led to the killing of nearly fifty of them so far."

Do you understand now that Israel does not care about the prisoners at all, as it claims, and that their use of the prisoner issue is merely to prevent Elon Musk from providing internet access via Starlink in Gaza for its residents?

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[podiumnorris]

Paper Rings | L. Norris

In which they allow themselves to become undone in each other's touch, and enter a new phase of their relationship.

word count: 5,9k | warnings for mature content (18+); protected sex, fingering, a small nod to a breeding kink, inexperienced reader and lando (but they try their best), possible offensive language, other than that just lots of fluff | prompt(s) used: s35 and s31

Accidents. You hated them. But while normally associated with unpleasant events, for once in your life it had been good. It wasn't intentional that you met Lando Norris and became friends, but eventually, he had unexpectedly asked you out.

You had encountered the young Brit at a party of a mutual friend. You despised parties, and after you had arrived and greeted the birthday girl, you became to realise why; everyone was high off their asses.

It had barely been twenty minutes into the party, and you had already found yourself alone at the bar with a glass of sugar-free Coca-Cola. You did not like drinking alcoholic liquids, and you had thought you were the solitary person in this building to be feeling like this until you saw a young man sit about three metres away from you - most likely drinking the same exact drink as you did.

“I’m Lando,” he had said as he caught your eye, walked up to you and extended his hand for you to shake. “I take it you are not a frequent drinker either?”

Your rosy cheeks flushed while you shook your head, quietly confirming his thoughts. He looked stunning; bright eyes taking all of your attention from the loose blouse and neat trousers. And then to come back to the curls atop his head; you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

After talking with Lando for the rest of the memorable night, you ultimately felt your social battery run out and decided it was time for you to go, much to your dismay.

With his beaming smile and plumb lips shaping around his teeth, he gently assured you that it was no big deal, and if you had wanted to, you could meet up another time. There wasn’t a single doubt inside your mind when you have him your number, and he promised you he would send you a message after offering you a ride home, which you politely declined.

You had gone home that night, head in the clouds, and your fingers itching to look the youngster up on the internet. He had let it slip that he was a driver, though you weren’t certain for what. Was he a taxi driver? Bus driver, perhaps?

Whatever it was, you were too curious not to look it up. He had to have a social media page somewhere, and with a name like that it shouldn’t have been hard to find. Therefore you eagerly searched for his name; Lando. You hadn’t quite gotten his last name yet, so after searching past a certain star wars character, you finally saw his familiar face pop up on the glowing screen. You frowned thoughtfully. He was a Formula 1 driver. You weren’t so sure how he had managed to avoid that topic altogether, but it caused you to appreciate him even more.

It was about two to three months and a few cat and mouse games after that, around Valentine's Day, that he had asked you out. In the few months of being friends, you weren’t entirely sure what you had done to deserve such a kind human being in your life, but you accepted his invitation, nonetheless.

Therefore there you were; happily together for five more months - except this time as a couple. And it couldn’t have been better.

The both of you decided to take it slowly; neither of you had a lot of experience, and you certainly didn’t want to rush things that didn’t need to be rushed.

He had asked you to accompany him at races a couple of times, but you kindly declined each time. You felt like it was invading his personal space, like barging into an office when someone's at work. He could dismiss your thoughts as much as he liked, but it wouldn’t convince you. ‘Some day,’ you had promised.

Denying his kind invitation to his home race felt wrong, but you just weren’t ready. And he accepted that. So, you had made a comfortable spot on your sofa, windows open, and an iced tea in your hands while you watched the race weekend on your television.

You practically screamed when your boyfriend put his orange and chrome car on the first row. The season had been incredibly harsh for both McLaren drivers, but it ultimately seemed they were getting close to where they formerly stood.

And then, the race. Never in a million years would you have thought he would lead a race this year. It only was for a couple of laps, but he managed to pass the reigning world champion during the start and was ahead of the Dutchman even before the first corner.

The race was intense, and you had long forgotten your prepared drink and snacks on the table. But when Lando crossed the line in second place, you almost felt joyful tears escape your eyes. You could contain yourselves, wanting to seem strong for nobody in particular.

In the middle of the podium ceremony, your mum sent you a quick text, ‘he bloody did it again’, and you could no longer contain your tears. You took photos of your television screen, acting as if you did join him during this race. And oh, how you wish you had.

He called you as soon as he was finished with the media duties, like he always does, and talked you through his racing thoughts of the past three hours. And you could do nothing but listen intensely.

He went straight home to you after he was no longer required at the track, your apartment being a small four-hour drive from Silverstone. You had told him he could take some well-deserved rest first, and visit you the day after, but he just desperately wanted to see you.

After a few hours of eager anticipation, you heard the door open, concluding your boyfriend had let himself in with the key you had given him just the week before.

You shot up to meet him in the middle of the living room, where his suitcase and shoes had already been long left at the door. Your socks-covered feet tried their best not to slip from underneath you, and you embraced Lando in an affectionate hug, his arms finding their way around your waist immediately, resting his hands on your lower back.

You took in his scent, cologne mixed with shampoo from his shower after the race. He wore a hoodie from his newest merchandise collection, and you mentally scolded him for dressing like that with the heat hanging over your country.

“I missed you so much.” You told him, and you had. You always had to miss him for a couple of weeks at the least with the races, but he promised he would come back to you. And he always did.

“I’m here, love,” he murmured into your neck, his warm breath causing a shiver over your back. “And so did I.”

“You did so well.” You whispered tenderly, trying your best not to sniffle right then and there. But he caught onto it.

“Hey, hey,” he pulled back from your embrace, causing your hands to slide down to his chest, his palms resting on your cheeks. “Are you crying?”

You chuckled. Of course, you chuckled. How could you not? This man made you laugh with almost every single word he said, even when he tried to be serious.

“Guess I’m just a little overwhelmed,” you looked him in the eyes, those mesmerising irises looking back at yours - concern mixed with a smile. “It’s been a tough mental day, but seeing you back on that podium again -“ you paused for a brief second, a lump forming in your throat, trying your best not to fully let your tears fall. “It was all I could have asked for this weekend.”

He smiled. Genuinely smiled. He could barely afford any other emotion around you than genuine happiness, and you reciprocated that feeling.

“I did it for you,” he smiled, thumbs caressing your cheekbones, and you suddenly felt weak in the knees. His intense gaze, perfect smile, and lips wettened from the times he occasionally ran his tongue along them.

You weren’t exactly certain what came over you, but you grabbed the collar of his sweater, pulled him down to your height and embraced his rosy lips in a loving kiss.

He was taken aback, sure. But it merely took him a few seconds to answer your gesture and deepen the kiss even more.

“You didn’t just do it for me, and you know that.” You giggled as you pulled back for air, and he could barely open his eyes, still captured in the haze of your presence.

“Well, I also did it for you.” He answered, in that tone that he has when he’s excited, where most of the internet won’t be able to decipher if he’s crying or just genuinely laughing. But of course, you would know.

You looked at him, lips red from your kissing, and you chuckled once more. You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you almost wondered if your eyes turned into heart shapes.

“Lando,” you breathed, his name being just a singular word, but it came out more shaky than ever. “I think I’m ready.”

He was at a loss for words. In the months you had been together, neither of you had initiated the following step of intercourse. And neither of you felt the need to. It’s not like you and Lando had never done this before. This undoubtedly wasn’t your first relationship. But you had thought this fell under the term of taking it slow, and the desire just had not been there yet.

Until now. And he didn’t know what to say.

“If you don’t want to, we can just-“ “No, no-“ he cut you off, trying to come up with the right words. He did want to, but it just didn’t come out. Your gentle smile started to turn into a frown.

“I do,” he started. “I want to, I-“ he was flustered. And slowly, your nerves started to fade, and a smile came back to your face.

“Lando,” it was now your turn to place your palms on his cheeks, resulting in his landing on your hips. “Easy. No need to get so nervous.”

He let out a profound sigh of relief, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You clasped his dampened hand, leading him to your bedroom. It hadn’t been the first time he entered this part of your small apartment, and neither had it been the first time he had been in this bed. But this time it was different. And he wasn’t certain if he should be nervous or excited about this next step.

You looked outside the window above your bed, the moon coming to stand high in the unclouded sky as the sun said a quick hello to its other half before starting to strike the horizon and taking the light with it.

The golden hour had started, and somehow it made you experience all kinds of things for this intimate moment.

You sat down on the bottom end of the twin-sized bed, pulling Lando down with you so he sad next to you. You experienced a tingling sensation between your legs, but you weren’t entirely sure how to start acting on it.

And then you did. Unknown courage entered your body, whether it was lust or braveness, you weren’t certain. But you carefully placed your lips onto his, after which he immediately returned the favour.

You carefully stood up, Lando wanted to follow your eager actions, but you gently pushed him back down on the bed and sat on his lap, a leg on each side of him.

His graceful hands landed on your hips, your hands on his warm face, as you both battled it out for dominance into the kiss. It wasn’t rough, but both of you were desperate.

Lando decided to take a bit of control, messily picking you up and gently lowering you onto the soft covers of your bed, not breaking the kiss as he came to hover above you.

When you broke apart for air, you reassuringly smiled at each other and loving eyes never breaking contact.

“You know, Carlos told me the other day that -“ “Lando, shut up about Carlos right now.” You cut him off as you passionately kissed him again, this time hungrily trying to pry his hoodie off of him, but failing miserably.

He broke the kiss, lifting himself up and taking off his neon yellow piece of clothing, only to reveal yet another piece in the shape of a t-shirt.

“I swear to god, you are going to be suffering from a heat stroke someday.” You chuckled at the man above you, delivering him a look and he took the hint and undid himself from his shirt as well before leaning back down to capture you in another kiss with a smile.

He didn’t answer your humorous remark. But he didn’t have to. You knew he wouldn’t listen anyway.

You allowed your hands to roam over his chest, down his abdomen and towards his joggers. But, before you could reach the hem, he stopped you. He gently shoved your hands away as he reached for your shirt, and you took the hint to sit up and assist him.

Breaking the kiss for no more than a few seconds, his lips were on yours again after successfully removing your piece of clothing and you took off your bra before laying back down.

Nerves settled in your stomach and Lando could immediately sense it.

“Hey, love,” he broke the kiss to look into your eyes, barely glancing a single look at your exposed chest just yet. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” you smiled at him and reached up to cup his cheek and gently stroke the area with your thumb. “I want to. But it’s been a while.”

He did nothing but smile at you. That warm, loving smile embracing all of the unique features on his face, the smile that got you head over heels for him in the first place.

“Okay,” he chuckled. “Can I?” He finally gestured to your chest, and you nodded before biting your lip and letting go of his warm cheek.

Lando gave you a final kiss to your lips, before finding a path down your neck, towards the valley of your breasts. He placed his tongue around your left nipple while taking care of the other with his strong fingers.

A contented sigh escaped your lips, and you could feel him smile against your skin as you let your fingers glide through his soft curls. The hand that was caressing your breast hesitantly left its spot, and like it had a mind of its own, travelled down to your own joggers. Lando loosened the knot in the strings which were used to keep them up, and his mouth left the spot on your other breast.

He travelled down, placing delicate kisses on your stomach on the way, causing your hands to glide from his hair and land next to you on the mattress.

He shot you one last questioning glance, and you slowly but eagerly nodded, and he grasped this as his sign to carefully undo you from your pants.

Much to your dismay, Lando took his time. Your joggers slid off your thighs with ease, and you felt his delicate and strong fingers glide over your sensitive skin. You shivered out of sensual pleasure, and your boyfriend looked up with a sly smirk. Your thighs were one of your most sensitive spots, and his gentle touch sent goosebumps over your body. He now knew that, too.

When one of the final pieces of fabric had been taken off your body, Lando gently tossed it towards the chair in the corner of your room, where his sweater and both your t-shirts and his hoodie had previously ended up as well.

You looked at him as he stood at the edge of your bed, and you couldn't decide what you desired to do more; hide yourself from his intense gaze, or let your mouth water at the sight of his trained torso.

Lando, however, didn't allow you to think twice and was soon quick to hover back above you and plant another kiss on your reddened lips.

His wet kisses went towards your neck, to a certain spot just below your ear, towards the place your neck and shoulder meet. You felt his tongue on your skin, rosy lips surrounding the wet sensation, as he forcefully sucked on the spot.

Your right hand flew towards the nape of his neck, right where his hair ended, and tried its best to eagerly grasp whatever it could find.

Simultaneously, your other hand ended on his side, your touch tickling his exposed skin, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

Another sigh unwillingly escaped your lips at the sensation, and he got back up to examine your eyes.

Your pupils were heavily dilated, your breath was unsteady, and sweat started to form on your forehead near your hairline. But he couldn't help but look at you adoringly.

