#all in the name of never crashing a drawing file ever again....

[jazzyoranges]

Would it be possible if you could do a Tara Carpenter x fem!reader please? Maybe someone flirts with reader and tara gets mad and pulls reader into a room aggressively which hurts the reader, and starts like making out with her, but tara bites the readers lip out of anger and hurts the reader so she starts crying and then tara feels bad and comforts her and telling the reader it wasn’t her fault and that she shouldn’t have taken her anger out on the reader? Idk if that makes sense but if you don’t feel comfortable doing that then you don’t have to! 🫶

Jealousy - drabble

Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Words: 0.9k

Warnings: angst(?), Tara is mean but bbg doesn’t mean it

A/n: lowkey inspired by @rollingsins All hers Tara (as in Tara deals with bad jealousy issues). also i changed a little bit of the request, but blink and you’ll probably miss it

Tara is by your side, yet you hear your name being called behind you. Deciding it’s probably nothing, you decide to keep talking to your girlfriend about god knows what. Unfortunately, the voice seems to keep getting closer until-

“Y/N, hey!” You feel a tap on your shoulder, and you whip your head around to see a girl you took english with. Sadie, was it? Tara immediately glares at the girl, but she’s too enthralled with you to notice her stare

“I didn’t think you were coming to this party! You look really good” There’s a hint of something in her voice, but you can’t figure out what it is. You determine she’s probably just being friendly. The two of you engage in small-talk you really don’t want to be in, but it doesn’t hurt being nice

“So, are you free tomorrow? I need help studying” Sadie winks at you, and you suddenly start to feel uncomfortable in her presence

“She’s with me tomorrow, actually” Tara buts into the conversation, sensing your tiny discomfort

“So don’t you fucking try any shit, you got that?” Your girlfriend points a finger in Sadie’s direction, causing her to take a step back. Tara storms off and you can hear Sadie mutter about how she’s a bitch. You shoot a glare at the girl, and try to spot Tara in the sea of drunk people dancing

“Tara, baby, she was just being friendly” You follow behind your angry girlfriend stomping upstairs away from the party

“Oh yeah, like she wasn’t checking you out. Everyone down there probably now thinks they have a chance, but you’re mine.” Tara practically growls, turning around to face you. You take a step back, but Tara just pulls you into a random guest room in the house

You’ve played this game before. Tara gets jealous, she fucks the shit out of you. But this time feels… different. When Tara pushes you against the door, she isn’t as gentle. When she crashes her lips into yours, Tara starts devouring you like she’s never going to see you again. You really start to get concerned when she starts to mutter words under her breath in between rough kisses

“Mine… you’re all fucking mine. Nobody else’s, all mine.” Tara murmurs, almost like a chant. Honestly, you feel a little guilty at how hot and bothered she’s making you feel

“Tara, stop.” This definitely isn’t healthy. Even though you’re a little turned on, you recognize this isn’t a good habit to have

“Shut up, you’re mine.” Your girlfriend hooks her thumbs into the belt loops of your jeans, forcing you to be closer to her

“Tara.”

“Say it. Say you don’t belong to that bitch.” Your final straw is when she bites your lip hard enough to draw blood. Planting your hands on her shoulders, you have to pry your girlfriend off of you. This wasn’t the Tara you knew. This wasn’t the Tara that would hold you during your nightmares. The Tara in front of you was filed by jealousy and anger.

When the brunette takes a good look at you through the darkness of the room, you can see her face contort into something akin to regret and remorse. Stray tears you didn’t know you had dripped down your face, your lip stung with blood, yet somehow you were still looking at Tara like she was the only woman to ever exist

“��Y/N?”

“Yeah, baby?” You sigh, taking your hands off her shoulders

“I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to- I just-“

“I know you didn’t mean to, baby.”

“Can I touch you?” Nodding your head, Tara wipes off the blood on your lip with her sleeve. Next, she wipes the tears off your face. Tara holds your face in her hands, looking like she just killed a puppy

“Tara?”

“Y-Yeah?” her voice breaks

“I’m not mad at you. We’re not going to break up because of tonight.” Your reassurance was enough to make Tara cry, pulling you into a hug. Her tears wet your shirt, but that’s the least of your concerns right now. A slew of apologies ranging from “I love you so much, I’m sorry.” to “I’m so sorry this won’t happen again.” escape her lips and into your neck

You knew Tara had a bad problem with jealousy. You happily supported her during her therapy sessions, and you welcomed your girlfriends progress with open arms. Her anger must’ve been building over the past few weeks, because she was never this bad when it came to jealousy

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” She finally says. “I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you, baby. You don’t deserve that.” Tara’s eyes are red, and her sniffles make your heart break at how small she looks

“It’s okay, Tara. I know you’re trying, baby. How about we go home now?”

“Please? I’ll make it up to you, I promise” You pull Tara out of the room, and make your way to Tara’s car. The rest of the night, you two spend your time in each others arms settled in your girlfriends room

[nyctorune]

Izumi Sena & Leo Tsukinaga x a messy, messy gn!artistic reader

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Synopsis: How would Izumi and Leo act with a partner who’s a tragically messy artist with extra messy on the side.

Tw? Unless you find fluff and pretend constant disappointment absolutely mortifying, there’s none!

Author note: I’ve fallen down the bottomless pit of Knights yet again and now i’m writing x reader fanfic to quell my depressing thirst for fictional idols. I don’t think the bible approves of me guys-

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- Izumi Sena -

- Oh great, ANOTHER Leo. At least you’re not running around at the dead of night getting lost and losing your phone…. Right? RIGHT?!?

- He loves you! He does! It’s just… When he sees the remains of your 3AM artist mayhem it just makes him question everything. Just a bit.

- The sketchbooks… The loose paper… The pens, pencils, and markers all over the place… God it haunts him in his dreams. I mean, how does a marker make it behind the GOD DAMNED PILLOWS?!? HELLO?!?!

- Has seriously considered buying restraints. Don’t test him… He will. (must we remember his Makoto moment…?)

- He thinks it’s stupid that you trash so much art. You’re going to suffocate your trashcan with all that beautiful messy art.

- And don’t think you can get away with digital art!! He’s seen your file names!!! Disgusting. How do you even manage to find anything? You don’t? Explains a lot.

- It doesn’t matter where you crash, as you’ll always find yourself back in bed with all your tasmanian devil destruction cleanly put away.

- He always makes sure you get enough sleep, enough to eat, and plenty to drink. And don’t go slouching around like an idiot! It’ll ruin that pretty pretty appearance of yours… Seriously, SOOOO annoying.

- When you show him your recent art piece that has survived Hurricane Y/N, he smiles, just a bit. Butttt like the tsundere he is he quickly covers it up and says your eyes are just playing tricks. You draw too much. Go to sleep before he has to go through the hassle of getting you glasses!!!

- What’s that? You want to know his opinion? Well, of course you do! He is the MOST qualified person for this. He is a model after all~~ He gives you a healthy balance of compliments and criticism. He knows what getting crappy criticism is like, and he never wants you to experience that too. Especially from him.

- Once you’ve left, he smiles and admires your work. He loves it! It doesn’t matter if it’s the next Picasso masterpiece or not, it was made by you and that’s special. He really wants to see where your art goes, and he will stop at nothing to make sure that becomes a reality.

- Leo Tsukinaga -

- Crazy artist two, electric boogaloo.

- The team rocket theme plays when the two of you are seen together.

- “PREPARE FOR TROUBLE! AND MAKE IT DOUBLE!”

- Leo is genuinely SO happy he’s with you. Seriously. He’s never letting you go. Forget Anzu when he has YOU! :D His best, most beautiful muse!

- Naru walks into your shared room with Leo, it’s literally all paper and various stationary. She can’t even see you two!! She sighs and closes the door, she can’t take this much longer….

- Leo sees your art, and he glows. Like, LITERALLY glows. (god applied glow ink to him for 1800 seconds.)

- Your art just makes him so happy and giggly. He’s already hugging you and bouncing up and down like no tomorrow.

- Sometimes, he sees music in your art. Like, both figuratively and literally. There are now at least 20 songs that have come from the back of your sketchbook and 20 more that was written i n your sketchbook.

- If you were to EVER degrade your art in any fashion, well, Leo will get very grumpy. And whiny. And clingy. He’s NOT leaving your side and he will NOT shut up until you agree that all your art is beautiful and you’re super talented and super attractive and amazing and funny and- it never ends…

- There have been multiple instances where all the idols in Ensemble Square have found washed up and stranded pages filled with doodles and music notes. They’re just… not even surprised. They’ve even made a competition from it!

- Whoever finds the most abandoned children of the artistic mayhems ™️ gets *idk insert something that sounds appealing i can’t think of anything.*

- Now, if you decide to come with Leo to Florence, well…. Hell hath no fury like an Izumi annoyed. Buttttt that’s another story for another time ;)

I hope yall enjoyed my little head cannons for my favorite two idiots. If any of you wanna request then please check my pinned post! Have a good rest of the next 12 hours :)

[azurezra]

man. today has been, something. started off by queuing up some TMR songs. that was. fun. ended up searching for the SEED song lyrics in an attempt to karaoke like the old days. and ended up stumbling upon the name of an old LJ friend in the translation credits, ah,hahahahaa...hah. (;_; )

somehow or other i next decided to check if 平川地一丁目 was on spotify and uh, gee, two separate artist pages. "Hirakawachiitchome" and "Hirakawachi 1Chome"... weird. one had their early stuff, the other was 3 2020's releases... i d k. made a playlist because i still do not fully comprehend HOW TF to use this godawful app. soon enough noticed how tHE ONE. WHOLE. UNAVAILABLE SONG. 「君のくつ」 i immediately recognised the title it was one of the FIRST I EVER HEARD, and thus SURELY the MOST nostalgic and... goddamn.

cue an attempt to listen to it ELSEWHERE? youtube just showed me. a cover. o-ohhh but it WAS, *VERY* nostalgic!!! but NOT THEM. so, i tried another site. it was a *japanese* lyrics site. it actually had a link. to a youtube video. region block. of. course. ........so, my DUMB ASS has just never bothered with a vpn in all these years (used to use proxies on occasion, but...) —so i did not have one handy!! but after NOT TOO MUCH STRUGGLE, i found a jp one (and the site actually seemed familiar? h-huh...) AND GOT IT TO WORK

AND LISTENED TO THE SONG!!! HELL YEAH, NOSTALGIA

....and then the eventual emotional crash. sigh.

i didn't even listen to the pl yet or discover any other songs i used to know, great! and nvm the idea to try to d/l the song cos even tho i HAD it, who knows, now? but ofc MY vpn didn't do jack shit for the mp3 converter websites accessing it from hell knows where. and again. i'm too dumb, to solve, these fucking issues!!

...

so then there was yesterday's shit. the power got shut off by 11am, curtailing my original plans for TMR. unable to even do chores, and lacking ANY offline activities or crafts in this hellhole, i ended up... reading —INITIALLY ONE. and then, ONE BY ONE— ALL, of my, ancient ass, OC writings. the ones i made like a single file each for, thought about in bed for days/weeks until the next ""idée fixe"" took over, but then eventually neglected in favour of my "top 3"...

well there was ACTUALLY some good/cute stuff. a LOT of cringe stuff. shameless asides laughing at my own cringe-but-free writing ability. peppered here & there with many an ancient ass meme phrase i hadn't heard in a decade+

and ofc, far too much, incomplete scenes, suddenly stopped, SOMETIMES NOTED with, "i'll write that later" and then i never. did. (and yet i KNOW there were more scenes??? so it was. thought up in bed. and never typed up....) (;_; )

well that was FUN. ...until the crash. from the high. and the power was still off ofc. *power eventually paid & resolved by 7pm* BUT. the damage was already done.

brain now overloaded with "freshly unearthed" thoughts about ALL of my OCs, not just my top 3 stories.... oh, god.

a-and THEN i started wondering how they looked? i.e. my pathetic maplestory sprites created in bannedstory (rip in pieces)

and so i. eventually dug into my dropbox. o-oh god. SOME ARE. SOOOOOOOOCUTE. SOME ARE. SO ugly. l-lol. cry. "they'll look better when i finally draw them! these are just design drafts!" .......CRYYYYYY.

and NOW i'm plagued by thoughts of posting them, but even MORE tormented by:

a.) not being to edit or adjust any!!! fucking pixels!! on ipad!!

b.) even CROPPING the massive "collages" is a HUGE PAIN on the ipad???

c.) there are multiple versions, across different images, made at different times— and SOME charas look better in one, while others look better in another?!? MORE CUT PASTE CROP EDIT HELL

...nvm all these .bsproj files that can no longer be accessed or loaded up and edited and.... cries. GOD I BET EVEN IF ANY SUCCESSOR APP TRIED TO IMPLEMENT THEM, THEY'D LACK THE ABILITY TO READ THE COLOUR ADJUSTMENTS I TOOK ENTIRELY TOO MUCH ADVANTAGE OF a-and then if i loaded 'em up. HORRID, AWFUL ORANGE HAIR THAT I HAD DESATURATED TO SOME SEMBLANCE OF "SILVER", OR GREEN EYES HUE SHIFTED TO TEAL OR, OR, OR—

[goodshipsmulder]

The Tide

Post episode fic for Home Again. Mulder's silence at the end scene bugged me so I made a headcanon out of it, as always ;) My first ever fanfic by the way, I shall try and tag correctly. ****

‘Of course we didn’t treat William like trash. Anything but. We did everything we could to protect him.’ I want to say this to her out loud but as with almost everything I’ve wanted to say to her today, the words get stuck in my throat, so all I can do is squeeze her shoulder as she leans into me and hope she knows.

I didn’t go to the funeral, and one week on I still feel like trash myself for not being there for her despite that being at Scully’s request. When we’d discussed it, she was worried I’d get into a fight with Bill again and I had to grudgingly admit, based off of the last time he and I tried to attend the same Scully family get together, that this was for the best. So we’d agreed I’d pick her up after the wake and the two of us would go down to the coast, to a favorite spot of her parents’, and sprinkle some of Margaret’s ashes into the sea there. Bill doesn’t like the sentiment of spreading ashes, claiming the spirit is more important than the body or something, and Charlie as usual couldn’t stick around.

She feels soft and light as she leans into me, and I can’t help but enjoy how tactile she’s been since her mom’s last days in the hospital. Trying not to enjoy her touch *too* much, I keep my gaze on the shoreline in the middle distance.

Ever since we started back on the X Files, I’ve felt this gradual shift as if we’re getting back to how things used to be between us. It hasn’t been a linear, progressive change – things never have been that way for us. No, more like the tide of the sea, slowly edging inwards, the waves crashing forward then drawing back across the sand, imperceptibly moving in. A look here, a touch there, then we back off into the realms of cordiality and professionalism. Back and forth, ebb and flow. Sometimes I feel that she’s close to coming home to me for good, other times I feel like we’re back to square one like when she was first assigned to work with me and we were still learning to trust each other. I hope it doesn’t take another 7 years for her to let me in again…but I can wait.

The breeze lifts a lock of her hair and it brushes against my cheek. Although I still hate fire, I have always loved how her hair looks like a burning beacon of light. Here in the dwindling light and starkness of the beach, it seems to glow even more in contrast. If our relationship is the tide of the sea, Scully herself is a lighthouse. She’s been there to guide me to safer waters so many times and I know she needs the same from me today.

I’m silently reflecting on the metaphor and whether I can extend it any further without it becoming cloying - considering whether she views me as a riptide, pulling her out into danger, or more as a weighty anchor, dragging her downward with me whenever my depression hit - when suddenly she says my name.

“I think I’m ready now,” she says, pulling away from me and picking up the urn containing her mother’s ashes. I rise, trying not to wince at the stiffness in my knees, and help her to stand. Her smart black heels aren’t really suited to the sand, so I have an excuse to offer her my arm to help steady her, and she takes it without hesitation. We make our way down the beach toward the old wooden jetty, up onto the creaking weathered boards and slowly out towards the edge where the water is surprisingly deep and laps gently against the beams beneath.

She’s clutching the urn to her chest and I can see she’s starting to tremble as she struggles with the clasp, so I lay my hand over hers and murmur “We can do this another time if you want…”

“No, no I want to do this today…I need to. It’s what she wanted.”

That’s her ‘I need to work now’ tone so I take my hand away and let her continue. She tips a small pool of ash onto the palm of her hand and tremulously holds it out over the water. I know she’s already given enough speeches at the funeral and the wake, and her voice is already breaking so I’m not surprised when she keeps it brief:

“Mom, here you go, back to Ahab like you wanted. Wherever you are now, there will always be a part of you in the sea, just like dad. And there will always be a part of you with me, too. Love you.”

She turns her hand and lets the ashes sprinkle down into the water, the sea foam gently swirling around them until they sink down away from view.

I’m still gazing at the water when I realise she’s holding out the urn to me. “I’d like you to do this too, Mulder,”

I nod and accept the small heap of ashes she pours into my palm. I hold my hand out over the water and pause. I kinda knew she’d want me to say a few words and I’d been unsure what to say, but I decided to freestyle it, true Mulder fashion.

“Margaret…I know after my mother died you always said I could call you Mom and I never did. I always wanted you to know that it wasn’t that I didn’t want to, just that you always felt like so much more to me than that word had ever meant to me…you showed me so much love and acceptance. Thank you. And thank you for raising Dana into the wonderful, feisty, beautiful person she is today…” I can feel Scully reaching out to touch my arm and I start to falter again. Never one for too much schmaltz, I try for a bit of levity, “and thanks for all that delicious food you made for me, especially your Irish Stew, and for making sure I ate a vegetable now and then. I’ll try and keep that up.” I smile to myself and tip the ashes into the water, somewhat less gracefully than Scully had.

We stand there quietly for a while, then Scully says in barely more than a whisper “When did mom cook for you?”

Shit. I forgot she didn’t know.

“Oh…yeah that was after…after you moved out. She came over one day out of the blue, said you hadn’t mentioned seeing me in a while and she was getting worried about me. She noticed I was looking a little rough and I think she clocked the takeout containers in the kitchen. She came over again the next day with a big bag full of Tupperware homemade frozen dinners and a freshly baked lasagne. And then she came back a week later with more, to make sure I’d eaten.”

Scully lets out a tiny broken chuckle “That is so typically Mom,”

“Yeah, it happened a couple of times, actually. Just whilst you were…” I cut myself off, chiding myself for mentioning the breakup. “She was a very giving person, your mom.”

She reaches out and cups my cheek with her hand, her bottom lip quivering.

“I’m sorry I abandoned you like that, Fox. I should have checked in on you more,”

“It’s OK,” I shrug off the repeated use of my first name. “I was a difficult person to be around back then,”

“So was I…”

I scoff at the notion quietly, shaking my head. She pulls me in for a hug and I breathe her in, her perfume mingling with the faint smell of whiskey on her breath from the bottle she’d shared with her brothers that morning.

The breeze starts to pick up and I feel her shiver.

“It’s getting late. Want me to drive you back to your apartment now?”

She starts to say yes then changes her mind. “Actually…let’s go back to the house together. If we stop by the market on the way I can grab a few things…maybe make you some of Mom’s stew? I’m pretty sure I remember the recipe,”

I’ve gotten better at meal planning lately, and she’ll probably be pleasantly surprised by the current contents of my fridge, but I can’t remember the last time we sat down for a home cooked meal together and can’t help but feel a flush of excitement at the thought of her coming home, if only for a few hours.

“Sounds good,” I say, turning to look back to the shore.

“I think the tide’s coming in…”

I turn back to her and smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah…I think it is.”

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

Shut Me Up

A/N: Here’s another smutty one-shot. I felt like something a little cliche so here it is. This was so fun to write! I’m still finding my footing in this fandom as a writer but I think I wanna start taking requests, the next fic I have coming out will be a request and I’m having fun with it so shoot me a message if there’s something you wanna see. I’ve just put together my Masterlist so you can check out my other fics there :)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer and Y/N don’t exactly get on well. Will they be able to work out some of their frustration when they’re forced to share a room for the night?

Category: Pure smut baby

Warnings/Includes: smut, graphic descriptions of sex, dirty talk, oral (female receiving), penetrative sex, name calling, light choking, hair pulling, scratching, please let me know if there’s anything I’ve missed!

Word count: 3850 words

The hotel is somehow worse than usual. It’s got so few rooms that they just narrowly grab enough for the whole team. But few enough that they have to bunk. Y/N didn't love sharing a room but it was better than having nowhere to sleep at all.

Prentiss tosses her a key, “That’s you and Reid” she says it so nonchalant that Y/N almost doesn’t notice it. Once in clicks in her head though she races down the hall.

