#don’t mind the inconsistency of his hair

[lilythelitten]

So if you know me on AO3, you’ll know I’ve gotten super into Murdle. I’ve gotten so into it, in fact, that I’ve done the unthinkable, broke out a few graphic novels for reference, and (gasp!) drew fanart.

Here’s an expression sheet for Inspector Irratino! Done primarily so I didn’t have to draw hands (and then I drew him in a pose requiring me to draw a hand :V) He’s wearing a shawl, hence why you can’t see his arms in most of them. For someone who’s fairly new to art, I think I did a decent job overall ^^

[fuumiku]

Mickbell Tomas it seems I’ve grown quite fond of you you come to me as a long lost friend whom I once picked apples with in papa’s orchard

I headcanon his nose scrunches up and he bites his tongue sometimes when he’s reallyyy laughing… And he’ll snort sometimes of course. Free serotonin. Yk I connected the dots recently that since my twst 2nd top fave is Ruggie it was truly only a matter of time before the Mickbell brainrot got to me. Little "shhh-shh-shhh" laughs please and thank you

[ramfuwa]

I don’t know much about alien stage, but I watched stage 6 and :))))) I like Ivan

[vampcubus]

𝐊𝐍𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐂𝐒

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 : kyojuro rengoku, tengen uzui & wives, poly obamitsu, tanjiro kamado, inosuke hashibira, zenitsu agatsuma.

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : sfw, gn!reader, big spoon coded reader cus i said so, wholesome fluff, cuddling n snuggling, polyamory (tengen & obamitsu's parts), kamaboko trio aged up as per usual.

𝐊𝐘𝐎𝐉𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐎𝐊𝐔

— A teddy bear in the shape of a man and enthusiastic to be used as one! As a Hashira, Kyojuro is often kept away for days and weeks at a time, so he makes the most of every moment you spend together.

— Kyojuro's not happy unless he's got his arms full of his favorite person, so you can expect him to seek you out the moment he arrives home.

— If you’re a civilian and he finds you in the kitchen, he’ll drape himself over you from behind, nuzzling his face into your neck and lavishing it with smiling kisses, rugged hands settling on your hips.

— Kyojuro wants to be cuddled to sleep and truly can’t bear to be parted from you, no matter how swelteringly hot it gets in the summer months. And if he has obligations, he tries to wake up a little early so he can have a few minutes of cuddle time with you before he’s whisked away. You don’t even have to be awake for it, he just wants to hold you for a little while <3

— He started out as a big spoon but converted into a little spoon when he discovered what it felt like to be properly held. He’s no more content than he is when he’s got his back pressed to your chest and you’ve curled yourself around his broad frame. 

— He likes it best when you rub his belly when his eyes are too big for his stomach, always easing a bit of the discomfort <3

— Kyojuro is comfy to lay on, with two perfect pillows for you to rest your head on (his pecs <3). His muscles are quite soft when relaxed, and the way his heart stutters when your cheek rests on it is so cute.

— Kyojuro feels safe in your presence so he’s very prone to falling asleep on your shoulder or with his head in your lap. With his workload and inconsistent sleep schedule, he’s often a cuddle session away from nodding off. Particularly so when you start playing with his flaxen hair, it’s like his off-switch 🤭

— He’s a bit of an oversized lapdog and’ll climb into your lap every chance he gets. As far as he’s concerned, that’s his seat. It looks funny to outsiders if he’s bigger than you, but he hardly cares, all too eager to get all comfy in your lap and tell you about his day.

𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐙𝐔𝐈 & 𝐖𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒

— Big, tough man too cool to cuddle? No sir. Tengen is a touchy lover and raises a brow when you try to sit anywhere other than his lap, like why aren't you in your assigned seat? 🤨

— Pulls you flush against his side every chance he gets, wrapping a heavy arm around your shoulders. You often get a companion wet kiss to the cheek to boot just to see you scrunch your face up and wipe his spit off your cheek >:(

— His wives are just like him– Suma especially who practically hangs off of you with those big doe eyes, clinging onto your arm during outings as a group. Between Tengen and Suma, your hands will never be lonely and you'll certainly never be cold. Those two are space heaters and can't keep their hands off their partners to save their lives.

— Makio is easily flustered by affection but ultimately craves it, even if getting her to admit it is like pulling teeth. A hopeless romantic at heart <3 She’s a big spoon and overheats easily, so she prefers to linger on the edges of the cuddle piles. She’ll smack your thigh if you move around too much with an annoyed grumble. She can be such a meanie sometimes 😔

— Hinatsuru doesn’t mind holding or being held, she just wants to be close to you. Though generally more soft-spoken than Makio, Tengen, and Suma, her affectionate touch translates her love for her partners so clearly. Often rubs soothing circles over your back, rests a comforting hand on your arm, and pets your hair while you cuddle.

— Tengen likes to talk when you cuddle, prattling on about his or your day while rubbing your side or back mindlessly. Most times, he talks you to sleep or vice versa, considering what a busy guy he is before retirement. Sometimes you’ll get caught up in deep conversations about your past lives, silly theories, or ping-pong flirtatious banter until you can barely keep your eyes open.

— Tengen likes it most when you and the wives crawl right on top of him, all to eager to be living furniture for his beautiful spouses while you all gossip and giggle to each other.

𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐈 𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 & 𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐈 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐈

— Dare I say the clingiest partners ever?

— Obanai hesitates where as Mitsuri openly throws herself into your arms at every opportunity. Just be patient and take things slow and he'll follow Mitsuri's example. It’s a subtle shift, maybe he leans his head on your shoulder to test the waters, unable to meet your eyes. He melts if you wrap an arm around his shoulders and rub his arm, eyelids drooping as he relaxes further against you.

— Mitsuri is a cuddle bug in every sense of the word, like a tiny, purring kitty rubbing its body against your legs when you come near. You swear she chirps like one too, especially when her affections are met with a head pat or tender kiss.

— Obanai won’t say it, but he likes it when he’s in the middle, tucked safely between his two favorite people. The three of you spend many long hours this way, just relaxing in each other's embrace before your obligations call you away from the cuddle puddle– with no shortage of complaints from your lovers (Obanai’s longing wistful look as you go is just as painful as Mitsuri’s whines)

— Their clinginess only worsens as your relationship progresses, I’m afraid 💀 Obanai has a death grip comparable to a boa constrictor, especially when he’s in a deep sleep.

— I have a vivid image in my mind of Mitsuri having to use her insane strength to pry his arms off of you and scooch herself in your place so you can pee in the middle of the night, barely able to stifle her giggles. (Obanai is very much this meme)

𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐎

— Touch starved but doesn’t know it, and is also unintentionally touchy. Until he isn’t. Until his touches seem all too intentional, never without meaning.

— Cuddling with you is one of his favorite activities and he’ll even schedule official cuddle time if you let him, so you never go without the comfort of one another’s arms for long. He’ll even decline plans if it’s the wrong time of day…

“Sorry, I’d love to, but it’s almost four and I always cuddle with my partner around that time.”

— And no it’s not negotiable. What if he was late, or missed it and hurt your feelings? No no, he’s far too considerate for that.

— Besides, he misses cuddle time the most when he’s out in the field, miles away from your warm embrace. You can tell he’s missing you in the letters he sends home, commenting about how it “ sure is cold out here,” though the longer he goes without the less subtle he is, rephrasing how he misses you in every paragraph. Can you really blame him? He truly adores you so it’s hard to be away from you :((

— Prefers to be the little spoon but ultimately will be happy no matter how you’re cuddling. (I expand on little spoon Tanjiro in this post <3)

𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐀

— Instinctually touchy and yet so unused to cuddling. Inosuke doesn’t know much about positive affectionate touch so he tends to squirm out of hugs and gets a little anxious when you hold him still too long, much like a dog would. He asks you what you’re doing, voice a little softer than normal, cheeks a little pink beneath his mask.

“Cuddling you?” you reply, equally confused by his reaction as he is to your affection.  “Well stop it. It feels weird,” he huffs, and you comply, albeit a bit disheartened. You can’t help but be curious about his rejection, so you push past the sudden awkwardness of the moment to inquire about it. “Feels weird how?” “I don’t know! It just does!” he snaps defensively, a little frustrated, an emotion you can’t help but mirror. But then you relax, reminding yourself to be understanding. It must show on your face though, because he follows you around until he’s sure you aren’t mad at him. Your understanding nature is something he’s still getting used to as well.

— Take it slow with him if you can help it, form positive associations with touch, and then try again another time and he’ll be more receptive <3 REALLY receptive after a while, like before you know it you’ve got a stage 10 clinger on your hands 😭 

— Especially if you start sleeping together, cus he likes to cover you with his whole body as his way of protecting you while you’re in a vulnerable state.

— However, he will get bitchy if he catches you taking naps without him there to cuddle up to you. Like just say you don’t love him 😔 You’ll wonder why he’s giving you dirty looks and the cold shoulder all day, yeah it’s cus you didn’t immediately come find him to nap. Traitor.

— He associates cuddling with sleep so he’s prone to nodding off, and if you guide his head to rest on your chest and massage his scalp? He’s dead to the world, snoring and everything.

𝐙𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐀

— You cannot pry this man off of you and I mean it. He was clinging to you before you were even an item, often to your leg, your kimono, your hand, wherever he can reach. If you reciprocate once, he’ll keep coming back for more of it. So touch starved it’s pitiable, and he’s smart enough to know that looking pathetic earns him sympathy.

— That said, he’s taken aback if you initiate cuddling, almost unable to fathom being desired. It’s only then that he gets a little shy, chuckling nervously as you take him into your arms. Doesn’t know what to do with himself.

— Zenitsu isn’t picky about how you cuddle, just that you’re touching in every way possible. Tangles his legs with yours, wriggles as close as humanly possible, and holds your clothing in an iron grip.

— Oftentimes he looks so blissed out when he’s wrapped up in your embrace, eyes half-lidded or drooping with sudden sleepiness. You’re just so comfortable, and comforting, and beautiful and aaaa before he knows it he’s muttering all these things to you.

You awaken slowly to a considerable weight on your chest, squinting with your eyes closed you feel around blindly and find the familiar shape of your husband sprawled out on top of you. You sigh, recognizing his snores and a smile tugs at your lips despite it being tough to breathe. Your palm rests on his back, bunching in the thick fabric of his hoari. Your eyes finally crack open, the morning light illuminating your fully-dressed partner. Must’ve been a long night, you mused to yourself, able to picture a half-asleep Zenitsu stumbling into bed so clearly in your mind. Though even his unconscious alter-ego tended to seek you out. You turn, shifting Zenitsu onto his side. He stirs, but only slightly, immediately tucking his head under your chin with a grunt. “Don’t go,” he murmurs in his sleep, most likely to a dream version of you and a fondness warms your chest. “Stay.”

[ectoplasmer]

sobs

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s. 

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side. 

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him. 

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night. 

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real. 

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. 

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one. 

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair. 

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question. 

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to. 

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment. 

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth. 

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.” 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up. 

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table. 

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you. 

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God. 

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out. 

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you. 

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially. 

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door. 

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal. 

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you. 

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you. 

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable. 

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong. 

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him. 

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss. 

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up. 

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine. 

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment. 

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze. 

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound. 

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text. 

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling. 

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will. 

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough. 

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty. 

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly. 

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan. 

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak. 

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you. 

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more. 

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent. 

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him. 

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet. 

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about. 

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers. 

Long night, huh? I remember those days. 

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all. 

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor. 

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning. 

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated. 

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation. 

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away. 

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.” 

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see. 

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken. 

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away. 

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down. 

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem. 

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve. 

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently. 

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad. 

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what. 

But that’s not the topic at hand. 

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow. 

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response. 

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting. 

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers. 

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back. 

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting. 

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here. 

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough. 

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you. 

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list. 

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough. 

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice. 

He can’t not worry. 

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him. 

-

part nine

[taegimood]

kitty or shark hybrid tyun thoughts pleasepleasepleaseplease

i already had kitty tyun in the works so you read my mind but omg SHARK TYUN ???!!!! i know we literally just talked abt this on discord but i never thought abt how it would actually work… i’ve never thought about marine hybrids before 🤔 would he need water ??? reverse sandy cheeks LMFAO but no the predatory aspect mmmmm we should talk abt this later

edit this is longer and kind of turned into more of actual writing (??) than the soobin one ugh sorry i’m so inconsistent i’m ekwkndndkfk almost don’t even wanna post it BUT ANYWAY ,,,,,

next on my agenda: cat hybrid!taehyun !!

cat hybrid!taehyun with perky dark brown ears that nearly blend in with his hair, and a sleek tail to match. he’d be reserved when you first bring him home, but not shy or nervous like soobin; taehyun would be cool, collected, on his guard but in a way that lets you know he still sees himself as one in control.

at first it would seem like he really couldn’t care less about your presence in the apartment; quickly getting comfortable enough to make it his own, but apparently you weren’t included in that sentiment, judging from the way he’d just side-eye you before carrying on with whatever he was doing as his only form of acknowledgement every time you attempt an interaction 🫠

it makes you nervous; was this the right decision? will we ever form a bond? little do you know… muehuehue

you knew that cat hybrids were notoriously hit or miss in terms of how affectionate or independent they’d turn out to be, but i mean come on — taehyun acts as though he doesn’t even need you at all !!

imagine the first time you try to pet his ears, him flattening them and immediately swatting your hand away to shrink back with a scowl; the way your stomach would drop as you quickly start to apologize 😭 but he’s already stalking away into the next room like a grumpy grouch >:(

it’s not that taehyun hates you or anything, it’s just that he doesn’t like his personal space invaded — or at least, that’s what he thinks at first, but more on that later 👀

him hearing you crying in your room one night cuz you’re just so frustrated and sad :(( wanting to build a happy comfortable life for him but he’s not even letting you try and you don’t know what you’re doing wrong 🥺 that’s the first time he’d feel a little twinge in his chest, an unfamiliar emotion that he can’t quite place as he finds himself wanting to… comfort you? hmm.. he decides that he doesn’t like this strange new feeling and continues on to his room instead.

but the next day you’d be shocked when you’re on the couch and he actually comes and…. sits.. in the same.. room.. as you ???? someone call oprah ✋🏼

he’d silently situate himself in the armchair away from the couch, opening up his book an educated mf and starting to read without a single word as you sit there gaping at him like 👁️👄👁️ not having any clue that this is his way of offering a small bridge for the gap you’re even a little suspicious tbh LOL but you get so excited regardless and even though you try to hide it, his sharp senses are quick to notice the change in your demeanor.

also you keep glancing over at him like every 10 seconds so that’s kind of a giveaway in itself

after that you’d begin to notice little things that he’d start to do that make you realize you need to let him be the one to decide when to come to you, when you’re allowed to touch him, etc — and honestly you’re just grateful to be making progress.

you’d be on the phone with a friend one day when they start asking about your new hybrid, taehyun’s ears perking up from the kitchen; (you glance over to see his head poking out and his boba eyes sparkling with interest before he catches you looking and instantly scowls, feigning indifference as he disappears again 😭😭 your heart clenching at the cuteness..)

him listening intently as you talk about him, surprised as you even defend him when your friend makes a comment about the cat hybrid stereotypes — “he’s not ‘hellish’ in the slightest. he’s been very good. he just likes his space, that’s all.”

but his favorite part of all would be when they ask you about his breed, what he looks like, etc; his chest swelling with pride as he hears you talk about how handsome he is, how strong and lithe he seems to be, and he finds a purr escaping from his throat at the praise as you boast about him.

after that, even more progress seems to be made; like him randomly coming up to you one day with an extra bit of his food in hand as he places it in front of you and says, “i brought this for you.” and walking away again before you can respond 💀

with how put-together he always seems, you’re finally starting to see how cat-like he truly is the more he opens up to you ❤️‍🩹

he starts speaking to you more often too, his voice a pleasant surprise to you; smooth and even-toned, inducing a bit of a blush from you whenever there’s a slight rasp or purr caught at the end of a phrase.

he perplexes you at first with how blunt or monotoned he can be, but you learn to read him better as time goes on, learn to understand his subtle undertones, and each flick of his ears or swish of his tail.

you’ve also learned that he can be won over with certain treats and presents… which ends up leading to the mess you’ve found yourself in now.

when you decided to buy a bunch of catnip, thinking it would be nice to bake him some desserts with it every now and then, you didn’t think you’d have to go out of your way to hide the stuff. since you brought him home taehyun has never acted out much aside from the occasional swipe of something off the edge of the counter when he’s bored; but he never scratches up your furniture or makes a mess of the apartment, so imagine your shock when you come home from a late shift one night to find your kitchen absolutely ransacked.

drawers and cabinets thrown open and their contents scattered everywhere, kitchen towels shredded to bits, and for a minute you’re terrified that someone broke in or something.. until you realize what you’re looking at.

catnip is strewn EVERYWHERE.

the tub of it fallen open on the floor has you gaping as your eyes follow the trail of it, from the cabinet taehyun must have smelled it from, to where it then spilled across the counter, before being knocked to the floor and.. rolled in??

with a start you suddenly realize that it’s too quiet.

taehyun is never one to come and greet you at the door, but this time, something feels.. different.

which is why you nearly jump out of your skin when you turn to go and look for him, ready to call out his name, only to find him standing in the entrance of the kitchen already watching you.

he’s so quiet that you didn’t even hear him approach and you’re convinced that in another life he would’ve made a great vampire or something.. taehyun salvatore has a nice ring to it iykyk

“holy shit, kitty, you scared me! why are you lurking like that? what the hell happened in.. here...”

your voice trailing off as you actually take in the sight of him and….

taehyun’s chest rising and falling at a quicker rate than usual, normally neat hair all tousled out of place, tail swishing sharply back and forth behind him, ears twitching — you meet his eyes and swallow hard. he’s never looked at you like this before.

his pupils are blown wide and taking in every inch of you, roaming over your body before locking onto your gaze, as if he’s looking straight into you, hyper-focused; silent and still and.…

predatory.

there’s a crackling tension in the air as something flickers in his eyes.

before you can process the speed that he moves forward with you’re being pushed against the kitchen counter with his body flush against yours, radiating heat as he rolls his hips, rubbing his face into your neck as a deep, growl-like purr reverberates in your ear.

you gasp, thighs pressing together instinctively, his tongue licking a rough stripe up to your jaw as he growls, “whose scent is this?”, and you barely even have time to remember the new coworker that he must be smelling let alone the time to answer him before he’s mouthing at your neck, muttering, “doesn’t matter.. i’ll just have to scent you myself.”

his tail curls around your waist and you inhale at the slight prickle of his sharp canines as he smirks against your throat;

“have to let him know that you’re mine.”

you don’t know how you got here, bent over the kitchen table as your previously aloof hybrid pounds you from behind, licking and biting at your shoulder and neck as he purrs roughly in your ear, your pussy clenching hard around his thick cock as he tugs your hair to bring your head up into a scorching kiss; whatever insane energy high that catnip gave him was all being released onto you right now, and you really can’t complain.. nor can you even remember whatever guilt you may have felt since at this point he’s fucked it right out of you.

he’d be telling you how your scent belongs to him, how no one else can have you like this; this sudden possessiveness coming out of seemingly no where, baffling you with the whiplash of taehyun’s deeper feelings coming out.