"Can I touch you?" Lando asked, a charming smile still plastered on his face. You could barely answer. Your chest felt incredibly tight, and your mind was filled with just one word as you looked at the man above you; love.

It frightened you. Absolutely terrified you. Neither of you had shared the three most famous words yet, and you certainly didn't expect it would take this to deliver them into your mind.

Feeling like you've let your boyfriend wait long enough, you eagerly nodded before giving him one last kiss.

Lando looked at the purple reminder on the side of your throat with a proud smile before he let his hands wander down towards your underwear. His eager hands slipped into your panties, a quivering breath escaping your lips as his thumb put pressure on your small bundle of nerves when he found it.

With one final look of approval, he slid off your panties with ease and stashed them with the rest.

His fingers caressed your thighs before finding their way towards your core. He slowly made his way towards the part where you desired him most, but not before teasing the whole area, naturally causing you to let out a frustrated groan.

Lando chuckled. Actually chuckled. It wasn't the first time he had done this tonight, but you never believed sex could actually be funny. And it made the experience all the better.

He finally thought you had had enough teasing for the night, and he carefully entered you with his pointer finger.

To be absolutely honest, he had no idea what he was doing. He tried to memorise stories from others or books he had only half read and then tossed them somewhere randomly, but he never came close to doing it like that himself.

Anticipating your reaction, Lando added another finger when he noticed you clenching around the bare minimum. He moved, slowly but steadily, and small moans began to erupt from your throat.

"Is this okay?" Lando asked after a few strokes, looking up at you to await your reaction.

"Apply pressure with your thumb, right here." You informed him, moving his hand in the slightest and repositioning it to your liking.

And once he applied pressure to the part where you needed him most, and hit a good spot inside, you were almost done for.

Your head fell back into the pillows while he felt his fingers gain more wetness from your core, and your hands reached out to grab a hold of his hair but were met with nothing but air.

He took the hint of your desperate gesture, slightly moving his head towards the direction of your hands as they were still grabbing around for him- like a child reaching for its toy.

You pulled on a particular strand of his soft curls, and he wasn't certain whether he groaned out of pain or pleasure. But, after detecting the sounds that escaped your lips, he was sure it definitely must have been the latter.

"Y/n," Lando breathed as he looked up, meeting your distracted gaze. "Your pretty sounds are like music to my ears, and I could listen to them all day."

You let a slight laugh escape your lips as your head fell back, and you gave another loving tug to his hair.

"Lando," you mimicked his tone, another quivering breath leaving your lips as he continued his pleasurable pace with his fingers. "I- I kinda need you now, are you ready?" You could barely speak, too distracted by the feeling between your legs and the butterflies that erupted through your entire body.

"I think I am," he said as he retreated his fingers, awkwardly looking at them as he secretly swiped them off on his joggers. "Might need a few- uh- strokes. But I think we should be okay."

We.

This was the moment you were about to become one, the final parts of your bodied finally exposed to each other.

"Do you have any condoms?" He asked, and you recognised the minor change in his voice; he felt awkward.

And you totally reciprocated the feeling. There was barely anything more awkward than sharing this kind of intimacy for the first time, being new to each other's likes and pleasures, and having to find out what turned the other on.

You sat up and leaned on your elbows before pointing at the closet on the other side of the room.

"They're in there, uh, top shelf." you stated, and he clumsily walked over to the piece of furniture. His eyes widened at the sight when he opened it and felt a sudden wave of redness taking over his whole body.

"There's- you have a full box of them?" He said as he grabbed the box and turned to you. You fell back, hands covering your flushed face.

"Diane gave them to me a couple of days after her party," you mumbled, a sigh escaping your lips. "She saw us talk and, well, yeah. You know her." A simple 'oh' had left his lips before he grabbed one chrome-looking package from the box and placed the rest back.

"Well, at least we have them." He laughed awkwardly as he returned to the bed, a shaky 'yeah' coming from you as a response.

You retracted your arms as you saw him sitting next to you on the bed, the golden light from outside perfectly framing his features.

The golden hour was made for him.

And you were the lucky one that had him in their bed.

Lando undid himself off his joggers, not caring enough to put them with the rest- so he just left them where he took them off. His boxers followed soon after as he sat back down on the soft covers of the bed.

You barely dared to look, but eventually, you did. And you carefully reached for his member, gently wrapping your fingers around the length. You looked up to search for a look that would tell you he was uncomfortable, but it was the contrary. He sought his best intentions to hold in a moan, but as you started to move your hand, he failed miserably.

He, in turn, reached back between your legs to bring back that on-edge feeling you almost felt before he stopped.

Warming up to each other, Lando retracted his hand, grabbed onto the wrist of your hand that was working on his member, and placed it beside your head. His fingers felt slick, once more covered in the wetness of your own arousal.

Gently, he came to a position in between your legs, leaning on his knees and his hardened length halfway towards his stomach.

He messily tried to rip the foil package in two, barely succeeding but ultimately held the condom between his fingers before rolling it onto his member.

Lando leaned forwards, and he placed his hands on either side of your head, your legs locking around his hips and your hands finding their way to his sides.

"At any time, please tell me if you're uncomfortable, okay?" he said, and you nodded eagerly before responding, "Same to you."

You closed your eyes as he wettened his tip with your arousal and carefully entered you. It wasn't pain that rushed through you, but it did feel unpleasant. You placed your hands on his chest to halt his movements and took your time to adjust to the new feeling of your boyfriend inside of you.

When you opened your eyes, you were confronted with the most caring and loving gaze you had ever encountered. You knew Lando wasn't experienced, and neither were you, but he genuinely cared so much about your well-being. It made this new experience so much better.

"You can move," you told him after about half a minute. "God, please do." He smiled at you before placing a delicate kiss on your lips, and he carefully started to move.

The feeling soon turned into pleasure for both of you and suddenly, neither of you could get enough of each other's touch.

Kisses were messy, loose strands of hair were being pulled, and nothing could ever beat this moment of being intimate with your partner for the first time. Lando made it perfect for you.

After a couple of strokes, you experienced a vaguely familiar sensation building in the pit of your stomach and a tingling feeling coming from your core.

But, you weren't quite there yet. Therefore, you grasped one of his hands and assisted him towards the part where you needed him the most. He took the hint, placed his thumb on your clit, and started making figure eights on the little bundle of nerves. It wasn't perfect, but it worked, and his name started rolling off your tongue more than once.

And it was the same for him. Watching you unravel in pleasure caused by him, your breasts bouncing with each move of his hips like you were a machine tangled in each other. And at that moment, it felt like you only worked with each other.

Your soft walls gripped around him, and he was afraid he wouldn't last much longer, but for you, he would try. For you, he would do everything.

"Lando, please move faster." His unique name escaped your sensual lips in a hurry, a mix of sighs and groans barely making it clear what you were saying. But he understood and got on with it.

"You feel so good," Lando said as he started building up a quicker pace. "Please tell me what you want. What you need."

"Anything, everything," you breathed, grabbing his hand that was working on your clit, and gently pulling him back up to get him into your line of view. "Kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it."

And so he did. It wasn't pretty; teeth clashing, lip biting. But it was everything you could wish for.

When Lando started to chase his own orgasm, he instinctively picked up his pace and twisted it into a couple of rough trusts. He wasn't certain what came over him, and for a second, he was anxious this might not be as pleasurable for you as it was for him. But all his worries faded as soon as you pulled him into an embrace, and he fell atop of you, his face buried in your neck, and you vaguely mumbled a couple of words;

"You can have my babies." You told him. He wasn't entirely sure where that came from, but simultaneously, he wasn't complaining.

You, on the other hand, felt embarrassed. You clasped a hand over your mouth and mumbled a scared 'I'm sorry' to your boyfriend.

He retreated from your passionate hold with a reassuring smile, caressing your rosy cheek with his strong fingers. His pace slowed down a bit, but he didn't stop. And that eased your worries the tiniest bit.

"Don't apologise," he chuckled. This man, you thought. He can laugh about everything. "Though I'm not entirely sure where that came from, it might be a little too soon to be thinking about babies."

"No, please, I don't,-" you desperately sighed after taking your hand from your lips. "I don't want any babies. It just happened, I felt hot and my mind took me somewhere else and I just-"

"Ooh! So you have a breeding kink!" Lando exclaimed joyfully, and you felt your face redden at his blunt words. His movements halted, his hand returning towards the back of your neck as he rejoined your embrace.

"Do not fucking speak about this," you said as you hugged him back, feeling his bare skin against yours increasing the pressure between your legs. "In fact, don't mention it for another while. I don't want to think about it."

"As you wish." he smiled, and you were internally grateful he made no big deal about it and didn't find it the biggest turnoff in the bedroom. Everyone has their kinks. You just didn't expect yours to come out during the first time with your current boyfriend.

Lando picked his pace back up, and the feeling in your stomach returned as quickly as it faded before. You let your hands roam through his hair, caressing the back of his neck, as he started pushing in with stuttering thrusts, each of them slow and deep instead of harsh and sloppy.

You tactically moved your hips, trying to find that little fiction from his pelvis against your bundle of nerves, but your desperate movement caused him to reach that spot inside of you.

"Oh- oh my god." You instantly moaned, and Lando came back slightly to look at you, asking if you were okay.

"Definitely. More than alright," a faint sound of a passionate sob escaped your lips as he continued hitting your pleasantest part, a smirk forming on his lips. "Right there, right there."

He felt satisfied with himself. For a second, he was that proud boy who couldn't handle losing. And he felt like he had just won his favourite game.

"Right there, huh?" he teased you, and you quickly nodded before he kissed you again. However, because of your shortened breaths, neither of you could maintain a kiss as Lando picked up his pace and tried to both chase his own high and bring you to yours.

Your foreheads touched, lips just inches away from their other half as the both of you breathed through your mouths to get more air.

Lando shot a brief glance to where your bodies met before he could barely hold on to his pace and started to get sloppy.

You thanked nobody in particular that you had randomly come across a professional athlete. Because no other boy had ever even come close to the stamina the one above you had. nobody gave you the right amount of pleasure. None of them listened to your needs, and most importantly, none of them had ever given you relief.

Your walls tightened, white noise filled your ears, stars came through your vision and you softly clawed on Lando his arms as your high washed over you.

This was how it was supposed to feel.

Lando let out a particularly deep groan, grunting in your ear as your name left his lips, and he released into the condom. The feeling of your orgasm was simply too much for him, but he wished this moment would’ve lasted forever.

For a precious second, everything went quiet. No sounds filled the room except for your shortened breaths, and you took the time to just look at one another. Both of you were smiling contently, and you caressed his cheekbones with your fingers. Lando closed his eyes, simply enjoying your touch, and you looked at the spot where his lashes met his glistering skin.

“Lando,” you started, and he opened his eyes to meet your loving gaze. “I think I-“ You could barely let it out, afraid of what might change. Did he even feel the same way? Did you feel that way? Or was this just the heat of the moment for you, and would you wish you could take back your words right after you said them?

“I love you, too.” Lando finished your sentence, adding the last part to let you know he did feel the same way. You chuckled and pulled him down towards your lips, giving him a kiss that held more words than you could ever speak.

You quickly became to realise Lando never pulled out, and his sudden movement caused you to tremble lightly, suddenly feeling overstimulated by the feeling between your legs.

“I love you, but I’m getting a little overwhelmed here.” You grinned up at him as you pulled apart, after which he replied a quick ‘right, sorry’ and carefully pulled out of you immediately.

A gentle sigh mixed with a moan left your lips at the friction, but Lando got up and went over to your bathroom to toss away the condom and returned with a dampened washing cloth so you could clean yourself.

You looked at him with adoration as he re-entered your room, eyes lingering on his trained abdomen and once more realising how good looking this man actually was.

“See something you like?” Lando said as he handed you the cloth, and you carefully cleaned your core and made sure not to touch any sensitive spots.

“Certainly,” you said as you got up and headed towards the bathroom as well, causing your boyfriend to frown in confusion. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’m just going to pee. Does wonders for your health.” You gave him a wink as you turned the corner while biting your lip to contain another laugh.

You were happy

Lando laughed at your remark before putting his boxers on and turning on the nightlight next to your bed. He slid under the covers, quickly checking his phone, though he didn’t find anything worth replying to.

Once you returned, you also put on some clean panties and joined him under the covers of your warm bed.

You shot a glance at your phone on the nightstand, lighting up with multiple alerts of missed calls and messages, but you weren’t worried about them for a second. The only thing you saw was the name of your friend in the notifications and decided to briefly look at what she needed but didn’t care about responding.

Please tell me you finally fucked.

He ended p2!! P2 darling!!

That has to be the perfect moment for a celebration.

She was unbelievable. Of course, this had to be her way of asking, so blunt yet totally in her style. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“What is it?” Lando asked when you put your phone back on the nightstand and snuggled into your pillows, your gaze pointing at the ceiling.

