#((or can someone just snap my bones in half for me please and thank you))

[epitomees]

[quintinh43]

Heavy Heads and Heavy Hearts | Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn gets injured as a game. His girlfriend takes him and cares for him.

Pairings: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety, Head injury, food, angst, mentions of vomiting (no actual vomiting)

Notes: Hi guyss! Hope everyone is doing ok! Injured Quinn got the most votes, so here we are! This one is the longest one ive done so far, I definitely did not mean for it to be as long as it is but here we are. Also, im not a professionl in any way, so i cant say this is concussion accurate. I just went off of my experience in dealing with athletes that have Concussions, and my own Concussions lol. Anywaysss I hope yall enjoy. Love Soph.

---

There was something so gut-wrenching about watching the man you love get injured. One second, Quinn was cutting quickly around the back of the net, and the next, he was getting slammed into the boards hard. It was nothing. You get hit, you get up, and you keep going. It was simply a part of hockey.

Except this time, Quinn wasn't getting up. He wasn't moving at all. You stand up, heart in your throat. The room feels like it's tilting. The sharp shrill of the refs whistle cut through the air, stopping the play as the refs skate over to where Quinn is lying motionless on the ice.

They are calling for medics. Your head is spinning with the worst possible scenarios as you excuse yourself from your seat and practically sprint to the locker room. One of the security members holds out a hand to stop you.

"Ma'am, you can't be here, please exit this area"

Great. Just fucking great. This is exactly what you need right now. The overwhelming need that aches in your bones demanding to know that Quinn is ok makes you want to cry. Because now this fucker won't let you through. And you're nearly too panicked to do anything about it.

The logical route would be pulling out Quinns wallet, that has his ID in it, and explaining that you are his girlfriend. But with your anxiety high, and your heart in your throat logic is not the first thing on your mind.

"Listen buddy," you start, ready to absolutely rip this guy a new one. Thankfully for him, one of the trainers who knows you happens to be exiting the locker room.

"Let her through, Jace, that's Hughes' girl" he says, waving you forward. The security guard- Jace apparently, lets you pass with a grumble.

By the time you get rink side, Quinn is (half) conscious- thank God, and being half carried off the ice by Petey and Boeser. He's transfered to the care of two medics, who sit him on a bench and begin to check him over.

One of them is asking him questions gently, both to keep him awake and assess the damage to his head. While the other stabilizes his neck. "Can you tell me your full name and today's date?" One of the medics asks.

"Quintin Jerome Hughes," he slurs, eyes fluttering, "its Feb'uary... twenty-second, twenty-twenty-four"

Your breath hitches. He got the date wrong. You can't help the panic that rushes through you. "Good job Quinn, do you know where you are?"

"Van, Roger's arena," he mumbles, "playing hockey"

"Good," the medic hums. "we need to take off your equipment to make sure you aren't injured anywhere else. Is that ok?"

"Y/n" he mumbles, eyes closing and head tilting forward, his head snapped back up a moment later, and if the other medic hadn't had his head stabilized he would probably have mild whiplash.

"Stay awake for us, Quinn. Is Y/n someone you'd like us to call?"

You spring forward at the mention of your name, "I'm here," you say, pushing past a couple of people who are standing around, ready to assist if the situation gets worse.

"My girl" Quinn slurs, his lips tilting into a small smile. Your heart flutters at that. In the midst of his delirium, he still cares about you dearly.

"Hello Y/n, I'm Sam," the guy who's been asking him questions, "and that's Kieran," he says, nudging his head towards Kieran, who gives a small smile.

"Do you think you could help us remove his equipment?"

"Yes absolutely, just tell me what to do" you say, glad that you can help.

"Can you remove his jersey and shoulder pads? Kieran needs to keep his neck stable, and I need to check for any other possible injuries. And keep him talking"

"Yeah, of course," you start by bending his elbow to slide it out of the sleeve of his jersey.

"Hey Quinny" you say softly, sliding his other arm out of his jersey "you played really really good today, I'm so proud of you"

"Thanks baby," he murmers, "glad you're here." He tries to lean his head against your chest, he huffs when Kieran doesn't let him, and you can't help but let out a breathy laugh, patting his head lovingly.

Kieran tilts his head to one side, allowing you to pull the jersey over his head. You deposit it in his cubby behind him and make quick work undoing his shoulder pads and pulling them off gently.

"I'm glad I'm here too. What do you wanna eat when we get home?"

Sam gently asks you to move out of the way so he can check Quinns upper body for injuries. The second you aren't doing something, the anxiety rises back to your chest. You take a deep breath and begin to unlace his skates. You pull them off, slipping a pair of slides on his feet so his socks don't get wet.

"Hmm" he hums in thought "potatos...?"

You laugh, "Alright Quinny. We'll have potatos"

Finally after palpating his whole body to make sure he doesn't have any other major injuries, testing his reflexes, and asking him a bunch more questions. They diagnose him with a minor concussion, and give you a list of things to look out for.

They deem it safe enough to leave you alone with him for a little bit and tell you to change him into something more comfortable. It takes a bit of work to take off his hockey pants and shinguards and get him into a pair of sweats and a hoodie.

By the time you're done, the equipment manager and the medics have collected the rest of his equipment. After making sure his hockey bag is fully packed with everything, you grab his keys from your purse, while the EM helps you bring his bag to his car, and the medic helps you half carry him down.

He can mostly walk on his own, but better safe than sorry. On the ride home he keeps his head resting against the window, a cool compress is wrapped around his neck, and he's holding one over his eyes with one hand, while the other holds yours tightly.

You trace your thumb over the backs of his knuckles soothingly and keep him talking the whole way home. "What kind of potatoes do you want when we get home, Hon?"

"Can I change my mind?" He asks sheepishly. He's still talking very quietly and slurring his words a little, but the medics said that was nothing to worry about unless he started getting worse. So far, it was nothing to worry about.

"Of course my love, anything you want" you bring your intertwined hands to rest on your chest. It's a comforting weight over your heart, that you didn't know you needed until it was there.

Your phone lights up from the cup holder, it's a text from Petey, saying that the Canucks won the game. There are a few other texts, from his parents and brothers. You make a mental note to reply to them as soon as you get Quinn settled at home.

"Can we have noodles?" He mumbles.

"Yes, of course, love." You can't help but kiss the back of his knuckles. Watching Quinn get injured to the point of losing consciousness was not something you ever wanted to experience ever again.

"Your boys won, by the way," you say softly.

"The did?!" Quinns head shoots up front the window, and he is filled with instant regret as a sharp twinge shoots down his neck and to his shoulder.

"Ow fuck" he mumbles, laying his head back against the cool window.

"Careful love," you gasp, squeezing his hand.

"I know, I'm sorry," he mumbles, squeezing your hand back. You sigh, you have been on edge since he got injured, and it didn't look like the anxiety would dissipate for a while. You would just have to deal with it and try not to be an over bearing worry wart.

"You guys won 5-2" you smile, finally pulling into your apartment parking lot.

"I didn't do much except get my brains knocked around" he grumbles. "Some captain I am"

You scoff, flicking him in the nose lightly. "Don't sell yourself short, Quinny. Three of those points are yours."

Quinn wrinkles his nose and leans forward to bite your finger. You yelp, snatching it away with a glare. He sticks his tongue out at you, and you laugh, your chest feeling a little lighter than before.

"Come on, let's get you upstairs. " You say, undoing your seat belt and getting out of the car. You run around to his passenger side and open the door for him, and help him step out of the car. He throws an arm over your shoulder, and you wrap one around his waist. He's not as wobbly on his feet as he was earlier, but he still isn't at full strength.

Quinn squeezes his eyes shut and tucks his face against your hair. The florescent elevator lights were not pleasant in his state. "Can we keep the apartment lights off?" He mumbles against your hair.

"Sure love," you said rubbing your hand up and down his back soothingly, "we're almost home," you fish the keys out of your purse and unlock it. You toe your shoes off at the door while Quinn slips his off easily and you guide him to the couch.

"What do you want first, baby? Food or a shower?"

"I'm not really hungry" Quinn mumbles, laying on the couch and adjusting the ice pack under his neck. You sit on the couch handle, stroking his hair back from his forehead. "I know honey, but we should try to get something light in your system, if you're feeling upto it."

Quinn sighs. He knows you're right. "I can make you toast? Or a sandwich or something?" You offer, smoothing your thumb over his hairline.

"Do we have bagles?" He asks

"Yeah, we have bagles, I'll make you one of those?"

"Yes please," he mumbles, you plant a kiss on his forehead and go pop a bagle into the toaster, "can you do it with cream cheese and jam?" He asks, chewing on his lip nervously.

"Sure, Hon, I'm gonna make myself some tea. Do you want a cup?" You ask as you pull the cream cheese and jam out of the fridge.

"No thanks, I'm ok" he mumbles. After his bagle is done being made, you help ease him into sitting position, and sit next to him with your cup of tea. He eats a bit more than half the bagle, and you finish off the rest before deeming it time to shower.

You remember all the messages from his family, and quickly shoot them texts, saying that he's ok and you just got home and you'll talk more when he gets settled.

"I'm gonna put these back in the freezer while we shower, yeah?"

Quinn nods, handing the ice packs to you to put in the freezer. You help him up slowly and lead him to the bathroom. You keep the lights off and leave the door open so you have a little bit of light from the bedroom.

While the shower warms up, you grab a clean change  of clothes for both you and Quinn and set them on the counter before helping Quinn strip. He has to brace an arm against the wall while you hold him steady with one hand and maneuver his clothes off with the other.

"I'm sorry," he murmers against your hair as you help him step into the shower.

"Oh Quinn, there's nothing to be sorry for," you say, sitting him on the shower seat.

"I'm sorry you have to take care of me like this." He huffs, resting his head against the cool Ike of the shower wall, "I feel so pathetic, " his voice cracks, and your heart nearly breaks.

"Quinn, my love, taking care of you is not a burden. It's a pleasure. I love you to the ends of the earth, and I would do anything for you, my sweets. " You kiss him on the forehead sweetly as if to prove your point.

He doesn't say much about it after that, but you can tell he still feels bad. You make quick work of washing his hair, being very careful of where a small bump has formed on his head. You scrub him down and rinse him off before shutting off the water.

You wrap a towel around yourself and then dry Quinn off gently before helping him change into his pajamas. "Let me change and then dry your hair a little bit before we have to put an ice pack on your head, ok?"

Quinn nods. He sits on the counter, leaning against the wall while you change into your pajamas. You plug in the hair dryer and dry his hair, keeping his head steady with one hand. As soon as his hair is no longer soaking wet, you help him off the bathroom counter and into bed. You grab the ice packs from the freezer and help him position them on his head and neck until he's comfortable.

"I'll be back in less than ten minutes, baby. I'm just going to grab your stuff from the car, ok?" You say pulling on a pair of sweats and a hoodie over your pajamas.

"Ok" Quinn mumbles, "I'll call if anything" he says patting his nightstand to make sure his phone is there.

You kiss him on the forehead and pull the bedroom door halfway closed so the light from the hall isn't too bright. Grabbing his car keys and your phone from the counter, you hit the call button on Ellen's contact as you slip out the door.

She picks up on the first ring "Hows he doing?" She asks immediately. She sounds distressed, maybe like she's been crying. You don't blame her. They probably haven't heard anything unless someone on the team contacted them, and you have no idea how bad it looked on TV.

"He's ok, Mrs. H, it's a mild concussion. His symptoms aren't worsening at all, and they said with some rest he'll be significantly better by tomorrow"

Her sigh of relief was unmatched. "He'll be out of play for a couple of weeks, but they just want to make sure he's back to 100% before he's playing again." The elevator finally opens, and you hit the button for the parking garage.

"Thank you so much, Y/n, im glad you're there with him. I know he's in good hands. I'll leave you be love, Jack and luke are super super anxious and would appreciate a call from you. Text me if anything happens."

"I will, Mrs. H, tell Mr. H I say hi"

"I will dear, thanks for taking care of our boy"

"Of course El, he's my boy too," you smile.

You swear you can hear Ellen smile over the phone. "We love you dear, I'll talk to you tomorrow ok. Don't forget to take care of yourself too"

"I will, I love you guys too. I'll text you updates"

"Alright, bye dear."

"Bye," you sigh, pressing the end call button, just as the elevator opens to the parking garage. As you press the button to open the trunk, you call Jack.

"Y/n,"  he huffs out, not even after a full ring. "How's Quinn? If he ok? What happened?"  Before you can answer any of Jacks questions, Luke's voice cuts him off, "is Quinn ok? Are you guys at the hospital? It looked really bad -"

Before their panicked tangents can get worse, you interrupt them both. "Take a breath, you two," you say calmly, breathing exaggeratedly so they can copy you "in and out, relax. Quinn is ok. He's ok"

"He's ok?"

"He's ok" you repeat. You feel the tears start to build, and your voice cracks "He's ok"

"Oh Y/n." Jack says softly.

"It's ok, I'm ok" you say, more to yourself than to Jack as you wipe the tears away. "Hold on, gimme one sec." You say, setting down your phone as you pull Quinn's hockey bag out the car. You close the trunk, make sure the car is locked and head back to the elevator.

"Hi, sorry I'm back. I was just grabbing Quinn's stuff out the car."

"Can you tell us what happened?"  Luke asks softly.

"He's got a concussion, and he's a bit bruised up, but other than that he's alright"

"Fuck, how bad is it?" Jack asks, the fear is evident in his voice, and you can't blame him. Concussions can be really bad sometimes.

"They said its a mild concussion, he's not throwing up at all, his memory is ok, he didn't injure his spine or anything, he'll be ok after a few days of rest. He probably wont be playing for a few weeks, but better safe than sorry."

"Oh thank God"  both Jack and Luke huffed "isn't he not supposed to sleep for 24 hours after or something?" Luke asks.

You shake your head with a small smile "Thats a myth, Lukey. As long as I check on him every few hours its ok for him to sleep."

"Ohh, ok. Well that's good" Luke says.

"We are glad he has you Y/n, thank you for taking care of our brother."

"Always" you say softly.

"We'll let you go now, keep us updated?"

"I will, Jackie. You two get some rest, you have a big game tomorrow, love you guys"

"We love you too Y/n/n" both boys say, hanging up.

You sigh, leaving his bag at the door. "Y/n?" Quinns weak voice calls out from the bedroom. You rush to him immediately, scared that something is wrong.

"Yes, Quinny, I'm right here" you say kneeling beside the bed, and stroking his hair.

"You took long," he mumbles, pressing his lips against your wrist.

"I'm sorry love, I'm here now," you stand, stripping the hoodie and sweats off and climbing into bed next to him. You stay a little distance away, not wanting to hurt Quinn. But he grumbles at you, tugging on your shirt to get you to come closer. Normally, he would just grab you and pull you closer, but he's still weak.

"I don't wanna hurt you" you mumble, scooting closer so that you are tucked against his side. He tangles your legs together and rests his head against yours.

"Never" he says, pressing his lips to the side of your head. You rest one of your hands on his hip, under his shirt, stroking your thumb over his hip bone.

"How you feeling?" You ask softly.

"Beat" he mumbles "thanks for taking care of me"

"I'll take care of you for as long as you let me love" you say, pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"Forever?"

"Forever."

---

Wc: 3.1k

[onelittlespiral]

Hey hi, I need your help asap! I was talking with my roommate and he told me about your new special deal. And I wasn’t really interested but my roommate let slip that he was gonna ask you to turn me into a nymphomaniac hunk for him. And I don’t want that, so I rushed to write to you. Please can you turn my roommate into anything that will prevent him to turn me, maybe show him a taste of what he wanted to force me into? Thanks a lot!

Subject: Customer Service Ticket #3478

Dear (REDACTED),

We hope to alleviate any concerns you have about our services. However, at this time, we are unable to process any changes regarding Order #100765. Any changes will need to be made by the authorized purchaser. If there is any other way we can be of assistance, please feel free to contact us at the number below. Otherwise, we know that you’ll soon be satisfied.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

We knew you’d come around and round and round and round…

One email and I was left in a panic. I can’t believe my roommate would try to change me. I called the number included on the email, dialed 2 for customer service, and waited as the hold music played. All the while I was left thinking. We had the usual quibbles about dishes and cleaning up and all that, but committing to the kind of shit he had laid out in his order? It had to be some kind of prank. I was just in circles, kept thinking how there must be a way to cancel the order. All the while I was listening to instrumentals of jazzy horns and synths. You waited five, ten, twenty minutes on the line, hoping for a response. You had other plans today, but this had shot those down. You could only sit, wait, and listen.

After 30 minutes of waiting and stewing, someone finally picked up on the line,

“Hello, is this (REDACTED)?”

“Yes! Finally. I have been waiting forever. You’ve got to help me man.”

“I’m sorry to hear you have been waiting so long. Have you been just listening to that horrible hold music for half an hour?” He sounded condescending, like he wasn’t taking my dilemma seriously.

“Yea, now I need your help. I need to cancel an order.”

“Are you sure you need to boy toy?”

The words bounced in your head and your jaw went slack. You feel strange… dizzy and confused. “Huuuh?” was all you could get out.

“Yeah boy toy, just tell me what you need changed? Unless the wait helped you calm down?”

Your mind raced, to think of what you needed. But the more you tried to think, the harder it felt, “Uhhhhh…”

The man’s voice turned helpful, “Well, let’s go over the order just in case, shall we?” You sat and listened as he rattled off details. “Let’s see, we have an order here for a sexy hunk, with an increased sex drive. One of our best lines. That sound okay?”

He sounded confident. Was it really the best? You must have wanted the best, “Yes.”

“Good, so that comes with our lean muscle package, with abs, pecs, and a bubble butt extension. Does that feel right?”

You feel a shift beneath you, and looking down something feels wrong. You weren’t expecting to see perfectly tanned skin, pulled tight against your six pack. As you glide your hand down your form it all feels so firm. So muscular. Your mind tries to think of a reason not to, but you mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy toy,” you lit up a bit. You liked it when he called you that. “Now, it also does come with a facial remodel. And I have it in the notes here you want the hair platinum blonde?”

You felt pressure in your face. Your open mouth snapped tight as your bones shaped and remodeled themselves. The pain was sudden and sharp. But by the time you lifted your hand to your jaw, it had stopped. Quickly, the memory faded to the background as you relaxed again, drool pooling out newly plumped lips, “Yuuh.”

“Perfect, perfect. Now, the last change I have here is a priority shift. You want to think only with your hungry hole boy toy?”

The hormone levels in your body jumped as your ass shifted uncomfortably beneath you. You needed to contain it, have some sense of control. Or do you? As you let yourself relax, you began grinding against the ground beneath you. Only one thought was left in your mind: you needed your hole filled. You began playing with yourself, and a faint moan was all that the operator needed to hear.

“I think that’s everything. Boy toy, wake up.” The fog receding in your mind did nothing to mask the horniness. If anything it made the need more clear. “Thank you for calling The Spiral customer service line. Goodbye!” And he was gone.

You barely could manage to navigate your way home. Every man was a distraction, as your mind raced with fantasies of being groped and used. But something within you made sure you made it through the complex door and safely into your apartment. You wanted to just lay down and try to sort out the day. But the man spreading out on your couch stopped you in your tracks.

A small voice in the back of your mind tried to say something was wrong. But your roommate on the couch looked so right. His features glistened in the dim light, highlighting his muscular physique and masculine features. His old, well worn wife beater and grey stained shorts left little to the imagination. And the sloppy demeanor and funk he emanated clashed with your clean and well-toned body. But the way his eyes fixed on you, the hunger and swagger in his gaze, left you weak in the knees. The attraction was instant, and with no willpower left, you buried yourself in his body and began worshiping this pillar of masculine energy. Inhibition was gone as you licked at the thin fabric separating you from your prize. And as he pulled his waistband down and shoved his sweaty cock down your throat, you let his flavor coat your pallet.

“Welcome home boy toy,” he groaned. That’s right. You were his little boy toy.

A buzz came from your roommate’s pocket.

Subject: Order #100690 Fulfilled

Dear (REDACTED)

Your order has been fulfilled. We have also closed Ticket #3478 at this time. We know you have many options, but thank you for the support.

Sincerely,

The Spiral

[jeewrites]

🌈 Sunshine & Rainbows 🌈

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader Equalizer 2 AU: What if Dave survives the fall from the watchtower?

WC: 10.1k (whoopsies) Rated: Explicit, minors do not interact

Content/Warnings: Dave is divorced from Carol (no kids), reference to previous smut, Dave gets a few nicknames, reader is also an assassin but sassy, reader has a nickname and hair that can be pulled, mention of traumatic injuries to Dave, medical jargon, discussion of physical therapy, stalking/murder/torture not described, please remember I had to google “How to preserve an eyeball” for this fic, is murder a love language?, arson, treadmill hate, use of daddy just once, no y/n

A/N: My first Dave fic and my first fic challenge! I got ‘amnesia’ to pair with Dave for @burntheedges's Roll-A-Trope Challenge! I had so much fun trying to wrap my head around Dave as someone who leans towards fluff and feels, so I hope you enjoy my take on our favorite murder daddy. Thank you to @bloviating-vy for being the best beta-reader and encouraging me to write fics in the first place. Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Roll a Trope Masterlist

It’s the pain that wakes him. Every part of his body screams. The tight stretch of skin, itchy and hot. Bruises to the bone. Bones shattered. The sun shines too bright despite the curtains. The increasing beep of the monitor is too loud. How is it possible to hurt like this?

He hears the shuffle of footsteps and the murmur of voices just above the screaming of his body before a shadowy figure appears. He can sense them to his left, but not see them. Is this how he dies? Drowsiness steamrolls him and he slips back to a blissful drug-induced unconsciousness.

It’s been 48 and a half hours and no check-in from Dave. You stare at the burner phone, willing it to beep or ring. Anything. But there is no text. No call. Just the flick and snap as you flip the phone open and close.

Dave has never, ever missed a check-in. Has he come close to the 48-hour deadline after an op? Sure. But never late. And never this late.

You’re not exactly in panic mode yet because it’s Dave, one of the most ruthless and effective killers you know. But you can’t help the anxiety starting to build in your belly and another feeling you can’t quite pin down. It’s not like you love him. But god isn’t he a good fuck, perfect for blowing off steam between covert ops. 

And he understands what you do. He understands you and you understand him. Plus, he was the only one who ever almost got a jump on you when a client hired both of you without telling one about the other. That was almost a clusterfuck that ended up being the best fuck of your life.

The burner phone stares back at you, silent. Fuck it. Now it’s time for you to do what you do best. Find people. Find Dave. 

The doctor keeps calling him John — as in John Doe. While he can’t for the life of him recall his name, he knows definitively, John is not his fucking name. He’s also tired of talking. He doesn’t have any answers, just more questions piling on top of the questions the doc, a psychiatrist, keeps lobbing at him. Everything still hurts, a dull, perpetual throb throughout his brain and body punctuated by acute pain if he happens to breathe wrong.

He’s in a different building since the last time he awoke in crippling pain. This place seems like a public-run long-term health care facility out in the boonies instead of the large hospital downtown he was in before. The doctors and other health care professionals seem harried and perpetually understaffed. While his room is relatively clean, the decor is dated, all the walls a sickly yellow or green. And everything smells strongly of disinfectant. It could be worse, he supposes, at least it’s clean here. 

The psychiatrist leans forward towards him, “Let’s call it a day and let you rest. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

He grunts in response.

Something in his gut tells him to be wary of this doctor, of sharing too much if he ever remembers a goddamn thing. He knows he can trust his gut when it comes to reading people. Watching a steady flow of doctors, nurses, aides, social workers, and janitorial staff in his room, he doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows when someone is trustworthy or a threat. He can read body language at the most minute level with startling clarity.

The head nurse Kathleen is no nonsense and won’t tolerate any bullshit. Nurse Sally does the bare minimum and has sticky fingers. Gotta keep an eye on that one. He likes the neurologist who doesn’t sugar coat things. He’s pretty sure his physical therapist, Ryan, is secretly a sadist.

The night nurse, Brian, is a steadying comfort, always checking on him, “Doing all right, boss?” in the quiet loneliness of the evening. Brian alleviates the pressing annoyance of not knowing his own name by constantly switching up nicknames for him. Calling him buddy, champ, or hot stuff much to his amusement. 

He also knows someone tried their damndest to kill him and make it hurt in the process. Gouged out left eye, stabbed between the ribs, sliced tendons, broken bones, internal bleeding, wrapped in a myriad of bruises and tossed from a significant height. He’s been told repeatedly what a miracle it is that he survived at all, washed up on the beach on the brink of death before being found.

For now he bides his time, giving his body the opportunity to heal and recover. He knows he won’t get far in the current condition he’s in after the multiple surgeries and months and months in the ICU. In physical therapy he can barely manage to walk a few steps without assistance, and he’s still adjusting to the eye patch and the use of his remaining eye. He’s relatively safe for now, he thinks, identity a mystery and off the beaten path. Although a small part of him wonders why no one has come to find him. Did he not have family, friends, or anyone who missed him? 

Dave doesn’t make it easy on you to find him. Of course he doesn’t. Before he went private, or over to the dark side he liked to say, he made sure to replace all of his biometrics in various government databases with false ones. You have to go old school and retrace his steps from the sparest details he did share with you. Brant Rock the text message had read.

You find Resnik, Ari, and Kovac in the local morgue shortly after the hurricane blew through. Kovac and Ari are identifiable easily enough, but Resnik takes a moment, having most of his face blown off. It’s a shame about Kovac and Ari, they were good enough guys and you didn’t mind working with them on occasion.

But that bastard Resnik had once joked, thinking you were out of earshot, what a good fuck you’d be and you were so vulnerable with only the four of them around for miles and miles. You had slid the safety off your weapon at the same time you heard Dave threaten to rip his balls off through his throat if Resnick dared to try anything with you. You were planning to do worse, but hey, it was the thought that counts, right? That was when you knew you could really trust Dave. Resnik, not so much. 

As you approach the next cold locker, for a moment you can’t breathe, suffocating in the thought that the next body you pull is going to be Dave. But to your immense relief, it’s not Dave. Dave isn’t in any of them. It’s not until you slip out of the morgue into your car a few blocks away that you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You allow yourself to sob, forehead against your steering wheel. Crying, such an unfamiliar sensation. Where was he?

It takes you nearly two weeks to find Dave. Listed as a John Doe at the big trauma center downtown, you disguise yourself as a nurse and sneak into his ICU hospital room late one night. Nothing prepared you for his condition. 

“Did Mac do this to you, Yorkie?” you whisper as you trace your fingertips along the ashen skin of his forearm. It seems like the only part of him that is uninjured. The only sound in the room is the hiss of the ventilator and soft beeping of the heart rate monitor reminding you he’s actually alive. Barely. He’s unnaturally still for a man always on the move. You gasp softly when you take in his face, his beautiful face marred with wounds and a patch covering his left eye. Your chest tightens as you turn away to collect yourself.

Refocusing, you pull up his chart. The more you scroll, the more your rage builds at Mac or whoever did this to Dave. Your Dave. Severed tendons and ligaments, shattered ribs, crushed vertebra, multiple stab wounds, ruptured spleen, so much internal bleeding it’s a miracle he’s even alive. What the fuck happened?

He is in no condition to be moved. No matter, you think. While he heals, you are going to hunt down who did this to him and exact revenge. Excruciating revenge. Before logging out of the system you program it to send you any alerts to changes in his condition or if he’s moved to another facility.

Before you leave, you take one last look at Dave, gently run your fingers through his soft brown hair, marveling at how peaceful he looks despite the myriad of tubes plugged into him. You almost make it out of the room without shedding a tear until you really see his nose. Broken, shattered, scarred. Even if you don’t love Dave, you love his beautiful, strong aquiline nose. The way he’d nuzzle it into your neck in rare, soft moments. Press it against your mound when he pulled pleasure from you over and over. The quiet moments after you were both sated and sleepy, and he’d let you trace his brow, the strong curve of his nose, his plush lips, as he anchored you against him.

