#i've had no motivation to gif or watch things lately

[xxchumanixx]

Glimpses

Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, Bucky (yes, he's a warning), reader has the ability to show other people images in their head (does that make sense?), otherwise not described, spoilers for fatws

Word count: tba

Authors note: To be honest, I've been working on this for months, bit by bit. I didn't have much time to write or post something lately, and somehow, the motivation went with it. But I love this man to no end, and I had to finish this (for my sake, too). Im not a hundred percent happy with it, but we're just gonna roll with it.

I hope you enjoy it.

It gnawed at you, gripping you with a hand made of iron, it's icy fingers sending chills down your spine.

How could she do this to you?

Someone you once envied for being related to Peggy Carter, one of the founders of SHIELD, maybe one of the coolest persons to have ever existed.

Now, you couldn't help but pity Sharon Carter.

Sam nudged your foot with his, ripping you out of your thoughts. "What's up with you?" he wanted to know, brows furrowed.

Blinking at him, you tried to grasp what he was talking about, before shaking your head with a sigh.

"When Sharon was pardoned, I heard her say something I don't know what to think of..." you mumbled, biting your cheek. Sam rose a brow in return, Bucky's furrowing.

You were sitting in a private jet, a small table in front of you, with Sam sitting diagonally to your right and Bucky to your left.

"When she came out, she dialed someone, saying something about super soldiers being off the menu, weapons and 'should be something for everyone'." you recited what you had heard her say.

You had been there to congratulate her, welcome her back. But, when she stepped out the building, immediately dialing someone, you hid back in the crowd, carefully listening.

Yeah, eavesdropping wasn't nice, but something urged you to do it.

And you had been right.

"Nah," Sam made, shaking his head with a chuckle. "You must have misheard her."

Licking your lip, you shook your own head. "No, I know what I've heard."

Sam's brows furrowed, eyes trained on you. "Y/N, I'm sure you just misheard her." he repeated his words softer.

Eyes widening, your mouth was agape. "Sam-" you started, but he cut you off. "No, Y/N-" "Sam!" with a yell of his name and a slam of your hand on the table, you locked eyes, letting your power whir to life.

You could see your own eyes change color in his iris, energy flowing through you, as you forced him to see what you've seen.

Sharon left the building with a smile on her face, radiating confidence. Pulling out her phone she dialed a number, slowly walking further down the steps.

"Start lining up our buyers." she spoke into the phone, seemingly not caring enough to watch her surroundings for anyone listening. "Super Soldiers might be off the menu, but we're about to have full access to government secrets, prototype weapons, you name it. Should be something for everyone."

With that, she left, leaving you speechless.

With a gasp, you let go of Sam's mind, rapidly blinking to get the dry feeling out of your eyes.

Sam stared onto the table, swallowing. His hands trembled slightly, whilst Bucky grew impatient.

"Can I see?" he wanted to know, eagerly leaning forward in his seat. It made you chuckle, despite the dread in your stomach.

Letting Bucky enter your mind, was something different.

You weren't able to control your powers a hundred percent, which would be a risk, when letting someone in. There could be emotions or flashes of memories that could seep through, something you didn't want.

Especially not with him.

You had been in love with him for a while now, but never dared to make a move on it. Not, when he was so far out of your league.

Swallowing, you nodded hesitantly.

Locking eyes with Bucky's blue ones, you let your power come to life again, heart pounding faster.

You showed him the same thing you showed Sam, trying your hardest to concentrate only on the memory of Sharon, nothing else.

Slipping back out of it, you blinked rapidly, whilst Bucky sat frozen in his chair.

Shaking your head, you felt it deep in your chest, slowly making its way up - luckily for you, you had cut the connection already.

It was a memory you cherished deep in your heart, one of your favorites. It was Bucky, smiling happily.

Most of the time his smile didn't reach his eyes, not like it should have. He wasn't as carefree, at least not until he teamed up with Sam.

He was lying on the sofa in Sarah's house, Sam's sister. The kids had been playing with the shield, whilst Bucky was still sleeping on the couch.

You had been sitting at the small coffee table, able to see him, but he wouldn't see you at first glance.

When he woke up, softly calling out to the kids with a smile and a peace, they panicked, putting the shield back into its bag.

It had you smiling into your mug, quietly chuckling, as you sipped your coffee.

His smile was real, beautiful and rare. His eyes sparkled with joy, sunlight catching in them, highlighting the blue of his iris, as he leaned back into the cushions.

It showed the Bucky he was back in the forties, slowly peeling away layer after layer of his hardened shell.

Closing your eyes, you willed the memory away, slowly shaking your head, to get rid of it.

When your eyes opened again, looking back up at Bucky and Sam, Bucky's eyes were glued to your face.

His brows were furrowed, deep in thought. His mouth opened the slightest bit, but it closed again, like a fish.

Your own eyes widened the slightest bit, belly churning, as you realized.

The faint line connecting your minds - it was still there.

Your breathing fastened, fist clenching, as you looked at Sam, trying to come up with something to pull him into a conversation - but your mind was as blank as a wall.

Seriously, now you were able to think of nothing?

Your hands began to sweat, as you tried your hardest not to burst into tears. It was exactly what you had feared to happen, not being able to control it.

Mostly the reason you never really let Bucky enter your mind, fearing what he might find.

"Do you think-" Sam started, but cut himself off with a shake of his head. "That she's the power broker?" you returned, eager to flee into this conversation, but it was over just as fast as it had begun. "Yeah."

Bucky didn't say anything, eyes fixed on his hands that were seated in his lap.

Sam sighed, one hand swiping over his face. He was tired, you could tell. Being the new Captain America wasn't easy.

"Excuse me." you mumbled, standing up, before heading out of the room and towards the bathroom, where you locked yourself in.

You choked on a breath, fighting the tears, but soon losing. How could you be so careless? You should have known it wouldn't end well, letting him enter your mind.

But it would have been suspicious not to show him, either.

You could only hope you'd get out of this unscathed.

_____

Sam cleared his throat in discomfort, fist clenching on the table.

If he hadn't known your memories were true, he would have brushed it off with a laugh. He'd worked with Sharon before, and she never seemed like someone who would turn on her own people.

How long, til she would turn on them?

Eyes lifting, they met the side of Bucky's face. He was quiet, more than usual.

"How can she do this to us, after all we went through?" Sam asked in a mumble, ripping Bucky from his thoughts with a "Huh?".

Brows furrowing, Sam tried to analyze the man he didn't want to call friend, even though he'd become exactly that over the past few weeks.

"What's up with you?" he asked, frown deepening. Sure, Bucky had his moments where his thoughts drifted off, but not like this.

Not when you just basically fled a minute ago.

Bucky shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "I don't know." he gave back, forehead wrinkling in thought.

Hell, if he could only make sense of what he'd seen.

"What happened?" Sam dug deeper, having noticed how long you two had been silent when showing him what you'd seen.

It took longer than he thought needed to.

Bucky wiped over his face.

It was like he switched bodies with you when that memory of yours slipped through. He could feel everything.

Every little emotion.

"I-" Bucky was searching for the right words as he suddenly stood. "Excuse me."

He followed into the direction you'd taken off to, causing Sam to frown even more.

He stopped in front of the bathroom door, softly knocking before the courage could have left him.

"Y/N?" he called out, heart beating unsteady. "Can we please talk?"

You flinched, perched on the toilet seat as you desperately wiped at your face. "Why?" you called out, giving your very best to sound neutral.

You could hear him hesitate, the little sounds that left his mouth that he himself didn't even notice. "Please?" he then just asked, fingers drumming on the door.

You hesitated as well, not sure if you should open the door to face your imminent death of shame.

With a heavy sigh you got up, though, shaky fingers fumbling for the lock, taking a moment longer to unlock it before it was pushed open by Bucky merging into the small bathroom, cramping the space even more.

You stumbled back, colliding with the sink.

"What was that?" Bucky wanted to know, eyes on yours, searching them for anything that gave him an answer. "What?" you gave back, deciding to act dumb.

Maybe he wouldn't notice.

Of course he would, you idiot.

His brows furrowed, a look of confusion and bewilderment crossing his features. "You know exactly what I mean, don't play dumb now, Y/N!" he shot back, not amused.

See?

Told you so.

You swallowed the lump that somehow didn't want to budge, blocking your airways. "I- I don't know." you stuttered out, mentally cursing yourself for being so reckless to let him enter your mind in the first place.

Bucky frowned even more, not sure whether to believe you or not. After all he had felt it, not sure if he really wanted to know, though.

He didn't dare to hope.

You inhaled shakily, trying to force your heart rate down, to calm yourself a little.

Easier said than done.

"Are you sure you don't know?" Bucky pressed, voice tinged with something you couldn't place. "Because I'm sure I didn't imagine what I've seen or felt."

You flinched at that.

He knew, he knew for fucks sake, and there was no way you could have made him believe that it was nothing.

To be fair, you wouldn't have believed yourself, either.

No one would feel immense happiness, content, and warmth just because of a person they saw as a friend.

Come on.

You swallowed, averting your gaze. There was no backing out now, not when Bucky literally blocked the exit with his presence and muscular body.

"You- you felt it." you mumbled, biting your cheek as your cheeks warmed up slightly, gaze glued to the floor.

Bucky huffed, searching for words for a moment. How was he to explain what he felt?

"It- it was like I was back in the forties." he began, licking his lips. "I felt content, happy. And then I saw this... this memory of yours from me. I didn't know you were there, I didn't see you. What does this mean?"

He sounded desperate, and you didn't know whether it was because he didn't want your feelings for him or if it was the exact opposite.

Your name fell from his parted lips when you didn't answer, and had you looked up into his cerulean eyes, you'd seen the desperation, too.

"I can't tell you." you eventually mumbled, biting your cheek raw. "What? Why?" Bucky gave back, eyes widening before he frowned. "Y/N, what does this mean? Please, tell me!"

You looked up at him, your own brows furrowed in a frown.

Why did he want to know so badly?

"You know what it means." you gave back, doing your best not to avoid his gaze this time. His lips parted a fraction before he shook his head. "No." he said. "I want you to say it."

You heart stumbled once more, threatening to burst from the pace it was going at.

Did he want to have something to laugh about? Did he want to make a fool of you?

Swallowing, you shook your head. "No." you breathed out. "I can't."

His gaze hardened slightly, blue irises growing darker. "Say it." he repeated himself, not going to back down.

He'd rather go back to HYDRA than let this opportunity, this chance pass.

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head again. But before you had the chance to decline once more, he said it again, this time louder. "Say it!"

"I have feelings for you!" you blurted out loudly, his agitation causing you to crack and slip up.

Suddenly, the room grew eerily silent, the ringing in your ears blocking out his harsh breathing. His heart was racing way too fast for a man his age, and he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

He had hoped to hear these words, after all they were the only logical explanation, yet he was speechless. Didn't know how to react.

It's never like it is in your dreams.

Especially not when a dream suddenly comes true.

You shrinked back mentally and physically, his lack of response unsettling. It made you more nervous than you already were, hands sweating as you desperately tried to keep your shit together.

Why didn't he say anything?

When you wanted to push past him, and out of the small bathroom, his metal hand wrapped around your wrist. Your sudden movement had broken him out of his stupor, and he simply couldn't just let you go.

Before you knew it, he had tugged you back in front of him, his lips pressing against yours in a searing kiss.

It wasn't gentle, it was hard and rushed, as he tried to somehow tell you what his vocal cords weren't able to at the moment.

You gasped for air, not prepared for being hauled back and kissed breathless like that.

Bucky greedily took the invitation that wasn't one, his tongue pushing inside your mouth, exploring it before it tangled with yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, his own around your waist as he tugged you closer.

You tasted sweeter than anything he'd ever tasted in his life.

Gasping for breath he let go of your mouth, eyes closed as he leaned his forehead against yours.

"Don't go." he breathed out shakily, arms wrapping tighter around you like he was scared you'd suddenly vanish if he let go. "Please. There's so much I need to tell you. So please, don't go. I need you, Y/N."

You watched his lashes flutter as he inhaled shakily before his eyes opened. His words had your heart beating faster again, leaving you wanting more.

"What? B-Bucky-" you started, confused because you were so sure he'd reject you.

"No." he cut you off, holding your face in his hands. "I love you."

There it was, out in the open. His most vulnerable moment since HYDRA and he delved into it headfirst. "You have no clue how much I love you, how much these words and these... glimpses mean to me, doll."

You inhaled shakily, every emotion rushing through you at once.

"I just never thought you'd feel the same, deem me worthy of someone as angelic as you."

Your heart ached at his self-deprecating words.

"Bucky," you breathed out his name, shaking your head in his grip. "You're far more worthy than you think you are. You deserve everything good and more."

He grimaced slightly, still not used to being a normal human again. "That's an argument for another time." he said, sending you a crooked smile.

He didn't want to fight right now, not when he much rather wanted to pepper your skin with kisses. And that he did. He kissed everywhere he reached, ignoring your giggles of protest before his lips met yours, silencing you.

It was a feeling that quickly got you addicted.

After a few moments, you broke the kiss, and he placed your head on his chest, inahling your familiar scent.

"Was it intenional?" Bucky wanted to know after a few moments of savoring your warmth, arms circled around you.

It felt really good to hold you like that.

You grimaced slightly. "No, of course not." you gave back. "I can't always control it. Besides, I never thought you'd want me."

"Why?" he asked, confusion lacing his voice as he pulled back slightly to look down at you. "Because I'm weird." you explained, blushing as you averted your gaze. Bucky huffed, using his finger to tilt your chin back up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Baby, weird is my second name." he gave back softly. "Maybe I need a little extra weird."

You wanted to respond something, how you would love to be his extra portion weird, as it suddenly knocked on the door loudly.

"Hurry up, I need to pee!"

Tag List:

@ava @sapphirebarnes @skywalker0809 @freyathehuntress @queenslandlover-93 @judig92

[amsgrey]

Domestication

Kia Ora! It's been forever since I posted anything and it feels like forever since I've had the motivation to sit and right, but this came to me all of a sudden and I wrote it in like two hours so it might suck (not that I care) but no more writer's block!! Ka Pai!!!

synopsis: A Typical night with the Bastard of the Barrel. Or, the Bastard of the Barrel behind his locked door.

warnings: major fluff yall, not proofread yet because we all know I suck at that, I can't think of anything else oops

Kaz was almost always reading in his spare time, from ledgers to novels to the latest Ketterdam newspapers on stocks or whatever else the press thought worthy of ink. Every night when you climbed the stairs to his room, you would find him busy reading through one thing or another.

Tonight was no different. When you finally got off your shift in the Crow club, you found Kaz sitting on his bed with a book in hand. You let out a sigh, toeing off your worn boots and walking to the basin to wash your hands and face.

"How's the club?" Kaz asked, not taking his eyes from the page.

You splashed water in your face, "Plenty of Pigeons.”

You dried your face and joined Kaz on his bed, leaning against the headboard, mirroring his own pose.

"How was your day scheming?"

Kaz turned to look at you, entirely unamused by your cheeky smirk.

"It was fine," He replied, slowly.

The two of you sat silently, enjoying the quietness for a while. For the last few weeks, you had been staying in Kaz's room more and more. You had jokingly told him it was because his bed was bigger and more comfortable, but you both knew it was because you enjoyed waking up beside one another.

You noticed Kaz must have cleaned while you were away, tidying off his desk and drawers. Kaz was a stress cleaner, you had learnt. He liked this space to be tidy, everything in its rightful place. You learned rather quickly to keep things where they were meant to be.

"I cleared a drawer," Kaz said suddenly, you turned to look at him with a frown.

"Okay?"

Kaz put his book down on the table beside him, "For you."

It took a moment for his words to register, Kaz watched as your eyes lit up and a grin spread across your face.

"For me?"

He nodded once.

You leaned forward, gently placing your hand in his, "Have I finally succeeded in domesticating the Bastard of the barrel?"

Kaz made a big show of rolling his eyes, "It's one drawer."

You shrugged, cheekily replying, "One more than I had yesterday."

Kaz had been a lot better with touch lately, in the safety of his room, where no one other than you entered. It took months, years, to get to this point. With your hand in his, mindlessly rubbed circles with his thumb, tracing a pattern only he knew.

"What are you reading?"

Kaz had yet to put his book down, holding his page with a finger wedged in the pages. He opened to where he was, displaying the tiny cramped print for you to see.

"A book about stocks," He said.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

You giggled, "Sounds... boring."

Kaz gave you an annoyed side glance and went back to reading. Admitting defeat, you unthreaded your fingers from his and slipped off the bed. You padded over to Kaz's chest of drawers, well aware that he was watching you in between the words on the page. You pulled open the draw, seeing that Kaz had cleared you a space. A smile broke across your face again, pleased at the sight in front of you. Kaz's drawers were heavy and sometimes finicky, much like all the furniture in the Slat. You lifted the draw a little and slid it back into place, making sure it was shut tight like Kaz had it before.

Instead of returning to Kaz, you opened the next drawer down. Sliding it open as carefully as possible, the drawer revealed pristinely folded shirts and tunics. You ran your fingers over the fabric, almost all of Kaz's shirts were soft and clean, he took such care of his clothes and appearance. It was one of the reasons you loved him, his attention to detail and his immense care for the small details. You found the shirt you were after, one that he never wore but kept folded neatly in his drawer for you.