“Diane,” you simply answered. “I don’t think any more context is needed.” He let out a small chuckle at that, immediately knowing what you were implying.

“I take it she knows her box came in handy, then?” he replied, and you just nodded.

You looked over at him, laying on his side and not breaking his stare at you. His head fit perfectly in the pillow underneath him, and he looked so comfortable that you could nearly cry.

“I love you.” You said, this time officially and quietly, and he was happy to respond.

“I love you, too.”

You hated accidents. Except when you went from friends to this.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #f1 smut #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 smut #lando norris x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #x reader #f1 #formula 1 writing #f1 writing #writing #f1 fanfiction

[theemporium]

you have been invited to cece's smutober event! pick a day and dive right in. but be warned of the spooky surprises you may encounter.

.

day one: steve harrington + dry humping day two: lando norris + phone sex day three: james potter + erotica day four: quinn hughes + car sex day five: charlos + free use day six: theo nott + humiliation day seven: dando + blindfold day eight: remus lupin + chocolate day nine: max verstappen + somnophilia day ten: luke hughes + cockwarming day eleven: lestappen + objectification day twelve: eddie munson + squirting day thirteen: poly!marauders + orgasm control day fourteen: daniel ricciardo + first time day fifteen: harry styles + filming day sixteen: jack hughes + thigh riding day seventeen: sebastian vettel + corruption day eighteen: steve harrington + breeding kink day nineteen: wolfstar + sex pollen day twenty: charles leclerc + aphrodisiac day twenty-one: sirius black + semi-public sex day twenty-two: carlando + seduction day twenty-three: trevor zegras + overstimulation day twenty-four: norstappen + mile high club day twenty-five: steddie + cuckholding day twenty-six: charlando + tit-fucking day twenty-seven: eddie munson + mastrubation day twenty-eight: maxiel + heat day twenty-nine: jack hughes and trevor zegras + intoxication day thirty: carlos sainz + manhandling day thirty-one: steddie + wet dream

.

logging off...

#cece's smutober #stranger things #marauders #f1 #nhl #stranger things x reader #marauders x reader #f1 x reader #nhl x reader #harry potter x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #steddie x reader #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #wolfstar x reader #poly!marauders x reader #daniel riccardo x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lando norris x reader #max verstappen x reader #sebastian vettel x reader #quinn hughes x reader #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader #trevor zegras x reader #harry styles x reader #theo nott x reader

[se4son-of-the-witch]

when you know you know - matt sturniolo

in which seeing matt interact with your little cousin tugs on your heartstrings

┊ ✫ ┊ ┊ ☾⋆ ┊ ⊹ ┊ ✯ ⋆ ┊

Nerves were running rampant through Matt's body. You could practically feel it. Most of the car ride had been silent, which was unusual. The two of you would normally talk the whole time, talking about your day or anything that was on your mind.

However, Matt was too uneasy to speak. Today he was finally going to be meeting the rest of your family. He had met your parents a few months earlier, and of course, he was nervous, but this was a whole different level of anxiousness.

You two had been together for almost a year. He had met your parents a few months in, and they absolutely adored him. It was the same way when you met his. But, meeting the rest of your family was an even bigger deal to him.

Every year, your family would host a big cookout in the summer. It was a way for everyone to see each other and catch up. And you thought it would be the perfect idea to bring Matt.

"It's okay, baby." Your hand found his arm, gently grabbing onto the tattooed skin. You began to rub patterns onto the skin, trying to calm him down. His eyes left the road for a split second, locking onto yours. You gave him a small smile as you looked into his eyes. They were slightly widened, which told you just how anxious he was. "I'll be with you the whole time."

After about twenty more minutes of driving, Matt pulled his car into your aunt's driveway. You watched his fingers slightly tremble as he took the key out of the ignition, which made you frown to yourself. "You ready, babe?" you asked as you unbuckled your seatbelt. He gave a short nod before the both of you exited the car.

You stood hand in hand at the front door, waiting for someone to open it. Matt occasionally gave your hand a squeeze, which you learned was a way he coped with his anxiety. Soon enough, the door opened to reveal your little cousin. "Y/n!" she squealed. She ran up to you, wrapping herself around your body. Her head rested on your stomach as she looked up at you, making you laugh.

"Hi, Julie." Julie was your little cousin and was only six years old. Over the years, the two of you had grown quite close. At every family event, she stayed attached to your hip. "How have you been, pretty girl?"

"Good."

You turned to look at Matt. He had a big smile on his face as he looked down at Julie. "She's the cutest isn't she?" He nodded at you. "Julie, this is Matt." She looked up at him, shyly waving at him.

"Hi, Julie." He held his hand out for a high five, which she hesitantly accepted.

"Y/n, it's so good to see you." Your aunt came around the corner, wiping her hands on her pants. Based on that, you could tell she had been cooking. She loved to cook and you always enjoyed her food. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you into her chest for a hug. As she pulled away, she looked you up and down. "Don't you look awful pretty?"

"You know I get it from my mama," you replied with a laugh.

Her eyes wandered from you and over to Matt. She gave him a quick look before looking back to you. "Oh, this is Matt."

"It's nice to meet you, Matt." She pulled him in for a quick hug, which he stiffly accepted. "I'm Y/n's aunt Veronica."

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. L/N."

"Oh, please call me Veronica. Calling me Mrs. sounds so old," she said with a laugh. A nervous chuckle left his mouth as he nodded. "Well, I'll let y'all get out there. I gotta get back to the kitchen anyway."

You grabbed Matt's hand and led him out to the backyard. Your parents were sitting at a table, talking to your grandparents. You walked over towards them, Matt following close behind you.

You wrapped your arms around your mom, resting your head on her shoulder. "Hi, my girl." Your mom grabbed onto your arms, giving them a loving squeeze.

You pulled away, making her turn around in her seat. Her eyes landed on Matt, immediately lighting up. "Matt, it's good to see you, honey." He walked over to her, giving her a quick hug.

After your father hugged you, he walked over to Matt, giving him a pat on the back. "It's good to see you. Don't be too nervous, I was in your position not too long ago," he joked. Matt let out a laugh, which made you smile to yourself.

For the next few hours, you spent your time stuffing your face and introducing Matt to the rest of your family. It was safe to say they liked him already. And you could see every ounce of nervousness leave his body.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, you made your way back outside. From across the yard, you could see Matt and Julie. She was on her swing and Matt stood behind her, gently pushing her forward. The sight alone made your heart burst.

You walked back to the table, taking a seat beside your aunt. Your eyes were still glued onto Matt, smiling as you saw how he interacted with Julie. How he made sure he was gentle and the big, toothy grin he had on his face. The sound of Julie's precious giggles filled your ears, making you clutch onto your heart.

"You picked a good one." You turned your attention to your aunt, who nudged your shoulder. "I've never seen her be so comfortable with someone so quick before."

"I know." The two of you sat side by side, watching as Matt played with Julie.

As the night came to an end, the sun started to set, making the air around you get chilly. After telling all of your aunts and uncles goodbye, you made your way over to Matt. He was still playing with Julie, only they had moved to her little table in the grass.

As you got closer, you saw Julie asleep on Matt's lap, her head resting on his chest. A little bit of drool shined from the corner of her mouth making you laugh to yourself. But the way Matt held onto her made butterflies erupt in your stomach. It's almost like he was made for this. Just seeing how good he was with kids made your heart stop.

"You ready to go?"

He placed his finger to his lips, making a shushing sound. "We gotta put to her bed first," he whispered. He carefully stood up, making sure not to wake her. His hand found the back of her head, holding her against his chest. You led him up into her room, tucking her in for bed.

When the two of you were back in the car, you couldn't help but sigh to yourself. It was such a good day for both of you. "What?"

You turned to look at him. "They loved you, Matt. They really did." You grabbed onto his hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. "Seeing you with Julie really made me happy. You don't understand how cute you looked." He softly laughed, squeezing your fingers.

No one in the world could be better for you.

┊ ✫ ┊ ┊ ☾⋆ ┊ ⊹ ┊ ✯ ⋆ ┊

a/n: had to take a break from writing smut, was getting kinda tired of writing it 😭😭 but i just know matt would make an amazing girl dad ☹️

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo

[187days]

Day Twenty-Five

I woke up tired today, which is a very Monday thing to have happen, but I rallied. Thankfully, it was a pretty easy teaching day.

My ninth graders are in the middle of Culture Projects, so I was just helping as needed, making sure everyone was either on task or taking breaks appropriately. I was pretty happy about how most students used their class time, and that's awesome because this is a week that's usually really tough. There's a big fair going on over in Maine, a lot of kids make the trip, so they're overtired and sugar high pretty much all week. I guess they rallied today, too!

Oh, and I actually had the best advisory block I've had yet. On Mondays, before we do flex scheduling for the remainder of the week, we do activities designed to build skills like teamwork and communication. This time, they got into groups, and one person in each group covered their eyes; the other people had to verbally guide them towards an object- my tape dispenser- that I'd placed somewhere in the room. The students thought that was pretty fun, and they actually asked to do multiple rounds. So we did!

In APGOV, we ate mini-cupcakes (when the government almost shuts down, you eat something that's almost cake) and discussed the state of the government as of today. Then I lectured on the federal system, explaining what the Constitution says about the divisions between the state and national government. Now that we've established what it is, we get into how and why it's changed over time, so they're researching some relevant SCOTUS rulings for homework. More on that next time.

I stayed late to do some grading (revised current events, other work students made up), draft a letter of recommendation for one of the GOV kids, contact the local political party chairs, other things I've been meaning to do. The Principal saw me as he was walking by, and stopped in to see how I was doing. I admitted that the number of students I have (because of the half block classes) is making this year more challenging than last, even with my light speed grading abilities. I have a long term solution, which is having three Global Studies teachers instead of two (we can do it with our current levels of staffing, just have to move some stuff around), but I don't have a short term one. The Principal said he's planning a meeting with of all the ninth grade teachers, though, to see what we can come up with.

Funny thing: one of the things my college teammates and I learned from our coach was to thank people in positions of authority and/or people with expertise after speaking with them. So I've always said thank you to The Principal at the end of our conversations, and, to this day, I think it catches him off guard. Northern New England's not exactly big on formal etiquette, you know? I'm sure Coach would be pleased to know that's still drilled into my head, though.

Oh, and a cool thing: the new English teacher, whose name is Mr. C, got a warm welcome over the PA by the students doing morning announcements. I thought that was nice of them to do that since he missed the welcome everyone else got at the start of the year.

#teaching #teachblr #teacher #edublr #education #high school #social studies #mrs. t #mr. c #coach s #the principal #day twenty five #conversations about current events #letter of recommendation

[bloompompom]

Tits for Tat

I hope you have a good idea about how you're going to pay for that tattoo...

✦ written for @bastardblvd's slimeball collab event! ✦ pairing: sleazy tattoo artist!eren jaeger x sweet sorority girl!reader content: ~6.7k word count. female reader, dubcon elements (sex in exchange for a tattoo), manipulation, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, brief oral sex (m!receiving), rough sex, corruption kink, dirty talk/light degradation, exhibitionism kinda sorta, light impact play, mirror sex, explicit language, explicit sexual content, content some readers may view as dark. reader discretion advised. 18+

The last thing you expected was for girls’ night to end like this. 

It was just past ten o’clock that Friday night. What was promised to be a night filled with gossiping over wine coolers turned into you and your two friends skipping through the uptown, loudly and practically elbow-locked like the best of chums. Or chumps, depending on whether the onlooker was a glass-half-full or half-empty sort of person. 

For any other twenty-something, the night was still young—still in its mother’s womb, actually. Fellow students had started their treacherous journeys across campus, sneaking from their dorms as if no one could hear the conspicuous clamor of bottles each time their backpacks smacked against the backs of their thighs. But for others—let’s say, hypothetically, tattoo artists—the day was at its end. And that was exactly why your little trio of giggling idiots was making a mad dash before closing time. 

The three of you had done everything together, and you meant everything. From ensuring you had the same lunch schedule since grade school, to surviving your awful calculus teacher senior year of high school, you were always at each other’s sides. If one of you didn’t have a prom date, then none of you did.

Like, if not for them, how else would you have gotten through that nasty breakup and lived to tell the tale? When your boyfriend, your first boyfriend—no, your first love—dumped you over the phone six months ago. 

You could talk about them forever, really, but all that was to say, they were your very best friends. Sisters in every sense of the word now that you had rushed the same sorority. So what better way to commemorate something as wonderful as sisterhood than matching tattoos? Little crescent moons on your ankles, specifically.

So, as one could safely assume by this point, that tattoo thing you mentioned earlier wasn’t so hypothetical after all. You stepped through the doors of the brick parlor on the corner forty-five minutes before closing. The studio lights were still on bright, and the glow of that obnoxious open, open, open sign in the window spilled red over the sidewalk, as if reading it one time wasn’t enough. 