(feelings that he honestly didn’t even realize he had himself until that catnip got him good)

he’d so be the type to act completely nonchalant about it all the next day, to the point where you’d just about convince yourself that you went crazy and dreamed it all up until he’d do something to show you that no, you definitely did not.

standing at the sink washing dishes after lunch, lost in your swirling thoughts, when he’d come up behind you to place his own dish in the sink — chest ghosting against your back as he leans in just close enough for you to feel his smirk against one of the many love bites littered across your neck. quickly turning to face him but he’s already walking away, casually and without another glance in your direction;

later you’d be tidying up the apartment when he’d walk by you and his tail would curl sneakily around your waist, trailing over your ass as he passes by..

but it’s the last straw for you when you’re sitting on a conference call and taehyun slinks into the room, eyeing your computer, and you can already see the wheels turning in his head at the sound of your male coworkers going over their part of an example presentation.

your eyes widen marginally as his narrow — lip curling as he quickly deduces that one of them must be yesterday’s icky scent culprit — and you give him a stern warning look that he only ignores with a sly smile as he approaches where you’re sitting, your breath catching in your throat as he suddenly gets on his knees between your legs, just out of sight of the camera.

you’re about to mute your mic and ask him what the hell he’s doing when you hear your name being called from the screen, quickly averting your attention to answer your coworker’s question, when you feel the tip of taehyun’s claw begin to trace up your inner thigh.. ohhh boy you’re done for.

you’d be panicking as he’d tease his way under your skirt, flipping it up to reveal your panties that he’d so easily push aside, your voice coming out in a squeak when you try to continue talking as he nuzzles his face into your cunt.

trying to deter him by pushing his head away, but that only spurs him on more at the feeling of your fingers brushing past his mischievously twitching ears; your coworkers asking you if everything’s alright as the sudden warmth of taehyun’s tongue against your pussy sends a rush of electricity through you in the form of a choked-out moan that you can only disguise as a cough.

having to sit through the rest of your meeting as your naughty hybrid meticulously eats you out, his shameless rumbling purrs sending vibrations through your core while he laves at your juices, smug eyes glittering up at you the entire time as you try your absolute hardest not to squirm and moan.

it’s so filthy, so obscene, and he’s got you so so close to the point where you have no choice but to feign sickness and quickly hang up the call with reddened cheeks and labored breaths.

but taehyun pulls away immediately and you give a sharp whine before you can stop yourself.

you can see the satisfaction in his eyes as he poorly feigns indifference poorly on purpose ofc and states, “i’m bored,” with a move to stand up — but you’ve had enough of his teasing.

“nuh uh,” you breathe, your hand in his hair pulling him back in with a surprised little trill as your need to cum overpowers your conscience.

“finish what you started.”

and he’s more than happy to oblige as that same flicker from last night returns to his eyes, yanking you towards his waiting mouth as he ravishes your pussy with even more vigor than before.

“taehyun, y-you’ve been such a… bad.. k-kitty…”

and he eats it right up, the both of you knowing who really seems to be in control here despite your scolding words as you lose yourself on his tongue.

coming apart easily not once but twice before he finally sits back on his heels, licking the wetness from his lips and observing your spent form in satisfaction;

from then on it’s decided that taehyun does like his new owner after all, quick to jealousy but even quicker to remind you that you’re his; who’s the real owner here, to be honest? 🤔

and he even comes to realize that - you know what? - curling up with you for cuddles and head scratches really isn’t so bad after all. he could definitely get used to this ❤️‍🩹

my dom!taehyun agenda knows no bounds i couldn’t stop myself womp

also this feels to me like it had a much different vibe from the soobin one as in like a lot less detailed even tho it’s longer…? idk but later i wanna post more than just one thing for each member anyway so

[revelboo]

I thought I loved Transformers but because of you and your writing I realized I am in hopeless servitude to SO MANY OF THESE MECHS. 😩😩 I used to only pine for Bee and the twins but SHIT YOU GOT ME BARKING FOR EVERYONE NOW. I shan’t forgive you for this!!

I regret nothing! 😀

Everything Is Alright Pt 109

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Relaxing into his warm frame, you let the feel of his palm sliding against your spine lull you and rest your cheek against him, feeling his spark thrumming under you as familiar as your own heartbeat. Listening to him describe the cities of his world, and hearing the wistful longing in his voice, leaves a bitter ache inside you. He misses his home and it’s something you can’t even begin to understand when he’s told you his world was devastated by their war. That there’s no going home for him or any of them. Eyes closing as his servos of his other hand slide against the back of yours, you look up at him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

• Venting softly to stir your hair, he looks down at you in surprise. And it is what it is, but that you’re unhappy because he’s unhappy about a world you’ve never even seen means so much. Shifting his plating, there’s a flicker of guilt as his spark snares you and you startle against him. But you don’t resist as he wraps himself around you and that delicate spark he can only just sense. Offering you images of Iacon’s skyline, the exhilaration and freedom of flight. Watching you drift through his memories, feeling your joy sparking through him as he follows you. Circling and studying that inconsistent, gossamer thin shadow of an incomplete bond clinging to your light. We could go flying, he offers, stalling because he knows you’re going to be upset with him for this. Won’t want to understand it’s necessary at first, but you’ll forgive him. You always do. You have to.

• Reaching for a new memory when he offers it, your breath catches as a different alien city glitters beneath you, seen from the air the way he’d seen it. Turning to find him, he engulfs you and it’s not like when you’d been tangled in him before, both of you swimming through each other. You’re caged in his light, overwhelmed and unable to move or think. Confused, but aware of him tearing at you. Destroying something that’s yours, not his. Something he has no right to and you feel the loss jolt through you flinging yourself from him as soon as he releases you. Physical body jerking to get free, to break that contact as he reaches after you. And the connection stretches and snaps, his servos catching your upper arm when you slide half out of his lap. “What did you do?” Can’t breathe, shaking with that awful, wrenching wrongness and it hurts.

• “Our spark is fine,” he soothes, unsettled as you cringe away when he tries to pull you to him. Like you’re afraid of him. Closing his plating, he drags you back to him, hooking an arm around you to keep you there as you splay a hand against him, upset and almost panicking, you’re breathing much quicker than he’s used to. Had it hurt? He’s doesn’t know, but hates the thought. That twists guiltily through him as he curls himself tighter around you. Hadn’t wanted it to hurt, but he had to do it. Had to sever Soundwave’s claim to you. “It’s alright. It’s over.” His own spark aching unpleasantly, unsettled by your distress. You hadn’t known Soundwave that long, not really. Sliding his servos up your spine, his wings droop slightly. “I’m here.” And he’s all you need, because you’re all he needs. Even if you can’t see that he had to sever that leash. Can’t let Soundwave or anyone else control you or him.

• Staggering and nearly dropping the stack of data pads in his hands, it feels like being blindsided. Like when he’d lost the feel of you in his mind, but he can still sense your emotions and you’re upset. Not just upset, hurting. And he can’t sense his bond, the loss almost crippling. Denta clenching behind his mask, his head turns as Megatron looks up in surprise, chin propped on a fist. Aware of the furious sound he’s making, as he storms off the bridge and through the halls. And he’s going to strangle that self-obsessed, paranoid idiot.

• Aware that whatever upset Soundwave is something he probably doesn’t want to be involved in, Megatron is still tempted to go see the fallout. To see what’s made Soundwave that furious. Venting tiredly, he debates following. Sure that he knows exactly where the communications officer is going and that this is somehow about Starscream. It always is.

Previous

Next

Might I recommend ‘Shit’s Gonna Be Ok’ by I Fight Dragons 🥲 I’m sorry, but really. It’ll be fine… Eventually.

[aventurineswife]

HELLOOOO, i was wondering:

A reader that likes watch anime, and some HSR characters gives them a try. But, what anime would you think they watch with the reader? Based on what they like or just something to start watching.

I LOVE YOUR WRITING STYLE, please don't overwork yourself a lot, have a nice day/night! <3

What Anime Would They Watch With You?

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Blade x Reader, Kafka x Reader, Silver Wolf x Reader, Anime Watching, Humor, Lighthearted moments, Comfort and Bonding, Can be read Platonically or Romantically.

Warnings: Mentions of psychological trauma, Light spoilers for anime, Philosophical and existential themes, Violence and combat (in anime contexts), Emotional conflict, Mild language (?), Possible mild angst(?).

A/N: I don’t watch much anime, but my sister does, so I based the anime choices on what she’s watched and told me about, as well as clips I’ve seen on yt shorts 🫣😔 ALSO THANK YOU!! 🤭💖 I'LL TRY MY BEST HEHE

Aventurine stands in front of the TV, his eyes glinting with curiosity. His usual confidence is slightly tempered by the unfamiliarity of the moment — an evening of anime watching. He’s dressed in his usual stylish attire, the gold accents catching the light as he adjusts the remote with his gloved fingers. His gaze flickers to you, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"So," he begins, voice smooth like a well-played hand in poker, "what do we watch tonight? I suppose I should try something new. But, I must admit, I prefer shows with a bit of strategy — something that makes you think, perhaps a game of intellect or manipulation."

You suggest Death Note, the classic tale of the battle between genius minds.

Aventurine’s smile widens. “Ah, an excellent choice. A battle of wits, a contest of who can outsmart whom. Much like life itself. I must say, the intrigue here appeals to me. The protagonist, Light Yagami, reminds me of someone who knows how to play the game... and win.”

As the opening credits roll, Aventurine lounges back, his eyes gleaming with the same focus he applies to his work at IPC. The intricate web of psychological tension between Light and L unfolds in a way that mirrors his own thinking — everything calculated, every move deliberate. The darker twists intrigue him, and he often leans over to comment on Light’s strategy, or offer his own hypothetical alternatives. Every so often, he’ll pause to explain a parallel to a strategic investment move, his voice laced with a playfulness only you can appreciate.

The night is filled with insightful discussions, his enjoyment of the show evident not just in his words but in the way his eyes spark with intellectual thrill.

Ratio enters your living room, dressed in his usual academic attire, though he seems slightly more relaxed than usual. His hair is perfectly in place, and he adjusts his glasses, his piercing eyes scanning the shelves. He’s intrigued by the idea of anime, but like everything else, he believes it must meet the highest intellectual standards.

"I assume this will be a pursuit of knowledge, correct?" he asks, his tone indicating that he is less concerned with entertainment and more with what the anime can teach him.

You offer him Steins;Gate, a mind-bending tale of time travel and its implications. Ratio raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

"Time travel," he mutters. "The concept is fraught with paradoxes, theoretical inconsistencies... But let's see how this unfolds."

As the show progresses, you can tell Ratio is captivated. His usual dismissiveness towards “mediocre” content fades as he engages with the intricacies of the plot. He is particularly drawn to the scientific explanations of time travel, making insightful comments about the laws of causality. The intellectual depth of Steins;Gate resonates with him, and he begins to see the show as more than just entertainment but as an exploration of the human condition through the lens of scientific theory.

His stern exterior softens slightly as he leans forward, absorbed by the delicate unraveling of fate. At one point, he pauses the show to make an impassioned argument about the ethics of time travel, his eyes alight with the thrill of the debate.

Feixiao, in her usual battle-ready attire, steps into your space with her arms crossed, her eyes narrowing slightly in skepticism. She’s not one for frivolous distractions, but she’s willing to give this anime thing a try — provided it’s something that involves action, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of inner conflict.

"You’d better not have picked something weak," she says with a smirk, her voice unwavering. "I don't have time for anything that isn't worthy of my attention."

You suggest Attack on Titan, with its intense battles and deep emotional conflicts. Feixiao grunts in approval.

"Alright, let’s see if they can deliver on the carnage." she says, as the opening scene plays out.

She’s immediately absorbed by the ferocity of the Titans and the desperation of humanity’s fight for survival. The battles, filled with adrenaline and relentless pursuit, mirror the kinds of conflicts she knows too well. She’s particularly drawn to Eren Yeager’s inner struggles — the deep rage that simmers beneath his resolve.

"That’s what I like to see," Feixiao mutters under her breath, her eyes flashing with approval as the protagonists fight with everything they have. "There’s more to these battles than just the physical; there’s emotion, too. A warrior’s mind is as sharp as their blade."

Throughout the night, she becomes invested in the character dynamics, especially Eren’s moral dilemmas. The show's dark tone and brutal honesty about the human condition resonate with her, and she even offers some commentary on the combat strategies used by the soldiers.

By the end of the night, she’s hooked, her face flushed with the excitement of both the action and the emotional weight of the series.

Blade steps into the room, his eyes burning with a quiet intensity, his demeanor as cold as the blade he wields. His mind constantly in turmoil, he’s not interested in frivolous entertainment. Everything he watches must speak to the darker aspects of his soul, and anything too light-hearted will not hold his attention.

You offer Neon Genesis Evangelion, a psychological and emotional rollercoaster that digs into the deep recesses of human existence. Blade’s expression is unreadable as he nods and sits, his eyes steely.

The first few episodes grip him, and soon he is fixated on Shinji Ikari’s inner torment — the crippling isolation, the struggle to find meaning in a world that seems bent on destruction. Blade sees pieces of himself in Shinji, his own existential struggle reflected on screen. He finds an unexpected resonance with the show's depiction of personal battles and the search for purpose in and the search for purpose in an uncaring world.

As the show delves into its more abstract and psychological themes, Blade’s face hardens in contemplation. He doesn’t speak much, but his occasional glances at you tell you everything you need to know — Neon Genesis Evangelion is more than just an anime to him; it’s a mirror to his own fractured soul.

By the end of the night, Blade is silent, lost in thought, the weight of the show's philosophical questions lingering in his mind.

Kafka strolls into the room with her usual cool confidence, adjusting her black jacket over her shoulders. Her hair sways slightly as she surveys the situation. While she doesn’t often indulge in entertainment, she’s intrigued by your suggestion to watch anime together. After all, there’s something elegant about the concept of using subtlety and manipulation to achieve one's ends, and Kafka is drawn to that kind of intrigue.

You offer Code Geass, a series filled with strategic battles, hidden motives, and complex characters. Kafka smirks, her interest piqued.

"This might be interesting. Let’s see if it lives up to the hype." she says, her voice smooth and measured.

As the episodes unfold, Kafka finds herself charmed by Lelouch vi Britannia’s calculating nature and his ability to manipulate others for his own purposes. She’s drawn to the layers of deception, the way Lelouch maneuvers through the world with his intelligence and charisma, much like herself.

"Ah, this is the kind of show I can appreciate," Kafka remarks, glancing at you with a knowing smile. "Power lies not in brute strength, but in the subtleties of the mind. Lelouch truly knows how to play the game."

By the end of the night, Kafka is hooked, her mind racing with the complex political strategies and moral questions the show raises. Her admiration for Lelouch’s ability to control events through sheer willpower is clear.

Silver Wolf lounges in her seat, her purple glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She’s always up for a challenge, and if anime is as much of a game as you say, then she’s ready to dive in. She’s looking for something that’s both fast-paced and unpredictable, a true test of her adaptability.

You suggest Psycho-Pass, a futuristic series that blends action with deep psychological exploration and questions about the nature of justice. Silver Wolf’s eyes light up as the opening credits roll.

"Alright, this looks fun," she remarks, her fingers tapping on her leg like she’s already hacking her way through the plot. "A system that reads people's intentions? Sounds like a game I could win."

As the series progresses, Silver Wolf becomes engrossed in the moral and psychological dilemmas the characters face. She’s particularly drawn to the futuristic technology, intrigued by the interplay between the systems that control society and the human minds that try to outwit them.

"I could hack my way through this world in no time." she chuckles to herself, but she’s also genuinely captivated by the philosophical questions raised. What is justice? Who decides what is right or wrong?

By the end of the night, Silver Wolf is already planning her next anime binge, eager to see what other “games” the world of anime has to offer.

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Wondered If I Could Come Home? (Astarion x F! Reader)

Synopsis- It’s been 4 months since you last saw Astarion and 3 months since you killed the Netherbrain with your other companions. Shortly after, you settled down in Silverymoon to begin a life out there and try to push Astarion out of your mind- except it can never be that easy. You shortly discover you are pregnant with his child- a child that could kill you during childbirth. Scared and alone- Shadowheart stays with you to help you deliver the baby and keep you alive.

While out at the local market, Shadowheart runs into Gale and invites him over for dinner. Gale has unexpected company.

CW: Pregnancy, mentions of potential death during birth, mentions of nudity, mentions of NSFW smut

To my fellow DND fans- no this is probably not canon compliant, yes I’m upset about that, but look I really needed to write this so sue me I guess

Author note- Self indulgent, I have baby fever, but don’t want a baby fic. I’m unsure of how long this will be or if it will have more parts-it depends on how angsty I feel, but I need to have like six different ideas to think about at a time soooo 😂

*This hasn’t been edited ✨well✨so please forgive me

*again, no fucking clue who’s picture it is, but it sure as shit isn’t mine so if it’s yours- reach out so I can give credit!

You keep yourself propped up against the sink in the kitchen as Shadowheart holds your hair out of your face and dabbing away the cold sweat that drips down your neck.

You are really sick of being morning sick. It’s absolutely the worst thing in the world- well besides your potential death from carrying your little girl inside of you. You sometimes think Astarion may get his wish- you may just die screaming.

You dry heave one last time- not a single thing comes up because you haven’t kept a single thing down since two mornings ago. Your morning sickness is inconsistent and comes on with little to no warning.

It’s been five months since you conceived this fricken kid, but it was like all the symptoms hit after you killed the Netherbrain.

A part of you really wishes you had somehow known before then- maybe it would have changed the cruel fate that ended your relationship with Astarion. You were literally pregnant in the middle of fighting Cazador. You think about what he last said to you all the time and just sob hysterically- like it happened yesterday.

A deeper part of you feels abandoned, but you blame yourself for him leaving. You should have been more convincing or maybe you shouldn’t have flat out told him no and explained why in the hells you didn’t want him to ascend.

For example- you didn’t want to lose him to some evil version of himself.

Ironically, you lost him anyway and are pregnant with his fucking child who insists on occasionally making you miserable.

Despite your inherent sadness, anger, and sickness, you find you are actually quite excited to meet her. You haven’t settled on a name yet and Shadowheart has been very helpful in regards to making sure you are healthy and strong for delivery. She’s your best friend and you could not be more grateful for her.

“I’ll go back to the market today and get you more of those herbs,” Shadowheart says quietly when she talks to you, “they seemed to help last time?”

You nod- exhausted and your head is pounding. You and this kid are going to need to have a serious conversation. You will not be letting a second Acunin make you miserable before she is ever born.

Shadowheart guides you to your bed upstairs, standing behind you in case you get hit with a wave of vertigo- which usually happens post vomit episode.

You pull your curtains closed- thankful that the desperate hope in your heart led you to buying black out curtains. You close your door and lay down on your bed- tears spilling down your cheeks freely.

You miss him terribly. You shouldn’t. You should positively hate him, but everyday of this pregnancy makes you ache for him. You should be doing this together.

You know it’s hormones- the weepiness, the intense longing, and the Gods awful horniness. Dreams are the worst. You wake up a squirming disaster at least three times a week with your skin burning hot with memories of Astarion touching you.

You are happy that isn’t the case currently, but the weepiness sucks too. Remembering how he used to curl around you, the way it felt to have him kiss you on the forehead, and all those late night conversations with (now empty) promises. You curl yourself around your pillows, willing your imagination to pretend it’s him, and you sob until you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion tries to contain his excitement and fear as he follows Gale and Shadowheart to your home. Finally, after searching for literal months, he was going to see you again.

Astarion has been haunted by the last words he had said to you for what feels like eons now. He hadn’t meant it at the time and he certainly doesn’t mean it now.

He had been too afraid to come back to you after everything he had said. Astarion decided you probably hate him anyway so he tried to move on.