You unbuttoned your own shirt, it smelt of the Crow Club. A strange redolence of beer, jurda and the distinct smell of the wooden tables after years of use. You lay your dirty shirt over the back of Kaz's desk chair, making note to add it to your own washing in the morning. You pulled on Kaz's shirt, immediately greeted by his scent that was woven through the threads. Kaz shirt felt like pure silk after spending the day in your scratchy blouse, the fabric soothing away any irritation left on your skin.

You looked over your shoulder at Kaz for a moment, spying him nose-deep in his book again. You both knew he wasn't actually reading.

You rid yourself of your belt next, one that you had pinched from Nina months ago. You undid the buckle and carefully laid it over the chair, trying to keep your belongings in one space. You did the same with your skirt and tights, leaving you in almost ready to slip into bed.

You rounded back around the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping underneath. This was your nightly routine now, you slipping under the covers before Kaz, promising to stay awake with him and almost always falling asleep anyway. Kaz loved it, you knew. He would pretend to be exasperated, watching you yawn and fade slowly, but after you fell asleep he would put his book away and watch you rest peacefully.

Curled up under the covers, you watched him read. Watching his eyes scan the page and his lips ghost the words as he read. Sometimes, when he got invested, he would make comments to himself out loud. Oftentimes, "Saints Sake," or "Fool," depending on who or what he was reading about. If you were lucky, Kaz would read quietly and the furrow in his brow would ease, smoothed away as he relented to his book. Those were your favourite moments. Watching the Bastard of the Barrel vanish and Kaz Reitveld appear again. Each time, you cherished them like it was the last.

You shifted again, pulling the blanket over your shoulder to keep your warmth trapped. Kaz's eyes shifted over to you, a silent question within them.

"Read to me?" You whispered.

Kaz smiled, a gentle, loving smile that sent butterflies to your stomach and tingles down your spine.

"Of course."

Kaz took one hand from the book, finding your own under the cover.

You didn't care about how boring the current stock market was or whatever it was Kaz was reading, but you loved hearing Kaz read to you. The sound of his voice, calm and patient after a dangerous and tumultuous day. The sound of his fingers drumming on the hardcover, a steady beat. When he turned the page, he would hang on to the last word of the page, so as to not forget what it was.

You loved every part of these nights with every part of your soul.

As you started to relax more, your mind sinking into sleep, you pulled his hand to your chest, pressing your lips to his knuckles and whispering, "I love you, Rietveld."

Kaz placed his book away, blowing out the lantern and joining you under the covers.

"I love you too," He whispered, his lips pressed to your hairline.

[lost-between-letters]

Let's Go Home

Pairing: Sam Winchester x wife!teacher!Reader (she/her)

Requested by: @lelapine

Word Count: 1,220

Summary: you work as a teacher at the local high school and often stay later than you mean to. Luckily, you've got a husband who checks his watch regularly

A/N: this isn't spell checked (as almost everything I write) so read at your own risk. Also, sorry if the ending feels off, i couldn't decide where to cut off (and yes, that student is who you think he is, I couldn't resist)

"I just don't know how I'm supposed to see this stuff on my own," Steve raked his hand through his hair and stared down at the essay lying between them, "I'm sorry Mrs. W."

Y/N sighed and put down the red pen she'd used to circle in the more outstanding motives in her copy of Macbeth. They've been through various versions of this exchange now over the past few weeks. "It's okay, Steve. Not everyone's going to major in English lit."

"But I've got to pass this class!" There was a desperation in his voice she hadn't expected. The poor boy looked about two D minuses from outright begging.

This wasn't how Y/N envisioned her night to be going when she heard the knock on her classroom door. An hour after her last class. Steve had been coming to her fairly regularly for his essays once she'd realised that he'd need the extra help, but today, he was downright frantic.

So she refrained from putting her head on the table right next to his and instead forced her tired eyes to stay open and show the trust she had in him and his admittedly mediocre english lit abilities. They were enough to get by, and Y/N knew that not everyone of her students would get the appeal of her subject.

"And you will," Y/N said calmly.

"But I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing!" Steve told the wooden table. His voice was muffled by his hands.

"Who does anyway?" A voice came from the doorway.

Y/N looked up sharply, a surprised smile spreading across her face. "Sam! What are you doing here?"

Sam smiled right back at her and walked until he could look over at what they were working on.

"It's late," he said simply, hands coming to rest on her shoulders, "and I got worried."

Oh. Y/N checked her watch and came to the realisation that, yes, she'd just spent the last three hours here. Instead of home. Where she had been supposed to be about two hours ago.

Steve's head shot off the table, eyes wide. "Shit, I'm so sorry, Mrs Winchester."

"It's okay," she said, looking up at her husband as guilt settled behind her ribs. He must've been waiting for her, "I'm happy to help you."

"I think you both need a break, though," Sam said and squeezed her shoulders.

Steve all but shot out of his seat and gathered his things. His hands were frantic, almost shaking. Y/N watched him, a frown on her lips. She had noticed that before on Steve. "Yes, sir. Sorry for keeping Mrs Winchester so long."

Y/N got up as well, gathering her things as Sam stood there and watched them, brows furrowed in concern. It was clear that that wasn't a thing he'd come prepared for. Finding her slumped over a stack of papers to grade? Wouldn't be the first time. But a teenager falling over his feet apologising for needing extra classes? Not so much.

"It's okay. I kept my teachers back plenty, must've driven them half mad with all my questions." He was putting on his 'Dean-voice', Y/N noticed with a smile and tucked herself into his side. It had been a long day.

"Always been a curious one, that one," she agreed as Sam took her bag from her shoulder, "he keeps asking me questions about you guys' papers even now. Total nerd."

"Guilty as charged."

That did the trick. Steve laughed, and his shoulders sunk just a fraction.

They walked out of the building together, Sam telling Steve a few heavily censored stories about his own school time. Y/N listened in, nodding along whenever Steve looked to her for confirmation and otherwise stayed quietly tucked under Sam's arm.

Once they reached Sam's car, Y/N all but collapsed into the passenger seat. And stayed there.

Sam chuckled when he saw her almost lying there and ran his knuckles over her cheek, soft amusement in his eyes. "Long day?"

"Too long," she groaned and turned into his touch.

"Then let's get you home."

Y/N hummed in agreement.

For a while, there was only the rumble of the car, and Sam's even breathing that broke the silence. It was such a domestic moment, his hand now resting on her knee, the dark scenery passing her window, that it was becoming a fight to keep her eyes open. Y/N surrendered easily and rested her head against the window. "Thanks for picking me up."

"Anytime, baby."

Y/N hummed again and suppressed a yawn.

"That Steve kid," Sam stopped and looked at her sideways, worry in his eyes, "is he alright?"

"hope so," Y/N yawned again and wiggled a bit until she was in a more comfortable position, "he's gonna pass my classes 'nd I'm tryin' to check in on him as much as possible."

"Something we'll have to keep an eye on?"

"Nah, just shitty parents and bein' a teenager, I think," Y/N mumbled, "'m gonna rip his dad a new one if i get to meet him, though."

Sam snorted. "Remind me to be present for that."

Y/N nodded and rested her head back against the window. That day would be a good day.

At some point, Sam turned on the radio and let the familiar tunes wash over both of them. His eyes were steady on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other on her knee, a solid presence. It wasn't a long drive back to the bunker, but it was enough time to create a comfortable little bubble that Sam found himself sinking into. If he hadn't been driving, it would've surely lulled him to sleep at some point.

And that was exactly what it did to Y/N. She was sleeping peacefully by the time they got home, so Sam shut his own door quietly and walked around to the passenger side.

He carefully untangled the strap of her bag from her legs and then leaned over to gather her up in his arms.

Y/N huffed softly once he picked her up but only turned into his chest with a quiet "Sam?"

"I got you, Baby," he murmured and kissed her forehead.

She sighed, apparently satisfied with that reply, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Sam carried her slowly to their room, making sure not to jostle her too much now that she was sleeping. Once there, he carefully placed her down on the bed and crouched to take off her shoes before draping the duvet over her curled up body.

He was just about to go and get ready for bed himself when Y/N sat up, blinking up at him confusedly. "Where're you goin'?"

"Brushing my teeth," he smiled and leaned down to place a kiss on her nose, "get back to sleep."

Y/N pouted and pulled the blanket higher. "Hurry."

Sam did just that and climbed into bed with her not two minutes later. Dental hygiene was overrated anyway.

It didn't take long for Y/N to wrap her entire body around him. Actually, his head hadn't even fully hit the pillow yet. He chuckled quietly.

"Love you," Y/N mumbled into his neck, apparently oblivious to his amusement.

He kissed her hair and wrapped his arms around her waist, getting comfortable as well. "Love you too."

"Night Sam."

"Night, Y/N."

[deceasedream69]

Museum pt.1

I did it. I finally had the courage to ask her out.

We're going to the museum on Sunday night, it's a date. I can tell she's excited too, I was worried the museum decision was a little... nerd, but I'll guess she'll like it.

We set the time, 6:00 pm, I was going to pick her up but she said she had to do some things before meeting so she'll get there by herself.

It's 6:00 already. My hands are sweating and I can feel this... like, energy flowing through my body, it's making my stomach feel a little heavy, but I'm pretty sure it's excitement.

it's already 6:15 but I'm pretty sure she'll be here anytime, beautiful as always.

After 6:30 I decided to just go home. How could I be so stupid and think that going to a museum was a good idea for a date. I walked inside my apartment, took my shoes off and plopped onto the couch. I was too scared to even call her. I should just wait to see her tomorrow at the office, maybe she had something come up, something so important she couldn't even bother to call.

Y/n's pov

I don't know how long I've been here. I've been punched, spit on, almost drowned and electrocuted. My body felt extremely heavy and sore, my ears and head were killing me and I was cold. I just wanted to go home.

-"hey, princess, ready for another round?"

-"I just want to know why"

-"Is it not obvious yet?"

I just shook my head, slowly, of course.

-"hm, and to think that everyone tells me I look just like my father", he turned around, "or maybe, little miss agent here already forgot about every life she ruined, don't worry, I'll make you remember this day forever", he said pulling me by my hair.

Spencer's pov

I slept very well that night, suprisingly and given the circumstances. I guess crying really makes people tired. I had to put some ice on my eyes to get down the inflammation and redness.

I entered the office, my hands sweating and that feeling in my stomach again. I could do this, tho, I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to ask here why she couldn't make it, or why, specially if she lies to my face and I detect it.

The team was already in a meeting when I entered the office, I quickly made my way into the meeting, everyone turning to look at me when I entered. That's when I noticed who was on the screen.

- "I know this might be a tough case for us..." Hotch started.

I sat quickly, I couldn't feel my legs, was this real? Is it my imagination trying to find an excuse for y/n to miss our date last night? Am I having a nightmare?!

- "But we're the ones who'll work the hardest to get to her", Derek said, angry as natural for him.

I wasn't angry, more like confused, sad, angry only at myself for not calling her, trying to reach her or something more than the pathetic "I'll ask her tomorrow" thing I did.

- "it's so sad, I can't even look at the pictures so I didn't put them in the presentation but...' Garcia sniffled... "But you can watch them in your tablets..."

I was too scared to look, although in my case it was a file, but not looking would be too suspicious as well, why wouldn't I look? It's supposed to be my friend, and she needed our help.

With my trembling hands I opened the file slowly, reading the first things, I opened it even more, but no pictures.

- "I couldn't dare to print them either", Garcia said looking at me trying to find the pictures.

The meeting was quick, everyone already assigned to do something different. I haven't looked at the pictures, I'm scared, but I also feel that would be a good way to motivate myself. Regardless, it's a little too late for that now, everyone's busy doing their different tasks, and I should be completing mine, too.

[bamboobooshark]

STEVEN GRANT X READER

₊˚⊹☆ 🤍 .*+ AS LONG AS IM HERE : 920 WRDS

!! NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN !!

Prompt by @noahsresources

Steven's younger friend groaned to themselves as they lied in his bed. Recently they'd really been in the trenches as far as their mental health. So many things were happening back to back in their life. Family problems, lack of motivation, failure at their favorite things; it was all too much. Steven, thankfully, realized something was up the second they started responding to his texts so dryly. He invited them over to his flat to try and bring them some comfort. Despite how little social interaction they got with others, they'd never pass up a chance to hang out with him, or even be in his space.

A soft knock combined with the sound of keys clanking against each other came from the outside of his door. "I'm home! I have a little treat for you. I thought that'd cheer you up, yeah," he asked while fumbling with his keys. "Ah, bollocks," the man groaned as he dropped them. "Could you come get the door, please? I've got my hands all full here and I've dropped my keys like an absolute idiot," he pleaded with an annoyed voice. As much as they didn't want to get up, they dragged themselves off of Steven's bed. "Coming," they called to him as they approached the door. They opened it to find Steven trying to lift his keys off the ground with his shoes. "Oh. Hiya," he mumbled, an anxious smile on his face.

"Could you grab those for me, little fella," he asked with a sincere tone as he entered his flat. They quickly nodded and grabbed his keys off the ground. Just like a magnet, they gravitated towards Steven as he walked towards his table. "Clingy thing, you are," he chuckled as he leaned to kiss their forehead sweetly. He set down a plastic bag on the tabletop, looking between his young friend and whatever could've been in there. "Look at what I've got for you," he beamed as he untied the plastic bag to reveal a cheesecake. "Just for you! I know you've been feeling a bit down lately. I thought it might make you feel better to have a little treat," he rambled while looking at them with a big grin. His friend gave him a tight hug as a thank you. They weren't the most verbal, their lack of motivation hindering their energy to speak. Steven patted their back before running his hand up and down their spine carefully. "You go lay back down for me. I'll bring you a slice, yeah," he murmured to them.

A few minutes after they sat on his bed, Steven came striding over with a slice of cheesecake for them. "Cheesecake time," he chirped happily. He handed them the plate, sitting down next to them on the soft mattress. The man watched them with intent as if they were his own flesh and blood. He felt so calm knowing that they trusted him, that they saw him as a father figure, that someone could finally have some sense of hope for him. He wrapped an arm around their shoulder comfortingly. His hand ran up and down their bicep slowly. "Care to tell me what's going on, love? I know you've got it in you to tell me what's bothering you," Steven pleaded with them. He paused for a moment before panic set into his mind. "You don't have to tell me if you aren't ready to. I don't want you to think I'm holding you hostage here or trying to be a bugger. I'm just glad you feel safe enough to be with me," he rambled anxiously. Just to add some more reassurance that he was here for them, he gave them another gentle forehead kiss.

They simply shrugged. Even if they knew in their mind exactly what was wrong, they didn't want to feel like a burden to Steven. However, he had told them over and over again about how he's "always willing to carry their burden if it means he won't have to attend their funeral." They took a deep breath, setting down their plate on his nightstand. "I feel isolated from everything that's been happening," they finally confessed, their voice quivering a bit. Steven released a quiet 'awe' before wrapping both his arms around them, pulling their head to his chest. "I'm sorry to hear that, kiddo. I really am. I don't want you to feel alone," he said to them softly as he tried his best to comfort them. "I'm not the best at this, but I want you to know that you're not alone. You'll never be alone, not as long as I'm here, love," he whispered, one hand caressing their cheek while the other caressed the back of their head.

His words hit them hard. They couldn't manage to squeak out a word before tears came flowing down their cheeks. "I know it's hard for you, mate. I've got you. I promise," he reassured them as his thumb wiped away their tears. "You can cry as much as you need to. You've got a big heart, so I'm expecting some big tears," the man chuckled as he hugged them tighter. They smiled softly as Steven held them. They really were crying some "big tears," hiccups and all. The was no point in getting tissues seeing as how Steven was using his shirt and his fingers to clean their tears. There was nothing better in this world, to them at least, than being held by Steven Grant.

[applesontheground]

I am officially here with my very first request from you! 💕

Now, considering that I've been struggling with 'The Horrors' for...a while now, lately, I find myself more and more in need of comfort.

However, my idea of 'comfort' may be quite a bit different than someone else's, especially when you take into consideration that I've always found comfort in the creepy and tranquility in terror.

(Not to be overlooked is my ability to see the beauty in the bizarre and to take solace in sin...*ahem*)

Very conveniently, two of my 'comfort characters' that just so happen to embody all of these qualities are also on the list of characters you write for - Asa Emory, and Gabriel May.

So...here is my request. Since I *adore* a surprise, I'll leave it up to you who you pick to give me comfort. I'm not picky about the details, but there is one thing that needs to be included, something I desire most of all...

A warm, strong embrace.

To be held snug and secure.

A hug, Riri.

I need a hug...

what an understandable thing to ask for. love writing myself some good slasher snuggles when i'm sad, too.

i've been mulling long and hard about who i wanted to choose for you, and while gabriel is still very funky fresh and new to me ... i miss asa. besides what i did a couple days ago, really haven't written him since JULY OF 2022. A GODDAMN TRAVESTY.

it's been too long since we've shared our love for these fictional guys, darkly <3 as i've said, i hope i've made the wait worth it, and that you're doing well! (and hope the horrors have ceased, as well umu)

i can put my arms around you🕷️

SFW | Word Count: 1,300 | Asa Emory x GN Reader contains canon typical/mentions of collector work, injury, fluff 🎼: x

Realizing how hard it was to stand again had only actualized itself during the car ride home.

Working on some sort of autopilot since you had left the house, the weight of holding a pancreas preserved in a jar, watching human body parts placed beside insects pinned to sheets of paper in the similar inquisitive sanitation, and the incident with a live harvester skittering along the back of your hand with needle-thin legs bigger than its entire being, was felt now. In the canopy of your shared house, the garage cold to the touch of your exposed face, you watched him walk inside with saliva sitting in your mouth, sticking to the walls like honey. He gave one glance back, made sure you didn’t look completely devastated, and then disappeared inside.