“Hey, hey wait!” She calls out, a little too desperate, “Emily you can’t put me with Reid. We’ll kill each other.”

She laughs at that, it was on open secret amongst the team that Y/N and Spencer had something of a rivalry going. Bitter sworn enemies apparently. No one really bought it though. People who really truly hated each other would be a lot better at avoiding one another. But Y/N and Spencer could never seem to keep apart for very long.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to put your differences aside for a night.” she waves Y/N off as she heads into her own room, leaving her stranded in the hallway. Contemplating if the reception area might let her crash on the couch, she could even spend the night in one of the SUVs, the seats reclined far enough.

But that was stupid, why should she be the one who had to be uncomfortable, why not Spencer.

When she arrived at the door of her own room Spencer was slumped up against it, he stood up straight once he saw her coming.

“Took you long enough” he spat, reaching to take the key from her but she pulled it back before he had the chance.

“I was on the hunt for alternative sleeping arrangements” she huffs, unlocking the door.

“To no avail I presume?” he jokes but he’s just met with an eye roll.

“I’m taking the bed by the window” she stakes her claim before they even get through the door. Once they’re inside he lets out a chuckle.

“You’re welcome to the side of the bed by the window?” he jokes.

This was infinitely worse than she thought it was going to be. Where there were usually two generally uncomfortable twin beds in these standard small-town motels, instead there was a queen sized bed, staring at them as they stood at the foot of it.

“I get the bed” she says like she’s calling shotgun.

“Bullshit you get the bed, there’s nowhere else to sleep!” he complains.

She takes a second to scan the room, no sofa, no arm chair, the floor is a scratchy carpet. There’s no real option here. “You can sleep on the desk?” she suggests, and she’s not serious about it, but she wouldn’t say no if he agreed.

“Are you kidding me?” he almost shouts.

“Soft mattresses are bad for your back! Maybe it’ll sort out your posture?” she adds.

“There’s nothing wrong with my posture” he groans, massaging his temple.

“Okay sure, you tell yourself that”

They don’t say anything more about it as they unpack. Showering and changing for bed in silence. When Y/N comes out from he bathroom, Spencer is sitting up on one side of the bed, reading through case files by the light of the bedside lamp.

“Are you serious?” she whines.

“Look, we both need rest, just shut up and get over yourself” he says it without looking up from the file in his hand, his finger running over the lines at speed.

She doesn’t respond, she just climbs in on the other side, keeping herself as close to the edge of the mattress as possible to keep the distance in between them.

She lies like that for about 45 minutes but sleep’s just not coming.

“Are you ever gonna turn off that fucking light, I thought we ‘needed rest’” she mocks, turning over to look at him, still combing through the files, mumbling to himself every once in a while.

“We’ll both be useless tomorrow if we don’t get any sleep” she tries to convince him with a slightly more sincere tone.

This case wasn’t easy, the unsub had been abducting victims he’d met in online BDSM chatrooms. Bodies had been turning up murdered in ways that the victims had previously expressed were turn-ons. Suffocated, whipped, tied up in peculiar ways. There wasn’t much information to go on now, they just had to wait for the next body to turn up but that didn’t keep Spencer from pouring over everything a hundred times.

When he wasn’t being purposefully irritating Y/N honestly admired his work ethic. Just not when it was interfering with her much needed sleep.

“The bare minimum of sleep most humans need to live is just 4 hours in a 24 hour period” he blurts out, still not looking up.

“Well I’m not most humans, so knock it off”

He finally concedes, chucking his files onto the bedside table and shutting off the lamp. It’s now eerily quiet, and all she can hear is the steady breathing coming from the other side of the bed.

Enough time passes that she really should be asleep but it’s still not happening. So she’s already beyond irritated when she feels a slight shove against her shoulder.

“Hey, you still awake?” he sounds mischievous, she knows that tone of his voice and she doesn't like it.

“God! I am now! What do you want?” she mumbles into her pillow.

“I’ve just got a question” he says defensively.

She hums and rolls over to face him, he’s wide awake, “Well? Out with it” she encourages, the sooner this is over with the better.

His mouth twists into a smirk as he takes a minute to study her face, “What turns you on?” he asks it sincere, and she has no idea what to do with that.

Rolling her eyes on instinct she groans, “Ugh, are you serious? I was so close to getting to sleep, goodnight asshole.” she turns back around to end the conversation but he can’t leave it there.

“I’m serious actually, just all the talk about it earlier, I wanna know”

She doesn’t move as she speaks, remaining with her back to him in a bid not to engage, “You couldn’t handle that information.” She deadpans.

“Try me” he antagonizes, and that’s enough to set her off. He just didn’t know when to quit.

This could be a fun new way to tease him, is her first thought. Turn him on, leave him wanting, yet another game to add to their repertoire of spite.

“Fine I’ll give.” she turns back to him, staring intently this time, “Here’s one, I really get off on having my hair pulled” she scoots closer so she can lean in and whisper the next part, “like when I’m getting fucked from behind, or I’ve got someone’s cock down my throat. I love having my hair pulled, just the short sharp pain of it.” she sort of moans the last little bit right by his ear before settling back on her own pillow.

“That good enough?” she asks, and she can practically see his breath catch in his chest.

He takes a steady gulp, “Yeah, that was, informative” he breathes.

“And what about you?” she poses, he’s not getting out of this one so easy. He looks shocked, like he didn’t see this coming a mile off.

“Me? Uh—” he stutters, “My back, I get really— I get turned on when someone digs their nails into my back, like scratching and marking” something about seeing him flustered like this is almost endearing.

“I guess we’re both suckers for pain” she winks as she says it, making a move to turn around again in a bid to let the conversation die but he doesn’t give her the chance.

“Tell me another” he pleads, and she’s not sure what his expression means but she might just draw this out, see how far she can can tease this.

“Hmm, nosy aren't we?” she smirks, he doesn't respond, just waits for an answer. She thinks for a moment, “Have you ever choked anyone Dr. Reid?”

His breath hitches, and he shakes his head. She likes this new Spencer, the one that doesn’t seem to have some quip for her every two seconds.

“Well I think you might like it, you’ve got nice strong hands, long fingers too. I feel like they might make it the whole way round my neck if you tried?” her voice is soft like velvet as she speaks. He lets out a short pant, and she can see his eyes flicker down to her exposed throat before quickly coming back to her eyes.

“Does the idea of that turn you on Doc?” she teases.

“I— um—” he’s at a loss for words yet again.

“That’s not an answer now is it?” She taunts him, and moves to turn around once again. Feeling accomplished in her goal, finally about to get some sleep. But she’s barely closed her eyes when she can feel him move. He’s so close behind her that she can feel the heat radiating from him. His hand slowly reaches around and grasps her throat gently, she moves herself further into his grip on instinct and he runs with it. Using the leverage to pull himself right up behind her, and she can feel it. He’s hard, and she can feel him pushing himself right up against her ass.

“Is this a satisfactory answer?” he moves in close and whispers against her ear. She’s changed her mind, maybe this is her favorite Spencer.

“Mmhmm” she hums in response, and his fingers tighten around her neck. She pushes her ass further back, moving it up and down slightly to create some friction and she can feel him twitching through the thin layer of her nightdress. He starts to move with her, grinding against her, his other hand resting on her hip, fingertips digging in so that he can pull her closer.

She tries to moan when she feels his nails dig into her but it gets stifled in her throat.

“You sound pathetic” he whispers, “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re whining like a little slut” her hips buck involuntarily at that. “You like it when I call you names?” he teases.

The hand on her hip starts to pull at her nightdress, inching it up higher and higher until his fingers are on her bare skin. He digs his nails in just slightly and drags them around her thigh, letting them settle right at the hem of her panties.

“I bet if I put my fingers in here I’d find you soaking wet for me already?” When she doesn’t answer he tightens the hand around her throat so that it’s almost cutting off the air supply, then loosens immediately. “Answer me” he demands.

“Yes! Yes!” she moans, anything to get his hands to move where she wanted them.

“That’s what I thought” he laughs and lets go of her completely. Her dress hiked up, breathing ragged. She snaps back around to look at him and he’s already curled up on his side of the bed as though nothing’s happened. Left in shock she sits upright, crossing her arms across her chest.

“What the fuck was that?” she has to stop herself from outright shouting at him.

He turns back to look at her, taking in her sullen expression, “Disappointed are we?” he teases with a smirk. And that look makes her want to kill him.

“You’re such a dick” she huffs, and he sits upright next to her.

“You say that like I didn’t just beat you at your own game?” he tries to fight back.

“You didn’t beat me!” she protests

“Oh really, and how’s that?”

“I could feel you, you were rock hard before you even touched me” she spits it out, because if she turned him on first then somehow this didn’t feel as embarrassing.

“Yeah! Because you were teasing me!” he looks frustrated now,

“Exactly! Because I was teasing you, and you fucking liked it” he just rolls his eyes at that, pretending like it’s somehow not true.

“Shut the fuck up” he groans, running his hands through his hair and letting his head fall back against the headboard.

She quirks an eyebrow and looks straight into his sleepy eyes, “Make me.”

In less than a second his hands are on her again, grabbing and pulling her into his lap. One hand is firmly on her back, holding her tight against his chest, the other is tangled in her hair already. Grabbing fistfuls as their lips work against each other.

It’s heated, and ferocious, full of pent up aggression, or tension, or both.

As his tongue works against hers, she lets her own hands wander over him, finally coming to rest at the back of his head, tangling in his curls. When she grinds down into his lap she can feel his cock still hard beneath her, straining against the fabric of his boxers. She thought it was impossible but it felt harder than it had been earlier.

He breaks apart the kiss and they both take in wrecked breaths, chests heaving. He pulls at the hem of her nightdress, pushing it further up her thighs, grabbing a rough handful of her ass as his hands find the exposed skin there.

“We gotta get this off” he whispers, and she nods, pulling it off over her head so that she’s exposed now. Perched in his lap in nothing but her panties. “Fuck” he moans at the sight. His hands come straight up to grab her tits, rough and exited for a moment before easing up, kneading them, getting used to the weight of them in his hands. He brings his mouth down, leaning in so that he can place sloppy open mouthed kisses along her neck and collar bones, trailing down to the valley between her breasts. He takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking on it gently then teasing the bud with his teeth. When he releases it and looks up at her his eyes almost look glazed over, dreamy.

“I’ve always had a thing for your tits” he confesses, his lips coming down to repeat the action on the other nipple.

“Your turn to take your shirt off” she whines as he removes his lips, the cold air hardening her nipples now that he’d teased them. He drags his eyes away from her for a second so that he can peel his shirt off over his head.

On pure instinct she rakes her nails across his now bare chest, leaning in close to place kisses into the crook of his neck, moving up painfully slow, kissing along the column of his throat, landing on the soft skin beneath his ear. She can feel the moans rippling in his throat against her lips. While he’s stilled beneath her she takes the opportunity to tuck her hands in behind him, digging her nails into his back and dragging them across the skin with force. Certainly leaving harsh red lines in their wake. The noises that escape him might be the best thing she’s ever heard.

“You like it when I mark you up?” she moans into his ear, “When I make you mine?” she can feel wetness pooling between her own legs as she says the words. The very thought of it turning her on more than she ever thought it could.

Clearly he feels the same, something erupts in him and the hands that had been resting on her hips were now lifting her up and laying her down on the bed. He was on top of her now, his hair framing his face as he looked down at her, and she was biting her fucking lip in anticipation.

He almost can’t even look directly at her so he snakes down her body, littering her torso with kisses and licks. Once he lands at her hips he takes the elastic of her panties between his teeth, pulling it up and letting it go so that it snaps against her stomach. She lets out a low moan.

“Let’s see if I was right earlier, how wet are you for me?” his voice is low as he places small kisses over the cotton, making his way right in between her legs. He pulls back for a second to inspect the fabric, there’s a damp patch covering the majority of the area, as if he didn't know already. “You’re fucking soaked Y/N” he groans and presses his fingers right up against it, forcing the fabric between her folds so that it soaks up even more, “Such a needy little thing aren’t you?”

She can only let out a small whine in response, her teeth biting into her lip so hard she was afraid she might start bleeding.

“Better get rid of these, don’t you think?” he hooks his fingers into either side of her panties, sliding them down her legs. He takes them and places them on his pillow before returning to his position between her legs.

He’s slow and deliberate in his actions, teasing painfully as he places sloppy kisses on the delicate skin inside of her thighs. Stopping right at the top to nip and suck enough to leave a bruise. Taking the time to stop and leave a matching bruise on the other thigh.

She was starting to grow restless, she felt like she was literally aching for any stimulation at all.

“Spencer” she whines, “Please, I’m so fucking turned on already”. She can feel him chuckle, his exhale sends a burst of cold air right against her pussy.

“So impatient” he chastises, but gives in anyway. Laying his tongue flat against her, taking a moment to taste her before he starts to move. Licking deft strokes along her folds, alternating with sucking softly on her clit.

“Spencer, fuck, oh my god” is all she can muster as her back arches up off the bed, her hips squirming as he pins them down. “You feel so fucking good”

He takes the encouragement and brings a finger to her entrance, pushing it in at an agonizing pace, curling it upwards against her once it’s fully inside. “You’re so fucking tight Y/N, do you think you could even handle another finger?” he has to take his mouth off of her to speak but it’s worth it for the downright filthy sounds she makes in response. He takes that as a yes and slowly pushes two fingers in this time. Bringing his lips back down to wrap around her clit and suck.

Her hands fly down to his curls as he works his fingers in and out of her at a relentless pace. She grabs handfuls of his hair and pulls them harshly, not knowing where else to put the energy. “Fuck Spencer, feels so good, don’t stop” she mutters between gasps.

He continues his ministrations and he would be lying if he said the feeling of her hands pulling at his hair weren’t doing something for him.

A moment later and she’s barely able to control her movements, thrashing in the bed as he continues to work his fingers in and out of her, relishing the feeling of her walls tightening around him. Once she’s relaxed again he takes his fingers out, bringing them up to her lips, without telling her to she opens her mouth, taking the two fingers in, letting her tongue move around them to taste herself.

It’s one of the many memories from tonight he knows he wont forget anytime soon. Or ever.

“I can see why you like it” he says, leaning over her, talking into the crook of her neck, “having your hair pulled, feels fucking amazing” she lets out a weak laugh, regaining her strength.

“Told you you liked pain” she reaches down between them, grabbing his cock through his boxers, “You must’ve really liked it” she teases, squeezing as his eyes flutter shut and he nods.

He maneuvers a little so that he can take off his boxers, and finally she gets to see it. It’s perfect, bigger than she expected, it looks painfully hard, precum leaking from the tip. He moves back to hover over her, lingering for a minute to take her in. She thinks there might be something almost sweet behind his expression.

“Just fuck me already” she smirks up at him and he rolls his eyes without even meaning to.

“Will you ever stop antagonizing me?”

“If you fuck me maybe?”

With that he leans down to capture her lips in a heated kiss, she can taste herself on his tongue as it tangles with hers. She can feel him push up against her, the head of his cock just teasing at her entrance before sinking in so slowly she was almost angry.

“Fuck Y/N, you feel so good, so fucking tight, so fucking wet for me” he’s whispering right into her hear and she can barely string together a sentence.

“Spencer, you’re so big, fill me up so good with your fingers, with your cock, fuck” as he starts to move they both start to lose it, her hands digging into his back, her nails sinking into his shoulders leaving small half-moons in his skin. He finally starts to build a steady rhythm, thrusting in and out of her, filling the room with the pornographic sounds of skin on skin, coupled with their moans.

Once she can feel the familiar feeling building within her again she starts to lose control completely, her nails scratching marks into the expanse of Spencer’s back, hearing the little breathy gasps he lets out each time she does might be enough to make her cum all on their own.

“I’m close” she mewls, letting her head fall back against the pillow, exposing her neck, eyes screwing shut.

“Fuck, me too” he takes the opportunity presented to him, and wraps one of his hands around her neck, squeezing ever so slightly.

“Ahh, fuck” she breathes out with the little air that she has, “gonna cum” and she does, he can feel her tighten around his cock, her body writhing beneath his and arching up off he bed as he continues to fuck into her.

He’s following behind just a second later, spilling into her as he collapses back down, releasing his grip on her throat completely and settling on her chest.

They both take a moment. Melting into one another, steading out their breathing.

It’s Y/N who breaks the silence, “So you’ve always had a thing for my tits then?”

He cranes his neck up to look at her, “Shut up” he breathes, laying his head back down on her chest. She cards her fingers through his hair, smoothing it back down.

“Now you know how to make me.”

Masterlist

[z3llous]

Unbridled

Sanji x Badass Jealous Reader (She/her)

I use the word "bitch" gender neutrally, Pudding just happens to be a woman. Anyone can be a bitch in my book lol.

Decided to keep my lil scene name notes in.

--- Scene 1 Captain Y/n's rage---

A soft light escaped from an airship hovering in the night sky and caressed the deep dark waves below.

"Captain, are you sure this is a good idea? I know the Straw Hat Pirates are friends, but this is really risky." Vera, Y/n's first mate, questioned tracing a finger along the map.

"Vera, I appreciate it. I know and understand how risky this is, but frankly, I don't care." Y/n stated unsheathing her dagger.

Vera swallowed as a bead of sweat trailed down the side of her face at the cold gleam of the dagger under moonlight.

"Sanji and I have had something between us for a long time. We aren't official, at least not publicly, but that's my man and I'm not about to let some sugary bitch think she can take what's mine!" Y/n yelled as she aggressively impaled the drawing of Whole Cake.

--- Scene 2 Preparing for the wedding---

Sanji let out a long deep sigh as he got to the last button.

To say he was disappointed would be an understatement. The wedding would begin soon and he'd have to put on happy face, regardless much he didn't want to.

Pudding wasn't who he thought she was, and she definitely wasn't Y/n.

Oh shit, Y/n! If this plan fails he'd never see her again.

They'd agreed to make their relationship public the next time their crews crossed paths, which should've been Wano, but now he wasn't so sure that'd ever happen.

"Damn it, this has to work." He whispered gripping the sides of the vanity and glaring at his reflection.

---Scene 3 Wedding Crash! Grab that Man!---

Beautiful, everything was perfect, at least it appeared that way to anyone who didn't know what was soon to come.

He was just going through the motions with a lie of a smile plastered on his face.

The moment to pull the vail back had arrived. His hands hesitated. Could he do it? It didn't matter, he couldn't turn back now, no matter how much he wanted to.

Sanji's hands reached for the vail.

A gunshot echoed throughout the area.

The priest let out a groan and dropped to floor.

A coin fell and bounced along the candy brick: everyone heard it.

"I object." A familiar feminine voice stated from her seat on top the wall.

Her crew's sniper blew the smoke from his gun with a smirk.

"Y/n." Sanji whispered in recognition.

---Scene 4 Reunited and Terribly in Love---

The fight was intense and Y/n's crew added to the chaos.

Thankfully, the sheer amount of Luffy was distracting enough for Y/n to grab Sanji and run.

Sanji had hoped to see her again, but in her arms with scowl on her face as she ran at a full sprint wasn't quite how he'd pictured it. He knew jealousy was rare for her, but damn did she look good in it.

Eventually Y/n found an empty building far enough and stopped there.

He was unfortunately back on his feet, but luckily Sanji was pulled back in her arms, and into a kiss that quickly became many. Soon those kisses trailed away from his lips to his neck.

"What you think you're doing getting yourself into all this trouble? Do you have any idea how upset and worried I was when I learned your bastard of a father was selling you off for a political marriage?" She questioned between kisses, a hand sliding up an down his back comfortingly.

"I'm sorry to have worried you. How did you know what was happening?" He held her closer and whispered.

"I have a few spies here. They keep me updated on Big Mom's plans." Y/n said ceasing her affectionate attacks along his neck and collarbone.

"I missed you, Y/n." Sanji said tearing up.

"Shh It's ok. You're going to be ok. I'm right here" She cooed stroking his cheek with her thumb.

---

Sorry Pudding, I took your moment away from you :/

Also Katakuri was like, I'm going to just file my nails a sec while you shoot the priest, cuz like he's not family so it ain't my problem.

Tags: @vemuabhi​

@vission-kid​

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[fawad-khan]

professor ‘fuck me a lot’

A/N: so tom in that esquire interview and that instagram story did things to me ajhsuifhf so here we are! also this is my first professor tom fic hehe. beta read by the lovely @parkerpeter24​ (title credit goes to her too XD)

Masterlist

Pairing- professor!tom holland x student!reader

Warning- smut, thigh riding,swearing, unprotected sex, teacher-student relationship(?), wrap it before you tap it! (all characters are 18+ btw)

Word Count- 3.4k+

Summary- you catch tom in a compromising position.