You are going to fucking destroy whoever did this to him.

The doorbell footage at Dave’s apartment confirms that Mac is the culprit behind Dave’s injuries. 

The Robert McCall visit. The tense conversation outside with Dave and his guys and Robert. The false cheerfulness, the underlying tension bubbling underneath in the clench of Dave’s jaw, the threat from McCall to Dave and the guys, “The only disappointment in it for me is that I only get to kill you each once.” You bristle with barely contained rage at his words.

Good thing you know enough about the human body to resuscitate it. Looks like you’ll just have to give Mac a lesson on how to kill someone over and over. How unfortunate for him.

The most popular bets to his previous profession are linguistics professor or foreign service.

He discovered his fluency in Farsi when he overheard family members of another patient speaking it in the hallway outside of his room. It took him a moment to realize he understood what they were saying. Shortly after, he overheard several nurses conversing in Spanish and realized to his amazement he understood them too.

“Wonder what else you can speak, professor,” Brian the night nurse muses as he pulls out an assortment of chocolates in a gift tin. That’s a new nickname. “Here, have some French chocolate. Someone gifted them to me when they were discharged.”

He reaches for one gingerly, focusing on the pincer grip to pick a chocolate up. It has been a struggle learn how to use his entire body again once it healed enough to be subjected to OT, PT, talk therapy, and other forms of torture.

He frowns at the sweetness of the truffle as he takes a bite. 

“No good?” Bri asks.

“Too sweet,” he mumbles. “But thanks.”

Belgian is better, he thinks to himself before pausing. How does he know that?

Brian grins at him before setting down the tin and checking his chart, “That just means more for me, champ.”

Glancing at the tin, Dave stifles a sharp inhale when he realizes he can read the French printed across the lid.

Discovering or rediscovering who he is has been… interesting. Some of the discoveries raised his spirits, like discovering his impressive ability to guess who was walking into his room based on the sound of their gait or how much a person weighed within a few pounds. Some discoveries though left him questioning what kind of person he really was. An emotional rollercoaster he’s ready to get off of immediately. If only he could just fucking remember!

Aside from being able to read people insanely well, he’s put together that he’s a bit of a control freak and likes things neat and orderly. The bullseye tattoo on his left hand had one nurse guessing that he was an olympic sharpshooter, but no olympian in recent memory remotely looked like him. He knew he had been found in a camo pullover and cargo pants, or what remained of it. Another nurse guessed that perhaps he liked hunting for sport. After all the speculation around the bullseye tattoo, Brian started only referring to him as killer. Curiously, he didn’t seem to mind that nickname. The wedding band tanline made him wonder if he is recently divorced or actually married, but took his ring off for more nefarious reasons. Was he a cheater? Did he have kids? What kind of man was he? 

The strangest discovery came the first time orange slices appeared on his lunch tray. He found himself comforted by the smell of citrus as he ate them. Relaxed even, for the first time since he woke up. And also inexplicably aroused. His body had been so broken it had been months since he felt any tingle or whisp of desire, the feeling so unfamiliar it shocks him. What kind of kinky shit was he into?

That night he dreams of rain forests and citrus, relaxing in a familiar embrace he can not name. He wakes up the most refreshed he’s felt since he woke up in the ICU, body screaming in pain. And yet still he can’t explain why.

Sweat pours off of him as he grips the side rails of the treadmill. The PT room is absurdly bright and cheerful for the types of torture it routinely sees.

“You did great, man,” Ryan, his favorite physical therapist, praises. “Going to be running marathons in no time.”

He just grunts in response. He hates running. This he knows in his bones. Hates it. But he has come a long way from barely managing a step with assistance to walking on the treadmill for the first time. A stupid long painful way.

A sudden frustrated yell across the room jerks his attention to one of the newer patients across the room just as an exercise ball is flung in his direction. He reacts before can think, ducking and moving, assessing in a split second the source of the danger and prioritizing three different options in subduing the threat. He misjudges the distance of a table corner, bruising his hip as he dashes by. Damn his depth perception issues, he thinks. Just another thing to work on.

He surprises himself when he finds himself expertly pulling the patient off balance into a chokehold until security arrives. His body knows exactly how much pressure to put to neutralize the threat without killing him. Why does his body know this? Christ.

“Holy shit, man!” Ryan exclaims, helping to pull him up from the ground. “Where’d you learn to do that!”

“Can’t remember,” he groans as he feels his body protest the sudden intense movement. “Think I set myself back with that stunt.” He slumps over in a chair as sharp pain shoots up both his arms. He allows Ryan to fuss over him before one of the aides brings him back up to his room in a wheelchair. One step forward, three steps back it feels like.

It’s not until he’s settled into the privacy of his own room with a healthy dose of painkillers does he start to tally all of his mysterious abilities. He rubs the itchy scruff growing on his face with irritation. He hasn’t had a proper shave since he got here. And he probably won’t, at least not until his fine motor skills get better to do it himself. The staff are just too overworked here. He huffs to himself. He’s probably more of a danger to himself than anyone else right now. 

With all his language skills, keen sense of observation, and now apparently mad jiu jitsu skills, what did it add up to? Who the fuck was he?

In the weeks following your visit to see your Dave in the ICU, knowing he has a long road to recovery gives you the time and space to track and hunt Mac. In true Dave fashion, he didn’t give you much to work with, just one single conversation about Robert McCall, but that is all you need.

Shortly before Dave missed his check in, he let you wrap yourself around him as the big spoon after having his way with you. He was uncharacteristically spooked, he told you, after running into his former team leader while out on a run. Robert McCall, Mac, was presumed dead. Dave swore he saw him die that day over seven years ago, setting off a chain of events leading to Dave going private with his guys. The impact of Mac’s death, the grief and the disillusionment that followed after leaving the service. 

You knew about the job in Brussels—Susan—and the difficulty Dave was having tying up loose ends. Especially now with Mac resurrected from the dead and digging into Susan’s murder. He briefly mentioned Mac showing up at his apartment and confronting him and the guys a few days after the unexpected reunion. The doorbell footage you found confirmed this conversation.

You asked him if Mac was now a loose end.

Turning to face you, his eyes darkened with affirmation, “But I have a bad feeling about it, Sunshine.” 

Mentally you beat yourself up for not pressing Dave more about this bad feeling at the time because you were too busy preening at the pet name. It marked the first time Dave ever met you at your place, raising an eyebrow at your maximalist design choices. It’s like a rainbow and unicorn threw up in here, he had grumbled. Too bright, so sunshine-y. You’re just jealous your place looks like it was decorated by someone allergic to color, you had quipped before he hauled you over his shoulders into the bedroom with a growled I’ll show you jealous, Sunshine.

You tried to smooth the furrows between his eyes. “Can I help?” you whispered before pressing a kiss to the curve of his nose.

He tensed before pulling back to look at you, “No. Don’t want you anywhere near him, baby. Mac’s a killer. He — he taught me everything I know.”

You protested but the look he leveled you with ended the discussion even if you wanted to push back and insist. 

“You’re helping right now,” Dave consoled you, laying you back and slotting himself between your legs. “Reminding me I have this to come home to.”

The brief realization he had referred to you as home, quickly disintegrated at the pace he set, burying himself in you, sliding deep into the place only he could reach— the place you think of as his. He left early the next morning, pulling a black beanie over his head before kissing you goodbye. “See you in 48, Sunshine.” 

You believe Dave when he said Mac was a killer, the best he knew. So you are meticulous in your tracking. In rare form, you make sure your contingency plans have contingency plans, even if you prefer flying by the seat of your pants. You only allow yourself to feel the quiet thrill of the hunt in order to keep the raging fury that threatens to make you slip up at bay. You summon patience you didn’t know you possessed as you slowly lay your trap and draw Mac in. 

Robert McCall has a weakness for damsels in distress. And for extracting his own sense of justice in situations he came across, serving as sole judge, jury, and executioner. It rankles you to see him decide the fate of others, to right a wrong according to him and him alone. 

But who are you to judge him when you decided to be his judge, jury, and executioner? So you lure him in and give him exactly what he always looked for. In the end, he is just like any other man really. A talented man, a ruthless killer sure, but he could never match your cunning combined with your wrath, your fury at what he did to Dave. 

You keep the feelings at bay as you set the trap in motion until he is soundly in your snare. And even then, you don’t let the rage get out of control because you know your weakness in close combat. You won’t give him an opening to escape or kill you because you can’t stay cool and collected.

By the time you’d laid your trap for Mac, you got a ping from the hospital notifying you of Dave’s transfer to a long-term rehab facility. You pat yourself on the back for the perfect timing. Execute the target and then go check on Dave.

In the end, Mac isn’t that much different from any other kill you executed on the job. Just more satisfying in the end. You did it for Dave, afterall. Your Dave.

He decides that even if he doesn’t like the colorful scrubs the new nurse aide wears, she seems trustworthy enough, even if he struggles to get a more accurate read on her. It’s the first time he’s had trouble reading anyone since he woke up. So he sets aside the puzzlement as Brian introduces him to her. Maybe it’s because of how pretty she is, beautiful really, and how attracted he is to her, a pull that takes him off guard.

“Hey Killer, want to introduce you to our new nurse aide,” Brian says, gesturing to her as she stands a bit shyly next to him. “She’s gonna be helping me out so I don’t feel like a vampire all the time with these night shifts.”

“Killer?” she blurts out making an incomprehensible face before hiding behind a small smile.

“Gives me a reputation. I don’t mind.” He shrugs, smirking at the nickname. “At least until I figure out my real name, no one’s going mess with me. Nice to meet you…?”

The aide makes a funny noise in her throat as he extends his hand to shake hers. She recovers quickly as she takes his hand in hers. Something flickers behind her eyes, something warm, familiar before it fades away as she murmurs her name, Sunny, and tells him to let her know if he needs anything. The pull towards her strengthens as soon as his hands envelope hers, so soft and warm, that he doesn’t want to let go. Something feels so right at her touch. He murmurs her name before she pulls away to make the rounds with Brian.

You aren’t prepared to see Dave. You thought you were. You mentally talked yourself through it before you made your way up to his room with your new supervisor, Nurse Brian. You memorized everything from his chart, and know that he still has severe amnesia, still struggling with remembering anything at all, but nothing prepares you to be in the same room as him and not have a flicker of recognition across his face. His remaining deep brown eye levels a coolness at you that you haven’t seen since the first time you met and tried to kill each other. 

This is bad. After everything, the missed check-in, the frantic searching, the revenge-ing to avenge him, the utter lack of recognition across his beautiful face cracks something in you. You barely recover enough to shake his hand and leave his room upright, telling Brian you have to go to the restroom before meeting any other patients.

Tears prick your eyes and you try to calm your breathing, not wanting to face the tsunami of feelings crashing down on you. When did these feelings for Dave get so out of hand? 

You haven’t needed anyone since you cut off your abusive family and left home to find your way in the world. You learned to be alone, thrived at working alone in a corner you carved out for yourself. You filled your home with art and color and brightness after you realized you had the power to make your own sunshine. Who else would? Definitely not your shitty family. 

And plants. So many plants, your bedroom painted a shade of deep, lush green. Filled with plants. It was like your own personal rainforest. So what if you worked in the dark, creeping in the shadows, a killer for hire? It didn’t mean you had to make it your whole damn personality.

Oh, but Dave. He was the unexpected cherry on top, a force of nature who brought more exciting ops to your life, along with mind-numbing pleasure. Intermittently at first, then regularly. You liked the control you’d cede to him after months of dancing around each other, building trust, moving from fucking in seedy motels after ops to his place or yours. The way he could fuck your worries and stress straight out of your pretty head. Apparently something had shifted without you realizing. Pesky feelings.

Fuck. You care. More than you were willing to admit before Dave almost died. You were too full of rage to feel anything else. You convinced yourself that the revenge you sought when you hunted down Mac was exactly that. Revenge. But now that the rage and fury had ebbed, you face down the why behind your need for revenge, realizing you did what you did because you cared. About Dave. Maybe you lo — lov — Fuck. What if he never remembers what you had together? What exactly did you have with him before, anyway?

He looks good though, even with the patchy scruff and fading scars across his face. The slightly lost expression on his face. Even if you can sense his discomfort in his body, in the way he sits by the window pretending to read a book. He looks so different, skin warm and golden, so alive, from the last time you saw him in the ICU. And his nose, the nose you love healed after all, healing back into its original strong curve.

As much as you want to run back into his room, yelling his name and shaking him until he recognizes you, telling him everything, you know you have to steel yourself for this next part, to allow him to heal and remember at his own pace. Wasn’t that what the doctor had written in his chart? Pushing him too hard will have less-than-ideal outcomes. 

You sigh as you wash your face and take a deep breath. This part of the journey is going to be infinitely harder than finding Dave and killing Mac. But at least now he has you to help him jog his memory and watch his back. You lift your head up to walk out of the restroom, refusing to acknowledge the question prickling down your spine. What if he never remembers you’re his Sunshine?

It storms the first night of your shift, winds howling as you make your rounds and tend to the patients assigned to you. You do most of your menial work with one eye watching Dave, learning his routine and keeping tabs on him. It comforts you to know that he has a genuine rapport with nurse Brian, and has been making significant progress in his physical therapy. You get a sense he doesn’t trust the psych doc very much and has been frustrated at recovering his fine motor skills from the nerve damage in his arms. Must be why he doesn’t shave much, you think to yourself. The facility he’s in is fine for a publicly funded place, but you can tell the staff is overworked and underpaid. Your hourly wage is laughable. And everything is painted in this drab yellow that is an insult to the color. You’d read in his chart that the local precinct had put out feelers trying to identify the resident John Doe without much luck. You hope the luck holds out long enough for Dave to heal sufficiently so you can break him out of here before someone who shouldn’t find him does.

The bright flashes of lightning and roaring thunder keep you awake in the wee hours of your shift, strong winds whipping tree branches against the building, even as the patter of rain threatens to lull you to sleep. As you walk the sterile corridors, passing by Dave’s room you hear him yell out in panic, in fear.

It’s all you can do to stop yourself from sprinting into his room, ready to take out whoever is attacking him. You realize in the darkness of his room, illuminated only by a small night light, Dave is alone in his room, still asleep.

You realize he’s having a nightmare as you watch his eye work beneath his eyelid as he mutters, “Show yourself. Show — Show yourself Mac…” before trailing off. His face winces in pain as he jerks under the covers, panting to catch his breath before flinging his arms around like he’s trying to throw a punch.

For a moment you’re frozen, unsure of what to do as you realize he’s likely reliving his last encounter with Mac in real time. Careful not to use his real name, you put a firm hand on his arm to calm him, hey hey hey, to wake him up before he strangles himself in his sheets. As you make shushing noises he jerks the arm out from your grip, grabbing a hold of your throat before gasping awake, right eye wide in terror.

He apologizes profusely once he really wakes up and gets his bearings. It’s the same dream that haunts him every time it storms outside. Bubbling up from his subconscious every time it storms. He’s up high on a tower or lighthouse by some body of water. Rain whips across his face as the waves crash against the shore. He’s impatient, livid, but also… scared? Somehow he knows the before version of him would never admit the last thing.

He’s waiting for someone who is a danger, a threat. What’s taking so long? He remembers yelling, calling a name, Mac, — who is Mac?— before the dream shifts and he’s in indescribable pain. The most pain his body has ever felt slashes through him, punches into his ribs before he’s falling, falling, falling. It’s the icy cold that wakes him every time, shocking him back to consciousness. But this time he wakes up looking into the eyes of the pretty new aide with one of his hands clutched around her throat.

Well, this isn't the first time he’s had his hands around your throat. The dirty thought skitters across your mind, although that situation is preferable to this one. The thought amuses you, even as you start to feel the oxygen deprivation. It is a nice memory though, you think, being bent over your sink while Dave took you from behind. Arching you up with the tug of your hair to watch him in the mirror. It was after the one time you were almost late for a check-in and he was punishing you for it. For making him worry. If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late, Sunshine. Simpler times, you think. 

You inwardly sigh and try to figure out how to get out of his chokehold without hurting either one of you. You settle for anchoring one hand to the one on your throat and twisting out of his grip while leveraging his elbow as gently as you can manage to avoid setting him back in his recovery. 

He’s still gasping for breath as you try to soothe him with your voice, now scratchy from his grip. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” you comfort as you pat his back.

He starts apologizing immediately, a litany of shit, I’m so sorrys, until you level him with your best stare and quip, “I see where you get your nickname from, Killer.”

He stops long enough to bark out a laugh, before asking again if you really are okay. 

“I should be asking you that,” you respond. “Seems like a hell of a dream.” You see him retreat back into himself, at whatever horrors had surfaced in his mind.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you venture, sliding a hand over his. It’s clammy and cold. You feel him start to pull away before stopping.

“I think it’s what happened… before,” he finally answers with a thick swallow, looking away. “No one needs to hear that shit.”

You squeeze his hand for encouragement. “Try me.”

To your surprise he does. After Dave recaps his nightmare as best he can, his hand still in yours, you begin to think that you let Mac off way too easily. Shoulda tortured him more before pulling the plug, you frown internally. Because holy shit, that man really put Dave through the ringer. 

“Thanks for — for listening, I think it helped,” Dave squeezes your hand and looks at you with a surprisingly soft expression. Soft Dave, you never thought you’d see the day.

“Of course, Killer,” you squeeze his hand back before offering to get him some water. He accepts and hesitates as if he wanted to ask you something else. You stand but linger by his bedside giving him a moment.

“Will you — will you stay? Just for a bit, until I fall asleep?” 

After you get him some water, you stay — your hand in his — until he drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

He decides he likes Sunny, not just because she’s pretty, but because she keeps him on his toes with her quick wit and dark sense of humor — to match his own he learns — that makes the days go by faster. Just another thing he learns about himself that just brings more questions than answers.

He can’t help smiling as she checks in with him for the day, wanting to know if he needs anything. “Brought you a present,” she smiles at him so brightly it leaves his brain stuttering to respond. “Your room is so boring, figured you could use a plant.”

She places it by the window before turning with a look to see if he approves. He does. He doesn’t know why but the little green thing feels familiar, a comfort like home. He scratches at the irritating scruff on his cheek before finding his words to thank her. 

“I have some extra time today, do you need a shave?” she asks, like she can read his mind. “Looks itchy.”

“Yes. Please.” The look of relief on his face must be palpable because she immediately leaves to grab a razor and shaving cream. 

The thought that she could read him so well, as if his mind is an open book screams to the front of his mind. His stomach twists at the thought. A creeping suspicion fills him as she approaches with the razor. What if she actually knows who he is, but he just doesn’t remember her? It would explain the inexplicable familiarity that came whenever she visited his room. What if the sunny personality is all an act and she’s actually a cold blooded killer sent to finish him off? Perhaps he should be more suspicious of her. He’d only known her for a week and she is the only person he couldn’t get an accurate read on. 

His chest constricts at the recurring fear that someone had wanted him to hurt badly before trying to kill him. It really was only a miracle he survived. And now he was willingly allowing this stranger into his personal space with a sharp object. Could you kill someone with a disposable razor? Not ideal, he thinks, but possible.

“Everything okay?” she asks him as she sets up the side table with shaving accessories. 

He hesitates, conflicted with his most recent revelations as she moves closer to him.

“Look, if I was going to sever your jugular a disposable razor wouldn’t be my first choice,” she dramatically rolls her eyes at him before looking at him for consent to start.

He lets out a nervous giggle, a sound he’s pretty sure he’s never made in his entire life.

“Not my second, third, or fourth choice either, okay?” she continues. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m not the one with the nickname ‘Killer.’” 

She has a point. And she did just bring him a plant. And comfort him after one of his ridiculous nightmares the very first night she was here. If there was a moment when he was most vulnerable, that was her chance. He pushes away the feelings of suspicion and nods, allowing her to get started.

He couldn’t help leaning into her touch as she gently washes his face and smoothes on the shaving cream. The way the fading light from the window caught the flecks of colors in her eyes as she focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t help but think how cute she looks with her furrowed brows, all her attention on him. He decides the odds are low she was there to kill him considering how careful and gentle she is. He closes his good eye and allows himself to enjoy himself. Who knew getting a shave was such an intimate experience? He could feel himself relaxing under the warmth of her touch and the delicate scent of her citrus-y shampoo wafting across his nose at this close proximity. Something tugs on his mind at the scent, but she interrupts the thought.

“So what do you think, Killer?” she asks.

As he cracks open his eye, he realizes she’s holding up a small mirror. Time slows down at the same time his heart rate speeds up as he takes in his clean-shaven reflection. It’s like he suddenly remembered why he walked into a room after forgetting all this time.

His name is Dave. Dave motherfucking York.

When he says his name out loud, you let out an audible gasp you tried to cover as true surprise.

“This is huge! Dave, do you — do you remember anything else? Last Name?” You blurt out. 

His lips briefly purse before his face flickers just for a moment, his tell, before he shakes his head no. 

Liar. You immediately know he’s lying to you. He fucking remembers. You can see the cogs whirring in his brain, assembling all of the new information he unlocked when he looked at his reflection.You busy yourself tidying up the shaving accessories, watching him from the corner of your eye, hoping that he recognizes you.

It’s coming back to him, you can just tell from the way he’s holding himself up now, even just sitting in the chair, his posture is different. The lost expression is gone. The calculated, commanding presence of the Dave York you know is emerging right before your eyes. 

Dave York is remembering.

He startles you when he speaks to you again, low and almost menacing, “Don’t tell anyone else. I’m not… ready to share yet.” His expression flashes dark at you.

Ah yes, the patented Dave I’m-telling-you-not-asking-you York.

“Of— of course. Take all the time you need,” you respond.

The next time you glance at him, he has that expression on his face where he’s assessing someone, assessing you, deciding if they are a threat or not. Great, the last thing you need is Dave trying to off you before he remembers who the fuck you are. 

“I promise. I’m not going to say a word,” you try and reassure him. 

He offers a nod, a dismissal really, before turning to look out the window, back to whatever memories may be emerging from the abyss of his mind.

You’d think that Dave remembering would be a good thing, but unfortunately the feds figure out who he is at the same time. You’re on shift, loitering by the nurses’ station when you see two nearly identical government looking guys turn the corner into the wing of the facility just after dinner. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, you think. And they reek of federal agents. FBI, specifically. Shit.

Dave has been more withdrawn since remembering his name. Brooding by the window. Typical Dave. You keep up your act, checking on him and chatting with him, hoping really for any glimpse of recognition, but still none so far. You can tell he’s still assessing you, trying to decide if you really are just a peppy aide or dangerous foe waiting to strike.

You busy yourself nearby as the feds chat with Brian, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Wait, that guy’s wanted for murder AND treason??” Brian exclaims. “But he’s so… docile.” You quietly snort to yourself at that word being used to describe Dave York.

“And a whole list of other things, but those are the big ‘uns,” one of the feds responds.

They continue to chat with Brian, trying to determine how much Dave remembers and what condition he’s in in order to transport him.

“Psych notes still say he doesn’t remember very much. But physically he’s actually almost ready for out-patient rehab,” Brian scans the electronic chart.

“Gotta put in the transfer ’n get him to our medical facility,” Tweedle Dee nods to Tweedle Dum. “We’re going to post someone on the floor to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“Well, as long as they’re discreet,” Brian warns. “Don’t want to disturb the other patients on the floor.”

“Roger that,” Tweedle Dum responds before pulling out his phone to make a call.

The agents nod at Brian before walking back down the hallway. You see them briefly stop outside of Dave’s room before continuing on their way. 

Well, it looks like you’re breaking Dave out of here whether he remembers you or not. This should be fun. Hopefully he doesn’t try to kill you in the process.

Dave senses something is off before he even sees the two feds walk by his room on the way to the nurses station. He knows they’re there for him. By their gait and posture, they don’t seem like they’re in a particular rush to storm his room, so he bides his time, even as he slips a scalpel up his sleeve. He can’t run. All he can manage is a quick walk with a limp. There’s no way he can run fast enough or long enough to evade two federal agents, even if they look like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Fuck, he thinks. He should have pushed harder in PT. 

He resumes sitting by the window, angling himself into a better position to attack if they decide to take him in today and waits. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. 

He holds his breath when the agents walk by his door again, pausing for just a moment. He makes sure to observe them so he’ll be able to identify them again if, when, they return. Fuck, he needs to come up with an escape plan. 

He lets out a sigh of relief as they walk away. What the fuck is he going to do? Where is he even going to go? He’s sure he doesn’t have much time, a day at most. Of everything that has returned to him, he still cannot remember any of the safe houses or stashes of money/fake IDs he’s sure he has… somewhere. 

Remembering has been… more bitter than sweet. His rough childhood and divorced parents both deceased, his own divorce from Carol, the stint in the military, black ops, the DIA, before going private. Then it all gets hazy. Were the dreams about Mac real? But how could they be if Mac was dead? Was Mac actually still alive? Remembering all of the heavy stuff was like grieving it all over again, all at once. It was fucking depressing.

As he shuffles to the bathroom to splash water on his face to help him think more clearly, he hears someone walk into his room. By the sound of the light stride, it’s the pretty aide that still talks to him even if he almost strangled her in his sleep. What if she’s making the move to kill him now, after all this time, because she saw the feds coming to take him away? As she rounds the corner, he moves out of instinct, pinning her against the wall with a forearm to her neck, scalpel out and ready. 

She lets out a squeak as he expects, before he cuts off her airway. What he doesn’t expect is her to roll her eyes at him as he presses a scalpel to her jugular.

You aren’t sure when Dave got a hold of a freaking scalpel, but it doesn’t surprise you in the least. Of course he found something sharp to play with.

“Why the fuck aren’t you scared?” he demands. “You got a death wish or something??” 

He eases his forearm off of your throat, but still holds you pinned against the wall. You inwardly sigh. In another time and place, this would just be foreplay, but right now the scalpel is still just a little too close to comfort. Probably shouldn’t push it with him, not too much anyway.

“That’s what you want to ask me, Yorkie?” you croak. You decide on no sudden movements though, in case it spooks his hand to twitch in the wrong direction.

He frowns at the pet name. Right, he never told you he remembered his last name. Oopsies. 

“You’d never hurt me,” you whisper. “At least, the Dave I remember wouldn’t. Not — not unless I liked it.”

Your eyes search his brown one, for anything, any recognition, but still none comes. Why are you tearing up? It’s not like he’s crushing your windpipe anymore. 

“How do I know you’re not the one trying to kill me?” he growls. Well, at least he sounds like the Dave you love. Love? Wait, what??

“Don’t you think if I wanted to kill you, I woulda done it the first night?” You roll your eyes again. You’re getting impatient now, if anything just to have the pointy blade removed from the vicinity of your neck. Maybe you could have done without the eye roll though.

His brows are still furrowed and you are so tempted to raise your hand and smooth the double crease away with your thumbs. You miss the way he’d melt under your touch, even if he’d never admit to liking it. He stares you down for a handful of breaths before you see the moment he makes a decision that reflects across his face. 

The moment he shifts the blade an inch away, you pounce, leveraging the blade away from him and reversing your positions. Shoving him up against the wall, you flinch when you hear his head smack the wall a little harder than you prefer, even if you know you’re not strong enough to hold him there very long. You press the dull side of the blade against his inner thigh, right at his femoral artery.

“This bring back any memories, Yorkie?”

He blinks hard a few times, as if he is surprised to find himself pinned against the wall by you. He glances down at where you have the scalpel pressed against his inner thigh before looking back up again and you brace yourself because you think he’s about to fight you off. Then you realize he’s looking at the plant you left on his window sill and then back at you, really looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

His eye widens as he softly inhaless, “Sunshine?”