It was hard to show gratitude even without the minor afflictions besides mental anguish: you had taken a particularly hard fall on your side, limping when you finally got yourself to walk away from the car door, and your head was thundering from a 2x4 – left loose from another one of his projects not relating to, well, collecting – having fallen from against the wall, center against the back of your head in a numbing connection.

Still, you let go of any frustration and ill will towards it as you crossed the threshold between the garage and your shared space with Asa. When you were entwined with another soul, you had learned, these ugly things were far easier to wash off at the end of the day – and you were hurting, but you didn’t mind doing it.

You really hoped he knew that despite limping into the kitchen, silently grabbing the nearest soft surface and burying your face into it. Catching sweat, catching the pained expression, hiding the flush that came with finally calling the horror you witnessed off.

It was all normalizing, helping him with what needed to be done and being let into his double life. At first, he had just asked you to come with him. Sit by in another room and do some busywork while he handled self-made problems. He made sure you knew his other motives, too: the shared time that came with the close access in between work.

Tonight, it was one of the first of a few since he needed assistance: you seeing the people he had been working on. Some were still alive; some still had the eyes to bore into your soul, lingered now in the momentary dark you offered yourself. Bad physical feelings – nausea, fatigue, all of it – would pass. It always had, always would. You did what you could to stabilize yourself now, brush it off again while breathing the familiar smell of the house in through the fabric, hand placed on the cold countertop.

The sink running next to you jolted your attention back, dragging the dish towel off your face. He had been staring, not yet taking off his mask despite the blinds drawn and his gloves coming off. All the reason to, but he still hesitated. You smiled only halfheartedly back; the best one you could manage as he held his hand out. Lost, but once again complying without any more explanation, you gave him the towel, and only then he spoke for the first time in hours.

“Did you hit your head?” He asked, and you replied, “I did. Can still…” Your jaw locked in a moment, so you instead gestured downwards as you started over. “I can still stand, despite that.”

He hummed in reply, now taking the opportunity to start reaching for the laces on the back of his head. You felt a slight spin to your vision, so you then admitted, “I am feeling lightheaded, though, so I might go lay down.”

“I’ll join you in a moment.” He said, sliding the strangely stiff material from his face, turning to you with an exposed face, “Right behind you.”

You smiled again, a little more meaning behind it this time as you stepped away. His focus lingered, more pointed towards your gait to make sure you’d make it up the stairs to the bedroom. When you sighed, straightening your posture and now moving with a strong purpose to go fall into bed, cocoon in the covers, he turned away again.

Relief slipped over you, first falling stomach first into the bed, the same need to hide your face for a few long seconds. After a few more moments of trying to wash the recollections, get it all out of your head, you begrudgingly bent a leg, undoing your shoelaces with your face still down in the mattress.

A snicker got you to pull your face up, looking over your shoulder as you scoffed back at him. “I’m a little bent out of shape, don’t mind me.” You joked, rolling over to your back, and he stepped further into the room. Setting a few remedies down on the nightstand, the man now stood between your legs, outsides of his thighs brushing the insides of yours.

You still had to hold your breath, too worn down to initiate anything like that but still letting him lean down, hands framed on either sides of your head. He leaned in, kissing your neck as he then trailed up to your ear. “I don’t thank as much as I should for…accompanying me.” He lamented, and you responded with a tilt of your head, lining up with a hand to his cheek and kissing him.

“You don’t have to.” You reminded him, “I have a knack for surviving what you’ve decided to throw at me, Mr. Emory. It’s becoming…” You pondered the word, hand sliding from his face to the back of your neck. Fun, maybe? No, too lighthearted. Bearable? Too distant. You met his eyes again, his pupils still impossibly dilated, no color in sight. The word suddenly rushed to the forefront, and you breathed it out below your breath, “Impossible, in all the ways I want to bear.”

He seemed puzzled at that, but you smiled and added, “I’ll make more sense after sleep. That’s all I can ask for.”

He nodded finally, eyes trailing down  your body for a beat. “Oh, actually I will ask-“ You hooked a leg around his hip, “Could you get my other shoe?” He was frozen, standing back up straight before he smiled, his voice still tender as he took hold of the laces. “Of course.”

Slowly, with as much contact between chests and legs as possible, Asa crawled into bed with you. He waited until you seemed utterly relaxed, curled in the large beige duvet and surrounded by pillows, to find where he fit beside you. Holding his forearms, you let him be the one to adjust now, and then tangled your legs with his as they came around tight. Constricting you to his chest, you felt like you could die in this position, relish the contact and feel the other side of the collector's coin flip to Asa Emory again.

A fast, cold force against the back of your head made your eyes snap open. The dishtowel you had handed him was holding a bag of something frozen – ice, those mixed vegetables you hadn’t gotten to working with yet – where the wood had knocked you almost senseless. Immediate rushes of cold, soft relief made you sigh deeply with once again more force, every muscle going soft and tucking closer to him.

“Oh, that-“ You groaned, your chin settling into the material of the sweater, full weight against him, “Asa, that’s perfect.”

He was silent, but the satisfied peck of his lips on your temple was enough acknowledgement. A perfect fit in all ways that mattered, he mused to himself as he kept the pack held to your head.

[iblameashley]

Regimented Trust

Military | Male | Gay

1,690~ words Content: mostly tame, but please consider the topics to include... trauma, mental health, amputation (leg), solitude, distrust, anxiety, companionship, connections, budding romance.

Captain John Price | Male/GN Reader

!!!SFW!!!

In a support group for military veterans, You and Price navigate the complexities of healing, trust, and camaraderie. As walls slowly crumble and bonds form over the course of many nights and pints, will Price's relentless optimism break through your defences?

You sat there in the dimly lit room of the support group. The building was more depressing than the reality of your life, a thought you had mused every time you came here. The circle of chairs was a little fuller this week, which was always nice to see, but your focus was less on them, and more towards a certain Captain.

John Price sat there across from you, another soldier, but unusual in that he was the first man higher ranking than a Sergeant. His deep brown eyes had a way of boring deep inside you, stirring something you had worked hard to suppress.

Tonight was a rather quiet night, not many people had wanted to speak up. Some nights were like that.

You scratched at the spot on your prosthetic where your leg used to be. Phantom limb, phantom itch. You always felt it around people.

“We're all here for a reason.” Price gruffly mumbled, likely trying to be the leader he naturally was. “War leaves its marks on all of us... and, for a time, I thought all that mattered was patriotism and duty to serve.”

His voice seemed laced with regret and anger.

You felt a twitch in your mouth as you tried to maintain your composure. It was difficult to be here on most days, but the desire you harboured for Price betrayed the promise you had made; never let anyone back in. Don't trust people.

“Trust takes time.” Price continued.

Was he reading your fucking mind? You couldn't help but wonder as he stared at you. You assumed this was meant for you, specifically.

“...that's okay. But we're here to get better, to be better... whatever that may mean, or whatever path that may take us down.” Spoken like a true leader, but you were still unconvinced.

But as ever, Price's motivational speeches had an effect, and some other men in the group began to share things here and there; a nightmare they had. A fallen comrade. Medical discharge from service, and loved ones abandoning them.

That one hit you hard.

That damn itch!

As the group session ended, Price lingered behind as he always did. He checked up on the men who spoke, reassured them as they went on their way, and helped clean up the room.

You had missed the end of the session, being lost in thought. You just sat on the chair, staring into the nothingness as the clean up crew worked around you.

Price had been watching, and gathering the courage, he finally approached.

“Hey.” Price said in his gravelly, commanding voice. “Seems you've been carrying a heavy load as of late. Care to talk about it one on one?” He asked.

Your eyes flickered to Price with a mix of surprise and distrust. Sure you had spoken a few times, participated just enough to not set off any alarms with the other members – or so you thought.

You sat there in silence long enough for Price to deem this important enough for his attention. He swiftly grabbed a chair from the stack. He set it down at an awkward angle from you before plunking himself into it.

He crossed his arms as he leaned back and stared you down.

“I've seen men crumble under some heavy weight.” I said in a factual, flat tone. “If I can help, I want to.”

You sighed and slumped your shoulders, leaning slightly back in your chair.

“Easy for you to say.” You chide. “Always so composed and proper.”

Price gave an amused smile and deep chuckle. “Just a part of my charm, yeah?” He said in a teasing tone. “But I have to be composed and proper, I'm still actively serving, and I do my men no favours by breaking down when they need me the most.” He explains, shifting his tone to something kinder. Honest.

“I've seen too much.” You replied. Why the hell did your leg still itch so fucking much?

You take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “It's difficult to believe there is anything good left. In me or the military.”

Price leaned a forward slightly and nodded. “Well mate, maybe you just need to look in the right places.” He smiled with a glint in his eyes. “How about we talk a bit more at the pub down the road. A drink won't solve your problems, but might help give you the courage to open up a bit, yeah?” He offered, already beginning to stand.

You resisted the smile that was tugging at your face.

You shook your head and sighed again.

“Gonna make that an order, Captain?” The words had seemed more snarky and less flirty in your head. Shit.

“If that's what it takes, I suppose I could.” Price nodded, his face unreadable. “Come on mate, its a pint with a fellow soldier. My treat.”

“Relentless aren't you?” You chuckled, shaking your head.

Fuck it.

You stood up and grabbed your jacket.

“Age before beauty.” You smirked, gesturing for Price to lead.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

One pint at a pub down the street had turned into two and then three. One night had turned into five, and before you knew it, you were spending more time with Price after support meetings.

You had even braved a few pubs with him on days with no meetings.

Price had managed to loosen your lips and pry a little more information from you during these times, but you still kept your walls up; even if they were faltering.

You were currently running your fingers around the base of your pint, watching the bubbles rise as you got lost in thought again.

“You know,” Price began, snapping you out of your trance. “I never saw my mates as just soldiers. They were... they are family. Brothers and comrades I needed to take care of.” He admitted with a sombre tone.

You couldn't help but look at Price curiously. Why was he saying this now? What was with that remorseful tone?

“I see the same in you.” He confessed before taking a long swig of ale. He sighed and shook his head. “No... its not the same. But you're not just some solider from the support group. We all need someone.” Price cleared his throat.

“Even if its just a mate to share a pint with.” He added quickly.

And another section of the wall buckles.

“Need someone like me?” You said, cocking an eyebrow. “Must be desperate.”

Price laughed deeply at your reply, shaking his head.

“Desperate or not, I've seen some pretty fucked up shit. If I can find someone... people, to care about and keep me grounded, its worth pursing.”

You shifted in your seat, tilting your head to the side as you eyed Price over.

“Pursing, eh? You make me sound like a military operation or objective to complete.”

Price smiled, “Operation: One pint at a time.” He joked.

Price took a drink from his glass, wetting his beard with droplets and foam. You hated to admit it – even if it was only to yourself – but it was a rather adorable sight from such a rugged, gruff man.

“Interesting strategy.” You were trying to keep your voice relaxed and composed, not wanting to give away your amusement and piqued interest. “Hope you have reinforcements.”

Price lets out a playful scoff, waving an arm dismissively. “I don't need any damn reinforcements. I'm an expert at covert infiltration's.” He asserts.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The night was chilly, the kind that made your breath into wisps of fog in the night air. It chilled you to the bone as you stood outside sucking on a cigarette. Price had declined a cigarette from you when he realized he had left his cigars at home, but stood with you for company.

Price, ever the tenacious man, decided to push the boundaries a little further this night. He moved in closer to you and draped an arm over your shoulder, a gesture that seemed meant to comfort and protect.

You did nothing; admittedly shocked by the sudden token of kindness. Your muscles twitched and tensed, and you still had the urge to run like a bat out of hell, but there was a part of you that simply enjoyed the feeling of his arm around you. You eventually relaxed.

“You know, leaning on someone doesn't make you weak.” Price remarked.

Ignoring what he was trying to say, you smirked and inhaled more nicotine. “Sounds like an excuse to lean on me.” You shake your head mockingly, exhaling smoke.

Price let out an exaggerated sigh. “I'm just saying it takes strength to let people in. Its not healthy for people to bottle it all up.” he continued, ignoring your commentary.

“Taking a lot of strength to hold you up right now.” You enjoyed this banter more than your face let on. You loved it. You hated it. But most importantly... that damn itch was slowly disappearing.

“I'm not used to leaning on anyone.” You confessed. Your eyes stared straight ahead as you spoke. “I don't lean on people.” You dropped the cigarette butt and stomped it out.

Why were you telling him this?

There was something in Price's eyes; an understanding.

He cleared his throat and leaned in a bit.

“Maybe it's time to let people in. Lean on someone.” Somehow you know those weren't the words Price had wanted to say.

His grip on your shoulder tightened ever so slightly.

Despite your best efforts to stop yourself, you still ended up leaning into him.

“Walk you home.” Price said.

Not a question.

You nodded.

“Just don't expect me to invite you in for a coffee.” You replied with a weak smile.

“Understood.” Price nodded.

Price's arm remained wrapped around you as you took the lead and started towards home.

Your heart raced, and your mind was yelling at you to stop. He would leave too, just like the rest did. You were better on your own. You didn't need anyone.

But you wanted someone.

You wanted Price. You wanted him to be different than the rest.

[usmsgutterson]

Hello!I saw your requests are open and I'm so excited because you're such a good writer!! If it's alright, could you please write "If we have to leave our bed today, I will kill the resin we have to" hugs from your prompt list with Kaz x Reader? Maybe when he's a little older maybe late 20's and is a lot more comfy with touch (still has bad days/moments of complete touch aversion of course) but maybe he's slightly touch starved if anything in this fic? Thank you xx

Autumn- K.B x gn! reader

Hi!! This request was very fun--I always love writing/reading these types of fics because what can I say, my favs deserve to grow and change--so thank you for sending it in!

I know I'm probably starting to sound like a bit of a broken record with it now, but I am also very sorry for how long this took! I've been meaning to write it since it came in but life and motivation slipped away for a bit there. I hope you like it despite how long it took and again, I am SO SORRY!!

Fic type- this is so so so SO fluffy!!

Warnings- there's a couple of mentions of anxiety in relation to his touch aversion and kaz's touch aversion is discussed a lot. Kaz is also probably a little ooc, and this was written at around half past midnight and then queued for later, so the editing might not be as good as it could be

As Kaz woke, he found that the first day of autumn was to be your favorite kind of day. The kind where the leaves had already begun to change colors, the kind where a downpour hit Ketterdam, the kind where such a downpour still didn't manage to drive the pigeons away from the clubs and the two of you had not a thing to worry about in the world because you refused to allow yourselves that kind of worrying.

One of his arms was draped over your waist, his chin against your shoulder, and his heart kicking off at a racing pace because of it.

Waking up like that still sometimes sent his body off into a thousand different directions, each one more fervently anxious than the last, but the come-down from the anxiety and the anxiety itself had been easier to get through as time went on.

Kaz ghosted his lips against your shoulder. Everything is fine, he told himself. I am fine. I am holding the person I love, and they are alive, too, and we are alive together.

He felt you stir, wrap your arms around his waist, and effectively pull him into a hug.

You pulled away after a minute, and Kaz's hand moved up, gently tracing your lips.

"Any obligations?" You asked.

"None of note," Kaz said. "Or--none that I am unwilling to leave to tomorrow."

You grinned. "So, a day in bed it is, then?"

One of your arms moved to rest against his shoulder, your hand finding his hair like it were clockwork.

"If such is what you fancy," Kaz said. "I, of course, fancy it too."

You laughed. Kaz pulled you closer and you let him, content to be wrapped within the embrace that it had taken him a decade to be able to pull you into.

Kaz's touch aversion had been something that you never really minded. You loved him regardless of the fact that he couldn't touch you, and his actions made up for all of the hugs, kisses, and affections in the world anyway.

But, when you were eighteen and Kaz found that the mere idea of holding your hand was something with which he still struggled, he decided he was going to find a way to get better.

He wanted to do it for you, for every wistful smile you gave when you watched Matthias press a quick kiss to Ninas cheekbone, for every single one you gave when you would notice Jesper approaching Wylan, only to wrap his arms around Wylans shoulders and press a kiss to his forehead when Wylan leaned back and said hello.

But, on the other side of that coin, Kaz decided to do it for himself. Jordie had died when he was nine, and while he wasn't sure he would ever stop grieving the brother he'd lost to Pekka and his cons, he knew that he could not scorn the idea of touching others forever. He could not forever put off the idea of ending a business deal with the shake of a hand in his ungloved one, couldn't forever glare at people who'd dared touch his arms or hands or shoulders in passing.

A decade had gone by since he'd made that decision, and all in all it seemed to have paid off.

Sure, there were indeed bad days, but that was to be expected. Things like a long lasting touch aversion don't just go away overnight, and Kaz knew that. You knew it, too, and you didn't fault him for those bad days whatsoever.

"I love you," you said as Kaz pulled away enough to press a kiss to your forehead. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Kaz said, part of him cringing at how long it had taken him to repeat the words back. The two of you had started dating when you were eighteen and Kaz couldn't say the words until you were twenty-three, when you'd already been saying them for a year and telling him that his actions spoke louder than his words and that you didn't need to hear him say it back.

He'd stopped viewing love as weakness at twenty-three, when an old but well respected gang associate had told him that trying to think love made him anything but strong was idiotic while the group was on a heist in Ravka.