The standee out front proudly welcomed walk-ins with big capital letters. It meant it too, because, after a brief conversation in the back, the receptionist said they had enough time to squeeze you in. The design was simple enough, according to her. ‘Simple enough’ still meant one hundred dollars, though. Shop minimum, blah, blah, blah. You each agreed and quickly signed the paperwork. 

You waited for your turns, sitting knobbly-kneed with hands folded neatly in your laps, eyes wide and darting from one another to the art plastered across the walls. 

Ten minutes felt more like ten hours, and yes, you could admit this sounded like a much better idea back at the house. But now that you were here, legs sticking to the plastic chair beneath your thighs, you realized how ridiculous this was. How ridiculous you—all three of you—were, looking more like you were ready for a slumber party than a spontaneous night out.

To be fair, you were just at a slumber party of sorts. It just so happened that your guests were also your housemates. 

What was merely an offhanded joke from your friend snowballed into the ‘Are we really doing this?’ conversation. You know, the conversation all friends have right before doing something you probably shouldn’t. If your friends jumped off a bridge, would you? 

No, of course not. But if the bridge was a tattoo, then the answer was yes. But now you were getting moony and hypothetical again.

Anyway, that was all it took (and some Pinterest scrolling) before you were on your merry way out the door and headed to the tattoo shop down the street—the only one you knew of. You even lacked the foresight to change, dressed in barely a thing since your bedroom lacked air conditioning and it was the balmy end of spring. You kept your arms folded over the Greek letters decorating your tank top, securing its neckline from slipping any further. You had already caught it twice before. 

You just wanted to get this over with. 

A woman you hadn’t yet seen waddled out from the hallway and, with a voice comparable to a bullfrog, called for your friend. With a tick of her head, she said, “I’ll take ya on back.”

She looked at you, then the friend still patiently at your side. Her left eye drooped a little, like she had a buzz going or something. “Your artists will be out soon.”

“Oh, actually,” you spoke up sweetly, perched a little higher in your seat. “We were hoping to get them together.”

Her expression didn’t change, her eye still drooped. “Listen, if I do that, then I don’t get to go home at eleven.” She leaned into you. You couldn’t help but wince. “And I really wanna go home at eleven, toots.”

Toots. You didn’t care for the nickname, but she frightened you nonetheless. You sealed your lips and waved off your jittery friend. Her mouth was more of a square than a smile as she looked back at you, nervous, and rightfully so. You wouldn’t want to be tattooed by that woman, either. Perhaps getting split up was a blessing in disguise. 

It wasn’t long before your name was called out next. By a man, this time. You heard him before you saw him. 

You perked your head and were greeted by a guy around your age. Well, maybe a few years older than you, but he wasn’t nearly as ancient as Toots. And at the very least, he didn’t appear drunk. If anything, his eyes looked a bit bored. 

For whatever reason, you took it personally. And while it was probably just the hour, you couldn’t help but think he was bored with you. Bored with your little outline of a moon that’d cost him no more than five minutes of work and you one hundred dollars. 

Twiddling your fingers, you teetered on over to him. He was dressed in black from head to toe, from the cuff of his jeans to the sleeves of his tee, rolled back to show off the tattoos littering his arms. Fitting, of course. He was exactly what you’d think of if you imagined a tattoo artist, albeit less burly and perhaps… prettier? That wasn’t the right word for it, but you could see it—see him—hidden behind his dark hair, messily tied back with sprigs and strands framing his angular face. Attractive in that bad-boy kind of way. Like, you just know your parents would kill you if you brought him home, but that was sort of hot in its own regard, wasn’t it? 

He looked you up and down, just a once-over, and you were suddenly self-conscious of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra. 

“Eren,” he introduced once you were only a few steps away. He was tall and lean and loomed over you. 

You kicked yourself for it after, you really did, but you went for a handshake. It was an awkward move, for sure. Polite, but still awkward. One would think he’d take your hand just to shrug the discomfort off, but no, he gave you his back. Not even a ‘Follow me!’ or a second look or anything! And you definitely took that personally. You couldn’t say why you wanted any sort of approval from this man, but you did—a true people-pleaser at heart, as always. 

The back of the shop was larger than you had anticipated. You crossed through an open studio space, through the empty stations belonging to artists that, you assumed, had left for the night. You walked by each, passing rooms that appeared to be more private set-ups. Only one door was shut, and you discerned your friend's voice from behind it, then Eren led you to another. 

The room was only as spacious as it needed to be for a workstation comprised of a desk, two chairs, and stacks of drawers in the corner. Your eyes flitted over the frames of art on every wall, reminiscent of the front of the shop. You tried to match his style to the work you saw out there. 

Eren gestured loosely toward the chair in the middle of the room. You took a seat as he asked, “Ankle, right?”

“Yes,” you said. It sounded meeker than expected. You cleared your throat. 

He slumped into his chair, leaning his weight into it to roll closer to the foot of your chair. “Which one?”

You blanked. Seconds struggled by as you fought to remember which ankle you and your friends had agreed upon. One half of your brain scoured your memory while the other kept shouting, ‘Say something!’ because Eren was waiting for you to do just that.

He stared at you while you stared at your ankles. The silence between you grew longer and more excruciating until you finally decided, “Left.”

Almost like he didn’t hear you—or chose not to hear you—he barely glanced at your ankle before sliding even closer. You felt the vibration of his chair’s wheels against the tile, or at least you swore you could. You only watched him ghost the tips of his fingers up your bare leg until he was no longer near your ankle but at your side. He didn’t even touch you and yet you still had to suppress a shiver.

“It’d look better here, you know,” Eren said. He didn’t point at your hip but poked it—the little spot bikini bottoms cover. He peered up at you, eyes locking onto yours with actual acknowledgment for the first time that night. That square-in-the-face sort of look. You noticed the vibrancy of his irises, green and piercing. 

“I want it on my ankle. I’m matching my friends,” you replied, but again, there wasn’t much conviction in your voice. 

“What if you’re not friends in a year?” He reached for the box on his desk and pulled out two gloves. Between his words was the snap of latex as he tugged them on one at a time. “Then you’re stuck with a dumb ankle tattoo with people you hate.” 

It’s not dumb, you corrected in your head. If only he could have heard your inner monologue about sisterhood and whatnot on your walk over here. Besides that, his logic didn’t make any sense. Even if you moved it, then you’d be stuck with a dumb hip tattoo with two people you hate, which was really no different than a dumb ankle tattoo. But then again, fewer people would see it.

Still, the apathy oozing from his voice crawled under your skin. You sassed, “I don’t think that really concerns you, does it?”

“Whatever.” He shrugged as though he were indifferent to it. But if he truly were indifferent, he wouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place. Nor would he have continued with, “All I’m saying is that it’d fit the spot better.” He handed you a clipboard. Pinned to it was a cut-out of your soon-to-be tattoo. “And technically, you’d still match ‘em with the moon.”

He turned back toward the desk while his words lingered. You wriggled your ankle around, inspecting it, then looked at your hip. As if it were still there, you felt where Eren’s finger had been and used it as a reference to envision the tattoo. Maybe you should go out on a limb and trust him, considering he was the professional between the two of you. 

“Fine. Let’s do the hip,” you rushed to say. “Do I need to change or anything?”

He peered at you from over his shoulder. “You have on underwear?”

Your face went hot. “Obviously.”

Eren returned to whatever he was doing—you couldn’t see past him. “That works then.”

The moment you stood, thumbs looped under the waistband of your shorts, you regretted relocating the tattoo to your hip. 

Tomorrow was laundry day.

‘Why would that matter right now?’ some might ask. Oh, naive one, the reason it mattered was with laundry day just past the horizon, you were left with no choice but to put on your last-resort pair of underwear after your morning shower. A stringy, pink thong that you only saved for special occasions—aka exactly three times with your ex and the days you were too lazy to do laundry, like today. 

Listen, you weren’t a prude. It was just that you wouldn’t necessarily choose to show off the skimpiest pair of panties you owned to a complete stranger. 

This was nothing out of the ordinary for him, though. Right? It was his job, day in and day out. He’d probably tattooed areas much more private than a silly hip, a million times over even. 

But no, his attention is undoubtedly captured once your shorts were off. His eyes flitted from your face, down to your thong, then back to your face. And it certainly didn’t make matters any easier that he had to be crotch-level with you in order to prep the spot.

You didn’t dare to look at him directly, especially once you felt him touch you. More than just a finger this time, he curved his hand around your leg as he quickly shaved and sanitized you for the stencil. 

Your cheeks hadn’t cooled off by the time Eren asked, “How’s that?”

You angled your head around strangely until he pointed to the mirror behind you. You spun around to get a better look. He was right: the tattoo did look nice there. Hopefully your friends wouldn’t be too hurt by the last-minute switch. 

“Good,” you concluded, still shimmying and studying the new addition to your body. 

You caught Eren’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He was staring at your ass. Rather shamelessly, too, if you did say so yourself. He made a half-assed attempt to stifle the smirk at the corner of his mouth. You swore you would burn this damn thong after tonight.

You scuffled back into the chair while Eren stood up from his. He threw his gloves in the trash can by the door and told you he’d be back in a few minutes, that the stencil needed time to dry. When he returned, he smelt faintly of cigarettes. There was a waft of it right as his chair whizzed by you. 

He situated himself, which didn’t take long, and rested a freshly-gloved hand against you. In it was his tattoo machine, the needle held just centimeters away from your skin. Your body tensed. You weren’t nervous about the pain; it would be over and done in a flash. No, it was Eren that made you nervous. Incredibly so, and you were sure he knew it, too. 

“Ready?” he asked you before kicking on the machine, the whirring of it buzzing in your ears. He waited for your nod before starting. 

It hurt. Not bad, but the sting was very much present. You finally let out that shaky, anticipatory breath you’d clung to, but it didn’t dull the pounding in your chest.

Eren stretched your skin with one hand and guided the needled with the other. It had been so long that to be touched there, on such an oddly intimate part of you, felt almost foreign. Indecent, in a way, having only been held there by someone you loved—someone who, at one point, loved you in return. How none of Eren’s prodding was inherently improper and still it led your mind astray, craving something as elemental as the touch of another human being, even if it was through the barrier of medical-grade latex. 

“Done,” he announced. You sat higher up to get a better look. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

You responded with only a soft, affirmative sound. 

Eren gave you a rundown of the after-care process. It was the longest sentence he’d strung together that night, and you didn’t even hear it. It was garbled up in your head, words that you’d inevitably have to find online later. Embarrassingly, you were more focused on the placement of his hand again.

In your defense, Eren was a little more daring now with the needle out of his hand, or at least you thought so, with fingers smoothing low as he cleaned your new ink. His touches dawdled and left you flustered, wondering if he was playing with the thin band of your panties or simply pushing it out of the way.

You were dazy, only snapping back to it once Eren said he could cash you out while you gathered your belongings and redressed. “It’ll be—”

“A hundred dollars, I know,” you said. You scrounged through your purse for your wallet. You tried to hand him your credit card, but he didn’t budge.

“Cash only.”

“What do you mean cash only?” you questioned, more like barked.

That was a head-scratcher. “I’m not sure how I can make it any more clear.”

“Why didn’t you—I don’t know, say anything earlier?” You were upright now, stiff as a board—still in a thong—and verging into panic mode, waving your hand at the cluttered walls. “Or at least, like, have a sign?”

“It’s in the paperwork,” Eren said as flatly as ever.

The paperwork you didn’t read but skimmed—okay, even ‘skimmed’ was an overstatement. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You sucked in a deep breath, let it hang in your chest until it hurt, then heaved it out. A very basic and very overt effort in collecting yourself. You fingered through your wallet. Then your purse next, every zipper and every pocket of it. You didn’t have cash on you, you never did, but you needed to stall while you hastened to think up a plan. Maybe you could stay and clean. Sweeping, washing windows, that type of thing. Yeah, that could work. 

All the while, Eren observed quietly, waiting for your fussing to settle. He was calm for someone who may or may not be paid tonight, and for some reason, it only ramped up your anxiety, like a suffocating hand around your throat. 

Eventually, your shoulders dropped with a very heavy—and very annoyed—sigh. “You want to see my boobs or something?”

Eren snorted. Snorted! The audacity of it, as if your offer was no better than a measly I.O.U scribbled onto a napkin. 

As callow as your offer was, something about it coming from your innocent pout had Eren’s cock straining in his jeans. It was a final and lasting blow, one he absolutely couldn’t take, not anymore. It was already enough that he had to bear the sight of you in that skimpy fabric you called underwear—had to feel your warmth as he smoothed over your hip. But now, there was just one more thing he couldn’t possibly ignore.

“I think you might want to pay another way,” he said.