The citrus bodywash, the plants, all the fucking plants, the too colorful scrubs. His Sunshine. Unlike all his other memories that came back gradually in waves, with you it was like a switch was flipped and he went from not knowing you to now remembering everything. He feels a surge of emotion — relief, excitement, desire — but the most prominent is trust. He has someone he can truly trust, who knows him, again. 

All it took was a scalpel to his femoral artery. Figures. How he met you is a core memory after all. 

He feels you lessen your hold on him, tucking the scalpel away, eyes wide as you pull away from him in disbelief. But he doesn’t want you to be further away from him, he wants to keep you close. And so he tugs you flush against him.

“Say my name again,” you ask, eyes still wide.

He brushes a thumb across your soft cheek and takes in your bright, discerning eyes. “My Sunshine.”

“You really remember,” you whisper, pressing your face into his chest for a deep inhale, before looking back up at him. “I missed you so much, Yorkie.”

He just looks at you, takes you in, tracing the outline of your lips before pressing his mouth to yours.

You and Dave don’t get much of a reunion, a single kiss, before you hear footsteps approaching. By the sound of the gait heavily favoring the right side, it’s your supervisor Nurse Brian. You immediately move, pretending to prop Dave up over one of your shoulders like you’re helping him to walk before Brian turns the corner.

“Everything okay here, Sunny?” Brian calls out as he approaches.

“Yep, all good. Just helping Killer here back from the bathroom. Looks like he… tweaked his knee pretty bad in PT,” you respond, trying to hide how breathless you are from one kiss. Dave gives you the most dubious expression before you elbow him in the side and give him a look that says just go with it okay?

Dave has never been a fan of improvisation like you, preferring his contingency plans having contingency plans, all neatly laid out in his cute little spreadsheets. Which… you can appreciate. You love a good spreadsheet, but sometimes flying by the seat of your pants is just so much more… fun and exciting. Maybe this is why the two of you make such a good team, a bit of intense control and structure and, well, a lot of whatever it is you feel like doing in the moment.

You can tell the moment Dave decides to play along when he drops a chunk of his weight on you and you nearly stumble trying to keep the both of you upright. You keep up a rambling monologue at Brian as you settle Dave back into his bed while Brian shuffles awkwardly around the room, obviously trying to herd you out of the room. Your spidey senses tingle — something is about to happen. Before you leave the room, you surreptitiously slip the scalpel back to Dave and give him the most reassuring look you can manage. 

Just outside Dave’s room Brian finally spills the news that the feds got approval to transfer him later tonight. Perfect, you think. Just enough time for a bit more improvisation to break Dave out of this place. And get you out of here too. If you have to give another sponge bath or assist with another bowel evacuation you might start killing people.

“Turns out Killer is actually a killer,” Brian whispers, shaking his head. “I’ll be damned. Just make sure you don’t go into his room by yourself anymore.”

Boy, do you have news for your supervisor. 

During your next break, you comb the facility looking for something to create a distraction. A big one. As you pass by the PT room, the small row of treadmills call to you and a burst of inspiration hits you. Yorkie will be so pleased. He hates running.

The fire is a lot bigger than you expected. Apparently all the foam roller things in the PT room are also highly, highly flammable. Piled together by the treadmills you rigged to spark, you didn’t expect it to make quite the towering inferno it did. But you know what? Mission accomplished. 

In the chaos of the fire alarm and subsequent evacuation, you sneak Dave off in a wheelchair (and the plant you brought him, gotta save the little guy too!) and into a car you had borrowed before you started your very brief career in healthcare. Parked in an alleyway cleared of cameras, you almost giggle at the getaway going so well. The only person you had to kill was the fed left to watch Dave’s floor. Yorkie, on the other hand, is still tense with apprehension apparently.

“We’re not clear yet,” he growls as you flip on the radio and peel out of the alleyway.  

“Don’t make me tranq you,” you threaten with a smile. “Raining on my brilliant plan.”

He grumbles something unintelligible while pinching the bridge of his nose, but keeps quiet as he looks out the window as Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car comes on over the radio. As the miles roll by, it occurs to you that it’s the first time he’s been outside of a hospital or facility in almost a year and the uncertainty of the future, now on the run, sobers you up a bit for the rest of the drive. 

It takes a subway, a bus, and a boat, and another borrowed car, before you make it back to your place. You didn’t want to give the feds a chance at tracking either of you, so you took the extra long, long way home. You’re both quiet most of the journey, only communicating when necessary when switching modes of transportation. 

The only time he asks you anything is when it starts to rain, water streaming along the wide windows of the bus. He whole body jerks when he remembers something he wanted to ask you, “Mac. Was he the one who… Is he — is he alive? Or dead?” You can hear the absolute terror in his whispered confusion.

You slide a hand over his to calm him, “He was alive. He didn’t die all those years ago.” You can feel his entire body tense even more. “He’s gone now though, Yorkie. Can’t come after you anymore.”

He stares at you, stiff as a corpse.

“I took care of him for you, baby.” You pat his hand, willing him to take a breath and relax. 

He continues to look at you, wanting an explanation, but you’re not about to confess to murder and torture on a bus, even if it is mostly empty. 

“Later, Yorkie,” you murmur as you snuggle up next to him, hoping he will finally relax. There’s still a way to go before you both get home.

He crashes immediately after getting to your place. You can tell he’s overexerted himself and is likely in more pain than he’s letting on. Still too wired from being on high alert and making sure Dave was okay on the long trek home, you curl up in an armchair by the bed and just watch him sleep. Perhaps you’re afraid if you take your eyes off of him for a moment, he’ll vanish again. 

There’s a warm shaft of light emanating from the bathroom, casting soft shadows around the room, highlighting the outline of his form, those broad fucking shoulders and soft brown hair. He’s so still you’d rush to check for a pulse save for the slow steady rise and fall of his chest.  

Even with all the progress he’d made in physical therapy, he still has a ways to go. You push aside the concern and anxieties of tomorrow to appreciate that he’s warm and safe in your bed right now. Your eyes trace his face, those plush lips you’ve only gotten to kiss once since he remembered you. Following the arch of that nose you love to the two deep furrows between his brows. How does someone look so grumpy even in their sleep? It delights you.

When you can’t take the distance, however short, from Dave, you slide into bed as slowly as you can. He’s usually such a light sleeper, but he doesn’t move an inch. You gently smooth a thumb between his brows until you feel him melt. You close your eyes and allow his steady breathing to lull you to sleep.

“You’re going to cook? Breakfast?” you almost fall out of bed as you try and untangle yourself from the sheets, still half asleep. Who is this man and what has he done with Dave York?

He grumbles something before raising his voice, “I miss real eggs. That place only ever made the powdered shit.”

You shrug and gesture at him to knock himself out, while you busy yourself with making coffee. Coffee always first. Then food. This is the correct order of things. As you hear the fridge door swing open, you feel Dave freeze, standing stock still while letting all the cold air out. Ugh, Dave.

“Sunshine…” he seems to be at a loss for words. “Why the fuck do you have an eyeball in your fridge?”

“Oh, I forgot!” you exclaim. “It’s your welcome home present, Yorkie.” 

His head pokes out from behind the door and he frowns, “You know it can’t replace the eye I lost right?” 

“Oh, I know. It’s what’s left of Mac,” you explain as you slide by him to grab the oatmilk for your coffee. The eyeball stares down at you, suspended in formalin, from its clear jar on the top fridge shelf. “Eye for an eye right?” 

He just looks at you and then at the jarred eyeball in the fridge, and then back at you, speechless.

“Well, except he’s dead and you’re not.” You smile and shrug as you finish stirring the milk into your coffee and take the first blessed sip, extra pleased with yourself. “You’re welcome, Yorkie.”

“Fuck baby, sometimes you scare me you know that?” 

You just smile at him, looking so at home in your colorful kitchen with his tousled hair and grumpy expression before you go to sit on one of the kitchen island stools. “I think that’s exactly why you love me.”

He rounds the island counter and cages you in with his arms. You take in his handsome face, so handsome it’s sometimes hard to breathe, as he just takes you in. He finally rumbles, “Yeah, I guess that’s why I do.” 

“Yeah?” you look at the floor at the admission, swiveling back and forth on the stool, not quite ready to look at him again.

He tilts your chin up with one hand, “You really take care of Mac for me? All by yourself?”

You consider reminding him that you offered to help in the first place, but somehow an I told you so felt like it would ruin the moment. You just bite your lower lip instead.

“Mmh hmm.”

“Why, baby? I — I almost died,” he presses. “He coulda killed you! You didn’t know then if I was even going to make it or not.”

You frown at this. Did he not understand?

“And I’m still so — so broken. Never going to fully recover and be who I was. Not worth anything to anyone anymore.”

He definitely does not understand. And you haven’t had enough coffee for this conversation. You quell the urge to roll your eyes as you grasp the front of his shirt and pull his face down level with yours.

“Yorkie, that’s exactly why I killed him.” Your words are firm even if you feel yourself shaking at what you’re about to admit. “He doesn’t get to try to kill the person I love and get away with it.”

His eyebrows shoot up at your disclosure, that pesky L-word. Should it really be a surprise at this point though? After everything? Even if it terrifies you to admit out loud. You did all of this because you love him. Your Dave.

“After I — I saw you in the hospital, everything Mac did, there wasn’t another option,” you murmur. “You mean everything to me, Yorkie.”

Dave forgets about the stupid eggs as he drags you back to bed and reminds you exactly why you love his nose so much. Fuck, you missed this. 

You suppose from one assassin to another, there’s no declaration of love like getting all murder-y and revenge-y for them. It might as well have been a proposal of marriage. Even with so much uncertainty about your futures and how much rehab Dave still has to go, you figure as long as he doesn’t start trying to back seat assassinate, you’ll both be fine. You’ll take care of your Yorkie until he can be Murdah Daddy again.

[artists-ally]

Can you please write some more Azriel smut with his mate thank you !!!

{Bow} Reader x Azriel

Oh babes, you ask and you shall receive. Y'all went fucking BANANAS with my last Az smut, so here ya go you filthy sluts (i'm the filthiest slut there is i write this shit) Also you cannot convince me that Az isn't a dom. Enjoy!! Title from this song

Word Count: 2,869

Warnings: smut, spanking, spitting, choking, praise kink, breeding kink, possessive behavior, bondage, dom/sub vibes