Thomas Stanley Holland, the new professor was the talk of every single student in the college. He was young, and very smart and knew his subjects well. He had a way with his teaching that made everyone’s ear perk up and pay attention to whatever he was teaching. Everyone was impressed by how he taught from a different perspective, in the sense that he not just gave a lecture, he explained in such a way that each person could visualise and convert the picture into their own words.

He was also very undeniably  attractive. He had attractive features. His chocolate brown dolomite eyes, soft looking lush brown hair, pink kissable lips that so many girls (and even some guys) dreamt of kissing over and over again, desirable cheekbones and the suits he wore for his lectures made him look so fine, drawing attention and he somehow managed to pull you towards him as well.

As if his looks weren’t enough, it was also his voice, and how it sounded like music to your ears. He certainly had a way with his words. Many times you had yourself what would it be like to have that same voice whisper dirty things in your ears. You remember the day he stepped into the classroom on his first day of teaching you.

"Hello everyone, my name is Tom Holland, and I will be teaching you literature from today onwards. I can see lots of bright faces here," he gazed around the room as he continued, "now, before we get started I would like to get everyone's names and just ask some questions in general, that is what we will do first. So why don't we start with," he took a list from his desk and called out a few names, who stood up and introduced themselves.

"(Y/n) (l/n)?" You heard your name being called out. You got up and politely introduced yourself. 

"I actually have a very good report on you here, miss (y/n). Are you that interested in literature? And please sit down if you want." He beamed, but you continued to stand anyway, admiring him already.

"Well, actually I have really been fond of reading lots of books since childhood and always had a hobby of writing small stories and poems and such for the school part so I guess that is how I realized I wanted to delve further into the subject."

"Well I must say, that's very impressive. And do you have any plans after you complete and procure your bachelor's degree?"

"Actually yeah, I have dreamt of being a writer so I would very much like to succeed in that. Otherwise, being a college professor is another option, where I'd love to teach about various literature works."

"That is very good, miss (y/n). Well that is all for now and I'm looking forward to teaching all of you, you all seem like very talented students."

"Thank you, professor Holland." Everyone chorused. He picked up a book from his desk and began to teach. He certainly knew his subject very well, for unlike the previous professor who had managed to bore all of you last year, you found yourself paying attention to every single word he said.

Of course, as time passed, there were more and more girls who always discussed him, innocent things at first like how great a teacher he was and something like he was the cutest professor they ever had. It gradually escalated to how hot he was and how many girls were willing to do him in his classroom and so on.

You would rather die than admit, but you did have a crush on your teacher. A major, at that one. It wasn’t that often that you got a teacher like him, anyway. Maybe that was a small reason why you tried harder in his class and excelled more. He was also often very pleased with your work and had grown to favour you, seeing that you indeed had a lot of potential and admired how you always submitted everything on time and how you were always punctual and overall how dedicated you were in his classes. You had gradually grown to become one of his favourite students.

----

It was a Thursday evening, the clock ticking 7pm as you finally finished your due work of the week. As usual, you gathered your sheets and checked it again to make sure there were no errors. Once you were satisfied, you stapled them and put them neatly in a plastic folder and made your way to Tom’s room for submission. He had made a rule that students could either email their respective essays and papers or physically submit it to him either in the classroom or personally in his room in case someone wanted a little guidance as well.

Checking your appearance to make sure there were no stains or anything like that on you or your dress, you took your file and made your way towards his room for submission. You gave a soft knock and waited for him to open the door. No response. You knocked again. Again, no response of opening the door. Although, you could hear his voice, so he probably was on the phone or in a meeting or something.

You turned the knob of the door and quietly, swung the door open and entered the room. Closing the door behind you, you turned right to walk towards his table and saw something you never thought you'd see.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, sir!" You exclaimed, making him startled and jump in his seat.

He was in a webinar session. With no pants on. He was only in a formal shirt and underwear and a pair of socks. You could very clearly see his thighs which were naked in your sight. The thighs you had only dreamt of riding in your dreams. 

He hastingly said something about some technical issues and that he would have to leave and left the webinar and walked across the room to his closet to quickly get some pants. He grabbed the first pair he could see and before he could put it on, your brain decided to blurt out something you wouldn't have dared to ever say to your professor.

"Don't put them on!" You quickly covered your mouth with both hands, your file dropping on the floor. Your whole face went red as soon as those words left your mouth, your knees shaking with nervousness.

He stood in his place, stunned. He could not believe the words that just came out of your mouth.

“What- what did you just say?”

“I -uh” you stammered, covering your face again and taking a deep breath. He walked towards you and took your hand and held it, his other hand holding your chin and making you look up into his eyes.

“Say it again, darling. There is no harm.” he said in a calm and husky voice that made you feel giddy and weak at the knees. “Go on, now.” his fingers gently pushed a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

You looked into his eyes. Your heart was beating at a very furious pace. A fire was surging in you as his fingers had touched your skin. 

“I said, don’t put them on.” you whispered slowly, your voice lingering in his ears. He smirked and brought his lips closer to your ear and whispered, “and why is it so?” his voice lulled you to him, his one hand resting on your cheek and his other hand lowering to your waist, pulling you closer to him. “don’t be shy, say what you have to say.”

"It's because," you paused, a new wave of confidence flowing through you. This was now or never. "It's because I want to ride them."

"Hmm is that so?" He hummed, lazily nibbling your earlobe, making you hot and bothered. He stepped back and sat on his chair and held out his hand. You took it and he pulled you on his lap and held you tight by the waist with one hand. His other hand cupped your jawline and pulled your face closer so your lips were only millimetres apart from touching.

"Then be a good girl and ride me" with that he wasted no time and crashed his lips on yours, you reciprocating the kiss immediately. Your eyes fluttered shut, so did his. The feeling of his soft, smooth lips felt more amazing than you had fantasized in your dreams. You tilted your head to grant him more access. 

He bit your lips gently, making you moan into his mouth. Your fingers flew to pull his soft hair strands, messing them up as he deepened the kiss and you gently grinded your hips against his.

You were the first to pull away from the kiss, gasping slightly for air to breathe. His hair was slightly messed up, he was out of breath and both of you had flushed faces. The sexual tension that was subtle before was more thick and more prominent.

"I better lock the door, huh? Don't want anyone to walk in on us?" You asked, looking at him. He nodded in response as you got up and went to lock the latch on his door. Now no one would interrupt the two of you.

"Ride me, darling. Be a good girl for me." The raspy voice made you feel wet as you repositioned yourself so now you were sitting on his left thigh, with his thigh pressed against your clothed pussy, making you let out a moan.

You pressed your clothed pussy and began to rock your hips up and down, feeling a sense of pleasure jolting in you. As you increased your pace, you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. You held his shoulders for support as you grinded faster, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of his thigh.

“Oh my, fuckkk” you moaned out, arching your back as grinded even faster, feeling that you wouldn’t last very long. Tom meanwhile was watching you, feeling his pants getting a little tight at the sight of you riding his thigh. He couldn’t help but let out a groan as he watched you ride your high. With time, he was attracted to you and always imagined what you would be like in bed. He had always fantasised but never thought he would be here in this situation.

“You’re doing great, darling ohhh” he groaned out, closing his eyes and leaning his head back as his hands held you firmly by the waist.

“God I’m gonna cum!” you moaned out, holding his shoulders tight for support as you felt yourself releasing, soaking heavily through your panties and shorts. Your movement became slower as you rode out your high, stopping a few seconds later, panting and sweating heavily. You opened your eyes to look at him all flustered and lips parted.

"Woah" was what came out of his mouth. He gently held you and placed you on his right thigh and the both of you could see a shiny wet spot where you had come just a few seconds ago. He looked back at you and smirked, making you go red.

"I don't normally do this with my students, you must know that."

"Oh that's, great I guess."

"Would you mind if I did what I wanted to do to a student whom I happen to be attracted to?" He whispered huskily, lips dancing dangerously over yours.

"And what would that be? Care to elaborate, sir?" You asked, looking into his eyes again.

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough, darling." With that he kissed you, this time with more heat and passion as though he was holding all his desires as he inserted his tongue into the kiss, exploring your mouth. You kissed him with equal amount of passion and lust, running your hands in his hair.

His lips left yours and pressed kisses on your jawline and neck, sucking your skin gently till he found your sweet spot and sucked a hickey there.

"Careful there sir, don't want people to see that." You gasped out, head thrown back.

"Say my name, dear. Wanna hear it from your pretty lips." He mumbled against your neck.

"Tom!" you whimpered, making him groan as he went back up to kiss you again on your lips. One hand went down to unbutton his shirt and touched his amazingly toned chest. Your fingers danced and touched every part of his chest, every touch sending tingles down Tom's spine, making him bite your lip gently.

He cupped your right thigh and squeezed it, wrapping it around his waist loosely. He held you by the waist firmly and picked you up and placed you gently on his desk, not breaking the kiss for even a second.

He pulled away from the kiss and looked into your eyes again. His orbs were dark with lust.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" He said huskily, his hand slowly lowering down to your waist and slipping under the hem of your top, making contact with your skin. His touch ignited a fire in you. His fingers drew circles on your curves, sending you tingles of pleasure.

"Don't…..stop…." You trailed off, closing your eyes again, enjoying the feeling of him touching you.

His hands played with the hem of your top before taking it off and stepping back for a moment, looking at you. You were already a mess, your hair strands sticking out wildly, sitting on his desk, looking at him desiringly.

“You are so gorgeous, did you know?”

“Thanks.” you covered your face with your hands. He stepped forward and removed your hands gently, looking at you. He pressed kisses on your neck and collarbone, his hand trailing down to your shorts, unbuttoning and unzipping them. Slowly, he pulled them down to the floor, leaving you only in your bra and panties. 

He continued to kiss you on your chest, unhooking your bra in an instant, exposing your breasts. He took one of your breasts in one hand massaging it gently, taking the nipple in his mouth and sucking on it. His other hand went down to your panties, fingers touching your clothed cunt which was very soaked and he teased you through the material, eliciting a moan from you. Smirking, he hooked his fingers at the hem of your panties, inserting them inside to come in contact with your pussy.

He inserted a finger inside your wet folds, pumping in and out at a slow speed. His mouth switched to suck on your other breast as he increased his speed of thrust. You were by now a moaning mess, moaning his name out again and again while pulling at his curls. You were now very much turned on and very horny, craving him more and more. He inserted a second finger, thrusting faster, making you cum a second time.

He took his mouth away from your nipple with a pop sound and came up to meet your lips again. He finally took out his fingers out of your now swollen clit and pulled away from you, licking them clean, never breaking eye contact with you.

“You taste so delicious, dear.” he groaned out, making you want him more than ever now. You pulled him towards you by the collar and began unbuttoning his coat and shirt, running your hands over his toned abs, enjoying the feeling. He stepped closer, pressing his clothed hard-on against your soaked and clothed pussy, making you groan in pleasure. You couldn’t wait anymore. You needed him now.

“Tom…...please….” you groaned out, making him smirk.

“Please what? Use your words, darling.”

“Please….I need you now.” you groaned as you felt his hard-on press against you even more, making you buck your hips up and down.

“Gladly.” he threw his hanging coat and shirt off his body on the floor, pulling his underwear down to the floor, now completely naked in front of you. He stood in front of you, looking heavenly with his body glistening with sweat and his hair a complete mess. His cock was hard and the tip was flush pink with a little precum leaking. You took off your bra and panties and threw them across the room while he spread the precum and pumped his cock. He stepped forward and pressed a lazy kiss on your lips, aligning his cock just outside your entrance.

“Ready, love?”

“Yes” with that he entered you slowly, thrusting in and out at a slow pace, stretching you out so that you could get used to his size. Given how wet you already were, it was easy for him to move. His cock filled you up perfectly and you felt pleasure jolt through your body as you moaned continuously.

“Go faster.” you breathed out, him obeying gladly as he increased his pace, gripping your sides tight. His hips slapped against yours, a knot forming in your stomach as he hit that spot inside you again and again. He was moaning out loud with you, going faster with each thrust. One palm was on the desk to help steady himself. He pressed his lips against yours to kiss you sloppily, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths. You dug your nails on his muscles and his back, leaving crescent red marks, making him pound into you even harder.

You could feel your high approaching yet again and from the look on Tom’s face, it seemed like he wouldn’t last long before he came too. His finger rubbed your clit, bringing you closer to your orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“Fuck, I haven’t got a condom, oh my-”

“It’s ok, come inside me.” you breathed out.

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to risk it like this.” he asked, looking at you as if to ask if you were sure about this.

“I’m on the pill. Besides, my period was a week ago.”

“Oh, alright. Ohh!” his cock was beginning to twitch as you came undone around him, letting out a cry of pleasure. He grunted out loud as he reached his high, his cum spilling inside you. His thrusts became sloppier and slower and stopped moving a few moments later, his cock still buried inside you.

You clenched around him, not wanting to let go of the feeling of him beside you. Both of you were sweating and panting heavily, you holding him to steady yourself. He reluctantly pulled out of you, his cum mixed with yours flowing out slowly. He smirked at the sight and took out a cloth he always kept in his drawer to clean you up. Wow, talk about a sexy and caring professor.

“How you feelin’?” he asked, pressing the cloth against your core after wetting it slightly, 

“Amazing.” you said, making him smile. After cleaning you up, he gave you a lazy kiss and picked up his and your clothes and handed them to you. You dressed in silence and watched him do the same.

“Hey, so uh, I wanted to tell you. Um, I don’t normally do this with any student of mine. Nor have I ever been attracted to any student. You are truly an exception.”

“Thanks, it means a lot.” you smiled. “And if it helps, I’ve never been this attracted to a teacher before. You are amazing too.” he blushed at that, making you giggle

“Well I better get going.” you said, getting off his desk. You picked up your file from the floor and handed it to him, then took a piece of paper and wrote something on it and handed that as well.

“Here's my submission, and my number. If you wanna maybe text sometime?”

“Sure, I’d love that sweetheart. Maybe we can meet up for a coffee later this week?”

“I’d like that.” you smiled and made your way to unlock the door. Just as you were about to open the door, he called you out, making you turn around and look at him.

“Hey, uh is it ok if we keep this thing a secret for a while? For the both of us? I don’t want you to face unnecessary backlash from anyone because of me.”

“Yes, it’s ok, Tom.”

“Ah, professor in the classroom.” he steps closer to whisper in your ear, “Tom when we are alone, together.”, making you go red.

“Noted, professor.” you winked and exited his room, your heart skipping a beat, silly smiles on both of your faces. 

You were looking forward to your possible relationship development with him and excited to see where it goes, as did he with you.

The end

lemme know what you thought🙈

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Psychological Warfare  (A continuation of Super Soldiers)

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord ) (For those interested in learning about the events leading up to this please read the previous short story for this here: https://niqhtlord01.tumblr.com/post/188251556966/humans-are-weird-super-soldiers )

“This is enforcement team three, responding to request for assistance at broadcast building nine.”

The enforcer car sped through the well-lit streets like a blade of grass dancing in the wind; swerving between other vehicles and pedestrians almost as if it was liquid curving around a hard surface. The lights from virtual billboards lining the streets each casting another shade of color as enforcer Gavrin hung up his transponder as he rounded another corner and avoided a headlong collision with pedestrians.

“Will you slow down!?”

Gavrin was too focused on the road to respond to his partner’s pleas as they continued to speed towards broadcast building nine.

Jimble had his three hands pressed against the roof of the enforcer car for stability and shot another scornful glare at Gavrin.

“What the flartack has gotten into you, Gavrin?” Jimble said as they hit a speed bump and lurched through the air for a few moments before crashing down to the hard road again. “You’re going to get us both killed!”

“What was the request for assistance?” Gavrin calmly said as he continued weaving through the traffic. Jimble let go of the roof with one of his hands and scratched his head.

“The report said intruders had forced their way into the building.”

Gavrin nodded. “Something that big is going to be noticed by a lot of people, and I want them to know that I was there first.”

“If you were any more of a glory hound you’d be wearing a collar.” Jimble replied. He looked down at the navigation screen showing the layout of the city. “It should be just around this next corner on the right.”

As the enforcer car swung around the sharp corner Gavrin’s eyes went wide and he slammed on the stabilizer brakes. The car screeched and nearly flipped over as the momentum was suddenly killed before Gavrin grabbed Jimble and pulled him over to his side of the interior. The combined weight brought the car back down to the road before coming to a complete standstill.

Jimble lifted himself up slowly trying to regain his senses while Gavrin popped open the side door and stormed off. “No, no; I’m fine.” Jimble groaned as he blinked his eyes several times to clear them up. As he got a good look at his partner in front of the car he gasped.

Surrounding the entire street level entrance to broadcast building nine were several dozen military transports. Jimble looked to either side of the street and saw soldiers lining either side all with their weapons trained on the broadcast building.

“What the flartack is going on?”

As Jimble got out of the car he could see his partner arguing with two soldiers that had stepped forward and barred him from passing.    

“Like flar I will!” Jimble heard his partner shout into the face of the nearest soldier.

“This area is restricted.” The same soldier continued as two additional soldiers broke away from covering the building to stand on either side of Gavrin. “Move along.”

Before Gavrin could let out another outburst Jimble stepped in.

“We are responding to a request from assistance filed from this broadcast building five chrono ticks ago.” Jimble said as he glanced between the visored helmets of the soldiers. Gavrin looked like he was about to shove his way passed the soldiers until Jimble put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He grunted for a moment before Jimble felt his partners muscles relax before Gavrin shook off his hand and went back to the enforcer car.

“And if I’m not mistaken,” Jimble said as he addressed the original soldier his partner had been shouting at “the military does not have jurisdiction outside of military installations and star ports; making this a de-facto enforcer matter.”

“This incident has been reviewed by city officials and was determined to fall under military jurisdiction.” a new voice cut in.

Both enforcers turned to see a sharply dressed military officer approach the group. With a wave of her hand the soldiers dispersed back to their positions leaving them alone.

“Since when?!” Gavrin nearly shouted as he smacked his hands against the hood of enforcer car.

“Since several highly ranked prisoners of war escaped a military base five days ago.” She turned and looked at the broadcast building and for a moment Gavrin could see what almost looked like fear cross her face.

“Why weren’t the enforcers informed of fugitives on the loose?” Gavrin pressed. “We could have found them far faster than you lot.”

“They are not normal fugitives.” was all she said before quickly raising a hand to her ear. She nodded a few times to herself before casting a look around the entire street.

She opened her mouth as if to give an order when an ear shattering static cut through not only her radio but Jimble and Gavrin’s radios as well.

“Good evening, fine citizens of Tivin.”

Jimble looked up to see the virtual ad long that had been for clothing change to static before displaying a new feed. It showed the interior of what appeared to be a broadcast room. There was a broadcast desk, a virtual backdrop of Tivin, and even the stations logo on the front. Yet behind the desk was someone Jimble had never expected to see.

A human…..

The human wore a makeshift cloak across his shoulders along with a bandana over his forehead keeping the strands of black hair out of his eyes.

“Cut the line!” Jimble and Gavrin tore their gaze away from the screen to see the officer shouting into her communicator. Whatever the response was it appeared to displease her as she turned to her waiting forces and shouted “Get in there now!”

The waiting squads of soldiers surged forwards, blowing the doors off the front entrance and rushing inside without a moment’s hesitation.

“My name is Joseph Maker,” the human continued drawing the attention of the trip remaining in the street, “and as you’ve no doubt noticed I’m very much human.”

Joseph waved a hand to something off screen and the camera panned around the room to reveal several other humans standing in the corner of the room. “As are my friends here.” Joseph continued as the camera spun back around to him.

“Your military was kind enough to invite us to your world for a little…chat..and afterwards we felt it only right to see this prime example of society we’ve heard so much about.”

Gavrin felt something strange and turned to see the building behind him. The virtual ad for some food parlor warped and displayed the same transmission of the human at the broadcast station. He watched as one by one the ads lining the streets all began to blink and switch to the same feed.

“They’re using the emergency broadcast system.”

His statement fell on deaf ears as sounds of weapons fire erupted from the broadcast building. Jimble and Gavrin both reached for their side arms and trained them on the entrance expecting something to come rushing out. The windows of the upper floors were flashing with the light of muzzle fire and grenades exploding, several of them shattering from the barrage raining broken glass down on to the below streets.

Gavrin looked up to see a soldier flung through one of the windows as if they were nothing but a rag doll. They screamed the entire way down falling through the air until impacting the ground with a disgusting wet flop of a sound.

“I’ve learned so much about your culture these last few days.” The human calling themselves Joseph continued. “For instance, your media appears to block any mention of the war effort what so ever.”