Was he teasing you? There was a roundaboutness to his voice. A knowingness. It frustrated you. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Before you asked, he answered with his eyes. You followed them down not to your tattoo but between your legs. The darkened and unmistakable dampness on the front of your panties. Evidence of you permitting your thoughts to run with reckless abandon.

It was humiliating. Heart-dropping-to-your-ass humiliating. You squeezed your thighs shut. “Hey—”

“What? Are you too good for a quick fuck?”

You almost snapped back with a defensive, ‘No!’ but if you did, what would you be confessing? That you wanted to, and you wanted to do it with him? That your mind had been plagued with filthy thoughts since the second you felt his gloved hand on you. That the most thrilling escapade you shared with your last boyfriend was in the back of his mother’s minivan—which he still drove.

You were certain he could see it. See on your maidenly face that you were actually considering the proposition. In fact, the scale tottered toward that option. It was much more plausible than trying to bolt from the shop with a free tattoo. 

Eren leaned into you, his hand dangerously close to your thigh. He froze, almost with a flinch, before making contact. Skeptic brows crowded over his eyes. 

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“Of course not.” You said it with such force that it sounded like a lie. You had only slept with one person before, your ex, but it still counted. 

That damn chair started rolling again. Over to the far corner of the room where Eren flipped on the stereo, then reached for the dial to turn up the volume. You couldn’t name the song, but it was loud, and that was all that concerned you.

Your heartbeat, previously thumping in your chest, was now in your throat. The was anticipation there. Of course it was; you were about to sleep with a stranger in his place of employment. But it was more than anticipation, there was a warmth—no, a heat—throbbing within your very core. 

“Ever done anything like this before?” Eren asked.

You shook your head, opting to keep the minivan story to yourself. Truthfully, you didn’t believe you could speak even if you wanted to. Not with his fingers, now freed from his gloves, gliding up your thigh—nearly between them.

He reached underneath your chair to lower it. The surprise of the drop pulled a gasp from you, but when you looked up at him—realized you now had to look up at him to mark the hunger in his grin—your breath hitched. Then and there, it was established that you were the prey here. His prey. And the twisted part was, you didn’t mind it one bit.

Eren’s hand snaked between the crease of your thigh, skimming your panty line. He chuckled through his nose when your stomach instinctively flexed at such a chaste sensation. He toyed with your underwear, for real this time.

“Well, let me be the first,” he cooed, but his voice was as saccharine as artificial sweetener. 

He bunched your thong to the side to trace between you. If that alone had you sinuously arching your back, Eren couldn’t help but muse over what more would do to you. Would it ruin you when he pumped a finger inside you? What about two? And once he had you split and bouncing on his cock, how debauched would you sound then?

So pathetically sensitive. He had you mewling, no better than a tiny kitten, once he circled your clit deftly, with the flat of his fingers coated in your slick. Delicate and restrained hums spilled from you despite the way you chewed at your bottom lip, like you thought you could literally bite back the sounds. Cute.

Eren handled you with authority, his touch gentle but at the same time, you knew it would be permanently seared into your skin. He was intentional, even as he stuffed a finger inside you, knuckle-deep.

Your head jerked forward with a whine. “Ah, that’s—oh,” was all you sputtered, your nails digging into the vinyl of the armrests. 

He pumped a second finger inside you, expecting your wreckage but only discovered his own. Somehow you sounded more decadent—felt more decadent—than he had imagined. Silken and fluttering around him. Tight but still sucking him in for more. The thought of how snug you’d feel around his cock, how he’d have to bully his way in—

Fuck.

Eren slipped his fingers from you, leaving you panting, desperately clenching around nothing. The overhead light was unforgiving; you could see the sheen of your arousal dripping from his fingers. He stained his jeans with it as he palmed over the front of them, displaying his length to you in all of its glory. You swallowed hard. 

The look on Eren’s face was one you could only describe as lascivious. You wanted to avoid it, but to dodge it meant facing the tent beneath his zipper. It was far more intimidating than his devilish gaze, an impatient reminder of how deplorable you were for wanting it. 

“So you wanna help me out with this?”

He knew your answer, what with you already sliding off the side of the chair. He didn’t even need to ask. He only did because he wanted to hear your dumb, “Uh huh,” saliva thick in your mouth, as your sultry eyes heeded to the belt he had started to undo.

You wiggled your panties down and you kicked them off your feet. It was a vulnerable position, standing there between his spread knees as he unfastened the button to his jeans, the zipper next. His cock sprung out with a slight bob, like it was heavy. It made you achy. You unabashedly ogled, wondering how it’d fit, until he, like you, was bare from the waist down. 

“Turn around,” Eren said. He was unceremonious about it, even stroking himself as he watched you obey without so much as a complaint. 

Through your legs, you took his cock between your fingers, running over the length of it, your palm soft, your touch timid. You earned a sharp inhale from Eren, and you did just the same without having to be touched.

It was embarrassing, how you were no better than a touched-starved puppy. That even this—the tip of his cock nudging your clit, twitching in your grasp every time it threatened to dip inside you—had your thighs trembling. 

Eren splayed a hand over your back as you took him slowly, sinking onto his cock, reverse cowgirl, with a slight bend to your knees. 

There was a stretch. Enough that you had to grit your teeth. Eren was bigger, thicker, than your ex. Not to mention, it had been six months since you’d been dumped. Even longer since you last got laid. 

But don’t mistake that for a complaint. It was far from it, actually. You missed the feeling. The moment that knot of pain unraveled itself into pleasure. When a once-clenched jaw goes slack, making space for teeny, breathy sounds to escape. The burn of skin smacking skin, your ass smushed against the tops of Eren’s thighs once you’d taken all of him, little by little, until you were hit with a fullness. It was one you hadn’t experienced before, settling deep in your stomach and making your eyelids flutter shut. 

You lifted yourself just to let gravity drop you back down. You were languid, indulging in every vein and ridge of his cock, exploring the newfound feeling. 

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” Eren muttered, the end of it nothing more than a drawn-out hiss. “You didn’t lie about not being a virgin, did you?”

“No,” you moaned. The rasp of his voice alone had you tightening around him more. “I’ve only ever been with my ex.”

Something about your answer did it for him. You could tell because he whispered, “Christ,” so low you barely heard it. He groped at your ass, spreading you, mesmerized by the sight of your pussy struggling to take him. 

When Eren decided you weren’t fast enough for him, already losing your balance with your flip-flops sliding against the smooth tile floor, he firmly took hold of your hips. He pushed and pulled you, up and down, working you over his cock how he wanted. 

“Oh—oh, fuck!” you cried out, unable to stifle the whine.

You jolted and squirmed for him. It was ruthless, the way he used you like a toy. But fuck, if it didn’t feel good. Good enough to scatter prickles across your skin, sweltering and shivering, somehow at once, in the cold studio. It was so much. Too much. You needed something to brace yourself on.

Bleary beyond belief, you couldn’t think of something to hold onto in time. Thankfully, it wasn’t you that tipped, but the chair. It rolled until the back of it slammed into the desk behind you. A few things you couldn’t make out crashed to the floor. Eren didn’t react.

From the other side of the wall—hopefully the far side of the shop—you heard a muffled, “Everything okay in there?”

“Just fine,” Eren replied, infuriatingly calmly, fucking you through it, while you writhed just to try and clasp a hand over your mouth. 

With the desk as support, Eren leaned back with his feet dug into the floor. His hand curved around your hip—not the side that he tattooed, of course—and flattened it over your stomach. He yanked you down, your back shoved up against his chest, so he could pound into you, deeper than before, with you pliant and at his mercy. 

You were an incoherent mess. Babbling at this point. Filling the room with pathetic sounds that didn’t qualify as moans and whimpers but whatever was even less than that. Ohs and ahs and chokes of his name, none of which you could swallow back. 

You’d never been touched like this before, have you? There’s no way, Eren couldn’t help but think. Not by someone like him, at least. Someone willing to take what they wanted but also knew how to give—how to get you off—in return. He wondered how far you’d go if he were to lead you. 

Eren snaked his hand between your legs, his skillful fingers navigating straight to your clit. 

“Didn’t think you’d like this so much, huh?” 

You felt every word of it against your neck, but you didn’t answer. He removed his hand from your clit, only for a second but enough to make you miss it, and replaced it with a smack.

You found your voice enough to yelp.

“I can’t hear you,” he condescended.

You almost wanted to stay quiet so he’d do it again, but you were eager to please. Always had been.

Unbelievably turned on, you rolled your hips against his cock, bleating, “So much. I like it so—ah—so much.”

Eyes screwed shut, you didn’t realize until you were halfway across the room that Eren had slid the chair. He had you turned to face the mirror, right in front of it. You were spread, wider, and on display as his slick cock pumped in and out of you. It was a sight lewd enough to be mistaken for a porno.

Your phone, resting on the chair behind you, illuminated in the reflection and caught your attention. There was a moment of panic. It had to be one of your friends. They must be wrapped up with their tattoos by now, left utterly confused as to why you were taking so long.

You hiccuped, “My phone. My friends. They’re gonna—”

For once, he slowed. You wrangled in your breathing but, naggingly close to coming, mourned the loss. Eren outstretched an arm and picked up your phone. Lazily rocking his hips into you, he held out in front of you. You went to grab it, thinking he must have been handing it to you, but he only needed to unlock it with Face ID.

You couldn’t believe he was using your phone while he was inside of you. “What’re you—” 

“Buying us time.” He tossed the phone behind him, back into the chair. He didn’t start fucking you again but said, “Get up,” with a smack across your ass.

Your legs wobbled beneath you but luckily, you didn’t need them for long before Eren spun you around and yanked you down onto his lap. His cock, still warm and wet from you, slapped against your stomach as he bunched your shirt over your breasts. He took them between his hands, squeezing them together for him to nip and suck at. You knew he was looking at them earlier. 

You tried to angle yourself to ride him, but he didn’t let you. Instead, he chuckled against your skin, “Look at you. Now you’re begging for it, aren’t you?”

Eren took one of your nipples into his mouth, letting his teeth graze over it. You whined much too loudly for the situation, and he solved it with just two fingers, stuffed straight into your mouth. You gagged immediately. 

“C’mon. You can do better than that for me, can’t you, pretty?” His voice was like honey lined with acid and burned your stomach just the same. “Take ‘em well, and I’ll fuck you again. How’s that sound?”

His fingers drove deeper into your mouth, mashing down on the back of your tongue. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, but you fought past them. You suctioned your lips around his fingers, swirling your tongue around them like you would his cock. 

He sounded no different from earlier when he said, “See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” With eyes keen on you, he slipped his fingers from your mouth with a pop.

Eren stood to his feet, but you didn’t expect to go along with him. You didn’t think he’d be strong enough to carry you, for you to swing around with a disgusting amount of ease like a rag doll, but he was and you did. He was so arrogant with it, so ungracious, that perhaps you could re-evaluate your self-worth because you folded to him. A submissive sound squeaked out from the back of your throat the second your shoulders crashed against the wall. 

Your legs hitched around his waist, ankles crossed over his lower back, as he pushed inside you again. He hiked you higher up the wall with every thrust, smushing your tattoo between the crease of your skin. You felt the hot sting of it, similar to a papercut, but it fizzled away the closer he coaxed you into coming undone. 

Without the bothersome swiveling of the chair, Eren pistoned into you unlike before—which, frankly, you didn’t think was possible. You collided into him with every snap of his hips, grinding your clit against his pelvis so nicely, sparking your body ablaze.

You didn’t want him to get the satisfaction of knowing he made you come.  Even as you felt it, how the low part of your stomach tensed with delicious blooms, you stayed quiet about it, tucking your chin to your chest. 

But you weren’t as artful about it as you believed yourself to be. Your chest went tight, your breath silent and strangled, and not to mention, you were clenching around him, pulsing like a heart. It was a dead giveaway.

“Comin’ for me?” Fuck. That tore a strained sound from you—how could it not? “Don’t be shy. Let me hear it. Let them hear it.”

Why did he have to remind you of your friends at a time like this? And why did you… like it?

You threw your head back, smacking it against the wall in sobs of pleasure. If they hadn’t heard your moans already, they had to have heard that. The blunt of your nails buried into his ungiving biceps as you rode out the last of your high.

“What a filthy little slut I’ve made, forcing your friends to wait while you come all over this cock.” He punctuated the last word by ramming inside you, deep enough that your toes curled. 

After you finished, Eren has his way with you, as if he hadn’t before. He fucked into your willowy body, your mind long gone and fizzy, without restraint. Now, you were only there for his needs.

He panted against you, riled up with his face burrowing into the crook of your neck. He was close; you knew because he made a few breathy sounds against your skin. Then he dropped you to the floor unexpectedly. 

“Knees.” Eren jerked himself off while he waited for you. “I wanna come in that sweet little mouth of yours.”

You scrambled to get onto your knees, and what a sight you were, like a faun on its newborn legs. Sweat glistened over your chest. Over your tits—which were out, by the way, with your tank top stretched beneath them. You had on just a singular flip-flop, the right one, without a clue as to where the other had gone. 