Tagging: @librafairy @needylilgal022

Summary: Azriel goes a little feral after the mating bond snaps into place.

~~~~~

I knew it was going to happen. I could feel it coming. Just one of those once-in-a-lifetime feelings when you just know something is going to happen. There wasn’t anything I could do to warn Az since he was on the other end of the continent in Illyria. 

But my bones buzzed when he told me he was coming home. It was just a caress down the bond, a flicker of his shadow around my hand to let me know, but it was intense. I didn’t know if he knew or not, but I certainly did. 

“Okay, why are you pacing around?” Mor snapped me out of my thoughts. 

“I think it’s going to happen. Like today,” I said through a hurried breath. Mor squealed and I flinched, the sound doing nothing to help the vein pulsing in my head. 

“Oh my gods oh my gods I cannot believe it!” She jumped up and down. “Finally.”

“Hey,” I frowned slightly. “It’s not our fault. And we both agreed we’d wait until it felt right to pursue it. Who knew it would take two and a half years.”

“Can I say how proud of you I am for waiting? I could never be that patient,” Mor grabbed me by my shoulders. “I am so happy for you, Yn. No one in Prythian deserves this more than you two.” “Thanks,” I smiled sweetly, taking her hands in mine. I inhaled sharply and let it out. “What do I do?”

“You need to make him something to eat,” Mor hurried out, dragging me out of the living room of the Townhouse and into the kitchen. “What’s his favorite thing to eat?”

I thought for a moment, stuffing down the urge to say me and trying to think of a legit response. “He has always loved those pork dumplings I made for Solstice one year.”

“Perfect,” Mor ran around and grabbed the ingredients I listed off. “Let's make this the most memorable meal of his life!”

For about an hour I kneaded and folded the little dumplings into half circles, filling them with pork and vegetables before sealing them and dropping them in a pan. I was filled with so much excitement that the normally terrifying process of splattering oil didn't faze me. It was so hard to think about anything other than Azriel and what we’d do later tonight. Hopefully, anyway. 

I remember what Feyre told me about her and Rhys. What Cassian said about him and Nesta. That it had been a fury of teeth and tongues and touches. That there wasn’t any time to be wasted. The want. The primal need for each other and how brutal it was. But how satisfying and soul-bonding it was. 

Quite literally.

I finished the last of them up, plating the others for when he got home. He was getting closer; the shadow he always left me with was writhing between my fingers, circling around my wrist. 

“Okay, I will make sure everything is tidy and then I’m gone. And I will make sure no one comes within a three mile radius of this place for the next week. Or until you send word Azriel isn’t going to rip someone's head off.”

I rolled my eyes, “We’ll be fine. He’s almost here so get out.” “Good luck,” she winked, disappearing behind the corner. The front door opened and closed and I watched her winnow away. 

Why am I so nervous? It isn’t like it’s our first date all over again. He has seen the most intimate parts of my body, the most intricate parts of my mind and yet I was shivering with anticipation. Not nerves– excitement. 

I can hear the mighty beat of his wings as he approaches, and I see him land in the back garden, pushing his wind-blown hair off his forehead. My heart is at a furious pace. Gods he looks… it’s like I’m seeing him all over again. For the first time. All those thoughts and feelings rushing into me. 

There isn’t a fucking doubt in my mind that this is going to happen. 

Azriel draws open the back door and turns his head to the left, then to the right to find me motionless in the kitchen. “Yn…”

He says my name in the same breathless way he has since he learned what it was years ago. Our eyes lock and he shuts the door behind him. Azriel doesn’t waste a single second, scooping me up and drawing me in tight against his chest. He smells of the slight salt and lemon of the Sidra, but deep down his natural, rugged scent washes over me. 

“I have to stop taking such long trips to the Camp,” Azriel grumbles a laugh, pressing his lips to the top of my head. He takes a deep breath, then releases it. When I don’t respond– or chuckle alongside him– he draws back. “Yn?”

All I can do is look at him. His eyes are impossibly green at this moment. All the flecks of gold and amber igniting them. My chest is tight and the edges of my control are slipping. 

He furrows his brows, “Is everything…” And the words die on his tongue. 

It’s like Prythian tilts and slides into the sea. Down down down we go with it. I might’ve actually gasped with the crack that formed in my chest, breath still in my throat. 

It’s not the shimmering gold or tether of silver Feyre and Nesta had described. It is an inky black tendril of shadow that I can see, that I can feel, as clear as day. And right there, tied to the other end, is Azriel. Mate mate mate is the only hum I feel besides the roar of hope. Of promise. Of forever. 

Azriel shudders a breath, staggering a step back, eyes blinking as rapidly as his chest moves. His hands are digging into the sides of my arms. “Y-Yn-”

“I feel it,” I finished his unasked question. I nod again, forcing myself to believe that this is actually happening. He nods back, eyes never leaving mine. “I thought that I could feel it coming. Like- like this huge build up in my chest and… almost like a doorway? Like I could see the door but didn’t quite know how to unlock it.”

Azriel doesn’t say anything for a long few beats. “Mates…”

I nod. “Mates.”

It’s like saying it outloud solidified it because only after that did the burn for him become unbearable. It was untamed and wild and feral, just like Feyre had said it would be. Before we wrecked everything in the kitchen, I dropped his hands from my body and walked to the counter. 

I held out the plate of homemade dumplings and presented them to Azriel. His eyes looked from the plate and back up to me. 

He looked hungry. Not for the dumplings– most definitely not for the dumplings. I wonder what it feels like for him. If he’s as desperate as I am. As eager and impatient. If he can barely stand the two feet between us like I do. 

Azriel’s fingers are trembling as he plucks one of the dumplings off the plate and brings it to his mouth. In any other scenario I’d find it weird as he doesn’t look away while he chews… but his scent is driving me in-fucking-sane and I can't look away. 

I think it’s safe to say that he doesn’t taste it, practically swallowing it whole. The plate of dumplings are on the floor the next second and a gasp leaves my mouth. His hand is fisted in my hair, mouth covering mine. 

Fuck me. Feyre wasn’t joking about everything feeling different. About feeling better. 

I pressed onto my toes and looped my arm around the back of his neck. He grabbed the backs of both my thighs and hauled me onto his hips. 

“Mate,” Azriel growled out. “My mate, my mate.”

My ass hit the counter and the canister of spoons and utensils crashed to the floor. I went to look, but Az gripped my throat and forced me to look back at him. He looked wild. Like pure instinct had taken over. 

“Az-”

“You’re fucking mine,” he spoke through clenched teeth. “All fucking mine.”

“All yours, Az,” I breathed out, his thumb pulling down my bottom lip. I sucked on it, tears springing into my eyes when he shoved it further down my throat. I watched the grin spread across his face. “All mine,” I said with equal possession. 

“Only you have that power now, Yn. The power to bring me to my knees. I do not bend to anyone except you. Always you. Forever you.”

My heart swelled before his lips were back on mine, tongue curling with mine in haste. His hands worked their way down my thighs, spreading them apart. I shuddered at the feeling of him against my core, cock already hard and pulsing against me. 

His scent– lightning hot with a touch of cinnamon– cascaded around me, blooming into the air and making my body react in a way I didn’t know it could. I scratched at the edges of his fighting leathers, desperate for his body against mine. Azriel reached for the straps, sliding them through the buckles with five centuries of experience and effortless precision. 

The material gave away and fell to the floor and there was nothing but his tattooed skin in my hands. Nails clawing up his back and shoulders, I couldn’t get closer if I tried. I needed closer. I Needed him inside me like I needed water or the sun. 

My body was thinking for me, hands fumbling with my bottoms as he ripped off his. Even as much as I didn’t want to draw away from his mouth, I couldn’t help the curiosity to look at him. 

I dipped my eyes down, seeing a few beads of slick slip from his body, coating the tip of him. I reached down, even more desperate for a taste than I had been for the feeling of his lips on mine. 

Az watched with a predatory look etched in his eyes. I gathered it and brought my finger to my mouth, the taste of him settling in my bones. He tasted how he always did, but there was just something more satisfying about it now. The confirmation that for the rest of our lives I would be able to have every part of him. Whenever I wanted. 

He couldn’t wait. And I didn’t blame him. In another heartbeat I was flipped over and on my stomach, knees knocking into the cabinet below. His hands tore the rest of the material from my body and the scraps gave away. 

He was panting. I’ve never heard him be this vocal. Or this destructive. “Hold still.” He commanded, pressing on the middle of my back to get me to stop squirming.

I obeyed. 

His hands spread my ass apart and I heard his tongue working in his mouth. I gasp when he spits onto my already soaked cunt, spreading it around with his fingers. He lands a crack to my ass with his palm next and I grit my teeth together, whining when he does it again. 

“Fucking mine,” He snarls, and I feel the tip of his chock slide over my clit. There is the familiar sting that comes with his size as he presses all the way in, not giving me the time to adjust like he normally would. 

But Cauldron damn me if I actually cared. I need him inside me. Need to feel every inch of his length until I couldn’t feel him at all. 

My body was vibrating, as was his. He pulled out and rocked back in, nails dragging down my spine. He let out a dark laugh, void of any real tenderness. “Gods I am going to fucking ruin you, Yn. Yeah you like that don’t you? Fuck.”

I cried out. My body was on fire. Every single hair on my skin stood up on end as he claimed me. Every part of my mind and body and soul melded together with Azriels with each snap of his hips. 

It was not soft. Or sweet. Or comfortable. We were both satisfying an ancient need for each other in every way possible. That door with his shadow leading me was wide open, and it was like I could see into his mind. Through his eyes, I looked at my marked body.

The noises tore through me as did my release. I convulsed around him, arching up and into the momentum as he rocked into me. In seconds I was lifted off the counter, still shuddering around his cock when we landed on the floor. 

Azriel hauled my ass into the hollow of his hips and hit places so deep inside me I didn’t know how to breathe. 

He was a panting, shaking mess behind me. 

“Mine,” he murmured against my neck, teeth grazing the skin. “You’re doing such a good job, taking my cock like that.”

I whimpered as he forced my hips to meet his. He leaned over my body and I felt a few drops of sweat trickle onto my skin. He pushed my chest flat against the floor and I wasn’t entirely sure that my spine wasn’t going to break with the force. With one hand pinning my shoulder, the other ripped my hair back, creating the most painful yet pleasurable angle. 

Shadows whirled around my body, ghosting every inch to stimulate me beyond anything I thought possible. All reason left my mind. I was his, and he was mine. His body, his soul… it was all mine. He was giving himself to me, just like I was giving myself to him. 

Every push of his body into mine drew sounds I didn’t know we could make. At this angle I could feel how much bigger he was than me. Knowing that if he wanted to he could easily over power my body without lifting a finger. 

For a second time my body overtook my mind, leaving me no choice to follow its lead. I shook and cried out, chanting his name over and over again as I came a second time in only a few minutes. 

“Fucking look at you,” Azriel said, easing up on his lod of my hair. “Taking my cock like it’s nothing. You are doing such a good job, Yn. Gonna fucking breed you. Aww, you’d like that, hmm? I can feel you clenching, feel how much you want it.”

I nodded, not able to form any words. 

Azriel turned me over on my back and pinned my knees to the floor with his shadows. That same darkness curled around my wrists and sealed them above my head while his hands worked my nipples, my clit. 

I couldn’t thrash even if I wanted to. His teeth left marks along my chest, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he forced his cock into me at a brutal pace. 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpered. “F-fuck yes, Gods you feel so fucking hot.”

I did my best to tighten around him, and judging by the way his hips stuttered, I did a good job. The muscles around his ribs and abdomen flared, the veins in his arms pushing to the surface. 

“I can’t-” he heaved for a breath, mumbling curses and pleas. “Can’t hold on anymore.”

“Let go,” I beg, new tears spilling down my cheeks. “Fill me up.”

Azriel was a mess of gasping breaths and praise as he focused all his motion. Every hard ridge of his body was constricted and convulsing with power as he cursed again, head dipped low, breath fanning over my chest and neck. 

My mind melted as I felt the bond snap into place even deeper. There had been a mental connection earlier, but this was the physical side. Azriel’s front draped over mine as he came deep inside me, his thighs shaking as he fucking into me over and over and over, cum trickling out with each new push of his cock into my aching cunt. 

“That’s a good girl… there you go,” he slurred his words, drunk off the feeling of his release. I could feel it as if it was my own. Feel his claim on my body as if it was my own. “Take it all. All fucking mine. Such a good mate. Taking all my cum so fucking good.”

I moaned, fingers and toes tingling as he took his weight off my chest and sat up. Sweat gleamed his body. My eyes were blurry, but I could still see the need in his eyes. 

I swallowed, the high of it all settling in. His hands roamed over my body, up around the creases of my still bound thighs, and up my sides. 

After a few more short gasps, his hand was gripping my chin. “I am not letting you out of the fucking bed until no one is able to tell our scents apart again. Everyone is gonna know that you’re mine. My mate, and everyone will know I am yours.”

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Sweet Mishap - Chapter 24

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader 

A/N: I just want to start by thanking everyone for all the love on this story so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. This chapter is a lot heavier, so please read the TW below and only read on if you feel comfortable doing so.

Potential Trigger Warnings: heavy violence, mentions of rape

A Sweet Mishap Masterlist | Main Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Just as I’m about to drift off, a loud banging makes me shoot upright. In my half-asleep state I run to the door hoping that Jensen changed his mind and came up for a final goodbye. But instead of his warm embrace and a passionate kiss, when I open the door I feel a cold hard sting on my cheek as my ears ring with the sound of a slap. Tears burn as I blink and try to make sense of what happened. I take a step back but the unfamiliar man follows and snatches my wrist and pulls me to his chest harshly.

“Where is she?” he spits out. I recoil at the feeling of specks of his saliva hitting my cheek. I keep my lips sealed and fight back tears. I know I need to stay strong. I gather up all my courage and elbow him as hard as I can in the ribs and try to pull away but he digs his nails into my wrist as he yanks my other arm around my back before gripping my hair and pulling me into a tight headlock. I scream at the pain but also in an attempt to wake someone. He pushes me further inside and slams the door behind him. “Where is she?” he spits again harshly near my ear. 

I try to pull away again but his grip on my hair is tight and I wince at the pain. Despite the pain I manage to spit out just as harshly, “Like I’d tell you, you abusive son of a bitch!” He yanks my hair again and twists one of my arms back to the point where I’m terrified it’s either going to pop out of its socket or the bone’s going to snap completely. I refuse to give in. “This what you did to her? Pin her in place and force her to have sex with you?”

His grip tightens and I brace myself for the snap and unimaginable pain, but it doesn’t come. Instead he leans down, takes my earlobe between his teeth roughly and pulls back ever so slightly and growls, “I bet you’d like that. Nice and rough.” He trails his lips down my neck where Jensen’s had been not an hour earlier. “You won’t tell me where she is, I’ll take you instead. All I need’s a nice wet hole anyway.”

He manhandles me until I’m laying face-down on the couch, both hands pinning tightly at the small of my back with one of his hands. I try to kick out but he sits on my legs. I lose the fight to my tears as I feel one of his hands reach around to undo the button and zip on my jeans. I feel helpless and scared in a way I never have before. But instead of worrying about myself, I wonder how many times Anna had to endure this treatment and for how long. He slips his hand into the waistband and tries to pull them down but struggles with one hand. Obviously only thinking with rage and his dick he lets go of my hands briefly to pull my jeans and underwear past my hips. As he does, I quickly scramble around reaching for my phone which I know is amongst the cushions somewhere. My fingers briefly stab and glide across the cracked glass but I don’t get a hold of it before he’s roughly yanking my arms back. I feel the vibrations under me, sparking some hope that I managed to do something. Luckily it’s silenced by the sound of him undoing his belt and jeans. I have no way of knowing who called, whether I got the emergency function or just a random person from my contacts, and no way of answering anyway. He grips my hair and yanks me upright so my bare ass is touching his front. I scream out again and he slaps me. 

“Last chance bitch, tell me where she is or you’re becoming my new plaything.”

“At least use a condom, you pig. I’m not on birth control. So unless you wanna pay me child support.” Feeling his erect dick against my ass I fully start to panic. Seeing as it’s been ages since I last slept with anyone I let my script lapse. And as much as I don’t want to be raped by this abusive psycho, I also don’t want to be forced to carry his child. I pull against him with all my strength and scream at the top of my lungs. He slaps me across the face again and covers my mouth with one hand effectively muffling my sounds. This gives me better access to lick and bite at his disgusting skin. He recoils as my teeth sink into his palm. With his weight on my legs I can’t move, but I use the opportunity to free my hands and reach for my phone again. I manage to swipe across and return the missed call, but I don’t see who it is. He snatches my phone from my hands and pegs it at the tiles causing the screen to shatter completely before switching to black. I continue to scream myself hoarse as he crushes me into the couch. I can feel against my back that the pain had an impact but he’s now even more irate. With all of his weight holding my front against the cushions, he takes his free hand and slaps — not sexual spanks, hard, bruising slaps — my bare ass countless times.

My head is spinning, overrun with fear and pain. I can’t move my body. I can’t roll over, pull my pants up, reach for my broken phone, I’m completely petrified. I block out everything as I accept my fate. I can’t even tell if I’m crying or screaming anymore. I can’t hear myself. I barely even feel the lasting sting of the pain he’s inflicted. I just feel numb.

When he speaks again he sounds like I’m underwater. It’s muffled and slurred and I can’t focus on the words. I just lay there completely numb letting it happen. I have no fight left. He’s got me completely pinned and I have no mode of contact. I tell myself it’s over.

I don’t feel him pull away or stand up. I don’t hear the door breaking down. I don’t notice when a group of people enter the apartment. I’m too far removed. I can’t even pull away when I’m wrapped in a blanket and pulled into someone else’s arms. My limbs are too stiff, my mind is too numb. When my chin is tilted up to meet the person’s eyes I can’t focus, everything is blurred. But as numb as I am, I know it’s someone else. I feel warmer, safe. And my body shuts down.

When I can finally open my eyes all I see is white. There’s a dull, steady beeping from somewhere behind me. As my senses slowly return I feel a weight on my right hand. I instinctively squeeze, but am shocked when the feeling is reciprocated. I furiously blink my eyes and try to sit up.

“Hey, Hey, Darlin’. It’s okay now. You’re safe. Take a breath for me.”

I look towards the voice and can’t believe my eyes or ears. I must still be asleep or hallucinating. My mind starts to race. Am I still on that couch? Is that rapist still here?

The beeping speeds up and I feel a squeeze again as the deep voice continues. “You’re safe now. I’m right here. You’re safe. Deep breaths.”

I try to hold onto his words. Real or not, they’re grounding and comforting. I’m just shocked that the voice of my subconscious is not Stella or my parents. It’s a man that I’ve known for two and a bit months. But when the weight in my hand disappears it all starts to feel real. My eyes fly open and I finally manage to survey my surroundings. There’s an IV in my arm, a clip on my finger and monitors to my sides. I sit up quickly and look around for my things. There’s no way I can afford this treatment. As I swing my legs off the side of the bed I hear footsteps behind me. 

“Ms. Y/L/N, it’s good to see you’re awake and doing better but we need you to stay in bed while we run a few more tests.” I reluctantly turn around to face the voice. “I’m Doctor Matt, the paramedics brought you in after you passed out from what at this stage seems like a panic attack, but we want to be sure…Especially considering the circumstances under which they were called.” He takes a few steps closer to the bed with a tablet in his hands. “There’s a few questions I need to ask you, but let me know if at any stage it becomes too much.”

I nod but then my eyes drift past the doctor to the man standing in the doorway. His arms are crossed over his chest, a look of worry etched on his face and his emerald eyes look bloodshot. He nods at me, “I’ll be in the waiting room.” I nod back as he turns and disappears behind the curtain.

“We’ve checked your physical injuries and they appear superficial and will heal in time, but you can take anti inflammatories for the pain. However, given the circumstances I wanted to offer for one of our psych counsellors to speak with you before we discharge you and let the police do their questioning.”

I look at the doctor and hesitantly ask, “Did you do a rape kit already?”

He shakes his head. “We wanted to wait for your consent. But also, as the man responsible is already in custody there may be no reason to put you through that. But if you want to be sure, I can ask someone to come down and run one.”

I nod. “I need to know. What if-What if I’m pregnant?”

“Unfortunately there would be no way of knowing this soon. If you take the test we’ll know if there’s any signs of ejaculate, but regardless we can also provide emergency contraception.”

I nod. “I want both. I need to know. I’ve been through too much to not know.”

“Okay. I’ll ask someone our sexual assault unit to come down.”

I nod again, but then ask, “How much extra will all this cost? You should already know I don’t have health insurance. I can’t afford-”

“We can see if we can register you for NYC Care to try and bring the bill down. In the meantime, did you want me to send your boyfriend back in to wait with you?”

“My boyfriend?” I shake my head in confusion and then it clicks. “Uh, sure.”

He notices my hesitation. “I can tell him you’re resting?”

“No it’s okay. I should talk to him.”

“You coud wait until after you speak with psych. I know this must be a difficult situation.”

“Thanks, but no. I should talk to him.”

Doctor Matt nods and walks out of the thin, paper curtain. A few long minutes later, the curtain rustles again and Jensen walks in. I want to fight with him and tell him to go to Vancouver, that he shouldn’t have skipped his flight for me, but instead I burst into tears. He rushes to my side and sits on the edge of the bed. He hesitantly takes my hand and pulls me into his arms.

“You’re safe. I’ve got you now.” He rubs his hands up my back as he hushes and soothes me. 

“Y-You shouldn’t-”

“Hey, hey. I’m exactly where I should be. I’m just glad I was here. I can’t imagine…I’m so sorry.”

I continue to cry into his shoulder while he holds me close. “Y-you t-told … boyfriend…”

“I’m sorry. I know, they wouldn’t let me in otherwise…it doesn’t have to mean anything. I don’t expect anything from you right now. You just need to heal, but I also wanted to be here for you.” I can tell there’s so much more he wants to say but is holding back for me. 

“Jens…H-How d-d-“

“You were typing for ages. Those bubbles were there for ages and it seemed off and then when I called you didn’t answer. And the second and third time it went directly to massagebank. And then I realized…” He hugs me closer. “I’m so sorry. I should have told Clif to take you to your friend’s.”

Hearing him blame himself breaks me further. I try to hug him back. “Thank you for saving me,” I manage to get out between sobs. 

“I wish I could’ve gotten there sooner or got the emergency services. I’m sorry you went through so much.”

The curtain shuffles again and a female doctor steps inside. I pull slightly away from Jensen to look at her. “Hi Ms. Y/L/N. I’m Dr. Julie, I’m a sexual assault examiner, Dr. Matt said you wanted to get a rape test.” I nod and Jensen stands up but I grab his hand. 

“Please stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please…”

Dr. Julie looks at both of us. “He’s welcome to stay if that’s what you want as the patient, but if he does, I need to warn you both that if it comes up positive and you decide to report this crime to the police he could be asked to be a witness.”

Jensen nods. “That’s fine by me.” He looks at me, “I called the emergency services in the first place, I’m already a witness. I’ll do whatever you need me to. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

I nod. “Stay.”

He helps me lay back down on the pillows before sitting on the edge of the bed and facing me. He keeps holding my hand while the doctor gathers all the supplies. She then helps pull the blanket down and checks over my whole body while taking some swabs and samples.

Jensen squeezes my hand comfortingly as he keeps his eyes on my face, not straying once.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Taglist: @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27, @n-o-p-e-never, @deansimpalababy,

@winchesterwild78, @kr804573, @chriszgirl92, @smoothdogsgirl

@speakinvain, @deans-baby-momma, @1967winchesterimpala

@lmg14, @superrey

[the-ellia-west]

Writemas

Day 4

Thanks to the wonderful @agirlandherquill for hosting this lovely challenge and inviting me to join along with many others! Please join yourself if you would like to!

This is for all of my J&R loving friends, Enjoy! <33

Prompts:

|"You've never looked at me like that before."|"One more word... See what happens."|The knife trembled in their hand.|Aching|

-

Ronan yanked at the chains in a vain attempt to find a weak point, gritting his teeth as he struggled, gasping in desperate sobs as the cuffs dug into his flesh. “C’mon… come on! Come… ON!” The Elf yanked even harder, ignoring the furious pain burning in his wrists as the metal scraped through his skin.

“Well, well, well!” Aseiri slammed the door open, her sharp laugh ringing through the air. Ronan froze when he saw her. She wore a combination of rich hazel leather with intricate pressed patterns, Chainmail, and flowy red silk that swished around her ankles and wrists when she moved but didn’t restrict her movement. 

Silvery Steel plates twisted over the top of her chest, another solid piece resting in the center right over her sternum, chainmail hanging from the plates just low enough to brush her hips where the silk flared. Strapped to her back was her battleaxe. He’d seen it cleave a Mahogany dinner table clean in half with one swing, and he dreaded what it would do to his bones if they ever came into contact. 

But she didn’t reach for the axe as she stalked up to him, dropping to one knee and cupping his chin in one of her slender hands, forcing his face on level with hers. “Hello, little Wolf.”

Ronan stuffed his terror to the back of his mind and flashed her a winning grin as his wrists and ankles ached from the chafing. “My my, what a lovely Foxglove my host has so graciously gifted me the privilege of laying eyes on!”

She roughly dropped his head, backhanding him across the cheek in less than an instant. Ronan’s head snapped to the side, and he coughed, gasping for air. “You’ve never looked at me like that before, love. Is it a special day?”

Aseiri flicked a knife from her belt, trailing her finger delicately along the flat edge as she stooped down to his eye level, snapping it toward his neck quicker than he saw the lantern’s flame shine on the metal. “One more word, Wolf… See what happens.”

“Now, now! Is this how you treat your guests?” Ronan faltered for a moment and his voice cracked, lightheaded in suspense as he forced the smile back onto his face and cleared his throat, eyes betraying him as he shrugged. “Because if it is, I shan’t like ever to come back!”

Aseiri narrowed her eyes, the knife drawing a thin line of blood from his neck before she spun it away from him. “Ha! As if you’re ever leaving!” She grinned. “Lucky for you, little Wolf, I’m only here to bring you your dinner. Don’t want you dying before I can have a little fun with you, now do we?” She stalked to the door, lifting the tray from a side table and sarcastically throwing it across the room toward him, scattering the items across the floor. “There. Eat like the dog you are.” And slammed the door shut.

As the bolt clicked into place, Aseiri slumped against the door, knife trembling in her hands. The crack in his voice, his eyes. Now that she thought about it, he couldn’t be any older than she was. Could she really hurt him? She’d disregarded screams for mercy a million times before, why was this different?

Was it because of the fear in the eyes of the others when she’d taken him? His own facade of confidence to hide his terror so similar to her own? Was he also afraid of failing someone he loved? Afraid of being replaced? Was she, by proving her worth to her master, making him a failure to his?

“Aseiri.”

The guard snapped to attention, brandishing the knife before she recognized Jatár and instantly dropped to one knee. “Sir!”

“What are you doing? Have you interrogated the prisoner as I asked?” His eyes narrowed.

Aseiri knew of the consequences, but the lie slipped between her lips faster than she could hold it back. “Yessir. He refused to comply. I shall resort to blood. I will no doubt have no trouble breaking his resolve tomorrow evening.”

“Good. I’m proud of you, Daughter. Don’t fail me.”

“I… I won’t sir. I swear it.”

Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment, I love reading them!

(BTW, please tell me if you'd like to be added or taken off my tag list for J&R)

@yolbert @sunflowerrosy @seastarblue @urnumber1star @i-do-anything-but-write

@darkandstormydolls @ellowynthenotking @an-indecisive-nerd

[blackbat05]

Slow and Steady

Single Dad!Rick Flag x Doctor!Reader

Plot: Managing two rambunctious kids with one in the hospital can drive a dad nuts. Thankfully, there are upsides being in the hospital.

Genre: PG-13

A/N: The amount of braincells shows. Almost had a brain fart halfway through💀Really appreciate the feedback and reblogs! Why is the gif wacky or is it on my end.

“Daddd!!!” Robert Flag or Robbie, as he’s affectionately known as groans on the hospital bed. “I swear I’m fine!” The younger of the two by three minutes immediately has the sense to shut his mouth at the sight of his father’s arched eyebrow at his choice of words.

“Sorry buddy, no arguments on this one.” Rick fluffs the pillows on the spare bed. “If it’s any consolation, your brother will be here after school.”

Robbie pouts but doesn’t argue any further. As long as Evan was with him, Robbie did not need anything else. Rick takes a sigh of relief, grateful that he did not need to perform damage control on his six year old. Before he can sit on the bed, the door slides open.

“Dr L/N!” Robbie greets you cheerfully for someone who received a concussion and a fractured hip bone at a kid’s soccer game. You smile at the lively kid, excited to see someone else other than his dad who immediately sits upright.

“Hello Robert, hello Rick.” You walk over to check Robbie’s vitals and made sure everything was in order. Satisfied, you turned to address Rick. “He’s alright. Everything seems to be healing well and we may even discharge him in about two to three days.”

You thought the good news would bring some solace to Rick but maybe he wasn’t a man of many expressions as he simply nods his head, coughing out a thanks. Then again, it wasn’t easy being in his shoes.

Before the silence could drag out any longer, the door bursts open and a little tornado bursts into the room, tackling his younger brother much to your amusement.

“Hey bud, let’s take it easy on your brother okay?” A gruff voice comes from behind. “How you doing champ?” Robert DuBois walks in with two big paper bags from McDonalds.

“Fine! Like I told Dad for the hundredth time.” Little Robert emphasizes causing the adults to break into chuckles. Even Rick had cracked a smile. “I’m hungry, can I please eat Dad? Pleaseeee?” He drags out the last syllable and you wonder how Rick had the strength to not spoil this adorable kid. Parenting was certainly a wonder.

“Alright,” Rick gives in and the children cheer. “But no eating contests! I don’t want the Nurse telling me that she has to clean up after your mess Robert Quinn Flag.” He warns the younger of the two, trying to ignore Evan’s snickers.

“Don’t worry mate, I got it. Now why don’t you take a break! You look like you haven’t showered for ages.” Rick’s good friend steps in. You could have sworn the bigger Robert giving you a cheeky glance before turning his attention back to his friend.

“What about you Dr L/N? Are you busy?”

“Oh. Well, Robbie here was my last patient for the day. Thought I could see how he was doing before I say goodbye.” You replied, knowing that half of it was the truth. DuBois grin became wider and Rick smelled something brewing far away. As much he was his friend and partner on the field, Rick wanted to wipe the grin off his face.

“Good of you. Robbie, you feeling alright?” He looks at the boy who was named after him and was proceeding to make an assault on the fries. Robbie nods. “Uh huh, I’m -eachy.”

DuBois smiles, looking satisfied. “Great! Then you can have dinner with my friend here while I spend time with my godsons!” Rick’s head snaps towards his friend, mouthing a couple of words that you couldn’t make out.

“Yeah, sure! I would love too if Rick doesn’t mind.” You were casual but secretly hoping that you did not come off as desperate.

You see, when you had just transferred to Midway City Hospital, Robbie was one of your first patients. Despite his injuries that were borderline severe for a six year old, Robbie was lively as ever and may had a hand in getting you and Rick to talk to each other.

“Dr L/N!”

“Hello, Robbie. How are you feeling?”

“It still hurts, but it doesn’t hurt as much.” Robbie shrugs. The door slides open to reveal a strapping man whom you assumed to be Robbie’s father. Dressed in a black t-shirt, you could not help but to notice how it enhanced his physique. The moment he sees you, he attempts to sweep his blonde hair to one side, making himself presentable. Before he can say anything, his son beats him to it.

“My dad thinks you’re really pretty Dr L/N. I told him so but he didn’t believe me.” Robbie pouts, unaware that he had exposed Rick who turns beet red. Robbie doesn’t notice this and pushes on with his purpose. “He does! He wants to eat with you but he’s too scared to say anything.”

You were shocked at the brutal honesty of the kid, not knowing what to say yourself. Trying to be the professional medical personnel that you were trained to be, you made light of the situation.

“Aren’t you the big mouth huh? I suppose that means you are getting better! Now let’s check the machine ok?”

Bringing yourself back to present day, Rick coughs and looks at you, as if seeking for permission. You give a small nod. No ethical boundaries that you know of now that Robbie’s about to be discharged.

“I’m wrapping up in fifteen minutes if you can wait for me.”

And that’s how you find yourself almost running back to the counter to offload the equipment and belongings much to all the nurses’ and doctors’ amusement.

“Hot military single dad finally asked you out?” You turn to see Ingrid, one of the nurses chewing on gum with a cheeky glint in her eye. She was also one of your closest friends in the hospital. “About damn time.”

“Ingrid, it’s just a meal.” You blushed, not bothering to address the knowing look on her face with regards to your growing crush on the man. “I gotta go! Bye!” You dashed out almost as quick as you dashed in, leaving Ingrid chuckling at your eagerness to get to your “meal”.

***

You sliced the fish, placing it into your mouth to keep it occupied. Apart from meeting a cleanly shaven Rick at the first floor of the hospital, not a word was said between the two of you. Until now.

“Robbie will miss you. He always tells me how you took such good care of him.” Rick breaks the silence and you smile. “Well, Robbie is a pleasant boy. I’m just glad he’s better.”

Rick nods and you rack your brain for another conversation topic before the wave of silence hits again.

“So when can I-”

“Can I see you-”

You both look at each other and burst into laughter. “Please Doctor, go ahead.” Rick tells you.

“Call me Y/N. And no, you go ahead.”

A steely look of determination flashes Rick’s eyes and he sits up straight. “I hope that I can see you again. On another date. I want to get to know you better outside of this hospital and when my kids and best friend aren’t trying to play matchmaker.” He narrows his eyes in the direction behind you, causing you to turn around to see a large figure and two smaller figures farting behind a concrete slab of wall.

“I’m kind of upset you know.”

Rick neck almost suffers from whiplash from that sentence and you see the Colonel taken aback. You weren’t that mean so you break into a small smile much to his confusion.

“I was preparing so hard to ask you the same thing but I guess you have a habit of beating others to it first.”

Rick pauses, processing your words before he breaks out into a smile of his own. “I guess Robert making me clean up was worth something.”

You laugh at the sudden comment, shaking your head. “I would still have said yes Rick.”

“I’ve seen men who look polish but are the dirtiest, uncouth shit bags ever. To their wives, their children.” You closed your eyes for a moment to fight away the memories you were unfortunately a witness to. “You are an amazing father and I’m glad you asked me.”

A wave of confidence takes over Rick. “So, I know a great place and if you’re free for dinner on Saturday?” He pauses as if thinking about something. “I’ll let you once I find someone to take care of my boys.”

“Already taken care of lad! You just have a great meal with the Doctor!” A loud yell comes across the lobby that attracts everyone’s attention much to Rick’s embarrassment.

You almost fall off your chair at the force of two little bodies rushing to hug you.

“Yay! Now you can take care of me now!” Robbie jumps up and down, completely ignoring his long process to recovery. But it was Evan that took the both of you aback.

“Now can we call her mom?”

Your mouth is left hanging and Rick quickly comes to your rescue. “Slow your horses, it’s just a meal buddy.”

“But you love her!”

“Ok.” Rick mutters under his breath. “I think it’s time for Uncle Robert to take the two of you back so I can continue talking with Dr- Ms Y/N over here.” He cranes his neck, giving a death stare at his old friend who doesn’t seem to be any rush to rescue him from his kids.

As you wave goodbye to the kids and Robert, you turn to Rick who was trying to compose himself. You reach out, holding your hands in his.

“Hey, their sweet kids but whatever it is, you don’t need to be pressured.”

You squeeze his hand as a form of reassurance.

“We do this slowly. Together.”

[andydrysdalerogers]

Undercover ~ Eleven ~ Separation Anxiety

Pairings: Jake Jensen and OFC Samantha Matthews

The Losers have made it back to their families and are out. Well, almost. A threat against the British crown needs to be handled and the CIA has tapped the Losers for one final mission. And they are sending in Jensen.

Jake Jensen hasn't been a civilian in years but now he's undercover to find out why his target is where he is and who he's after.

Enter Sam, someone who Jake doesn't expect and well, he didn't know he was looking for.

Can Jake handle his mission and falling in love? Especially when the truth leads to a bigger mission than expected?

*~* A Jake Jensen Story *~*

Author's note: this story continues after the events of the Losers. I may weave other characters into it but they are all minor. THE TAGLIST IS OPEN.

The playlist is available on Spotify.

cover photo by me! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warnings: angst, death, smut, and a bunch of stuff a can’t say because it gives away the plot!

Previous: Chapter Ten ~ Not a Goodbye

Story Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“Please let me see him.”  

“I can’t allow that, Your Royal Highness.”  

“He is my...” Sam swallowed.  “Please,” she begged.  

Clay came from behind her.  He put his arm around the girl.  “We need to see Captain Jensen.”  

“He is in surgery.  We can’t allow you in.” The guard looked at the tear streaked face of Sam. “Ma’am, we will come get you as soon as the doctor is finished.  I promise.”  

“Thank you,” Sam said, resigned to sitting back int the conference room. Clay sat next to her, hand in mouth, thinking.  “He’s going to be ok, right?” 

“It was a shoulder shot, Sam. They just need to get the bullet out and stop the bleeding but it's easier on him if he’s under anesthesia.” He took her hand. “He’ll be good as new.”  

“What about the rest of the team?” 

“They are on the way.”  

“Your Royal Highness?” 

Sam’s head snapped to the door. “Yes?” 

“I’m Doctor Rogers.  Jake had a pretty severe wound to his shoulder. It broke part of the clavicle or collar bone but the rest of the wound was clean.  We set the bone and closed the wound.  He’ll need about six weeks to heal but otherwise, he should make a full recovery.”  Sam sagged against Clay in relief.   

“Can we see him?” 

“He’ll be in recovering for about an hour before we move him into a room. I’ll have a nurse bring you to him.”  The doctor shook hands and left.  

An hour later, Clay and Sam had made it into Jake’s room.  Sam immediately went to his side. “Hi JJ.” She kissed his forehead.  She took a seat and took his hand. He was peaceful, his right arm bound tightly to his body, bandages on his shoulder. She sits in silence, Clay on another chair in the corner of the room.  The nurses filter in and out, checking on him.  Sam lays her head near his arm, closing her eyes.  

“This must be some kind of dream because I don’t remember the nurses being this hot.”  

Sam snaps up and looks to see Jake staring at her. “Must be the drugs ruining your eye sight JJ.”  

“Doubt it.  See I know this girl who is an absolute knock out and she’s sitting right next to me.  Sometimes, I call her my girlfriend.”  

Clay snorts in the corner.  “I don’t know how this girl fell for you Jensen.  The shit you say is just shit.”  

“I like it,” Sam says softly. “Welcome back JJ.”  

“Hey baby. How bad is it?” 

“The bullet broke your clavicle.  They had to surgically repair it.” Sam chewed her lip. “You saved me.”  

“Princess, you sound shocked that I would.” Jake picked up her hand and brought it to his mouth. “I love you.” 

“Love you too Jakey.” She kissed his lips softly at first and then his head.  

“When can I blow this popsicle stand?” 

“As soon as Dr. Rogers clears you to be moved. Then back to another safe house. I’m meeting with Fowler and Hart in about half hour.” Clay clapped Jake’s shoulder gently.  “I’m glad you didn’t die Jensen.  Life would be boring without you.”  

“Thanks Colonel.” 

“I’ll leave you in the very capable hands of Princess Sam.” He shot a wink at Sam and left the room.  

“Did he actually just hit on you in front of me?” Jake was shocked.  

“Even if he did, Jakey, you’re the only man that I have eyes for.”  Sam kissed his temple again. They sat quietly when there was a knock and a tall blonde man walked in.  

“Hi Jake, I’m Doctor Rogers. How are you feeling?” 

“Like I got shot,” Jake offered. The doctor chuckled. “But seriously, my shoulder hurts.”  

“That’s to be expected with major surgery.  The surgery went well. You’re strong, young and healthy so I expect a quick recovery. No exercise until the brace comes off.” He glanced at Sam and then back at Jake. “Or at least, nothing too strenuous. I’m discharging you.”  

“Thanks Doc.” Jake looked at Sam, who flushed a little. “Wanna help me, princess?” 

Sam giggled and started to help Jake get dressed.  

The team met up in a new safe house.  “Well, that was a close one,” Pooch said.  

“Too close,” Clay replied.  “I want to know how cover was blown.”  

“I have an idea,” Aisha said. “You said you’ve worked with Fitzgerald before.” Clay nodded. “Well, he had to have known how you were planning on doing this. Once they started firing and realized we were firing back, it was easier to confirm the decoy and alert their other team.”  

“Fuck, didn’t even cross my mind,” Clay groaned.  “Alright, we have to wait to see what the director wants to do. I have my money on British Intelligence not being happy campers that we almost got the princess killed.”  

“I can bet that my father and brother are not please about it,” Sam replied. A knock on the door stopped the conversation. “Yes?” 

A soldier in army fatigues came in. “I’m sorry Your Royal Highness but I have His Majesty on the phone for you.”  

“Tony?” Sam was surprised.  She took the phone from the soldier. “Hi Tony, err, sorry, Your Majesty.”  

“Samantha, are you alright?” 

“Yes, I’m ok.”  

“Good. How is the soldier that was shot with you?” 

“He’s good, recovering. He was discharged this morning.”  

“That’s good to hear.” Anthony cleared his throat.  “Samantha, we are working on a plan to bring you back to England and placing you under the Royal Protection Service.”  

“What? Why?” 

“Why? Because you are heir to the throne of England, Samantha. You have to be protected. It would be easier on all of us if you were here at Kensington Palace.”  

“But...” 

“No, its an order. You will be on a plane tomorrow morning. I’ll discuss the rest of our plans with you when you arrive.”  

“Anthony, Your Majesty, please, wait...” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Samantha”.  And he hung up.  

Sam stared at the phone in her hand.  She looked up at the team and focused on Jake.  “My brother is sending me to England.  To be placed under the protection of the RPS. Tomorrow.”  And she broke down crying.  

Jake was just as shocked. He wrapped his good arm around Sam as the team looked on. Clay cleared his throat.  “Why don’t we give these two some privacy.”  The team walked out, and Clay stopped. “We’ll get instructions on when her plane leaves and message you, Jake. Until then, we won’t disturb.”  Jake nodded as he leaned his head on Sam’s. Clay closed the door and the only sound that could be heard was Sam’s cries.  

“C’mon baby, relax for me. Take a deep breath,” Jake said.   

“What are we going to do Jakey? I don’t want to leave you,” she cried.  

“I don’t want you to leave either.” Jake took her face in his hand. “No amount of distance is going to make me stop loving you.”  He gently kissed her lips, savoring the softness.  

Sam didn’t want to stop. She moves to deepen the kiss, parting her lips as Jake licked in. He hummed as her taste invaded his mouth. “Princess,” he moaned.  

“Soldier,” she replied. Jake sat on the couch and Sam straddled him.  

“Princess, I can’t with my arm.” Jake looked torn. “I can’t make you feel good like I want to.”  

“Then let me,” she whispered. “Let me worship you, Jake.”  

“Sam, you don’t have to.”  

“I want to.”  Sam sank to her knees in front of him. Jakw swallowed as he watched as Sam pulled at the knot of his sweats, lifting his hips when asked.  She pulled down his boxers, allowing his cock to spring free. “Perfect,” she whispered before wrapping her lips over his tip. 

“Princess, fuck, so good.” Jake’s head tipped back, eyes rolling back as Sam took more of him in her mouth. He forced his eyes open to watch. Her movements were not harsh or rushed.  She worshiped him, tongue softly caressing him. “Samantha, you look so beautiful.” He gathered her hair into his good hand. She took him all the way to the back of her throat, and he shuddered, trying to control the impending orgasm.  

“Sam, no, fuck I need to feel you princess.” With one arm, he hauled her into his lap. He kissed her hard, tasting the saliva and precome on her mouth. “Strip for me princess.” Sam stood up and took off Jake’s shirt that she had put on. She dropped her sweatpants, leaving her in pale pink panties.  

Jake wasn’t trying to drool but seeing his girl this confident, to stand before him without shame. She sat back down on his lap, grinding down on his shaft with just the panties between them. “I need you Jakey,” she whispered.  

“Here or the bed? Because as much as I want to baby, I can’t take control.”  

She stood up and took Jake’s hand.  He tripped slightly over his sweats as he followed her.  She let him get on the bed and pushed her panties down. He gestured for her to come to him and he pulled her up to his head. “Ride my face sweetheart. Let me taste you.” She carefully kneeled over his head, hanging on to the headboard. Jake did one long soft lick through her folds. She gasped and he went to work, sucking the little bundle of nerves.   

“Jake, fuck, Jake.”  

“Let go baby.” He sucked harder before licking her hard and shoving his tongue in as she let go. He drank her in, his mind drifting to the fact that this might be the last time.  He shook his head of the thought, not wanting to lose the moment. Sam carefully moved off of his head and went to staddle his waist. She kept looking at his eyes as she lined herself up over his cock and sank down.  

“Oh Jakey!” She kept going down until she bottomed out. Jake used his good arm to grip her hip and motion her up. He thrusted up with his hips, matching her movements.  

“Such a good girl, riding my cock. So warm and wet. Fuck princess, keep going.”  

“Jake, you’re so big,” she moaned as she rocked against him. “Fuck so strong baby.” She could feel the ribbon of pleasure starting to tighten. “Almost there,” she cried.  

Jake moved his hand to rub her clip in slow circles. “Fuck can feel you squeezing me. Do it baby, I’ve got you.”  

She came with a cry, head thrown back before she fell forward. Jake caught her to land on his good shoulder before he snapped his hips a couple more times and found his own end.  

The room stilled, just the sounds of their breathing coming back to normal is heard. Jake runs his hand over Sam’s hair, breathing in her scent. He kissed her temple, refusing to move her off of him. He felt her relax into him.  

“I will always love you,” he told her. “I’ll find a way to come back to you, sweetheart. I have to because you have my heart.”  

A ring of a phone startled him awake. He reached for the phone and saw it was Clay. “Yeah?” 

“We have him.”  

“Fitzgerald?” 

“Yeah, we interrogate as soon as Sam is in the air.”  

“Ok.”  

“We take her in an hour Jake. I’m sorry.”  

Jake stoked Sam’s cheek. “Princess. I’m sorry but it's time to wake up.”  

She snuggled into his chest, holding him tighter. “No.”  

“I know sweetheart. I don’t want to do this either.”  

Sam lifted her head and could see the heartbreak in Jake’s face. “Jakey...” her bottom lip wobbled.  

“C’mon, baby. We have to go.”  

The entire ride to the airstrip on base was silent. Jake and Sam held hands, his thumb rubbing her knuckles. As they pulled up to the private plane, Sam gripped his fingers tighter.  

Jake climbed out and went to Sam’s door to let her out.  They walked to the staircase and stopped. Jake leaned his head against her forehead. “This is not a forever goodbye. I will find a way to you.”  

“Jake, you don’t know that.”  

“I do. I have to. You own my heart love. I love you so much.”  

Sam cried, “I love you Jacob Jensen.” She pulled him in for a kiss. “I’ll wait forever for you Jake.”  

He kissed her again before pulling away and kissing her forehead. “I’m gonna find whoever is doing this and then I will come for you.  You may be a princess, but you are my queen.”  He stepped back as one of the soldiers directed Sam.  

“You Royal Highness, this way please.”  

Sam walked up the stairs, knowing that this was probably the last time she would see him. She turned back and blew him a kiss.  

Jake caught her kiss and tucked it in his pocket and watched as his girl was taken away from him. He turned to Clay. “Let’s talk to Fitzgerald.”  

“Can you handle this, Jake?” 

“I have to Colonel. I need to find a way back to my girl and he has the answers.”  

Clay studied him. “You’re gonna give up everything for her, aren’t you?” 

Jake watched the plane take off. “I already did.”  

Five hours later, Sam climbed down the stairs to see her father and brother waiting for her.  Sam ran into her father’s arms, hugging him tightly. “Hello my daughter.” He kissed her head. “I’m so glad you are safe.”  

“Hello sister,” Anthony started, before his head snapped back from the slap that she gave him.  

“I want the record to show that I hate you Your majesty,” she snarled. “You made me give up the love of my life and for that, I will never forgive you.  

Sam marched towards the car. She may have to be here, but she would find her way back to Jake.  

NEXT

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[masterwords]

the only light i ever saw

Summary: After a brutal few weeks on the job, Strauss gives the whole BAU a week off. Hotch & Morgan head up to a cabin in the woods for some time to reconnect. Like usual, things aren't quite as easy as they should be.

Words: 4.5k

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: mentions of canon-typical case stuff, minor injuries, sex (explicit but quick)

Notes: Inspired by Hotch keeping his bike in his office and a desperate need to write more Sean.

Read on AO3: the only light i ever saw

**

Sometimes things were slow. They worked Monday through Friday jobs, had weekends off, were home by dinner time. Other times things were so wild that they were more or less zombies wondering what it was like to sleep in their own beds (or sleep at all). There was usually some kind of balance to it all, if you looked at the big picture, but right now they were barely able to keep their eyes open. The big picture was nothing but a blur. They had cases stacked up, one after another, for weeks. Every time they arrived home it was time to hop back on the jet. Once they were even diverted mid-air to an Amber Alert. It was just that kind of a month. They all kind of lived for it, the adrenaline keeping them going when their bodies said stop. Take-out boxes piled up in hotel rooms and they took turns on laundromat duty when they stayed in places where the hotels didn’t take care of that for them. They would sleep in shifts when they could and hope that through it all, they didn’t make any mistakes.

A body in motion stays in motion, that’s what Derek liked to say when someone started dragging. “Come on, lazy bones. My grandmama could do this in her sleep.”

“At least she’d be asleep,” Reid snapped, dragging his unruly hair into a bun on top of his head for something to do with his hands. He was way past running out of steam, he barely remembered what steam was like. That was saying a lot for someone with a memory like Reid’s.

“You can sleep when you’re dead. Here, have some coffee.”

“Morgan my heart is about to explode from all the caffeine and sugar I’ve ingested in the last twenty four hours. I can’t have more coffee. I need a nap.”

Conversations were getting steadily worse as time wore on, until they finally boarded the jet and Strauss told them to go right home as soon as they landed. No ifs ands or buts. No more cases.

“Do not come back for a week,” she said, and she waited expectantly for a cheers or an enthusiastic thank you but was met with dead tired eyes and half-smiles from the people still awake. No one was particularly alert. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you Erin,” Dave finally said when it was clear no one else was going to. “I think the rest of them are asleep with their eyes open.”

“David, please tell me you and Aaron let them sleep sometime during these outings. There are rules. Labor laws still apply to the BAU.”

“It was an Amber Alert, Erin. Those rules don’t apply and you know that. We haven’t slept in at least two days, some of us longer.” He indicated Aaron who was staring intently ahead into middle space, dead to the world but refusing to let himself be the first to drop off. He’d been awake the longest.

She huffed but there was nothing to be said. Dave was right. The regular rules didn’t apply to Amber Alerts, and simply put, she hadn’t ever been a Field Agent. She didn’t have much practical knowledge of how these things looked, barring a couple of exceptions wherein she felt more like she was in the way than helping. “Go home and sleep. All of you.”

At the tarmac, Aaron arranged for a car. None of them were safe to drive. Will picked JJ up and took Reid with them in their car, everyone else piled into an SUV and off they went. Most of them slept in the car with Anderson at the wheel.

They had a week off, but they couldn’t exactly go anywhere too wild...they were still technically on call. If an emergency happened they would be recalled. Always.

Still, there was no question what Aaron and Derek would do once they’d slept in their own beds for a full night. Haley’s parents had Jack for the weekend, spoiling him rotten at Disney World (they were still trying to make up for the divorce by giving in to his every childish whim, and while Aaron didn’t fully support this tactic, saying no to Jack was almost impossible.)

A cabin in the woods, more construction zone than relaxation but it belonged to them. Up there they had spotty cell phone reception (but a landline worked perfectly fine for emergency use only), no television and best of all...no people.

They loaded one bag stuffed with the bare necessities like prescriptions and undergarments and threw it into the back of the car, hooked their mountain bikes onto the roof rack and shoved Clooney into the back seat. They had this spur of the moment weekend getaway down to a science. They could stop at the grocery store on the way but they just needed to get on the road. There were clothes at the cabin, no need to pack much. It was like having a safe house minus the fear.

Once they were on the open highway, they were holding hands over the center console. Fingers slotted together, Aaron pressing a kiss to the back of Derek’s hand as they hurried out of town. Aaron always drove to the cabin, Derek always drove home. Even that was down to science.

Everything was going according to plan until they took the last switchback along the private dirt road that would end at their driveway and saw the glimmer of chrome in the distance. Upon closer inspection, Aaron knew with some certainty what it was and when he pulled into his usual spot it was confirmed. Beside the trash barn with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a book in his hand stood Sean, lost in the world of a Louis L’Amour with yellowed edges. Aaron knew exactly what the book would smell like, pages being turned by nicotine fingers. It was the smell of his childhood, of his grandfather who rolled his own cigarettes out on the back deck of this very cabin.

“Sean!” Derek shouted, leaping out of the vehicle. No matter how excited he was to have this time to themselves, he always loved seeing Sean.

“Sorry guys, I needed a place to crash.”

“You couldn’t call first?”

“You gave me a key and told me anytime...I needed to get away from the city for a while. Didn’t think anyone would be here.”

Aaron sighed but opened his arms for a hug nonetheless. Clooney could barely contain his excitement at seeing Sean because he meant playtime. He meant splashing in the water and going out on canoe rides and hikes on the other side of the lake. Sean spelled adventure for the dog.

“I’ll get out of your hair. You guys look like you were looking for a love nest.”

“No, stay. It’s fine. We just got a few days off from work and had to stay close in case we get recalled.”

“I’m gonna drop my phone in the lake,” Derek said with a smirk. Aaron elbowed him in the ribs.

“You’ll do no such thing. Sean would you help us load in?”

The switchback down the trail was long and steep, but Clooney bounded ahead of them. The lake expanded before their eyes, deep blacks and greens exploding in their vision. It was still early in the morning, the sun had barely begun cresting the trees in the east and every twig that snapped beneath their feet seemed to echo.

“How long are you staying?” Sean asked, hefting the bags of groceries up the side steps and into the kitchen.

“Four days.”

“Awesome. I’ve been messing around with a few recipes, you can be my test audience. I’ve got this catering gig coming up and if I nail it, I might get a shot at the head chef position at this new restaurant opening up in Atlantic City.”

Aaron frowned. He wasn’t looking for any culinary adventures during his few days off, but far be it for him to discourage Sean. “You’re willing to move to New Jersey?”

“Why not? It’s a cushy job. Atlantic City is closer to family, too.”

“Not by much…”

“Aaron,” Derek warned, shaking his head. “Stop. This is great news! I’m just excited not to have to cook for a few days.”

“Cool! I really think you guys are gonna love what I’m working on. Even my pickier than a toddler brother.”

The minute they were loaded in, Aaron was lacing up his running shoes, ready to blow off some steam for a few long, slow miles. Derek and Sean decided to stay close and take the paddle boards out on the glassy morning water while Clooney lay in the pooling rays of sun as it heated up the floating dock. They spent hours paddle boarding and swimming and lying on the pebbly sand. Aaron even got into the water when he finished his run, the sand sticking to his sore sweaty feet before he entered.

By lunch time, they were all standing waist deep in the cool water with beers, sun on their shoulders, squinting against the glittering waves.

“Why are you really here, Sean?” Aaron asked, wiggling his toes deeper into the sand while tiny little fish skimmed his legs.

“Shawnee broke up with me.”

“Shawnee? I thought your girlfriend’s name was April.”

“April moved to L.A. a year ago Aaron. I’ve been seeing this chick, Shawnee, for about three months. I thought things were going good but she went back to her shithead ex. He’s in this stupid AC/DC cover band. Such a loser.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Aaron offered with a wet-handed pat on Sean’s shoulder. “Break ups are never easy.”

“Sure the fuck not! We got a cat and she kept him. I miss Mr. Snarfles.”

“Mr what now?” Derek asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Say that one more time.”

“Mr. Snarfles. He’s this huge fat tomcat we adopted.”

“Did she happen to give you your balls back when she dumped your ass or did she keep them as a souvenir?”

“Oh ha ha, very funny asshole. You’ve got a lot of nerve talking to me like that when you’re getting your dick sucked by my brother…”

Aaron coughed and sputtered a little while Sean and Derek erupted in laughter.

“I know, I know. Sean, don’t talk like that. It’s rude.”

“Oh, that was a perfect impression. You sounded just like him.” Derek was already completely relaxed after only a few hours out of town. He’d always gotten along with Sean and the longer that Derek and Aaron were together, the more Aaron became a sort of third wheel. Aaron started toward the beach, too flustered to respond kindly. He didn’t want to argue or get his feathers ruffled during his much too short vacation but Sean knew exactly how to get under his skin and he was dragging Derek into it. Dropping into the water and gobbling up the space between them quickly, he splashed right up to Aaron and wrapped him in a wet bear hug. “No, no, don’t go pout I’m sorry. Don’t go.”

“I don’t appreciate,” he started but Derek cut him off with a kiss. And another kiss. And he swayed there in the gentle waves with Aaron in his arms for a minute, until he felt those coiled muscles relax again.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Speak for yourself!” Sean called from where he still stood downing the rest of his beer happily.

The next day they took the boat out and ate lunch in the middle of the lake. Sean made a charcuterie board that Clooney couldn’t drag his attention away from. After they’d eaten their fill of cured meats and fruits and cheeses they swam and swam. Aaron had relaxed, Sean had eased up on the teasing, and they were all behaving like children unencumbered by the world. Clooney quickly began looking like the most responsible creature among them, lounging on the boat in the sunshine watching his people with something that looked a little like amusement.

After a lazy day on the boat relaxing, Aaron started feeling the itch to move. To be active and he decided it was time for a ride. It was something like tradition, he and Sean setting out on the winding dirt roads that would take them up up up the mountain – well, the oversized hill, anyway. As children they’d pretended to be Frodo and Sam on their way to Mount Doom, now they were just two middle aged men whose knees clicked and popped with every rotation of the wheels but the feeling of elation at the wind in their faces hadn’t changed. “You don’t mind?” Aaron asked Derek who was lounging on the couch with a book splayed open on his chest, a mug of coffee gone cold sitting on the floor beside him.

“Go on, have some fun. I’m gonna get some shut eye.”

The roads were familiar enough that Aaron could have traveled them in his sleep. The feeling of the dirt beneath his tires was freedom. When Sean was little, he would cling to Aaron’s back like a wild thing, strangling him with all his might. They didn’t make it much farther than the first switchback in those days but to them it felt like a thousand miles. By the time Sean had learned to ride without training wheels he could travel as far with Aaron as either of them wanted to go. They’d grown up together on those roads, had seen them go from game trails to gravel and finally settling at packed dirt that was easily traveled by car, bike or ATV. When the wild ones came out with their ATVs they dug up the roads, pitted it in places that were hard to see, made biking perilous.

Aaron, caught in a brief moment of wonder at an Eagle soaring overhead, managed to catch one particularly deep rut with his front wheel. Over the handlebars he flew into the brush, skidding to a halt among brambles and ground cover to the sound of Sean screaming his name.

“I’m okay,” he called when he heard the panic in Sean’s voice ringing through the trees. Sean calling his name like that trumped any pain he might be in, he had to get up, get back to the road, prove to Sean it was okay. He’d taken quick stock of himself and couldn’t detect any real injury (except maybe to his pride), so up he shot and walked briskly back out of the thicket before Sean could come in after him. He’d already dumped his bike on the side of the road and was running back at a frightening clip for a man who spent most of his adult life smoking a pack a day.

“Sit down!” Sean called, reaching his idiot brother and gasping for breath. “Seriously. Sit your ass down, my god. What is wrong with you?”

“I’m fine Sean.”

“You just flew over your handlebars, you need to sit before you pass out.”

Sean hollering in the middle of the serene woods did nothing to make him feel better about the situation, so to humor him, Aaron sat down on a fallen log that lay parallel with the road’s edge. His knees clicked loudly as he lowered himself onto the log and he felt a bolt of pain somewhere deep in his lower back. Sean began looking him over, brushing renegade chunks of sweaty blonde hair from his eyes every few seconds with a huff.

“Believe me yet Mr. Eagle Scout?” Aaron asked, a smile softening the edge of sarcasm in his voice. Sean just slid his backpack off of his shoulder and dropped it to the ground with a thud, unzipping it quickly. He was carrying the first aid kit and snacks, both of which he dumped out quickly onto the ground. An apple rolled into the rut Aaron’s bike lay in and Sean paid it no attention. He handed his brother a berry Capri Sun and watched as he struggled to get the straw into the foil before taking it from him and doing it himself. The cupboards were stocked with juice boxes and Capri Suns for Jack, but they made perfect quick little sugary drinks especially in an emergency.

Sean deemed this an emergency, whether his brother agreed or not.

“Drink it.”

“Sean…” Aaron protested weakly. He did feel lightheaded now that he was sitting down, now that his body was slowly easing itself down from the adrenaline rush. “Fine.”

“Does your neck hurt?”

“No.”

“Your back?”

“A little...I’m old Sean. My back always hurts.”

“You’ve got jokes.”

“Sean, I’m fine. A little sore but aside from my wounded pride I’m alright. Let’s just finish our ride okay?”

“You still want to ride?”

“It’s only a mile to the lookout. We came all this way to have lunch up there.”

Sean took in the sight of his brother, the already drying blood on his chin and the reassuring smile as he finished the last drop of his juice pouch. They could ride slow, eat their lunch, and if worst came to worst he could always call Derek to come get them in the car. They were in the middle of nowhere, but modern civilization had touched this tranquil place and they had cell phone reception. All in all, he didn’t feel good about it, but he would indulge his brother.

“For The Shire,” Sean said hesitantly. Aaron smiled and held out his hand for Sean to pull him upright. There was no way his body was doing that on its own.

“For The Shire.”

(x)

By the time they got back to the cabin, Aaron couldn’t hide his discomfort and didn’t really try. His back and shoulders were on fire and his head was pounding. He was a mess of scrapes and bruises, but they were both smiling and laughing as they dumped the bikes in the sand and kicked out of their sweaty, grimy shoes. Feet in the icy water, hands extended to accept ice cold beers. When Sean told Derek what happened he did it with an animated quality that made Aaron flush almost magenta before wading further into the water. The chill felt almost heavenly against his sore muscles.