The bloke was seventy, maybe, and had apparently adopted that mindset early on into his life. He'd kept it up til he was in his fifties and cost himself a family, a partner. Thinking of love as a weakness was something he'd gone on to regret, and while he'd indeed found the love of his life at fifty-two, he still regretted all else that the mindset had cost him.

Loving you, he realized, made him strong. On his most difficult days, you were there to offer a listening ear and a solution.

Love was not a weakness, as it turned out, and some days, despite what the seventeen year old Kaz Brekker might've said if he knew, love was what kept twenty-eight year old Kaz Brekker going.

One of your hands treaded through his hair before moving down his forehead, along the scope of his nose and his cheekbones, then his chin and his lips and the center of his neck, finding the divot at it's end that indicated the middle of his collarbone.

Kaz decided, in that moment, he would kill the reason you needed to leave your shared bedroom if one came up. He loved moments like those as much as you did, cherished them with everything he had because they were few and far between.

You pulled him down just a bit, pressed a kiss to his forehead and then a quick peck to his lips after he'd nodded and affirmed it was okay to, and Kaz looked at you and all that he could think of was the fact that you were so close.

You were so close to him, and he was so close to you, and he didn't want to do anything more than get closer.

"I love you," he said, breathless and touch starved and full of enough yearning to last five lifetimes.

"I love you too," you responded. Kaz's lips dipped near yours, and when you nodded, he kissed you.

It was kiss that said everything that Kaz couldn't manage to form into words, gratitude and joy and contentedness and sheer, undying and fiery love.

When Kaz pulled away, you were grinning, and so was he.

Eventually the two of you drifted off to sleep again, the only thoughts in your minds having been how much of a joy it was to be in the others company.

[goatcheesecak3]

Comfort

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x gn!reader

Fic type: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, caregiver reader

Warnings: brief mentions of gun violence, ptsd

Summary: Adam has been suffering from panic attacks since news of another jigsaw attack hits the news, and needs comforting.

A/n: hello! I've been looking forward to writing more about Adam's soft side, so i hope you enjoy! Remember requests are open, and I'd love to hear feedback! Knowing that people enjoy the things I write really helps motivate me to write more <3

Adam had been having a real rough time as of late. Usually, he was quite good at not letting his past trauma get to him, and when the news broke that the jigsaw killer,  John kramer, and his right hand man, Amanda Young, were found dead, he really felt as though his nightmare was over. But news had recently broke that another one of John's sick "games" had taken place. Five people kidnapped and put through torment, only two of whom had lived. Maybe it was another "apprentice" as the police had called them. Or perhaps a copycat? It wasn't so far fetched, jigsaw had accumulated a somewhat cult-like fan base. Most of them were just people with morbid curiosity, they followed the case a little too obsessively but swore they disapproved of John's actions, although a few nutcases had popped up all over the city, thinking of John as some kind of pied piper, cleaning the city of the people they deemed unworthy. One of whom was Adam's ex best friend, Scott Tibbs. In the time that Adam was missing, Scott had completely lost it. He never was the most stable person but this was crazy, he was jealous of the horrific ordeal that Adam went through, he saw it as some kind of rebirth, he thought John was a genius. It made Adam feel sick to know that there were others out there who shared the same views as the evil fuck who ruined his life.

On a good day, Adam could mask his fear with anger, but today was not one of those days.

"Adam, do you want a cup of tea before bed?" You called from the kitchen into the bathroom where Adam was just stepping out of the shower.

"Yeah, that'd be great babe" he called back.

So far, it was a normal night (or about as normal as a night can be when talks of your boyfriend's attempted killer making a return are all over the news). Normalcy was something both of you had strived to keep, it was important not to let Adam slip back into his reclusive ways. He was doing good, but you knew any small thing could set him back, so you kept a close and caring eye on him.

"Here," you smiled, entering the bedroom and handing a mug to a rather tired looking Adam. He looked adorable in his loose tshirt and boxers, his thick black hair still damp and ruffled from a futile attempt at towel drying it.

Adam kissed your cheek and held your waist- a little tighter than he usually did. He was scared. He did a good job of hiding it, but the signs were there, that fear was bubbling up just below the surface.

"You wanna watch a movie tonight? I like the idea of getting all cosy with a movie in bed" you suggested, climbing under the duvet and patting the spot beside you. You wanted to distract Adam from his own thoughts as much as you could, and a movie was a good place to start.

"Sounds good" he smiled softly, knowing your intentions. He gently placed his tea down on the bedside table, and clambered into bed, snuggling up to you.

After flipping through the channels for a little while, the two of you found a channel that played exclusively dogshit, straight to TV romcoms.

Finding, watching and poking fun at the worst movies possible was a particular favourite past time for the two of you, so when your disparaging comment on how cheesy the protagonist was, was only met with a half hearted chuckle, you knew Adam's mind was elsewhere.

That fear was growing, you could practically feel it radiating out of Adam's chest, a palpable sense of anxiety emitted from the poor man, all while he tried his best to seem calm.

That was when a from somewhere outside, a car backfired. That was it for Adam, before you could even process where the two loud bangs had come from, he had burst into floods of tears. He was blubbering, holding his hands over his ears and hunched forward, as though trying to make himself as small as possible. His cries were the most heartwrenching sound you'd ever heard, they weren't that of a grown man, no, in this moment Adam was no more than a frightened little boy. He was so small and helpless, so afraid and so tiny. He hugged his legs to his chest tightly as his eyes rapidly scanned the room before fixating on the bedroom door.

Of course, ever since the bathroom Adam had associated loud bangs with gunshots, with a madman running into the room with the intent to kill. In his head he was back there.

"Sweetheart, deep breaths" you whispered, ever so gently placing a hand on his back and rubbing in slow circular motions.

Adam gasped for air between sobs, gripping onto the duvet so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Shhhhh, that's it honey, just catch your breath"

You spoke softly, not wanting anything else to alarm him.

Adam's breathing had slowed, but the tears still poured down his face and the wails still rung out from his mouth. You pulled him into an embrace and he collapsed into you. You took this opportunity to carefully guide him into a laying down position, so that he was cuddled up to your chest while you wrapped your arms around him. Your poor, sweet baby, you'd do anything to protect him.

"I know honeybun, it's scary isn't it? But you're so brave, who's my brave boy, hm?" You cooed, stroking his hair and letting some much needed praise rain down on him.

"I am.." Adam sniffled, taking in deep gulps of air and feeling immensely safer now that he was starting to remember where he really was.

"That's right, baby! You're the bravest boy in the world" you smiled, hoping your warm and nurturing tone would bring him some sort of comfort.

"Do you want your kitty?" You asked.

'Kitty' was Adam's childhood stuffed animal, he didn't like to sleep with it every night, but you kept it in a box right under the bed in case he ever needed it.

In that box was an array of things that helped Adam with his ptsd, panic attacks and insomnia. Noise cancelling headphones, eye masks, stress balls, snacks, even activity books. But none of them ever held a candle to kitty, a raggedy black toy cat with a big bald patch on it's head from years of nuzzling from Adam.

You felt around under the bed for a few seconds until you found the box and pulled it out, taking off the lid and handing Adam his kitty. Adam took it and held it to his face, burying his nose in it's head and closing his eyes.

"Do you want anything else, sweetpea?" You asked, offering the box to him.

Adam didn't speak, he never did when he got like this, instead he pointed at a packet of animal crackers.

You couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, he looked adorable, and the fact that he was hungry was a good sign.

"Alright my love, crackers it is" you said, opening up the packet for him and handing them over.

Adam took one out and began to nibble on it slowly, he liked to chew things when he was anxious. Sometimes it was his shirt sleeves or fingernails that got the brunt of it, so you were trying to help him find alternatives.

You turned to look at Adam, he had stopped crying but his eyes were still wet, and his face tear stained. He sniffled quietly, his eyes vacant and his hands trembling as they clutched onto his teddy. You could tell exactly how he was feeling, still frightened but mostly embarrassed. He hated feeling so pathetic, being reduced to a snivelling wreck, trembling like a lost puppy. Reassurance was imperative to make sure Adam felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable, you didn't want him to start bottling things up again out of shame. You wiped his eyes dry with your thumb, and cradled his chin so that he was looking at you.

"It's alright, baby. You're safe," you whispered.

Adam snuggled up to you, burying his face in your chest and breathing you in, slowly and calmly until he had stopped shaking. He was starting to feel a lot better.

"Y/n?" He said, so softly that you almost didn't hear him.

"What is it, my sweet?"

"Can we put alien on?"

Alien was Adam's favourite film of all time, not your conventional comfort film, but Adam associated it with fond memories of being a young boy. One of his friends had stolen it from their older brother, and Adam and all his boyhood chums had watched it together at a sleepover. To this day, whenever Adam watched that film he could practically smell microwaveable popcorn, taste cans of flat cola, hear raucous laughter and feel the safety of being surrounded by people that loved him. He didn't have the best upbringing, and his family weren't so kind to him, so this particular night with all his buddies in a house far from his own was one of the few comforting memories from his youth.

You'd put the dvd in the player and turned on a few lamps, just so the extra light kept Adam aware of his surroundings, and climbed back under the covers where Adam, having finished his crackers and tea, shuffled over to you and rested his head on your chest.

He clung onto his kitty, and stared at the TV, his eyelids very slowly becoming droopy.

"Y/n?" He mumbled, almost out cold

"Yes, hun?"

"Kitty says thank you for looking after us"

You could hear the smile in his voice

"Well, tell kitty I'm always happy to look after both of you" You chuckled, kissing the top of Adam's head and giving him a squeeze.

He hummed sleepily and began to drift off, dreaming of cats, aliens, and best of all,  you.

[farfromstrange]

Lizzi’s Valentine’s Special & Follower Celebration

Dear Everyone,

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and I thought, since this silly little blog hit over 1.1k followers yesterday, I want to give you something special.

First of all, though, I want to thank you. I’ve been on here since (and I checked with the archive) July 19, 2022. I can't believe that it has been almost two years. I started watching Daredevil after watching Spider-Man: No Way Home in December of 2021 and hearing Matt Murdock say, "I'm a really good lawyer," after catching a brick. So, I started watching the show, and that was during a time I was really miserable. Mentally and physically, I wasn't in a good place, but after watching Daredevil for the first time and falling in love with Charlie Cox as a genuine person and an actor, it felt like I found a reason to keep going.

I started writing fanfiction again, which I kind of neglected because I felt like this hobby of mine wasn't going anywhere. I wasn't inspired at all until I watched the show. If I hadn't, I probably would not have gotten back into writing and using it as an outlet for my feelings, and I probably wouldn't be where I am today. Thanks to Charlie's portrayal of Matt Murdock, and watching his interviews, I felt like I could do the things that I love again and follow my dreams. He's the reason I chose to major in English. And while I owe him that much, I owe you guys here on Tumblr and AO3 even more.

When I first posted here, I didn't think people would even be interested in what I had to say and write. But then more and more people started visiting my profile, you guys started following me, and it kept me motivated to keep writing, even when I'm miserable, and I sometimes only post once every blue moon.

I feel so honored that you guys chose to follow a silly little blog run by a silly little 20-something-year-old whose first language isn't even English (but made it her entire personality), and who chose to write about traumatized dark-haired characters portrayed by Charlie Cox. I'm overwhelmed by the love you continue to show me, and every time one of you chooses to reblog or comment on one of my works, saying that it resonated with you, I feel like I'm doing something right. I'm sharing my ideas, my own experiences, my wishes, and even my deepest, darkest dreams through my writing like it's a fucking diary, and you eat it up every single time.

I'm just so glad that this community exists, as chaotic as it sometimes is, and that you chose to stick around, even when I suck at keeping promises sometimes. You keep teaching me new things about who I am, my writing, and how important it is to put myself first. I don't know if you've heard it lately, but you guys are incredible and I appreciate the hell out of every single one of you.

Thanks to Tumblr, I made lifelong friends (especially looking at you, @blackshadowswriter) and found like-minded people that made me feel less alone. That alone was worth making this account and continuing to post on here.

You may think that I'm being dramatic, but for someone who has never really experienced the kind of validation this community gives me, I want to celebrate this milestone. It means more to me than I can even put into words. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I love you all so much! Please, don't ever forget how amazing you are.

That being said, I've got some exciting things planned.

The other day, I found a folder in my Docs titled "the vault". I completely forgot about it because I usually keep my WIPs in a different folder. As it turns out, I made that folder for fics that I originally never planned to post, or ones that I'd finished but wasn't happy with. It’s many, but it’s a few. Some are deeper than others. I also jotted down rough ideas and outlines last year that I stuffed in there, some of which I've actually shared with you but never started working on. Until now. And the contents of that vault are what I want to give to you now.

INTRODUCING: The Vault

6 stories from the vault. 1 bonus fic. 7 days.

I went through a myriad of emotions while I wrote these. For some, I actually bled my soul onto paper. For others, it was merely a brain fart that led to their existence. They're sad, horny, and at times angry, but some of those were originally written for me, and only me. Those that weren't started as a few sentences in a folder before I forgot they existed. Either way, I don't want them to catch dust. And I wouldn't want to share them with anyone else.

Starting February 14th, I will be posting one fic every day until February 20th. My “The Vault” works are Matt Murdock x Reader works, but I've made an exception for the bonus fic. I won't tell you what they are about, but I will give you a list of installments and what kind of fic they are so you know what to be excited about (and maybe which ones are not your cup of tea).

-> The number at the end tells you the date I will be posting it on, but I put it in chronological order as well.

INSTALLMENTS:

1. If You Need To Be Mean (angst, hurt/comfort) 14.

2. Mismatched Bridesmaid (fluff, smut) 15.

3. Weed Cookies (humor, fluff, cw: accidental drug use) 16.

4. the grudge (songfic, angst, hurt/comfort, cw: death of a parent) 17.

5. Halloween (Smut) 18.

6. I Want To Fuck A Priest (Smut, cw: priest!Matt) 19.

BONUS:

7. Now That We Don’t Talk (Part 2 of Is It Over Now?) -> Frank Castle x Reader (smut, angst) 20.

A few more words: You are free to send me an ask if you want to know more, but be prepared that I won't be answering in much detail. I don't want to spoil the fun. I would, however, not mind talking about them as vaguely as possible (if you’re interested).

Thank you all. For everything. And I hope you stick around to read these little gems.

With love from yours truly,

Lizzi <3

[angelsnkisses]

sub gabriel smut where he just needs a lot of praise??? and like reader is giving him a handjob and telling him not to move but he accidentally thrusts up his hips and reader calls him a bad boy n he s like nononnonono im your good boy:((

A/N: i love this idea :(( ofc anon, ty for the request <3

Good Boy ♡ - Gabriel x gn!reader

‼️ NSFW - MDNI ‼️

warnings: sub!gabe, dom!gn!reader, handjob, edging

disclaimer: i am not romanticizing or sexualizing mental illness, nor do i intend to upset or harm those struggling.

holy shit sorry for the gifs quality 😭

You had worked late that night, and you were so excited to finally be home. You had missed Gabe all day, craving a hug from him more than anything.

You shuffled into the apartment from the freezing cold outdoors, shuddering gently as you shut the door. The heated living room was comforting, warming you up as you slipped off your jacket.

You didn't call out for Gabe, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep by now. You wouldn't be surprised if he was, it was later than you expected. You quietly walked down the hall, opening the bedroom door as slow as you could manage.

Light from the hallway leaked into the dark room. You were right, Gabe was already asleep. You kicked your shoes off, stripping down to your underwear before getting in bed with him and cuddling close to his chest.

He whined softly at the disturbance, his eyes blinking open. When he processed that it was you, his irritated face relaxed immediately, a sleepy smile breaking out across his lips. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

"Hi, baby," he mumbled, pushing his face into your neck so he could kiss the soft skin. You hummed, heart swelling with adoration. He was so sweet, always happy to see you. It always made you feel better, no matter how bad your day was.

"Hey there," you chuckled, hands falling on his shoulders. You rubbed them gently, enjoying the warmth he was providing. "I missed you," you added, feeling him nip at your neck a bit.

"Mhmm.. I missed you, too," he agreed, clearly distracted. You grinned, your hands slipping to his chest. He was getting more eager with his movements, pulling you closer and biting your neck lightly.

"I can tell," you giggled, pulling back. He huffed in protest, trying to get his lips back on you. You held him back with your hands planted firmly on his torso, shaking your head. "No, no.. that's not how you get what you want, honey," you cooed, and it was like a switch flipped in his mind.

"I've needed you all day. Please," he begged quietly, sounding more awake now. You could feel his hands running up and down your sides, making you shiver gently.

You pulled back, tugging him up so you were both in a sitting position. You leaned on his shoulder, looking down at his pajama pants. He was already semi-hard, making your lips twitch into a smile.

"My pretty boy, were you waiting for this? You poor thing.." you pitied in his ear, listening to his shaky breaths. He whined softly, embarrassment tinting his tone as he nodded. You pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder, one of your hands rubbing his thigh lovingly.

"Use your words, hm?" you encouraged, ignoring his humilated little noises. He parted his shaky lips, forcing out an agreement.

"Y-yes, I was."

You smiled at his obedience, allowing your hand to tug on his pants. "Good boy, Gabe.. take these off for me," you ordered. More blood rushed to his dick at your words as he scrambled to do as you said, pushing the pants down before pulling them off his legs. He didn't have underwear on, making you bite your lip absentmindedly.

He was almost fully hard now, precum leaking from his tip as he shuddered, cold air hitting the sensitive area. He attempted to turn away and hide his face again, but you shook your head, your hand inching closer and closer to where he needed you.

"No, Gabriel. Watch what I'm doing, like a good boy," you motivated quickly.

He whined again, but still did as he was told. He thrived off your praise, he needed it. He would do anything to earn it.

You took hold of his throbbing cock, his hips jerking when your cold fingers wrapped around the heated skin. You sighed at the weight in your hand, not realizing how much you'd really missed it.

"I need you to be still, baby. Can you do that for me?" you asked gingerly. He nodded, his eyes watching your hand as he was told. "Yes, I can do that f-for you," he muttered shyly, earning another kiss to his shoulder.

"Hm, good.." you said before you started pumping your hand slowly, listening to the low moan that left Gabe's throat. His head feel back, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. He remembered your order to keep watching and quickly corrected himself.

"Such a pretty cock, just aching for me," you mused. He let out a shaky whimper, trying not to move when you started speeding up.

He moaned loudly when your thumb brushed over his reddened tip, involuntarily bucking his hips up into your touch. You stopped moving, tutting in disappointment.

"Oh, no.. what did I tell you? Bad boy.." you scolded in a quiet voice, looking up at him. His eyes widened as he shook his head, his eyes watery at the lack of touch.

"N-no! Nononono, I'm your good boy- please, I won't do it again. I'm s-sorry, please. I'll be good! I'll be good, please," he begged in a cracked, panicky voice, a couple tears slipping down his red cheeks. You had never seen him beg so frantically before, he must of been really pent up.

You shushed him, leaning up and pressing a silencing kiss to his trembling lips. He kissed you back, his eyes squeezing shut. He released a broken moan against your lips when you started moving your hand again, faster this time.

"Oh, f-fuck! Mmh, please," he whimpered, the sound music to your ears. He was extra good for you, pulling back to watch what you were doing. He stayed still for you, other than his dick occasionally twitching in your hand.

"A-ah.. I'm gonna cum, fuck," he moaned, his voice shaky and his whimpers more consistent.

"Yeah? Hold on a bit longer, baby. Be a good boy and wait," you purred, ignoring his whines. "I can't! Please, I can't," he cried, his legs trembling and his lower abdomen spasming.

"Yes, you can. I promise you can," you assured him, your hand stroking him feverishly. He was fighting back his orgasm for dear life, praying he didn't accidentally finish against your orders.

You tormented and edged him for a bit longer before leaning up, pressing a kiss to his cheek before your lips moved to his ear.

"Alright, baby, you can cum for me. Good boy," you mumbled, feeling his cock throb as he moaned. He tossed his head back, a whimper escaping the back of his throat as he released white, sticky ropes of cum all over your hand and his torso. His hips pushed up a little, but you didn't mind anymore. You just let him get through the orgasm, kissing his neck.

"Oh my god, oh shit~ thank you, th- oh, thank you," he moaned pathetically, slumping against you.

You smiled when he turned, catching his lips with yours in a slow, affectionate kiss. He had done so well for you, and you were immensely proud.

"Good job, baby.." you started, pulling back. You looked at your cum soaked hand, beginning to lick it clean while you held his eye contact. He moaned quietly at the sight, his dick pulsing subtly.

You leaned your head down, lolling out your tongue and beginning to lick up the salty cum from his abdomen. His breath hitched, his dick already starting to harden again at the sight.

"My turn," you said against his skin, slowly moving up so you could hover over his cock..

**

A/N: sorry for robbing you guys 🤭🤭. i loved this request, it's so sweet! i haven't proofread this yet, but i hope you enjoyed <3. thanks again, anon!

[unintentionaloracle]

Alone At Last [Fic]

I come bringing (mostly) angst! Next time, who knows?

Summary: When Kevin joins Solo's team for WarGames out of spite, Sami confronts him privately. But Kevin has his own grievances with The Once-Again Honorary Uce. Will they be able to reconcile? What revelations will come to light? And will this confrontation cause its own problems?

“What the hell, Kevin!?”

Those were the first words out of Sami's mouth as he followed Kevin backstage to the locker and dressing rooms. Kevin wordlessly stormed into one of said dressing rooms, seemingly at random, Sami following. He wasn't going to let up. Not when he needed some answers.

“What’s up with you lately? HOW COULD YOU JOIN SOLO’S BLOODLINE!?” Sami said as he slammed the door behind him. He locked it so Kevin couldn't storm away easily. While he had no idea whose dressing room this was, at the moment he didn't care. Besides, it was better to be away from the cameras and prying eyes for once. This was just about him and Kevin.

Kevin scoffed. “Weren't you always telling me I needed to make more friends?”

“Not the literal bad guys!” Sami said with a frustrated groan.

“Excuse me!? You're the one working with Roman! Has that man even apologized for what he's done? No? So he's still a dick! AND WHY'S IT OKAY FOR EVERYONE TO TEAM UP WITH HIM BUT NOT FOR ME TO TEAM WITH SOLO!?”

“I’m only doing this to help my family. And for the greater good! You're doing this to be an asshole!”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Really, that's all? Helping the “family” that made you jump through hoops just to stay seated at the kiddie table?” He snapped. “And because you've always gotta be so noble? To feed your insane addiction to protecting every lost puppy on the roster who bats their eyes at you?” Kevin bitterly mocked. “Even if it hurts me?”

“YES! ...I mean no...I mean Kevin, I–” Sami started to question his own motives. Those things were true, but...when he thought about it...

Kevin folded his arms. He smirked. “And maybe The real Bloodline is offering me the only support I've had in weeks. It's been a rough year for me...”

“Partially because of THEM!” Sami countered, exasperated. “And I've had a rough year, too! I lost my title to a prick, I can't get the world title to save my life, our friend group is falling apart, and I've been watching you go off the deep end!” He shoved Kevin. “So yeah, maybe I also want to go back to a time that made some sense for me, for better or for worse. Just for a bit...”

“Oh, so I wasn't a time that made sense to you!?” Kevin said, shoving back.

“YOU HAVEN'T BEEN ANSWERING MY CALLS! I DON'T KNOW WHAT WE ARE ANYMORE!” Sami shouted, his voice cracking with pain.

Kevin froze.

“I tried calling you so many times. I tried to call you after Bad Blood. I tried to call you to check on you each week. I tried to ask for your advice on The Bloodline situation. I called to try and invite you to WarGames...And you never answered,” Sami explained, shaking. “And with everyone saying this crap about us not being friends and going on about how much you loved Randy, it's... it's hard not to wonder if that's true...” Sami felt tears well in his eyes.

Kevin softened. “Sami...”

“Kevin, just tell me: have the last few decades meant anything to you? Have I just been wasting my time? Because I meant it, from the bottom of my heart, when I told you I loved you almost two years ago. And I've meant it every other time. So if you don't, just tell me! So I can move on. Please, just free me...” Sami said, pleading as the tears finally fell.

Kevin took a deep breath. Sami couldn't read his expression. “God, you drive me crazy...” Kevin said.

“That's not really an ans–”

Kevin charged towards him quickly before grabbing his face and kissing him roughly. Hard. He spun their positions around and pinned him against the nearest wall. Then, as quickly as he took the kiss, he broke it off. He stared into Sami's soul as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Sami knew what happened next was probably a bad idea. Especially if his team–if Roman–found out about it.

He didn't care.

He pulled Kevin back in and kissed him just as roughly. Kevin reciprocated, holding Sami's legs up as he pinned him harder against the wall. They continued to make out (Kevin sneaking some well-received kisses to Sami's neck as well), pawing and clawing at each other like they were twenty years younger and lacked the baggage that came with those years.

Kevin threw Sami down on the couch. Panting, Sami looked up at him, ready to give him the green light to make this bad idea worse...

Instead, Kevin seemed to crumple. He flopped on top of Sami, breathlessly, before clinging to him. His head rested on Sami's chest. Sami, without a thought, started to rub his back and stroke his hair. It was probably for the best that things didn't go any further right now. Not in their current state.

(Plus, Sami thought as he finally assessed the room, specifically noticing the framed photo of Randy that had fallen to the floor during their passionate flurry, I think this is Cody's room...)

“I do love you...” Kevin mumbled. “It's why I wanted to protect you...”

“Hmm?” Sami said, snapped out of his thoughts.

“I spread the rumor I'd never had a real friend. I thought if it spread that maybe people would leave you alone if things got bad, like with The Bloodline. That if I acted up, you wouldn't get punished so they could punish me. That nobody would attack you to get to me. Or any other way they could use you against me. I wanted you to stay out of this...”

“And then I rejoined The Bloodline...” Sami said.

“You hurt me, Sami,” he said simply. “You chose him again...”

“I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking.”

“I know you didn't. And I'm sorry. I hurt you again...”

“Well, that sums up the last twenty years of our relationship,” Sami awkwardly joked.

Kevin didn't respond.

Sami rubbed his back soothingly. “Kev, what's up with you, lately? I can't remember the last time I've seen you like this. Or if I've ever seen you like this. I don't know if I can fix it, but I can listen, at least. I just hate to see you so isolated...”

“I...I don't know, Sami...” Kevin said wearily. “And honestly, that scares me...”

Sami kissed the top of his head and continued rubbing. “...I can't just abandon Jey, Kev...”

“I know you wouldn't. And Solo and his boys won't let me leave...” Kevin said. “Not without consequences. For both of us if they found out about this.”

Sami sighed. He cupped Kevin's face.

“So what are we gonna do?”

[i-guess-im-into-this-now]

The Apothecary Diaries

S1E10 First Watch

Here's where I watch The Apothecary Diaries for the first time and give my thoughts, analysis, predictions, and occasionally I stumble into a joke.

To start at the beginning:

Episode 1

My character/location cheat sheet

Lady Ah-Duo - Pure Consort, one of 4 top concubines

Garnet Pavilion - Lady Ah-Duo's residence

Fengming - Head LIW at Garnet Pavilion

Xiaolan - Maomao's servant friend

Lady Lishu - child bride concubine

Lady Lihua - the consort who was poisoned by powder

Jade Pavilion - Lady Gyokuyou's residence

Luomen - Maomao's physician father

Sir Kounen - Jinshi's older acquaintance who died

This episode fought me hard. Like, I struggled a lot with it. I'm more lost than I've ever been in this show. And forewarning, much of this episode's blog is me spinning wild theories, since I couldn't actually figure out what is happening.

And full disclosure, I had to watch this episode twice. I watched it once while I was tired, and could not figure out a lot of it. So I slept on it, let the mysteries roll around my head all day, and then watched it again and I'm still confused about many things! But I had some insights about a couple things, and added some more notes to my initial watch responses. Enjoy!

Cryptic opening. A person sits drinking alone on what appears to be the walls of the palace.

Palace gossip! The girl who drowned used to serve at the Garnet Pavilion. Word has it that she's the one who poisoned Lady Lishu's food. Could she have done it because Lady Ah-Duo is at risk of losing her place as one of the top consorts to a younger concubine?

At age 35, Lady Ah-Duo is so, so old. She's practically geriatric. Way too old to be a favored consort, even if she has been married to the emperor since he was the crown prince, and bore him a child that died.

And the math is funny when you have to consider child brides, but there is a possibility that if that infant that she bore had in fact not died, that they would be a young adult right about now. Right around the age of Jinshi a lot of young men in the palace. This possibility isn't my leading theory, since the show has already implied that Jinshi is the emperor's brother, but it's a good back up. For what it's worth, Lady Ah-Duo has the right coloring and look to be related to Jinshi. Also, I have no idea how old Jinshi actually is, but Gaoshun keeps referring to him as a young person, so I'm guessing young 20s or late teens. Which means there is an age gap between him and his brother the emperor who we now know is 34.

I'm starting to notice a motif. Maomao describes the Rear Palace as a garden, and the concubines as flowers. I remember her talking to Lady Lihua about how one could not compare a peony to a bellflower. And now she says:

Even the most beautiful flowers wilt eventually. And those unable to bear fruit no longer serve a purpose.

The ladies of the Jade Pavilion prepare and host a tea party for Lady Lishu, which is fraught with politics. The party is attended by Lady Lishu's food taster, who is terrified of Maomao after the events of the Garden Party. But even so, it seems Lady Lishu is still being bullied by her ladies.

Of note: Maomao is dressed up for the party, and doesn't have her freckles on.

The ladies of the Jade Pavilion won't let Maomao help clean up and they toss her out into the hall claiming she needs to rest, but they may have ulterior motives, because a certain palace manager is waiting for Maomao there.

Jinshi wants to know about the tea party, and Maomao realizes that he may have had a hand in organizing this event. I assume he wanted Maomao to observe Lady Lishu with her ladies in waiting to determine if the bullying is still happening, which is a noble intention. Why he does these things without simply asking Maomao to help, I don't know. She doesn't appreciate being maneuvered, and her natural curiosity and desire to help usually get her involved anyway, so there really isn't a good reason for him to continue operating this way. But things have been weird since Maomao became despondent after the servant girl drowned. He's retreated to old behaviors, which include manipulating Maomao. And the mask of the enigmatic palace manager is back. He's all sparkles again.

Maomao tries to brush him off.

Jinshi: I am far from being done with you.

Understatement.

Maomao: Funny, I'm more than done with you.

A lie.

But she may be done with him in this moment. When he's sparkling, he's manipulating, and she knows it.

They are bantering as they always do, but this isn't honest or fun. And he's put his hand on her shoulder. She has asked him before not to do that. She slaps it off as she did last time. Nothing has changed. What she said before is still true. His status makes anything between them impossible, and he shouldn't be touching her.

His tone immediately changes, signaling his sincerity as he wants to talk about the servant girl who died. He's not convinced that it was a suicide. He's heard Maomao's thoughts on this before, and he believes her. He also doesn't want to give up on finding the truth and getting justice for that girl. And... I just love that.

We see Jinshi through Maomao's distorted lens so often, that it can be hard to see that he has heroic qualities. When we first met him, he seemed to be almost an antagonist to Maomao. He was using her in his machinations, trying to seduce her to more firmly control her, and keeping information from her. But his role in this story, is not that of an antagonist, he's the love interest, and he's got to be worthy of the hero. As we've moved through the story we've caught glimpses of his better nature, and we can read between the lines to see what his motivations and actions have been. He's got some growth yet to do, no doubt, but fundamentally, he's a good person. And here, with his pursuit of justice for the murdered servant girl, we get a good example of him becoming a hero in his own right.

This also demonstrates the impact Maomao has had on Jinshi. I do believe he cared about justice before Maomao arrived in his life, and I think he would have pursued this case regardless, but this case in particular has extra meaning to Jinshi, because of Maomao.

The woman who died is a servant girl, just like Maomao. Someone targeted this woman and murdered her, because she was expendable.

Maomao: I am but a lowly commoner. My life is easily taken away over the slightest error. [From episode 9]

And that is unacceptable to Jinshi.

He saw a despondent Maomao, and listened to what she had to say, and in the moment he had no idea what to do. And he still might not know what to say to Maomao, but he does know that servant girls don't deserve to die when they become an inconvenience to someone in power.

And servant girls shouldn't have to live in the palace feeling like their lives are expendable.

Maomao: We wander through life, never knowing when it's our time. That's fate. There's no way of resisting it. [From episode 9]

No. Not okay. Not to Jinshi.

He might not be able to escape the obligations of his station or be able to take off the mask he needs to wear, but he can at least use his power for this.

He saw Maomao at her darkest moment to date, and it threw him. He has pulled back a bit but as he said he's far from being done with her. Jinshi never gives up on Maomao. Big male lead energy.

And so Jinshi asks for Maomao's thoughts, as he always does. He always wants to know her thoughts, her conjectures, and he believes her. As he did with the drowned servant girl. Now he wants to know if she thinks the servant girl could have done what it's being said she did. He's not sure himself, but he trusts that Maomao will have some insight. Just as Jinshi's support and encouragement helps Maomao to solve mysteries, Maomao's careful analysis and even unfounded conjectures, help Jinshi make sense of the cases he's call upon to handle. They work better when they work together.

Jinshi has heard her thoughts about the servant girls death before, but he has to ask again:

Jinshi: Do you think she really committed suicide? Maomao: I've already told you that's not for me to determine.

And if Jinshi is back to masks, and sparkles, then Maomao is back to conjectures shouldn't be spoken out loud and "a mere lady-in-waiting wouldn't know."

Jinshi: She was a common servant girl. What reason would she have for attempting to poison Concubine Lishu? Maomao: I don't know.

The walls are up. The communication is down. Jinshi makes a frustrated sound. He tried asking her earnestly, and it got him nowhere. If Maomao is going to retreat to old behavior, so will he. It's time to ✨sparkle.✨

Jinshi will get to the bottom of this case goddamnit, even if he has to maneuver Maomao to do it. She's been sent to the Garnet Pavilion to help out get answers. She acts like she's upset at being sent, but don't listen to her. She wants to solve this case as much as Jinshi does.

That's... a hell of an intro for Lady Ah-Duo. She's going to be someone important isn't she? See wild theory above.

Caught it on the second watch, but the person on the wall was Lady Ah Duo. Her guan and hair style are the same, and when Maomao pictures her riding a horse, it's the same outfit at in the beginning.

Which begs the question, what was she doing sitting up on the rooftop drinking and staring at the stars?

Lady Ah-Duo is getting the kind of starstruck reaction usually reserved for Jinshi. And Maomao is wondering who Lady Ah-Duo reminds her of. Don't tell me my off-the-wall theory was correct? Shit, I'll have to rework all my other theories if that's true...