Eren lined his cock up with your lips. You opened up for him, your mouth a small and tight O with the plush of your lips shielding your teeth. He tilted his hips back and forth, dragging his cock in and out of your mouth and along your tongue. You could taste yourself on him, tart on your tastebuds. 

You wrapped your lips around his tip and sucked softly until he cursed under his breath. He brought a hand to the back of your head and pushed you further down his shaft. His other planted itself against the wall to hold himself up while he fucked your mouth. It was rough, but it had you tingling between the legs, greedy and ready for more.

Eren groaned after a few erratic bucks. You gazed up at him, your vision glossy, eyes teary and far away, and he threw his head back. You felt him, hot and dripping down the back of your throat as you tried to swallow around the thick of his cock. 

He listened to you, whimpering around him, as he thrust into you languidly a few more times. Low growls of, “Fuck, take it, just like that,” erupted like thunder from the depths of his chest. 

Eren pulled out and smoothed a palm over the side of your face. He pinched your cheeks together as you panted, coming down from one of the biggest rushes—and certainly the best orgasms—of your life. He kept his eyes on you as he smudged his thumb over your lips, spreading them with his thumb and pushing down on your bottom teeth. You had swallowed everything he had given you. Satisfied, he dropped your face. 

You smeared the back of your wrist over your mouth, but it wasn’t enough. You used the neckline of your shirt to messily clean your mouth, hoping your friends would ignore the stain left behind. 

Eren had already tugged on his jeans though his belt remained undone. He ran a hand through his hair, now freed from its bun, the ends of it dusting his shoulders. You weren’t sure when that happened, but it was most likely your doing.

You didn’t know how you should end this. There wasn’t an eloquent way to do so, was there? There wasn’t a manual or instruction book to follow when you paid for a tattoo with your body. Paid for it with your underwear, too, apparently. You stayed quiet as you watched Eren stuff your thong into his back pocket like it was his.

“Consider it a tip,” he winked. Fine. You didn’t want them back, anyway. 

So after a business-like exchange of, ‘Are we good?’ and ‘Yep,’ all while Eren tidied his station as though nothing had ever happened, you left the shop still tasting him on your tongue—feeling him exactly where you had predicted his fingerprints would sear into your skin. 

Your friends weren’t waiting for you in the lobby but huddled together on the curb out front. It was well past eleven o’clock now. The shop must have kicked them out before closing. 

Bug-eyed and gawking at the mere sight of you, one of them commented, “I thought you texted me as a joke. I didn’t think you were actually serious.”

You had forgotten about your phone.

When you checked your messages—saw what 'you' had replied when she asked what the hold-up was—you wanted to die a little.

Fucking the tattoo artist.

Blunt and to the point and definitely something you didn’t want to share with them, even if they could have guessed it. You responded with an innocuous half-laugh. 

“Hey, I thought we agreed on the right ankle,” she inquired. She looked to your left one to find it was just as bare. “Where’s your tattoo?”

“Oh, uh,” you stammered. “It’s, um, on my hip.”

You peeled back your shorts to show them, and thankfully, they didn’t mind. 

The walk back to the sorority house was relatively quiet, and you blamed yourself for it. Only when your friend shook out her ankle and complained, “I can’t believe this little thing cost me a hundred dollars,” was the tension relieved. “Plus tip!”

“Right? And I can’t believe they expected us to have that in cash,” you remarked.

They stopped in their tracks—both of them—each shooting you a bewildered look.

“Cash?”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #slimeball alley on bastard blvd

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | masterlist

Series Summary: When a run goes poorly, and Daryl is separated from his group, a stranger and her companion help get him out of a sticky situation. Little does Daryl know this stranger is much closer to home, and his life is going to get a bit more complicated

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader (s3 - s11) (ongoing)

A/N: Thank you for checking out close to home, it means the world to me 🖤 I've been going back and forth about diving into fanfiction, and I'm really excited about this! I think this will be a nice slow-burn angsty-type story. This will follow the entirety of the show--so if you have not finished the show, there will be spoilers!! Plot arcs, events, and character deaths will be spoiled, so read at your own risk!!

Warnings will be mostly chapter specific, but some general warnings for the story are adult language/content, sexual assault/mentions of assault, violence, descriptions of blood/injury, character deaths, and all of the typical TWD content. The story will mostly follow the TWD plotline with mild canon divergence. Therefore there will be plot lines and dialogue from the show. Additionally, there will be background information for the reader and mild descriptions of her features, but they can be ignored! Basically, the reader is almost like an oc, but self-insert for the most part lol

I try to post every day, but I do work full time so sometimes I might be unable to.

Chapter Directory (1-45)

chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six chapter seven chapter eight chapter nine chapter ten chapter eleven chapter twelve chapter thirteen chapter fourteen chapter fifteen chapter sixteen chapter seventeen chapter eighteen chapter nineteen chapter twenty chapter twenty one chapter twenty two chapter twenty three chapter twenty four chapter twenty five chapter twenty six chapter twenty seven chapter twenty eight chapter twenty nine chapter thirty chapter thirty one chapter thirty two chapter thirty three chapter thirty four chapter thirty five chapter thirty six chapter thirty seven chapter thirty eight chapter thirty nine chapter forty chapter forty one chapter forty two chapter forty three chapter forty four chapter forty five CONTINUED CHAPTER DIRECTORY (46-ongoing)

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryl twd #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #daryl dixion x reader

[jobean12-blog]

After the Fall

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 6,399

Summary: Bucky is your first love...your first everything so when things fall apart in college over a stupid misunderstanding you’re completely heartbroken but manage to move on...that is until your past comes back in a way you least expect it. 

Author’s Note: When Bucky and reader are dating they are at least 18 and when they reconnect their age is up to you- but they are obviously adults. The type of jobs mentioned are also up to interpretation- it’s a business thing for sure but as far as details it’s up to you! I had this whole moodboard planned to show the progression from young Bucky to now but I suck at them so instead I stuck some pictures in the middle of the fic to give you an idea :) And the first pic is what he looks like now hehe 🥵Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Dividers by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: some angsty parts over past events, both Bucky and reader have lots of feels, there’s soft fluff and sweetness, i-m-pl-ie-d s-e-x-y times, f-in-g-er-in-g, some light d-i-rt-y ta-lk, Bucky is delicious of course lol 

You pace your apartment and try not to fiddle with your outfit any more than you already have. It’s only seven thirty am and you’ve been up since six. You still have an hour and a half before you have to meet with Steve for your first official day of work.

Maybe you should leave now…New York City public transportation can never be trusted. The office building is only a fifteen-minute train ride but just to be sure…

Twenty-five minutes later you find yourself sitting in the lobby of the large building, your face to your phone and your foot bouncing rapidly. Several people walk by and you barely notice them, keeping an eye on the time and carefully sipping your drink.

But then you hear heavy footsteps and a hushed voice, one that sounds almost familiar and just as you look up you catch the retreating back of a tall man, broad shouldered and with long dark hair neatly tied into a bun at the base of his neck.

You stare until he disappears inside the elevator, your whole-body tingling with awareness. Could it be your past has finally caught up with you after all this time? Or is it just the constant lingering feeling of what you never truly got over?

Just a coincidence. It has to be.

After several blinks you check your phone again and decide it’s time to head up to Steve’s office.

The receptionist outside his office greets you warmly before picking up the phone and letting Steve know you’re here.

You knock, even though you don’t have to, and wait until you hear Steve call you inside. When you open the door you notice he’s quietly speaking to someone and due to your sudden onset of nerves it doesn’t register that it’s the same man from earlier until he turns around and his ocean blue eyes meet yours.

Eyes you know. Eyes you had fell in love with a long time ago.

Your stomach plummets to your toes and you must look like a deer caught in headlights because Steve stands suddenly and rounds his desk.

“Are you ok?” Steve asks but your eyes are still glued to Bucky.

Steve calls your name and you finally look at him and swallow hard with a nod but your eyes flicker back to Bucky when he starts to move toward the door.

Bucky says something to Steve that you don’t register and already has one foot out the door before Steve stops him.

“Hey Buck, wait a second. I want to introduce you to our new executive assistant.”

Bucky stops short, still facing the hallway and slowly turns, plastering a fake smile on his face.

Steve gives him your name and you hold out a shaky hand.

The moment his skin touches yours you feel him over every inch of your body and a flood of memories assaults you, leaving you almost speechless.

“Bucky is my partner,” Steve says proudly.

You manage a small hello and quickly pull your hand back. Bucky looks away, nodding to Steve before leaving the office.

Steve’s eyebrows are drawn in with concern as he moves his gaze back to you.

“That was weird,” he mutters, studying you and you think he’s waiting for an explanation.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted anything,” you say softly.

“Not at all,” Steve answers with a warm smile. “Now come and sit. Let’s get you set up for your first day.”

You visibly relax and take a deep breath, reminding yourself that you’ve worked hard to get this position and you won’t let anything, not even your first boyfriend, your first love…your first everything, get in your way.

Thankfully the rest of your first day goes smoothly with no sign of Bucky and you have enough work to keep your brain busy and focused.

It’s when you get home, toe your heels off and fall onto the couch that the day catches up with you, breaking like a wave against the rocks and you sink deeper into the cushions with a groan.

Your cell rings, pulling your from your thoughts.

“Hey Nat,” you say tiredly as you greet your best friend.

“HOW WAS THE FIRST DAY?” she says, far too loudly.

You wince but a small smile pulls at your lips.

“It was great. Steve is so sweet and I was busy all day but kicked ass.”

“I knew it,” she says. “But I get the sense there’s more…”

She waits, always patient and far too perceptive.

“What do you mean more?” you ask, trying to sound easy and breezy.

“Babe,” she admonishes. “I can hear it in your voice.”

When you don’t elaborate she says, “I’m here and ready to listen when you want to talk.”

Her kind words are all you need to hear before you sigh heavily and blurt out, “Bucky works at the firm. He’s Steve’s partner.”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Nat?”

“Wow,” is all she says.

“I know.”

“Are you ok?” she asks, her voice tentative.

“I will be,” you answer, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Dare I ask…how did he look? It’s been so long!”

The image of him flashes in your mind but it’s blurry and mixed with the younger version of him you know from your past.

“Honestly, I don’t even know. I barely registered more than his eyes. I was in shock.”

“Understandable,” she says. “Want me to come over?”

“No but thank you. I’m just going to take a bath and go to bed. I have the rest of the week to get through.”

“Ok babe. Call me if you need me.”

“I will, thank you again.”

Once you have a warm bath running, bubbles dancing along the surface and the calming scent of lavender filling the space, you sink under the water, hoping to wash away the day and maybe even some of the past.

The phone at your desk rings and you answer with your well-practiced greeting, smiling when you hear Steve’s voice. He lets you know he’ll be out of the building most of the day, handling some meetings downtown and that Bucky will be here should you need anything.

You hang up and square your shoulders, refocusing on your computer screen and doing your best to push Bucky to the back of your mind.

It works until an hour before lunch when you get a notification for a meeting. The e-mail doesn’t give you many details, just a time and place to be. Silently praying it has nothing to do with Bucky you gather your lap top and bag and make your way to the top floor.

The office door is closed but you can hear voices and when you knock and hear Bucky say, “come in,” you instantly tense up.

He repeats the words and you finally find the strength to push open the door.  

Three sets of eyes turn your way, only one of them familiar. The other two men openly admire you and you have to force yourself not to sneer at them.

Bucky must notice because he says, “gentleman if you don’t mind we have business to conduct.” His words are firm but harsh and the two other men clear their throats and look away to absentmindedly fix their ties.

You step inside, shutting the door behind you and sitting at the small conference table.

A shadow appears over you and you look up to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“I need you to take minutes for the meeting and…”

The rest of his words fade away as you finally take a moment to get a good look at him. His voice is deeper now, his suit filled out with muscles he didn’t have when you were younger and his hair…his hair is long enough to brush his shoulders.

His presence is overwhelming, sending shockwaves through every nerve in your body and making them buzz with memories.

“You still with me?” Bucky asks, a cocky smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

You nod and look down at your computer.

The meeting lasts about an hour and you do your job perfectly regardless of the fact that your heart is in your throat and your stomach is in knots.

“Thanks gentleman,” Bucky says as the two men get up to leave.

They both glance your way again with matching smiles and one of them opens his mouth to speak but Bucky quickly interjects.

“Meetings over.”

They leave without another word and you and Bucky are alone in his office.

You can feel his eyes on you and when you look up at him his jaw is clenching and his eyes are hard.

“Small world, huh?.”

He grunts, which you take as an agreement.

“I didn’t know you were Steve’s partner,” you start, inwardly berating yourself for the quiver in your voice. “This was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”

“I can tell you know what you’re doing,” he says, leaning over the table. “This is all strictly professional.”  