“You’re a disaster magnet,” Derek muttered, taking in the sight of Aaron in the water. He would need a shower and some cleaning up, those skinned knees and the blood on his chin made him look like a child after a long hard summer day of adventuring. His hair stood up in messy, sweaty tufts where his helmet had smashed and mussed it. Reaching out, Derek pulled Aaron to him, eyes seeking the answer to a question he wasn’t going to ask.

“It was fun.”

“Yeah?”

Sean got the BBQ going out on the beach while Aaron napped off his afternoon excitement in the hammock with Clooney. He was beat and the unexpected flight had managed to finally catch up with him. The chill of the lake water had taken the edge off, and a nice shower afterward to clean himself up and bandage up the worse of it was all he needed to get himself back into full relax mode. A little worse for wear, but nothing he was concerned about.

His nap gave Derek and Sean time to drink beers and dig their feet in the sand and talk about heartache, just the two of them. Things were quiet, listening to the waves lapping against the shore, the sound of woodpeckers tapping at tree trunks, at leaves rustling beneath the gentle caress of the wind.

“I talk a lot of shit about you and my brother,” Sean said, half-drunk and lying all the way in the sand now. No towel or blanket, just his body in the sand. The smell of grilling meat was intoxicating but they still had time before it was done and he was well on his way to drunk after the stress of the day. After fearing the worst – how bad that wreck could have been, and how lucky they were that it wasn’t. That they got to finish their ride, enjoy each other’s company up there overlooking the lake and the trees. “But you guys seem really fucking happy. I’m jealous. I end up in all these shitty relationships and he gets lucky both times he tries.”

Derek smiled and sipped his beer. “Well, he did get divorced the first time around but point taken. I’ve been through my fair share of heart breaks and one night stands though. I get it. And you get that reputation for being a dirty dog but you’re just out there looking for something you can’t find...I hear you. You’ll find her.”

“You think you’re gonna marry him?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” came a weary, sleep sodden voice from somewhere close by. Wind skipped over the lake and the hammock rocked, disturbing Clooney. The dog made a pathetic warbling sound and stretched his legs before settling again. Aaron didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes.

“Depends,” Derek replied, not missing a beat. He never did.

“On what?”

“On whether or not you can get my mama’s peach cobbler right. Not hitchin’ my wagon to anyone who can’t whip up my favorite dessert.”

“Looks like you’re shit outta luck my friend,” Sean said with a laugh. He lit up a cigarette and watched it struggle to life against the wind, glowing orange in the dimming evening light. “He can’t cook for shit.”

“Ah well, he can do other things…” Derek mused while Sean made a disgusted noise and stood to go tend to the food. “I guess I can manage if there’s no cobbler.”

From where he lay still half asleep, Aaron smiled. He knew damn well he could make that cobbler.

(x)

Derek spent the night pouting while Aaron lay in bed reading. He maintained his insistence that he wasn’t injured, he was just sore. His body wasn’t exactly used to that kind of impact and he was far too old to bounce right back, injury or no. He could understand Derek’s dismal outlook and the way he moped around the room though. Usually they fucked for hours in the woods, anywhere and any time they wanted. He’d been looking forward to it after weeks of back to back cases and a forced celibacy spell. He didn’t regret that part, they wouldn’t cross that line while they were working, but it was supposed to be done now, and it wasn’t. Not because of the bike accident, either. No, it was worse than that. Derek pouted because Sean was there and Aaron simply wouldn’t do it with his brother in the bedroom beneath them.

“Sean thinks we’re up here fucking,” Derek protested, his erection painful in his boxers. “Why aren’t we?”

“He thinks we are, he doesn’t need to hear it.”

“Is it your back? You can just be honest...maybe we should go home and get you checked out.”

“My back is fine,” Aaron replied. And even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t admit to that now that Derek was bringing it up. “I just don’t want Sean to hear the bed squealing. These springs are loud.”

“We can go out on the deck, or into the shower, or stand right there against the wall…”

It never took long for Derek to wear him down. He wanted to just as bad as Derek did most of the time, and even now. Even when his lower back felt tight and achy and he just wanted to sleep the feeling of being hit by a truck away. His quiet hesitation turned into a sly smile on Derek’s face, he knew he’d worn Aaron down. It wasn’t ever too hard. The fights he put up were flimsy at best.

“C’mere,” he said, holding out his hand and helping Aaron stand. That part felt natural, pulling him close. Sharing space. He could see the stiffness settling in already, just in the time since they’d been upstairs. His joints were rusting up and when his face scrunched into something that looked like pain when he was finally upright, Derek decided to try and lighten things up. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispered. “Never seen anyone look hotter with a tore up face.”

Aaron shook his head and smiled into a kiss, one leading to another as clothing dropped to the floor. “You’re full of lies,” he whispered against Derek’s lips. “Say it again…”

“Mmmm…” came the moan when Aaron’s hand circled Derek’s cock. “You smell so good…”

“That’s the menthol cream you rubbed on my back…” Aaron whispered, smirking. Derek grunted halfway between pleasure and annoyance, but he wasn’t lying. He fucking loved the smell of that stuff, and he loved with Aaron was in one of those moods. “You like that?”

“UGH! GOD! SHUT UP!” came Sean’s voice from the hallway and both of them stifled childish laughter.

“Fuck off Sean!” Derek shouted back, thrusting his hips to ensure that Aaron stayed with him. Focused on the task at hand. He only dipped out momentarily at the sound of his brother’s voice, but the sound of the front door slamming shut told the that they now had the cabin to themselves.

The rest was easy. Fast and quiet, breathless bursts of affection littered between kisses and moans of pleasure. They fell into a rhythm that felt like it could last forever, and under different circumstances it might have. But Derek could tell that Aaron seemed to be losing steam, or maybe his back was starting to hurt just a little too much because his motions started lagging and his breathing was getting shallow and strained. He pushed Aaron up against the wall and with one hand on his own cock, he dropped to his knees and took Aaron into his mouth, finishing them both off with an ease that never ceased to amaze Aaron no matter how many times he did it. It was like a sixth sense.

The shower after felt like a treat, hot water against flushed skin and more kisses that might lead right back to where they started on any other night. Not tonight, though. Aaron was stiff and moving slowly, shifting his weight from leg to leg as he brushed his teeth, and it was time for bed.

“We’re heading back home tomorrow,” Derek said, tangling himself up in Aaron’s limbs and tucking the blanket up around them. “You’re going to the doctor and then we’re gonna have some uninterrupted sex. A lot of it.”

“Or we could just tell Sean to get out…this is my cabin.” Aaron paused, a sly smile drifting over his tired features. "Our cabin."

It was hard for Derek to breathe after that, hard for him to think about much of anything outside of jumping on top of Aaron and making one more attempt at sex. But he held back, he could feel Aaron's slow pulse, his quiet almost asleep breath and he sighed. Reality seeped back in. “The guy’s heartbroken. He needs the lake. I need you to myself.”

“What if the doctor says I shouldn’t have sex for a while? You know...to recuperate…” he laid that last part on thick,still smiling into the dark. Maybe hoping Derek would change his mind about even going to the doctor, but Derek just huffed indignantly and kissed Aaron’s shoulder.

"Doctors don't know everything.”

[the-down-upside-finch]

I was thinking about my characters recently and I got worried for a bit that one of my stoic characters wouldn't get mad at anything! Then I realized, "Nah, there are SOME select situations.." It was really fun!

SO! Pick a character of your choice (probably a more put-together character but it doesn't have to be!) and think about their Anger TM.

What would make them mad but would also be really funny and amusing to them?

What would send them into a wild rage? A tirade? Violence, if they're so inclined?

What would make them the kind of cold anger that would lead to months of plotting revenge?

What would make them "not mad, just disappointed"?

No pressure but I thought it'd be cool to pass the prompt around!

OH I LOVE THIS Thank you!!!

Because I've been hyperfixating on my new WIP as of late, I'm gonna do this for the main/more important characters in Feather Candles, which I'm going to put most of under a cut because I already know this is going to get very long haha

(Also I apologize for my awful formatting but this was just how my brain wanted these listed out)

Mad, but it's also funny:

Lark - This is an emotion specifically for when his sisters complain about his "bad habits," if they can be called that. "Can you please stop rolling up your sleeves? It's so obvious you're showing off." "I was actually just making sure I don't drag them through the food on the table but whatever." - Also whenever people ask why he's not courting anyone yet, he's just kind of like, "Hey I'm grieving the death of the person that was basically married to me. Can you leave me alone????" ~

Milo - If she accidentally trips on something/runs into something and someone says, "By the way, there's a chair right there," (or whatever it is), she will get mad, but she also has to laugh because it is kind of funny, despite it being at her own expense. There's more anger than amusement, but she'll still laugh a bit. ~

Peregrine - "You're way too young for/to be doing [X]!" Oh boy. This man is about to burst out laughing at your ignorance. The "anger" burning under his amusement is at the fact that someone is saying that without knowing just what he's been through. Sure, he's young—but he's had way too much life experience already. - This is also the emotion for when people tell him he's gonna die young because his magician's mark appeared when he was only six years old. He laughs with some bitterness because "Do you even know anything about how magic works?" But he's also a little peeved because he hates being reminded that yeah, this might actually be true. ~

El - This is his reaction to people making jokes about his lost memories. He knows it's a joke and can't help but laugh. He also is really stressed out that he can't remember who he was in service to or why he wields a sword. - This is also his reaction for people that poke fun at his body shape/build. He's just a tiny bit mad that someone would make a comment about his height/weight, but he laughs because he's well-aware that he could snap them in half like a twig.

Wild rage (and maybe violence):

Lark: - If someone dares to insult Brant's memory, that person is about to regret opening their mouth. (The duke of Halisin is probably not coming back to the dining hall any time soon, that's for sure.) - Likewise, if someone even hints at insulting either of his sisters, you can bet this man is about to break some bones. ~

Milo - She almost never reaches this point because if she ever reaches this level of emotion, she's more likely to get upset and start crying (and this is still extremely unlikely) than to feel true rage, but if you do something that betrays her trust, she'll start heading in the direction of screaming, "How could you do something like that?!" at you. ~

Peregrine - If someone hurts a person he cares about, you better believe he's slamming his tome as hard as he can against that someone's face. This is basically the only thing that will get him to snap because "Violence begets violence" or whatever, but he's actually got pretty good restraint when it comes to violence. Like, this man could easily just magically explode someone with lightning, but he'll choose to hit you with his tome. - His anger for not realizing something "obvious" (hindsight is 20/20 vibes) also falls into this category. Even if he's the first to make the realization, he'll still fly off the handle at the fact that he didn't figure it out sooner. Not in a physically violent way, but this is basically the only other time you'll hear him yelling and see actual rage in his eyes. ~

El - Do not hurt this man's friends. He will challenge you to a fight that you will not emerge from unscathed. - Do not insult this man's values. He will challenge you to a duel that you will not win.

Cold anger (with potential revenge):

Lark - This is how he feels in regard to that assassin that killed Brant. Dark, cold anger that will not leave him until he's avenged his friend—at whatever cost. ~

Milo - Someone insulting her abilities on the basis of something completely unrelated (like her sight). She won't necessarily plot revenge, but she might not speak to you again until you thoroughly apologize. ~

Peregrine - Nothing you do to him personally will get this man to feel this way. But if you do something to someone he cares about, you can bet that he's got a list in his mind of your personal weakness that he can exploit when it will hurt most. (But whether or not he's actually able to carry out revenge is a different story. His heart is too gentle for that sort of thing.) ~

El - Cold/lingering anger just isn't really his style. He'd rather get things off his chest so it's not bothering him—and maybe just have a fight to settle whatever it is that he's mad about.

Not mad, just disappointed:

Lark - Oh my sweet summer child. This poor broken boy. (I mean he's like twenty-eight years old but REGARDLESS) This is the "anger" he carries for himself, and himself alone. Everything that happened is all his fault, and he should have prevented all the bad things. (He fully believes that he's the reason that Brant died and that he could have saved him somehow.) - Also (we're not gonna get deep into this but) he's got this mentality that he's a disappointment to the queendom for being born a son to a queen. He does all the boring/useless tasks that his sisters don't have time for, and he's basically given free rein at all times to just leave the castle and wander around. (Seriously, how else is he supposed to feel after realizing that there was an assassin after him but they didn't increase reinforcements??) Like, he's not mad he was born in his situation, and maybe not even quite disappointed, but it's basically that. ~

Milo - Really stupid mistakes (especially where people got hurt) that could have been easily avoided. She's a tactician. Most of this disappointment is directed at herself. ~

Peregrine - Kind of odd(?), but this is kind of his attitude about threats and/or violence. Like, if there's a situation where someone is engaging in unwarranted violence (towards himself or someone else), he'll just sadly shake his head at them. "Are you trying to provoke me into fighting back? I could kill you with a simple wave of my hand, but you know I won't, so you're taking advantage of that. It's a bit pathetic, don't you think?" (No, this isn't in the "I'm trying to get under your skin" voice, this is the "I truly believe you are a good person and are capable of being better" voice.) ~

El - This is how he feels about Peregrine's unwillingness to "stand up for himself" (because what else are you supposed to call it when a man barely reacts to slurs being yelled at him???), as well as verbal violence in general. He finds it disappointing when people talk big and only talk big. If they can't even fistfight for what they're getting so worked up about, then why are they getting worked up about it? (Don't worry about El, he's fine.)

OKAY YEAH THAT WAS A LOT But that was fun! Thank you for this prompt, I enjoyed it a lot!

Also I'mma tag @my-cursed-prince because hey friendo wanna see some goofy character stuff???

[httpshujii]

ONE BED !

Suguru x f!reader

ᯓ Classic one bed trope.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

With Suguru’s broad build filling up the narrow door frame, you couldn’t tell what seemed to bother him all of a sudden. What would bother him anyways considering the hotel you guys will be staying at has every fancy aspect you can think of.

An onsen, a world class restaurant, and even a whole theater that fits over a thousand people for God’s sake. So what is the issue with the shiniest hotel in all of Japan?

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m changing the room.”

“What? Why?!”

But he isn’t even listening, already dialing away on his phone, most probably calling Yaga to complain about whatever reason there is.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong or not?”

“Why won’t he answer his shitty phone?!”

“Geto Suguru!”

“Huh?”

You like him? Speaks the voice in your head. And with a roll of your eyes, you purse your lips as a frown tugs at your lips, “What’s bothering you so much to the point where you want to change the room?”

And that’s when the male’s pale skin reddens, a veiny hand covering half his face, a groan of a bothered soul escaping his throat, “There’s…there’s only one bed.”

“Huh.”

You shake your head, you didn’t hear him right…right?

He sighs and pushes you ahead of him. Now with the room in your view, your heart drops at the sight of a small couch, a desk, and a single king sized bed, “Oh.”

“Yaga I’m gonna commit heinous crimes on you.” You grit out as you hold your phone against your ear.

“Why?”

“You booked us a room with one bed! That’s why!”

Suguru plops against the bed and groans into the sheets as you continue taking your pajamas out from the mini suitcase you carried.

“I didn’t book the room.”

A long, very, extremely, uncomfortable silence lingers around you. Oh fuck no.

“I’m sorry, I’ll call you back later.”

Quickly hanging up you scroll through your contacts pressing on a certain someone’s and the call rings three times before he finally answers.

“I’m going to put you in a pit of spiky rocks then proceed to pour lava on your skinny body of nothing but paper thin skin and fragile bones.”

“You love me so much~”

Of course Gojo would book a room in the richest hotel and of course he’d put you and Suguru in one bedroom with one bed.

“When I catch you Satoru…” He giggles instead, you can just imagine that stupid smirk on his face and how he’s probably buying some sweets considering the sounds of people and cars beeping in the background.

“I’m doing the both of you a favor, you should thank me instead of threatening my existence.”

“You’re so funny, I’m dying.” You snap out, injecting as much sarcasm as you can into your comment.

“Anyways, I should get going and you, Miss I Have The Biggest Crush On Gojo’s Hot Best Friend, should go and snuggle up with him, no?”

“I’m gonna eat you.”

“Cannibalism is frowned upon here-”

And with that, you hang up and toss your phone on the bed, “And obviously he won’t change the room because we’re broke and he’s basically rubbing his money in our faces.”

“Mhm.”

Suguru finally picks himself up after a considerable amount of time, as if he’s relishing in the comfort of the bed, “I��ll take the couch.”

“Half of you won’t even fit.”

“I’ll make myself fit.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Am not.”

“Look at me?” And he does, he takes every single chance to look at you when you’re talking or not, when you’re paying attention in class or not, when you’re walking or not. He watches you whenever he can and he’ll never, ever get bored.

You point at yourself, spinning around in a slow 360, “Are you aware of my size?”

“Yes.”

“And I’d fit better on the couch don’t you think?”

“Yes but the bed is comfier.”

“Doesn’t matter-”

“It does.”

“Don’t. Don’t interrupt me next time please.”

“…”

“…”

“But it’s comfier-”

“Damn it Suguru, just take the stupid bed.”

“No thanks.” “I’ll bite your knee caps.”

“I’m older than you and you should listen to me.”

He’s so sassy sometimes.

“By a month?”

“Still older.”

“I hate you.”

“No you do-…Okay wha- what’re you doing?”

He holds back a laugh, crossing his arms as he looks down at your laying body. There you are, in all your stubborn glory, laying down on the rugged floor with your arms crossed over your chest. “I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to, you’re taking the bed.”

“You know I can just carry you right?”

“If you do, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Worth a shot.”

It’s late, and it’s settled, you’re gonna cramp yourself onto the couch. Despite the tightness, it’s kinda nice. Or at least that’s what you try to tell yourself because the brick that’s holding your body is not helping.

But you shall resist! You nuzzle into the pillow, the only semblance and replacement for your bed back at Jujutsu Tech.

“You sure you don’t want the bed? It’s warm.” Despite the sincerely concerned tone in his voice, you can’t help but feel like he’s egging you on.

“No thanks. Enjoy it.”

With your back facing him, you rely on your hearing to conclude that he’s finally going to snuggle into that cloud of a bed and enjoy a good night’s sleep. But no.

You should’ve known that with Suguru’s generous nature would not allow you to sleep on the couch peacefully, you should’ve known that he’d carry you no matter how many times you kick and squirm in his hold, claiming that he’d drop you, you should already know that he will never, ever, drop you, and you shouldn’t be aware of how painfully hard his heart is pounding against his chest but that’s a little hard considering you were basically sandwiched against him.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“You’re gonna complain tomorrow morning and I don’t want to hear it.”

That’s a lie, he loves when you complain.

“That’s not my problem.”

“Just- please? We can put a pillow in between us…”

That seems to shut you up and with a sigh of relief, you succumb to the urges. With his promise kept, he places a pillow between you. And as morning rolls around, Suguru can't help the heat that engulfs him at the sight of the pillow long gone and instead your little body nuzzling against his.

@b0nten : IM SO SORRY IT TOOK THIS LONG

[minseologs]

rage pt. 2/2

part 1

TW// Violent themes

Allegro ma non troppo

At that point of my life, I could tell when it, or what would, trigger me. It was mostly when an overwhelming feeling of grief and anger came over me. I could control it half of the time with the help of spending time on my own to get peace. I didn’t even need the medications. It isn’t just when I am angry but if I were overwhelmed with something like joy, I would hold someone else’s hand by force. It was rare as I didn’t allow anyone else to come close to me for a very long time. Even then, it would always win. The intrusive thought, I suppose. I have to thank my son for how far I’ve come. If it weren’t for him, I probably would’ve been a loose screw every time. It came back to me recently. I’ll probably write another note like this. If the case that you find this as my last, please know I’m probably killed else where. My current enemies are the ones sitting in CRM right now.

She watches her mess being cleaned, the worry in her secretary’s face was evident as she watches the two-year-old being held by a calm Minseo. 

“I apologize for telling this to you now, I know you’d rather prefer I get straight to the point than beating around the bush,” Her secretary cleans up the glass shards in her office, the one she had thrown out of fit. It was a miracle she didn’t receive a scratch. “Your father is concerned about you and the safety of Jinwoo.” 

“He didn’t care then, why would he care now?” because Jinwoo could carry the family name. “I’m fine.” 

“Miss Choi I understand that the engagem-”

“Don’t.” Her voice was stern. And her decision to come after was final. “Let it die down. Let people assume and I will eventually move on. For now I need to focus on raising Jinwoo. That’s all that matters if I want this shit-show to be buried. Do I make myself clear?”

With no arguments, the man could only sigh and continue. The child wriggles in her arms, coddling for warmth in the presence of his mother. 

-

I did fairly well these past couple of years, truth be told. In a single moment of decision, everything had changed. I’m confessing this here because as always, I just feel as though this is the kind of information that should be buried with me but needs to be told somehow. After papa had killed my son, and in turn, I had killed him-- everything stopped. As in, I feel as though I’m suffering in some kind of limbo that can’t be snapped out by a simple pill or a time on my own. In fact, I find that more dangerous now. Nowadays I let it consume me. 

"DO NOT GO AGAINST ME!!” the man paces angrily, closing in the distance between themselves. It was one of the members in the CRM’s board of directors. “I will not let you destroy what your father made and you will certainly listen to me--” 

Something in her finally boils over with the attempt to dishearten her. It did work for a little while, though. He grabs her elbow with force, turning her around with a whiplash that causes her to land a punch intentionally. Minseo uses her body weight to tackle him, raising her fist to land another hit on his face as a tooth was spit out. The pain quickly becomes evident on her knuckles as the surface becomes skinned with the bones it protected underneath. The man wasn’t attempting to fall back either, attempting to injure one way or another. He went for an eye that cuts into the end of her brow. Somehow that triggered a memory in her— It was reminiscent of the time Hyeseo had attempted to kill Minseo, seeing the man weak and helpless made her remember the night where she was also the same way. It felt fun deep down, it was like high school where she wanted to fight back against her bullies. With a bruised eye and a bloodied lip, she finally relents and makes a warning. 

“I’m going to remind you who’s in charge now,” she huffs, adjusting her dress to keep her from staring at the injuries. “I will give you a week to take your things out and construct a letter of resignation. You can lose a job here, or lose it everywhere. I dont need to remind you what I can do, do I make myself clear?” The commotion causes the car lot attendant to come, concerned about the man’s bloody face and her state. It was just as bloody. The director praises in rescue, but her face was neutral as he raises a walkie-talkie. 

The car attendant requests for back up, using a code to demand assistance and clean up for Minseo’s mess. She leaves the scene before everyone else witnesses her fury, being noted that every track will be erased. 

-

“Ah! Miss Choi--!!” the house attendant was stunned seeing her face. “I’ll get--”

She speeds through the basement coughing out her nervousness, preventing the house attendant to become the next target and see what she sustained for the day. The room was filled with a wall full of weaponry, wine bottles and a quaint amount of area to study. She screams her head off and throws her bag against the wall, shaking her hands out of fear the she’s about to destroy this room. Her head felt light, the stinging pain of the wounds have now been strongly evident.

Deep Breath. Deep Breath. That’s what I’ve been told to do. Suppress it. It prevented me from hurting myself, both intentionally and unintentionally. It always ends the same. I scream out so loud and try not to grip my hair, throw something, punch something, drown myself in alcohol-- which one of those I have already failed to not do. On the bright side, no poor violin is destroyed. So here it is, the cycle begins again. Like coming to a footnote with its next line. But for me, it feels like a violin’s bow needing to be replaced. The rosin dust reminiscent of my violence as a new bow representing myself hits the strings that is my life. A new piece begins. There is no denying that I will remain the same from the start, however.

Tempo primo.

[fluorynn]

*squeals high pitched* How I adore this series endlessly 🥹🥹🥹 First things first, the dividers are LOVELY !!! I’ve yet to reblog the previous chapters because of how slightly long my rant is of the chapters !!!! But, I’ll let myself release this one rather quickly !

Neteyam and you had a complicated history to say the least. Your love for him has grown with you. From a child's softly sewed heart, patchwork pieces of moonlight and magic and sweet things.

Chasing each other across shin-deep streams and unmeasured mindgames. Innocence unrestrained by a child's imagination.

You were a wild child. Unafraid of unruly sensations that snap and scratch at the scarred skin stretched on your bones. You were taller than Neteyam until you were 11, despite him being older. You remember him looking up at you with all the wonder in the world

And then you grew older, shamefully throwing yourself into his arms.

Within the depths of your bliss, you found a sanctuary with him. Newfound effervescence, two souls choking on their words to describe each other’s beauty. You remember chasing eachother through the forest after sundown, catching the colors caught in the sky, hues of red and orange bargaining for dominance as the sky stretched into indefinite lengths.

…

Liquid glass visions and sweet tasting sunlight, bright orange arrows greedily repel the monochrome traces that perturbed from the daylight hours,

He swore to you.

He looked you in your eyes and he swore to you.

He would protect you. No matter what.

Thoughts of you were sanctified.

He told you he would take you anywhere you desired.

The disparity in it all was hollow promises.

The preciseness and literature used in your writing — it will never, and I mean NEVER, fail to create imagery.

Okay !!

The argument with Spider — I can comprehend both sides of Spider and the reader . Of course, though, it was Spider’s choice of words that sent this argument high rocketing — and it’s understandable why the reader just left before he could finish what he was going to say — I’d done the same thing as well.😭😭

Jake — the way you embody him is just perfection. There is never a moment in this series where I do NOT see him saying or doing the things he does. From him taking care of the reader, asking her if she’s alright, making a practical joke, or this ! :

"Are you okay, YIn? Really, be honest with me, kiddo."

His voice was softer this time, laced with concern and honesty.

You sighed.

"I had an argument with Spider."

Jake sighed, as if he were relieved.

"Thank god."

You sat up, confused to say the least.

"Why is that a good thing?"

"Well I'm just happy it's that and someone's not messing with you. wouldn't want to have to throw punches."

You rolled your eyes.

Please. You know I'd fold anyone anyday."

Jake gave you a hearty smile, running a hand down your back.

"Damn straight. My money's on you."

You chuckled weakly, feeling the tiredness wash over you.

Jake rose to his feet, looking at you one more time before leaving.

"Get some sleep, sweetheart. And eat your damn food.'

It’s just so …. JAKE😭😭 you adding the ‘sweetheart’ and the half hearted ‘and eat your damn food’ is something I strongly hear him saying XD

Moving on to Neteyam’s POV !!

‘Have you ever woken up feeling like you could pull the moon out of the sky with your bare hands and gift it to the most beautiful person you had ever seen??? Have you ever woken up feeling like even the smallest of shifts in the wind sang someone’s name?? Have you ever woken up feeling like one singular soul could somehow hold my existence in her palm with such ease?? Have you ever woken up feeling like the air is a bit lighter? Like the sky is a bit brighter?

Maybe it’s just me. But ever since last night..Ever since iv’e earned her trust back, I’ve felt as if I could brivet around the forest like a brainless fool, just basking in the absurdity of this amorevolous haze.

Did I mention she hugged me-??? Just wrapped her arms around me mid of my sentence. Eywa, if she was an ocean I'd drown in her.

Well…

In conclusion, baby boy is thoroughly, deep, purely, and dumbfounded-ly in the depths of love🤧 as if it hasn’t been obvious in previous chapters 😆😆 and I tremendously ADORE how you capture it. How after that moment of the hug shared ( engaged by reader, which makes it even more meaningful to Neteyam ) everything is just vibrant and prominent to him. He’s content, he’s happy, he’s relieved, he’s hopeful — he’s in love.

ALSO — I’VE PERHAPS MENTIONED THIS BEFORE BUT, EVERY INTERACTING MOMENT HE HAS WITH TUKTIREY NEVER FAILS TO AUTOMATICALLY PUT A SMILE ON MY FACE — one of the many reasons I live for this story. ( the power you carry, @sunofpandora 🤧🥹)

When Neytiri asks him if he slept alright — and the dreaminess and happiness is evident just …. everywhere on him 😭 AND JAKE CHECKING IF NETEYAM’s STROKING OUT AJAHSKDKDKDKS😭

I love LOVE LOVE how you put in a bit of Neytiri and Jake’s affection and love 🥹🥹

‘ Since when was watching my mother and father flirt so heartwarming? ’

SINCE ALWAYSJSIKEJEHSJSSJSH.😖

…

“Kiri, how did you sleep?”

Kiri yawns, rebraiding one of the braids that fell on the side of her messily layered hair to frame her face'

"Well, Y/n wasn't here so there was no one I could rant to at midnight about the hypocrisy in our culture surrounding our misanthropic beliefs as a clan and the refusal to collate and unwillingness to adapt."

She takes another sipt out of her waterskin, speaking as if she was explaining how to count to 3.

My mother smiles, clearly pretending to understand her.

"So...you slept well?"

Kiri sighs defeatedly, tying off the braid with the small band in her hand.

"Yes mother, I slept like a baby.

If this wasn’t me with my own mother😭😭😭😭😭 I share Neteyam’s reaction with this exchange between Neytiri and Kiri 😭😭😭😭

Tuk and Lo’ak not far behind him. Tuk was doubled over, trying to support a limp-limbed Lo’ak with her smaller body, he’s mimicking my earlier joke with Tuk,

Noises of annoyance and in need of aid leave her as she struggles under Lo’ak’s weight.

“Lo’ak! You’re too heavy! Neteyam is funny when he does it!” She whines, attempting to push him off of her’

Lo’ak clutches his chest, as if he’s having a heart attack. “Oh eywa! I see the light!” He raises both arms up towards the sky, as if some divine presence was going to scoop him up into it’s arms and take him away.

“Take me, great mother!”

Tuk lets out a scream as Lo’ak tumbles atop her.

“That’s enough, you two. Lo’ak, get offa’ your sister.”

(^^ I just love the addition of Jake’s accent — )

Oh how I love the dynamic differences between Lo’ak and Tuk and Neteyam and Tuk.😭😭 Lo’ak and his playful dramatic tactics — it’s just heartwarming!!

Neteyam and Lo’ak interaction :

“Good morning baby bro.”

I swing my arm around him, ruffling at his braids. He stills his motion of munching into his slice of fruit, glancing up at me with a confused, cautious stare. As if my odd demeanor was an active minefield.

“Uhm. Hi..”

He side-eyed me curiously. Like my happiness was disgustingly contagious.

[ Lo’ak portraying Neteyam’s infamous side eye as to why his big brother’s all chirp and interactive this early in the morning. 😆😭]

I shrug, snatching a slice of fruit from his little leaf he had arranged his stack of food on. The moment my teeth sink in, I'm slapped with the taste of sugared honey mixed with sunshine and sweet nectars. The flavor is resplendent. An unexpected soft groan leaves me as the juices trickle down my lips, I wipe them with my forearm. Why did everything today taste so much sweeter than usual?

Lo'ak stares at me as if he's abhorred with my behavior.