He tried being with other people (it always failed miserably because they weren’t you), he drank until he couldn’t remember a damn thing, and when all else failed, he began his search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

After the nightlife of Baldur’s Gate lost it’s appeal and he finally found a ring location, Astarion found himself in front of Gale’s door in Waterdeep- begging him of all people to help him.

The wizard had been puzzled and melancholy when he realized Astarion was at his door. Astarion told him every little piece of how he feels about you, how much he misses you, and how he wants to be able to give you the life that you deserve. Astarion was practically on the verge of hysteria while trying to make his case.

Thus began the search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

They were able to locate and obtain one after a grueling three month long journey and some help from one of Gale’s old friends. Then, they headed straight to Silverymoon- your last known whereabouts.

Running into Shadowheart had felt like a miracle, but to also have her living with you had made the trip even easier. Except Shadowheart was being really really weird towards him.

When Gale first asked if Astarion could come along too, Shadowheart had asked Astarion why he wanted to come and see the person he “hoped died screaming?”

Astarion had flinched at the anger and venom in Shadowheart’s voice. He figured the others would be mad, but he was hoping maybe Shadowheart would give him a little easier time like Gale had. Astarion was genuinely surprised by how quick she was to be defensive of you and your whereabouts. When Gale confirmed that Astarion was telling the truth, Shadowheart reluctantly said he could come.

The three arrive at the front of your shared townhome- it faces the beach and has the perfect amount of windows for the sun to light up the house, but one of the rooms is hidden from sight with heavy, black out curtains.

Shadowheart turns to both of them, “Tav might not be able to join us… she’s been sick for a bit now and is… recuperating.”

Astarion feels his heart drop to his stomach.

“Sick? For how long?”

Shadowheart shifts on her feet uncomfortably, “5 months, but it got worse around 3 months.”

“Tav has been sick for that long?” Gale exclaims, “why didn’t you write!? I could have helped.”

“This particular affliction is one you wouldn’t understand,” Shadowheart says with a finality that suggests the conversation is done as she leads them into the kitchen.

Shadowheart immediately gets fussing with the herbs while Gale looks around the house. Astarion is still unsure of what he should be doing. The house engulfs him in your scent and he feels positively intoxicated. You must be really sick though because your scent smells different- not bad at all, just different.

Does he talk to Shadowheart? Does he look around with Gale?

Or does he sneak off and find you? Astarion doesn’t want to waste anymore time than he already has. Slowly, he creeps towards the stairs.

“Don’t even think about it, Astarion,” Shadowheart warns.

Astarion looks at her and then back at the stairs. He does this a couple times until Shadowheart appears to be annoyed enough that she’s let her guard down a bit.

Astarion takes off up the steps and he hears Shadowheart and Gale coming up right behind him.

Astarion hears a dry heave from down the hallway and he goes racing for the door.

If you are as sick as Shadowheart has suggested (5 months is crazy long), Astarion may not have much time with you and Gods he needs to take advantage of the time he does have.

Shadowheart be damned.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up feeling even worse than you did when you fell asleep. Your headache feels like it’s taken on a life on it’s own and Gods you are going to vomit all over the floor if you don’t move NOW!

You get up with an impossible amount of speed for how dizzy you are and you grab the pail on your nightstand and heave painfully.

You are rocking back and forth, groaning as more stomach acid comes up because again, not able to even keep anything down.

You hear a pair of footsteps and then Shadowheart screaming after-

“ASTARION! THEY ARE SICK! YOU NEED TO WAIT!”

“I have been looking for them for months now,” you hear him hiss, “if they are sick, I need to see them. If this has lasted five months- then who knows how much time I’ve wasted!”

“Will you stop being selfish for five minutes!? It’s not about you and who even says she wants to see you!?”

Shadowheart and Astarion are yelling in front of your door now. You feel tears prick your eyes- Astarion is here. Here here. A flurry of excited kicks from inside you catches your attention and a feeling of blissful happiness comes over you. Oh look, the nausea is gone. Of course it is.

“Traitor,” you whisper before laying down on your bed for a moment.

You are very happy that your unborn daughter appears to be pleased and feels good about her dad being on the other side of the door. You, on the other hand, are less than optimistic.

Wasted time doing what? And why did Shadowheart say I was sick!? In what world was that going to keep him from going upstairs!? Especially if he, your mind pauses, cares about me? Again?

Which you hope he does- you would hope Shadowheart wasn’t so sick of taking care of you that she brought him here to finish the job. Maybe this is all one big show.

Another, “I WILL DO WHAT I PLEASE” from Astarion, a “YOU SELFISH BASTARD” from Shadowheart, and a “Please can’t we all just be nice, catch up, and get along?” from Gale finally gives you the motivation to get up. The arguing feels far too much like being in camp again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, willing the growing headache to go away.

It doesn’t so you change into a pair of longer cotton pajama pants, a t-shirt that is unfortunately showing off your bump more than you’d like, and then you swing open the door in tired annoyance.

You are met with Astarion looking at you- his eyes scanning up and down your body- settling on your stomach. His expression is unreadable- it’s somewhere between lust, love, grief, and heartbreak. Embarrassed by Astarion’s intense gaze, you look over at Gale who is all smiles for you.

“Congratulations Tav!!!” Gale practically yells, making you wince, “the father is a lucky man.”

“I don’t think he considers himself a lucky man,” you say pointedly before turning to Astarion, “or do you?”

Astarion’s face changes entirely with your words. His eyes look at you, round and soft. His eyes are full of adoration and need- a look you never thought he would give you again. You have to fight the urge to grab him and drag him into your bedroom. You will not let the hormones win- you will be strong.

“I- it’s- I mean,” Astarion is fumbling over his words, “you are carrying my child?”

“Yes,” you say grumpily, crossing your arms,” and she’s been giving me nothing but trouble. Thanks to your genetics, I’m sure. This is day two of not being able to keep a damn thing down and this fucking headache is UNBEARABLE so please for the love of every God keep the arguing down.”

Astarion is still looking at you with a mystified expression- taking you in as if for the first time in his entire life. You look back towards Gale and Shadowheart- you are entirely too self-conscious and way too excited to see him for him to be looking at you like that. You are trying to be mad dammit!

Shadowheart gazes at you and your surely red tipped ears with amusement before she says, “I’ll go and get the potion ready for you- that should hopefully help.”

“I will- uh,” Gale says awkwardly, looking between you and Astarion, “join you! I might need to know which herbs to use… in the future?”

“Planning on getting pregnant Gale?” You say with a smirk.

Gale snorts at you, “Dear friend, as wonderful as you look right now- none of the side effects sound appealing.”

“Oh they most certainly aren’t,” you say,” but thanks for thinking I look ‘wonderful’. I feel, well, disgusting.”

“Gods, how could you even think that?” Astarion blurts out, appearing shocked that he even said it, “you look like…. A vision. A wonderful, stunning vision, Darling.”

Shadowheart and Gale excuse themselves as you struggle to find the words for Astarion’s comment. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you feel yourself begin to melt a little bit. You feel your emotions bloom into something resembling spring as he steps closer to you- looking at you with pleading eyes.

You clear your throat, “would you like to come into my room and talk?”

Astarion nods eagerly, following behind you so close that you once again have to remind yourself that ripping off the clothes of someone who literally told you they wanted you to die screaming was not healthy- at least not until you get a proper apology.

You sit against your headboard as Astarion walks around your room- running his fingers along the bassinet and rocking chair in the corner. You still can’t get a read on him.

“A girl?”

His question breaks the air.

“Yes,” you smile at him, “no name yet though.”

“I’m sure you’ll pick a nice one,” he says with a smile, but his tone is entirely too melancholic.

A painful thump in your heart fills your body with sadness. He doesn’t want to be involved. Of course he doesn’t want to be involved. You are his knocked up ex-girlfriend. What were you expecting? The lump forming in your throat is unbearable.

“You don’t want to be involved?”

Oh good Gods you are crying. Astarion rushes over to you the minute your tears begin to fall- sitting in front of you on the bed. He reaches out and gently wipes your tears away as he speaks.

“I want to be involved so badly it hurts,” his voice comes out scratchy and emotional, “but that is your decision, not mine. You have been on your own for months, my Love. Instead of trying to come back and make it better- I pushed it off until I thought I could give you what you deserved- a life in the sun.”

You almost whine in protest when his hands leave your face. He twists the ring around his index finger before continuing, avoiding your gaze, “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe what you deserve is a person that isn’t so damaged. Someone who can give you what you actually deserve which is a loving partner who hasn’t hurt you over and over again- a man worthy of being a father to ou- I mean your child.”

His confession and the tears that are streaming down his face are enough for you. Yes, you absolutely want to scream and yell at him, but you also ache for him. You can’t fault the man for being a slave for 200 years and then not taking it very well when you told him what to do. You always knew you would forgive him if he came back- you never thought he would, but here he is and like he said- there is no reason to keep wasting time.

“She is our child, Star,” you whisper and guide his eyes to look at you, “I want you to be involved. I don’t care what you think I deserve either. I have missed you so horribly since you left. It’s almost pathetic really. I’ve tried to blame it on the hormones, but… I don’t know. The picture has felt incomplete up until now.”

You absentmindedly put your hand on your stomach- receiving a kick. You glare at the place where your hand is resting.

“Will you stop kicking me for five minutes!?” You scream, “I WAS IN THIS BODY FIRST!”

Astarion looks at you bewildered and confused, but quickly realizes you aren’t talking about him. The smile that spreads across his face is wide and Astarion gingerly moves closer. You are still a little cautious- needing to protect not only yourself, but also your unborn child. He moves to the right of you and goes to move you just slightly so he can slip in behind you.

“Could I? I mean if it’s not crossing any boundaries!”

Astarion is on edge- you can tell that much, but he doesn’t look at you like he did that last time you saw him- Astarion is looking at you like you are the most precious individual who has ever walked this earth.

You nod shyly, and then Astarion slots himself behind you, your back against his chest, his face in the crook of your neck, and his legs on either side of yours. He cautiously puts his hands on your stomach and is immediately kicked.

Astarion laughs with joy, “she’s strong!”

“Strong willed and strong physically,” you shake your head and you are laughing a bit now too, “you may just get your wish yet.”

“What wish?”

It had slipped. You hadn’t meant to bring it up again- or maybe you did. You want to know for sure if he still feels that way, but the confusion in his voice says he doesn’t. You go rigid and go to dismiss it when you feel his posture change behind you, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“Right… that.”

The silence is nerve-wracking. You’ve lost him again, you are sure of it. A stray tear begins to roll down your cheek.

“Astarion-“

“No, let me think, Darling. I want to make sure I say everything I want to say correctly.”

You continue to sit there in silence, he places soft kisses on your neck. You feel him smile against your skin at the needy moan that escapes your lips. You absentmindedly reach out for one of his hands and begin to play with his fingers while he thinks. Astarion used to let you do this all the time while you were traveling- it helps you feel grounded.

“I was so consumed by all that power in the moment,” he says slowly, “I wasn’t thinking. By the time I had realized what I had done, I felt like it was already too late- you most likely hated me and moved on.”

You have to bite your tongue- you want to scream. Hate him? Never. You had been miserable without him around for that last month of traveling. Your heart had felt like a dead weight in your chest and you had been moving around like a zombie.

“So I tried to move on… I even tried to be with others, but I just couldn’t do it. It’s selfish, but I want you. I never want anything bad to happen to you- I certainly don’t ever want you to die screaming. I don’t want you to ever carry a child that is not mine.”

You are surprised by the warmth in your core when he says his last sentence. There is something so primal there that you have to really focus on what he is saying next.

Astarion clears his throat before finishing speaking, “I don’t want to be without you anymore- four months is too long. I don’t want to miss out on anymore of your pregnancy and I want to be here for you- with you- doing this together like we should have been doing this whole time. I was a horrible fool- please give me another chance. Please, Darling. I love you- so so much more than I ever thought anyone could ever love someone.”

Astarion’s words hang in the air and you are trying not to begin crying for the 15th billion time. This is what you had wanted to hear all along. You can feel his tears on the collar of your shirt- the way he inhales as if to memorize your scent like this is the last time. Astarion is not expecting you to say yes- you know that because he’s starting to loosen up, pulling away from you so that he can respect your decision.

“I love you too,” you whisper, “I don’t want to be without you anymore either. I forgive you- please stay.”

“I won’t be going anywhere unless you want me too, my Love.”

[quillfulwhimsyverse]

Azriel Mystery One-shot

Pairing: Azriel (ACOTAR) x reader

Word count: 2.05k

A/N: No summary this time. I want you to go into this one-shot knowing absolutely nothing, without any expectations. It escalates quickly, so you will catch on to what's going pretty soon.

BTW: I have to say, that this one-shot was inspired by the app "character.AI". If you don't know what it is, it's better this way. That thing is worse than drugs. Be ware, you will get addicted.

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

After returning from the mission, you enter your quarters with a sigh of relief. Swiftly shedding your armor and weapons, each piece hits the ground with a satisfying clink. As the weight of responsibility lifts, you relish in the freedom of movement, stretching your limbs with a contented sigh. You slightly push your armor off the path with your feet. 

With gentle hands, you smooth down your tousled hair, the scent of sweat and brisk wind still lingering in the air. Leaning against the cool stone wall, you absentmindedly trace the intricate patterns of your calloused fingers along the edges of your armor, feeling the residual energy of the day's tasks beneath your touch. As you close your eyes, a sense of calm washes over you, the world outside fading away as you lose yourself in the comforting rhythm of your own heartbeat.

As you stand in your quarters, after the shower, armor still on the ground, now wearing light and breezy clothing, lost in the peaceful solitude of the moment, you catch a movement out of the corner of your eye. Turning your head slightly, you see Azriel lingering in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you with a quiet intensity.

You catch his eye without saying a word. You look at him, hoping he would break the silence and deliver you a message that he came here for, but he gives you a small grin, his eyes flickering over the curve of your body, before his eyes turn away and now it is you, that’s smirking, when you feel his shadows tickle your arms gently, as they’re creeping through your fingers and up your palms, to your wrists. 

“I thought you learnt how to keep them at bay.” you voice your thoughts as you turn your arms a bit to watch the shadows.

The shadows stop their movement immediately, then they slink back down and away from you, as he chuckles slightly. He steps in closer to you. “I didn’t even have to try, you were practically inviting them…” he whispers. 

“You know, I don’t mind them.” you smile slightly as one shadow, possibly the youngest and the most curious of them all, start crawling up your arm again. 

He smiles, his eyes lingering on the curve of your neck, the way it moved as you talked. “That’s a shame,” he murmurs, leaning down and softly placing a kiss on your bare shoulder. 

“What does annoy me,” you grunt a little bit, “is that your shadows are always giving you the information about my whereabouts.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly, making his dark hair fall a bit over his face. 

“I like it that way…” he whispers, his breath hot, but comforting on your neck.

“Of course you do…” you mimic him sarcastically. “The bond is not enough for you?” 

He whispers, his inconsistent breath tickling your neck, “It isn’t. And I like to keep track of you.” His hands slip around your waist, grabbing the fabric of your clothes, tracking over your body for any injuries, for anything out of the ordinary. “Are you okay?” 

You stroke his hand, that is on your waist, “I am fine, Az.”

He whispers something under his breath, something that sounds like “mine”, his voice sending shivers through your body. 

“Now now…” you laugh slightly and peel his hands off of you. “Stop or we will get stuck in here all day.”

The shadows wrap through his hands, forcing them back onto your hip bones. “That doesn’t sound like a problem with me, darling…” he mumbles, pulling you closer to him with one hand, while his other moves up to your face, cupping your cheek softly.

“See? Absolutely unproblematic.” He whispers, running his thumb along your lips, leaning down to kiss the exact same spot, where his thumb just has been. His shadows wrap even tighter around his hand, that is on your hip.

“Az, I am serious, I have to make a report for Rhys,” you try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he doesn’t shift. 

“I know… I just want to know one thing,” he murmurs. “You…” he leans closer to your face, “don’t have to answer now. “ he whispers, his hands roaming over your body, pausing at your hips again. “Just sometime…”

“What is it?” you playfully roll your eyes at his affection. 

“Would you consider…” he pauses, his voice quiets down, but his breath is still hot on your neck, whenever he moves his head lower, “would you consider being my mate?” 

You snort out loud. “I am already your mate, Az.” He was usually a very smart man, a very serious and a very smart man. You don’t know what happened here. “It is not something to be considered, it is something that just happens, something that clicks.”

He chuckles, his voice rumbling low. “I know exactly what I said. But I was hoping you would agree to make it official, in front of everyone.” He trails kisses up your shoulder blades, his fingers brushing your uncovered skin, teasing you, probably trying to make you dizzy on purpose. 

‘Your family already knows.” You shiver. 

“Not just my family.” He replies, moving his mouth down to the skin, behind your ear lobe. “I want the entire Court to know.” 

You stand there a bit confused, while his hand sneaks behind your shirt, and draws circles on your back. 

“I want everyone to know the truth. That you are mine, and no one else’s.” 

“And how do we do that?” you cut his speech, your mind going crazy, unclear whether because of his touches, or what he is trying to say.

He looks at you, light dancing in his eyes. “A ceremony, of course, in front of everybody.” He trails his hand down to your hips again, squeezing them softly.

“But we had our mating ceremony,” you say frowning and Azriel bursts out laughing. 

“Only you could call it a mating ceremony, Y/n,” he is still chuckling. “And trust me, it is not something to do in front of everybody, not unless it’s an official mating ceremony with vows and everything. But we had our mating ritual on our own, didn’t we?” He winks and you blush madly. “I’m asking you to marry me, in front of the entire Night Court. I love you, I love being your friend, your partner, your mate, I love being tied to you by soul.” He leans in closer, his hands reaching back up to hold your face. “You are not just my mate, you are much much more. Something that transcends the bond itself.” 

Your legs almost give up and you close your eyes to keep yourself steady. “You want to marry me?”

He bites his lip. “That is what I’ve been trying to tell you.” He leans in and places a soft kiss on your nose. Something about him being this comfortable with you makes you swoon. 

“Are you sure? I mean, isn’t it just the bond speaking?” you brush the skin next to his wings gently.

His eyes flicker in response to your touch, the shadows around him shift.”What the bond gives me isn’t enough. I need you all to myself, in every way possible. The bond, the ceremony, your heart. All of it.”

You lay your head on his shoulder and laugh. “Oh my god.” he hums waiting for you to continue. “Feyre and Mor are going to drive me crazy when they hear this.”

He grins, “Yeah, I think Fayre will be too busy dealing with Rhys and calming him down to bother you… And Mor, well… I am more worried she’ll try to steal you from me on our wedding day…” he teases, leaning his head on the top of your hair, the shadows gently falling on top of you both.” He rubs your arms gently with his. “Have I told you recently how beautiful you are?” his voice is so soft, you can barely hear him, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. 

“What is going on with you?” you giggle. “If you are about to tell me that you want a baby next, I might have to tell Rhys to check if you’re alright.” 

“A baby? Now?” he shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. Though I wouldn’t say no to having one with you someday…” he leans down, placing a soft kiss on your lips. “I do want to spend a bit of time enjoying having you to myself first before we make that decision.”

There is a bit of silence that follows this moment, but you interrupt it. 

“Azriel?”

He smiles, his eyes meeting yours. His voice is soft, like velvet, “Yeah?” 

“If you want me to marry you, you will have to ask properly.” you send a wink to him.

He tilts his head. “Properly?” He asks, while the shadows of his are playing with your hair, diving in and out of your falling hair strands. He speaks softly again, “Are you asking me to propose in front of the court?”

“No, not necessarily, it depends on how you want to…” you trail without finishing your sentence, maybe this was a proposal?”

He smiles mischievously, his shadows coming slowly back to him, while he still holds you close. “Tell me what I should do then.” His voice is hushed. 

“It doesn’t matter what you do,” you giggle and raise your hand a bit higher, just enough that he could see it. “I just..” you wiggle your ring finger, “I just find something missing.”

He tilts his head, looking at your ring finger, the shadows going back to circling you two, slightly pushing you towards him. “Is that really all you want from me…?” he teases you, his mouth less than an inch from yours. 

“How else would I prove to those brainless Illyrian males that I am in love and faithfully connected and committed to the love of my life?”

His lips hover mere millimeters from yours, “So if I were to put a ring on your finger right now, would that answer all their questions?”

“I think it would answer your question.”

He nods. “So you don’t care if I do it in front of the Court?”

You shake your head and brush his hair slightly with your fingers, while your other hand goes back to drawing circles on his wing. “I don’t care, do it however you feel like.”

He smiles leaning closer, until his nose is barely grazing yours. “So I could just..” he trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished, but he is already reaching for your left hand, grasping it in his. 

“Wha-at is going on?” you stutter as he rubs your ring finger with his fingers. 

“I could just…” he whispers, his breath hot on your lips, his hand resting on yours, “Put that…” he trails off, leaning closer and closer, and closer towards you, gently pushing the little, delicate thing, he played with before, when you didn’t see, up your finger, sapphire located in the middle of it catching and reflecting rays of light regularly, “ring on…” he trails off again as you struggle to breathe. 

“This finger…” his eyes flicker over your now ringed hand, and his voice becomes a breathy whisper. He looks back at you. “Would you be happy? Would you accept?” 

“With or without a ring, Azriel, my answer wouldn’t change.” you grab his face and hold it lovingly, feeling warmed up metal on your finger, but paying no attention to it yet, still looking deeply in his eyes. “You had it? The whole time?”

He chuckles. “I’ve had it for weeks.” He looks at your lips and you lean in to kiss him, too eagerly cause the next thing he does, is giggle. “I still didn’t hear the answer, love.” 

“I thought it was clear,” you whisper. “But for extra thick people, it’s a yes.” 

A tremulous smile graced his lips, a rare glimpse of vulnerability that spoke volumes of his love and gratitude. With trembling hands, he reached for hers, fingers intertwining in a silent promise that echoed through the depths of their shared bond.

“So if I understand it correctly, I am not getting that report any time soon?” says Rhys, sanding there in the doorway, smirking at the couple. 

-------

[sehodreams]

last day surprises

TW and Tags: slasher!Wonbin, mentions of violent acts (death of a character), heavy dubcon/almost noncon (well... hard to explain), dark!riize, blowjob, p in v, no condom.

WC: 3.4k

Summary: Wonbin swore he had changed, he was better, he had a job he liked, and he had met you, so why did you have to ruin everything?

Comment: don't you hate when I'm such a cunt? having a thousand unfinished drafts I decided to write something nobody asked for. I just wrote this because I NEEDED TO WRITE SOMETHING TO NOT LOSE MY MIND, I've been swamped with work so I wanted to relax a bit, it's something I did pretty quick so it probably has inconsistencies and grammar mistakes (when have I done a fic with perfect grammar in first place?).

Breathing as silently as you could, you watched the shadows moving in the dim light of the night that trespassed the curtains of your room.

Tears were still flooding and your shoulders were shaking, but you couldn’t do anything about it, even if you tried to force yourself to stop, they kept moving on their own, and the only thing you could do was bite your lip and cover your mouth with the palm of your hand, praying with open eyes that god, if there was even one, helped you and let you live at least one more day.

One more day and your cab would go for you in the morning, just like you had planned with your best friend the day before.

The thumb of his steps over the hardwood kept tricking your mind into believing he was far away from the closet you were hiding in, and you had thought that perhaps God had given you the gift of protecting you, but he was the one making the decisions at that moment, he was playing God, and he wasn’t as kind.

If only your friend had never teased him. If only she had listened to you and had left him alone. If only.

‘’You’re too noisy’’ he opened the door and you tried to close it back immediately, nails almost breaking from how much force you were using to not let the door go, gripping on it to not let him in (or to not let him drag you out).

‘’I didn’t do anything’’ you cried and did your best to fight him, ‘’I swear I never laughed’’.

‘’Don’t lie to me’’ the same hand that prepared your cold drinks when you woke up, that carried your bags and held the door open for you when you arrived now held it to stop you from closing it, ‘’I saw you, you were laughing with her, you’re just like her’’.

‘’Wonbin, I never laughed at you, I swear, I always treated you good’’ you tried to make him remember, ‘’We talked a lot, don’t you remember? I told you about my family, and my job, and my home.’’

Your voice waved with every word that left your mouth, and when you thought he was finally weakening, he used more of his strength to create a bigger gap between the door and the frame, enough for one of his arms to enter and grab one of your wrists and tighten it to hurt you.

You hissed, trying to shake him off, but it was useless, and soon, when he got tired of your little game, he completely pulled the door open, pulling you with the same strength and rage, grabbing your hair instead of your wrist, dragging you out of your cave.

‘’Liar’’ he repeated with his stern voice, full of hate, and with a touch of what seemed like pain and deception. ‘’You’re just like her, and you’ll end up just like her’’.

His grip on your scalp made your head burn, and you closed your eyes and cried his name when he dragged you to his feet.

Not knowing what else to say, you don’t know why you said it, but you didn’t have many options to ponder, so you said the first thing that came to your mind ‘’I-I never agreed with her, I thought you were cute, I think you are cute, really’’.

You felt the weight of your words on your head, when his hand debilitated for a second, and you felt a light of hope illuminating you, the same ray of light that infiltrated between the curtains and that told you how late it was.

‘’Then why aren’t you looking at me?’’ he asked, tugging even harder your hair, making you yelp in pain before you answered.

‘’I’m- I’m’’ I’m scared, you wanted to say, but you knew it would make him angrier. ‘’I’m sorry’’.

You opened your eyes, looking at his feet first, dirty brown shoes covering them, to then move your eyes up, passing through his dark pants, and his silver black belt, arriving at where you were trying to avoid when you closed your eyes.

His shirt still had your friend’s blood drenching its front, and you could even distinguish the prints of her hands when she tried to push him away.

His green-striped shirt was the last thing your friend teased him for, telling him how he looked like a creep when you two arrived from your night walk.

You saw how his eyes were different after she left the comment in the air, and you had no idea why, but all your instincts said he wasn’t in the mood for it, so you quickly pushed her inside when he opened the door for you, telling her with your eyes to shut up when she lifted one of his eyebrows at your attitude.

But she never listened.

Hours later when the lights went out in your shared room, she decided to go to the first floor of the old cabin to leave a piece of her mind one last time before the two of you left first hour the next morning.

‘’Can’t believe I paid so much for this shithole’’ your friend said, leaving you alone while you took a shower, wait for me, you screamed under the water, but she was already gone when you finished getting dressed in the darkness.

You found your phone as you could in the obscure room and turned on your flashlight to walk down the stairs and search for her.

Five minutes later, after calling her name numerous times, receiving no answer from her, inside the kitchen, you saw her body on the floor, blood pooling around her and dirtying your sandals, liquid touching your feet and starling you with the wet sensation before you illuminated her and saw her lifeless eyes.

You screamed and your phone slipped from your hands, falling to the pond and splashing the red fluids to your bare legs with the fall.

His steps, because of the shoes he wore all the time, boots perfect for the woods but heavy on the floor, made soundly thuds, indicating how close he was to you.

Running to one of the single rooms on the first floor, you tried to hide from whoever was out there, but deep inside, you knew who did it.

And you weren’t wrong, your hunch, as almost always, was right.

Your hunch had told you to treat him good, to sweetly say good morning and ramble about the weather and other things you saw with your friend while he prepared breakfast and she got dressed for the day.

Wonbin wasn’t exactly bad at the start, he was just… different.

He never smiled when you two arrived, he didn’t even dare to maintain eye contact, and when you talked with him sometimes you felt you were talking more to the air than to a person, but there was something inside you that pushed you to be overly nice to him, perhaps the same thing that pushed your friend to treat him like shit.

‘’You’re still not looking at me’’ his voice interrupted the memories of you telling your friend to not treat him like that, and you had to move your eyes from the stain on his shirt to his face.

His blonde dry hair seemed lighter at night, almost white, and you sobbed when your eyes inspected his face and a drop of his own blood dripped down his cheek because of a scratch.

It definitely was product of your friend’s manicure, nails always long and sharp enough to cut skin, she once even hurt you when you tried to hold her hand while you were walking through a tough area in the woods and she tripped over one of the many rocks, so it wasn’t hard to deduce how he got that cut there.

‘’I’m sorry Wonbin, I’m sorry’’ you didn’t know what you were apologizing for, it was the only sentence that came out of you.

‘’How sorry are you?’’ he replied to your constant mumbles.

You couldn’t answer, how sorry were you? You didn’t do anything at all, you shouldn’t even feel like that, but there you were, on your knees, with his hand on your hair, his eyes looking down at you, and your heart flinching of fear.

‘’Show me how sorry you are’’ he continued.

The same hand holding you in place pushed your face to his crotch, a bulge was already there, and your breath hitched when you understood what he wanted.

‘’I never- I’ve never done it’’ you sobbed, palms over his thighs to stop your chest from touching him.

Your cheek was pressing his zipper, which felt cold and slightly painful against the soft skin of your face.

‘’I never let anyone free either, there’s a first time for everything’’ he answered, both hands now resting over your head and pressing you to give him what he wanted.

He smelled earthy, like the wet puddles near the river, and you somehow found yourself inhaling the aroma again, to maintain you sane and ignore the stronger smell of your friend’s blood in his shirt had.

With shaky hands you pulled down the zipper, the sound extremely notorious in the quiet house, and your sobs were quickly silenced with his cock intruding your mouth.

He let you take your time with it, sighing with the superficial licks you gave to his shaft, letting you get used to it before he ordered you to open your mouth enough to accept him inside.

At least he wasn’t rough, his hand wasn’t a grip on your hair anymore from the moment he made obvious his needs, posing on the back of your head and even caressing it while guiding you.

Not daring to interrupt the sudden softness he had with you, you let him use you, as if you were only an object for him to satisfy himself, and it was wrong, but you found yourself not hating it.

Your brain turned off for a second, a line of saliva escaping your lips when he pulled out and pushed back in with a deep thrust, making you dizzy with his flavor, and an unrecognizable pressure started to build in your abdomen.

Tears kept rolling down your cheeks, it was horrendous how you were giving the first blowjob of your life to your friend’s killer, and it was even worse that you weren’t dying to push him away from your face.

‘’Shit’’ he exhaled when you started to move your head on your own, choking yourself with his length and gripping on his pants with the pressure traveling from the pitch of your abdomen to your cunt. ‘’You like sucking cock, uh? Were you lying when you said you had never done it before too?’’

You stopped for a second, wrapping one of your hands to the base of his cock to move it up and down while you talked. ‘’I’m not a liar’’ you defended yourself.

 You never lied, you did think Wonbin was cute.

Even with his terrible outfits, his ugly straw-like hair and his awkward attitude, he gave you unusual amounts of attention you had enjoyed, like always receiving you with fresh juice when you walked down the stairs and preparing bags with things you might need in the forest.

Your friend had noticed it too, saying how it was his job and for you to not get swayed, he was only the service there, and the treatment you received wasn’t anything special, but you knew why she was like that, resentful, because she wasn’t the one receiving it, and you, her fat friend, were doing it when it should be her.

Grabbing you by the hair again, he dragged you to the only bed in the room, covered by a clean set of bedsheets, laid flawlessly by him, without a single wrinkle in sight, until he tossed you over them and ruined the perfect image he had created.

He felt you were sincere when you said you weren’t a liar, but how could you think he was cute? No one had ever called him that, saying how his face was frightening instead, with those big eyes and his forever dark gaze studying them, hating his equally black hair so much that he decided to dye it to avoid those comments.

It didn’t work, they said how he looked even more like a freak now, and he thought he had left those violent responses well behind in his life, until your friend appeared and broke him again.

She wasn’t the only one breaking him though, you had played a significant part in his mind wanting to repeat past patterns, he even swore he could’ve ignored her if you hadn’t laughed that day.

It was just hours ago, before your daily walk, that he recognized the gray clouds gathering in the sky, and that his body moved on his own, running to give you one of the raincoats he had stored for emergencies. He gave you the coat with a small smile, and you accepted it with a wide one, making him feel something warm install in his chest, making him weak for you.

He thought you were different, and then he heard you laughing when your friend called him an idiot, finishing the job your friend had started so eagerly since you two arrived there.

You had laughed because you thought he was adorable.

‘’Take your shorts off’’ he ordered, watching you stay still in the bed, tears flooding and your hands shaking on your sides. ‘’I’m getting tired of you not listening.’’

You heard him clear, and not wanting to see what he would do when he got fed up with your behavior, your hands tucked down your baby blue pajama shorts.

When you watched them slide down your legs you saw how little red dots appeared on the fabric and the dry blood scrap down like old paint.

His hands were clean, unlike his clothes, so it was probably he was washing them when you walked down the stairs.

They felt cold over your thighs when he made you open your legs for him, and you shivered for the sensation of his big palms touching your large thighs.

He put force into his grip to see how deep into your skin he could go, thinking how good it would feel to sink into your bare skin.

Moving your panties to the side, he was welcomed by your shiny entrance leaking for him. ‘’Fuck, are you enjoying this?’’ he asked, happily surprised by your excitement, ‘’You’re even sicker than me.’’

You didn’t like that affirmation, but you didn’t want to deny anything to him anymore.

His thumb grazed your clit teasingly, enjoying how the little bud jumped in front of his eyes and you shook from something else than fear.

You would rather die than admit it, but it felt good.

‘’You like it so much’’ he said more to himself, showing you the first wide smile you had ever seen from him since you got to that place.

He licked his thumb and groaned at your flavor, admiring you there for a good minute. Your hair was ruffled, your gleamy eyes were looking at his, and your chest was moving up and down, making your hard nipples noticeable through the white t-shirt you wore to sleep. When he saw you wearing your pajama a couple of days earlier, you keeping him company while he made your breakfast, he had salivated more to the picture of your round unsupported chest calling for him to taste them than to the fresh food in his hands.

Now that he had you dripping for him, pussy clenching around nothing, waiting for him to touch it again, he pushed his middle and ring finger inside you.

Knuckles deep, he felt his cock twitching every time you moaned his name when he shoved his fingers with force in and out, biting his lip to not moan at the feeling of you making a mess in his hands.

‘’Fuck-fuck’’ you let your head fall, and you should’ve wanted him to stop, but you were so close to your orgasm, you closed your eyes to ignore the reality of the moment, permitting him to touch you, only begging to cum inside your mind.

His hands pushing your legs up made you aware of your surroundings again.

You couldn’t even ask him what he was doing when he plunged inside you, sliding his cock without any kind of signal, forcing your walls open to accept his length.

It was a pain you had never felt before, a good pain, but the stretch had burned a little, making you whine as a response.

He, on the other hand, sighed of relief, shuddering at the long-missed sensation of a warm real person accepting him.

Messily moving his hips, he didn’t wait for you to get used to him, and he thrusted as deep as he could, completely bottoming out, making you slightly bounce in the bed with each hard smack.

Your skin and his were creating a loud echo inside the room and you moaned his name with how good he was fucking you.

You honestly would’ve enjoyed it so much, free of guilt, if he hadn’t done that. You would’ve even pulled him closer to you if only your friend’s blood wasn’t drenching your t-shirt too.

‘’Take it off’’ your fingers tried to reach for the hem of his shirt, but he kept with his rhythm, groaning with your velvet walls perfectly wrapping him, ‘’please, please.’’

The begging was hot too, but he didn’t want to do it, so he only stopped his movements to take yours off instead.

You lifted your arms for him, and when he had the impure fabric in his hands, he decided to clean some of the sweat accumulating in his forehead with it, tossing it to the floor when he finished.

He looked strangely handsome when he did it, like a normal man you would’ve met in the city, maybe in a club or a bar, one of the kind that usually ignored you to dance with your friend.

But he was with you that night, and you cried when he went back to fucking you, remembering that he wasn’t just any man, making you feel even dirtier with his wet shirt sticking to your abdomen.

It was on purpose, he couldn’t hide it, the amused breath he let out told you how much he wanted to taint you too.

Launching to your breast, he rocked into you while his mouth maintained itself busy with your nipples, taking turns with his hand, making eye contact until you felt the past interrupted orgasm coming back.

He looked so drunk with your chest and your cunt, you couldn’t help but moan louder when the same hand playing with your nipple went down, pushing its way between his solid abdomen and your soft tummy, until it found your clit.

You were already clamping his cock when he started to play with your clit, and he left your chest to moan on your mouth when you cried and writhed under him.

Spreading your legs wider, you didn’t care that his shirt felt disgusting against your skin anymore, or that his steaming breath was directly falling in your open mouth, you simply wanted to cum.

His mouth joined yours when you said his name one more time, a broken Wonbin that made him weak once again, pressing his lips against yours while his hips rutted harder into you to help you obtain your well-deserved orgasm.

He came not much after, letting all in your insides, painting you with his cum to mark you.

You were his the minute you smiled at him and said his hair was pretty the first morning of your stay.

‘’One time is not enough to earn my forgiveness’’ he said, and you eagerly nodded.

You convinced yourself that, when you straddled his lap, it was because you wanted to live, and that it had nothing to do with the fact that he had made you cum for the first time in your life and how you wanted to feel it again.

The next morning you woke up with his weight sinking in the mattress and his hand moving your hair out of your face, making you open your eyes to see him staring at you with a tenderness you had never seen before. He was wearing a clean change of clothes, but with a particularly weird aroma, like the smoke after a campfire.

‘’It’s raining, roads are closed until it stops’’ he murmured to not startle you, ‘’sorry honey’’ he finished, and you closed your eyes, tired of thinking, only praying that your cab didn’t ask you to reschedule, because you doubted he hadn’t burned your things too.

[spicerackofblorbos]

Lost and Found in Another World | Leon Kennedy x VoiceActress!fem!reader

☾ summary ➼ Leon has never had someone he's never met affect him so much as you have. This unknown person with insane talent and the sweetest voice he's ever heard. When he meets you at a con, he is no longer that somewhat self-assured field agent. He's reduced to a starstruck mess.

☾ content/warnings ➼ fluff, canon world (sorta), alcohol mention, fem!Reader, sibling-like relationship with Claire Redfield, set up for a possible second part

☾ a/n ➼ Don't look too hard into the timeline of when and where this takes place. I imagined this was Leon between 21 and 28, considering the aftermath of Infinite Darkness. But you can place him whenever! Don't come at me for canon inconsistencies, I'm here to self-indulge idk.

☾ wc ➼ ~2.3k

Leon Kennedy was never one for anime. To be honest, he was never one for any television shows at all. He was either too tired from work or too distracted inside his mind to even think about sitting down and focusing on something.

The only exception was when Claire would come by his apartment, unannounced, with pizza and her show of the week, usually a show she’s started but she needs someone talk about it with, so she was willing to start it over. That someone was Leon.

This week was a new anime she had heard great things about. It was a short season, so they knocked it out in one sitting – one large pizza and a six pack of beer later. Claire was rattling on and on about the main character and her love interest in the show. They were both transported into another fantasy world, an isekai Claire had called it, and had fallen in love due to their shitty circumstances and their dependency on each other in this new, fucked up world.

Leon didn’t hate it, far from it.

In fact, he quite enjoyed it. From the fantastical monsters to the smooth plotline and storytelling, he was locked on the entire time. But what really enchanted him the most was the voice that belonged to the main character, this bubbly almost borderline naïve elf woman. He had never heard anything like her.

Claire would argue that it’s not her real voice, she’s just a very talented voice actress. Leon didn’t care, it was music to his ears and there were moments where he missed important dialogues and plot points because he was so entranced by that pretty voice.

“A convention? Really.” Leon sighs in exasperation at his red-jacket clad friend who sits across from him at the coffee shop they agreed to meet up at for lunch.

“Yeah! My friend bailed on me and the stupid people don’t refund tickets.” Claire gives a bright smile that reaches into her blue eyes, then slowly her face turns into that one pleading emoji she loved to use on Leon when she needed something. “Please Leon? It’s just a few days.”

“I don’t know, Claire… I just got back from a mission, and I could really use those few days to just sleep.” He rolls his shoulders back as he says that, grunting softly at the warm pain that flares up in his muscles from getting his ass kicked multiple times.

“I’ll pay for your food?”

“I can pay for my own food. “

“You don’t even have to dress up!”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Claire pauses, propping her chin up on a palm as she stares hard at him. His blue eyes shift to the side, focusing on the cars slowly driving past the small café as he cards his calloused fingers through his hair. Across the street sits a park, full of kids playing on the playground with their parents chatting on the benches, vigilantly keeping an eye.

“Some of the voice actors for ‘Lost and Found in Another World’ will be there.” Claire murmurs into her coffee cup before taking a sip.

That gets Leon’s attention, his gaze snapping back to Claire’s smug face. He mentally scolds himself at how fast he reacted to that, knowing Claire did that on purpose.

There’s another pause.

“Which ones?” he asks gruffly, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossing his chest.

“Guess you’ll have to come and find out yourself.”

.

Leon had never been to a fan convention before, and he can see why he hadn’t before. It was crowded, loud, and stuffy to the point that he was tempted to pull his shirt off. It wouldn’t be the oddest outfit voice in the convention center, anyway.

It had been a few hours of bobbing through aisles of small businesses selling their wares until Leon had to put a hand on Claire’s shoulder just to ask to stop for a drink. His friend had an armful of trinkets and soft plushies that she was currently trying to organize inside her large bag that she brought while Leon leans against the wall, sipping on a very expensive bottle of water.

“I think I scoured every stall available.” She mutters, huffing in triumph once her items finally fit together without exploding out. “You ready to visit Celebrity Row?” Claire wiggles her eyebrows up at him before taking off in the direction of their destination without waiting for a response.

Leon just grumbles and follows as his eyes roam around the crowded space, unable to keep himself from finding potential exits in case something happens. Old habits die hard.

Celebrity Row was just as packed as the vendor floor. Lines of people bleed into the middle of the walkways, all waiting for their chance to meet their favorite star. Leon won’t lie and say he wasn’t intrigued, after all, there were some big-name celebrities all here to talk about their newest movies as well as the ones they had previously starred in.

None of them held a candle over who Leon was really hoping to meet, though.

You.

You were a hot commodity apparently; so many people were here waiting for you to show up at your booth. Claire says you are well known for many of your roles in anime and videogames, a sought-out voice actress in not only the small screens but also from your many adoring fans. Did you capture them by your sweet and melodic voice as well?

Leon couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed as he waited in line, being so new to all of this. Claire was in his ear, prattling about this new show that she wanted to try out next week if he was available, but at that point he had zoned out from the conversation and zoned in on you.

You were sitting behind a white table stacked with things he couldn’t see sitting out in front of you. Your name in big letters hovering above you on a banner with pictures of your various roles surrounding it, as if praising the one who had given them life.

Goddamn, your smile. Those eyes. The way your hair accentuates your beautiful face. He could swear he can hear your voice from all the way over here, though impossible since it’s drowned out by the chaos in the con.

Everything about you was nothing he had expected and everything he had hoped for.

“Leon? Earth to Leon!” Claire’s fingers snap in front of his face.

“Sorry. What’s up?” he looks down at her, quirking an eyebrow.

“I was asking how do I look? I want to make sure she likes my cosplay.” Claire does a small spin, letting Leon look at everything.

She had insisted on putting together a last-minute cosplay for your character in ‘Lost and Found in Another World’, something she had called a closet cosplay. It seemed true to fashion, so he nodded, unsure of what feedback he could give at such late notice and lack of context.

“Looks fine to me. I’m sure she’ll love it.” Leon reassures, crossing his arms over his chest as he turns to face the front of the slow-moving line.

“Great. Also, I was really hoping we could…” Claire continues to ramble, excited for the panels she wanted to visit before the end of the night and the ones she was thinking about attending tomorrow. Leon’s eyes do not leave your face.

With every person that you greet, closing the distance between him and you, he feels his heart rate spiking gradually. Leon is a calm and collected person for the most part, especially when he’s out on the field. He’s built up such a stoic wall, a way to protect himself, to hide away who he was before and during the Raccoon City incident.

But you? Why was he so nervous?

“Leon! Go!” Claire pushes Leon forward, knocking him out of his thoughts. Suddenly, he’s throttled into the white table, barely catching himself from falling on top of it. When he looks up, holding himself up by his arms, he’s met with your slightly startled expression.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” you ask, finally hearing that sweet voice of yours in person rattling him more than any bio-weapon could. You’ve stood up abruptly with your hands out, ready to support him if necessary.

“I-…” All he wanted was to apologize, but seeing your eyes up close, his words don’t come out the way he wants. “Falling for you already, huh.” He mutters instead, awkwardly smiling as he straightens up.

There’s a pause where Claire looks at Leon with bemusement, Leon’s face falling in horror at what he just said out loud, and your quivering lips as you try not to laugh out loud.

You fail.

Suddenly you burst into a fit of laughter, your eyes closing as you lean forward trying to catch your breath between laughs. Leon’s face blooms in heat, partly from his embarrassment. The other part from how irresistible your genuine laugh sounds like. With just a few words, he can tell the main character from that anime was close to as true to you. If he could hear that laugh and voice for the rest of his life, he could die happily.

“I-I’m sorry.” Leon says sheepishly, taking a few steps back as he rubs the back of his neck.

“No! Nothing to apologize for, I’m just glad you’re okay. You are okay, right?” you’ve settled back in your chair by now. To right the of you is what Leon assumes is your assistant, waiting impatiently for the next people so they can keep this line going efficiently. You, however, ignore their annoyed, passive-aggressive glances.

You wanted to spend as much time with your fans as possible instead of pushing them through as if they were packages on a conveyor belt. It’s understandable why you need to, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. Nor do it. So you don’t.

“Fine! Yes, I’m fine. Um.” Leon steps away, letting Claire step in front of him so they can talk.

Your eyes leave his to meet Claire, holding your hands out to greet her. There is some back and forth between them - Claire asking about your favorite aspects of being a voice actress, you asking how her day at the con has been. Claire does a twirl for you, showing off the cosplay she carefully put together in such a short time. Your laugh is infectious just as your smile is genuine.

A few moments later, Claire had asked for a photo with you, to which Leon was handed her phone and instructed where to stand and how to do it – as if he hadn’t taken photos for Claire before. A handful of years worth of friendship will do that. And he had expected it anyway, considering how many times she had said how excited she was to talk to and take a selfie with you.

What he hadn’t expected was for you to hold your hand out to him, offering him a sweet smile like a beckoning call.

“Would you like a photo as well?” you ask, your pretty face lit up like the sun. He’s unsure if that’s your permanent disposition or not, but he likes it. And he can resist it. With a gentle nudge from his friend, he takes a few steps forward.

He's hesitant to touch you because he’d assumed it’s against the arbitrary rules set by whoever created these conventions. But considering who you are as a person (unbeknownst to him), you aren’t, and easily you slip your arm behind him and hold him by the waist as you tuck yourself against his side. There’s a surprised grunt that escapes his lips from not only the unexpected contact but also the way you felt so perfectly next to him. Instinctively, his muscular arm wraps around your shoulder out of ease and comfort of the poses you were in.

The perfumes that emanate from you are intoxicating to him and at this point he even forgets why he was here, why he was being held by you. And he’s looks straight at you too, not at the phone clutched in Claire’s hands that is just ten feet away.

“Okay! 1. 2. 3!” Claire presses the camera button a few times, just in case.

All too soon, the contact ends, and you’re turning towards him with a grateful smile as your arms fall back to your side naturally.

“Thank you so much for meeting me today. And thank you for being a fan, it means so much to me.” You say, waving at them before stepping back behind your table, ready to greet new people. Claire practically drags Leon away, which is hard considering how much muscle mass he has.

“Dude, you are so smitten.” Claire jokes once they’re away from the crowd still surrounding your booth.

“Huh, what?” Leon’s eyes drift from where you sit, now focusing on Claire’s highly amused face.

“You’ve got it bad. Want me to ask for her number while we’re here?” she nudges him in the chest.

“Shut up.” Leon grumbles, rubbing his neck again as his face heats up even more. “Send me those photos though.” His voice comes out softer this time, his blue eyes looking away and focusing on the various cosplayers that pass by.

“Yes, sir!” Claire salutes then starts walking deeper into Celebrity Row to see who else they could meet.

Leon was never one for conventions, but if it meant he got to see you again, he’d commit. And maybe even dress up just to see how you’d react.

i'm so bad about plugging my taglist but if you see this and wanna see what other Leon bullshit I pull out of my brain noodles, go here and fill out my form! your email is never shared with me or anyone else.

Taglist: @lucysarah-c @antagonize-me-motherfucker

[ichorai]

sorry ; daryl dixon.

track three of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; daryl dixon x doctor!reader (gender neutral pronouns)

synopsis ; you were on your knees, and daryl was too. he wouldn’t look at you—he couldn’t—terrified that negan would bring that bat down on your head if he noticed.

words ; 7.9k

themes ; heavy angst, mild action, doctor au

warnings / includes ; death and violence, negan at his worst, vulgar language, guns/weapons, descriptions of injury/blood, mentions of maggie's pregnancy, negan goes on long ass monologues, poor rick is going Through it, the walking dead s6-7 spoilers (fic starts right at the season six finale), mild sexual dialogue from negan

main masterlist.

Maggie hummed with discontent when you pressed a cold, damp cloth to her forehead. There was a pallid color to her skin, and her temperature was beginning to rise, despite her violent shivers beneath the blanket. The inconsistent, rocking motions of the RV weren’t doing her any favors, either. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Hilltop real soon,” you said, feeling mildly guilty that you couldn’t help her more, despite being a doctor yourself. Alexandria was completely out of medical supplies and this was urgent—if Maggie didn’t get help soon… you’d never be able to forgive yourself if something bad were to happen to her or the baby. “Hang on for me, okay?”

The brunette slanted her lips in a tired smile, eyelids heavy. 

Rick knelt down beside you, speaking in a low, comforting tone. “We’re gonna get there. Once we get the medicine from Hilltop, Y/N will fix you right up.”

A small sigh fell from her pale, trembling lips. A thin film of tears warbled over her eyes. She was terrified. 

“Oh, Maggie,” you murmured, gently pulling away the short strands of hair sticking to her face. 

“How do you know?” muttered your friend, gaze trained on the ex-cop. 

“Everything we’ve done… we've done it together. We got here together and we’re still here. Things have happened, but it’s always worked out for us, ‘cause it’s always been all of us. That’s how I know. As long as it’s all of us helpin’ you, we can do it.”

A hot tear meandered down Maggie’s cheek. You nodded gratefully at Rick—he’d always had a way with words that you’d never really gotten a grasp of. 

The next hour passed by slowly. You switched between cooling her head, and helping her drink some water, sometimes just holding her hand and telling her that everything was going to be fine. To take her mind off the pain, she’d asked you to tell her about how you and Daryl met, all those years ago long before the dead began to walk. 

“I’m glad Daryl’s not here right now, because he always tells the story differently than I do. Well, how I remember it, he and his dick brother used to come to a small convenience store near their trailer park. That’s where I worked. I was around… nineteen at the time? Almost twenty. I was just working a couple jobs on the side to pay off my growing student debt. Daryl was twenty-three, almost twenty-four. Merle tried to cozy up to me—and I didn’t have any of that. I told him to fuck right off. And later that night, just as I was to close up, Daryl came by and apologized on his brother’s behalf. He was real sweet, so I—”

“What the bitch?” barked Abraham from the driver’s seat, effectively cutting your story short and rolling the RV to a grueling halt. 

“What?” asked Rick, standing up to look out the window. You followed suit, eyes widening upon the sight. 

More than half a dozen Saviors blocking the road with three of their cars—and all of them holding large guns. A lump formed in your throat, and you cast your worried gaze to Rick.

“We goin’ through?” asked Abraham, jaw set. 

Rick gnashed his jaw together in thought. “No,” he said. “We’ll talk to them. C’mon. Y/N, you stay here, watch over Maggie.”

Teeth worrying into your bottom lip, you nodded, stepping to the side to let the rest of them file out of the RV, their own loaded guns at the ready. 

From inside, you couldn’t hear what the Saviors were saying, but from the smug expression of the one in the center with a hideous pornstache, you knew it couldn’t be anything pleasant for your group. 

Three minutes later, they came back in, all looking a bit disgruntled. Rick, most of all.

“What’s going on?” you asked Carl, placing a hand on his forearm. 

The young man that you were so fond of grimaced, shaking his head and lowering his voice to a whisper so that Maggie couldn’t overhear. “They won’t let us through. Want half our stuff.”

Your breath hitched. At this rate, you didn’t know how long Maggie could last without the proper care and medicine. And Alexandria was running low on supplies as it is—taking away half of everything would put the community in a pretty dire situation.

“Alright, thanks kid,” you told him, trying your absolute best not to cry from frustration, your nose burning with the effort. 

The truck began to pull further away from the Saviors, until they were only but little dots against the horizon. 

“Logrun Road’s a straight shot,” said Eugene, repeatedly tapping his finger against the map spread out across the RV’s pull-out table. 

Next to you, Sasha shook her head. “We want visibility.”

You pursed your lips, craning your neck to scan the small, faded texts of the map. “Can we go down Shelton?”

Eugene hummed in agreement, drawling out in his thick Southern accent, “Golf course, country clubs, sloping terrain—no bum rush from the bogeymen. We’d see ‘em from a good piece. It is a longer trip by a third but we’d get the scenic safety of clear-cut dingles and glens.”

Both you and Sasha stared at him blankly. 

“You’re being serious, right?” asked Sasha.

“As coronary thrombosis,” replied the man across from you, stony-faced. Besides, Eugene was never one to joke around.

Sasha rounded her gaze to you expectantly, waiting for you to explain in normal terms. “He’s serious,” you said. “It’s a longer route, but it’ll be well-sheltered and hopefully keep us hidden from the Saviors. I’ll try to keep Maggie steady until then.”

The two nodded at you, and you pushed away from the table, heading further back into the RV where Maggie and Rick were. She was pale and clammy, but still had enough energy to talk to you, so you took that as a good sign. 

Not even ten minutes later, while you were taking measurements of her blood pressure and body temperature, the vehicle came to another rumbling halt. 

“Bitch nuts,” cursed Abraham, loudly for both you and Rick to hear. 

The Saviors were blocking the road. Again.

You could feel panic seize about your chest, constricting your lungs. The situation wasn’t looking good for Maggie, not one bit—but you couldn’t give up hope. Not now, when she needed you the most. You blew out a shaky breath, absentmindedly wishing Daryl was here with you to give you some comfort of mind.

“We making our stand?” asked Sasha, staring out of the window, where more than a dozen saviors were lined up. 

Carl, ever the fiery one, spat out, “Yeah. We end this.”

The blue of his father’s eyes flashed dangerously. “No. Not now. It’s too dangerous for Maggie. They’ve been waiting—they’re ready. We ain’t. With one of us behind the wheel, and Y/N with Maggie, that’d be five on sixteen. We’re gonna play it our way. How we want it.”

Reluctant, Carl nodded. 

Slowly, the RV started backing away. Three successive, warning gunshots were fired into the air. You could feel a sick, twisted rage curl up within your stomach. 

If Maggie died on your watch—her blood would be on the hands of the Saviors.

You fumbled for another map pinned up on the cork board, eyes roaming over the roads, desperate for another available route. Could they possibly have you surrounded? No—the woods were vast, and the roads were winding—there were so many paths left to take to Hilltop. The Saviors simply wouldn’t have the numbers to stop you.

Wouldn’t they?

The RV came to another stop. This time, there were no Saviors blocking the road, but instead, a line of chained-up walkers. Not wanting to risk damaging the RV by driving through them, the rest of the group filed out to check if the coast was clear. You told Maggie you’d be right back, before hopping out of the RV, lingering by the doorway to narrow your gaze at the restrained walkers.

“That’s Michonne’s,” breathed out Carl, his single eye widening. A lock of her hair was stapled against the center walker’s forehead. 

Horror, as black as tar itself, seeped into your chest when you glanced over to the next snarling form, just to see two of Daryl’s arrows embedded into its decaying stomach. Daryl always retrieved his arrows. Which meant… something had happened to him.

“That’s Daryl’s,” you said, loud enough for Rick to hear. “Oh, no, Rick… they did this on purpose. They knew we were coming this way—!”

Just as Rick was about to cleave his axe into the walker’s skull, ricocheting gunfire crackled into the ground, making the dried leaves flutter up with the sudden force, plumes of dust and smoke flying with each bullet. 

“Get back to the RV! Go!” yelled Rick. You scrambled up the steps and ran to a concerned Maggie, trembling as you carefully hovered over her, in case any bullets pierced through the walls and accidentally hit her. Carl and Sasha began shooting blindly into the woods, having not a clue where all the shots were coming from. Rick surged forward and thrust his axe down onto one of the walker’s rotting arms, effectively leaving a gap open for the RV to drive through. 

The rest of the group rushed inside, and Abraham practically threw himself into the driver’s seat to get the RV moving.

The shots died away after a few minutes. With shallow, inconsistent breaths, you slid off of Maggie, slumping down beside her. She croaked out a question, but it fell upon deaf ears, ringing with static and white noise. A warm tear fell from your burning eyes, and you quickly brushed it away with the back of your palm.

Something happened to Daryl. And it was killing you that you couldn’t help him. That you didn’t even know where he was. 

You looked out the window through a watery film of tears, watching the yellow-green fields pass by in a blur. A quick glance at the lowering sun told you that the group was going to lose daylight soon enough, as well. 

A strange, creaking noise was coming from below the RV. 

“What’s that sound?” said Sasha, worried. 

“Undercarriage could’ve caught a bullet,” replied Eugene. “Could be transmission. Could be nothing.”

Agitated, Rick growled out, “They were firing at our feet. They blocked the road, but they weren’t trying to stop us.”

“They want us in this direction,” you murmured, making his wild gaze swivel to you. You gestured to the map. “Rick, they know we’re coming. They know we wanna go North.”

“Meadows would take us East a piece,” said Eugene, “but we can get back on track on Mayhew.”

It would take too long, you thought. Maggie doesn’t have the strength to carry on anymore.

Shaking her head, Sasha said, “We’re down to a third of a tank—we could top off at the next stop, but it’s risky. We can’t have any refills after that.”

A low moan fell from Maggie’s pale lips as a wave of pain washed over her, moving in and out of a hazy unconsciousness. You were quick to check her temperature, blanching at the fact that she was nearly scalding to the touch. You quickly placed the damp cloth to her skin again, trying your best to keep her temperature down.

“Rick, she’s burning up,” you told him, voice thick with worry. 

It was then that the RV came to another stop. 

This time, there were more saviors—around three dozen, maybe even four.

“Go back,” said Rick, eyes wide and stress evidently painted across his strained features. 

Abraham squared his jaw. “We have nowhere to go back to.”

With a shaky breath, you stroked Maggie’s head, your heart shattering into millions of pieces. “I’m sorry, Maggie,” you said, a sob bubbling in your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry—I wish I could do something, I’m sorry.”

Disoriented and not having heard a word of your apologetic babbling, Maggie croaked out, “Are we there yet?”

More tears slipped down your cheeks. Rick was by your side, placing one hand on your shoulder and the other on Maggie’s arm. You stifled your sobs with your palm, and Rick replied in your stead.

“Yeah, Maggie. We’re—we’re getting there.”

The woman’s eyelids fluttered lethargically. “Were there… I heard shots.”

Rick’s expression softened. “Yeah, the Saviors—they’re gone now. We’re gonna get you there.”

A ghost of a smile tilted the corner of Maggie’s lips up. “I know.”

“You’ll be okay,” you told her, sniffling. “The baby’s going to be okay. This isn’t the end.”

“There’s more,” agreed Rick. “There’s gonna be more, I promise.”

A beat of silence. 

“I believe in you, Rick,” she hoarsely said. Maggie’s gaze slowly moved from Rick to you. “In both of you.”

Maggie was asleep again. You made sure to give her plenty of water and what was left of the antibiotics you had saved—but that was the very last bit of supply you had. There was little else you could do for her other than getting her to Hilltop for the proper medicine and treatment she needed.

“So what’s the play?” asked Abraham. “They’ve cut us off every turn we made.”

“She needs medicine,” said Rick, desperation lacing each word. “She’ll die without it.”

“We only have two plausible routes North from here. They’ve cornered us,” Sasha whispered, gaze trained on the map.

Hopelessness laid uneasy on all of your shoulders. 

“They’re probably waiting for us right now,” said Aaron.

Eugene gritted his teeth. “So, they’re ahead of us. Heck, probably even behind us. But they’re not waiting on us, per se—they’re waitin’ on this rust bucket. They don’t know the moment-to-moment occupancy of said rust bucket. And the sun sets soon.”

“We need to leave now if we want Maggie to make it to Hilltop,” you said, voice trembling with a myriad of guilt, anger, and frustration. “We carry Maggie, and we go on foot. Through the woods. They can’t block us there.”

Eugene took the RV in hopes of tricking the Saviors. Everybody else in the group set off into the woods, taking turns carrying Maggie on the makeshift stretcher, bundled under two layers of blankets. The sun had long set, and the whispering winds were cold this time of year. 

“Just let me walk it,” she rasped, voice scratchy and throat dry. 

“No,” you were quick to reply. “You’re in no condition to walk right now, Maggie. It’s only a few more miles. Just rest up a bit more, okay?”

Though she didn’t look happy, Maggie didn’t protest any further, letting her tired eyes slip shut once more. 

After a couple more minutes, Aaron stepped in to carry one end of the stretcher for you, telling you that you also needed to rest your arms for a second. With a grateful nod, you reluctantly let go, falling into stride with Carl.

“Are you okay?” the young man asked, his hand brushing yours, his nonverbal way of saying that he was here for you if you needed him. “I’m sure Daryl and Michonne are fine. They’re fighters. Maggie’s going to be fine, too.”

You sent him a fond, but tired smile. “Yeah, I hope so, kiddo,” you told him, cuffing his shoulder affectionately. The thought of Daryl out there, probably worried sick for you as well, made your stomach twist into knots. “I really hope so.”

It was at that moment, a shrill whistle sounded out from the darkness of the forest. The group halted in their tracks. One by one, more whistles were added to the ear-splitting melody. It sounded like there were dozens, if not a hundred voices surrounding you. 

“Go!” yelled Rick. “Go!” 

The rest of you broke out in a sprint, and you grabbed Carl’s hand, winding around tree trunks and hopping over overgrown roots, ignoring the stinging scrapes of twisting branches against your face. 

The whistling only continued, growing louder, louder, louder—

Until you came face to face with the source itself. 

Car lights suddenly flashed open, momentarily blinding you. You drew Carl closer to you, instinctively protecting him, but it was no use. They had your group surrounded. Saviors, hundreds of them, gathered around you with leering expressions. All of them were clutching guns.

Raw fear curled around your lungs when you saw Eugene on his knees not too far from you, tears dripping down his face. 

Rick looked destroyed. Devastated. 

You were shaking so hard that your knees began to buckle beneath you. 

Finally, the whistling began to dwindle away. 

From the crowd, stepped out a familiar face—the man with a hideous pornstache that stopped the RV on the initial route. 

“Good,” he called out. He swept his arms out in a faux inviting gesture. “You made it. Welcome to where you’re going—because you ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til we’re done with you. We’ll take your weapons.”

When he pointed a gun straight at Maggie, you immediately did as he said, pulling out the pistol wedged in your belt. There was a knife inside your boot, but you weren’t too keen on giving that up yet. You tossed your pistol on the ground just as Abraham threw down his rifle. The rest of the group followed suit.

Trembling, Rick spat out, “We can talk about this—”

“We’re done talking,” interrupted Pornstache. “Okay. Get her down, and let’s get you all on your knees. Lots to cover.”

“She can’t,” you snarled, stepping in front of Maggie protectively. “She’s sick, she can’t—”

“Oh, she’ll be far worse than just sick if you don’t get her on her knees,” the man easily rebutted, eyes roaming over your protective form. 

Lips trembling, you turned around, and with Abraham on her other side, you helped Maggie limp off the stretcher and gently set her down on her knees. Your eyes glistened and warbled with unshed tears. Maggie could only shake her head, as if telling you that it wasn’t your fault.

Terrified, Rick glanced around at the rest of the group. He’d failed you. All of you. 

“Gonna need you on your knees, sweetheart,” said Pornstache, slowly dragging the end of his gun up your cheek with a salacious grin.

With a withering glare, you sank down beside Maggie, Rick on your left side, breathing haggard and lips quaking. Sasha and Abraham followed suit. Carl was the last, fists clenched by his sides. 

“Dwight!” whistled Pornstache. “Chop chop! Bring out the others!”

A blonde man with half of his face horribly marred by what looked to be a severe burn injury, stepped forward, yanking open the back of a truck. 

And, to your horror, he dragged out your boyfriend, covered in blood—blood that you could only pray wasn’t his, even though you knew deep down that that was only wishful thinking. Following Daryl was Michonne, Rosita, and Glenn, equally distraught. 

Daryl caught your eye for a brief second, pure terror within his irises. He looked over you to make sure that you were alright, and you did the same with him, a tear slipping down your cheek.

I love you, you mouthed to him. He dipped his head once in understanding, before forcing his gaze away, not wanting to give the Saviors anymore reason to torture either of you. 

“Maggie…?” Glenn painfully rasped once he caught sight of his wife in such a state. He tried to make his way to her, but the Saviors grabbed his arms and forced him down, guns digging harshly into his back. 

“Alright!” exclaimed Pornstache. “We got a full boat! Let’s meet the man, eh?”

He knocked twice on the door to the RV you were in not even an hour ago. 

The door slowly swung open, squeaking on its hinges. 

And out strode a tall man clad in a leather jacket, a bat covered in barbed wire hanging off his shoulder. He took his sweet time making his way towards the group, feet languidly dragging along the gravelly dirt, and a smirk accentuating his smug expression. 

“Pissing our pants yet?” he drawled, voice tapering into a light chuckle as he stepped out into the light, smiling down at your group on your knees. “Boy, do I have a feeling we’re gettin’ close. Mm, yeah—it’s gonna be pee-pee pants city here real soon. Now which one of you pricks is the leader?”

Pornstache pointed at Rick. “It’s this one here.”

The man with the bat grinned wider, before stepping right in front of Rick, who craned his neck to glare up at him. “Hi there. You’re Rick, right? I’m Negan. And I do not appreciate you killin’ my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people… you killed more of my people. Not cool, man. Not cool. You have… no fuckin’ idea how not cool that shit is. But I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly. Mmh, yeah. You are so gonna regret crossin’ me in a few minutes. Yes, you are.” A dangerous, wolfish grin flashed across Negan’s face. “You see, Rick, whatever you do, no matter what—you don’t mess with the new world order. And the new world order is really very simple. So, even if you’re stupid, which you may very well be, you can understand it. You ready? Here goes—pay attention.”

He lowered his bat off his shoulder and slotted the barbed end right below Rick’s chin. You held in your breath, your entire body wracking with tremors. Though you knew you needed to stop, you couldn’t help but chance glances at Daryl every so often, your concern for him rapidly growing. Some of that was his blood, it had to be—his eyes were sunken with exhaust and his chest, the very chest you would fall asleep on every night, was rising and falling unevenly, making you believe he was hurt, but you just couldn’t see what was hurting him. 

“Give me your shit… or I will kill you. See? Simple as that.” Negan pulled the bat away from Rick, and began walking around the group as he spoke. “Today was career day. We invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. You work for me now. You have shit, you give it to me. That’s your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big, nasty pill to swallow. But swallow it, you most certainly will! You ruled the roost. You built something, Rick. You thought you were safe, I get it. But the word is out. You are not safe. Not even close. In fact, you are pegged—more pegged if you don’t do what I want. And what I want is half your shit. If that’s too much, you can make, find, or steal more, and it’ll even out sooner or later. This is your way of life now. The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, if someone knocks on your door… you let us in. We own that door. You try to stop us? And we will knock it down. You understand?”

Rick swallowed heavily. Narrowing his keen eyes, Negan cupped his ear and leaned down closer to the kneeling man. 

“What? No answer? You don’t really think that you were going to get through this without being punished, now, did you? I don’t want to kill you people. I just wanna make that clear from the get go. I want you to work for me—and you can’t do that if you’re dead, now, can you? I’m not growin’ a garden. But you killed my people—a whole damn lot of ‘em! More than I’m comfortable with, honestly. And for that… for that you’re gonna pay.”

Your hands curled into fists on your knees. You knew what was coming. And you’d be damned if you were going to let it happen.

“So, now… I’m gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you.” Negan inhaled sharply, as if he enjoyed prolonging the torture. He bent down once more, showing off the barbed bat. “This right here—this is Lucille. And she is awesome. All this… all this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor!”

Negan stopped in front of Abraham, who straightened and glared defiantly at the smirking man. In thought, Negan subconsciously rubbed his bearded jaw with one hand at the sight of Abraham’s own mustache. “Huh. I gotta shave this shit.”

On he strolled, before halting in front of Carl. “You had one of our guns. Hm. You got a lot of our guns.” Carl only scowled at the man. “Shit, kid. Lighten up. At least cry a little.”

Chuckling, Negan moved on. 

You could feel one of your eyes twitch when you saw his shoes stop right in front of you. His bat was beneath your chin in an instant, forcing you to look up. The sharp metal on the bat painfully scratched against your jaw, and fresh tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“My, my, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? What’s your name, darlin’?”

Hatred simmered within your chest, but you forced your expression to remain indifferent.

You quietly told him your name, wincing when his bat dug deeper into your neck and he ordered you to say it louder. You repeated yourself, voice cracking. A single tear meandered down your cheek and slid down your chin, dripping onto Lucille.

Negan hummed, nodding in satisfaction. “Now that’s what I want to see, folks! A little emotion around here—Y/N’s got the gist of it!”

“Kill me,” you gritted out, making the rest of the group’s eyes widen. You could feel Rick’s stare burning holes straight through you, but you refused to meet his gaze, staring straight up at Negan. “You can kill me. Just don’t hurt them. Let them go. Maggie, on my right, she’s real sick and she needs medicine—if she doesn’t get the proper treatment soon, she’ll… she’ll…”

The man in front of you barked out an amused laugh. “She’ll what?”

“She’ll die,” you snarled. “So kill me. Get it over with—and let them go.”

And for a split second, you let your eyes return to Daryl, one last time. He wouldn’t look at you—he couldn’t—terrified that Negan would bring that bat down on your head if he noticed.

But it was all futile. He noticed anyway. 

He followed your gaze over to Daryl, lowering his bat to gesture between the two of you. 

“Ah… you two are a thing, ain’t ya? Damn. And here I thought you were available for takin’, sugar.” Negan tossed his head back and chuckled with mild disappointment. “God, look at you bein’ all heroic, offering yourself up for the chopping block! No, no, darlin’, this ain’t a game of who gets to be a martyr and save their friends. You don’t decide what’s happening here. I do. You think I don’t know you’re the doctor of the group? My people have been reporting to me—they know you’ve been the one taking care of Little Miss Sickly over there. No… you’re far too valuable for me to kill. We need more people like you, darlin’. Plus, I wouldn’t want to bash in your pretty little face, now, would I?”

With a hum, Negan stepped away from you, fixing his gaze upon Maggie.

“Jesus. You look shitty. I should just put you out of your misery right now—!”

“NO!” screamed Glenn, scrambling onto his feet and lunging at Negan. Before he could even begin to make contact, Dwight grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, threateningly shoving Daryl’s crossbow into his face. 

Maggie cried out—both from a fresh wave of pain seeping through her bones, and from the sight of her husband being dragged back to his spot like a ragdoll. 

Huffing out a sigh, Negan grunted out, “Nope. Nope, nope, get him back in line.”

Glenn screamed, choking back a sob. “No… don’t. Don’t!”

Negan could only smile. “Alright, alright, listen. Don’t any of you do that again—I will shut that shit down, no exceptions! First one’s free—it’s an emotional moment. I get it. Mmh. Sucks, don’t it? The moment you realize you don’t know shit.”

Rick trembled violently beside you. Tilting his head, Negan glanced between him and Carl, realization dawning upon him when he noticed the physical similarities between the two.

“This is your kid, right? Ohoho, that is definitely your kid!” 

“JUST STOP THIS!” yelled Rick, so sudden that it made you flinch.

Equivalent in volume, Negan bellowed back, “HEY! Do not make me kill your little future serial killer! Don’t make it easy on me! I gotta pick somebody—everybody’s at the table waitin’ for me to order, hm?” 

The man whistled out a shrill tune, one that sent a shiver dance down your spine. 

“I simply cannot decide. But I got an idea.” With that, he pointed the bat at Rick. “Eenie.”

He moved to you, before narrowing his eyes, and skipped over to Maggie. “Meenie.”

Abraham. “Minie.”

Michonne. “Mo.”

Glenn. “Catch.”

Daryl. “A tiger.”

Rosita. “By.”

Eugene. “His toe.”

Sasha. “If.”

Aaron. “He hollers.”

Carl. “Let him go.”

And so on he went. 

My mother told me to pick the very best one. And you… are… it.

Your heart dropped when the end of his bat stopped in front of Abraham. 

No. No… no… no…

“Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy’s other eye out and feed it to his father, and then we’ll start! You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you’re all gonna be doin’ that!” 

And with that, he swung the bat back and brought it clean down on Abraham’s head.

Screams erupted from around you. You could feel your vision blur over with your tears, and you closed your eyes shut, not wanting to see such a gruesome sight, curling in on yourself as you listened to the repeated, sickening squelch of Negan’s bat repeatedly hitting your dear friend. Negan gloated and laughed and jeered. You cried and sobbed and flinched with every strike.

His blood—Abraham’s blood—splattered on your face. You could feel it. 

Warm, moist, and thick. Dripping down your cheek. 

“You guys… look at my dirty girl!” proclaimed Negan, jutting out the bloody bat for all to witness. The monster of a man tilted his head at Rosita, whose eyes were horrified and bloodshot, dripping with fat tears. “Sweetheart… lay your eyes on this!”

When Rosita began to cry harder, Negan hummed. “Oh, damn. Were you… were you guys together? That sucks. If you were, you should know—there was a reason for all this. Red—and damn if that isn’t a good name for him—he just took one, or six, or seven for the team! So take… a damn… look.”

Rosita refused to move her gaze from Abraham’s mutilated corpse.

And, much to your horror, Daryl growled out as he surged forward on his feet, landing a clean punch against Negan’s jaw. You screamed out his name when three Saviors grabbed him and beat him back onto the ground, pinning him tightly against the gravel. A sob wracked through your frame and you could feel your stomach twist into itself. Daryl was still struggling against them, clutching his side as he panted out.

“No!” yelled Negan, clearly furious. “Oh, no. That—is a big no-no. The whole thing—not one fucking bit of that shit flies here!”

Terror clutched at your palpitating heart when Negan shoved Lucille right up into Daryl’s face, smearing Abraham’s blood all over him. 

Dwight strode up and pointed Daryl’s own crossbow against the back of your boyfriend’s head. A sob fell from your lips. You couldn’t watch this—you just couldn’t.

“Daryl,” you cried out, hiccupping through your words. “Negan… no. No, please, don’t! I’ll do anything, please! Not him. Please, not him!”

Amused at your pleading, Negan casted a sidelong glance to you, before grabbing at Daryl’s hair and pulling him upright. “See what you did there, Buckaroo? You got your little partner all upset! Look, they’re crying their eyes out, worried for you.” Negan got back up on his feet. “Get him back in line,” he barked, though his eyes were trained on you.

And in two quick strides, he was back in front of you, gripping your face tightly between his gloved hand. “Look at you, darlin’, all covered in blood. Would it be weird if I say it makes my dick hard as fuck?” You scowled, trying your best to pull your face away from his uncomfortably rough grip. “Ah, ah, ah, sweetheart—your boyfriend here didn’t listen to me earlier. I said the first one was free, didn’t I? And what does that mean? Second one’s got a price, hm? I said I’d shut that shit down—no exceptions. I don’t know what kind of lyin’ assholes y’all have been dealing with… but I’m a man of my word. First impressions are important! I need you all to know me. Know that I’m not joking around with this shit. Now, if you weren’t a doctor and you weren’t so fuckin’ hot—I would’ve bashed your head to pieces without battin’ an eye! But, lookie here, I’m faced with another dilemma. I need to kill another one of you to get my point across.” 

A wail bubbled up in your throat and you began to claw at Negan’s fingers now painfully squeezing your jaw. “No… please, please… don’t, please—!”

“And I want you, darlin’, to pick which one of your little friends I kill.” 

“No!” you spat, breathing shallow and panicked. “Me—just kill me, Negan—you don’t have to hurt anyone else, please, please, let them go, you—”

Getting irritated with you, Negan shook your face until you stopped blubbering. “You’re not listenin’ to me. Pick. Someone. Not you, and not your little boyfriend. I want him to live with the fact that one of his friends died because of him. Pick someone. Anyone, sweetheart. You’ll be doin’ em a favor, honestly. They get to save the rest of you from a miserable death! Now, doesn’t that sound appealing?”

A beat of silence. Negan stared you down, and you glared right back.

“Eat my shit,” you snarled out.

Narrowing his eyes, Negan finally relinquished his hold on you. You gasped for breath, chest heaving, stabilizing yourself with your hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you’re feisty! Might have to keep you around after this—holy fuckin’ shit. Mmh, alright… fine, then. Since you won’t pick—I’ll just have to kill your precious patient’s boyfriend, hm?”

Before any of you could react, Negan spun on his heel and arced his bat through the air, right onto Glenn’s head. Again, and again, and again.

A piercing scream echoed across the forest. Maggie’s scream. 

Your mouth dropped open as a silent cry scratched down the sides of your throat. 

Glenn was still alive, somehow, after all those bashes. Blood caked his entire skull and part of his head was caved in—to your nauseating horror, one of his eyes had come out of its socket.

“Buddy, you still there?” exclaimed Negan in astonishment, bending down to inspect his handiwork. “I just don’t know… seems to me like you’re tryin’ to say something! But you just took a hell of a hit! I just cracked your skull so hard, your eyeball popped right out! And it is gross as shit!”

After all that, Glenn managed to slur out, “Maggie… I’ll find you.”

Sobs rang throughout the clearing. The rest of the group cried tears for Glenn—without him, all of you would’ve been dead three times over. 

“Awh, hell. I can see this is hard on you guys,” said Negan. “I’m sorry. I truly am. But I did say… no exceptions!” 

With that, he brought down his bat again. Over, and over, and over.

Maggie cried so hard her voice started to give out. 

Daryl, your beloved Daryl, flinched with every stroke of the bat, his eyes red and puffy with tears. You could see it already—the guilt behind his gaze. He thought it was his fault Glenn was killed.

You shut your eyes again. 

“Lucille is thirsty! She’s a vampire bat!” proudly declared Negan, as he swung one final hit on Glenn’s long-dead body. “What? Was the joke that bad? Tough crowd, huh?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” whispered Rick once Negan was done. Rick had blood splattered all over his face, as well. Abraham’s blood. Glenn’s blood. 

Negan squatted down beside him, tilting his head. His bat was dangerously close to you. “What? I didn’t quite catch that, Rick. You’re gonna have to speak up.”

Squaring his jaw, Rick drew in a sharp inhale. “Not today… not tomorrow… but I’m gonna kill you.”

Negan sucked at his teeth. “Jesus,” he softly said. “Simon. What did he have? A knife?”

Pornstache raised his brows. “He had a hatchet. An axe.”

Snorting, Negan shook his head. “Simon’s my right-hand man. Having one of those is important. I mean, what do you have left without ‘em? A whole lot of work. You have one? Maybe one of these fine people still breathing? Oh… or did I…”

The man waved the bloodied bat in front of Rick’s face, taunting him. 

“Sure, yeah. Give me his axe.” Pornstache handed Negan the small weapon and Negan smugly slid it into his belt. Suddenly, Negan grabbed the back of Rick’s jacket and yanked him up, practically dragging him by the scruff towards the RV. Your breath hitched, wanting to stop him, but all the guns trained on the backs of your friends made you freeze. All you could do was lower your head and stave away your raucous sobs. 

“I’ll be right back, folks! Maybe Rick will be with me! And if not… well, we can just turn these people inside out, won’t we? I mean… the ones that are left!”

They were gone for hours.

During those hours, part of you wanted to go to Maggie, comfort her, check if both she and the baby were alright. No doubt she was in a tremendous amount of both emotional and physical pain. The other part of you wanted to go to Daryl, curl up in the safety of his arms and cry into his chest. 

But you couldn’t do either. Not with the Saviors pointing the barrels of their rifles to the back of your skulls. 

The sun was already beginning to rise, tinting the sky a sweet, soft shade of blue. A stark juxtaposition to the dark red blood steadily drying on the rocky ground.

When Rick got back, Negan ruthlessly threw him down in front of the group. He looked exhausted. More than that—he looked dead inside. The light behind his eyes was gone.

“Do you know what that little trip was about?” asked Negan. 

Rick looked around wildly, as if making sure that everyone else was alright. 

“Speak when you’re spoken to,” Negan hissed.

Begrudgingly, Rick bowed his head. “Okay… okay.”

Negan wolfishly grinned, though there was a dark glimmer to his irises that you misliked. “That trip was about the way that you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand. But you’re still lookin’ at me the same damn way. Like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that’s not gonna work!” Once again, Negan squatted down beside Rick, that smug expression still plastered across the man’s coarse features. “So… do I give you another chance?”

After a moment’s pause, Rick hacked out, “Yeah. Yes.”

Satisfied, Negan clapped Rick on the back, before getting back up onto his feet. “Alright! Here it is, the grand-prize game. What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone’s last crap day… or just another crap day. Get some more guns to the back of their heads. Level with their noses, so if you have to fire… it’ll be a real fuckin’ mess.” 

You could feel cold metal graze the very top of your temple. 

“Kid, come here,” said Negan, making your heart plummet to your stomach. Rick’s expression shifted to one of pure dread.

Carl didn’t move. 

“Kid… now.” 

With cautious movements, Carl stood up in front of the taller man. 

“You a southpaw?” asked Negan while he unbuckled his belt, pulling it out of its loops.

“Am I a what?”

“A lefty,” clarified Negan. 

Carl scowled. “No.”

“Good,” retorted Negan, before grabbing Carl’s left arm and tying the belt around his bicep. “That hurt?”

Gritting his teeth, Carl bit out a negative. 

“It should. It’s supposed to.” Negan smirked, knocking Carl’s cowboy hat off his head. “Alright, get down on the ground next to daddy, kid. Spread them wings!”

Slowly, Carl lowered himself down beside Rick, his cheek pressed flat against the dusty gravel.

“Simon, you got a pen?” 

Pornstache nodded, brandishing a marker from his pocket and tossing it over to Negan. The man uncapped the black pen with his teeth, flashing you a wink and spitting out the cap somewhere to the side. He kneeled down by Carl to draw a straight line just below the junction of his elbow.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “This is gonna be as cold as a warlock’s dick, as if he were hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it right across your forearm! Gives you a little leverage, don’t it?” 

Stammering, Rick muttered out, “Please… please don’t. Please don’t.”

Negan tilted his head, lightly chuckling. “Me? Oh, I ain’t doin’ shit. Rick… I want you to take your axe and cut your son’s left arm off—right on that line! Now, I know you gotta process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though—I’m gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then your kid dies. Then the people back home die. Then you… eventually. I’d keep you breathing for a few years just so you could stew on it!”

“You… you don’t have to do this,” pleaded Michonne. It was the first time she’d spoken since she got out of the truck. Seeing Carl splayed out in front of her, practically her son, made something inside her snap. “We understand. We get it, we—”

“You might understand! I’m not so sure Rick here does. I’m gonna need a clean cut right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed-up thing to ask, but it’s gonna have to be like a salami slice. You remember those, right? Nothin’ messy. I want a clean, forty-five degree cut. Give us somethin’ to fold over. You got Y/N right there to fix him up nice and good. The kid’ll be just fine. Probably.”

Rick was just about losing his mind, rocking back and forth, murmuring incoherently beneath his breath. Sweat dripped down his bloodied face, his hair, mixing with the salty tears leaking from his crazed eyes. 

“Rick. This needs to happen now. Chop, chop. Before I crush the little fella’s skull myself.” 

Swallowing down his sobs, Rick choked, “It can—it can… it can be me. It can be me. Wh… you… you could do it to me. I c-can go with—with you.”

Negan smiled at his desperation. “No. This is the only way. Pick up the axe, Rick. Not making a decision is a big decision, let me tell you that. You really wanna see all these people die? Because you will—if you don’t PICK UP THE FUCKING AXE!”

Rick began sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh, my God,” said Negan, pulling at his face wearily. “You gonna make me count? Okay, Rick—you win. I’ll start counting. Three!”

“PLEASE!” screamed Rick. “IT CAN BE ME. PLEASE!”

“Two!” Negan kneeled down and slapped a sobbing Rick across the face, before grabbing his cheeks, not unlike he did with you hours before. “This is it, Rick. Make a decision. One!”

With a gut wrenching scream, Rick’s trembling fingers curled around the handle of his axe.

“Dad…” whispered Carl. A tear slipped down your cheek as the events unfolded in front of you. “Just do it.”

Rick cocked his arm back, seconds away from bringing it down to cleave Carl’s hand off. 

But Negan grabbed Rick’s wrist at the very last second, stopping him.

The man smirked, pleased with himself. “You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?”

Frantically, Rick nodded his head. 

“SPEAK WHEN YOU’RE SPOKEN TO! You answer to me. You provide for me!”

“I’ll provide for you!” cried Rick.

“You belong to me! Right?” hollered Negan.

Hiccuping a sob, Rick bobbed his head. “Right.”

“Now that… that is the look I wanted to see.” Negan grabbed Rick’s axe from him and stepped away. “We did it. All of us, together. Even the dead guys on the ground! Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure! Today was a productive damn day! Now, I hope for all your sake… that you get it now. That you understand how things work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you before… that is over now.”

Negan clapped his hands together, sighing out in relief. 

And strangely, you were slightly relieved, as well. Maybe he was done. He wasn’t going to kill any more of you. This was all over for now. 

Right?

“Dwight,” said Negan. “Load him up.”

To your shock, Negan pointed Lucille straight at Daryl.

“See, he’s got guts. Not a little bitch like someone I know,” Negan told Rick. “I like him. He’s mine now. You still wanna try something? Not today, not tomorrow? I will cut pieces off of… what’s his name?” 

“Daryl,” said Pornstache.

“Wow. That actually sounds just about right. I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep! Or, better yet, I will bring him to you and have you do it for me.”

“No…” you croaked out, when Dwight grabbed your boyfriend and dragged him back to the truck as if he were a wild animal, crossbow pointed at his chest. Maggie sobbed from beside you. “No, Daryl… please, no, don’t—please don’t take him from me!” you cried. “Please, I need him… Daryl!”

Negan smiled down at you. “Mmh. Alrighty, then. I’ll take you, too. Come on.” 

A gasp lodged in your throat when he suddenly grabbed your arm and yanked you upwards. 

“No, wait, I’m the only doctor they have, they need—Maggie needs m—!”

“I don’t give a rat’s flying blue ass,” growled Negan, shoving you in the direction of the truck, where Daryl watched you with wide, scared eyes. You craned your neck around to look at Rick and Maggie and the rest of the group—your family—one last time, unsure of when, if ever, you’d see them again. “You’re mine now. Got a whole lot of shit you can do for me, that’s for sure, darlin’. Load ‘em up!” 

One of the Saviors pushed you into the truck just as Negan yelled out, “Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry shits! I’ll leave you a truck. Keep it—use it to cart all the crap you’re gonna find me. We’ll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then… ta-fuckin’-ta.”

You collapsed straight into Daryl once you were inside, thundering sobs spilling from your lungs. He wrapped his burly arms around you, smelling of dirt and blood and motor oil. No words needed to be said. No words could be said.

The both of you had lost so much today. 

And now… you’d lost your freedom, as well.

Daryl began crying into your shoulder, and you could only hold him all the tighter. 

[velvateen]

monster trio + sleep talking! s/o

zoro luffy sanji w a sleep talking s/o

warnings: fluff ⭐️

zoro

You and Zoro slept closely, his arms holding you tightly against his chest. With the proximity, it was no wonder that the whispers that escaped your lips resonated quickly in his ears. You must be dreaming, parts of it slipping from your mouth as you began to toss and turn with the story.

“No, what I said was… no I have to get to uh…” Your voice slowly rose with the excitement, and with your voice a deep breath filled the air as Zoro began to wake up from your antics.

“Well, if that’s the case, it’s probably bugs…” you mumbled, and Zoro couldn’t help but let out a tired laugh as he turned to watch you.

Your brows furrowed with the conflict in your mind, a frown gracing your features. Zoro thought you were staring to look a little upset, so rolled over to drape a heavy arm across you. At the touch, you stirred, and tried to sit up, still half-asleep and partly invested in your dream. Zoro’s arm stopped you, and he brought you closer to calm you down.

“It has to be through the, uh, the door,” you mumbled, out of breath and heart racing.

Zoro let out a deep hum, “it’s okay, beautiful, sleep now.” You turned to face him and smiled, letting your eyes shut and wrapping your arms around his one.

“Mkay.”

luffy

Luffy’s legs hung off the hammock to make space for you to lay between them, the both of you passed out for a post-lunch nap. Your head on his chest, you began to murmur and groan from the contents of your dream. The vibrations from your chest made Luffy begin to stir, but he was too heavy of a sleeper to be woken up from that alone.

Your face scrunched in concentration against him, “wait, don’t do…” you trailed off, beginning to get more and more restless. “Don’t eat that I said,” your voice rising with urgency.

“No, Luffy, what’s that in your mouth? Spit it out, that’s not meat,” you jolted forwards with Luffy as he woke up from your words.

Still half-asleep, Luffy grabbed your shoulders, “Meat? Where?” You blinked slowly at him, not knowing what he was talking about.

“Huh?” you rubbed your eyes. “You said meat, I’m hungry,” and with that he dropped back and fell dead asleep, leaving you very confused and a little pissed that your nap got interrupted, but once you settled back down on him and his arms found their way around you, it was hard to hold a grudge.

sanji

At the first hint of worry in your tired voice, Sanji was awake and scanning your face for any signs of distress, but the tone of your dream had evidently shifted, plastering a soft smile across your face. Sanji listened as you unknowingly regaled him with the inconsistent details of your dream.

“Thanks, I’ve been wanting to tell you that…” your words drifted away as he stroked loose hairs away from your face, making your nose scrunch.

“So beautiful,” he whispered to you, wondering if somehow he was starring in this silly dream of yours.

“Mm… no Sanji I love you so much I…” The rest of the sentence was lost to him, at the instant his name was mumbled, he turned away covering his face, barely containing his pure delight at your sweet words. When he regained control, he turned back to you, bringing his hand up to cup your face, your hands wrapping around his arm in contentment. He breathed in a deep breath and allowed himself to tear his gaze away from you in favor of catching another hour or two of sleep before he had to go start breakfast.

A/N we got any sleepy heads in the crowd?? any real silly sleepy heads who can’t think for a good 10 mins after waking up?? 🙋‍♀️🙋🙋‍♂️ <— my honest reaction

[maybe-moonchild]

CHAPTER 4

summary: in which Peter can't stay away but he can't stay either. WC: 5.8k

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ

Congratulations, you have successfully managed to avoid Peter Parker for six whole days. 

Not like it’s all that hard considering that the two of you had managed to avoid each other all of high school and college. 

It didn’t stop him from plaguing your thoughts each day. 

The feel of his hand on your hip, fingers tightening when you’d tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. The groans in the back of his throat you’d managed to coax out when your hand, with a mind of its own, slipped up the hem of his t-shirt. His toned abdomen, rigid under your fingertips like it was made by god himself-

With a loud groan, you slump forward so your head bangs against your dining room table.

It’s raining again, the steady hum ambient as you try to work on your upcoming calendar. You’d opted to put off starting your new job until the end of June. That way, you would have a five week long break from the end of undergrad until the start of full time employment. 

Some pop song played behind Katie’s door as she got ready for her night. You were spending Friday night safely tucked in at home. After how disastrous last weekend had gone, you wanted no excitement. Flash and Katie had been bummed about your refusal to join them at some club, but you were content to have a quiet night.

Your friends had taken notice of your slightly odd behavior but they didn’t pry. They chalked it up to an embarrassing one night stand that you didn’t want to relive. 

Oh, how you fucking wish it was that simple. 

It takes you a few moments to realize that the tapping on the window is far too loud and inconsistent compared to the droplets exploding on the glass. You glance up, doing a double take at Peter’s figure crouching on the fire escape. The grin he shoots you looks more like a grimace when you scramble up from your chair.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” you hiss, flinging it open to be met with the smell of petrichor and mist hitting your cheeks. “What are you- Did you climb up my fire escape? It’s eleven stories!”

Dark hair is plastered to his forehead, his gray sweatshirt nearly black with how much water it’s sucked up. Peter grips the window sill, leaning his inside so you can hear him better. 

“Yes. I need to talk to you.”

“You climbed up eleven stories? Up an old fire escape? In the rain… Just so you could talk to me?”

He nods once without hesitation, eyes wide as he hovers half in and half out. “Yes, yes, and yes.” Once he’s sure that you aren’t going to send him away, he pulls himself inside with ease. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I need to talk to you.”

You’re not quite sure you’re hearing him right. You have to be, because here he is, a puddle of water forming under his high tops and raindrops clinging to his cheeks. 

“So, you climbed-”

“Yes,” he interrupts quietly, eyes determined and stepping closer so you have to look up. “I couldn’t think of another way to see you. I needed to see you. Badly.”

Your mouth falls open to object but you can’t quite figure out what you would be objecting. What were you supposed to do? Send him back out in the rain to trek back down eleven stories and take the humid subway home? You weren’t heartless. 

And it wasn’t like you didn’t want to see him… at least a little bit. 

“Alright, alright,” you concede. As you hurry to the bathroom to get him a towel, you call over your shoulder, “Couldn’t you have- oh, I don’t know… Called?” Peter catches the towel with ease when you return, using it to dry his hair. You drop the other onto the floor and use your foot to soak up the water collecting under him before he stands on top of it. 

He rubs the back of his neck and shoots you a crooked smile. “Sorry.” When he folds over to pull off his sneakers, you nearly flinch at his proximity. At least you manage to hide the action by standing back up and grabbing his shoes. 

“It’s okay,” you sigh softly. It is okay. Just scared you half to death.

Peter slips off his wet hoodie and you take it from him so you can hang it on the shower to dry. His shoes find themselves where they belong on the welcome mat in the entryway. From his spot in the middle of the living room, he inspects your apartment like you had studied his. 

“Nice place,” he says offhandedly as he tries to determine which parts are you and which parts are Katie’s. It’s obvious to him. Anything new and expensive, that’s Katie’s. The furniture that looks a little more used like it was in good condition on facebook marketplace, that’s all you. It’s more than that too. Clearly you both agreed on the eclectic, mid century modern look you’ve managed to cultivate but the things like ‘stacks of books that also act as decor’ scream you. 

You open your mouth to thank him but he clearly isn’t there to discuss the furnishing of your apartment since he cuts you off. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, eyes burning into yours as you come to a stop. “I just… I needed to see you.”

“It’s okay. What did you, uh, want to talk about?”

Be cool. Be fucking cool or youre gonna look like a total dork in front of him. 

Peter shifts from foot to foot, the words on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall. You come to stop in front of him that still allows for a good amount of space between you. 

“I need to explain. About the other night. And that night, senior year. And eight years ago…” It feels like all of your lives are crammed into the past week. There so much to explain, still fresh even if it all happened so long ago that it should feel like fading scars. 

Your brows furrow but you nod for him to continue. Peter nods back, trying to be less awkward than he normally is when he can’t hide behind a mask. 

“Why is Peter Parker here and why is he drenched?” Katie asks from her bedroom doorway. 

You and Peter’s heads snap in her direction, both of you taking a step away from the other. It certainly doesn’t help either of you seem like you’re not guilty of something. Even if you’re really only talking.

She raises an eyebrow at you when you don’t immediately answer. Thankfully she was less standoffish than she had been in high school since she got to the real world. 

“Because…” you say slowly, glancing at Peter who is no help by the wide eyed look on his face. “He is…”

“Bringing her something… from her moms,” Peter adds, peeking out from behind your shoulder to give her a wave. “Uh, hey Katie.”

Her perfectly manicured brow only raises higher, filled with skepticism. “And it has to be done at ten at night, because you have no free time during the day?”

Peter shifts in place, uncomfortable. Jesus, he was always the worst liar in the entire world. His eyes find the ceiling while his hands bury themselves deep into his front pockets. 

“Yes.” Scowling, or at least attempting to, you grab Peter's arm to drag him down the hall and towards your bedroom. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we will be in here,” you call over your shoulder with a smug look in her direction. Once you practically shove him through the door and out of her sight, you peek your head out the doorway. 

Peter lets himself get pulled and pushed along, awkwardly following his own thoughts. He has a plan; things to say- no. Things to tell you! Important things he has to tell you!

Katie’s eyes drift from you, towards his shoes and jacket that somehow needed to be removed while dropping off something from your mom’. Pink flushes your face and her face only grows smugger while you hiss at her to shut up. 