“Right,” you agree.

He stares for a moment longer then dips his chin before saying, “I’m going to lunch. You can see yourself out.”

You’re left staring blankly at the empty space he just occupied, the silence he left behind deafening and filled with so many unspoken words.

“Better day today?” Nat asks, this time from the couch beside you.

“I sat in on a meeting Bucky was conducting.”

“Oo,” she says, pouring you more wine.

“He looks so good Nat. Even better than before and I didn’t think that was possible…his hair is long now.”

She lifts her eyebrow and smirks. “Better huh? Well, he must be losing his mind over you.”

You smile at her in thanks but shrug. “He couldn’t have left his office quicker if I had set him on fire,” you joke.

“Are you ever going to talk about what happened?” she asks, eyeing you from over the rim of her glass.

“What’s there to talk about? We were young. When we talked about going to different schools he made it sound so easy. We’d visit every weekend. Be together every break and talk every day on the phone. But then…things just happened.”

“What things?” she asks gently.

“I kept hearing from other friends that he was studying,” and you make air quotes with the word, “with some girl named Sharon from this classes. I never asked about it because I trusted him but then we both got busier and we had less time…he seemed distant, or maybe it was just me. Things started to fall apart. Then I met Matt…”

She smiles wryly at the mention of your ex.

“More wine please,” you say with huff.

The next two days go by without a hitch. Steve seems very pleased with your work so far and you start to settle into your role well.

However, things fall apart again when Friday rolls around and you’re standing in the hallway speaking to one of the gentleman, Brad, from the meeting earlier in the week. He found you on your way to the staff room and practically cornered you to introduce himself.

“So, you should come out with us tonight. It’s a good way to end the week,” Brad says.

He leans closer to you, into your personal space, and you take a step back just as Bucky rounds the corner.

Your back meets his chest and you lunge forward but you never get far because Bucky’s hands wrap around your waist and he hauls you back to him.

“Woah,” you say, freezing at the feel of his hands on you.

Brad laughs but it quickly fades when he sees the murderous look on Bucky’s face.

“What’s going on here?” Bucky asks. “Don’t you two have work to get done.”

Your mouth drops open with a sassy retort but Brad beats you to it.

“We just met in the hallway and I was inviting her to drinks tonight,” Brad says lightly.

Bucky turns his eyes to you. “I was just going to grab my lunch. It’s my break.”

Your tone is defensive and you lift your chin defiantly.

“That might not be the best idea,” Bucky starts, turning back to Brad with a smirk. “She’s a lightweight….one too many drinks and she might be…”

“Don’t finish that sentence Barnes,” you spit out.

Both Bucky and Brad look taken aback then Brad breaks the awkward stare down between you and Bucky with a question.

“Do you two know each other?”

Bucky keeps his eyes on you when he answers with, “will you excuse us Brad. We need a minute alone.”

Brad looks between the two of you. “Ok, no problem.” But before he walks away he says to you, “hope to see you tonight.”

Bucky glares at Brad’s back then gently takes your arm and hauls you down to the nearest office. He opens the door and ushers you inside.

“What is your problem?” you ask before he even shuts the door.

“Why were you talking to Brad?” he asks.

You groan and fist your hands at your sides.

“It’s just like he said. We met in the hallway and he asked me to come out for drinks tonight!”

Bucky grunts.

“What is it with all the grunting? And I can’t believe you were about to make some shitty comment about my drinking!”

His shoulders sag and his eyes soften slightly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that but….”

He growls and turns away from you.

“But you broke my heart doll!”

When he finally turns back your way there are tears shining in your eyes. At his words, at the use of the endearment he saved only for you and at the way he looks once again, like the boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

“Yeah, well…you broke mine too,” you whisper as you look down at your feet.

You stand there in silence for what feels like forever before quietly saying. “We have to work together now. We can’t let our history be a problem. I want this job. I’ve worked hard for it.”

He scoffs and meets your gaze.

“Friends?” you ask, holding out your hand.

He stares at your outstretched hand but doesn’t’ take it as he steps incrementally closer.

“History?” Is that what you’re calling it?”

His voice is a growl, low and powerful.

“Bucky,” you try again.

“No doll. I can’t do friends with you. I know what you taste like when you come screaming my name.”

The memories wash over you, making your skin heat and your head dizzy. You’re reeling between feeling aroused and ashamed and angry.

“I’m not friends with people who give up on everything and bail for something new and shiny.”

His words hurt, hitting right where he wants them but you gather your strength and remind yourself that you’re here because you should be and what happened between you and Bucky has nothing to do with it.

“Seriously? It was so long ago, Bucky. Something tells me you haven’t been locked away and pining for me all this time.”

Your eyes slowly devour every inch of him. “No, I think you’ve been just fine without me.”

“See something you like doll face?” he murmurs.

He stands up straight and tall, crossing his arms over his chest and causing the fabric of his suit jacket to pull tightly at his bulging biceps and his long legs are spread wide as he smiles sardonically.

You can’t stop your gasp before it passes your lips. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” he mocks.

You don’t want to answer his question because it’s true. You do like it. More than you want to admit.

His long hair curls at his shoulders, neatly styled and framing a sharp jawline that’s lined with dark scruff, some spots even peppered with gray. His full lips are soft and kissable and his hands…you know what those hands are capable of.  Long fingers that are now adorned with rings, the shining gold glinting under the bright lights of the office and drawing your attention, spread wide over his arms.

It’s suffocating but you can’t stop your blatant perusal.

Your eyes drop to his long legs and what’s between them, his suit pants straining against what’s behind his zipper, the thick cock that stretched you for the first time.  

His smile is filled with arrogance as it widens into a grin and his gaze sears you, rooting you in place as he leisurely looks his fill.

“I certainly like what I see,” he says, licking his lips. “But none of that matters any more, right? Old news.”

“I won’t let you ruin this opportunity for me,” you tell him, willing your voice to stay even. “And I know Steve suspected something was up when I walked in the first day so don’t…”

“I already told Steve we have a past but don’t worry I didn’t tell him all the shitty details,” Bucky retorts. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He stands there with an expectant look on his face.

“Are you waiting for a thank you!” you almost shout. “I can’t believe it.”

You see his mouth opening to interrupt you, but you hold up a staying hand.

“Let’s just agree to be professional so we can do our jobs.”

You take a step around him but he blocks your way, his body large and imposing in the small space and when he leans down, his breath tickling your ear, and whispers, “I’ll see you on Monday then,” an involuntary shiver shoots down your spine.

He meets your eyes, his own sparkling with the same desire you know is in yours then reaches around you to open the door.

With a rush you shoot down the hallway and back to your office, silently praying no one caught you coming out of the room.

Once you’re safely inside with the door shut, you lean against it and finally let out a shuddering breath, swiping at your eyes.  

“I’m exhausted,” you explain to Nat after telling her about the events of the day.  “Even if I had wanted to go I would be asleep on the bar in minutes.”

“Well, just don’t let him dictate your social life. You have every right to go out and relax with coworkers. Especially cute ones. And you know I’ll come with you if you want.”

Nat’s words bring a smile to your face. “Thank you. Let’s just hope I can make it through next week.”

Later that night, after trying and failing to find something to watch that will keep your attention you crawl into bed and dream.

Your laid back on his bed as his stubble scratches along the sensitive skin of your neck and his whispered words reach your ears.

“You want my cock doll?”

You moan out his name, arching beneath him.

“Tell me.”

“Yes, yes I want your cock Bucky,” you purr.

His chuckle vibrates along your stomach as he moves lower. “Just need a taste first.”

“Please,” you beg just before his tongue flicks over your clit.

You push your hips into his face and he growls in approval.

“More,” you demand, and he obliges as one thick finger teases your opening.

You wake up just before he fills you, panting and disoriented. Looking around your dark room you can barely remember where you are. Or when. The past mixing with the present and creating something dangerous.

Your arousal is evident in the stickiness of your panties and you squeeze your thighs together in search of some relief. You sit up and take a sip of water from the glass on your nightstand, wishing it would quench more than your thirst. You consider finishing yourself off, it won’t take much, and he’ll never know, but you will.

Monday morning arrives faster than you’d like and you find yourself dragging your heels, literally, into the office.

You see Bucky in a meeting later that day and you notice him glancing your way several times, words and thoughts and emotions crossing over his face but you can’t decipher them.

The problem is you feel the same way. Confused and unsure…well maybe not unsure about everything. You definitely want him but that’s a line you know you shouldn’t cross, especially after the harsh words you exchanged last week.

The meeting ends and so does the day. And the next and the next until it’s Friday. It’s past five pm and you’re still in your office working on something for Steve. He pops his head in and tells you to leave but you wave him off and explain you’d rather get it done now and relax this weekend. He bids you goodbye once you promise not to stay too late.

You’re in the middle of a thought when the door opens again and without looking up you say, “don’t worry Steve, I should only be another hour then I promise I’ll go home.”

“Another hour and it will be dinner time.”

You look up at the sound of Bucky’s voice, your eyes wide and your lips lightly spread with surprise.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “Thought you were Steve.”

He smiles and for the first time you can tell it reaches his eyes.

“I’m going to be done at about the same time…dinner?”

You stare at him, not sure if you heard him right.

“Unless you had other plans toni…”

“No,” you interrupt. “I don’t and uh dinner sounds good. I’m starving actually.”

“Great, then I’ll see you in an hour. There’s this little noodle place we can walk to from here.”

You smile gratefully, waiting until the door shuts behind him to let out a whoosh of air.

“I don’t see a table,” you say as you look around Bucky into the restaurant.

He grabs your hand and you ignore the tingles that shoot up your arm as he drags you through the place. In the back corner, there’s a lone table, small but empty.

He holds his arm out, gesturing for you to sit. “I usually come hide in the back here if I have work to do but need food,” he explains.

You sit and he follows, plopping down across from you. The table’s so small that his knees bump yours underneath.

“Ow,” you hiss.

“Shit, sorry doll,” he mumbles as he moves his chair, bringing him closer to your side.

“I forgot how big your are.”

Your eyes go wide as you hear your own words come out of your mouth.

“Man doll face, you sure know how to hurt a guy’s feelings.”

His tone is light and teasing but you look down, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fidget with your hands and try not to remember exactly how big he really is.

Thankfully the waitress stops by to ask for your drink order. Once you tell her what you want you sit quietly and peek over at Bucky.

He looks nervous and for some reason it makes you feel better.

You both start to speak at the same time then laugh over your jumbled words.

“Go ahead doll,” he says.

“I was going to remind you of how much we used to talk. Remember all those nights we stayed up late either on the phone or hanging out in our favorite spot on the roof.”

His eyes sparkle at the thought. “Of course I remember. There never seemed to be enough time.”

The waitress reappears with your drinks and sets them down.

“Still like that whiskey huh?” Bucky teases. “I remember the first time you tried whiskey.”

“Oh gosh, I try not to,” you groan.

He suddenly looks sad. “I’m sorry about that comment last week…about the drinking. And about most of what I said. It was harsh. It’s just. This is hard,” and he gestures between the two of you.

“I get it. Believe me.”

“What happened to us?” you say after taking a sip of your drink.

“So much,” he responds. “But I feel…”

His words are interrupted when the waitress appears with your food. You take a few bites, focusing on chewing and swallowing as you muster up the courage to say the next words.

“I never gave up on us,” you start, your voice pained. “I never bailed…I heard so many things…people were talking.”

“What did you hear?” he asks, his fork held tightly between his fingers. “What are you talking about?”

“People were telling me you were with Sharon all the time…studying…and I wasn’t sure what else. You pulled back, we talked less…I don’t know it just didn’t feel the same. I was losing you.”

“Losing me?!” he says, far too loudly for the space. He squeezes his eyes shut then continues, his voiced hushed but still angry. “I was just trying to keep my grades up. I was struggling. I missed you so much and I couldn’t handle it. My grades slipped and the idea of you thinking I was a failure was too much on top of everything else. Sharon was just helping me. Nothing ever happened between us.”

You stare at him, your eyes glassy as they fill with unshed tears. “I don’t understand. When I asked you to come visit so we could talk…you…you were so hesitant, I thought it was because you were going to break up with me and then…you never showed.”

“I did. I did show,” he says quietly. “But you were with Matt.”

“What?” you gasp. “When? How come you didn’t tell me?”

“I was too ashamed. I figured you had moved on to someone better, someone who was able to keep their shit together and I didn’t want to mess that up for you.”

“Bucky,” you whisper. “I wasn’t with Matt. We were just friends.”

“But it didn’t stay that way,” he says, his tone accusatory.

“No. But that wasn’t until I knew it was over for us. I was completely heartbroken and it never worked out with Matt. He couldn’t get over the fact that I was still in love with you.”

That knocks the wind out of him and the two of you sit there, staring and uncertain.