"Dude…what the hell.”

My ears flick upwards as turn to face the rest of the family, who's now looking at me like l'm the epitome of bizarreness.

My father snickers, helping Tuk peel her small fruit.

"Neteyam, should we give you and your fruit a moment alone."

Lo'ak shivers, clearly uncomfortable. "Bro. could you not moan into your food in front of my breakfast."

Mother hisses at both of them, passing a cut open fruit to Kiri, who as usual seems unbothered with our family’s shenanigans.

“Both of you, leave him be. He is happy.”

I can always count on mama.

Lo’ak shoots me a look.

“Why?”

I shrug.

“Why not? We have food, a family, a roof over our heads, we’re safe and happy, a strong clan and a lovely home.”

The woman I would die for no longer hates my guts. Hey, life is pretty good.

My mother smiles at me.

“See? You are not ill. One who takes time to appreciate all the great mother has given us is not sick.”

I adore Neytiri so much 🥹🥹😭😭

I turn to Loak as soon as I hear him speak.

"That doesn't include me, right?"

He points at himself, a cocky smirk forming on his lips.

My dad glared at him.

"That means especially you. Ever since you could walk I had to pull you away from the poor girl kicking and screaming. And I am NOT about to do it again now that you're this big. It's a bad look for me."

( BAHAHAHAHJSJDKDKDJD — oh how I see this strongly occuring 🤣🤣 )

"That just shows we're not supposed to be away from one another. It's a sign from eywa. And you know I don't play with the big lady upstairs."

Loak presses his lips on two fingers before reaching his hands up as if he's kissing the sky.

My dad gives him a final warning look before he surrenders.

MOVING ON TO THE LOVELY MO’AT 😁😁😁

Mo°at returned from her morning meetings with the clans healers, a long sigh dragged from her lips as she muttered complaints to herself, sitting down Slowly.

You loved how she could make you laugh without effort.

"Something wrong?"

She waved off your concern, starting to gather some of the loose bowls strung around and stacking them in her arms.

«you know Menari??" She glances up at you, her tail flicking behind her.

You nod, a smile creeping up your face.

She sighed with irritation.

Overmixed the herbs I tasked her with preparing because she was making eyes at Kalun."

Ah yes, clan gossip. Who better to deliver such scandals than Tsahik herself?

You rolled your eyes, giggling at her exaggeration.

…

*Nothing. Loak you're going to have children and a mate because I demand great-grandchildren."

A bust of a laugh leaves you, and you shove Lo'ak, who now stares at Mo°at in disbelief.

"And who are you to demand that i have kids?"

"The tsahik of this clan."

You smirk triumphantly, smacking the back of Lo'aks head, earning a hiss from him.

"You're screwed, bro.

Loak leans back, sighing dramatically.

It's so hard being sexy...I guess everyone wants me."

It was your turn to gag, clutching your hand lightly around your throat to sell the idea.

"Not everyone."

Mo'at sighs, as if recalling a memory that could only be one of her fondest.

"You know who everyone wanted? Your grandfather, now that's a story-«

You and Loak both groaned in sync.

And yes. I see the visual, the perfect painter picture — I applaud, and praise your way of thinking 🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️

( LO’AK’S STORY TO READER ABOUT HIM HELPING TUK AND HER COMMENTARY HAD ME ROLLING ON THE GROUND WITH LAUGHTER 😭😭😭😭 I love your attentiveness to detail — how you wrote it was reader who shaved Lo’ak’s head🤣😭🤣😭 )

"About what!?"

"About you!"

You were quiet for a moment.

"Because I should care when you start to love, or like or feel for someone! Because you're like a sister to me. Because you're the one I can come to when I fuck up with my dad or feel like l'm screwing everything up. You're the one I can come to when the others are giving me a bunch of shit about being Neteyam's perfect little brother, or whatever.

And yes, it's so fucking weird to see my brother staring at you like you're the most important thing on this entire planet. But you know what? It makes you happy. Am I gonna give you and Neteyam shit about it? Of course I am! It's fucking disgusting. But you know what? It makes you both happy. So I can't do a damn thing, and I don't want to.

Am I gonna wanna kick his ass when he screws up?

Of course I am. Am I gonna sit next to you and listen to you cry and scream and do all that angry relationship stuff that people do? Abso-fucking-lutely I am.

But you're both still disgusting and full of love diseases."

And now it all made sense. Lo'ak was your person.

Half your heart in the form of a living soul.

To feel someone in such truth it aches.

And it wasn't romance. It wasn't sex or lust. It was a different kind of love.

The kind that meant that you could share a hammock with him and fight every urge not to kick him off when he starts to snore. The kind that meant you were the only one who trusted to braid his hair because neytiri wasn't gentle enough and Jake was out of the question. The kind that meant that you had his back, and he had yours.

You were his and he was yours. Sentiments are sensitive and romance is rigged but this went beyond fairytale endings. Because you knew he would always stand next to you, tangled at the roots.

And when the world seemed to be made out of nothing but unkept promises and sterling stained heartbreak, rusting off to a sickly shade of green that once shimmered gold, you found him.

And he was stupid and you loved him and his stupid stupidity that often led him to do stupid things, and of course you would always do them right along with him because he always said he didn't want to die looking dumber than you.

Oh my fucking gosh I just — your skill to encapsulate reader’s bonds with each Sully member( including Spider!)— this one, by far, is my ultimate ultimate favorite. every single moment written with the others are my favorite — yet this one is so…vehement, immaculate, and pure. people are just inexplicably bonded — like reader and Lo’ak. If there’s more than one soulmate, Lo’ak is definitely one of them, and you’ve done such precious job with this portrait , Sol.

You never cease to make one feel every single syllable within everything you create. Especially when it is something one’s come close to or has exactly experienced ( at least, that’s what I feel and see!)

There's a rawness in your words, a beautiful combination of simplicity and poetry that i can vividly feel - it has me wanting to reread it again and again just by how understandable and amazing your writing is :) Everyone, another amazing chapter by the lovely Sol 🌅 <33

 V I R A G O                   

Chapter 4

Neteyam x fem!omaticaya!reader

Nice Going, Romeo

𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼/𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼/𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼/

»»———–➤»»———–➤»»———–

Chapter four synopsis: After years of tension, Y/n and Neteyam have finally made up and have agreed to re-establish their friendship. Because of the chaotic events of the last few days, Y/n hits her breaking point due to all the stress and has an argument with Spider. Meanwhile, Neteyam basks in his lovesick haze.  »»———–➤»»———–➤»»———–➤»»———–➤»»

WARNINGS:

Mentions of a stroke??? (its a joke)/Lo’ak and Y/n being platonic soulmates/ mentions of cutting hair/ mentions of anxiety and grief/ I think that’s it??

Author’s Note

My beautiful readers! Goodness, it's been a  minute hasn't it?? I actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter. D0 you like my new dividers?? I thought the arrows were on theme hehe. Also, they really help space out the details, warnings and synopsis area a lot more so everything up here isn’t so chunky. Comments and reposts are much appreciated as usual.  

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺𖦹₊⋆⁺☀︎₊

The room is dimly lit, no thanks to the shitty lamp that emanated a sickly shade of yellow on the small bedside table next to Spider’s bunk. 

High camp was silent. The rest of the clan had retired to their homes for sleep. The atmosphere tonight is cinematically melancholy. Thick shadowy mist, like the kind that falls just before a thunderstorm. 

Spider has been sleeping for the last few hours. Water and food kept close by on a tray on the floor. 

So much has happened since the accident. Your intervention with Neteyam, your new appointed position as a teacher, the weight of it all still heavy on your chest.

Neteyam and you had a complicated history to say the least. Your love for him has grown with you. From a child's softly sewed heart, patchwork pieces of moonlight and magic and sweet things. Chasing each other across shin-deep streams and unmeasured mindgames. Innocence unrestrained by a child’s imagination. 

You were a wild child. Unafraid of unruly sensations that snap and scratch at the scarred skin stretched on your bones. You were taller than Neteyam until you were 11, despite him being older. You remember him looking up at you with all the wonder in the world

And then you grew older, shamefully throwing yourself into his arms. 

Within the depths of your bliss, you found a sanctuary with him. Newfound effervescence, two souls choking on their words to describe eachothers beauty. You remember chasing eachother through the forest after sundown, catching the colors caught in the sky,  hues of red and orange bargaining for dominance as the sky stretched into indefinite lengths. 

Liquid glass visions and sweet tasting sunlight, bright orange arrows greedily repel the monochrome traces that perturbed from the daylight hours, 

He swore to you. 

He looked you in your eyes and he swore to you.

He would protect you. No matter what. 

Thoughts of you were sanctified.

He told you he would take you anywhere you desired. 

The disparity in it all was hollow promises.

 You sit up, your ears catching the sound of the blanket that draped across Spider’s body slipping off to the floor.

“You’re awake.”

You wasted no time. You stood up from your sitting spot in the corner to kneel next to the cot he laid on.

He sat up with a groan, his eyes lazily blinking to adjust to the light.

“Hey.”

He whispered, patting your leg.

You cracked a smile, buty it faded when your gaze drifted to his bandages.

“Does it hurt?” You whispered. 

He shakes his head.

“Nah. I think Norm and Max gave me something for pain.”

You nodded, slowly. Shifting to rest on your knees.

He allocated steps of silence for you to rest your words. But for some reason, you couldn’t find them.

It confined itself in your throat. The feverent sting of tears and bronze and venom gathered in dark corners of your heart.

“What?”

You whispered, waiting for him to explain why he was staring so intently.

“I don’t know. You’re quiet. You're shaking. And you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I almost did. Because of your stupid ass.”

He let a rough breath out, glowering in annoyance.

“Y/n. Everything was fine. I fell. You’ve never fallen?”

“Because I had my ass half-hanging out of a broken aircraft? No, actually.”

Your voice textured itself with all the harshness that rewired into carcass of throned fear. The heaviness in your chest is still embedded, sacred and silent but not senseless. 

His gaze tremors in a pattern between you and the floor.

You leaned back, a choked breath leaving your lips.

“Spider, tonight I thought was the last time I’d ever see you breathing.”

He shook his head, trying to reassure you.

“I’m fine. Look at me-

It’s just a few bruises.”

“That’s not the point, dumbass! It could have been worse.”

Spider had nothing to say to that. He reveled in the silence that thickened the air.

“I’m not a little kid anymore. I don’t need you to come to my rescue.”

Those words wound you even more when in his eyes you see he’s debating whether he regrets them or not.

Spider was older than you. And you were always told stories of how your mother saw a child alone in a great big world regardless of whether he was a human or not. It broke her heart.

Growing up, you always threw yourself into fights for Spider.

Refusing to play games with other children that called him names. Learning at the ripe age of 8 how to make sure he had a spare pack whenever he left the shack, and how to hook it up to his mask, thanks to Max and Norm.

You and Lo’ak running through the forest to collect new fruits to use as dye to paint his skin, hoping the  azure streaks and stripes would stain his skin.

It was funny, really. How he was protective of you despite you being the one that was taller, stronger, faster.

You knew spider was grateful for your parents. He loved them like his own. Mourned them so heavily when they left this world and moved on to the next. But you also knew it wasn’t easy.

It wasn’t easy being a human in a clan that was still healing. It wasn’t easy being the son of Miles Quaritch. 

When the world around him seemed like a sword, you became a shield.

A habit you had picked up since childhood. You pride yourself on never mistaking any part of his for weakness.

But how could you not feel solicitous?

When you and your world felt too big, and he looked too small, when even the air denied him to breathe freely?

The ache in your chest is almost firstful, palpable in immediacy of the realization that he had become the sword in this moment.

Your tone clawed and mangled with the pain that was morphing into anger.

“If you don’t want me to rescue you, don’t almost kill yourself.”

You hissed, your mind snatching the sense of guilt from his earlier remark.

He scoffs.

“Oh of course. As usual, you’re the hero and I’m just the human you’re in charge of keeping on a leash.”

“I wouldn’t have to keep you on a fucking leash if you used your brain once in a while.

And what the fuck does that mean?”

Spider sits up a little more, glaring at you.

“You’ve always been perfect. Put a bow and arrow in your hand and the clan thinks you’re some deity from the heavens sent to protect everything that breathes.”

That was unnecessary. And really fucking immature.

“Don’t glorify me. And don’t ever hold my dedication to protect my people against me.”

“No one asked you too! It was all the sudden you were training with Jake. Next thing you know your Lucy the fucking Lutientent or some shit. Would it kill you for once; to not be the hero? Would it kill you to-“

Before he could finish, you snatched the picture on the bulletin board next to some photos Norm and Max had hung up in the shack where spider slept. 

It was a picture of a spider had taped up on the wall when he was a child.

A picture of your mother holding him on her hip, smiling for max behind a camera as he insisted on taking a picture of them. 

The picture hurt you to look at. How young your mother looked. Your mother had always been beautiful. But something about the her glow, evident of her early years of motherhood and healing after the war.

You shoved it into his chest, watching his eyes widen as he scrambled to hold it.

“Would it kill me? It won’t kill me, but this war killed her. So my apologies if I refuse to let it kill you, or anyone else I care about.”

Spider was stunned. He stared at you, his eyes shadowed with regret.

You stood to your feet, mocking his glare from a few seconds ago.

“I know you didn’t ask for this. But guess what? I didn’t either.”

“Y-“

You didn’t even want to hear him speak, much less listen to him berate you about apologizing for a mess you were only trying to fix.

You turned for the door, ducking under the top frame, minding that it was not made for Na’vi to enter and go as they please.

You felt like the floor was being torn open with each step as the feeling of cool wooden metal tiles turned into the grassy patches outside the shack.

You jumped down the steps, grounding yourself both mentally and physically  on the familiar air of the high camp, the night’s scent thick with high emotions and heartache.

The meds Norm and Max gave Spider must have some kind of mind altering drug side effects because he knew better than to raise his tone with you.

You and spider never fought.

Well, that wasn’t true. But when you did, it never got to a point of either of you leaving without resolving it.

You ran your hands through your braids, tugging lightly at the ends.

You wished the night would just swallow you hole, you paced around in a circle, cursing under your breath.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fucking-

Fuck!”

You rasped, reaching for the natural stone wall that encaved high camp. Steadying yourself with deep breaths.

You finally manage to soothe yourself just enough to imagine that entire encounter went much smoother.

Eywa, how you yearned for nothingness at this moment. 

You loved Spider, but sometimes he opens his mouth and suddenly you're one step closer to considering alcoholism.

“Y/n?”

You spin around on your heel, hand instinctively resting on your knife handle, prepared to defend yourself, your stance stiffened, your tail curling protectively around your leg.

“Easy kiddo. It’s just me.”

Jake arands with a hand resting on his waist as he peers down at you. 

You let out a breath you weren’t sure how long you were holding.

“What is it with your family and sneaking up on me!?”

You whisper-yelled, trying not to wake the whole clan.

Jake rubs the back of his neck, his tail swaying awkwardly.

The night air takes a tenor of star-strung sounds that harmonize with the of the imbricating symphonies of pandora’s nocturnal life. 

Jake gestured back to the shack.

“Are you all done there?”

“How long were you standing there?”

You couldn’t help but sound slightly accusatory. You hoped he wasn’t eavesdropping on you and Spider. 

You don’t really want Jake pushing himself where he didn’t belong.

He shrugs.

“About 30 seconds.”

You let out a sigh, running a hand down your neck, the motion an attempted anodyne to calm your nerves.

“What are you even doing here? It’s late?”

You query, tilting your head.

He paused before answering.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay, Y/n. You had one hell of a day.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms.

Were you the happiest with Jake right now?

No. Not really.

Why? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he has been planning on setting you up to train either Makeyo or Neteyam for weeks without informing you. You thought he valued you as a warrior. For your skill. For your courage. For your vigor and vigilance. To be tossed into a position without as much as a warning? Has he lost respect for you? Maybe Spider was right. You were a sword. Forged from fire and bloodshed and grief.

Eywa had to be fucking with you. Why is that when one argument with a sully ends, another one comes from around the corner.

“I’m fine Jake. Neve better.”

Jake sighs, running a hand down his face.

“Y/n, sweetheart, I know I should have told you sooner. I know. But this was my best option.”

“Not even a warning?? Not even a heads up?? the fact that you had already decided I was going to become someone’s teacher before deciding who I was going to teach! You just kept running in between Makeyo or Neteyam.”

Jake looked down for a moment, he had no excuse for why he did it, allowing the regret to inchoate into him.

Your voice was a whisper now. Hoarse and exhausted, contrast to your usual pragmatic approach to speaking with Jake.

He was your superior. The Olo’eyktan of your clan. A leader.

“Do you think I’m not strong enough anymore?”

 Jake shook his head, placing a hand on your shoulder, leaning down slightly.

“Y/n. Listen to me. You are one of the strongest warriors this clan has ever seen. You fight with honor. But you can’t keep throwing yourself into fire over and over again. And if you have to, you’re not doing it alone. If I can get someone with half your skill to support you while you’re in the sky, I’m gonna do it.”

You glared. “So you’re going to assign your son to hover behind me while I fight?”

“Short answer? Yes.”

You let out a huff, feeling yourself getting worked up again.

“I don’t need Neteyam to chaperone me.”

Jake threw his arms up, followed by an over exaggerated sigh.

“It’s less about you being ‘chaperoned’ and more about keeping you alive, Y/n!”

In response? You had nothing to say. All you knew is that you were tired. So, so tired.

Tired of arguing. Tired of the cold glares you had distributed throughout the day. 

Jake sighed, wrapping an arm around you supportively. 

“Sweetheart you look dead on your feet. You need some rest.”

You were silent as Jake walked you across highcamp to Mo’ats tent. 

He pulled back the flap, the smells of grinded herbs and salves, the fresh smell of the wood wafting through the air.

You ducked inside, plopping yourself on the ground.

“Jesus Christ, when’s the last time you slept?”

He crouched down, pressing his palm to your cheek, making you look up at him, 

“I don’t need sleep”, 

you mumbled hissing at him weakly. You collapsed onto the pile of woven blankets that rested in the corner.

He closed the flap behind him, moving some of Mo’at’s supplies out of the way so you could sprawl out.

“You can rest here for tonight. Take some time for yourself. Meditate or something.”

You raised a brow, your ears flicking upwards.

“Meditate?”

“I don’t know, kid. Just do something to calm yourself down.”

Jake walked over to you, tossing a blanket over you and handing you a parcel, wrapped carefully by leaves.

“What’s this?” You murmur, staring down at it.

“Dinner. Don’t think I didn’t notice you skipping tonight’s meal.”

You frowned, not even remembering you were so rushed to meet Spider after your chat with Neteyam, that you completely forgot to eat.

“Well shit…Thank you.”

You held it up, nodding towards him.

He stood up, waving you off.

“Just make sure you eat all of it. You’re not an old lady, and i’m too young to force-feed you like you are one.”

You cracked a smile. You really were grateful for Jake.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

He sat on his knees next to you, adjusting the blanket to drape over your shoulders, patting your back a few times for good measure.

“Are you okay, Y/n? Really, be honest with me, kiddo.”

His voice was softer thai time, laced with concern and honesty. 

You sighed.

“I had an argument with Spider.”

Jake sighed, as if he were relieved.

“Thank god..”

You sat up, confused tp say the least.

“Why is that a good thing?”

“Well I'm just happy it’s that and someone’s not messing with you. I wouldn’t want to have to throw punches.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Please. You know I’d fold anyone anyday.”

Jake gave you a hearty smile, running a hand down your back.

“Damn straight. My money’s on you.”

You chuckled weakly, feeling the tiredness wash over you.

Jake rose to his feet, looking at you one more time before leaving.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart. And eat your damn food.”

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺ ‏𖦹  ₊⋆⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ 

The next morning…Neteyam’s POV

Have you ever woken up feeling like you could pull the moon out of the sky with your bare hands and gift it to the most beautiful person you had ever seen??? Have you ever woken up feeling like even the smallest of shifts in the wind sang someone’s name?? Have you ever woken up feeling like one singular soul could somehow hold my existence in her palm with such ease?? Have you ever woken up feeling like the air is a bit lighter? Like the sky is a bit brighter?

Maybe it’s just me. But ever since last night..Ever since iv’e earned her trust back, I’ve felt as if I could brivet around the forest like a brainless fool, just basking in the absurdity of this amorevolous haze.

Did I mention she hugged me-??? Just wrapped her arms around me mid of my sentence. Eywa, if she was an ocean I'd drown in her. 

When I woke up this morning, I blinked slowly, allowing the early morning sunrays that filtered through the small open spaces in the woven material to leak it’s light onto me. I stretched my arms above my head, feeling its warmth encompass me.

There was a stupid smile on my face that I wasn’t aware of.

I stare up at the ceiling for a moment. Letting my thoughts drift to the farther corners of my mind. All my burdens and worries slowly follow suit.

“Psst! Teyam! Are you awake??”

I roll over to my side, sitting up a bit, and as I angle myself to rest on my elbows, i’m faced with big golden eyes that could only belong to Tuk.

“Hi Tuk.”

I yawn, trying to clear the hoarseness out of my voice. 

She blinks at me, her tail flicking behind her. The echo of her laughter embodied the lightheaded ecstasy that already embedded its energy into my brain this morning. She yanks the blanket that was covering my legs off of me, tugging at my arm.

“Come on! Mama said it’s time to eat!”

I groan dramatically, humoring her.

“Tuktirey, I don’t think my legs are working-

Oh no, there I go. Gravity’s increasing on me.”

She squeals as I lean forward, letting half my upper body weight hang on her as she holds my limp figure up with her much smaller arms.

“Neteyam! You’re too heavy!”

She whines playfully, attempting poorly tp push me upright again.

I let up after a moment, watching as she squeals with laughter before running to Kiri’s hammock, quickly yanking her blanket away before scurrying to jump on top of a snoring Lo’ak.

I chuckle to myself, folding up my own blanket and leaving it in my now empty hammock as I duck under the divider flap in the tent to distinguish areas with a barrier of sorts. I guess when you’ve had as many kids as my parents have, its better to try and break down a large marui into different quarters.

“Ma’itan, did you sleep alright?” I look  downward to see my mother glancing in between me and the fruit she was cutting up, the juices leaving slight stains on the tips of her fingers.

I sigh, the breath leaving my lips in an accidental dreamily manner. As if i’m caught in a mirage, my steps almost stumble over each other, it’s intractable. As if the light of the morning has transferred into the weight in my movements.

I sit down next to her on my knees. “I'm a great mother, perfect, even.”

She smiles at me, but there's confusion in her gaze.

I don’t think my stupid smile has faded because of the way my father pauses from sneaking his fingers into the bowl of pitcher plant nectar to stare at me. 

We lock gazes and I wave at him, as if it's been days since I've seen him.

“Father, good morning.” I raise two fingers to my forehead, dipping them downwards to form the ‘I see you’ sign. He hesitates to return the gesture, sharing confused glances with my mother.

“Uhm, Good morning. Are you feeling alright, bud?”

My mother and him exchange glances, and with a subtle gesture with a nod of her head, he understands she wants him to check on me. He places a hand on my shoulder, crouching down next to me, switching places with my mother per her silent request.

I shake my head, not being able to suppress the laugh that leaves my chest.

“I’m fine. Really, I feel– amazing. Like…really, really good-”

I paused for a moment as my dad pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.

“You don’t have a fever..do you know where we are right now? Could you tell me our exact location?”

“Ma’jake. He is not ill.”

“Baby, I gotta make sure he’s not stroking out-”

“Oh Jake enough. He is fine.”

My mother swats him away as she sits next to me, taking his place. She hands me a few fruits.

“Ma’itan, will you cut these up for me?”

“Of course mother.” I unsheathe my knife to start my task. I feel sleepless nights and dreams of kissing until I can’t breathe come spilling out of me in wavelengths of sunrays and gold-plaited glimpses. A woven thread that tugs on my heart weaves throughout ragged plains of regret, now lost and forgotten to what I feel now.

My father attempts to sneak more nectar, dipping his finger into the bowl just for my mother to spin around to catch him.

“Eywa help me, Jake how many times have i told you to save some for the children?”

“Not my fault this stuff is so sweet, baby, I could drink this stuff.”

My father throws his hands up in a mock surrender, fighting back a smile.

She throws her head back, a groan leaving her.

“You are infuriating. I cannot turn my back for 2 seconds.”

She stands to her feet to wash off her knife, only for my father to sneak up behind her, snaking his hands around her waist.

“Awh, don’t worry honey, It’s not as sweet as you.” He presses kisses to her cheek, tugging at her tail lightly, a soft gasp leaves my mother’s lips followed my soft laughter,

“Jake- stop, you are sticky.”

Since when was watching my mother and father flirt so heartwarming? 

“Gross. I didn’t know we were having PDA for breakfast.”

The familiar grumble causes me to turn to its source. Kiri trudges through the tent flap, her hair messy and her strides slow and exhausted. She rubs her eyes, clutching a waterskin in her other hand. It was a herbal tea that grandmother made for her frequent headaches. She carried it almost everywhere, especially in the morning.

She practically collapses into a cross-crossed position across from me, staring unamused as my parents pull apart from each other, my dad slowly maneuvering my mothers knife out of her grip.

“I’ll go wash this for ya, hon.” He whispers, giving her one last kiss before he slips out behind Kiri and ducks under the divider, letting the curtain fall behind him as you can hear him faintly telling Lo’ak and Tuk to stop wrestling around and get to breakfast.

My mother clears her throat, trying to suppress her own stupid smile now, victim of my father’s charm.

“Kiri, how did you sleep?”

 Kiri yawns, rebraiding one of the braids that fell on the side of her messily layered hair to frame her face.’

“Well, Y/n wasn’t here so there was no one I could rant to at midnight about the hypocrisy in our culture surrounding our misanthropic beliefs as a clan and the refusal to collate and unwillingness to adapt.”

She takes another sipt out of her waterskin, speaking as if she was explaining how to count to 3.

My mother smiles, clearly pretending to understand her.

“So….you slept well?”

Kiri sighs defeatedly, tying off the braid with the small band in her hand.

“Yes mother, I slept like a baby.”

I find myself snickering at the exchange, I look up to see my father return, Tuk and Lo’ak not far behind him. Tuk was doubled over, trying to support a limp-limbed Lo’ak with her smaller body, he’s mimicking my earlier joke with Tuk,

Noises of annoyance and in need of aid leave her as she struggles under Lo’ak’s weight.

“Lo’ak! You’re too heavy! Neteyam is funny when he does it!” She whines, attempting to push him off of her’

Lo’ak clutches his chest, as if he’s having a heart attack. “Oh eywa! I see the light!” He raises both arms up towards the sky, as if some divine presence was going to scoop him up into it’s arms and take him away.

“Take me, great mother!”

Tuk lets out a scream as Lo’ak tumbles atop her.

“That’s enough, you two. Lo’ak, get offa’ your sister.”

My dad tugs on Lo’ak’s tail, and he hisses in pain.

“Ow! Dad-”

“Sit.”

 My dad gives him a final glare and he sighs, cracking his knuckles before taking a seat next to me. Tuk scrambles next to my dad, nuzzling into his side, sticking her tongue out at lo’ak in a victorious manner.

Lo’ak points his two fingers to his own eyes before pointing them back at Tuk, and a clear ‘this isn’t over’ message is received.

Maybe it’s just my weird sense of peace I've felt all morning, but I attempt to park up a conversation with Lo’ak.

“Good morning baby bro.”

I swing my arm around him, ruffling at his braids. He stills his motion of munching into his slice of fruit, glancing up at me with a confused, cautious stare. As if my odd demeanor was an active minefield.

“Uhm. Hi..”

He side-eyed me curiously. Like my happiness was disgustingly contagious. 

His tail thumped against the floor. His eyebrow raised curiously at my stupid smile.

“What’s got you so bright and cheery?”

He glances over at Kiri, hoping for some kind of backup, only to see her silently praying to eywa before eating her food.

“Nothing. I just woke up feeling good.”

I shrug, snatching a slice of fruit from his little leaf he had arranged his stack of food on. The moment my teeth sink in, I'm slapped with the taste of sugared honey mixed with sunshine and sweet nectars. The flavor is resplendent. An unexpected soft groan leaves me as the juices trickle down my lips, I wipe them with my forearm. Why did everything today taste so much sweeter than usual?

Lo’ak stares at me as if he’s abhorred with my behavior.

“Dude..what the hell.”

My ears flick upwards as I turn to face the rest of the family, who’s now looking at me like I’m the epitome of bizarreness.  

My father snickers, helping Tuk peel her small fruit.

“Neteyam, should we give you and your fruit a moment alone.”

Lo’ak shivers, clearly uncomfortable. “Bro. could you not moan into your food in front of my breakfast.”

I shake my head, some of my braids falling over my shoulders. “Sorry, baby brother.” I laugh, but i’m not really sure why. I feel my face flush as i lean back into my spot.

“Dad, I think Neteyam is stroking out.”

Lo’ak snaps his fingers, trying to gather my father’s attention as he points to me.

My father shakes his head. “I already checked. It’s not a stroke.”

Mother hisses at both of them, passing a cut open fruit to Kiri, who as usual seems unbothered with our family’s shenanigans. 

“Both of you, leave him be. He is happy.”

I can always count on mama. 

Lo’ak shoots me a look.

“Why?”

I shrug.

“Why not? We have food, a family, a roof over our heads, we’re safe and happy, a strong clan and a lovely home.”

The woman I would die for no longer hates my guts. Hey, life is pretty good.

My mother smiles at me.

“See? You are not ill. One who takes time to appreciate all the great mother has given us is not sick.”

Lo’ak doesn’t seem convinced. He takes a big bite of his fruit, slowly eyeing me up and down.

My father clears his throat, sitting up a bit straighter. 

“While I have you kids here, I need you all to try and give y/n a little bit of space today.”

Kiri finally seems to engage in the current conversation now that Y/n is mentioned.

Tuk looks up, as well as my mother, Lo’ak and I.

“Is she okay? Is she sick?”

Tuk pouts, tugging on my fathers arm.

“Does she need anything? Is she hurt?”

It comes out before I can stop myself, trying not to sound too nervous.

Lo’ak groans

“Please don’t tell me she’s dead. That would really suck.”

My dad shakes his head gently reaching for Tuk’s smaller hand.

“No, guys. She’s okay. It’s just that she’s been through a ton these last few days. The poor thing’s burnt out. She needs some rest.”

Silent relief waves over me. I turn to Lo’ak as soon as I hear him speak.

“That doesn’t include me, right?”

He points at himself, a cocky smirk forming on his lips.

My dad glared at him.

“That means especially you. Ever since you could walk I had to pull you away from the poor girl kicking and screaming. And I am NOT about to do it again now that you’re this big. It’s a bad look for me.”

“That just shows we’re not supposed to be away from one another. It’s a sign from eywa. And you know I don’t play with the big lady upstairs.”

Lo’ak presses his lips on two fingers before reaching his hands up as if he’s kissing the sky.

My dad gives him a final warning look before he surrenders.

“Alright, fine. But if you get struck by lightning later it’s not my issue.

I’m gonna go on a walk.”

Lo’ak shoved his food into a small pouch before slinging it over his shoulder.

My mother frowns.

“With half of your breakfast in a pouch? You might as well just finish eating.”

Lo’ak waves her off. “Don’t worry, ma. I got a ton to do today.

I’ll just eat on the go.”

 mother gives him the leave to go, albeit reluctantly.

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺𖦹₊⋆⁺☀︎₊

Y/n’s pov:

You woke up feeling so much better than yesterday. You and Spider haven’t spoken, but you can live with that for right now.

The only person you’ve spoken to since you’ve woken up is Mo’at. She was in nice company. And you certainly didn’t mind conversations with her.