It’s not that you’re embarrassed to be seen with him in your apartment. You never had been embarrassed by him even though Peter was so sure of it in high school. What embarrassed you was when you’d call out his name in a busy hall and he would give you a tight lipped smile, curt wave, and continue walking. That. That was mortifying. More to yourself than others. 

Katie will tell Flash tonight. Tomorrow morning, they’ll sing-song about you having a crush on him and wondering what time Peter actually left the night before. Your friends will unintentionally make you chase him off before he even has the chance to come back to you.

If… that’s… even what he wants… considering you up and bailed last sunday morning with a stupid note. 

Even after you slam your door, her laughter is loud as she retreats to her room to finish getting ready to meet Flash at the bar. Now, the two of you are alone. His presence is so strong at your back before you slowly turn around. 

“Wait, I’m getting water everywhere,” he says stupidly, stepping off of the rug so he can balance on one foot on the wood floor. While the entirety of what he is wearing is soaked through from his swing here, it's the water coming off the bottom of his pants and his socks that make a mess. 

“Oh shit,” you grimace, rushing to grab something he can change into. It takes some digging but you manage to find a pair of sweats and a shirt that Flash left here from a past movie night. “Here. It’s fine. Really. No harm.” 

The few minutes alone you both have allows you to try and get the panic out of your system. While he tries to remember his little speech, he has to try and pull off the wet fabric sticking to his skin in your bathroom. You pace. Your hands move from shoving your hair off your forehead to running up your face as you try to collect yourself. 

By the time he opens your bedroom door a little too abruptly, you're halting to a stop and trying to look casual. 

When he gets back, hair shoved out of his face with lashes that are still wet, arms looking far too good to belong to the lanky kid he was-

So not the fucking time. Are you insane?

“Sorry about the water. I- I didn’t realize how wet I was,” he says sheepishly and shutting it behind him silently. “Thank you for the clothes. Probably should’ve thought about that before running here in a downpour.”

Suddenly, the sound of silence is just as loud as the rain outside.

Clearing your throat, you cross the room to take his wet clothes from his hands. You toss them in your laundry so you can, at the very least, throw them in your dryer before he leaves. At the very most, you could wash… and dry them… if he intends on staying long enough. “It’s okay- really. It’s water. It’s not a big deal,” you reassure, hoping you sound less dorky than you think you do. 

Guess what, you sound just as dorky as you think you do. 

Peter stands there, unsure of what to say next. He’d come all this way and he wouldn’t let it be for nothing. Forcing down the nerves with a deep breath, he steps closer, his face determined like it had been when he showed up on your fire escape. His fists clench and unclench on his sides so he stops bouncing on his feet. 

“Yeah, I know. I just- well I need to talk to you. Sorry about showing up out of nowhere. I didn’t really…” think through any of my actions and just scaled your apartment building at ten o'clock at night and gave you a heart attack.

“It’s okay.”

You clear your throat again and try to relax. No more apologizing. “What did you want to talk about?” You try to sound casual as you fold your arms over your chest. No, actually you wrap your arms around yourself.

God damn it. He’s doing that thing- not puppy dog eyes exactly, but doe eyes. Big and brown, full of a million questions as he presses his lips into a tight line. You hate when he does that thing. You just hate it because as the two of you got older, anytime he’d done it, it made your face feel hot. 

Peter’s a grown man and he has no clue why the hell he’s still acting like a nervous school boy in front of the girl he likes. 

“I- uhm, I know that I haven’t been there for you at all these last few years– I haven’t been there for you since we were fourteen,” he admits, “and I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

The apology catches you off guard. The shock shows on your face and he rubs the back of his neck. 

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he argues almost instantly, his brow furrowing as he stares down at you. 

When he opens his mouth to continue, his phone goes off. He reaches into his pocket and glances at it. He stares at that screen, for a little longer than is probably normal, and then looks back up at you with a grimace. 

“That was work. Um. It can wait.” he says awkwardly. Lie. Crime alert at the docks. It can wait. At least a bit. 

You nod slowly and can’t help the confused frown that won’t seem to go away. Work? Why would The Bugle be texting him on a friday night. Well, maybe they do and that isn’t actually a strange event for him. 

Peter’s phone returns to his pocket and he starts over with a long inhale. 

“Would you… would you like to sit? I have things I need to tell you.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” you say and gesture to the edge of your bed. He nods slightly, sinking down on the bed next to you. The mattress dips under both of your weight and you angle your body to face him.

Peter says your name, opening his mouth to start his long speech he’d been working on for the past six days since he woke up alone. He’d had so many thoughts eating his brain since he found his bed colt and empty. A beep from his phone makes him lose his train of thought. He ignores it with a shake of his head, turning to face you. 

“I want to be honest with you. About everything that’s been going on the last few years. What I’ve been doing- and why. But I understand if you don’t trust me,” he continues. “But everything feels different this time. Maybe just because we’re both older now.”

“Okay…” you breathe out slowly. When you shift in your spot and clasp your hands together in your lap, he does the same. 

“But it’s a lot of things. From eight years ago, and four years ago. Also from last week. About Fisk and why I took those files, all of it. I owe you answers and- I want to tell you everything.”

Another beep. 

It throws him off his disaster of a speech. Peter shakes his head like he can shake away the part of him swinging around New York. He’s here, not out there. This is where he wants to be.

“I need to tell you the truth,” Peter says. He scoots a little closer to you, reaching for your hands then second guessing himself and letting them card through his hair. “This is going to sound really crazy but I-”

Another beep. He sighs and pulls his phone out, glancing at it quickly. 

Apartment fire over in Brooklyn. Fuck.

“Really have to go.”

He’s already standing and looking for his bag by the time you realize what he’s saying. Your face falls which just makes the guilty look he’s wearing more prominent. “Oh. Right.”

Peter opens his mouth to say something before deciding against it. He can’t just blurt it out and leave. So he decides that he just has to do the leaving part now and the explaining part later. You follow behind him into your living room so he can collect his shoes and bag sitting by the front door. You’ll worry about getting the clothes he borrowed another time when he isn’t itching to get out of here. 

The idea that he’s itching to get away from you makes you chew on the inside of your cheek. 

“I… I really do have to go,” Peter says apologetically, “I mean it. I’m serious. I’ll make it up to you.” You nod slowly and lean against the wall beside him. The reassuring look you give him when he peaks up from tying his sneakers is uncertain. 

“But I promise, I’m going to explain it all. Tomorrow. I promise.”

He’s already backing up towards the window to your fire escape, but you nod. For some reason, it seems like an empty promise. 

“Tomorrow. Yeah.” You hope the words sound more light than they feel getting stuck in your throat. 

You don’t want him to leave. 

Not when something about it feels so final. 

Sounds of rain slamming against the metal stairs and the streets of Manhattan fill the apartment when he opens the window. His backpack is slung over one shoulder, one leg swinging outside. He waits for you to return the tight lipped smile he shoots you before he actually slips outside. 

It isn’t until the window is shut behind him that you realize he chose the fire escape over the elevator… again…

Shaking it off, you chalk it up to whatever in his life that is going on. Not like you know anymore. Not like he actually managed to give you anything but more questions tonight. 

For a long moment you wonder, like you have the past week, if he really is the Peter Parker you once knew. 

Or if Fisk was right. 

If he was someone else entirely. 

⋆ °｡˚🕷˚⋆｡°⋆

summary: oh, yeah. Shit hits the fan again.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ

For a second, you’re sure you’re going to throw up. Your head is spinning and there is a pounding so deep in your skull, it makes you forget who you are. It takes a second to blink the black spots from your vision. It takes another second for you to manage to lift your head up. 

It takes even less time for you to realize that you’re completely fucked. 

There are only a few blurry figures hanging around the abandoned warehouse. Fisk is there, standing off to the side with his back to you. The top of Scar Guy's head is visible over Fisk’s shoulder as they chat. You think it’s Red Hat Goon and the Tattooed Thug from last week smoking cigarettes near a few rows of overturned shelves. 

No one seems to have realized you’re conscious yet. 

Or that you’re at least somewhat conscious and trying to pull yourself the rest of the way there. 

You squeeze your eyes shut again, which helps chase away some of the nausea. At least adrenaline is kicking in quickly, working to ease your headache so you can think. Your wrists are duct taped tightly to the arms of the chair, nearly cutting off the circulation to your fingers and bruising the skin underneath. 

What did you do? What were you doing- bar. You were going to the bar. After Peter bailed, you accepted Flash and Katie's offer to meet them at the bar. It wasn’t like you had other plans anyway. You’d hurried to get ready, changing into a nice outfit, throwing on some makeup, and fixing your hair. Then you were hurrying to the subway… then there was a guy? No. There were two guys- Scar Guy. He showed up. Then a slamming pain on the back of your head and then…

Now you really wanted to throw up.

Scar Guy glances at you, noticing your open eyes and jerking his head in your direction. Fisk turns around with an amused smile. Smoke billows from the cigar in his fingers as he steps into the light.

“What a pleasant surprise,” Fisk says loudly. The other two thugs perk up, now paying attention rather than gossiping or whatever else criminals chat about. You tense in your spot, muscles rigid when Fisk comes to a halt in front of you.

“Pleasure to see you again. Shame it's so soon after our meeting last week.”

The most you can manage is to keep your head hung slightly, looking up at him through your lashes. You give your wrists an experimental tug and wince when the tape cuts into your skin. 

“Why am I here?” Your voice shakes more than you had hoped it would. 

Fisk just shrugs and takes a drag of his cigar, “Oh, a few reasons.” He exhales as he crouches down in front of you. It’s harder to hide your face now and even harder to hide the way your hands shake. 

This clearly isn’t his first rodeo because he knows the exact amount of time to let the silence hang in the air that it becomes suffocating. 

“You see,” Fisk continues with a sigh, “I’d hoped there wouldn’t need to be a repeat of this type of thing again- really, I didn’t. But now, Peter has proven himself to be an issue. I wanted a little reassurance in case he slipped up.”

Your bottom lip trembles and it’s really hard not to cry. At least in the limo last week, you’d had Peter by your side for the most of it, so you managed to keep it together. Right now, you were alone and very, very scared.

“And now here we are,” he says and leans down to blow smoke in your face. Tobacco stings your eyes and you turn your head. It manages to make Red Hat Thug chuckle and nudge Scar Guy who just scowls at him. 

An issue? Did he steal something else? Do something that yet again got him on Fisk’s radar and- fuck. Put you on Fisk’s radar now. 

Not just his radar. Put you in an abandoned warehouse, tied to a chair, and bleeding out of the back of your head. 

“Look, I don’t-“ you start but your voice cracks. You take a shaky breath and start again. “I don’t know anything about this. Whatever he did… I’m sure it was a misunderstanding-”

“Oh, it’s no misunderstanding. Peter stole something very personal of mine. Something I’m unwilling to part with.” Even though his voice is amused, his gaze is cold as he drags the cigar between his lips and stands up to his full height. 

“And in order to… motivate him to return it,” Fisk pauses and lets out another cloud of smoke towards you. “He needs something to protect. Or someone.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your heart drops all the way into your stomach at the knowledge that he stole something… again. Panic is pressing down on your lungs, filling your mouth and throat. It flows through your veins and is mixed with the congealed blood in your hair at the back of your head. 

You take a few shaky breaths, urging yourself to stay calm. To think. To adapt. 

“But he gave the files back to you.”

The crime boss smirks and the smoke from his cigar fills the space between your face and his. Fisk leans closer, you lean back and duck your head.  “He gave me copies.” He pulls away and his expression is hard and unreadable. 

“So, I’ve taken you as an insurance policy. To prove my point. If he wants to keep stealing my toys, I’ll take his and break them.” Fisk stares at you a long moment before he laughs, “I’d say your life is in Peter’s hands. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Suddenly, you don’t feel brave at all. Quite the opposite. You feel helpless and angry and stupid. Most of all, you’re scared. 

Horribly scared. 

It could be worse- in fact, it could be a lot fucking worse and you don’t doubt that it will be. 

Your eyes well up with tears because you really can’t help it. They follow Fisk as he approaches Scar Guy. There’s a gun tucked in the front of the thugs waistband but there is clearly no concern that he even needs to keep it out. Instead, he digs through your purse. 

“Please. Don’t do this,” you breath out, pressing your lips into a thin line as they tremble. Your eyes are pleading but you manage to keep some semblance of dignity since you’re not begging and crying. 

Fisk cocks his head towards you and raises an eyebrow. “Let me be clear, I’m not here to hurt you. If anything, I’m going to let you go as soon as I have those files. Don’t you worry about that.” 

“Of course, we don’t have the files yet. So if you’re not very cooperative,” Scar Guy grumbles, more distracted with digging out my cell phone, “who knows what could happen.”

You stare at the dirty floor. Hanging your head letting the cement blur in your vision. It doesn’t stop the panic from creeping in. One one hand, you’re panicked for yourself but, you’re also panicked for what’s going to happen when Peter shows up. 

If you try to speak, you think you might actually throw up.

Fisk's thick fingers close around your phone and he seems oddly interested in it as he scrolls through your notifications. 

“Well, look at that,” Fisk chuckles. “A missed call. From Peter. Imagine that, I’m impressed. It’s like he has a sense for this sort of thing.”

Red Hat guy drags a chair over, the sound of the legs scraping against the floor, echoing around the warehouse. With how hard rain is pelting against the metal roof, you know that if you screamed, not a soul would hear it. 

Fisk waves a hand towards you and Scar Guy advances. You flinch when he reaches for your arm but it’s not like you can actually move away. When he pulls out a pocket knife, you don’t care that you're stuck in your spot, lurching in your spot anyway. 

But all he does is cut the tape from your wrists. 

That’s when you finally realize that hurting you isn’t the plan. Not that Fisk won’t. He definitely will. 

But he is here to hurt Peter, and it makes the blood rush in your ears. 

You rub at your wrists, the skin red and faintly purple as you fold in on yourself in the chair. Fisk doesn’t even look up as he sits down a foot away. The only time he does is when he holds up your phone for you to unlock. With a glance between him and Scar Guy, neither of them even look slightly conflicted at the scene playing out like it was straight out of a mafia movie. 

So you comply because you’re helpless. 

That’s the point. 

You’re playing bait. 

“But he’ll definitely come when you call. So, unless you want things to get messy, you’ll let him know you’re in trouble.” Fisk gives you a cold smile and makes a show of pressing the call button. God, why didn’t you just delete his number eight years ago? Why did you put it into your contacts four years ago when you got a new phone but never intended on calling him?

Each ring makes you wince. The sound cuts through the quiet of the warehouse, shrill in your ears as you pray to a god you don’t believe in that Peter won’t pick up. Of course this is all Peter’s fault. None of this would be happening if he stopped managing to steal from Manhattan's biggest crime lords. You’re really mad at him for lying- omitting the truth or whatever he would try and call it. 

Was that what he was going to tell you tonight?

There’s only a few rings before Peter picks up, his voice coming through the speaker phone and making your eyes well with tears. Just the sound of the voice of the dorky kid from across the street makes your shoulders sag in relief  

”Hey,” Peter says breathlessly, the smile evident in his voice. “I was just about to call you. My uh, work thing just ended so… Well,  I didn’t know if you wanted to talk tonight. I said tomorrow- I promised tomorrow but I’m free now. If you are. If you’re free and want to talk.”

The urge to cry grows even stronger when you realize he wants to figure things out. That he still has your phone number or took the time to find it. Somehow, you manage to swallow even though your throat is painfully tight. 

Fisk’s hand clamps down on your shoulder, warning you to play your part. To play the helpless bait, begging for Peter to show up here and save the day. So he will fall right into Fisk’s hands along with the files.

Even though you are feeling more helpless and terrified than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, hearing Peter Parker's voice coming from your cell phone gives you a surge of bravery. When Fisk adds enough pressure on your shoulder to make you wince, you clench your teeth and glare up at him. 

A moment passes, and then another. 

Then, Fisk clicks his tongue. 

“Well,” Fisk chuckles, “I guess I have the wrong number. I hope I didn’t disturb you. If you’re doing something, I’m sure we can talk later.”

The silence fills the space between Peter and Fisk as your heart races. 

“Or we can talk now,” Fisk sighs, delighted in the weighted silence coming from Peter's end. “Probably better turn out for your little friend if we talk now.”

Peter grits out Fisk’s name so quietly that you almost don’t hear it. You probably wouldn’t have if your phone wasn’t being held right in front of you. 

“Let’s cut to the chase. I’ve got your friend but she doesn’t seem to want to talk. How about you come down here and you can ask her yourself how she is doing. I’m sure she’ll have a lot to say if you show up. Maybe she just gets nervous in front of an audience.” Peter goes silent and Fisk’s eyes burn into you, his cruel smile never wavering.

Just then he hears the faint sound of a click. 

You hung up the phone. 

The crime boss’s brow furrows in confusion at the line going dead, Peter’s name disappearing off the screen. Scar Guy makes a face, almost like he’s impressed at the balls you have in a situation like this. Even when you’re sitting there curled in on yourself with your watery eyes glaring at Fisk. 

You are not going to willingly play victim to put Peter in danger. 

“You did something stupid,” Fisk grits out through a sneer. The anger is practically palpable in the air, radiating off of him and white hot. You don’t look away even though his stare makes you want to squirm in your seat. 

Peter's name appears on your phone within seconds. He didn’t hesitate in calling back and he’s probably ready to reach through the speaker and kill Fisk. 

The crime boss inhales slowly through his nose and forces a smile, so tense, it might snap right off his face. “Sorry about that Mr. Parker,” Fisk chuckles as he collects himself. He stares at you for a long moment before turning to Scar Guy and giving him a nod. 

“I swear to god. if you hurt her in any way I will not even flinch as I-“ Peter growls into the phone before Fisk cuts him off. 

“She really is a fiery one, huh? Brave and strong. Refusing to say a word to get you here.”

You barely keep in a yelp when Scar Guy pulls you from the chair by your upper arms. You struggle in his hold, his arm looping around your neck as he easily shoves you down so you're kneeling. The cement skins your knees, stinging and embedding gravel and glass into your skin.

“I’ve got to say,” Fisk continues with an air of nonchalance that’s ironic compared to your fighting. “All she was supposed to do was shed some tears, tell you to get here and she’d remain unharmed.”

You know you brought this- whatever is going to happen- on yourself, but you desperately try to fight anyway.

Your arm is forced into Fisk's hand, the one not occupied by your cell phone. Fisk doesn’t even flinch when you try to wrench it out of his grasp. Scar Guys hold on your shoulders from where he stands at your back, keeping you in your spot. 

“Wanna know how she sounds when I break her arm?” Fisk muses. 

You barely have time to grasp what he’s said when Fisk squeezes; hard. The pain is instant, excruciating under his palm and radiating through your bone. You cry out. The sound is strangled from your lips, eyes squeezed shut long after Fisk lets up some of the pressure. 

Peter goes quiet. He’s frozen at the other end of the line as he listens to you in pain over the phone. There’s silence on the other end until finally, all Peter can manage is calling out your name. 

“Now, are you going to join us, or should we break her other arm too,” Fisk sighs like he’s now only inconvenienced. It seems he just needed to get the anger out of his system to remain collected. 

Then finally, after what seems like a lifetime, Peter speaks clearly, a new emotion in his tone. Rage. 

“Where the fuck are you?” he spits into the phone.

Vaguely, you think you think you can hear Fisk telling Peter where you are. You don’t know, it’s hard to hear over the sound of the blood pounding in the back of your skull in sync with the throbbing in your arm.

“We’re waiting,” Fisk says, and hangs up. 

“He’s coming, isn’t he?” Scar Guy asks like he's bored, his voice is deep and raspy. 

“He’s coming.” Fisk replies. The phone falls to the ground before you do.