Joseph stood up and began walking across to the other side of the room and as the camera followed him Jimble and Gavrin let out a horrid gasp. Curled up in the corner was the broadcast stations staff, bound with cabling.

Joseph knelt down to one of them and removed their gag. “Tell me, mr…” he waited several seconds before his hostage caught on that he was waiting for him to respond. “Kavik.” They said as their voice reeked with fear. “Mr Kavik, thank you.” Joseph continued as he placed his arm around Kavik. “What do you know about the war between our two peoples; hmm?”  

Kavik looked confused and scared, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words. “That..” he began to speak, “that we are winning.”

To Gavrin’s surprise, rather than showing anger the human laughed and patted Kavik on the back.

“What a patriotic answer!” Joseph smiled as he continued patting Kavik on the back. “I’m sure it will be perfect on your tombstone.”

Before Kavik could react Joseph had grabbed his head with both hands and violently twisted. In an instant Kavik’s neck had snapped and his head was now facing the wrong direction on his body.

“Will someone kill this flartack feed!?” Jimble could hear the officer shouting again. “It’s going out planet wide!”

To Gavrin’s horror the humand did not stop at simply snapping the now dead broadcaster’s neck. They watched as the human continued to twist the head in circles until the skin began to rip and tear. As the camera continued to remain focused on the gruesome affair, Joseph slowly and deliberately continued twisting the head in circles until finally pulling it free from the body along with a portion of the spine.

“See what patriotism will get you kiddies?” Joseph still had a smile upon his face even as he casually held the severed head.

Jimble’s eyes were so transfixed by this act of barbarity unfolding before him that he didn’t feel Gavrin shaking him.

“Do you hear me? We need to get in there!”

Jimble looked down from the virtual displays and Gavrin saw nothing but fear in his partner’s eyes.

“Did you not just see the human rip a head off with their bare hands?!?!” Jimble was nearly hysterical now. His mind was not able to process what was happening before him. Before Gavrin could reason with him Joseph spoke again.

“You see, your people have a knack for invading other systems and either enslaving or eradicating species on flights of fancy.” Joseph let the head fall from his hand finally and just before it hit the ground kicked it with his right leg. The head simply turned into a shower of blood, bone, and bile before the camera; coating Joseph in a glazing of gore.

“Reading your records it’s been centuries since the last time one of your own worlds felt an enemy attack, so I imagine it’s given you this sense of security and superiority.”

Joseph looked down at his hands now for the first time and noticed they were covered in blood. He tried shaking them a few times but after that failed he walked back to the huddled hostages and wiped his hands on one of them.

“My friends and I thought that it would be most beneficial to reintroduce you to the horrors of war.”

The smile faded from Joseph’s face as one by one the other humans began to stand behind him.

“From this day forth, this planet will become a battlefield.”

“The safety and security you have lived with your entire life will now become a distant memory.”

“Your leaders will be hunted down and flayed one by one.”

“Your centers of industry and commerce destroyed beyond repair.”

“Your culture and history washed away in a tide of your own blood.”

“I promise you that for the atrocities you have carried out against my people you shall be shown no quarter, no mercy, and no forgiveness as we rage across this pathetic world like a hurricane of death and destruction.”

Jimble and Gavrin watched silently as the remaining hostages were brought before the camera. Each of them screaming into their gag as the humans slaughtered them like cattle, live for the entire world to see.

“War has been nothing but a game to you people, played out far from your homes and loved ones.”

The smile returned to Joseph’s face, but it lacked any semblance of warmth or kindness. It was a twisted smile, a smile of a predator looking down at his prey’s final moments.

“So now I want to ask you all, would you like to play a game?”

Roar of an explosion rocked the broadcast station building cutting the feed instantly. Jimble, Gavrin, and the officer dove for cover as debris began falling all around them. When the dust finally settled Gavrin looked upwards and saw the smoking remains of several destroyed floors.

“It’s about time.” The office said into her communicator as she straightened up. “Which team finally got the shot off?”

She waited for several seconds but no reply. “Repeat, which team took out the building?”

Yet again, silence.

“Will someone respond!?”

As Gavrin and Jimble both rose to their feet a strange thudding sound could be heard in the distance.

“What’s that sound?” Jimble queried. Gavrin listened closer to the thudding. “It almost sounds like-“

Another set of explosions rocked the street, this time from below the surface. In a flash of light Gavrin saw the officer thrown violently up into the air as the ground beneath her feet exploded upwards. He didn’t see where she landed as the explosions continued to ring out all around him.

When the explosions finally stopped Gavrin opened his eyes to a city of darkness. Every light save for the fires now burning brightly across the city streets were off. People in surrounding streets now ran to and fro in panic as if they had been consumed by madness.

“We need to contact headquarters.” He turned to see if Jimble was already up only to find his body limply hanging out from under a crushed piece of masonry.  

“Well hello there, friend.”

Gavrin turned to see the speaker and froze.

Joseph was standing before him, casually standing in front of him with half his face burnt off. He could see strips of flesh burnt and charred hanging from him like bits of loose string, but even more surprising was the slowly growing blob of new skin that was already growing over the wounds.

Remembering his side arm Gavrin went for it but was too slow. In a flash Joseph had grabbed his hand by the wrist and clenched it so tight he severed it entirely.

Gavrin looked down at where his hand had once been and the bloody stump that now remained; a twisted mesh of blood and bile leaking from his wound like a waterfall. He looked up at his attacker to see the dozen or so humans that had been with him on the screen spreading out from the building. Some were equally singed while others appeared fine as day.

Several civilians saw them as well and let out a scream in horror. The humans began running and were on the in moments ripping them limb from limb.

It was chaos, pure chaos.

The last thing Gavrin remembered before passing out from blood loss was the crooked smile of Joseph as he looked down on him.

The crooked smile of a predator about to feed on a world driven to madness. 

[angellbarnes]

Forgotten Love - part six: no longer one of them

chapter summary: the truth will set you free, if it doesn't kill you first. The team interrogates you and your past.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

words: 2.3k

warnings: language, mentions of torture, needles

A/N: sorry it's been a while but finally got around to finishing this chapter. Pls like, comment and reblog as always! :)🤍

series masterlist

You look around the blank, boxy room. Then down at your hands, where your wrists are chained to a table. Then down at your ankles, where they are chained to the chair you’re sitting on. It’s been at least thirty minutes since you were left in here by yourself, struggling in your restraints. Your breathing becomes rugged and you can’t hold down the panic rising within, no matter how hard you try. Even closing your eyes, all you see are them. In a sudden rush of emotion you manage to yank yourself free from each chain and stand, pushing the chair from behind you and sending flying back, hitting the wall and crashing to the floor. You look up to the wall opposite, noticing your disheveled reflection in the mirror, fists balled up tight. A one-way mirror, no doubt.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You repeat to yourself. Your hands fly to your hair, raking through it and grabbing while your chest heaves and your head spins. Steadying yourself with the table for a moment to calm yourself as best you can. You tread carefully towards the door but stop in your tracks, physically frozen in place as you try and place how many footsteps are heading towards you now.

There are seven of them. Three, you notice, stay at the door whilst the others carry on, presumably to whatever room is behind that mirror.

The door opens.

“What in the-” Fury begins, seeing you standing before him and noticing the mess you’d left. “Let me see your hands.” He brings up a gun that seems to glare straight at you, as if to say there’s no getting out of this. So, you show your hands.

Tony and Nat are behind him and Natasha walks to the chair that is on its side, picks it up and sets it back down at the table, then motions stoically for you to sit back down.

“Take a seat. We’re gonna be here for a while. And before you try anything stupid, don’t.” Fury states. You sit back down and suddenly notice the dryness of your mouth and throat.

The three of them now stand before you, looming over like the shadows of your past.

“There’s a lot to unpack here, so I suggest we start with whatever the hell just happened upstairs.” Tony begins. His face is forbidding, as are the others, and his arms are crossed.

You remain silent.

“This is the part where you start talking.” Your gaze shifts to meet a single, harsh eye. God knows he only needs one to get the job done.

“I-”

“What Barnes said. Was it true? Did you help torture him as the Winter Soldier?” Natasha’s voice is demanding, needing.

“No.” You say, finally mustering up a word. “Well, yes. No and yes.”

“What do you mean no and yes?” Fury leans forward on the table.

“Not exactly.”

“Cut the crap. Did you, at any point, help HYDRA in torturing Bucky?”

Silence. Then,

“Yes.” It came out as a broken whisper.

Behind the glass, Bucky takes in a sharp breath. Deep down he knew it was true, but that didn’t stop him from wanting it not to be.

Someone begins walking towards the door from the opposite room. Steve enters and switches out with Tony. Steve looks more disappointed than anything, which makes your heart ache more.

“Why? Why were you with them?”

“Steve-”

“Just answer the question.” Steve closes his eyes in exasperation, letting his head fall forward. He can barely look at you.

“I was alone, back when I joined.” You begin. “At the time I was sheltering in an abandoned warehouse that was half blown to pieces. They found me. I was vulnerable and they knew it. So they took me in, fed me, gave me a roof over my head, a proper one. I thought they were good people, at first.” You’re looking down at your lap as you speak, not wanting to risk looking anyone in the eye.

“And how do we know this isn’t some bullshit story you’ve made up to get us to sympathise with you?” Nat chimes in, brows knit together by the thread of betrayal.

“For all we know you could still be one of them. Feeding everything back to them since you got here. Is that what you’ve been doing? Gaining our trust in order to have inside information? This whole goddamn time.” Steve is angry. More than you’ve seen him before. But it’s not the kind of anger that him and Tony might share when the other gets on their nerves, no. This anger is the one that comes from deep within you, that only shows when you’ve been stabbed deep enough in the back for it to come seeping out all crimson red.

“No, it’s not like that. I’m done with HYDRA, I promise.”

“Well that promise doesn’t mean much to us.” Fury comments.

“I know. But it’s all I have.”

Fury holds his fingers up to his ear. “Hill, bring it in.” A moment after Fury’s request she is heading round and into the room. She passes him a folded piece of paper.

“This,” he begins to unfold it. “was surprisingly easy to find. Inside a book? Really?” He leans onto the table and slides the paper forwards. You are now face to face with yourself; the file page you'd retrieved from the first mission. You rub your hands together, as if hoping for a genie to appear so you could wish for this to have never happened.

“That’s not me. Well, it is me. But it’s not who I am. The person you’ve come to know since I joined this team is the real me. I’m not that person.” You look back down at the photograph of your deadened self. “Anymore.”

“Care to explain?” Nat asks.

“After a while with HYDRA, I realised that some others from the rooms near me were being taken somewhere else. I didn’t know where, though; they wouldn’t tell us. Eventually I was the only one left, and none of the others had come back yet.” Your throat is dryer than ever. “They took me to a room. A dark one. And they sat me in a chair. Strapped me down. I could hear some screams from neighbouring rooms but they dismissed it, said people were hurt and they were treating them. They were lying, of course, but at the time I was naive enough to believe them. They stuck a needle in my arm and released an acidically blue liquid into my bloodstream. At first it was excruciating. It felt as though someone was searing my veins as it moved from my arm and into my chest, then up my neck and down my torso. Then it was everywhere. My mind was so clouded with pain, until it just… stopped. I felt numb. And after that, HYDRA turned me into their own personal weapon. Because I was their success. I was the one who survived. They had used a different serum on all twelve of us, trying to find one that worked. And it finally did. At first I felt special to have been the one that survived. Proud, even. But soon it turned into something more sinister, and I realised how lucky the others were…”

The silence in the room is deafening. To a point where you have to start shuffling in your seat just to rid it. It’s hard to gage anyone’s emotions at this point. Natasha leaves, silently, without glancing back. Though she doesn’t head towards the others behind the mirror, she walks away in the opposite direction. Your heart hangs heavy in your chest with the thought of having hurt her this much.

“So, you’re telling me, the serum we found on that mission last week hasn’t just been created? They’d already figured it out and used it on you?” Steve’s question is spoken as more of a statement, everyone already knowing the answer.

“Yes.” You whisper.

“And that’s where these powers came from? The serum?”

“Yes.”

“Another supersoldier. ‘Cause we don’t have enough of those.” Fury scoffs. “And why do they always have to come from HYDRA?”

“The serum made you stronger and faster. But it doesn’t explain your extra power. Where did that come from?” Steve interrogates.

“The serum as well.” Your voice is weak and strained by guilt as you speak. “When they were recreating it they also… experimented with it. Once they knew they perfected the original serum they started tampering with additional elements and quantities. It wasn’t until me when one of them worked. The serum they’d created managed to grip on to certain sensory nerves and cells and increased the sensitivity, or… something about exteroreceptors, maybe? I can’t exactly remember the science of it all-”

“So, just like that, we’re supposed to trust you?” Steve cuts you off, his vigilant tone as unnerving as his stare.

“Send Barnes in.” Fury motions to agent Hill, who exits the room, only to return with him: the one person you thought could get you out of this situation.

Bucky keeps his head down, making sure to avoid any eye contact. You desperately want to yell the truth at everyone - the whole truth - but you know that wouldn’t be wise. Especially since they’re already sceptical of everything that’s coming from your deceiving lips. They would never believe that. He would never believe it.

Not until he remembers it all.

“Bucky, do you know if this is the truth?” Hill cautiously asks him.

“No.”

“No, you don’t know, or no, it isn’t the truth?” Fury inquires.

“No, I don’t know.” He states, finally looking up and meeting your gaze. You can see the hurt in his eyes. It’s evident that these newly found memories haven’t treated him well. Especially since he’d started to take a liking to you, which he never let be known. He didn’t know what to make of it when he began to feel a strange, but strong, pull towards you. As if there was some invisible string that was pulling, connecting, the two of you together.

It frayed and snapped as soon as he remembered.

But knowing that he’d felt it in the first place makes his head hurt all the more.

“So, number 12, what is your real name?” Fury looks straight into your eyes, almost burning through your skull with his intensity.

“And don’t even think about lying to us again.” Steve snarls. You hesitate for a moment, drawing heavy breaths.

“My real name- my real name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Let’s put it to the test, shall we?” Fury proposes.

A few moments later, you’re being hooked up to a lie detector by Bruce. He then sits diagonal to you with the polygraph machine in front of him.

“We’re set.” He states.

“Perfect. Let’s get started, shall we?” Tony is now back in the room. A full house.

They don’t hesitate with the questions, getting straight into it, yes or no.

“Before you joined this team, were you a HYDRA agent?” Hill begins with. There is no way for you to escape this, no stopping the rollercoaster from plunging down as you reach the top.

“Yes.”

“An assassin?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still work for them?” Steve’s turn.

“No.”

“Do you still associate yourself with them in any way?”

“No.”

“Are you in contact with them?” Tony asks.

“No.”

“Do you plan on going back to them? Becoming one of them again?” Steve begins again.

“No.” You answer through gritted teeth now.

“Bruce?” Fury chimes in, and all heads turn to him, as he reads the coloured lines on the paper.

“She’s telling the truth so far.” He confirms.

The questions, the interrogating, it continues for several more minutes. Questions like: Are you loyal to this team? Are you really here to make good of your past? Is that life with HYDRA over for good?

Yes, yes, and yes.

“Did you assist in the torture of a Seargent James Barnes whilst you were a part of HYDRA?” Fury reads from a sheet, making sure to leave no stone unturned. A stone that it feels as if he just threw at your stomach. You force your eyes upwards and to Bucky’s, brimming with sadness.

“Yes.” Your answer feels so sour against your tongue. You pry your eyes away and they fall to the floor once more.

“All true.” Bruce confirms once more.

“But-”

“Last question.” Fury walks forward. “How did you manage to get through our system, without us finding any trace of who you really are?” He speaks slowly, deeply, sounding like he has gravel in his throat.

“The old me was classed as dead. I had nothing to my name, not even a life. And HYDRA didn’t make it their first priority to give me one. So, technically I was no one. It wasn’t that hard to create a completely new person. A clean slate, if you will.”

Everyone’s faces are stern, yet utterly mindfucked. No one knows what to think. Fury stands tall and motions his head to the door whilst looking at the others. Everyone exits the room in a disappointed silence.

Bucky is the last to leave. He stands, with his arms crossed and brows furrowed, directly in front of where you sit. The prolonged eye-contact is laced with an unknown, but oddly familiar,  tension.

“Bucky, I-” As soon as you begin to speak he follows after the others and shuts and locks the door behind him.

Once again, you’re left with just yourself in the vacant room, besides the company of the chair, table and your infinite, anxiety-ridden thoughts of what the hell is going to happen to you now.

•••

Taglist:

@buckysjuicyplums @901seconds @walkwithfluffyangels @infernal-fire @ohashley101 @mrs-fanfiction-2001 @buckys2thicc @freigeistundanderes

[griffin-wood]

i'll give you the best years.

pairing: naya x rider (@wayhavenots oc!)

a/n: probably.......the longest one-shot i ever wrote. forgive me y'all...i think this could be like one tv show episode :sob:. Also, song inspos : 5sos - best years, better - Khalid. and there's this one scene from the book twisted hate kinda inspired one particular line in this story aha! pd, i hope u like it <3 enjoy! (FORGIVE ME FOR GRAMMAR ERRORS, WE DIE LIKE HEROES HERE.)

-

Naya walked into the room, no scowl - no anything, just a wide satisfied Naya-certified smile on her face. Greeting everyone in the room, a different person entirely. But, she doesn't care at all, the looks were amusing to her - and it's worth the excitement. She's finally opening herself up to dating, in other words; seeing somebody. She met someone, a good person she believes; and they decided to meet tonight. And ecstatic is an understatement.

"Did the world just turn around, or did the Naya Davis just smile at everyone?" And there it is, the source of her somewhat annoyance, named Rider McQueen. Slicked back hair, smug smile, beautiful eyes - also, perhaps a nice ass too. She turns her head to face her damned co-worker there and smiles. A bit too snarky, a bit too smug to match with his.

"I apparently scored myself a date, Mcqueen. It's a win for me, don't you think?" She begins to walk away from him, as his eyes widen at the word 'date'. He absentmindedly followed her steps to where their desks are. Hers is opposite to his, to his damned luck, unfortunately. But, the word 'date' still lingers on his mind, as Naya begins to fiddle around her files.

He wanted to ask himself, why does he feel the sudden disappointment. Like his heart has been shattered by that reality, maybe it's the harboring crush in him. Who would've thought, he would fall for Naya out of everyone. The one he always taunted every day, and he enjoys those little moments of them - the rarest moment where he saw the amusement in her smile during their patrols, their banters and there she is, she's going on a date with someone. Someone who is not him.

He clears his throat as Naya turns her back to him, passing the files his way. Putting his head up, a smile on his face. A teasing smile of his, a facade he hopes.

"Well, good luck on the date Davis. Tell us all about it will ya?" He says and walks away before she could reply with the banter of her own. Work fills his mind the whole day, questions engulfing in a way. He did his job, but unanswered questions tend to linger for far too long.

Hours passed, and there was no in-between banter at the coffee machine. Nothing during lunch hours, the station is uncharacteristically quiet. It's a rarity of quiet for him, and Naya too. Even Tina kept on glancing at them both, somehow confused by the sudden shift.

He did not notice, it was already past five. Naya had left a few moments ago, he heard squeals and giggles of excitement between her and Tina. He guesses, she's prepping herself for the night, he solely wonders; who's the mystery person? What will she wear? What they will do? Questions that shouldn't be inhibiting in his mind, he should not be thinking those. He should be focusing on the next painting perhaps, a new drawing, something old - something new, and his thoughts were interrupted as Tina came crashing in with an 'i know what's going on, but you're gonna tell me after all' look and he sighs.

"I thought the world has gone to a flip today."

"Don't be too surprised actually." He tries to be nonchalant, but hey, Tina sees through him anyway.

"So...do you wanna talk about it?"

She smiles, as he sighs. It's going to be a long evening.

-

It's almost 8:30 p.m. She's here, she's prepared. Maybe that's her one chance again, to open up. A chance to let someone in, and the person she's meeting tonight going to change that. They've been exchanging texts a lot lately, for someone who never smiled on her phone for far too long - this was a very unsettling development.

She left early, as her shift does that day. A very lucky day and she gets herself ready. Quite excitedly as one does for a date. A special occasion they say. Her dress is ready for the night, and her hair was curled; she realizes it's been a while since she has dolled up for a date. It feels weirdly right.

The restaurant was filled, it was a Friday night after all. They made reservations, they did plan it all. But, sometimes; plans are not enough. It's the effort that counts, and she did not think this through. The tables around her were filled with smiles and giggles, and there she was; with such hope within herself. For the first ten minutes, she lets it slide, hoping it was a mistake. Hoping the person takes a wrong turn and is on their way. For another ten minutes, as she sat taking a small sip of the red wine, wondering did something happened along the road, maybe a road construction? As she sips the next few glasses, she wasn't tipsy as one should be. Her metabolism helps her with it, but the time went by, she realizes the person isn't coming at all. She notices the looks passersby gave her, the waiters - as they pour her a new glass of red wine.

She should have known, it's never going to happen for her. She knows, she shouldn't give up that easily, but hope is something she gave up a long time ago. But, she's still Naya. Naya Davis, she would not let anyone see her this way. She stands up, with a strut of confidence in her; and takes a final sip before paying the bill, ignoring all the curious looks that were sent her way.

'Walk away with confidence, never let people see you at your weakest.' Her mind replayed the mantra, as she takes a cab for the night. Destination unknown.

-

Unknown, lead her to the station. Even in distress, work was her distraction. And, without her trusty bike for the night - work was the second available option. The cab driver checked on her a few times, as she stares outside the window. Mellow is different from her true self. She walked out of the restaurant in her way, yet one cannot stand strong for far too long. Her shoulders sag as she sat down in the cab, asking for a distraction. The cab driver drove everywhere, the old man sympathize with her but did not say a thing. She's grateful, as she steps into the station. Empty, only a few dimmed lights.

She takes off her coat, before taking a seat. She begins, a distraction; as the dimmed light covers her weakness from the world. That's one of the moments where she does not want anyone to see, and... the footsteps coming into the room prepare to prove that notion to be untrue.

"Tina, I thought you have left. What..." His words stopped, along with his tracks at the sight of Naya wiping her tears away. She straighten herself up and continues to work as if she did not just cry in front of him. Well, cry is a large word, she prefers; possibly teared up.

"I'm just working on some extra work from earlier." She continues as if the act was something that did not exist. The moment before did not exist, as Rider walks towards his seat. Facing Naya, they both somewhat let the quiet take over. She did not want to explain why she was getting teary-eyed over a date who stood her up. She would not let him get to her, but her eyes lingers on him a little. His clothes are a bit messy from earlier today, but he somehow still manages to pull off adorable, and she mentally slaps herself for even thinking about how good her co-worker who is sitting on the opposite of her looks.

He saw her through the corner of his eye, and he controls himself from smiling. He fakes a cough before his eyes and gaze fall towards him for a moment. Observing even for a split second, even under the dimmed light, the red shines brightly from her outfit. It's bright, and bold just like Naya, herself. And her hair, much more curly by the strands of it - maybe she did her hair before, and her face; the tear stains can be visible if he is in the distance where one's kissing someone. Not that he thought of it, thought of kissing her lips every time she said something very intellectual or during the moments, he caught her off-guard, laughing; smiling. He wants to be the reason for that smile, and he wants her to keep on smiling too. The image of her under the dimmed light, and he guesses, the date did not arrive.

Crap, that person stood her up.

The realization made him frown, as Naya gaze up at him; meeting his eyes. An understanding passed between them, as Rider stood up; leaving the room - leaving her there on her own once again.

"Tina, a favor for a favor; it's time for you to pay my dues." He says confidently outside of the station, something of an old favor that she brought up on him to use whenever. And now seems to be a good time for it.

-

Naya continues her work, before Rider stepping into view once again. He takes a seat on the opposite of her, but his gaze lands on her. The work pile from before was abandoned.

"follow me." He simply says, earning a raised of an eyebrow from Naya herself as she did not trust his orders. What if he is playing a trick..but alas, curiousity wins. She takes her jacket too, and her pouch in hand following him outside of the station.

She follows his steps, a stop in front of his car. As he stops her there, a few inches behind - as he turn around to reveal a full filled...picnic basket. Not a typical picnic basket she thinks, he holds it out in front of her as she took a peek. There's a lot of random stuff mixed together, this wasn't a plan; well it was a pretty recent plan she believes. And there's only one person she can associate with on finding her favorite sweets in there, and the person is Tina Poname.

"what's with the basket?" This is very very adorable, she thought. But she wouldn't say that to his face.

Before he could answer, another familiar voice appears out of nowhere and their heads turn in surprised. Naya is super amused, while Rider tries his best to shoo one Tina away.

"Enjoy you fellow lovebirds, I'll close up the station tonight."

-

With Tina away from their vision, Rider opens up the door for Naya to get in. As the amused smile still painted on her face at his embarrassment.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere..fun." He simply says that the journey itself was indeed an interesting one. She never knew this place existed, as Rider steps out of the car, she immediately follows. There are a couple of can sprays of paint scattered in the corner, and a few graffiti drawings - a deja vu towards their patrol. The night she kissed him, and.. he returns it too. The R.M initial painted in black made her quirk up a little, before Rider walks forward, with the basket in hand.

She walks alongside him, with her heels in hand; somehow she gave up on it halfway through the night. She follows him to the area, somewhat a large rooftop; however, it's tended with a few flowers grown too.

"What is this place?"

"The Rider-cave, or known as a breathing place of my own. The paintings are mine, however, the plants were there since I found it. So, why not take care of it." He explains before they take a seat on a ledge as Rider places the basket in between them.

She stands there still, somehow reluctantly.

"Come on over."

"What's these all about actually? Is this a plan to bury my body somewhere huh?" She says, somehow curious. Just, why?

He laughs for a moment, she felt herself shiver at the sound of loud laugh in the night. "Oh no, you figured out my plan don't ya Davis?" He chuckles again before clearing his throat at the raised of an eyebrow thrown his way.

"I..I wanted to cheer you up. And, this is apparently my idea of cheering someone up. Also, I vouched for Tina to get those favorite chocolates of yours." he says sheepishly, somewhat not meeting her eyes. He's looking at the view in front of him instead of hers. What a sight to be seen, as Naya slowly makes her way to the other side of the seat. The basket is opened, as Rider is still looking at the view. She takes a seat, and she placed the heels on the side. The chocolates, the ones she tends to take between works are there, a whole packet of them. She smiles at the sight of it before she turns to face the view as well mirroring Rider's actions.

"The view is actually a jackpot to be honest" Naya begins, breaking the silence between them.

"One of the hidden gems of wayhaven." He smiles too before he passed one of the chocolates her way. She takes it gratefully, somehow - a moment of silence continues, contrasts to their banter in the station. Only munching sounds to be heard, as they both devour the chocolate.

-

"Thank you for the chocolates McQueen." She says, before Rider stops her mid-sentence.

"the food needs to be devoured first and then you can thank me Davis. I'll accept in all forms, cash, compliments, cases even" He says winking at her before passing the next meal; something of a pastry she believes, and apparently some quick foods. And afterward, it becomes normal. Not their usual normal, a normal where they were comfortable, no rivalry for a position, no name talking, only them, good food, and just rider talking filling the time. She listens intently, letting out chuckles and smiles in between. She still couldn't believe he did this for her - she kept herself quiet for a moment first, letting the thought cloud her mind before it could (possibly) ruin the moment.

They sat there a moment, and she turns to face him. Her knees buckled, and Rider felt her eyes on him. Hazel eyes watch him from a fair close distance, one distance that does not seem very far.

"one question."

Rider downs his drink, before turning to face her.

"Why did you do all these for me?" The tense Naya has disappeared, she's much amused - forgetting her date-less night hours ago. The memory has dissolved in her mind ever since they got here, and she never thought of a night with one Rider Mcqueen.

He takes another bite of their food, trying to somewhat answer or avoid. A bit of both, before he begins to say.

"Because you'd be sad and weird to be around if I didn't. And, you know. I like being around you when you're not sad. When you're snarky and laughing and smile like the sun, for just a second, before you have to be Cool Naya again." He clears his throat. "Plus I was hungry and bored, so." Shrugging it off, like it was nothing - but, it wasn't nothing.

"You think I am cool then?" She says, ignoring the rest of the sentence. A small smile, as she takes a bite of the...pastry she thinks.

"Duh, Cool Naya; bossing others around - it's a funner side to see. And we got food. Cool Naya, food, and me. What a combo don't you think?" He prides himself a bit, making her laugh again. He swears, that's the best sound he ever heard since the few times he witness it. He once did made her laugh, and that moment follows by a lip-lock of their own. The possibility of that outcome, is unknown; he believes mostly to zero. But, seeing her smile - well, that's a full 100. That's perfection in his eyes. And he smiles, mirroring hers. Bigger, wider, just as he wants to be.

"It's a very interesting combo. So, who's the main dish here?" She asks as Rider felt himself choke upon the food he's munching on. She laughs even harder, just to poke on the man himself. She quickly pass the water to him, and she smiles.

"I think you're particularly dressed to be the main dish there Davis." He says, eye-ing the dress. Somehow, his voice got caught within his throat. Somehow, under the skies - he got to see her clearly. A version of an evil in a red dress. She's always been an angel, with a heart of gold, and that devillish red lipstick of hers. As, her eyes widen at the comment, before she smiles a little.

"Well, I do tend to dress to impress Mcqueen. Did I make an impression on you then?" She replies with quite a flirtatious tone he believes.

Rider Mcqueen is speechless. The man is tongue-tied. And, the source was the person sitting on the opposite of him. Naya freaking Davis, and to answer her question. Yes, yes she did make an impression to him for as long as he could remember.

"Yes, yes you did." His voice is quiet, slow, as Naya's laughter fades with his voice. Only to be met with his eyes, vulnerable to her. Only to her, something he never wants her to see.

The quiet lingers, as Naya turns to face forward. Her eyes watched the car below, cruising across the road. The banter is over, as vulnerability engulfs them both. To admit such a thing, was a bold move for him. And she decides to do the same.

"I...the person stood me up. And, they disappeared. I called, no one's there to answer. It somehow felt like a trick, a trick to me." She begins to say, as a chuckle escape. That's maybe to clear the tension, and Rider looks at her, with a frown.

"Yeah, so...I got nowhere to go. And, then there I am."

He moves the basket away to his side, before scooting over to her. Just a shoulders length of distance, with their fingers, almost touching. He lets out a breath before he links their pinkies together. She looks down, at their linked pinkies and smalls a little. Her glassy eyes, as his thumb, wiping it away.

'I'll always answer you.' He muttered a few words, she couldn't catch before he smiles again.

"Pinky promises tends to make people smile, so - I hope you don't mind it." He grins her way, as she nods.

"I think I liked it even more."

"The scowly Naya adores pinky promises, I think I have to write this down. Maybe report it for the papers?" He teases her, before he felt a playful punch on his shoulder.

"Shut up Rider." He smiles again, only the fact that's the first time she used his first name. Are they on first name basis? Are they.

"Make me." He says, smiling again her way. Somehow there's a tiny bit of hope has been planted in him, a pinch of deja vu as well.

She chuckles once again, the force pulling her in as her hands are on his cheeks. Closer, where the tear stains are visible in his eyes. The distance, he never thought he would be again. He wants to be closer, closer, and closer. His next words, were an impulse, a sober thought that felt to be said during drunken moments.

"Make me...Naya" he whispers it again - her name included, as they are a breaths away from one another before their lips meet.

Distance. Be. Damned.

-

An empty space, every little space shall be damned at the feel of her lips on his. Kissing her, returning the gesture - as her hands trying so hard not to land on her waist. However, her sudden moves shook him as well. His hands land on her waist, pulling her closer where their chests collided.

This....was not the plan. They did not plan this, yet this is the best outcome they got. Rider makes a mental note, by kissing them is the best way to shut people up. And, he wants to test this theory again and again, as her lipstick was utterly ruined by his lips. And, he liked it better.

He held her there, as they pull away. A look of realization widens through her eyes, as Rider held her there. A steady anchor for her, as she breathes in and out. Is this what she wanted? The kiss that reminds her of one memory, a swindled of a memory. Her lips were on his, under the dark skies. And they are there again, a mutual action because it does take two to tango.

And he kissed her again, and again and again. With every breath she held, he wants every little bit of it. And she returns it too, as the moon was their witness. The basket and everything that's tangible, and there they are - lips intertwined, as she lays her head on his shoulder. A breath of relief, as he held her there.

"I never did see that coming." Muffled whispers escaped her lips.

"Me too" he replies truthfully, what a turn of events for them. He intended to cheer her up, to put that smile on her face - making her Naya again. But, plans changed as the stars align. He realizes, he is looking up - however, with a B in English; he did not know how to describe it in a poetic sense. But, when he looks at her. The stars will be damned, as she raises her head up to meet with his eyes. The stars were dancing within her eyes, and the tear stains were a metaphor for orbits under, spinning, kept on moving, kept on rotating just like she does.

-

They sat there quietly, as the sound of cars below filled their eardrums. Naya lays her head on his shoulder. What a night, what an unexpected night for them.

"I'll always answer you." He says quietly, repeating from before. As she turns to face him.

"I'll always answer you, I would not leave you there alone. I'll buy you your favorite chocolates even if I have to travel across the city. I'll smudge your lipstick in the best way possible.." She chuckles again at that before he continues.

"I'll always answer you. I'll never stop, never will, and never wanted to Davis." He confesses to her, every word orchestrated perfectly.

Words couldn't comprehend her emotions, as she kissed him again. A yes, an 'i know' and everything in between. And she knows, he's telling the truth.

She'll be damned, she'll be damned to let him go. So, she kissed him - again and again, as an alternative for words. All the 26 letters in the alphabet couldn't comprehend, because in her mind - nothing feels better than this.

Nothing feels better than to be seen, to be heard, to be answered by the most unexpected person ever.

-

She takes out her phone, earning a confused look from Rider. As she fiddles around it, she a small smile. Rider however still confused, as a familiar ringtone filled their eardrums.

The man is amused, answering the call. His eyes never left hers, as he begins the conversation.

"Hey." He begins smiling widely her way, as her heart begins to burst. She wanted to bottle the memory up forever, as she replies.

"Hi."

"See. Naya Davis, I'll always answer you."

"I know." She replies through the phone, before ending it again. Rider places the phone away before he leans in forward, taking her hands in his.

"Then, may I?"

She nods, as the moment begins where it ends; with the bad memory forgotten in the back of her mind.

A new mental note, Rider McQueen's lips are quite addictive and she wanted to do it all over again, every day if she could - and one more thing, nothing indeed feels better than this.

And from there on, she got the best years. The best years that were given to none other than him - and, no regrets. And that's the best way of living life, living it with no regrets.

THE END.

[hurting-fictional-people]

Betrayal Story - part 5

This is it guys, this is why the characters got names! I hope y’all like it <3  

CW: branding, burning, forced to watch, emeto (pretty brief and only at the end), whumpee restrained to a table, nonsexual noncon touch, hurt no confort again but that will change eventually I promise lol

tagging  @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot  @sunflower1000  @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove  @boxofsilence  @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince @livingforthewhump (let me know if you ever want me to stop or start tagging you ♡)

Part one is here, continued from here

-

Fire is strangely beautiful, Liam thinks, watching it flicker and dance in the hearth. A kind of painful beauty that hurts to see, the idea of touching it enough for gooseflesh to rise, but pretty nonetheless. 

He wishes he could be like fire. Not because of its beauty, but because it produces no shadow. No darkness comes from the flames, only light. And pain, when touched without notice. If he could be like that, only light and self-defense, maybe all of this wouldn’t hurt so much. Chase’s leaving, the dread of what each of his breaths might bring as time passes, the plummeting of his stomach every time he hears footsteps outside his room’s door. 

The flames crackle, and Liam wonders why it is he can’t shake the fear off, as he remembers the guards bursting into his room and pulling him out of bed, leading him outside as Liam pretended each step didn’t make him want to scream. That was minutes ago, and yet the fear still drums in tandem with his heart, pulsating turmoil into his bloodstream. Why feel fear when all it does is make things worse? Wouldn’t it be easier if he could just be at peace in those moments between pain, before it comes? But instead, his mind or his body or his soul decides to fill him with dread – only another layer of horror he cannot avoid.

Jonah was waiting for him when they brought Liam inside a weirdly cozy living room, leaning against the fireplace and watching Liam’s uncertain footsteps as he was pushed down to lie on a steel table placed in the middle of the room. Eyes glued to him as Liam was restrained until he could no longer move. His gaze went straight to the fireplace and stayed there since, watching the flames as memories of electricity, lighting up his every nerve until he nearly lost his voice to screaming, flashed before his eyes. The memory is still fresh enough to freeze him into not resisting. What a pitiful sight he must be.

“Hello there,” Jonah smiles, taking casual steps towards him and stopping by his side to watch from above, hands in his pockets as if having someone tied to a table in his living room is nothing out of the ordinary. “How are you today, Liam? Has your voice returned after our last encounter?”

He lifts his gaze to find the man’s eyes blinking innocently at him.

“You are sick,” Liam rasps out, shaky and small, but the words are there. He might be restrained and scared, but he is not broken. He isn’t. Right?

“That’s a yes, then. Very good, I like to hear you,” scream – he doesn’t even have to finish the sentence for the word to be heard. Liam feels sick. “Now let’s call our mutual friend, shall we?”

Liam narrows his eyes as Jonah types something on his phone. He can’t be talking about– 

“Chase!” Jonah says to the camera Liam only now notices a few paces away, held by another one of Jonah’s men. He tries to hear more, but Jonah comes so close to the camera and talks in such a low voice that all he grasps and holds on to is the name. 

Jaw clenched and stomach churning, Liam stares at the ceiling, letting the wave of bitter rage break against him without resistance. It wins the battle against fear for one moment, and that’s enough for him to seize it with every last bit of willpower. It is better to be angry than frightened, and he’s had enough of the latter for a lifetime.

The frantic beat of his heart turns into aching memories of Chase’s lies, promises of love he never intended to keep, each word meant to trick Liam into being a fool. Twice. Once months ago, then again when he genuinely, stupidly, hoped Chase would pick him instead of a job. Fucking ludicrous. 

But bitterness can only do so much to keep fear at bay, and when Jonah’s voice reaches his ears again, not even a minute later, it comes crashing back and flooding his veins with pointless adrenaline.

“He was a very good boy if you want to know. Just stood there, still and obedient as we buckled in the restraints,” he says to the camera, stopping beside Liam once more, placing a hand on his head. “Say hi to Chase, Liam boy.”

“Fuck you,” he spits. Fuck both of you, he means to complete, but Jonah’s hand is already closing on his hair, drawing out a pathetic little whimper from his lips.

“Language, Liam.”

He closes his eyes and waits for the hand to let go. It’s all he can do. Still, his hands twitch uselessly by his side, palms turned to the ceiling closing in fists, knuckles scraping against cold steel.

“I guess this is a lesson for both of you, then. For Chase to not be a prick and for you to behave better, my pretty plaything.”

Eyes snapping open, he glares up at Jonah, feeling indignation bubble up inside of him.

Jonah doesn’t even see it. He is too busy looking at his phone with an unamused expression before handing it to one of the guards. 

Is he talking to Chase? Is Chase delighting in seeing Liam like this, helpless and scared?

The part of him that refuses to give up entirely shakes its head, remembers gentle touches and tender gazes that couldn’t possibly have been faked. The other part, the one that grows each day he spends in this hell, purses its lips and scoffs at his naiveness. If Chase cared, he wouldn’t have left him here. 

“You know, if it wasn’t for Chase, this wouldn’t be happening,” Jonah says, painful grip turning into deceivingly soft fingers that run through Liam’s hair in mock sympathy. “He knew what I’d do if he pissed me off. So here we are again. It is always him, isn’t it Liam? It doesn’t matter how far Chase goes, he’s always the one causing you hurt.”

He tries to fight it. Of all the things he’s been put through, he fights the tears that prick his eyes. And just like everything else, he loses. They fall in warm drops down his temples as he turns his head, looks away into the fire again. No shadows there, nothing like the darkness seeping through the cracks of his heart, tainting his soul.

“Now for the fun part,” Jonah declares, sauntering to the fireplace, crouching down in front of it. Something entirely too close to panic pools in Liam’s stomach as he gets back up, holding two iron rods he’d dismissed as fire pokers. As Jonah approaches him, he can see with disturbing clarity how wrong he’d been – the rods’ bright-orange tips shine in intricate shapes. Letter shapes.

“J-Jonah,” he breathes, more sob than word, “please, please don’t.”

Jonah smiles at him, and without saying a word hands one of the brands to a guard before placing himself beside Liam’s exposed arm.

He tries to breathe, beg, say something, but every rational thought disappears as Liam follows the blazing hot shapes with wide eyes, gasping for air that refuses to fill his lungs.

He is almost there, the please I’ll do anything hanging from the tip of his tongue when the branding iron is lowered onto the delicate skin above his wrist. 

Burn could never describe the pain that steals every last bit of himself Liam tries to hold on to. Fire sinks into his skin, into muscle and bones until it reaches whatever lies within, and destroys everything in its path. He screams, cries and wails senseless pleads, but nothing passes through the ocean of agony he’s drowned in. 

He barely notices when the brand is pulled away.

He does when the second one is pressed onto his other arm though. 

Liam writhes and sobs, but there’s no escape, no mercy to be begged for. Only pain to feel, nothing, no one else but pain and pain and pain that swallows and dissolves the world into searing flames that hold nothing of whatever beauty he thought he saw.

-

You know, what really makes me mad isn’t even your fucking stupid idea of keeping things from me. It’s the shit job you did deleting those files. Who do you think I am, Chase?

That was all that waited for Chase when his phone buzzed, along with a link to a live stream instead of a video. No recording this time, no certainty that at least while Chase watches, Liam isn’t in pain anymore. 

“Chase. I see you’re faster now. Pity you’re no smarter,” Jonah sighed as soon as he clicked on the link. “But I won’t go into how fucking idiotic it was of you to delete half the information I asked you to get me,” he hissed, low and angry enough for Chase to feel the words as bugs crawling along his skin, up and down, circling his throat, ready to squeeze. “What’s happening here today is entirely on you. I hope you see and hear and remember every bit of it, sweetheart.”

He felt like screaming when Jonah closed his hand in Liam’s hair and made him yelp. The impulse to clench his fist until it shattered the phone was strong enough for Chase to connect the live stream to the television in his living room and bite on his lip when the image expanded and Liam’s terror became so painfully obvious.

One minute later, Chase nearly threw the phone at the wall when he called the man and Jonah simply looked down at his muted cell phone on the other side of the screen and handed it to someone else.

“You know, if it wasn’t for Chase, this wouldn’t be happening,” Jonah said, and Chase seethed, half anger and half guilt boiling inside of him. “He knew what I’d do if he pissed me off. So here we are again. It is always him, isn’t it Liam? It doesn’t matter how far Chase goes, he’s always the one causing you hurt.”

Chase dropped the phone in time to avoid crushing it, but the desk chair didn’t escape his rage. Its broken pieces fell on the other side of the room, doing nothing to soothe the horror building up in his stomach.

And then Jonah grabbed the branding iron, and Chase’s heart missed a beat at the sight, eyes widening in tandem with Liam’s.

“J-Jonah,” Liam choked out, “please, please don’t.”

“Jonah,” Chase said too, unable to hold it in just like anything else in his life, even if he knew he was the only one listening. There was never such a thing as restraint when it came to Liam. If only Chase had seen it sooner. “No–“

When the iron descended on that soft, silky, perfect skin above the restraint circling Liam’s wrist, Chase fell on his couch, legs too weak to hold his weight. 

Liam screamed, loud and raw and utterly hopeless, back trying to arch and being pulled back down by too tight restraints before it even left the table. His body spasmed, trying to escape the blaze, but there was nowhere to go, and it took only a moment for the despair to turn into sobs and tears.

It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but those would star Chase’s nightmares forever. Jonah pulled the iron off Liam’s now bright red skin, and Chase couldn’t bear to look at the letter-shaped burn. He also couldn’t help it. 

When Jonah exchanged the used iron with the second one, Chase felt bile rise in the back of his throat. “Please, p-please, please,” Liam begged, so little Chase barely heard it, so dazed he didn’t think Liam did either. 

He echoed it though.

“No, please don’t.”

But no one heard him, and the second branding iron was pressed to the inside of Liam’s other arm, and his mouth opened in a silent scream Chase heard nonetheless.

By the time the second one is pulled away, Chase is kneeling on the floor, hands covering his mouth and tears threatening to overflow.

It is nothing compared to Liam, though. His mouth hangs open even as the iron stops touching skin, and soft sobs wrack his slim body as his glassy eyes leak a constant stream of tears into his hair.

Chase doesn’t even move when Jonah’s voice leaves the speakers again.

“So? Do you like it?” he asks, a manic grin stretched across his lips as he points to Liam and the camera walks toward him. 

It focuses on his face first. Sweat, tears, pure agony written all over it. His eyes lay open and unfocused, lost to the pain. The image slides down to his heaving chest, restrained arms, until it stops above both his wrists.

Chase turns to the side and vomits at the sight. 

Two bright red burns mar the perfect skin he had once worshipped with lips and tongue and feather-light touches that never felt like enough. 

Jonah chuckles, and the live stream ends in that ghastly image of two letters forever engraved on Liam’s skin. Flourished and elegant, a C stands out on his right arm and an R on the left one. His initials. Chase Raymond. 

Chase pukes again, and then curls up on the floor and weeps.

(next)

[hellotherekenobi]

─── would you say yes?

summary: younglings love to pull pranks and play matchmaker. when you’re called to assist obi-wan in the recent mission, a bit of both ends up taking place.

a/n: this contains mentions of injury.

ONESHOT. ⟶ 3,616 WORDS.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You turn around to face your class, your eyes scanning over the many faces of the younglings sitting cross-legged on the floor, and are expecting their wide eyes of interest to greet you. However, despite that being the expression on most of the faces, confusion littered the rest and even a yawn from one of the boys in the back row, who stretches his arms above his head as if you can’t notice him all the way back there.

You sigh, “Does that make sense?”

Most of the younglings nod at you, although some you can tell aren’t quite genuine. The rest remain still.

“Perhaps if I explain it this way—” you sit down in front of them, cross-legged too— “Imagine drawing something in the sand at a beach. What happens when a wave crashes onto the shore, onto what you just drew?”

“It gets washed away.” One youngling speaks out.

“Yes, exactly. And although the drawing you made fades away, there’s still an indent where you drew in the sand. That’s what it’s like.”

A collective ‘oh’ voices among the younglings and you nod at them, knowing that they now all understand. Although, even you can understand why it would be something difficult to process; memory loss. At their age, it would seem something so bizarre to happen to a person. It was even something bizarre to really teach them, considering that their training is more centered around the Code and their practice of the Force. But every student needs to learn the basics and this is where you come in— you have been assigned to teach the younglings more on life itself so that they are aware of the mundane and, well, the bizarre.

Suddenly a hand raises from the back row and you encourage them to speak, noticing that it is the same boy who had yawned before, “Um, but, if a Jedi loses their memory... can they ever get it back?”

“It depends on the situation. Some people who suffer from amnesia never regain their memory.”

“What?” The boy cries, looking desperately over at the rest of the younglings who sit around him, “You mean like Master Andar?”

What a fragile subject. Jedi Master Andar was one of the very best and he was a close friend of yours too but, sadly, he was critically wounded on a mission and didn’t get the medical attention he needed fast enough; thus, he now suffers from amnesia. It’s hard for him, you know how hard it is for him, you just wish his condition wasn’t so much a public spectacle or conversation topic, which he feels the same way about.

“Yes,” you say softly, “like Master Andar.”

“So it could happen to any Jedi?” One youngling asks.

“Yes—”

“Like Master Yoda?”

“Yes—”

“Like YOU?”

“Alright—” you wave your arms— “I think we’ve centered our focus on this subject long enough. The rest of the lesson will be spent meditating.”

Thank goodness for meditation. It was like nap time, the perfect excuse to quiet the younglings and give yourself a breather. Standing back up, you ask for the blinds to be closed and all of the younglings wiggle their way on the floormat to sit more comfortably, all closing their eyes... except one. You shoot him a raised brow and he gasps, screwing shut his eyes and starting to meditate like you had asked. You can’t help but shake your head with a smile on your face; you love these children. But you love silence just a little bit more and you were ready for just that for the next 20 minutes if it weren’t for a knock on the door.

“Master Kenobi!” Shouts one youngling, and now the others all repeat his name and jump up on their feet.

Well, no more silence. With a shake of your head, you sigh, “What can I help you with, Obi-Wan?”

He smiles, a breath of laughter rolling past his lips, “I’m here by request from the Council. May I speak to you privately?”

“Of course—” you spin back around to the younglings— “continue your meditation.”

They all collectively groan and you raise an eyebrow at their response. Telling them not to complain, they all sit back down on the floor and you walk over to Obi-Wan but turn back around just before you make it out of the door to point a finger at the youngling who had yawned at the start of your lesson and he sits back down after trying, and failing, to sneak out with your back turned.

Once outside, you let out a real sigh, “What’s so important that the Council sent you to my doorstep?”

“Well, I’m not sure you’re quite going to like this.” Obi-Wan smiles awkwardly, fingering his beard, “We have a very good lead on a Separatist working within the Outer Rim and we must act swiftly. However... we’re lacking in numbers.”

“Not me.” You shake your head, “Any of the clones can assist you. They're good soldiers.”

“I know they are but the Council asked for you.”

“Obi-Wan... I don’t do missions anymore. You of all people know that.”

Sadly, he does. It wasn’t as if your reason for becoming a Republic educator was a tight secret but, like Master Andar, it was a fragile subject. In so many words, the last mission you were on was difficult and afterward you had requested leave. The Council offered you the job of teacher as a substitute and you had taken their offer. But you’re not going to take this one.

“Ask someone else. There’s always someone else.”

“I don’t like this anymore than you do—” he takes a step forward— “but I wouldn’t be here unless I knew no one else can take your place.”

How many times are you going to sigh today because of somebody else? It’s not like you have much of a soft spot for the Jedi Council that would have you accepting this so suddenly. You really don’t want to do this.

“I said no.”

Obi-Wan nods, “Would you make an exception if you knew I would be by your side the whole time?”

“Are you trying to flatter me or trick me?” You ask with a smile.

“I could hardly trick someone as intelligent as you, and I don’t think you’d be too easy to persuade with the Force.”

Leaning in, you whisper, “Now are you trying to tease me?”

He copies you, “Would you say yes if I was?”

Before you can reply, a tiny hand tugging the fabric of your robes has you looking down at a youngling. She’s a cute girl, the youngest of your class.

“Can I have some water, please?” She asks, and it melts your heart.

“Of course.” You smile, then look at Obi-Wan, “Master Kenobi and I were finished talking, anyway.”

He gives you a smile that you know is laced with protest as you’re sure he doesn’t want to leave here empty-handed, in a sense.

“Are Jedi allowed to marry?” The young girl suddenly speaks.

You look down at her confusedly, “Why do you ask?”

“The boys... they were talking about how you and Master Kenobi talk like an ‘old married couple.’ Is it true?”

“Oh, my dear—”

“As flattering as that sounds, we still have a Code, dear one.” Obi-Wan talks over you, smiling gently at the girl, “How about I take you to get some water?”

She nods excitedly, reaching her hand out for Obi-Wan to take.

“Consider this a favor to return for you joining the mission.” He whispers beside you.

“My answer is still no.” You whisper back, and watch as he chuckles while he walks down the hallway with the girl’s hand linked in his.

A favor? That was hardly a favor. You’re putting your foot down about this whole thing, no matter what Obi-Wan does or says. And you’re about to put your foot down about certain topics of conversation as you walk back into the room with your eyes pinned down on the youngling boy you know started the ‘rumor’ about your marriage to Obi-Wan.

But just as you’re wrapped around the youngling’s fingers, you’re pretty wrapped around Obi-Wan’s as well. Damn him. So when you approach him the next day, you don’t have to say anything before he’s smiling and crossing his arms at his chest.

“Here to return the favor?” He stirs.

With a clearly obvious disgruntled chuckle, you smile synthetically at him, “Just this once, Obi-Wan.”

He accepts your answer, stepping to the side so that you can walk with him over to the hangar bay. He was going on this mission whether you were or not but it only dawns on you as you reach the jet that he had waited for you in the hall. That too-good Jedi knew you were coming. Once again, damn him.

“I trust you remember how to use this.” He says, handing you a lightsaber.

Taking the weapon from his grasp, you say, “I’m still perfectly equip, don’t worry.”

“With you by my side? I could never.”

You flash him a genuine smile this time but it fades just as fast as the jet rises from the ground. There’s a sudden weight in the pit of your stomach as you’re flying out, where a muffled buzzing nips at your ears. You’re scared. It definitely has been a long time since your last mission, even though you are equip, that wasn’t a lie, but your last mission was the reason you stopped. Before your anxieties can get too loud, Obi-Wan’s hand touches your shoulder and grounds you.

“It will be alright.” He says, “I won’t leave your side for a second. I promise you that.”

“Thank you.” You breathe out.

When the jet lands and you, Obi-Wan, and the Clone troopers aboard all file out, Obi-Wan sticks by your side like glue. He’s barely an inch apart from you, just like he promised. Unfortunately, it was a half promise— where you all are becomes the main point of attack and you’re ambushed. Kriffing hell, it’s a trap! And it looks like it was well thought of in advance, seeing as there are more attackers than you, Obi-Wan, and the Clone troopers combined. Things weren’t looking good, and this is where the promise Obi-Wan made was halved.

You all had to get to cover, otherwise no one was making it out of here alive, so Obi-Wan pushes you ahead of him. You are only separated from him for a moment when something flies over your head and lands on the ground in front of you. It was a grenade, one with prongs that stuck into the ground to prevent it from moving or being moved. Your chances of running from it without injury are slim but you know that those running behind you could dodge it by their distance. They just need a warning.

Spinning around, you raise a hand up and shout, “Obi-Wan!”

His feet skid to a stop from how blood-curdling your voice was, knowing that you were shouting at him to not come any closer, and then the grenade detonates; rattling the ground, knocking Obi-Wan and the Clones off of their feet, and your vision goes black.

For Obi-Wan, he sees your body drop and he swears his heart does the same. With eyes wide, he scrambles up on his feet to race across the distance to reach you. He turns your body over, his skin burning from the heat that radiates off of your robes, now all singed and black. Your eyes are closed, your face covered in blood from the force of hitting the ground, and Obi-Wan can feel the panic rising in his throat, threatening to scream out but it chokes on the smoke left over from the destruction of the grenade.

It’s a mad rush to pick you up off of the floor and run toward cover, cradling you in his arms. A transport jet arrives after far too long a wait in Obi-Wan’s opinion and he with the other Clones climb onboard. Immediately, Obi-Wan lays you down to asses your wounds— he can now see the severity of your injuries, them being a temple wound. You’ve hit your head hard and he’s getting no reaction from you, just a steady breathing, which, in a sense, is a good sign but also not a good sign; if you don’t wake up soon then— no, Obi-Wan doesn’t want to think about it.

As soon as the jet lands back on Coruscant, Obi-Wan is running toward the Medbay with you in his arms and asking for immediate medical attention. A nurse leads him over to a vacant bed and he places you down on it as gently as possible, getting pushed back slightly when another nurse races over to assist. It’s only when Obi-Wan steps back does he realize that his hands are shaking. He barely hears the nurse telling him to leave the room before he even registers that his feet are moving; every step feels heavy, each new one thumping loud but hollow at the same time in his ears.

Why did he leave you? Why did he break his promise? He said he wouldn’t leave your side for a second but he did, and now you’re... well, he doesn’t know if you’re going to be alright. Especially when he returns to the Medbay that same evening, asking for a status report and hearing back that your breathing is steady, yet you still haven’t woken up. So he comes again the next morning, then that same afternoon, and Anakin is waiting for him at the door that evening to place a comforting hand on his master’s shoulder. But your eyes stay closed.

Eventually, on the third day, Obi-Wan gets a call on his comlink that you’re awake and he races over to the Medbay to see all of the younglings you’ve taught already there, some on their tip-toes to peer over the half wall where you’re laying in bed, looking at the nurse who is currently talking to you. Obi-Wan’s chest feels tight from exhaustion— he did just run from one end of the Jedi Temple all the way over to the Medbay— and he takes a deep breath, combing his fingers through his hair and stepping beside the younglings. They all look up at him and smile, some calling his name. He returns the sentiment and then it’s the nurse who calls his name next, gesturing for him to come closer.

He takes one step and the younglings take two, all of them flooding into the room you’re in. Two boys push past and put their hands on the side of the bed, saying, “You’re awake! We’ve missed you!” but the chuckle they expect to hear from you is replaced by silence. You just sit there and stare at them, something acting like a smile faded on the corners of your mouth.

“Are you feeling OK?” One youngling asks.

Before you can nod, another youngling says, “Of course she’s OK! Master Kenobi is here.”

Finally a smile forms on your face when all of the younglings giggle, and one boy decides to push it just a little bit further and say, “He saved your life, didn’t he, Mrs. Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, ready to tell everyone to give you some space to breathe, but your soft voice has him stilling, “Mrs. Kenobi? How did we manage that?”

“What?” He asks.

“Well, we’re Jedi, aren’t we? Yes, we are, I’m sure. Unless we married before the Order? I’m sorry, I— I’m having trouble remembering.”

Obi-Wan.exe has stopped working. He looks over at the nurse, “Her head?”

“It’s a little foggy.” The nurse replies, not wanting to look at the younglings when she says the words.

“Wait,” the same youngling boy speaks, “I was just playing around, I didn’t think that she—” he spins to look at you— “Do you have amnesia!?”

Chaos. Suddenly, the younglings are wailing and crying, becoming more and more clamorous as they ask the nurses a million and one questions, some even asking Obi-Wan. He can see your wide eyes and confused expression through the sea of screaming younglings and calls out for them to lower their voices and, for Maker’s sake, to keep calm.

When they do ease their volume, Obi-Wan says, “I think she just needs some rest. Come now, your training hasn’t stopped. Master Windu is teaching you all today.” and when some argue, he emphases, “We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

The younglings seem frightened for a moment before scrambling about, thanking Obi-Wan for reminding them and saying goodbye to you, who is still sitting there absolutely puzzled, before they all rush out of the Medbay. The young boy who had made the marriage joke, however, reaches over to poke Obi-Wan in the leg, looking up at him with guilty eyes.

“It’s not your fault.” Obi-Wan says, kneeling down to his level.

“But what if she never remembers? Like Master Andar?”

Obi-Wan places a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Time will tell.”

“You’re worried too, aren’t you?” When Obi-Wan doesn’t reply, the boy caringly places his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, just like he had done before, “Trust in the Force.”

With a smile, Obi-Wan pats the boy’s arm and he runs after the rest of the younglings. Your eyes are on him as he stands and he looks over at the nurse, “Could I speak to her for a moment?”

“Take as much time as you need.”

The nurse walks out of the room, leaving you and Obi-Wan alone. And you just keep staring at him. You know him, of course you do, it would take more than a grenade blast to wipe Obi-Wan Kenobi from your mind but... husband?

“I can tell you have questions—” Obi-Wan steps beside the bed— “and I’ll do my best to answer them. First and foremost, um... we’re not... married.”

“Oh,” the word sounds so sad from your lips.

“It was just a practical joke. The youngling boy, he— he does that a lot.”

“Yes, I... I remember him being like that.”

Silence.

“We’re not even... together?”

“Oh, um, well,” why is he so flustered? “No, we’re... not.” Obi-Wan takes a breath to calm himself, “How far back do you remember?”

“Well, I’m not sure.”

Right, of course you don’t know. Stupid question, Obi-Wan!

“The last thing I remember is leaving the jet, where you told me you would stay by my side.”

Great. Just throw that at him. Obi-Wan sighs, sitting down on the space of the bed where your legs aren’t, “Yes, that. I, um, I didn’t exactly keep my promise. I told you to go on ahead of me and that’s when...”

“The grenade went off.” You finish for him. He nods. His face is all clenched; eyebrows furrowed, lips in a tight line. He’s upset. Reaching over, you place your hand on top of his, “You’re not to blame for this, Obi-Wan. You understand that?”

“But you got hurt, after I promised you that everything would be alright.”

“Everything is alright. I’m still breathing. I just... have a bit of thinking to do.”

“Well, I can ease your worries, you haven’t forgotten much.”

“Yes, the nurse told me I’ve been out for a few days.”

“Three.” Obi-Wan says. You raise an eyebrow at him and he blushes, “I... I came by whenever I could to make sure that you were alright.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, “and those?”

Looking over his shoulder to see the flowers on the table adjacent to the bed, you see Obi-Wan turn even redder, “Ah, yes, well, you see, I thought they would be nice to wake up to if I wasn’t already here...”

“And somehow they’re my favorite kind?” Yep. He’s red. “And, if I’m remembering correctly, I’ve never told you my favorite flowers before...”

When you find yourself beside a silent Jedi, you squeeze his hand, “Obi-Wan—”

“I should be going,” he talks over you, standing on his feet, “I’m glad you’re alright. Call me if you need anything.”

Obi-Wan turns on his heel but before he even reaches the doorway his comlink beeps, and he looks down at it to see that you’re the one that called him. Turning around with a faded smile on his face, he sees you; comlink in hand.

“I’m not alright at all.” You start but the pause you take is agonizingly long to Obi-Wan, “I would have liked being your wife.”

His heart is racing faster than he believes it ever has before, even in the heat of battle. He’s stumbling on sentences in his head, tripping over risky words and broken promises. There’s a vein of hope pounding against his heart and he wants to steady it, calm it, and tell it to slow down before it gets over its head but it’s too late; he wants to tell you what he shouldn’t.

The corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth turns up, “And I, your husband, but we still have a Code to follow.”

“Of course.” You say, “It still would have been nice.”

You both stay in that moment, pretending. Maybe if things were different, maybe if you both weren’t so scared, then maybe it could be possible. For now, it’s just a dream— one you both sleep on that night and rethink the next morning, and just like he had waited for you in the hall for the mission so many days earlier, Obi-Wan is already at your door with that glowing smile, a promise between his fingertips, and saying, “To return the favor of saving your life?”

tags: @marvelinsanity @immoral-rose @inukako @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @alwayssleepingforreal @bloodybunnyuwu @nagitokomaeda-onthe-nintendo-ds @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @princessxkenobi @mythandmagik @i-cant-hear-you16 @holdurhuxbby

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Okay because we just watched Bloodsucking Bastards together....how about some smutty Max goodness with him turning the reader 👀🧛🏻‍♂️💋 pretty please with a cherry on top

I told you last night @justanotherblonde23 I was going to write something with Max Phillips and you gave me the perfect excuse you angel. :D Thank you for the request! 

Pairing: Max Phillips x F! Reader 

Warning: 18+ ONLY NSFW Oral (M & F receiving) Sex

Taglist: @josepedropascal @oldstuffnewstuff @justanotherblonde23 @heythere-mel @yespolkadotkitty @mrschiltoncat

My Masterlist 

It Started at the Copy Machine 

“Stupid...fucking...thing,” you kick the copier as it beeps and groans before pushing out more blank paper. “Ugh how the hell am I supposed to do my job if I can’t even get the fucking copier to work!?” You aim one more kick at the damn thing before walking towards the bosses office. 

You bang on the door not waiting before you let yourself in. The smug bastard grins at you from his chair, feet resting on the desk and texting on his phone. “Mr. Phillips,” you shout before he’s already talking over you. 

“Max. I’ve told you to call me Max cupcake,” he shoots his stupid finger guns at you and you roll your eyes groaning. 

“Mr. Phillips I cannot do my job without the proper equipment. That,” you point towards the devil box, “piece of shit machine doesn’t work anymore. How the hell am I supposed to build ‘dreams’ if I can’t even make a copy!?” You huff and cross your arms. 

“Baby-girl if you would just let me turn you. You would be able to go use any copier in the building in seconds,” he stands before coming over to you. 

“Oh ho ho no, no, no. You are not turning me into one of those night of the living dead,” you wave your hand wildly toward the darkened office humming with his drones. 

“Well then how about you just let me take you out sometime?” his tone surprises you and you do a double take at the smile on his face. For a moment he seems actually charming...not a complete asshole. 

“Are you doing that freaky hypnotizing shit on me?” you blink furiously and shake your head. 

He scoffs, “no, that shit only works on the weak minded.” 

“What are you a fucking Jedi?” He bursts out laughing. 

You sigh, “I guess you're not completely horrible and I do like free dinner. So why not?” Your smile pales in comparison to the blinding light of his own. 

“You won’t regret it,” he reaches around you and pulls your phone from your back pocket, coping a feel in the process, “Here’s my number,” he puts it in and slides it back into your pocket. 

You move to leave but change your mind as you quickly realize something, “Uhm Max…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m not the dinner right?” 

He laughs again before going back to work, “No, not this time.” 

“This time?” you hesitate in the doorway. 

“One day you will beg me to change you sweetheart, and that is the day where you will be my appetizer, dinner, and desert. But I won’t taste you before then.” His phone rings and he answers it in that fake salesman voice of his and you shudder. How can he so calmly threaten to one day eat you and then just take a phone call? 

Oh...that’s right because he’s a fucking vampire. Maybe this wasn’t worth the free dinner. 

It was worth it. Everything and more. That night alone with Max Phillips and every subsequent night you spent with him alone outside of that office was magic. Yes, he was an asshole, workaholic, sexy as fuck bloodsucking bastard. But, he was also protective, faithful, and loved you beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

He kept good on his promise and never fed from you. Till tonight. 

You readjusted the blood red tie around your neck. Looking over your reflection in the mirror. Wearing a solid black thong, one of Max’s grey vests, and his tie, nothing else. You reapply your red lipstick, and run your comb through your hair before stalling long enough. Opening the door and going into the bedroom. 

“Mr. Phillips?” you coo. Grey pajama pants, white t-shirt, and reading glasses perched on his nose, he looks up from the file and drops it onto the floor. Using that vampire speed he is standing before you, running his hand over the curve of your ass. 

“What’s the occasion? Did I miss our anniversary?” he croons. 

“No,” you chuckle breathlessly, “Nothing like that...I want...I want you to turn me.” His hands freeze their path and his eyes snap to yours. 

“Say that again,” he commands. 

“Max Phillips. I fucking love you. I want to be with you forever, will you change me into a vampire?” 

“I recall you once telling me you would never want to be one of the night of the undead,” he teases, pulling you back towards the bed before tossing you onto it. You bounce as you peer above at him through your lashes. He throws the glasses aside, his shirt and pants following. Until he stands before you naked. 

You lick your lips. The view of him naked would never grow old. The sharp lines of his body, his slightly bulging arms, and god his cock; thick and pulsing, curving against his waist. He grabs your ankle and you squeal as he pulls you to the edge of the bed. His hands digging into the waistband of your panties as he slides them down, throwing them aside. He rips the vest apart. Buttons flying in all directions and you gasp as he slides the vest off your shoulders only leaving the tie. 

He stands above you admiring his work, “Fuck I love it when you wear my clothes,” he takes a hold of the tie and pulls you up so your kneeling on the bed before him. He lets go digging his fingers through your hair and tugging lightly. He kisses you passionately and you breath him in. The lines become blurred of where you end and he begins as he makes love to your mouth. His tongue licking against your bottom lip and begging entrance. 

“Lay back on the pillows,” he commands against your mouth and you shiver. Kneeling back and laying against the pillows your legs dropping open, pussy on display. “God I love this cunt,” he moves down and places gentle kisses to your thigh. 

“But I don’t want to eat you just yet...well not there.” He pushes your knees together and lays down beside you, running his fingers gently over your cheek, pushing your hair behind your ear. “Do you really want this?” his voice takes on a seriousness you’ve only heard once before. The first time he told you he loved you. 

“Yes,” you exhale, “I want to be with you forever, this is my choice Max. I choose you.” 

He trembles and breathes deeply, “It’s going to hurt for a little while honey, but I promise I will do everything to make this experience memorable for you. I want to be with you forever too. I fucking love you.” 

Your eyes shine with tears, and he smiles back tilting your head back gently. He puts a kiss on your eyelids, cheeks, forehead, and ear. Getting closer and closer to the pulse point on your neck. You hear the small click as his fangs descend and he places one more kiss on your neck before you feel his fangs dig in. 

The skin breaks and the warm blood dribbles down your neck. You hear the sound of gulping as he inhales deeply. The pain is indescribable and you open your mouth to scream but no sound escapes. He unlatches and you wither on the bed as sweat begins beading on your brow, and you gasp clawing at your neck. 

Max quickly moves lower and pulls your legs apart going in to devour your pussy. His fangs retracted, he sucks hard on your clit. The pain from your neck dimming as the pleasure in your lower belly grows. He pulls back and spits into your pussy before he licks a broad strip flattening his tongue. He takes two fingers and shoves them to the knuckle inside you setting a furious pace. Your neck still burns but you almost forget about it as your orgasm crashes over you. Max never stops, working you through it rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

His mouth glistening, blood smeared on his chin, and that smug smirk on his face. You feel your strength begin to soar. Your eyesight becomes clearer, your senses heightening. The pain fading until all that’s left is the pleasure of Max spearing his tongue into your aching cunt over and over again. The second orgasm rolls over you in waves and doesn’t stop; more intense than ever before.

You grab him around the neck and pull him to you, kissing him. You taste yourself on his tongue and it’s even sweeter than before. “Max I want to fuck you,” you beg and throw him off you. He flies backwards with force into the wall and you are on him like a cheetah. Nipping at his chest, before dropping to your knees and shoving his cock all the way into your mouth. 

“Oh fuck,” his head hits the wall as he runs his hands through your hair and you bob on his cock. Your tongue working over the tip, your other hand coming up to massage his balls. “Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he pants. 

You pull off with a pop gazing up at him, “Then cum inside me Max, I want to taste you.” He moans as you resume sucking his cock. You hollow your cheeks and take him as far back as he will go before ropes of hot seed come pouring down your throat. You swallow every last drop before pulling off and opening your mouth to show him. 

“My good girl,” he praises, pulling you from your knees and digging his face in your neck. Nipping and kissing at his bite. 

“Get on the bed Max,” you command, stepping away and he does as he’s told. He kneels on the bed and crawls to the top looking over his shoulder. 

“Are you checking out my butt?” he teases and you giggle before nodding. 

He turns and sits resting his back against the headboard. “Come to daddy baby,” he coos using one finger to beckon you forward. 

You’re on him in a second grabbing for his still rock hard cock sliding down him in one go. You let his glorious cock stretch you before you can’t wait any longer, rocking against him. “Max, Max, Max…” you chant his name like a monk in a monastery. 

He plants his feet on the bed and begins pounding up into you his thumb drawing tight circles on your clit as you feel yourself getting closer. Your hands reach up to the headboard and you hold yourself above him. He shoves his cock inside you over and over again as you clench as tight as you can. He moans loudly and your hands tighten on the headboard. The wood begins to splinter and crack as you cum on his cock screaming. 

“Fuck baby,” he roars, cumming inside you. Your hands unclench from the wood and bring them down to his chest as you both pant to regain your breath. 

“I think I broke the headboard,” you giggle and he chuckles kneading your ass with his hands. 

“That you did my little vampire,” he scoots down the bed and lays down flat still inside you. Pulling your head down to rest in his neck. One hand still holding your ass, while the other trails up and down your back. “I love you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on your forehead. 

“I love you too Max,” you snuggle into his neck and plant a kiss there. 

“Did you mean it?” he asks, “About being with me forever?” You raise your head and cock your eyebrow. 

“What part of making me a vampire and I love you didn’t you understand?” you tease. 

His eyes take on that same serious look and your stomach drops, “oh fuck...are you…are you breaking up with me?” 

“NO! No, fuck no! I’m...shit I’m messing this up…” he reaches toward the nightstand and comes back with….with a printer cartridge? 

“Max...why do you have a printer cartridge in our nightstand?” 

“You remember that day I first asked you out?” you nod, “Well you only came to my office to yell at me to get a new copier. Well after you left I went and checked it and turns out you just needed to change the ink.” 

“You told me you bought a new one! You lying bastard!” you snarl and he shushes you. 

“That’s not the point! The point is this printer cartridge was the start of our relationship and I’ve been saving it for this day...open it,” he places it in your hands and you shake it putting your forearms on his chest and you open the case. You swear your undead heart beats again at the ring set with a ruby and surrounded by diamonds. 

“Max,” you whisper looking into his dark brown eyes. 

“I imagined a more romantic setting then turning you into a vampire and laying in bed with my cock still inside you but for us this almost seems perfect. I love you. I have loved you from the minute you called me out in the office. I love your eyes, body, mind, and the fact that you don’t take any of my shit. You don’t need me but I am so thankful that you choose to be with me everyday. Will you be with me forever?” 

You feel the blood trail down your eyes and onto his chest. “Yes,” you whisper. He places the ring onto your finger before running his fingers over your cheeks smearing the blood and licking it off his fingers. 

“Holy shit,” you look down at the ring chuckling, “Are you sure, you really want to be tied with me forever?” 

He smirks, “Forever and ever, doll.” 

[gone-to-fight-the-fairies]

Secret Santa

Summary: The BAU holds its first Secret Santa, and as fate has it, you pick your Spencer Reid. But you aren’t the only one with feelings. Gifts tell all.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Word Count: 1550+

A/n: We were going to do Secret Santa at work but shit hit the fan, and half of the people don’t want to give to the other half. So, I’ll substitute it with fiction. Please enjoy 🎅

Considering the amount of time the group spent working, finding everyone on the team that one perfect gift would be time-consuming. So, you suggested Secret Santa. 

Penelope loved the idea. She went around to gather everyone available and dragged them to the bullpen. Rossi, of the first to hear, offered his house to host the event on Christmas Eve. 

Gaining momentum, you pulled a piece of paper from your desk drawer and went to work. Most of the team gathered around to watch as your fingers folded the page into small rectangles and then tore at the edges. For each sliver of paper, you wrote a name for each member of the team. And then concealed the information by folding each piece. Morgan came back with a hat from lost and found. 

"Who wants to draw first?"

Morgan stepped up. He rubbed his hands together wickedly and drew from the hat, picking out a scrap. He revealed it to himself, keeping an even face. 

Penelope couldn't contain her excitement and pranced to you. Unlike the others, she didn't contain her thrill of the pick. You would guess Morgan, but there wouldn't be one person she wouldn't be happy to buy presents for. 

Prentiss stuck her hand in. She was smart enough to step back and wait to unfold hers when no one was watching. In a room full of profiles, one could never be too careful. 

Rossi didn't seem too thrilled with his pick but went back to stand beside Prentiss, trying to look over her shoulder at hers. 

JJ pretended to be selective, choosing one playfully to grab another one instead. She followed Emily's lead. Waiting until later to look. 

Reid was the last in the bullpen and stood off to the side, watching everyone else as they took their turns. 

"Reid?"

He bit his lip as he approached to pick between the last three. Once he pulled one, he unfolded it without concealing the corners of his lips. 

"Who'd you get, pretty boy?"

Spencer panicked, hiding the name in his fist so Morgan couldn’t peek. "That's not a part of the game."

"We have a case," Hotch called out from his office door. 

Morgan patted Reid on the back. There would definitely be more teasing later. 

The group filed into the meeting room one by one. Last, you extended the hat towards Hotch. Raising a brow, he diligently selected a scrap. He unfolded it and gave you a look. "Secret Santa?"

Nothing could fool him. When you smiled at Hotch sheepishly, he returned the smile, tucking the paper into his coat pocket and resumed his solemn expression. And you wondered if he'd picked you. 

You retrieved the last paper, putting it in your pocket for later. 

The flight back home was when you remembered the piece of paper. Luckily the case hadn't been long, or else you'd risk running it through the wash.  

As the others slept and rested, you chose the privacy of an empty row to unfold the paper.

Reid.

Of course. 

"Get somebody good?" Reid sat down across from you. And you entertained the thought that with his high IQ came with mind-reading capabilities. 

"Is there anyone bad?"

"I guess not."

You rested your cheek on your fist, staring at the scrap in concentration. "I don't know what to get them."

"You're lucky you looked at yours now. I've been worried about that the entire case. Slowed my reading speed down to ten-thousand words per minute."

You chuckle but offer your sincerest advice. "Whoever it is will love what you get them because it's from you."

"Thought that counts, right?"

You played with the paper between your fingers, and an idea popped up into your mind. "Right."

On Christmas Eve, everyone arrived at Rossi's home around seven. Rossi had spent the afternoon cooking an Italian dinner, and nothing had ever smelled more welcoming. 

Each team member discreetly left gifts on a table along the wall of the large window looking out onto Rossi's backyard, lit with twinkling Christmas lights. Presents varied in size, some wrapped, some bagged. Each gift with a tag addressed to who without the giver's name. It was more fun for profilers to guess. Though by the time everyone sat down, there were two fewer gifts than people present. 

"I'll go first," Rossi offered. Instead of going to the table to find his gift, he left the room, only to return with two handfuls of gift bags. "Merry Christmas." Rossi went around the table, handing a bag to each team member. When he gave you a bag, he beat answered your impending question. "What? I got myself." Returning to his seat as he continued. "So, I decided to get the same wine for everyone, since everyone depletes me at these gatherings."

"You should've picked from the hat again!" 

"You didn't say I could pick again." He sassed back. "Why doesn't someone else go? Reid?" 

Reid pushes his chair back but halts as you place a pack of cards on the table. You hold up the box, showing everyone. "Normal pack, right?" Everyone watched with a curious look. You hold it out towards Reid with your left hand. But with your right, you wave it over the box, and it disappears. 

"You've picked up magic?!" Spencer radiated as you make the deck reappear, this time without the box. Everyone claps, and you bow in your seat. 

"I thought I may try and attempt to impress the great Spencer Reid. And I've got a few more tricks up my sleeve for later." You send him a wink. "Who's next?"

"Go, kid." Rossi encouraged you. You walk over to the presents. Penelope, Emily, and then you spot your name written on a medium-sized gift bag. It's not too light nor too heavy as you bring it back over to the table, taking a seat as you pull out the red and green tissue concealing it. 

It's a handbag. A cinched sack with a dusty rose print with a white stripe along the top. And a pristine designer name on the front. 

You'd seen this bag… somewhere. But the memory was fuzzy. 

"Wooooah." JJ is the first to see the label. "That's nice." 

Penelope leans over JJ and snatches your bag from your hands. "You would call a Guess bag nice. This is a beautiful, crafted stretch of the fabric!" Morgan and Emily are stretching their necks. While Hotch and Rossi's brows furrow at the hysteria.

You're scanning everyone's faces until you look across from your seat and see Reid, the only one unalarmed. 

"I don't get why people are willing to spend hundreds or even thousands of dollars on a single fashion accessory." Rodeo Drive. A case. You're walking down the street, passing by the rich, feeling like a have-not. 

"It says that the owner of said handbag is worth something," You say to Reid, stopping in front of a designer's display window. Mannequins are dressed in obnoxious attire, but you're staring at a dusty rose bag displayed on a pedestal. "If someone buys it for you, they're telling you that you're worth wasting a lot of money on. If you buy it for yourself… then you're telling yourself that you're worth that." You'd seen many designer handbags you wouldn't be caught dead wearing, let alone paying the price of a down payment. But this one is modern and… your style. You can't help but gravitate towards it.

"You like that bag." He isn't asking. It's a fact. 

"I don't like myself that much." You force yourself to keep walking, but Spencer lingers, looking at the handbag another moment. 

You push back your chair, excusing yourself from the party. You miss the way the team looked between themselves, eyes one by one landing on Reid, who was quick to follow you into the hallway. Reid’s footsteps are too familiar not to recognize. When you turned on your heels, you nearly crash into him. 

He was worried you would be mad, but your demeanor spoke the opposite. You would hardly meet his eye, lips pressed together in a straight line. 

"I gave you a magic show, and you got me a purse!"

"I liked your show!" Spencer affirmed. "I loved it, actually."

"Why did you get me that bag?"

"Because you're worth that much to me." Now his eyes diverted your gaze, and the meaning behind his words clicked. "If anyone else had gotten me for Secret Santa, they would've bought me a book. But you gave me something that will last me a lot longer than five minutes. Something no one else would get me."

"The opportunity to ridicule me until the end of time?"

"A new shared interest!" He corrected. "And… maybe we could see The Magic Duel downtown sometime. I hear they're good. A little too into the banter-"

"Like as a date?"

"Yeah," he breathes out with a smile. He'd been holding that thought too long, you notice. 

"Sounds like a plan." You grin back at him.

"But you're paying. That purse really wiped me out."

Your laughter breaks up the tension, and Spencer takes your hand, leading you back to the group. 

If buying an expensive purse hadn't shown you his true feelings, his willingness to touch another human's hand did. 

[wyofabdoms]

Undercover I Do - Chapter 13

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: Implied cheating, swearing, destruction of government property, fluff, angst, mild reference and description of physical & sexual assault.

Word Count: 5048

Notes: The aftermath of you finding the file in Javi's office.

We've reached the end. I didn't expect this story to end this way; I really expected it to have a lot more smut...but! it got the ending it told me it wanted!

Let me know if you find any crazy mistakes. Feedback and comments greatly appreciated.

Be well!

Read on Ao3

Gif not mine, created by bestintheparsec

You had always hated it when people said stupid shit like “all the pieces just fell into place.” Pieces don’t FALL into place. Pieces of pie don’t fall, they’re served. Puzzle pieces don’t fall, they’re carefully assessed and placed into a precise spot just for that specific piece. That saying had never made any sense to you and had always made you crazy.

But now suddenly, every inch that had been hidden in the dark from you was illuminated, highlighted. Everything seemed all at once so bright and overwhelming; one moment you had no recollection of anything written about in the report in your hands. The next moment, CLICK. The light had been turned on and everything was there again.

Everything made more sense now. Why everyone had seemed so on edge whenever they had spoken with you the last few weeks, everyone seeming to measure their words carefully. Why you hadn’t been able to jog any memories loose at all about your nuptials and marriage (or in fact any relationship at all) with Javier. Why you had felt so off-balance in your own apartment.

Why Javier had refused to sleep with you.

None of it was real. You felt the blood drain from your face as you remembered the parts that came next in Javi’s report before you read them, the memories coming faster than the words on the page, now.

The pieces falling into place.

The icy spear of fear that had sliced your chest when the first sicario had come up behind the two of you the night you’d been discovered and pistol whipped Javi, knocking him to the floor. The punches and scratches and lewd, terrible threats Ortiz’s cronies had rained down on you in the hours that you were separated from him. How you had never felt more relieved than when you’d been thrown into a room with your bloodied and bruised partner, saying his name over and over, so grateful that he wasn’t dead that you could barely draw breath. You had laid on the far side of the bedroom from him, tugging against your restraints, listening in the dark as he had murmured things to you and you had whispered back: plans of escape or to fight back and then, eventually, as it became clear that neither option was very likely, comforting words.

Your brain is moving faster now and more and more memories burn bright in front of you, each one shoving and fighting to be seen.

Ortiz had arrived then. Your brain flashed with the sour image of him leering over you, his meaty hands groping and fisting handfuls of your body, the sickly stench of his overpriced cologne poisoning your nostrils, making you gag. You felt his evil hand between your legs, searching, digging...but before he’d found purchase the noises had started. You remembered clearly now. You had blocked it out, the memory of that despicable man forcing himself on you.

At just that moment, you had heard the door open behind you. You’d looked up, trying to hold back the wave of memories that was suddenly crashing around you. You saw your partner standing in the doorway of his demolished office and were sure you’d said something to him. But the memory of Ortiz and what he had tried to do to you had sent your body shaking uncontrollably and you felt yourself crumpling inwards as more memories shoved their way through.

You remembered the blinding flash of light behind your eyes and then you remembered the heavy weight of your body being cradled in someone’s steady arms and you remembered hearing Javier’s voice coming from what seemed like a great distance. He’d been begging you for something. When you had managed to get your eyes open you’d seen him next to you in the ambulance. Your partner. You’d felt him squeeze your hand and assure you that he was there. He was your partner. He would always be there for you.

Just like now. He flew to your side, ripping his jacket off and wrapping it around you as you dissolved into a shivering puddle in the middle of his office. You were also distantly aware of Dixon’s voice shouting for someone to call your doctor, her commanding voice booming as she asked what the hell had happened. You heard the familiar voices of Van Ness and Fiestl murmuring, but Javier’s attention was on you. You heard him murmuring to you softly, carefully taking the file from your hands and telling you to breathe, that he was here, that it was going to be ok.

You had every reason in the world to not believe a word he said, to hate him right now. But all you could do was close your eyes as the tremors overtook you, all you could do was lean into him….

All you could do was trust him.

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Hours later, Javi sat on the edge of his seat in Dixon’s office. Also in the room was your partner’s doctor, the psychologist she had been seeing the last few weeks, and a representative from the Ambassador’s office. Javier’s nerves were frayed, his muscles tensed, ready to make a move in an instant. Dixon had been interviewing her for close to two solid hours.

He had only been half aware of the line of questioning his boss had been asking you; his focus had been entirely on his partner from the moment he’d found her reading the case file in his office. He had not left her side since she’d looked up at him and said his name. Dixon had arrived on scene moments later and had immediately sprung into action, calling for a full immediate medical inspection. Physically, she was fine. But as the doctor and then the psychologist and now Dixon had asked more questions, it was clear that mentally she appeared to be fully recovered as well, albeit slightly shaken by the abrupt and jarring reappearance of her missing memories.

While Dixon continued to assess her agent’s recollection about recent events, Javi kept his gaze leveled on his partner’s profile. He refused to look away from her. If she started to wobble he wanted to be able to catch her. If she started to shake again, he wanted to be able to step forward and cover her shoulders with his jacket. But his brave partner...his strong, smart, beautiful, brave partner...had moved through the questions with her usual detached grace and stoicism. She had not once looked at him since the moment she’d said his name in his office.

He had shared space with his partner for long enough to be familiar with her body language when she was pissed.

And right now, she was more pissed than he had maybe ever seen her.

He knew she was pissed at him. That was fair. He could also detect a fair amount of anger directed toward their boss even after Dixon had explained why they had made the decisions they had in recent days. The doctor had thrown in his own two cents and as they continued to talk, he felt some of her anger temper towards them. It had flared again when Dixon had explained that they had begun paperwork to send her home; Javi’s heart had started pounding and his hand had grasped the arm of his chair in a death grip. But both his worry and your anger lifted when it became clear that, with the full recovery of her memory, she would be free to continue working as an agent in Columbia, after a full physical and mental assessment had been made and signed off on.

Though her anger had waned towards Dixon, he knew it was a bad sign that his partner was refusing to look at him. When speaking of events in which he was involved, she only referred to him as “Agent Peña” and she had never directed a question at him, instead asking through Dixon for clarification on details: the pretending, the make believe married life, the intricacies of the scheme they had concocted to keep her in her fictitious world of memories. She had been very careful to not ask too many revealing questions...Javi recognized her restraint in what she revealed in her inquiries. He knew what she was attempting to deduce: how far had Dixon instructed him to take the “acting like you're married until her memory comes back”? Her response to anything he said was chilly, to put it lightly and Dixon soon picked up on the cold front, too.

“All right,” the older woman said, leaning forward on her desk and letting out a weary sigh. “I think it’s safe to say,” she gestured toward the Ambassador’s representative, “that no one is going to be sent home today.” The representative nodded in agreement. Dixon rose along with the young man in a suit and directed him and the doctors towards the door. “I’d like to speak to my agent alone if we all feel comfortable with moving forward?” Javi kept his eyes on his partner’s face, her own eyes intentionally avoiding him, instead drilling holes into the American flag hanging behind Dixon’s desk. He willed her to look at him, silently screamed for her to look at him. If she would just look at him, if he could just catch her eyes, just for a moment, he would know. He could see her. She’d be able to see him. She’d be able to SEE how he felt about all of this. He just needed her to LOOK at him.

“Agent Peña…” His silent pleas were interrupted by Dixon, standing next to the open door of her office, holding it wide and clearly waiting for him to get up and leave. He swallowed hard, and started to open his mouth to protest. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say but he couldn’t leave her. He was her partner. What if she needed him?

“Agent Dixon?” His partner’s voice was heavy in the sudden silence of the office. It was edged in steel, cold like ice and dripping with anger. “Perhaps you could see to it that Agent Peña gets his shit out of my apartment before I get home…” Eyes still on the wall in front of her, she let the words land in the space between them. Addressed to Dixon, they served as a slap across his face and he felt as though he’d been shoved in the gut, all of the air leaving his lungs at once.

“Ah. Yes, well….Agent Peña?” Without a word, Javi stood and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

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“You’ve been right about him this whole time,” you say to Dixon after the woman settles back behind her desk. “He’s only ever been after one thing. I should have listened to you. He’s like every other man in the world: only thinks with their dick.”

Dixon steeples her fingers under her chin and studies you for a moment, concern lacing her forehead.

“Tell me more.”

You’re taken aback by this response. Dixon has always been the first to serve up cautionary tales of fraternization with colleagues, has always been able to sense when your restraint against your partner was failing and give you a pep talk to reinforce your will to withstand his flirtations. This was an unusually softer response.

“He just…” You stop, not quite sure what you want to say. You take a deep breath and look at your boss. “We can’t be partners after this.” Dixon starts at your words, sitting up straight.

“That’s…” The older woman studies you for a moment before asking carefully, “Why not?”

You scoff in disbelief.

“How can you expect me to work with him now? To ever trust him again?” When Dixon says nothing, you push on. “He lied to me! He lied SO WELL...I never would have thought he was that good of a liar.” Dixon still doesn’t speak and you rise from your chair and start to pace. “He had me feeling so sure. Sooooo…..so, certain. He worked me REALLY good, Dixon, I gotta tell ya. ‘Sure, I’ll pretend she’s my wife! Maybe THEN I can get in her pants!’ He didn’t even have to work at it! Just let me keep thinking we were married and that we were SUPPOSED to….” you stop yourself from growling out the word “fuck” in front of your boss. You continue, your voice softer now, disbelieving. “He was SUCH a good liar, Dixon. He had me believe-”

“What? That you were married?” The older woman cut you off. “You can’t put that all on him. He was ordered to do that.” You were confused by her sudden defense of him and you stopped your pacing to stare at her. The older woman sat back in her chair and appraised you for a moment before continuing. “Peña debriefed with me every day. Shared probably more than he wanted to about what was happening. I’ll admit, yes, I was initially a little worried about the arrangement. But based on everything he told me, I never thought…” a flash of concern crossed her eyes and she looked at you hard. “I only ever got his side of the story, of course. So, let me just make sure we’re clear, that I’m understanding you correctly: Are you telling me that Peña took advantage of you in this situation?” She waited.

You sat back down heavily in your chair, considering what she was asking you, thinking back over every interaction you had had with Javi since you’d come home from the hospital. Your first day back when he’d found you sobbing in your closet and gently tucked you in bed to rest. The awkward run in after your shower, when he had intentionally turned away from you. The walks around the neighborhood everyday, through the markets, the mundane routines of cooking a meal or watching tv together, reading reports or the paper. His reliable presence sleeping on your couch every night until that thunderstorm when you had been struck by nightmares (now you knew they were memories) and how he had held you so tightly and securely as you’d cried, then how he’d held you in his arms every night following as you drifted off to sleep. You were distantly aware that Dixon was still talking and you tuned back in.

“...because if that’s the case I will ruin him. He will never work again, not if I have anything to say about it. If he lied to me about the situation…”

“No.” You stop her rant, holding up a hand. “It...it wasn’t like that, Dixon. He didn’t. He didn’t take advantage of me. That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just... It wasn’t…."

Wasn’t...what?

It wasn’t real?

Was that why you were so upset? Yes, the sudden return of your memories of a traumatic event had shaken you, but why were you so upset with Javier Peña? He had done what he’d been ordered to do: pretend to be your husband.

You thought back to those most charged and intimate moments between the two of you. From the get-go after your hospital release, he’d been careful not to touch you until you had made it clear it was ok. He hadn’t said a word when he’d seen you in your towel. And, now that you were reflecting on it, all of the intimate moments had been initiated by you. The shower, the early mornings lying next to him in bed, the heavy making out on the couch.

Your mind suddenly reeled to the conversations you had had with him: about your wedding, when you’d asked about wanting kids, the book of poetry you’d found with the pictures in his office. The drunken argument you’d had with him the night before.

“I promise you: It’s all gonna make sense when things are back to how they were….I haven’t lied to you once this whole time. Not once...please, please know I’m doing this because...because I love you.”

Is that why you felt like you could cry at the thought of you facing your partner ever again? Because a small cracked part inside of you had felt complete at the idea of being married to Javier Peña? And now, that had ended up not being true. As your anger and fear from the initial shock of your recovered memories fell away, you were now just left with an aching sadness that something that had felt so real and so right… had actually ended up being nothing at all.

It had felt so real. So true. You had believed him. About all of it.

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Javier stared at the ceiling of his apartment, watching the shadows crawl inch by inch towards morning. He had been laying here on his couch for hours, trying to decide if he should give up on sleep and go into work or if he should march downstairs and bang on her door and demand that she talk to him.

He heaved another heavy sigh and threw his arm across his eyes, begging whatever higher power might be listening to put him out of his misery and let him sleep away this nightmare situation for just a little while.

He thought the soft knocking on his door was his imagination at first. Then he heard it again and he bolted upright. His stomach clenched when he saw her through the peephole and he threw the door open, forgetting about his disheveled state of appearance until she swept an appraising eye up and down: shirtless, barefoot, jeans wrinkled and baggy, belt unbuckled hair sticking up in every direction and eyes red-rimmed from smoke and sleeplessness.

“Hey,” He croaked, his voice betraying the relaxed demeanor he hoped to convey. He was so surprised that she was standing in front of him that he forgot to invite her in, and after several moments of saying nothing, she breezed past him through the partially opened door, forcing him to step backwards out of her way and nearly falling over a box of his things that he’d dropped inside the door after hauling it back upstairs.

She hovered in his hallway for a moment or two, staring into the shadows of his apartment, then turned to face him. She held up a wadded ball of something: one of his shirts. The pink one that she’d always given him so much grief about but that he’d found her clutching in the closet that first day back from the hospital. She tossed the shirt into one of the overfilled boxes behind him and then crossed her arms over her chest. The hallway was dark and, like the rest of his apartment, he couldn’t see her face clearly; he moved to turn on a light but her voice stopped him before he made it to the light switch.

“Was any of it real?”

He didn’t ask her to clarify or ask what she meant. He knew what she meant and to pretend otherwise would have only insulted her and made her angrier with him.

“Yes.” It was all he could trust himself to say.

“Which parts?”

She had him. This was the chance he had been afraid he would never get this morning, when he’d been terrified of losing her. She was giving him this moment, this chance to tell her the truth. To tell her how he felt.

But he was a coward. He felt those cowardly claws reach up from inside of him and pull his resolve and courage back down beneath the darkness of himself, of his self-loathing and the hatred he had for who he had become. His gaze flicked away from her, he put a hand on his hip and ran his other through his hair nonchalantly and he shrugged.

“I dunno, it was just…” She took an aggressive step forward into his personal space, causing him to straighten and jolt at her sudden closeness.

“Which parts?” She asked again, more forcefully this time. Her eyes glittered in the shadows and he could see them searching his face, and he found it was easier to look at her here, in the half darkness. He felt a small shred of courage still burning deep within himself and he dove towards it.

“I...I didn’t lie to you. I never told you a lie. Not once. I made sure….I made sure I didn’t ever actually speak a lie to you.” He saw her roll her eyes and he pressed forward while he still had the will to speak. “I know, I know. Omission and all of that. I know. And you’re right. But I didn’t lie to you. And I’m sorry for…” he took a deep breath. He knew this part was important. He needed to get it right. “I’m sorry about the way I...made you feel. About...ya know,” he waved his hand in the space between the two of them. “I didn’t mean for you to feel like I didn’t want to be with you. I know that hurt you. That’s not…” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to hate me when this was all over. I…” He felt his stomach turn watery. “I wanted to…” He looked at her then, his eyes burning into hers for a moment. “I wanted to.” He said again, making sure she knew what he meant. “But I knew you’d never forgive when you got your memory back if I let that happen. And, I’m sorry...this morning...I know it was too close...I just thought…”

When she pressed her warm lips to his, he almost fell backwards over the boxes again, but he was in an instant grateful that she had stopped any further words from stammering out of his mouth. He wrapped his arms around her in part to steady himself but also to pull her the final small distance into him. When she pulled her lips away, he didn’t let go of her and she didn’t make an attempt to move away from the warm embrace of his arms.

“You told me there wasn’t anyone else.” Her warm eyes looked up at him, her lips hovering mere centimeters from his.

“There isn’t.”

“I saw you this morning...with her.” Javi let his forehead fall against hers and he sighed.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...I didn’t want for that to happen. I was...I don’t want to sound like a pervert or anything but...I was still thinking about you when she showed up and…” He stopped talking, knowing there was absolutely nothing he could say to excuse himself. “I’m sorry.” He repeated it more softly this time, leaving an opening at the end of the two little words; allowing room for her to take control of what happened next.

They stood like that for several long moments in the dark, her hands linked around his neck, his arms firmly snaked around her waist, palms flat on her back, foreheads resting together, sharing one another’s breath. Then, ever so softly and so timidly he almost didn’t recognize it as her voice, could barely hear her:

“Did you mean it?”

Again he knew better than to act like he didn’t know what she was talking about. He nodded his head against her, holding his breath. She pulled back to look him in directly in the eyes, asking him more loudly this time, seeking the words.

“Did you?”

He had to say it. If he didn’t he would lose her forever, he knew it for certain. She would leave his apartment and never look back.

“Yes.” He had never found a single word so difficult to say. He saw a flash of frustration in her eyes.

“Javi…”

“I love you.”

There.

There it was.

The truth. That was real.

He panicked in the moments that came after, feeling every instinct inside of him screaming to run away. But her gaze and her soft breath on his face and the way her hands softly danced through the short hairs on the back of his neck kept him rooted in place.

Her lips lifted in a small smile.

“Yeah?” she breathed. He couldn’t help but return a small smile.

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure if she pulled him to her or if she leaned into him, but her lips were on his again, this time her tongue seeking entrance which he gladly and desperately granted. He pulled her tighter against him, letting a soft moan escape from deep inside him as their tongues tasted each other hungrily. He had never thought something could feel as good as the sensation of her fingers in his hair, tugging gently.

He took his cue from her and when her lips left his and began to travel along his jaw, around his ear, down his neck, he began to let his hands roam her around her hips, kneading handfuls of her backside in his grip. She pressed her full weight into him as he grasped her and the backs of his legs knocked into the boxes again on the floor behind him; he stumbled and they both nearly went crashing to the floor. Instead they did a sharp half-lean, half-fall into the hallway wall, both of them laughing like teenagers but still refusing to break their kiss. Eventually, Javi pulled away with great effort and steadied them both before sliding his hands along the backs of her thighs and patting, signaling her to hop and wrap her arms around his waist, which she happily did. He was surprised to feel a broad smile plastered over his face as he began to walk her towards his front door, peppering kisses along her neck and nibbling her ear.

“Wait!” She pulled away from his lips, looking at him quizzically at the sound of the door opening behind her. “Where the hell are we going?” He grinned up at her sweetly.

“Your apartment. Your bed is way fucking better than mine.” She threw her head back and laughed and he felt his own rumbling leave his own chest and bubble out of his mouth as he watched her face transform with delight amidst the moonlight and soft shadows. God she was so beautiful. She leaned down and kissed him again, fiercely.

He had to stop for a moment, leaning against the wall, the sheer force of her passion bleeding through her kiss into his soul and causing him to lose control of his very sense of self. He felt for a moment like he was floating and was unsure he would be able to support both of them. Then he felt her hands tangle in his hair again and it grounded him, brought his thoughts swimming back through the swirling haze of desire he felt for her. He dropped her to her feet, abruptly and she began to protest, but then squealed with surprise and delight when he immediately leaned into her and chucked her over one shoulder, both of them laughing as he tore down the stairs to her apartment.

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Much later, after they had explored and tasted and taken one another several times over, Javi lay tangled in the sweaty bed sheets, perfectly content to live out the remainder of his life with his head nestled comfortable on her soft belly, his eyes drooping and sleepy from sex and utter contentment.

He listened to the sound of her steady breathing and revelled in the gentle rise and fall of his own head as air filled her body and then left it again gently, raising his head slowly and releasing it back down with each breath she took. It reminded him of when he was a boy, going fishing with his dad on the lake in the cold early mornings when the waters were just waking up; the waves lapping the side of the boat and creating a steady up...down...up...down... The memory was peaceful and relaxing, just as this moment with her was now. He would throw himself into the ocean that was her for the rest of his life if she would have him, he thought.

He felt her hand move across her stomach and touch the top of his head. He glanced up at her and saw her gazing back at him with her own set of sleepy eyes. He stared at her for a long while, wanted to say something, wanted to say just the right thing....the perfect thing. The romantic thing.

But then he didn’t have to.

She carefully weaved her fingers through his hair, gave him a small smile, released a soft contented sigh, and closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep, smile still dancing across her lips. He smiled, too and turned his face to press a soft kiss into her middle, just between her breasts, above where he could feel her heart beating steadily. Then he returned his head to his original spot and allowed himself to be lulled to sleep by the rhythm and motion of her breath.

Before he slipped down into the soft haze of sleep, his gaze fell upon the delicate white petals edged in pink of plumeria.

They were standing in a vase of water on the table next to the bed. She had put them there at some point after he had brought them to her as a peace offering...was that only the night before? He had felt like he had lived two lifetimes with her these last 24 hours. When they had reached her apartment, time had slowed as they had discovered one another; each time he had spilled himself inside of her or she had cried his name as she came apart around him he had whispered to her once more:

“I love you.”

He had never felt anything like it before, being with her, saying those words. It was passionate and sexy and powerful.

It was real.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, taking in the scent of her, the scent of them, mingled with the soft scent of the flowers that stood watch over them as they slept.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12