Everything at the Garnet Pavilion seems... nice. The servants work hard, and the head lady in waiting is kind, and approachable, different from what we've seen before with Lady Lihua's and Lady Lishu's servants. Maomao isn't sure what to do. She didn't get any specific instructions from Jinshi, and she's not sure where or what to look for. She's considering all of the angles though. In fact those thoughts are keeping her up at night. A servant girl who used to live and work in that very pavilion, was murdered. And someone did try to poison Lady Lishu. Maomao knows there must be a clue somewhere. It's driving her crazy.

This show just casually drops in commentary about the role of women in society.

She's (Fengming) well past her prime, but in another life, she would have made a great wife. I wonder if she ever considered marriage? Or if she chose to serve Concubine Ah-Duo for life?

I wonder if Maomao considers this her fate as well. Will she ever consider marriage? Will she choose to serve Concubine Gyokuyou for life? Do servants even get a choice? Do their desires matter at all? What about the concubines? Do they get a choice? Do their desires matter at all?

Lady Lishu shows up to the Garnet Pavilion acting weird as hell. Looking all around like she doesn't want to be seen. And she only has her one food taster with her. Strange for someone who may have been the target of an assassination attempt from the Garnet Pavilion.

Something about this doesn't add up. Why is she hiding her visit? Is she hiding from her own ladies? Is that why she only brought the one? Or is she avoiding someone else and didn't want a large retinue that would make her more noticeable. And why visit the Garnet Pavilion? What is the connection? She had the weird reaction to honey at the tea party she attended at the Jade Pavilion. Does this have something to do with honey? I really don't know. Maybe there will be some clues later on.

When she's done Maomao reports back to Jinshi, who... is acting very strangely. I think he's trying to seduce Maomao again. But, why use methods he knows will fail? Just what the hell is going on here?!

Maomao: And what's with his casual attitude recently?

Maomao thinks it's weird too.

He starts by lounging suggestively across the couch. Maomao finishes her report of the facts, and Jinshi asks her to go on... and I think I've figured out what he's up to. She's still holding back, not willing to share her thoughts and theories with him. He's pushing her. He tried talking it out before, and it didn't work, so this is plan B.

He pushes her with a pointed question, and that works! She tells him the facts she knows, her reasoning, and her opinions. Gaoshun and Jinshi share a look. Everything Maomao said aligns with what they already thought about Fengming.

The honey. Does the fact that Jinshi brought it mean anything?

Maomao: Given the way he's lapping up that honey, he must have already suspected her (Fengming).

I actually don't know how she gets to that leap of logic. Does she think he went to request a pot of honey from Garnet Pavilion to investigate himself? Maybe he or Gaoshun really did do that. Maybe that is how Gaoshun discovered that Fengming has a bandaged arm. I don't know.

What does he already know, before Maomao even gives her report? We know he knew about the bandage on Fengming's arm, but didn't tell Maomao about it. She noticed it and figured out it's significance on her own. She realizes that he already knew everything that she reported. So why bother to ask her?

My theory is that he's not sure, but he trusts Maomao's judgement and wanted to hear it from her to confirm his own thoughts, or see if she had any additional insights. Maybe to see if she can tie in any of the other mysteries. Or maybe he is seeing if she is a good spy. Perhaps he will use her this way again in the future, since she performed so well.

For what it's worth, I think he would like to be able to ask her opinion and have it freely given. And they may reach a day where he can simply consult with her, without her pulling away. But that day is not today.

There are also the mysteries of who tried to poison Lady Lishu, and why the servant girl that worked at the Garnet Pavilion was murdered. I think both Jinshi and Maomao would like to know if any of those things are connected.

Jinshi then does something so deeply weird... it's... he.... he tries to put his fingers In. Her. Mouth.

He offers her a pot of honey. An expensive luxury, with medicinal properties. It's something she probably would be willing to accept. However:

✨Jinshi✨: This is for you. Good girls should be rewarded.

She declines, completely freaked out. So he dips his fingers in the honey and corners her. What the absolute fuck Jinshi?!

Maomao: Offer it to someone who wants your fingers in their mouth!

Back the hell off with your honeyed words and your honeyed fingers!

Jinshi: Don't be so modest.

Is he doing this because she smacked his hand off of her shoulder earlier?

Maomao yells for help from Gaoshun, who pretends he can neither see nor hear what is happening. Holy hell. Don't these guys remember her story about nearly being assaulted? What the hell does Jinshi hope to achieve here?

Maomao is pissed at Jinshi, unnerved, and uncomfortable, but she's not triggered into having a trauma response. I think she must know that Jinshi would not force her. Even with the honey, I think he would stop shy of forcing his fingers into her mouth. I think, he thinks he is teasing her (it's harassment as Lady Gyokuyou says when she comes in). Maomao considers fighting. She considers submitting. She considers fleeing, but before she can decide what to do, she has an insight, which is what finally stops Jinshi.

Maomao has a moment where she thinks through some earlier events, like Lady Lishu not wanting to eat honey, and having had an allergic reaction to fish. She draws a connection that Lady Lishu may also be allergic to honey. Then she thinks about the servant girl who was drowned, about Lady Ah Duo, the servants, and Lady Lishu acting shady. And... I'm not sure what connection they have to honey, but I'm glad Maomao was able to connect all of the events. I knew she could do it, even if I can't!

My hero, Lady Gyokuyou walks in and Jinshi is caught honey red handed. And he runs away, like the guilty asshole that he is. Did I say he had heroic qualities earlier? I take it all back.

Gaoshun calls Maomao "Xiaomao" and tries to make excuses for Jinshi, calling this a prank that went to far. And barf. Fuck that excuse. And boy do I think there is some commentary happening here about sexual harassment and rape culture, but I won't digress into it.

Maomao: Since it was nothing but harmless fun, next time you can do the licking for me?

So, what is the point of this scene?

I've thought about it, and I'm swinging in the dark, but I think Jinshi is acting bizarrely because he is getting desperate. We've seen him slowly unraveling for awhile now, as he struggles between craving authenticity, and living up to the expectations of his status. To be clear, what he did is way across the line. It's certainly across the line in Maomao's eyes. It's also crossing the lines of propriety which is why Gaoshun pretends not to see, and why Lady Gyokuyou reacts so strongly when she sees it. But I think Jinshi has even crossed a line of his own that he normally wouldn't. So what would compel this usually composed and calculating man to behave in such an unhinged way?

Well I think it comes down to a few key events that happened recently.

Maomao left.

Jinshi has gotten rather used to having Maomao around. Being able to call upon her whenever he wants to take advantage of her incredible mind and unmatched skills. Or if he just wants to tease her or banter with her. She's the one who sees him. The one who makes him feel like he's a person, and not like he's just filling a role. So when he shows up and she's just... gone. Well. Jinshi did not like it.

He thought he lost her to another man.

Not only was she gone. She was gone with another man! Hadn't Jinshi been clear enough when he gave her a hair pin? How can she prefer Lihaku?! Also, doesn't she shrink away or cringe whenever Jinshi tries to touch her? How could she allow herself to be with Lihaku?! It turned out she wasn't physical with Lihaku, but for a moment there he saw what could happen. Jinshi did not like it.

Maomao's despair

That the machinations of the palace could tangle Maomao and get her killed, and that Jinshi would be powerless to stop it, well... This is intolerable to Jinshi.

Mix these feelings of loneliness, jealousy, and desperation and we get a Jinshi that is irrational. We've usually seen Jinshi in control of himself and everyone else around him. He's the mastermind, who knows how to move the pieces around the board to produce the outcome that he wants. And if he feels some way about what's going on around him or inside him, we usually have to guess, because he doesn't have anyone that he can talk to about it. So to now see him behave without thought, or reason, just from a place of desperation, of wanting to connect with Maomao, who just won't let him in, no matter what he does. Well, it's really weird, and inexcusable, but also kind of sad.

Whatever the case may be, Maomao uses this opportunity to ask Gaoshun for a favor. She's put the pieces together and now she needs evidence. Gaoshun accompanies her to visit Lady Lishu. His presence implies that the visit is sanctioned by Jinshi, which it is not. Maomao feels he owes her this one.

She wants to ask Lady Lishu about honey. Things are starting to come together for Maomao but I'm lost. I haven't figured out how exactly the conspiracy works yet, or what connection Lady Lishu has with the Garnet Pavilion. In any case, Lady Lishu had a dangerous reaction to honey as an infant and was told to never again eat it. And when Maomao asks about Fengming, Lady Lishu looks downright terrified. I'm also remembering that Lady Lishu was the child bride of the former emperor, and was mother-in-law to Lady Ah-Duo. That little tidbit probably wasn't dropped into this story for no reason. Just what is the connection between Lady Lishu, Lady Ah-Duo, and Fengming? Whatever Maomao suspected she didn't share it and now I'm starting to understand how Jinshi feels because I also want to force her to tell me what she thinks!

Gaoshun may not be a fan of JinMao but he is becoming quite a fan of "Xiaomao." He's giving her cutesy names and doing her favors with no reward. He has seen the way her brilliant mind works, her passion for protecting the powerless, her composure under pressure, and her superior competencies. She's earned his respect. When she asks, he searches through the court library, without question.

Wait a god damn minute. Honey. Lady Ah Duo's child appeared dead because they gave him honey. Of course they did, they have honey in abundance at the Garnet Pavilion. Then when the doctor was called he... took him out of the palace to safety? No that doesn't sound right. If the baby were a girl I would say yes, and that the baby was Maomao. But if that were true and we assumed that the emperor was her father, and we assume that Jinshi is the emperor's brother, than that would make Jinshi Maomao's uncle. Lol! Perfect. Absolutely perfect. But I don't think that's right.

So I've thought some more and I'm reminded that someone said the Emperor and Lady Ah Duo were foster siblings. I'd like to know more about that scenario, but regardless, I wonder if they truly saw themselves more like siblings than as spouses. I wonder if they didn't have physical relations at all. It would explain why they never had another baby in the many years they have been married. But then how did Lady Ah Duo end up pregnant you may ask. Well, there are not a lot of named male characters in this show that could fit the bill, so with my limited information, and a shot in the dark, I'm going to guess Sir Kounen. He was around in the palace with access to the imperial family, which we know because he had an impact on young Jinshi. Was he friends with the Emperor and Lady Ah Duo? Did Lady Ah Duo used to ride horses with him, then sit under the stars? Was that why she was drinking while stargazing at the top of the episode? Was she toasting to her past lover? I don't know. I don't really have any evidence at all.

So then what is with Fengming burning secret communication sticks? Well, if we consider that Lady Ah-Duo sneaks out to go horseback riding or meet up with her fellow who isn't the emperor, then maybe those communication sticks are for setting up secret rendezvous.

When Maomao was figuring out the connection of honey to every as yet unsolved mystery, she thought about how honey can nearly kill an infant, she thought about the servant girl who was murdered, and of Lady Ah-Duo, and if Jinshi is that baby, and honey was used to feint his death, then maybe the reason the servant was killed, was because she found out that the baby that was born was not the emperor's, or maybe that the baby lived. Or maybe she found out about Lady Au Duo having an affair, or maybe she saw Fengming using the secret communication sticks. Hmmm, could be a lot of things. There are a lot of secrets to keep in the Garnet Pavilion.

But how does Lady Lishu tie in? Am I way off here?

So I guess I'm now leaning towards Lady Ah-Duo's baby being Jinshi. Was Sir Kounen actually his father? And that would make Jinshi 17. He seems older to me. With all of his responsibilities, that makes me very sad to think he's so young.

There were two baby boys born around the same time, the baby of the emperor and the baby of the crown prince. Was there a baby swap in the palace? Did the emperor's child die? And they replaced that child with the Lady Ah-Duo's baby? Therefor removing Lady Ah-Duo's baby from the line of succession, since the child is a bastard and isn't actually of the imperial bloodline. That would kind of fit with how Jinshi is treated.

But you may ask, if Jinshi were Lady Ah Duo's baby and honey almost killed him at an infant, how can he sit around lapping it up now as an adult? Well, babies' deadly reaction to honey isn't due to an allergy, it's a rare infection. So even if you have a reaction as a baby, that doesn't mean you can't eat it as an adult. Will this be relevant later? Is that why the storytellers made such a spectacle of the honey scene? So we would remember it later?

Also, Maomao thinks it strange that the current emperor only had one concubine while he was still crown prince. That's even stranger if that one concubine was his foster sister whom he didn't have a physical relationship with. Did he also have a secret lover on the side? In the annex maybe? Perhaps someone that it wasn't appropriate to make into an official concubine? Perhaps Maomao's mother? Do we even know any characters that could fit this role? Fengming, maybe? The emperor comes to visit Lady Ah Duo, but he's actually there to see her head lady in waiting? Is Fengming actually using the communication sticks to set up a rendezvous for herself with the emperor? Did the lady in waiting find out, and the emperor's people had her killed? But Fengming is quite a bit older than the emperor so that's probably not it either.

Ahhhhgggg! This episode is too confusing! I give up! I want to threaten Maomao with some honeyed fingers and make her tell me what's going on!

I am really sorry to the people who read all of this. I have nothing good to offer you this episode. Just a ton of really wild, conjectures. Maybe I should take Luomen's advice and keep some of those to myself. Or maybe put them to use in writing a fanfic. lol.

If you want to start this blog series at the beginning:

Episode 1

Next episode:

Episode 11

[hopefulatrocity]

From The Ashes-Chapter 13

Notes: So, long time no post. I'm truly sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I've had some bad bouts of depression pop up and also had a switch of hyperfixations. This chap is actually one I had already written up, I just didn't post until now. I'm hoping this will motivate me to start writing again. Lots of misunderstandings between Daryl and Pheonyx going on right now. It won't last for long though, Pheonyx is very direct but they need to work through this before they can confront each other.

TW/CW: smoking, talks of past drug/alcohol abuse, past child abuse, allusions to past sexual assault, scars from abuse, animal death(possum and woodchuck), gore, blood, body insecurity, depictions of a walker,

If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know. I also post on AO3 and FF so you can subscribe there too.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics & @omiyours

Banner by: @liminal-creations

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In his 39 years of life, Daryl was more than familiar with the concept of losing time. He had his first sip of alcohol when he was 11 and 13 when he first got blackout drunk. Alcohol was something that had always been a constant in his life, although not as much in the recent years. After a while, his forms of escapism were molded by Merle’s. When he first started following his older brother around, he was immediately introduced to a world of doing and dealing drugs. For years, he’d watched his father shoot up and snort shit on a regular basis. So the idea of getting high was something he avoided for as long as possible. But his brother had a way of getting into his head and making him do things he wouldn’t typically do. It wasn’t long before he was dabbling in various illicit substances. Mostly weed, but he tried almost everything else. His limits being fentanyl and smack. He’d seen too many good people fall into those traps and he couldn’t bring himself to fully destroy his body, no matter how much he hated himself. Daryl was aware of his family’s inclination for addiction, his mother being an alcoholic, his dad being both an alcoholic and a drug addict. Because of that, he refused to allow himself to follow fully in his family’s footsteps. Despite his urges to do more, get high more, he held his ground. Which ultimately led to a knock out fight between him and Merle. The older Dixon had goaded Daryl, calling him a pussy and asked Daryl if he thought he was better than him. But Daryl knew the anger his brother was spewing wasn’t pointed directly at him. It was a manifestation of Merle’s internal demons, ones that hated that he couldn’t cope without some sort of substance coursing through his bloodstream. So, he let his brother lay into him a few times before he ended the fight. One well-placed right hook and his inebriated sibling was laid out on the stained carpet of the trailer they were renting.

 After that fight, he cut back on the hard drugs, sticking mainly with weed and alcohol as his vices. Lots of alcohol. Looking back, he could admit that he’d avoided one addiction by picking up another one, but in his mind, being a drunk was a better option. A slower death, riddled with lost time and moments of fleeting happiness and contentment. The walk back to his tent after seeing the scars that covered Pheonyx’s back, was probably the first amount of lost time that didn’t result from some sort of vice. All he knew was the feeling of shock, the itch to run, and suddenly his ass was planted on the grass in front of his tent. 

Shaking hands patted his pockets, searching for the packet of cigarettes that Pheonyx had given him earlier in the day. He pulled them out, fingers almost numb, and pulled a lighter from his other pocket. Placing one of the smokes between his lips, he flicked the lighter four times before his tingling fingers finally managed to get a flame to stick. Lighting the cigarette, he inhaled deeply and allowed the smoke to permeate his lungs. It had been almost a week since his last hit of nicotine and the rush of it pulsing through his veins helped to calm his frazzled nerves. Hands still shaking with the remnants of haunted memories personified, Daryl ran trembling fingers through his short hair. 

The only words going through his mind were four lettered words and one resounding question: How? How did Pheonyx get those scars? Was this all a mistake? Did Daryl misinterpret the long lines and rounded imperfections? Was it the product of some freak accident and not what he had assumed? If it wasn’t an accident, who would have done it? The scars were old, the coloring of the ones not covered in ink were a big indicator. They were  most likely from childhood. If it wasn't an accident, like his gut was telling him, then who could have done it?  Was it Pheonyx's stepdad, Hershel? No. Daryl didn’t think so. While Pheonyx had seemed uncomfortable earlier when his stepdad was around, it seemed to be more about the old man and his stupid beliefs on the walkers sentience. There wasn’t any fear in those fern green eyes. Not like the kind his own eyes held for his Pa. It could have been Pheonyx’s mom but he only seemed sad when he mentioned her death earlier. There wasn’t any relief to be found in his words. Briefly, Daryl wondered why he cared so much. They were scars, similar to his own, but they were on someone he had known for less than 24 hours. Why did it matter?

Taking another deep drag from the quickly burning cigarette, Daryl knew the answer was complicated. He’d only known the other man for a short time, but there was something there. A spark of something. Something he was unfamiliar with. Something that scared the shit out of him. So even if he had only known Pheonyx for a day or even just 5 minutes, he felt like he would still care. He wanted to know who had hurt the younger man. Maybe just so he would have somewhere to direct his anger. Because he was angry. Pissed. Furious. And every synonym in between. Those scars had him seeing images of his own past but also images of a tiny Pheonyx, being broken in the way he had been all those years ago. Was that why he had panicked earlier when Daryl asked about his gender? 

“Fuck!”, Daryl cursed, dropping the cigarette nub to the ground. Instinctively he pulled the side of his index finger to his mouth, soothing the small burn with his cool saliva. He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even noticed it burning down right to the filter, where his dirty fingers were clenching the little stick tightly. The slight wound wasn’t really painful, more of a shock to his already frazzled brain. Shaking his head in frustration at his foggy mind, he used the heel of his boot to put out the tiny stub, red embers fading into the grass, and unzipped the tent behind him. He crawled into the small space, barely remembering to turn around and zip the polyester flap closed. Before he flopped down onto his sleeping bag, he made sure to place his bow within reaching distance. 

In the span of less than half an hour, Daryl went from being wide awake to dog tired. The scratchy pillow under his head suddenly felt like a pile of cashmere. His eyes felt heavy and he covered them by flinging his arm over his face. 

He was so lost in a haze of sleep, he didn’t even notice the shuffling outside his tent, followed by the slow unzipping of the entryway. 

Pheonyx fucked up. Really fucked up. 

When he’d first walked out into the woods, he fell into a familiar rhythm. There was no trouble. Just the whispering of the trees and the resounding answers of wind chimes in every direction. With his bow raised, he walked with purpose, keeping his ears open for the sounds of nocturnal critters. It wasn’t long before one of his arrows was piercing through the night air and impaling a possum through the eye. Leaves crunching under his feet, Pheonyx walked towards his kill and knelt down next to the small animal’s body. This was one of the worst parts of his nights. He had to find fresh meat to bait his traps. The windchimes worked wonders to draw in the shadows to the stakes of his traps, but it usually wasn’t enough to entice the creatures to push themselves deep onto the spikes. That’s why he needed the meat as a final nail in their proverbial coffin. The shadows prefer fresh, breathing meat but if no other options were around, they would indulge on already butchered flesh. 1-2 days dead at most. A few weeks after the world fell, Pheonyx had found the body of a woodchuck, killed by a long forgotten bear trap closing on its foot. He’d taken the bear trap but left the body(after recalling Kismet to stop him from rolling in the dead animal), with full intentions to come back the next day and give it a proper burial. Instead, the next day, he stumbled on the walking corpse of his high school English teacher chowing down on the slightly decomposed body. This knowledge had helped him complete the plans for protecting his home. He had originally thought about rigging up small cages to the trees to house small animals as bait for the shadows. But the idea of putting an innocent creature in a box and emotionally torturing it just didn’t sit well in his stomach. Killing them still made him feel horrible, but at least it didn't prolong their suffering. 

When prepping kills to eat, a hunter would normally slit an animal’s throat to allow the blood to drain from the body. Pheonyx didn’t do that now. The blood was what drew in the shadows.  He picked up the animal, gently petted its soft creamy fur, and sent an internal thank you to its soul. Opting to leave the arrow in, to prevent anymore blood loss from the small body, he slung his bow over his shoulder. One would be enough for at least 5 traps, so he wanted his other hand–the one not holding the dead animal–to be free if he needed to grab his cutlass. Most nights, he would spend 8 hours clearing and checking each trap in the woods, but he didn’t have the time or energy to do that. His ultimate plan was to hit the ones, about half of them, that were closest to the farm, on the right side of the creek. Sophia seemed to be sticking to the left side of the water, which meant he would be able to check some of the others during the search the next day. He wouldn’t be able to check all of them, doing so would put them off course and be detrimental to finding the girl. But some were better than none. 

So far, he’d been lucky. The amount of shadows that wound up in the traps was manageable for one person running on little sleep and high levels of stress. Pheonyx wasn’t dumb. He knew that eventually he would crash emotionally or get hurt.  He needed help and Rick’s group was a beacon of hope for him in regards to his family’s safety. Not only were they experienced with the dead, but they also were motivated to stay and protect the haven of the farm. 

It was that train of thought that ultimately led to Pheonyx’s fuck up. His body moved on muscle memory to check the first four traps. While his body was working on protecting his family, his mind was back at the farm, back in the stables. As he was pulling off the rotted flesh from the trees, tossing it into the burn pit and replacing it with a chunk of the dead possum, his mind kept flashing back to the paleness of Daryl’s skin and the look on his face before he ran away. Pheonyx’s internal demons reared up, their raspy voices grating across his ear drums. 

He’s disgusted by you. 

You’re so weak and broken.

Why didn’t you fight back?

Why would he want you?

Shaking his head, Pheonyx tried to pull himself from the darkness. If he allowed himself, he could easily fall back into old habits. Self-destructive ones. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he dabbled in drugs and drank way too much in the past. Sometimes it was easier to find solace in the bottom of a bottle than to actually face his problems. If it wasn’t substances, his mind had its own ways of destroying itself. Constant self-berating and internal insults could make him physically ill sometimes. The end of the world wasn’t the time to be getting drunk or allowing his internal demons to claw the walls inside his body until the blood seeps from open wounds. 

Pheonyx finished refreshing the fifth trap, stabbing the leg of the possum onto the railroad spike that was already impaled into the old oak. He had tossed the head of the possum, the last piece of the animal’s body, to the side near his bow and quiver. Looking at his hands, he saw clotted blood soaked his fingers and stained his fingernails, the red color turning more brown as it dried in the evening air. Copper fragrance permeated his nostrils and he suppressed the gag from crawling up his throat. Pheonyx went to wipe his hands on the back of his jeans, as they needed to be washed anyways, but stopped when his hands met a soft fabric hanging from his back pocket. 

Pulling out the red rag, he noted the walker blood from earlier had dried and stained the cherry colored fabric. He could already see the possum blood soaking into the area where his fingers were. It blended more seamlessly than the black sludge from the shadow. Something about the idea of letting the threadbare cloth get even more dirty didn’t sit right with him, so he wiped one hand on the back of his jeans and then the other, moving the rag to the other hand in between. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he knew the rise of sentimentality surrounding the simple object was due to who it had belonged to originally. But the ultimate question was why? Why did he care about Daryl Dixon or what he thought? Growing up, he'd cared what everyone thought about him, ashamed of not fitting into their boxes and trying so hard to himself small enough to fit in them. After he came out, he’d learned to think less about it, and to follow his heart as opposed to chasing after the elusive judgements that people bestowed on him. That night had derailed him severely from his progress in those regards, but moving away had helped him become more independent when it came to freeing himself from the binds of society’s rigid standards. So, why Daryl Dixon? What about the older man made him want his acceptance so much? It wasn’t even really acceptance, Pheonyx wanted him. There had been flirting in the past. Brief glances of possible futures with girls and some guys, plenty of people he could have opened his heart to, to fall in love with, but he never had the urge to. Until him. 

That was where he messed up. While he was lost in his head, hand still rubbing the softened red rag, it snuck up on him. 

He smelled the shadow before he saw it. The scent of decay from the walking corpses was even more distinct than that of a dead animal or even a normal dead human. It was that sickly, rancid smell that filled his lungs. From experience, no amount of coughing or gagging could clear it away. Dark miasma coated his inner nostrils and flowed down the back of his throat, like the nasty cough medicine his mom would make him take when he was sick as a kid. Fear and adrenaline began to pulse through his veins and Pheonyx whirled around just as the sound of hissing and groaning reached his ears. 

The shadow was much too close to him, he could practically feel the fetid air escaping its lungs as it raised its hands to grab at his shoulders. Pheonyx barely had a second to sidestep the gnarled fingers, gray flesh hanging from under its fingernails. If he hadn’t moved, the monster would have pushed him directly into the spikes of his own trap. 

Heart slamming against his chest, Pheonyx grappled at his waist for the handle of his cutlass, but the shadow turned around. Instinctively, he took another step back and felt the air come out from under him as his foot slipped on a loose stone. He fell back onto the damp forest floor, a sharp pain ripping through his ribs, causing his lungs to constrict and his eyes to water from the pain. 

Before his senses could come back to him, the spongy weight of the decaying corpse fell directly on top of Pheonyx. Gasping loudly, not only for air but out of shock, he pushed against the shadow’s skinny collarbone with his right hand. His fingers practically melted into the mushy flesh, and black blood trickled between his digits and down onto his shirt. Midnight stained teeth snapped in front of his face and he had to breathe only from his mouth to avoid the rancid scent of blood and pus coming from the orifice. He pushed hard against the creature’s shoulder but despite its putrefying muscles, it was still incredibly strong. The hunger and need for flesh intensifying its strength. With his left hand, Pheonyx tried to search along his waist for the handle of his hunting knife, but he couldn’t reach it on the other side of his body. The walker’s hands dug into his own chest, trying desperately to gain any purchase. He threw his arm out, searching along the forest floor for any sort of weapon. Just as the tips of his fingers brushed against something soft, the hold that Pheonyx had on the shadow’s collar bone slipped. His fingers slid into soggy flesh and more black blood poured from the area his nails just slipped into, dripping onto his neck and chin. The texture of the decaying flesh was like chunky mud against his hand. This slip gave the creature all the leverage it needed to lean down and clamp its teeth into the sharp bone where Pheonyx’s shoulder met his neck.

 Letting out a cry of pain, Pheonyx grasped onto the furry object that his fingers brushed against and used a burst of strength to push the heavy body up, breaking the seal its mouth had on his body. Teeth snapped in his face, barely missing the tip of his nose, and Pheonyx instinctively shoved the unknown object into its muzzle. Now in his sight, he could see that the object in question was the possum head that he had tossed aside earlier. The monster’s teeth tore into the skull, crushing the bone with inhuman strength, causing fresh, red blood to pour onto Pheonyx’s face. Smacking and sucking noises as it chewed were sickening. The smell of copper filled his nose and the metallic zing of the fluid flooded his mouth. 

The distraction of the meat in the shadow’s mouth was enough for Pheonyx to gain the energy to push it back with one hand and reach around his body with the other hand to grab his hunting knife. The familiar textured hilt felt like heaven on his tired fingers. Pulling out the sharp blade, he pushed the chewing creature back and raised the knife up, bringing the weapon down into its skull. The soft bone caved under the pressure of his stab and more black sludge trickled down onto his already coated hand. 

Frantic movements ceasing, the shadow went slack against Pheonyx’s body and the partially macerated possum head fell directly onto his face. Suppressing the retch that his brain finally sent the signal for, Pheonyx shoved the body off of him, inhaling the fresh air deeply. There was still a remnant of decay in the air, and the lingering scent of copper from the blood that coated his body, but it was better than the acrid smell of the creature’s mouth inches from his face. 

Pheonyx laid there for a moment, his side and shoulder throbbing in tune to his still accelerated heart rate. That was the closest encounter he had ever had with a shadow that didn’t involve one of his traps. The closest he had been to death in almost 5 years. And he still could die. The pain in his shoulder was a reminder of that. He turned his head to look at the area, his hands beginning to shake as he thought of what happened when his brother and mother were bitten. The pain of watching them slowly die was excruciating. He wouldn’t put that on his family. If he was bitten, he would take the hunting knife from the monster’s head and push it into own skull before he allowed his sisters to see him slip from the world. 

In the darkness of the night, he couldn’t see much on his denim jacket besides blood. Black and red blood was splattered all across the chest like a morbid Jackson Pollock painting. He grabbed the fabric near his neck and pulled down to see a perfect black outline of the shadow’s teeth imprinted into the thick material. Each tooth mark a testament to how close he came to becoming one of the walking dead. While it didn’t look like it had torn through the jacket, he had to be sure. He pushed his hand under the collar of his t-shirt and used his fingers to prod the painful area. There was pain but he didn’t feel any scratches or broken skin. 

Pheonyx let out a deep breath of relief. He got up slowly, careful not to jostle his side, and began to gather his stuff. The few minutes before let him know that he wasn’t in the right state to be out. A flash of red on the ground next to the walker’s body stopped him mid step. He bent down to retrieve Daryl’s bandana he dropped when the creature attacked him. The cloth had been dirty before, a mixture of oil stains and blood. Now it was coated with more of the latter. At some point during the struggle, it must have gotten caught on a root or rock because there was a large tear through the center, nearly splitting the square in half. Red threads hung limply from the perforation and Pheonyx couldn’t help but feel a bit saddened. The shadow hadn’t gotten him but it did break something important. A normal person would have simply tossed the bandana, but Pheonyx had never been normal. His feelings about Daryl might have been full of confusion, and some anger from his earlier actions, but he couldn’t find it in him to part with the cloth that had seen better days. Maybe he saw a bit of himself in the insignificant object. Torn and stained by past events but there was still some life left in the old bones of thread. He gently folded the bandana and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He had an idea of what to do with it but that would have to be done later. 

Weapons in hand, and in sheaths, he began the trek back home. It was slower going due to the pain in his side and just general tiredness. The adrenaline had faded and now he needed to sleep. But a shower was needed first. 

By the time he made it to the farm, Pheonyx guessed it was around two in the morning, based on the position of the moon. He stopped briefly into the stable to drop his weapons off near his pallet. The horses were all asleep. Baker did wake when Pheonyx dropped his bow and quiver onto the ground. The old horse gave a snort that roughly translated to “Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to sleep.” before flicking his tail and turning the other way. 

Grabbing some clean clothes from his bag, Pheonyx headed out of the stables towards the farm house. The yellow aura from the moon hit the old glass windows, reflecting the luminescence like a lighthouse, sending a beacon to let him know the way home. 

Carefully, Pheonyx walked across the porch and slowly opened the door, wincing a small bit when it let out a loud squeak. He really needed to fix that. The journey through the living room and up the stairs was filled with more squeaks and winces. Each sound a memory of Shawn or Maggie getting caught sneaking out in the middle of the night. Pheonyx never had that problem. He didn’t have any reason to be sneaking out like his siblings did. Friends and dating were not part of his teenage years. He could barely handle his own internal problems, adding anyone else to the mix just seemed like a recipe for disaster. 

The sounds of Hershel and Maggie snoring greeted him at the top of the steps. And yes. Maggie snored. No matter how much she denied it, she was louder than a New York construction site. Pheonyx made his way into the bathroom, making sure to avoid the third floorboard after the stairs because it was the loudest, and carefully shut the door. He flipped the lock and reached to turn on the bright camping lantern that was resting on the white countertop. While the Greene farm did have a generator, they only ran it for a few hours each morning and evening. Just enough to keep the fridge cold, to make meals, and to take hot showers. Taking his showers in the early hours before the generator was on, meant that Pheonyx wasn’t benefiting from the last reason. Luckily, with the Georgia heat being prevalent even through the night, the showers were bordering on lukewarm rather than cold. The pristine bathroom glowed for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the light. 

Unbuttoning his jeans mechanically, Pheonyx’s thoughts trailed back to his fuck up earlier. This wasn’t the old world. He couldn’t afford to lose himself like that. He needed to have his whole focus on this farm. On his family. Protecting them and making sure they didn’t have to deal with the darker side of this world. The one that had always existed but had fully unmasked itself when the dead began to walk. His boots were heavy on his feet and the relief of feeling the cool air on his sweat soaked socks ripped a small groan from his mouth. Tossing the socks into the hamper by the toilet, he hooked his thumb under the waistline of his jeans and boxers and pushed them down, his blood crusted fingers brushing against the thick hair on his legs. Kicking the bundle of clothing by the door (he couldn’t have his sisters or Patricia cleaning out walker blood from his clothes), he pulled his arms out of his jacket and took a moment to run his thumb over the black bite mark imprinted into the thick material. Again, he was reminded of how close to dying he had come. If he hadn’t been wearing the jacket, he would be a shell walking in the woods. Probably would be caught up in one of his own traps before the morning sun made its way over the horizon. Before he pitched the jacket to the side, he pulled out the dirty and torn bandana and set it onto the sink for safe keeping.   He reached over his head to tug the collar of his shirt–the band logo on the front was completely disfigured by the carnage on it– over his head. The stretch of his skin over his ribs hurt, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been earlier. The threadbare fabric stuck to his skin, the blood still wet in spots. Tossing the shirt onto the pile with his jeans and boxers, he reluctantly looked in the mirror to take stock of the damage to his body.  

The first thing that stood out was the large black bruise on his shoulder, bisecting the snake that trailed up his shoulder and over his neck. He gently prodded the skin, leaning into the mirror, to make sure there weren't any perforations. Even the slightest cut by a shadow’s teeth was a death sentence. Despite the deep pain, the skin was unbroken. If he hadn’t lost his faith so long ago, he might have believed it was a miracle as opposed to pure luck. The bruise covered a good portion of his shoulder, but with the right shirt choice, he could easily cover it. He knew if Maggie saw it, she would freak out. And he wanted to avoid upsetting his sister as much as possible. 

His hands roved down to his ribs and probed the darkened skin over the quote inked into the skin there. The bruise wasn’t as prominent as the one on his shoulder and thankfully didn’t seem to penetrate too deep, a superficial bruise. Nor did it seem like one of his ribs was broken. Another stroke of good fortune it seemed. At this point he was just jacking off luck. Eventually it would all come to an explosive deadly end but for now he could just be happy that it was just an awkward metaphorical handjob. 

Pheonyx turned the water on and listened to the soothing sound of it beating down onto the shower floor. He ducked his head and body under the flow, letting the individual drops massage his back. The scarred skin was a myriad of sensations. Some scars were completely numb, others tingled, and a select few made any sensation painful. His doctor said it was due to varying degrees of nerve damage. Aside from pain medication and experimental treatments, there wasn’t much to be done. So, he simply learned to deal with the feeling. 20 years later and his dad was still getting his lashes in it seemed. Pheonyx grabbed the bar of soap on the shelf by his knees and began to scrub his skin. 

Blood and dirt swirled around his feet, the lukewarm water and cheap soap baptizing him from the day's sins. He washed his hair using Maggie’s shampoo and conditioner. The products made his hair softer than the cheap products he brought with him from his apartment so he allowed himself the small indulgence of stealing some of his sibling’s stuff. Maggie often stole his flannels and hoodies, so it was only fair. 

As the water ran clear and his skin metaphorically sighed from the feeling of being cleaned, he took a moment to just indulge in the simplicity and luxury of the water trickling down his arms, legs, and chest. It was a small reprieve from the outside world. Just a small one. After a few seconds, he pushed the wet hair off his face and shut the water off. Cool air immediately made goosebumps appear on his arms. 

Because the water had been room temperature, the mirror wasn’t fogged and he was greeted by his own reflection in the glass. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he began to dry off. Scrubbing at his hair with the towel, his eyes fell down to the red bandana sitting on the edge of the sink. Shadows casting onto the stained fabric from the lantern in the corner. Tossing the now damp towel into the hamper, Pheonyx used one hand to run through his hair, smoothing the spiky mess, and the other to grab the cloth. He plugged the sink and filled it with a small bit of water from the faucet, enough to begin cleaning the bandana. 

It took a while but he was able to get most of the blood stains out of the red fabric. Or at least enough of it to be able to blend in with the already red dye. Unplugging the drain and wringing out the water, he laid it onto the edge of the sink to dry while he got dressed. He slipped into the clean boxers and jeans that he brought. Sitting on the toilet, he slipped on a pair of clean socks and pulled his worn boots back onto his still aching feet. 

“Fuck,” Pheonyx said as he picked up the shirt he brought. He thought he grabbed a t-shirt, which would hide the bruise on his shoulder, but he had accidentally taken one of his gray undershirts, the straps of which would cover only a quarter of the baseball sized bruise. 

It’s 3AM. No one is awake right now. I’ll be fine, Pheonyx thought while slipping the clean tank over his head. 

Within 3 minutes he was eating those words. As he walked downstairs, dirty clothes in hand and the red rag tucked into the belt loop on his side, he slammed into someone walking out of the kitchen. Instinctively, Pheonyx dropped the items in his hands and reached for the hunting knife at his side. The knife that he had left in the stable. 

“I’m so sorry, Pheonyx.”, a whispered familiar voice eased the tension in his muscles and he backed up to get a better look in the dark at the person. Straight brown hair and brown eyes glittered in the moonlight that poked through the windows behind him. Lori. He let out a breath of relief and smiled softly at her. 

The corners of her lips lifted, attempting to smile back, before her eyes darted to his shoulder, drawn to the dark contusion that was peeking from behind the strip of his tank top. Concern filled her gaze as she looked at him, “What happened? Do I need to get Hershel?”

Pheonyx hurried to reassure her, almost rambling with the need to not worry her. “I’m okay. I swear. I messed up and had a run in with a walker.  But I was wearing a jacket, so it’s just bruised. It didn’t break the skin.”, he kept his voice low, not wanting to wake anyone in the house. “I go out at night to make sure the woods are cleared of the dead.”

Lori’s lips turned down in a concerned frown. 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to worry my sisters. And Hershel is already mad at me for putting up the traps in the woods. This would just set him off even more.” 

Sighing, she placed her hands on her hips but nodded. “I won’t tell them, but you can’t keep doing this.  Going out alone? In the middle of the night? You’re going to get hurt. Or killed.” 

He knew that. Those were constant worries that floated around in his mind. But to hear them out loud made his chest hurt. “I know. I just- I have to protect them.”

Lori didn’t even need to ask who Pheonyx was referring to. Rick and she had talked about the man in front of her. Her husband told her all about the traps in the woods(she had seen them for herself the day before but Rick explained how Pheonyx used them to protect the farm), and also how the other Greenes seemed to be in a separate world. One where the dead were simply people who had the sniffles. Pheonyx had taken up the helm of family protector. At the Quarry, all the men had taken on the task of protecting the camp. Making schedules for watches and runs. And even with 10 men working hard to protect the rest of the group, they had been attacked and decimated by the dead. The Greene son was taking on an almost impossible job. A job that one man couldn’t possibly handle alone. Not for much longer anyway. Even in the darkness of the room, the moon being her only source of light, she could see the bags under his eyes. His shoulders were slumped and he just seemed exhausted. 

“You have. And you protected my son too. Now it’s our turn to help you.”, she reached out and took his calloused hand, not noticing the subtle flinch at the contact of her skin. “Rick and the other men are going to be doing some chores around the farm, but we’ll talk to them about making a schedule for checking the woods too.”

Pheonyx didn’t know how to respond. One part of him was entirely focused on her hand touching his and how it made his skin crawl from unfamiliarity. The other part was resigned, yet still relieved, to accept help from the strangers on the property. Instead of a verbal response, he opted to nod and slowly pull his hand from hers, as not to offend her. 

Lori smiled at him and glanced at the bundle of dirty clothes that he still held in his other hand. “Carol and I are going to work on laundry tomorrow, your family’s and ours. I can take those for you and make sure to wash them before your sisters or Hershel sees.”

The older woman held her hand out to take the clothes from him and Pheonyx handed them over readily. That was another thing off his list to worry about and he could physically feel the weight on his shoulders lifting a small bit. He whispered his thanks to her and they bid each other good night afterwards. 

The warm fingers of night air threaded through Pheonyx’s still damp locks, both cooling and heating his skin. He could feel the slight breeze rustling the rag hanging off his waistband as he made the walk back to the stables. 

Once again, the only animal to acknowledge his presence was Baker, who snorted and released a sound of flatulence that Pheonyx was absolutely convinced was directed at him. Petulantly, he stuck his tongue out at the horse before walking into his personal stall. He stripped off the tank top, tossing it back into his bag of clean clothes because he’d only worn it for a short time, and pulled out an actual t-shirt from the bag. He didn’t want Maggie to come in early and catch him before he could change. After slipping on the old shirt, Pheonyx fell back onto his cot and stared up at the ceiling. His fingers found their way down to the red bandana at his side and he twisted it around in his hand, the fabric was still damp and felt clammy against his fingertips. 

The image of Daryl’s face flashed through his mind again and Pheonyx had to swallow a swell of embarrassment and sadness. He had truly been hopeful that the archer would be different. He hadn’t seemed to care about the fact that Pheonyx was trans. But when faced with the scars that lingered on his back, the man had fled, a look on his face that Pheonyx could only guess was disgust. 

Steeling himself, Pheonyx decided it didn’t matter. He’d work with Daryl to find the girl. They didn’t have to be friends. Hell, they didn’t even have to talk to each other. Once they found Sophia, they could go their separate ways. It’s not like Pheonyx could change the fact that his back looked like minced meat. Even if he could, he wouldn’t, the scars were a testament to his survival. Especially not for a man he had just met. Even if the man did make his stomach feel like tv static. 

 The morning breeze and chirping birds were nature’s alarm clock, and one that Daryl had learned to abide by in order to become an expert tracker and hunter. Most animals were early risers, so if he wanted to keep a steady pace on their trail, he needed to work on their schedule. Daryl was used to waking with the morning sun. Sometimes he even woke before the moon had finished its descent into the horizon. 

The morning after his jarring interaction with Pheonyx was no different. He had slept deeply after crashing into his tent but nightmares had infected his mind. Ones that involved his father and the things he had done to him as a boy. Those kinds of dreams weren’t unusual for him. In truth, he had grown accustomed to them. To the point that he didn’t even wake up screaming anymore. They were inevitable really. But that night had been different. Instead of Daryl being on the floor of the trailer, his back torn up like an eviction notice, it was Pheonyx. Those green eyes locked onto his, begging him for help as Will Dixon brought his belt down onto the fiery bird on the younger man’s shoulders. But Daryl couldn’t do anything. He screamed at his father to stop but Pa just smiled and brought the belt down harder. He tried to shove the man away but each time he ran into a wall. So Daryl was forced to watch. Over and over the belt smacked into Pheonyx’s skin, until the green of his eyes faded to a milky white. Despite the torturous images, Daryl had a hard time waking up. 

His body was so entrenched in sleep that his brain came into wakefulness before the rest of him did. The dewy morning air was sharp, even in the tight space of his tent, and made his lungs ache from the slight chill. His ears perked at the sounds of birds trilling in the distance and he made out the low murmurs of Glenn and T-Dog divvying up chores for the day. 

A musty scent reached his nose. His eyes still closed, Daryl’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Over the past couple of months, he had become accustomed to the smell of his own body odor and this smell wasn’t that. He peeled his sleep-crusted eyes open, his vision swimming before becoming clear again. 

In front of him, he was met with the sight of……. 

Balls? 

More specifically, Daryl woke to the blinding sight of a dog’s rear end. Asshole, neutered sac, the whole nine yards. The only thing that broke through his fog of shock was the tail attached to said rear end. It began to thump against the ground and ended up whacking into the archer’s forehead. 

Daryl shot up and fell back on his hands, “What the fuck?!”

Having realized his human companion was awake, Kismet rolled from his side position onto his belly. He lifted his head up lazily, eyes droopy and a small string of drool hanging from his mouth. His upper lips were stuck on his teeth, showcasing his pearly white fangs. Out of context, and without the dopey look in his eyes, one might assume the dog was mid-snarl. Still half-asleep and teeth still exposed, Kismet cocked his head to the side in confusion at the look of distress in Daryl's eyes. Obviously deciding it wasn't his problem, the dog stood up, arching and stretching his legs out in front of him, making the muscles in his body bulge out even more than usual. He let out a big yawn and then shook himself, the metal pieces on his collar making a clinking noise with each movement. 

A faint whistle sounded from the direction of the house. Despite the tent flap blocking their vision, both man and dog turned their heads in that direction.

"Kismet! Breakfast!", a female voice called. 

Kismet's eyes widened and he didn't need to be told twice before he dove out of the small opening from the tent’s zipper that he had nosed open the night before. The dog moved so fast he didn't even realize his back leg had kicked out, subsequently knocking the archer's crossbow into his thigh. Daryl cursed again at the sharp pain and rubbed the area. 

Daryl had always loved dogs, but he was starting to think he needed to make an exception for this particular one. 

Taglist: @yoongibaybee @edgyboi10000 @dixonsboy19 @clairealeehelsing @mrrumplebottom

[cate-eblanchett]

𝐵𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃 𝒜𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃- Jenna & Cate

Flying back to NYC without getting any sleep was not the best idea, but she couldn't say no to Sarah, she needed to celebrate her birthday and be one of the guests to attend to her big fifty birthday celebration; it was fun and a great night full of drinks, encounters with old friends and the reunion of a very special gang. Sarah made it happen, and Cate, Anne, and Sandy had the greatest time sharing old anecdotes, catching up and of course getting a lot of drinks and dancing the night away. anyone would say that cate would not be able to get ready to get into her flight, but she had a great motivation to do it. She had some important commitments to attend in NYC, and there was no way she could cancel, especially one of these commitments. She adored Sarah and even if the night was incredible and they practically begged her to stay over for the rest of the trip, Cate couldn't accept the offer, she had something important to do, and she wouldn't postpone it for anything or anyone, not again. She had to overcome her fears, insecurities and make that night out with Jenna happen, it was a proper date and she had been waiting impatiently for it, of course no one knew about this, because she didn't want to ruin anything but she couldn't hide the excitement behind this night out with Jenna.

During the morning, the australian actress had too attend to a movie projection that she hosted, then lunch with some executives and finally she could go to her hotel to get some sleep and take her time to get ready for her date, for the blonde the word date was hard to say, but while she was putting her outfit on, she couldn't think about anything else but the fact of spending some time with jenna and how the other woman called it more than once "a proper date" wearing her ultimate favorite suit with a top underneath with a deep v cleavage, she put on her coat and grabbed her things ready to leave, the car jenna had sent was waiting for her outside her hotel and she didn't make it wait for too long.

"I'm on my way" she texted Jenna and put her phone down nervously watching through the fogged window, all these Christmas lights and decorations, the city full of festive life made her smile and ease down her nerves and before she knew it, the car stopped and the door opened for her. She smiled and thanked the driver as she stepped out the car, she knew it was one of jenna's favorite restaurant. she walked inside and was guided to the table where a beautiful woman was waiting for her, suddenly she forgot all the fatigue, nervousness or doubts she could have had during the day "Hey, beautiful boss" she said and smiled sweetly "i'm sorry, there was a lot of traffic" she apologized for the minutes she made her wait "but here i am, alove and ready to enjoy my night with you" she winked and took of her coat to revealing a little too much skin with that cleavage that she loved to wear lately. "i've missed you. i'm sorry for making you wait all these days to make this happen" she said leaning in to kiss her both cheeks and took seat next to the other woman. @lyonnns

[aew-kun-age-regression]

Hi hi! Could you do a Dean Winchester agre thing? SFW only please. Whether he regresses or is the cg (gn little please), either is fine! Thank yous!

Hiii!! Thank you for being the first person to request Dean, I've wanted to do something for him but have had no motivation until you requested this! I really hope this is what you were looking for! <3

"Restless Sleep.."

Pairing: Caregiver!Dean Winchester x Little!Reader.

Summary: After you decide to join the boys on a hunt you have troubles sleeping.

Warnings: Mentions of having a concussion, mentions of going on a hunt, talk of having Nightmares, mentions of avoiding regression, Nicknames (Kiddo)

(Gender neutral reader)

‼️THIS IS NOT NSFW‼️

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NOT Proofread

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It had been a difficult hunt and despite the fact that you had been slipping all day you had decided to join the Winchesters and Castiel. Overtime you had bonded with the two boys and the angel. Sam and Dean currently sat in the front of the impala, while you and Cas sat at the back.

Your head was pounding and Sam and Dean's bickering was not helping. Laying your head against the cool window seemed to sooth the dull thumping. You were not okay, you'd hit your head during the hunt and although you thought you wetr doing a good job at hiding it, the boys were smarter than that.

By the time Dean has pulled up to the motel you had slipped. You hadn't mean to but yer pain in your head was overwhelming and you had already been putting off regression for hours.

Everyone got out of the Impala and began walking towards the motel. You turned your back and began walking the other way.

"Um? Where are you going?" Sam called out to you.

"Home" is all you said.

"Don't you live a few hours away? How are you going to head home?"

"Mm don't know. Walk. Bus?" You mumbled.

This time Dean answered. "Absolutely not. Just stay here for the night."

How could you tell your friends that you needed to go so you could play with children toys and watch cartoons.

"No.."

"Then at least let me drive you there. I'm pretty sure you have a concussion a d I don't feel comfortable with you walking or getting the bus this late at night."

"..fine."

Sam and Cas proceeded to the room whilst you and Dean got back into the far, this time Dean telling you to sit in the front with him. You carefully yit in the seat and Dean started driving.

"You look pretty tired. Why don't you get some sleep, I'll check on you in a bit to make sure your okay."

"Mkay" is all you could mumble out ad your head lolled to the side and you gave into sleep.

Dean didn't need to wake you up as soon after falling asleep you awoke with a jump, breathing heavily.

"Woah! What's up?"

You couldn't speak. You tried but all you could get out was a small wimper. Dean was worried now and looked over to the side of the empty road, choosing to pull over and help you.

By the time he pulled over you were crying and your thumb had made its way between your lips. You began to rock back and forth.

Dean knew that out of him and his brother, Sam was the smarter one. However Dean was far from dumb and although Sam normally figured out things first, Dean knew what trauma responses looked like, and by just looking at you he could tell what was happening.

"Hey kiddo.. what's wrong?" Dean asked gently, turning to look at you.

"Scary"

"Scary? Did you have a nightmare?" He, once again asked in a soft voice.

"Mhm.."

"Oh.. its okay kiddo. Come here.."

Dean opened his arms and allowed you to crawl over the middle section of the car, so you were in his arms.

"Nightmares can be pretty scary right?" He said almost in a whisper.

You nodded into his chest.

Dean sighed knowing there wasn't much he could do for you as he had nothing on him.

"Would you like to try to go back to sleep?"

You shook your head fiercely.

"No!"

"Are you tired though?"

"Little bit.." You said whilst yawning.

"What if I let you sleep in my arms that way I can keep you safe?"

"Mmm... okay"

Dean leaned in and kissed your forehead before you rested your head on his chest, closing your eyes.

Withing minutes you were asleep and Dean drove extremely slowly and carefully with you in his arms back to your place so you could get some things.

The two of you would talk about it in the morning but Dean had already decided that if you'd let him, he wanted to take care of you.