It was a revitalizing contrast from the rush and endless chaos of of the last few days events, when the world didn’t feel to big, the air didn’t feel weighted, it was days like this you treasured.Today your hands weren’t victim to the relentless grip of your bow, your fingers free from the touch of the end of your arrows, your arms no longer aching from holding your shooting stance. No, today was a day you could drown in the acquiescence of having to do absolutely nothing.

Well, except maybe help Mo’at every now and then, but you hardly considered that physically draining.

You sat in her healing hut, grinding up some herbs as you cozied yourself up in the corner. You hummed one of your mother’s songs, the sound of the stone scratching against the bowl providing an odd backbeat.

Mo’at returned from her morning meetings with the clans healers, a long sigh dragged from her lips as she muttered complaints to herself, sitting down slowly.

You loved how she could make you laugh without effort.

“Something wrong?”

She waved off your concern, starting to gather some of the loose bowls strung around and stacking them in her arms.

“You know Menari??” She glances up at you, her tail flicking behind her.

You nod, a smile creeping up your face.

She sighed with irritation.

“Overmixed the herbs I tasked her with preparing because she was making eyes at Kalun.”

Ah yes, clan gossip. Who better to deliver such scandals than Tsahik herself?

You rolled your eyes, giggling at her exaggeration.

“They’re young, and in love. What else can you ask for?”

“I can ask for her to stop looking up at that scrawny man and do her job.”

You cackled, passing her the freshly grinding paste.

‘

“Awh, now that's not kind.”

She scoffed.

“You know what's not kind? I've seen sticks with more build than him and he still flaunts himself like he’s the prettiest peacock.”

You shrugged, moving on to preparing the next bowl

“At least he has confidence?”

Mo’at waves you off again. 

“When I was your age, I was shut away in my family’s tent speaking with the spirit’s, asking them to guide Eytukan to court me.”

“Oh here we go-”

“I prayed every night, child. I performed rituals and burned sacred plants.”

“Ma’tsahik, you’ve told me this story quite a few–”

She raised her hand, signaling for you to be quiet.

“Hush woman, I am not done.”

You sighed, strapping in for more of her spiritual seance stories.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good, now where was I?”

“Hm…I think you were at the sacred plants.”

A voice that didn’t belong to you or Mo’at spoke, causing you both to pause.

You turned around, spotting Lo’ak standing at the entrance of the tent, a pouch in his hands and a soft smirk on his face.

He strides his way inside without invitation, plopping himself down next to you and sprawling out his legs as he leaned on you.

You groaned, noyt appreciating being used as a seat.

“Lo’ak, what are you doing here?”

He blinked up at you, like him just throwing himself onto you was the most casual thing he could possibly do.

Which, to be fair, he did so often, it probably was by now.

“Did you really think I would leave you here to endure Grandma’s stories alone?? Of course not. So I brought you food,”

He tosses you the pouch.

“And the gift of my presence.”

Mo’at crosses her arms, staring at him with an unamused manner.

“I could have sworn your father informed me this morning to let Y/n rest, and not be dragged into anymore excursions for today.”

Lo’ak shrugged, munching on a fruit from the pouch that he handed you a half of.

“Y/n doesn’t mind me, besides, you know we don’t stay separated for very long.”

It was true. Ever since you were children, you and lo’ak had practically been a package deal.

Sleeping at each other's homes, not wanting to do anything unless you both could do it together, braiding each other's hair, and swapping and sharing bracelets, necklaces, armbands on the daily.

When Lo’ak was a toddler, he’d have a meltdown every time he had to go home after a day of playing with you.

And to be honest? He was right. You didn’t mind Lo’ak hanging with you today.

He wasn’t stressful when he didn’t want to be. You felt like you could talk to him about almost everything, secrets were rare between you and lo’ak, unless you both were keeping them from other people.

If you were the moon, he was the stars. Scattered across the abyss of the night sky, assuring that the darkness wouldn't be drowned in, dwelling with you in the comfort of nocturnal notions while still providing you the subtle comforts of luminescence.

And whether you both liked to admit it or not, you needed each other.

He was there for you when you mourned your mother and father. He was there for you with a blanket and a hug and some stupid joke to calm you when you woke up in the middle of the night hyperventilating. 

And you were there for him.

You were there when he almost died during his first attempt at iknimiya, calling him stiupid and hugging him until you couldn't breathe because a part of you swore you were about to loose your twin flame. 

And he was here now. Well, he was slouched over you with his legs spread and his arms floundered out. But..he was here.

You nudged hi9m to sit up straight, taking the fruit he offered you.

He spoke between mouth-fulls of munches.

“So, what's up with Kalun? I saw him lugging around a big basket of flowers.”

Lo’ak points with his thumb behind him, gesturing to the bustling clan outside going about with their daily tasks behind the closed tent flap.

Mo’at throws her arms up in exaggeration.

“Eywa, why does he insist on distracting that poor girl from her duties!?”

You weren’t a huge romantic, but you did find it sweet how he found time to bring Menari flowers.

“I think it’s sweet.” You hummed, continuing to grind up the herbs in the bowl.

Lo’ak gagged dramatically.

“Gross. I’m never going to mate with anyone.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Uh huh. Sure you’re not.”

He raised a brow, a challenging expression streaked his face.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Mo’at cuts you both off.

“Nothing. Lo’ak you’re going to have children and a mate because I demand great-grandchildren.”

A bust of a laugh leaves you, and you shove Lo’ak, who now stares at Mo’at in disbelief.

“And who are you to demand that i have kids?”

“The tsahik of this clan.”

You smirk triumphantly, smacking the back of Lo’aks head, earning a hiss from him.

“You’re screwed, bro.”

Lo’ak leans back, sighing dramatically.

“It’s so hard being sexy…I guess everyone wants me.”

It was your turn to gag, clutching your hand lightly around your throat to sell the idea.

“Not everyone.”

Mo’at sighs, as if recalling a memory that could only be one of her fondest.

“You know who everyone wanted? Your grandfather, now that’s a story-“

You and Lo’ak both groaned in sync.

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺𖦹₊⋆⁺☀︎₊

You and Lo’ak had hung out almost all day inside mo’ats tent. And it was probably the most fun you’ve had in a while. 

Conversations with Lo’ak were always interesting to say the least. But if one thing was for sure, it was that there was no one you could possibly think of that you spoke to the way you spoke to Lo’ak. The two of you confided in one another. That meant now that Mo’at had left for the afternoon, there was nothing stopping you both from listening to each other's ramblings.

You told him a few minutes ago about the argument you had with Spider.

He was disappointed, and hated when you both were fighting, but he agreed that you both just needed some space.

So, he did what he did best.

Cher you up.

He was currently retelling a story that took place while you were away on a hunting trip with Neytiri a few weeks back, causing your absence during the event. Lo’ak clears his throat, continuing.

“So anyways, as she’s tying together her next row of knots, I notice that she forgot to do the loopy thing under the second layer of the armband, right?’

Lo’ak explains, making hand motions to try and create some sort of visual of the weaving motion Tuk was practicing.

You nodded, taking a sip of the tea Mo’at had made you, the smooth wood pressed against the inner of your lips for a moment.

“Uh huh.”

“So, I, being the good brother I am, decide stupidly to help the kid out.”

“Right. I mean, who wouldn't?”

“Exactly! So I tell her, ‘Tuk, that row is crooked’, and she has the AUDACITY to respond with ‘crooked like your haircut?’”

Your laughter vibrates down your body, and apparently it’s contagious because Lo’ak can’t help but cackle as well.

“Don’t fucking laugh you asshole. You’re the one who gave me this half shaved side shit, fuck you.”

He manages the last few words through his heavy breaths in between bouts of laughter.

“For the last time!”

You shriek, shoving him playfully.

“You don’t give an 12 year old a knife and expect them to perfectly cut someone’s hair!”

It seems like almost yesterday you and Lo’ak were hiding in a cave you found in the forest, not far from the clearing your clan resided in before high camp came into play.

You remember it perfectly, your mothers sharpest hunting knife she kept in a basket next to the entrance of your family’s marui along with various other weapons your parents kept out of reach from you and spider. He was sat infront of you on his knees, the backs of this thighs touching his shins while you kept yourself elevated behind him to provide you some sort of extra inches of height to better see Lo’aks head, as if that was going to make you know what the hell you were doing.

It didn’t. You remember him telling you to stop hesitating and just do it. He had been asking you for weeks to help him cut his hair since Jake wasn’t aloud to braid much less cut his children’s hair out of lack of confidence, and how Neteyam thought It was an insecurity thing and only responded with “You look great! There’s no need to cut it, baby bro.”

Neytiri didn’t like the idea of her 12 year old son wearing a style most adult warriors garb themselves with,and kiri just laughed when he asked her. 

You were his best option. You remember you and Lo’ak jumping up and down and squealing with excitement at the sight of a few of his braids falling to the ground, forming a circle around the two of you, and how that excitement slowly faded into fear when you both realized those few braids seemed much chunkier than at first glance. You fondly recall running back into the village with a giant leaf over Lo’ak’s head, making a bee-line straight for your family’s tent because going home to tell jake and neytiri was equivalent to walking into a thantors den after rubbing yourself in fragrant spices ready to be cooked and devoured. 

You could never forget your mothers face as she tried to comfort a frantic lo’ak, using her own tools to smoothe down the shaved plain.

To cut a long story short, that’s how Lo’ak got his side shaved. But it appeared Tuk had taken after your habit of never letting him live it down.

You both were out of breath from laughing once you both finished recalling the memory. It’s the terrible experiences that made you two stronger together.

 Lo’ak sighed, leaning back.

“Tuk’s spending too much time with you. You’re a shitty influence.”

You swatted at the back of his head, snickering softly.

A few beats of comfortable silence falls between you both, enjoying  just the feeling of moments like these.

“So, I’m not sure if I told you, but Neteyam was acting weird this morning.”

Your ears flick upwards at the mention of Neteteyam.

You carefully calculate your next words, attempting to make your curiosity seem as causal as a commodity, inconsequential and free of attribution relating to the feelings exchanged the night before. 

“Oh…was he okay?”

Real discreet, Y/n. Nice work.

Lo’ak paused to look up at you, his gaze cynically, clumsily trying to catch your heavily concealed sense of concern

“He was fine…I guess. I still think he was having a stroke.”

You rolled your eyes.

“He wasn’t having a stroke.”

“You weren’t there Y/n. The man acted like he Ingested 80 tons of helium and practically pranced around the marui. He was moaning into his fruit, and sighing every 2 seconds like he was in a dream or something.”

You scrunched up your nose at the visual of anyone being aroused by a fruit. 

“I’m sure he wasn’t ‘moaning’ into his fruit.”

You waved off the idea, Lo’ak scoffed.

“Uh huh. And the smiling-

Holy shit Y/n. This man would. Not. Stop. Smiling. It was insane.”

Come on, was he serious? Neteyam was fine…there’s no way this could be related to your conversation last night..right?

You gasped dramatically, widening your eyes as if you had the most sagacious epiphany, feigning stupidity for sarcasm. 

“Maybe he was..I don’t know..happy? Is that even possible for neteyam?”

Lo’ak was not amused.

“I’m telling you, something’s up with him.”

You sighed, shaking your head.

“Why would you think that? He’s probably just happy about something personal, maybe he set a goal for himself. Maybe he’s training differently or maybe he finally has that angled dive he’s always wanted to do on his ikran. The move your mom does with her bow? He’s always wanted to do that-“

Lo’ak looks at you like you’ve grown 6 extra tails. Maybe it was because you were rambling about Neteyam too personally. Nah. Maybe you really did grow 6 tails. 

Check just in case.

You cleared your throat, fidgeting with your bracelets. Acting like you weren’t just talking about something  Neteyam told you in private 3 years ago while you too were on a ‘date’ no one knew about. Because you were.

��..or something like that.”

Eywa must have been personally trying to provide you some amorality at that moment when Lo’ak shrugs you off.

“I don’t know. But I feel like if it was really something huge, he would have told his family about it. Right? Like, he doesn’t just keep that stuff from us…”

Point taken.

You placed a hand on his back.

“Look, Lo’ak, I’m sure Neteyam is fine. We all have..weird days, we can’t always be perfect.”

Lo’ak sighed, leaning back, letting his eyes flutter closed.

“You’re right. I mean, at least it’s not about you or some other girl.”

It slowly stings a little bit more each time it plays over and over in your head.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Lo’ak opened one eye.

“What?”

“You said ‘at least it’s not about you’. What does that mean, Lo’ak?”

Lo’ak, (somewhat stupidly, I must admit,) seemed surprised with your offended tone.

“I mean, at least it’s not about you. You know? Like you two aren’t dancing around eachother again.”

“What do you mean, ‘dancing around’ eachother?”

He sighed, rubbing his temple.

“Look, you don’t have to get upset-“

“I’ll decide whether or not I’ll get upset when you explain what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak gulped, silently regretting ever opening his mouth.

“You and him are just…weird?-

No, weird is not the right word.”

You agreed, coldly.

“Clearly.”

He groaned.

“Stop putting me in a bad corner here, Y/n, you know what I mean.”

He was right. You didn’t have to be so harsh with him. You knew Lo’ak had a tough time articulating himself. And you getting angry probably wasn’t going to make that any better.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s just..you’re so confusing when it comes to what I used to have with your brother.”

You and Lo’ak are both a bit uncomfortable when you say it aloud. It wasn’t very often you confessed to being romantic with Neteyam in the past, even if it was just to yourself. It was hard to face.

“Y/n we don’t have to talk about this, really.”

“No, i think we do.

You don’t like it when Neteyam used to bring me flowers, or take me out to go ride ikrans, or spend time with me, but you were there for me when he started to distance himself from me. All of this shit about ‘oh you can’t court my brother’ but when it finally falls, like any normal person who speaks like that would want it to, all the sudden you’re in the heartbreak hot seat with me. What is going on, Lo?”

Lo’ak was quiet for a Minute. And it’s actually kinda funny how he conducted himself in a similar manner to Jake when things like this happened.

“Because I care.”

“About what!?”

“About you!”

You were quiet for a moment.

“Because I should care when you start to love, or like or feel for someone! Because you’re like a sister to me. Because you’re the one I can come to when I fuck up with my dad or feel like I’m screwing everything up. You’re the one I can come to when the others are giving me a bunch of shit about being Neteyam’s perfect little brother, or whatever.

And yes, it’s so fucking weird to see my brother staring at you like you’re the most important thing on this entire planet. But you know what? It makes you happy. Am I gonna give you and Neteyam shit about it? Of course I am! It’s fucking disgusting. But you know what? It makes you both happy. So I can’t do a damn thing, and I don’t want to.

Am I gonna wanna kick his ass when he screws up? Of course I am. Am I gonna sit next to you and listen to you cry and scream and do all that angry relationship stuff that people do? Abso-fucking-lutely I am.

But you’re both still disgusting and full of love diseases.”

And now it all made sense. Lo’ak was your person. Half your heart in the form of a living soul.

To feel someone in such truth it aches.

And it wasn’t romance. It wasn’t sex or lust. It was a different kind of love.

The kind that meant that you could share a hammock with him and fight every urge not to kick him off when he starts to snore. The kind that meant you were the only one who trusted to braid his hair because neytiri wasn’t gentle enough and Jake was out of the question. The kind that meant that you had his back, and he had yours. 

You were his and he was yours. Sentiments are sensitive and romance is rigged but this went beyond fairytale endings.  Because you knew he would always stand next to you, tangled at the roots. And when the world seemed to be made out of nothing but unkept promises and sterling stained heartbreak, rusting off to a sickly shade of green that once shimmered gold, you found him.

And he was stupid and you loved him and his stupid stupidity that often led him to do stupid things, and of course you would always do them right along with him because he always said he didn’t want to die looking dumber than you. 

And if he asked you to loose your fucking mind with him you’d agree in a heartbeat with an extra pouch of food because he was always hungry. 

You smiled, the intangibility of this beautiful mess of a thing that only you two could create echoed through the air pulsing undercurrent that inhabited the stars that now turned a thousand shades of blue.

“Oh Lo’ak.”

You whispered, the endnotes query themselves upon pity.

“I know you care. But I can protect myself.

I thought that you’d know that better than anyone.”

He nodded, fidgeting with the bracelet that matched you’re own

“You’re right. I know. I’m just not ready to be..I dunno. It’s sounds stupid as shit but, alone?? That’s weird, right?”

“No, of course not. You’re not alone. You’ll always have me. But you don’t have to take every shot for me. That’s a job for my mouth and my fists.”

You smiled, mocking the boxing stance Jake had taught you and punching the air.

Lo’ak looked nauseous. “Y/n. Can we stop talking about your relationships and jobs you do with your hands and your mouth?”

You snickered shoving him.

“You’re so stupid.”

“I get it from you.”

A comfortable silence settled as he leaned his head on you’re shoulder. But there was something drumming at the back of your mind. An unfinished note that would

complete the song.

You sighed.

“Lo’ak, you know how we don’t keep secrets?”

He nodded, not bothering to lift his head.

“Yuh huh.”

“Well..I uh.”

You took a breath, gathering your words and placing them in the right order.

“I talked with Neteyam last night. And I hugged him-

I don’t know why I hugged him. There’s nothing going on but we’re all good now with what happened all those years ago. The past is in the past and I just thought you would know.”

Lo’ak was quiet for a moment.

“Aight.”

‘Aight’? That’s all you get?

“Really? That’s it?”

“Well, it’s disgusting, but as long as you two aren’t canoodling-“

“Trust me. I’m his teacher now. There will be no canoodling. I swear it.”

Lo’ak shrugged, his expression neutral. 

“Then my final verdict is in place. No getting pregnant and nothing below the waist.”

You snorted.

“You’re the boss.”

Another beat of silence settled.

Then, you got an idea.

“You wanna go race ikrans?”

A hint of mischief in your voice, he sighed.

“I’m off flight privileges for 2 more days for that stunt I pulled at the raid.”

You frowned, but it didn’t last long.

“You wanna go on a ride on Kailo? I’ll let you take shotgun.”

“Fuck yeah.”

☾⁺☀︎₊𖦹✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⁺☀︎₊ ⁺☀︎₊☾⁺☀︎₊ ⋆⁺𖦹₊⋆⁺☀︎₊

Memes from this chapter

And some Lo’ak and y/n memes bc they’re besties

Authors note:

*in Backstreet Boys voice* ohmahgod we’re back againnn. 

First things first, I owe you all a huge apology. This chapter is way overdue, since I decided to re-write it halfway through like an idiot. But I’m fairly happy with how this turned out, which is rare for me. I’ve been a surf trip for the last few weeks and this summer I’m going on a lot more so that’s been kinda tough to find time to write on a laptop coming home from the beach all sandy and wet. 

But we’re back and the next few chapters will be written in close proximity to this time wise. I’m leaving the country on July 27 so I’m gonna try to get at least one more long chapter out before then. 

This is getting kinda long. But guys I have so much fun writing from Neteyam’s pov. The first time I wrote for neteyam was like 2 chapters ago and I was so so nervous about posting it bc I thought it sounded so cringe but you guys loved it so much, I’ve decided from now on there’s gonna be a neteyam pov in every chapter.

For these of you who know, Lo’ak is my son, my baby, my child, my pride and joy so obviously writing for him is also super fun. 

Okay this is getting so much longer than I planned. But I’ll see you lovelies next time!!

-Solana

Taglist 🪐🌑🪻 

@mntx666

@isnt-itstrange @thebestrouge

@bay7let

@fairuzwhat

@jackiehollanderr

@6423btw

@satesatesate2009

@OstargirlO

@heavenlysstuff

@dayyzlol

@iheartamajiki

@fluorynn

@bakugouswaif

@eljaynosine-triphosphate

(I just realized how long this taglist is getting guys…it’s actually getting me all teary eyed. Tysm for the support!)

[marc-spectorr]

Congratulations Callie 🎉

So the suggestion prompt I think it's called for Jonathan, maybe after a long night of babysitting ava Jonathan and the reader get a little wine buzz and they start talking about there turn ons and by the end Jonathan has jumped the readers bones and is railing them on the sofa and maybe they get caught or get a call from Mira while it's happening and Jonathan just keeps going cus fuck that bitch. Sorry if it's long but, that's what popped into my head when I saw that prompt.

Also I hope you have a good day and don't over work yourself.

pairing: jonathan levy x reader

warnings: smuuut 

a/n: thanks for your sweet message, sails! hope you like this little drabble :)) 🧡

You should have known, really.

After downing two glasses of Chardonnay in the presence of Jonathan Levy, who was equally buzzed— perhaps, even more— something was bound to happen.

And it doesn’t surprise you. Not even the slightest. You’ve known Jonathan for years, and in the weeks leading up to this evening, the two of you constantly flirted with each other. It was only a matter of time until someone finally made a move.

Fortunately, that someone was Jonathan. He’d made the first move— kissed you first, to be specific. Leading you to where you are now, a half-dressed, moaning mess underneath him, chasing your high as he fucks you to paradise on his squeaky, leather couch.

“Shhh…” Jonathan mumbles into the shell of your ear, the palm of his hand covering your mouth as his thrusts slow down, but the brutal force is still enough to knock the breath out of you. “You’re being too loud. I can’t have you waking up Ava upstairs.”

Blinking the tears of pleasure away, you give him a nod of understanding. A string of stifled gasps escapes you immediately after he drops his hand from your face, rocking his hips against you in a rhythm that makes you lose your mind. You bite your bottom lip hard to suppress the sounds threatening to burst, but Jonathan doesn’t make it any easier.

Soon you’re on the verge of climax, your body shuddering and trembling from the sensations around you. Hiking your leg up to wrap around Jonathan’s waist, his cock slides in deeper, hitting a spot no man has ever reached before. He’s panting harshly against your neck, his beard scratching your skin and his mouth marking you with a set of mauve love bites.

Suddenly, a call comes in. Jonathan barely registers his cell ringing on the coffee table nearby, too lost in a haze of lust to notice until you’re patting his bicep, causing him to stop with a grunt. 

“Ignore it,” he mutters after a quick check on the notification. He puts his phone on silent this time, tossing it somewhere behind him on the sofa and resuming his obliterating pace. Then, it starts vibrating again by your feet, indicating yet another incoming call to which he doesn’t pay any mind.

“Fuck, just answer it. Could be important,” you huff, sucking in a sharp breath when Jonathan delivers a rough snap of his hips. 

“Are you serious? You want me to answer when you’re seconds away from coming on my cock?” he asks incredulously as he sweeps his salt and pepper curls away from his damp forehead. “It’s Mira who’s calling. I don’t know what for, and I really don’t give two shits about her, so can we please—”

Chuckling, you manage to pull enough strength to push Jonathan on his back and straddle him in one fluid motion. A groan rolls off his tongue when your warm hand circles his thick length, pumping it languidly from base to tip. Your other hand reaches for the phone that was still ringing, and with a devilish smirk, you hit “accept” on the screen.

“Sorry, Mira. Jonathan can’t talk right now. We’re a little preoccupied, aren’t we, honey?” You push the cell towards Jonathan’s face, and he is unable to prevent the moan ripping through his chest as you slip him inside of you. “Oh, look, she hung up. Guess she heard you loud and clear, baby.”

“You minx,” Jonathan chastises playfully, leaning up to capture your lips in a heated kiss before flopping back down and letting you ride him as you please.

[twdbegins]

Having Sex on a Run with Rick

Rick Grimes x Fem! Reader

Request: Hay, I recently became active on your blog; And I love it so much already!? Your work for Rick? 😤 It’s damn fine! We need more for him,,I was wondering if I could get something for Rick where Reader and him are on a run and Reader feels frisky? Lust comes over the two and they make out, getting each other off? Basically they’re having a quickie on a run? Because the adrenaline is pumping if you get my gist... @positive-squid​

Warnings: Smut. Profanity. Sexual content.

Rick could tell that something was off with you.

You weren’t acting badly or mean or anything. 

But you seemed...antsy.

At first, he assumed that you were getting a little stir crazy.

Things in Alexandria had been good for a while, and mostly everyone had been sticking around trying to improve camp.

Even though Alexandria was extensive, he could understand how someone could still feel a bit caged in.

So he suggested that you accompany him on a run.

The two of you were close friends, so he didn’t see any issue with it.

He almost felt bad at how excited you got over it.

Rick figured that the group could always use more resources, so he didn’t feel as if this run was just for killing time.

You were bubbly as you slid into the passenger seat, positively stoked to be getting out for a bit.

Rick knew of a few places that needed to be scouted, so at least the two of you could get a day’s work out of this run.

It started as business as usual.

The two of you chatted as you scrounged for food or whatever else you could possibly use.

“Does Carl still need a pair of bigger boots? I think I just found a pair.”

“Sure, thanks. Do you think that Daryl would use this hairbrush?”

“Very funny.”

It was a pretty textbook run. The two of you chatted while you looked for things, throwing anything and everything even semi-useful into your backpacks.

Not to mention...it was brutally hot.

While it was a bit difficult to really ever truly know what day it was...

It was always unmistakable when summer had come back around.

The days were blistering hot and even the evenings were sticky and warm.

Sweat dripped down your back as you navigated the abandoned building that was somehow trapping more heat that you would’ve anticipated.

You had glanced over at Rick at one point to check on him, when you saw that he was having the same problem.

Sweat beaded around his forehead, some of it sliding down his face and neck.

He glistened in the daylight, his hard work being proven through his perspiration.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. 

It was the strangest feeling to be so drawn into him.

Sure, you had always found him attractive. It was hard to deny.

But you hadn’t really ever had a chance to just...look at him.

You eyed over his hands and arms as they moved stuff around.

His muscles flexed and relaxed in the most captivating way.

The veins in his hands and forearms were prevalent from both the heat and all the strenuous movement. 

His dark curls were damp with sweat, yet he still looked so clean.

Your sights diverted to his hips, watching the way his legs moved in such a calculated way.

All kinds of dirty thoughts plagued your mind.

The thought of his hands around your throat.

His fingers in your mouth,

His cock buried somewhere deep inside of you.

He looked perfect.

A little too perfect.

It didn’t take him long to catch your stare, a confused smile as a quirked brow appearing on his features.

“Something wrong?”

You snapped out of your trance, embarrassed that he had just caught you staring. 

“Nope!” You had squeaked, “All good here.”

He brushed it off, thinking you were tired from the day’s work.

It wasn’t until you were loading up the vehicle with all of your found resources that he noticed it again.

He noticed the way your eyes followed his every move.

The way you were listening extra closely when he spoke.

Something was on your mind, but he just didn’t expect that he was on your mind.

The two of you climbed into the truck, him in the driver’s seat and you in the passenger’s seat. 

But he didn’t start the truck.

Instead he looked over at you, catching your bashful gaze.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Rick asked, this time a little more determined to figure it out.

You refused to admit to him that you had been pining over him for the last hour and a half.

Deny, deny, deny.

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

Rick wasn’t buying it.

He wasn’t buying that at all.

“You know, if something is bothering you, you can tell me. I don’t want you to be unhappy if it’s something I can fix.”

Oh, it was definitely something he could fix alright.

But still, there was no way that you were telling him that.

“I really am fine, Rick. Honestly.”

He still wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t want to push you.

He started the truck, thinking that he’d get through to you sooner or later.

The ride was quiet, both of you too caught up in your own thoughts to say much of anything. 

You had tried to push your dirty thoughts aside, trying your hardest to control your feelings towards him.

But the way he looked in the late afternoon sun filtering in through the windows, mixed with the way he kept throwing side glances at you...you couldn’t.

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over, please.”

Rick obliged, worried that something was wrong.

He barely even managed to get the truck in park before you crawled over the center console into his lap.

He didn’t even have time to be stunned, because your lips crashed into his before he could speak.

It surprised you, but Rick didn’t really question it.

He kissed back with the same energy, fiery and passionately desperate.

His hand came to the back of your neck, keeping you close and allowing your lips to hover over his when you pulled back for air.

He could feel the heat pooling between your legs through his pants, and he knew it wasn’t from the summer heat.

“I never knew you felt so strongly about me.” Rick had chuckled, already breathless from the heavy kissing.

He groaned when you dragged your clothed cunt over his thigh while you worked on getting his pants unbuckled.

He caught you in another kiss while you stroked his cock to an erection, his spine shuddering at the feeling of you touching him like this.

You praised yourself for deciding to wear shorts, getting them off with your free hand and with ease.

You knew you had limited space, since you weren’t too keen on doing this outside of the truck.

Not that you minded being in close quarters with Rick.

This was going to be a quick fuck. 

You knew that this was the scratch the itch and the address the tension that had been building for a while.

Rick didn’t seem to mind that.

His fingers dragged through your folds, collecting your arousal as he rubbed the pads of his fingers on your clit.

You moaned at the feeling, the waves of pleasure already beginning and he hadn’t even gotten inside of you yet.

“You were really happy to be with me, huh?” Rick teased, spitting into his hand and lubricating himself just to be sure he didn’t hurt you.

Before you could respond, your hips were lifted by his hands and he slammed you down onto his cock to the point where your hip bones touched his. 

A synchronized moan fell from your and Rick’s mouths, both of your head lulling back in ecstasy.

Rick wasn’t even moving yet and he was already stretching and filling you perfectly.

Suddenly, Rick was taking charge, which only added to your arousal.

He gave you a second to adjust to his size, letting you wriggle in his lap until you found an angle that was comfortable.

His hand tapped the side of your leg, prompting you to start moving.

You rotated between bouncing on his lap and rolling your hips, making sure that the satisfaction went both ways.

It was intoxicatingly perfect.

The way he felt stretching you and hitting every bundle of nerves possible.

The hot kisses and the heavy touches were everything you had ever dreamed of with Rick.

Your bounces were met by his thrusts, hitting your g-spot in the most flawless way.

You knew it wasn’t going to take long to get off. 

This had been building up for far too long for your climax to be drawn out.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. Feel so good.” He babbled, cheeks flushed and pupils blown.

His head was reeling, and he wasn’t sure that he was totally comprehending what was happening right now.

All he knew is that he didn’t want this to be the first and only time.

His cock throbbed inside of you, his own release begging to be spilled out into you.

You felt the twitch, and that in and of itself is what caused your orgasm to break out all over you.

You came with a squeaky moan, your entire body tensing up around him as your head fell to his shoulder and your hands gripped the back of the seat.

He thrusted a couple more times before he came as well, his release spurting into you and milking his cock white as he groaned out your name.

Your bodies went limp, chests heaving with heavy breaths and post-coital sighs.

His hand rubbed up and down your back slowly, his cum leaking out of you and onto his bare thighs.

A few minutes of silence passed before you raised your head.

Your dilated eyes met his, and what you saw was pure lust and content.

Most importantly, you could see the anticipation through his eyes, all the way to his soul.

You weren’t sure why, but something in your gut told you that this wouldn’t be the last time that you fucked Rick Grimes.