He abruptly stands, knocking into the table. “Come on, let’s dance.”

“What?” you screech as he grabs your hand. “There isn’t even any music. This is a restaurant!?”

You don’t fight him as he tugs you away from the table and to the other side of the small room and when you spot the jukebox you can’t help the smile forming on your lips.

“I should have known you’d take me to a place with one of these,” you laugh.

He looks over his shoulder and winks before he starts scrolling through the songs. He stops on one but you can’t see the name then presses a few more buttons before he takes your hand again and pulls you to him.

The music starts and you almost stumble into him, recognizing the melody immediately.

“Your favorite,” he says quietly, drinking you in with his eyes.

You sway together and he spins you slowly, his hand teasing along your lower back. He takes your hand and lays your palm against his chest as you move back and forth. It’s not really dancing, more like you’re pressed together, shifting on your feet.

When you move your fingers across his chest you feel his sharp intake of breath. Your eyes trace the movements as your hand spans his broad chest then grazes over the gold chain peeking out from the open buttons of his shirt.  

“I like all this,” you say quietly, pressing the chain into his skin before you glance at the rings on his fingers.

“Glad to hear it doll,” he rumbles, looking far too pleased.

Your hand slides to his bicep and he flexes, smirking when you look up at him through your lashes.

“When do you have time to work out?” you whisper into the small space between you as your gaze wanders over his arms.

“Early in the morning,” he answers. “And you should see the rest of me.”

Need rumbles through his voice and you look up to meet his eyes.

“Bucky…”

He kisses you before you can finish the thought, stealing your breath. You freeze for a single heartbeat and then kiss him back with everything you have.

“Fuck doll.”

He wraps his arms around you tighter, pulling you against him and you lean into him willingly, a moan vibrating through you. His hand slips around to cup your throat, his thumb brushing over your jaw as he tilts your head back, deepening the kiss.

The music stops and you hear a few catcalls from some random guys at another table. It breaks the spell and you take a step back.

You start to panic and he can tell, his hands tightening at your waist.

“Doll…”

“No, we can’t.”

“Yes we fucking can,” he answers back. “We’re adults and we can do whatever the fuck we want. And make no mistake,” he continues, grasping your chin between his thick fingers to force your eyes to his, “I want you.”

You audibly swallow and sway into him. He holds you close, his eyes wandering over your face expectantly.

“I just…I panicked. I need a minute,” you admit.

He visibly relaxes and slides his knuckles along your curves to find your hand before taking it in his and pulling you toward the door.

“Where are we going?” you ask once you’re outside.

“I’m walking you home,” he says quietly, not letting go of your hand. “Just like when we were kids.”

You smile and press closer to him, loving the feel of his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The walk is mostly silent as your mind races to find the right words. You want this. Want him. But is it too much too quickly? It’s been so long but even so your body remembers him, has his touch memorized and seared into your skin and your heart…your heart has been full of him since the day you met.

When you reach your apartment building you stop. “This is me.”

He waits patiently for you to speak but when you don’t he asks, “so now what?”

“I want this. You. Us. I never stopped wanting it,” you confess. “But we’ve both hurt each other and I think we need to take it slow.”

“I’ll do whatever you want if it means you’re willing to give this a chance,” he answers. “But I can’t promise I’ll behave…I’ve been dreaming about being inside you for far too long and my hand just ain’t cutting it doll.”

You bite your lip, desire written all over your face even as you try to shoot him an admonishing glare.  

“But we’ll start with a date,” he says softly. “And I know just where I’m gonna take you.”

With a small nod you lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips lingering on the taste of his skin before you pull away and move from his embrace.

“Tomorrow?” he asks. “Or too soon?”

“Tomorrow,” you repeat.

“HE KISSED YOU?” Nat screeches and you have to move the phone away.

You’re nodding before you realize she can’t see you.

“Yes, right there in the middle of the noodle place.”

“Well?”

“Well what?” you ask.

“How was it?”

You sigh almost dreamily. “Better than I remember which I didn’t think was possible.”

“And you’re sure you’re ok with this?”

“I’m feeling so much but the thing I’m feeling most is the fact that I want him. I’m hoping it’s more than a physical thing. It feels more than that because to be completely honest I never stopped loving him.”

“I’m glad you’re giving this a chance,” Nat says. “Just go at a pace that makes you comfortable.”

“So I should have sex with him tomorrow…? Because I’m perfectly comfortable.”

You can hear Nat’s snicker. “Girl, if you do I better get every dirty detail.”

You giggle and cover your mouth, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

“Just keep them closed ok?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and hold tightly to his hand, stepping on the backs of his feet several times as he leads you to your date spot.

“Sorry Buck,” you laugh.

“It’s ok doll, just another few steps.”

You hear something metal creak open and then a blast of cool air hits your face.  He throws his arm around your shoulder and tucks you into his side.

“Ok, open your eyes.”

You’re met with a scene that takes your breath away. It’s both familiar and new, the old roof top a space you frequented when you were younger but now it’s been brought to life in a whole new way.

Soft string lights hang from a make shift canopy where underneath you see a small chaise lounge that’s covered in a plush blanket and cocooned by fluffy pillows.

“Oh Bucky,” you gush. “You did all this?”

He smiles and kisses your forehead. “I remember how much you loved it up here.”

“It’s beautiful. All of it.”

“I have one last thing to show you. C’mere.”

He pulls you along with him and pauses near the old fire escape.

“Close your eyes,” he orders again, slipping his hands over them from behind.

You laugh and reach up to hold his wrists, fiddling with the gold bracelet that dangles loosely there. “What are you doing?”

“This,” he whispers along the shell of your ear.

He moves his hands from your eyes and you gasp and cover your mouth, but then reach out, tracing one finger over the etched lines in the metal.

Your initials are carved neatly into the rusted metal, still standing out against the weathered material after all this time.

You spin in his arms, your eyes falling to his lips just as you lick your own, his eyes tracking the movement.

“Thank you Bucky.”

And then you kiss him. He grabs your face gently between his large hands, nipping at your lower lip and you open for him without hesitation. You press into him and he slides his hands down your back, brushing his thumbs over the sides of your breasts.

You whimper his name, moving your lips to his neck to trace down the muscular column.

“Fuck,” he groans as he walks you back toward the chaise lounge. With a spin he sits down and pulls you into his lap, your thighs on either side of his.

You pull back, your eyes bright and your lips swollen.

“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  

Your whispered thanks gets lost in the moment as he dips his head and drags his nose along your skin, inhaling softly.

“Whatever you want doll. Anything, nothing. Say the word and it’s yours.”

His words are rough even as his hands move delicately to caress your body.

You lean forward, softly kissing along his jawline toward his ear, your breath fanning his skin when he squeezes your ass.

“Touch me.”

“Touch you where doll? You want me to fill you with my fingers?” You want my mouth. I’ll lick up every last drop of whatever you wanna give me.”

You tremble in his arms, tugging at the button down that hangs loosely over his shoulders, your fingers splaying over his exposed skin as he shrugs it off. You rake your nails over his tight white tank, desperate for more of him but instead he tucks his fingers under your shirt and pulls it up and off.

His large hand covers your breast, his thumb brushing your nipple through your bra and you arch your back, pushing your chest into his face.

Your hips rock, rubbing up and down over the hard ridge of his cock.

“I’m gonna come in my pants if you don’t stop that baby doll.”

You don’t stop. Can’t. And when his fingers pop open the button of your pants you grind down even harder, needing more.

His fingers move lower and he hisses at the softness of your skin before he finds you soaked and ready for him.

“Yes,” you breathe out. “More.”

“Right here?” he teases, lightly brushing his finger over your clit.

He spreads your juices all over you, coating his fingers and your skin until you’re completely wild for him, writhing as you try to fuck his hand.

Two thick fingers sink inside you, his rings hitting your skin as he meets every one of your thrusts, going faster and harder when you mewl for more with every stroke.

“Bucky. I’m gonna come,” you warn.

“Come for me doll. Come all over my fingers. Squeeze me tight.”

His words send you careening over the edge and you cry out his name but he doesn’t stop the slow pumping of his fingers, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure.

You collapse against him, your head laying along his shoulder. His skin is warm and soft beneath your cheek and you can’t help but press your lips there. You spasm on his fingers once more before he slowly pulls them free and brings them between you, staring at the glistening proof of what he does to you.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes he holds you gaze and pushes his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean one by one.

“Fuck doll, you’re so sweet. I almost forgot how good you taste.”

You turn your face to his as your fingers tip toe down his chest, catching on the gold chain that rests against his warm skin, before moving lower.

“What about you?”

He rests his hands over yours, stopping you from undoing the button of his jeans.

“Not yet baby doll. I want to at least give you a real date first.”

“Are you being all gentlemanly now?” you pout. “We’ve had sex up here before.”

“I’ll fuck this pussy anywhere and anytime you’ll let me, but you want to go slow and this is more than just fucking. It always has been. When I get back inside you, it’ll be because we’ve worked through all this shit for good, all the shit that never should have gotten in our way. And there won’t be any going back. You’ll be mine again.”

Even though you always have been.

@sstan-hoe @lookiamtrying @hallecarey1 @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @late-to-the-party-81 @randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @sebstanwhore @book-dragon-13 @littleseasiren @justkinsey​ @beccablogsthings​ @laineyreads​

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader

[preciouslandmermaid]

💐💐💐

imagine being a kindergarten teacher who meets reid

maybe its thru JJ, maybe you've got Henry in your class, and she kindly, warmly strikes a friendship with you after Henry moves into 1st grade. and its a little unorthodox but jj and her husband are always willing to help out (when their schedules can allow) with school events and so yeah, you become friends.

and when jj introduces you to her friends/colleagues - there is of course a little bit of an intimidation factor (because hello...they are fbi) but penelope makes you feel so welcome (because of course she does. and you tell her your students would love her. and she offers to teach a tech class and youre like ok they're five but yes let's do it) and morgan shamelessly flirting, and emily being hot and intimidating and then there's reid, quiet, awkward, wont-shake-your-hand reid.

but there's something to it - a mutual nerdiness, perhaps, or how reid doesn't make you feel "stupid" just because you're an elementary school teacher and not a professor at a college (despite the fact that in many places you need a least a master's to teach).

imagine weeks later when you run into reid at the coffee shop. completely random. the sky is gray, uninteresting, and promising rain. he surprises you by remembering your name before there's a shy yet earnest quip when he says he's got an "eidetic memory." and you laugh warmly and spencer thinks its one of the best sounds he's heard all morning.

and it goes slowly from there, but it moves naturally, like a caterpillar forming its chrysalis

(when you tell reid this, somewhere after the 4 month mark since you've long stopped counting individual dates, he says; "did you know the word comes from the greek word 'khrusos' - which means gold - because of the gold color or metallic sheen of some pupae".

and in that moment, that singular moment, you admire the honey-gold tint of his eyes in the late afternoon sun spilling luminescence across the sidewalks and across shiny car windshields and think that you could already see the shape and color of whatever butterfly that was going to burst from its cocoon).

one time you refused to come over his apartment because "the kids used glitter today" and you didn't want to get it all over his place. so he came over instead, and you watched the iridescent sparkles swirl down the bathtub drain together.

imagine spencer reid laying his head in your lap, something heavy and unspoken between you, shaped in the spread of his fingers across your hips, in the erratic pulse of his heart pressing into your shins

the school doesn't celebrate Halloween, but they have an annual "trunk or treat" where people CAN dress up and trick-or-treat out of the trunks of their cars and spencer starts helping you, decorating the trunk with fake cobwebs, and skulls, and eventually diving into convoluted themes that you're not convinced kids aged 5-10 are totally going to get.

"it's jaws." he says, holding a shark head made of paper mache, "you know, the 1975 film? you said we couldn't do slasher horror movies because they're too gory for the kids but i'd argue that this movie stands alone as a great horror film with how Spielberg creates consistent tension throughout the whole film considering we don't see the shark until an hour and twenty-one minutes into the run time."

(the kids don't really get it, it's true. "sharks aren't monsters." they would say, or "sharks aren't scary." or "is this from Baby Shark?" but you and spencer have fun, passing out candy, sharing small looks to each other--so that makes it all worth it).

imagine something soft, sweet, something quiet shared over coffee with spencer. something gentle amidst all the chaos, the heartache, and stress of his day-to-day job.

"I don't know how you do it," you tell him, "seeing the worst of what the world has to offer day in and day out."

his long fingers stroke the underside of your jaw, "i don't know how you manage a room full of fifteen 5 and 6-year-olds." he pulls a face. "especially with the germs."

imagine bringing spencer lunch at the office - earning the knowing, sly looks from his friends and team, knowing you can't hide against a room full of profilers and knowing it doesn't really matter anyways.

:) ok that's all i got. <3

#i dont feel like writing a fic about this so have this instead #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff