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thoughtless-muse · 19 days

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chapter summary: daryl dixon was everything you despised in a man: rude, unkempt, derisive, scornful and unarticulated. yet, daryl dixon was also everything you craved in a man: mysterious, rugged, self-sufficient, masculine, aloof, and much older than yourself. it was the worst sort of enigma to place yourself in, especially during the throes of a damn apocalypse – and yet here you were, fighting tooth and nail to try and get closer to the man who hadn’t even bothered to tell you his name himself.

word count: 3.6k

c/w: language, suggestive themes/thoughts, a bit dialogue heavy, younger!fem!reader, first meetings, older/younger, undisclosed age-gap, subtle bickering, instant attraction, brief allusions to death/loss, super minor angst (maybe?), pre-season one at the quarry camp

prologue: start of doomsday

being raised by a brother ten years your senior gave you ample time and experience to grow accustomed to being dubbed with various nicknames.

goob, goober, snot, shrimp, brat, princess – you’d heard all of those and many, many more. you had long since learned to let them bounce off of you, to simply roll with the flow and ignore them.

but when he’d given you a nickname, why, you simply couldn’t let it roll off your back; couldn’t stop yourself from replaying the exact moment he’d first called you it, couldn’t refrain from stewing over the way it had rolled – all gravelly, husky and derisive – off his tongue.

“well, ain’t’chu jus’ a doll, girly?”

doll.

he had called you a fucking doll.

and girly. as if you were some sort of child.

it was such a puerile thing to get hooked up on, something so trivial and immature – especially when compared to the more pressing concerns that you should be worrying about; such as the dead slobbering for your flesh and the dwindling food supplies within the camp.

maybe it was because when you had approached him you were just a hairs-width from a mental breakdown, the world nothing more than a mere crumble around you, and his rudeness acted as the straw that broke the camel’s back.

or maybe it was because you were simply trying to be nice, for fuck’s sake, and the moment he’d laid sight on you he decided he would harbor a personal vendetta against you, for no real reason other than he could – or wanted to.

you didn’t even know his name. and it had become painfully obvious that he’d taken great lengths to make sure no one in the camp did; when you’d approached shane about him moments after that fateful incident, shane had spared no more than a glance in the direction the man had stalked off in and shrugged.

“no idea who he is, really. he kinda just showed up.” was all shane had said, as if what had just transpired was trifling at best – and, deep down inside, you knew it was; a man copping an attitude with you was the least of shane’s worries, and it was petulant for you to expect him to place it above everything else that was already piled onto his platter, that it was stupid to expect him to do something about it as if he were a parent getting onto a child.

but you just couldn’t help it.

you hadn’t been able to help it for days.

those words rang through your head every time you saw him, sauntering around the camp with a scowl, lugging around that clunky crossbow like it was some sort of deterrent, like no one would be brave enough to approach him while he had it within his reach – it just flat-out irritated you.

you were only trying to be nice.

“I don’ need no damn help. I can find a tent jus’ fine!”

“prick.” you muttered under your breath, only realizing that you’d audibly expressed your distaste at the memory when a cool, damp hand gripped your bicep.

“you okay, (y/n)?” andrea asked softly, stroking her thumb over your skin soothingly. you shot the older woman a small smile, shirking off the irritation that had built under your skin from the mere thought of that man.

“yeah, yeah. I’m good, andrea. thanks.” you returned your focus to the bin of dirty laundry you had abandoned in favor of recounting sore memories and began to scrub near-viciously. this happened a lot, too, when you thought about him. the thoughts would pop up unprompted, and then everything else would fade away into mere white noise – you were sure it was incredibly frustrating for those who shared your assigned tasks each day.

andrea hummed softly and uncurled her fingers from your bicep to return her hand to her own basin once more. silence fell over the group of women washing clothes at the lakeside, nothing but the cries of forest birds, rippling water and churning splashes against the walls of multiple basins acting as a melody to the activity.

that was, until amy spoke up, her voice airy and strained by amusement that she tried to desperately to conceal. “so, uh, who’s a prick?”

you whipped your head over to glare at amy as muted giggles arose around you, and she vehemently avoided your eyes lest the smile teasing at her lips grew into a full on grin. heat flared over your cheeks and you blew out a puff of hot air, equal parts embarrassed and irritated that you were caught angrily musing over that man red-handed. again.

“no one.” you stated simply, voice weak even to your own ears; and with the way amy’s shoulders began to tremble with contained laughter, you knew she had picked up the lack of conviction within your tone as well.

she just knew you too well.

you had met the harrison sisters the morning after the bombing of atlanta. they had been among the group of people that shane had led to the quarry. amy was sociable, nice, and outgoing, fluttering around the camp and offering bottled water and protein bars to everyone around her. close in age, you’d clicked with her almost instantly, drawn in by her bubbly personality and likeness to yourself; the two of you had been nearly inseparable since, and you even considered her to be a best friend despite the fact that you’d met her only a little over a week ago – falling in with andrea seemed all but inevitable, and you couldn’t say you hated that.

andrea was more reserved than amy was, but no less kind. you weren’t sure if it was a facet of her personality or simply because she had seen the bond forming between amy and yourself, but andrea had, at some point, taken you beneath her wing and treated you as if you were an extension of her own family – it was comforting, but in some ways, it made your heart ache.

because you’d had that once before; had it in the form of broad shoulders, dark hair, blue eyes, and a voice of reason that could talk down even the most insane of serial killers.

you’d had it in the form of rick, ten years your senior and your best friend, tied to you by more than just shared blood.

“I’m serious,” you pressed, smiling through the sudden onslaught of ache within your chest. “I wasn’t talking about anyone.”

“okay.” amy responded simply, dragging out the ‘y’ in way that conveyed exactly how much she believed you in that instant. you chuckled lowly and shook your head, willing the pain in your chest to ebb away quickly, before it swelled to something too big to contain; a knot was forming in your throat, one that had become far too familiar within the past couple weeks, and swallowing it down was growing harder and harder.

amy’s attempt at prodding fell to silence again, one that the others seemed content in, completely ignorant to the turmoil roiling within you. the silence acted as a catalyst rather than a balm, an overwhelming force that prompted the small cut in your chest into a growing chasm, and in a desperate attempt to strike conversation and sow it back up, you said, “I was talking about that guy with the crossbow.”

laughter erupted around you – the first painful stitch. amy nudged you with her elbow with a light guffaw – the second stitch, a little less painful than the first.

“yeah, I kinda figured as much.” andrea acknowledged with a laugh. “you’ve been in knots over him ever since he first showed up.” the third stitch, nearly painless.

“I have not!” you rebuked, even though a small part of you knew it was true. the man had simply waltzed into camp one day, a string of squirrels thrown over one shoulder and his crossbow slung over the other, a scowl on his face and body covered in filth and grime. sweat glistened across his brow and over the skin of his exposed biceps, and when he spoke, it was with a southern drawl that had drawn you in nearly instantly.

he was attractive as hell, at least he was to you – you became instantly overwhelmed by the desire to talk to him, to know him, to get closer in some way; but perhaps you should have observed him a bit more before practically cornering him and offering your help. maybe then you would have been able to foresee his reaction, and you wouldn’t be in this torn-up state in the first place.

“he is a bit of a prick, though.” amy conceded. “I think the only reason shane allows him to stay is because he can hunt.”

that chasm had been successfully sewn up by now, but the flesh around it was still achy and sore, sensitive to any prod and poke. you’d have to tread carefully to avoid reopening it, at least for now.

“I’m sure he’s got other skills.” you weren’t sure why you were defending the man after just insulting him and stewing over him, but for some reason, it irked you for him to be likened to as a one-trick pony. maybe it was simply the cursed attraction you had to him.

“and I’m more than certain you’d love to figure out just what those other skills are.” jacqui, who had been stationed furthest from you, piped up for the first time. your mouth popped open, your eyes widened, and heat flared to your face while the others erupted into laughter. amy’s laugh was the most notable, loud and boisterous, and despite the slight mortification you felt at jacqui’s suggestive (but true) statement, you found yourself laughing along.

you wondered just how obvious you must have been about your attraction to the man for even jacqui to have noticed; you didn’t talk much with her, but when you’re sequestered into a camp fending for your lives against the walking dead, you supposed it was only natural to pick up on things about the people around you.

had the man noticed it, too?

after all, you had, without a doubt, noticed things about him; things that no one would notice unless they had their eyes on him a little too much.

you noticed the small things that made him attractive; the subtle age lines around his eyes and lips, the creases along his forehead, the bags beneath his bottom lids, the semi-permanent frown fixed upon his face.

you noticed the things about him that stirred your gut, that pooled heat between your legs and brought about carnal arousal within you; the broad width of his shoulders, the way those shirts with the cut-off sleeves framed and accentuated his biceps and torso, those small glimpses that his pants sometimes gave you of his package, the way he sauntered around, glaring at everyone, cold and unapproachable – like a dark, gloomy castle just waiting to be turned into someone’s conquest.

most of all, you noticed the clear difference in age between the two of you – fuck… it had to be at least ten years, right? if you were lucky, it may even be larger than that.

your gut twisted with the familiar sensation of arousal and your sex throbbed between your legs, prompting you to close your thighs together in an attempt to stop it. or maybe get some friction, you weren’t sure.

this was becoming a big, big problem.

“(y/n)! aunt (y/n)!”

a shrill, childish voice called out to you from the gravel road yards from the lake, effectively dousing the low-burning embers in your belly. you whipped your head back and cupped a hand over your eyes to shield them from the sun. you smiled widely at the approaching form of carl, your one and only nephew, and discarded the wet shirt in your hand in favor of turning your entire body to face the boy.

“hey, carl! what’s up?” you questioned the exuberant child when he halted just feet away from you, panting heavily and dowsed in sweat. you reckoned he must have run all the way here from the camp. what an energetic youth.

“there’s something going down in camp. shane’s fighting with this weird guy! he has a gun!”

your heart tripped over itself and you quickly rose to your feet, shooting a hand out to grip carl by the shoulder and draw him closer. a threat of this magnitude hadn’t shown face in the camp yet, and despite the fact that it wasn’t within your jurisdiction to handle matters such as these, you couldn’t push down the instinct to do so.

“amy, could you finish up my part, please?” you asked kindly, sending the young blonde a pleading look from over your shoulder. she nodded and reached over to pull your basin closer to her, throwing a cheery “you owe me!” at your back and prompting a chuckle from your throat. uneasy murmurs had broken about amongst the women at the lake, though amy seemed unbothered by the same circumstances, focused completely on her task where as the others had slowed to a distracted crawl.

“yeah, I do, thanks. okay carl, take me to camp.” you ordered the boy, who nodded and shrugged your hand from his shoulder before dashing forward, kicking up dust from beneath his heels.

you swallowed down the command for carl to slow down that swelled in your throat and instead picked up your pace; if it was true that shane was currently grappling with someone, you couldn’t waste any time on chastising carl or slowing the pace. you had to get to camp to de-escalate the situation if it called for it.

by the time carl had broken through the foliage around the camp, your ears picked up the unmistakable rumble of shane’s voice; it held that same stern yet soft tone that he used when talking to criminal suspects – you’d been there when he’d done it before.

“… just hand me the gun and tell me your name, and we can get this all sorted.”

“I ain’t handin’ya my gun, pretty boy.” this voice was different; rugged and hoarse and dry, as if the owner of it had just chain-smoked a whole pack of cigarettes. “alls I’m lookin’ fer is my brother. I don’ have any other business with ya.”

shane sighed heavily just as you broke through the green shrubbery surrounding the east side of the camp. his hands were glued to his hips, lips pursed and eyes narrowed in annoyance at the man a few feet in front of him. when carl had first mentioned a gun, you worried that the man may have been pointing it at the ex-officer, or others; but it was instead holstered at the man’s hip, untouched and non-threatening.

“look, man, I get that. I don’t think you’re gonna hurt anybody; but we’ve got women and children here, and you’re a stranger with a gun. I can’t take any chances. I’m sure you understand.” shane coaxed further, removing a hand from his hip and extending an open palm to the man. the man glared down at shane’s hand but made no further movement; he didn’t reach for his gun, nor did he shift his feet at all, hell, you couldn’t even tell if the man was breathing at this point. but it was obvious this man wasn’t a threat – but if shane continued to pester him this way, he very well could become one; and with carl right next to you, that was a chance you couldn’t take.

shane huffed loudly and you saw his fingers twitch, as if he were barely holding back from striking at the man. you swallowed down your trepidation and pushed carl back, clearing your throat subtly before marching right up next to shane to confront the man.

“what’s your brother’s name? maybe we can help you find him; if he’s here.”

two pairs of eyes simultaneously snapped to you – one pair dark and narrowed in a harsh glare and the other quickly lighting up with barely-concealed interest. the stranger, a man with a buzz cut and wiry face, smiled widely at you, the tip of a pink tongue slipping just barely from between his lips as his eyes trailed your body. you pushed away the shiver that threatened to crawl up your spine and held the man’s gaze confidently until he was done with his blatant show of lewd conduct.

when his eyes met yours once more, there was a coy, feline smirk upon his lips, and his croaky voice had dropped a few octaves when he responded, “daryl. his name is daryl.”

for a moment, you sat silent, gnawing on your inner cheek and wracking your brain for just who ‘daryl’ could be. you didn’t know the names of every person in camp, but that list of unknowns was short – only three people. your heart constricted. could it be?

“so, your brother’s name is daryl. what’s yours?” shane piped up, voice edged with aggravation, as he rocked back on his heels and slipped his thumbs through his belt loops. the stranger’s eyes never left your body as he opened his mouth to respond, but the voice that echoed back didn’t belong to him.

“merle? what’d’ya think yer doin’ here?”

you didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know who the shambling footsteps behind you belonged to. your stomach twisted in on itself when a warm hand pushed you aside by the thick of your bicep, not too roughly but enough to have you stumbling slightly, the contact brief but enough to leave tingles in its wake. you glanced at the man between yourself and shane, taking note of the grimace on his face as he stared down the stranger.

the stranger, merle, took no heed to the glares that were fixed upon him. he smiled widely and threw his arms out as if expecting a hug.

“baby brother! isn’t it obvious? I’m here lookin’ fer ya.”

“you know him?” shane inquired, jerking his head in merle’s direction, eyes locked on the man between the two of you.

the man – daryl, as you now knew – shuffled on his feet and cast his eyes to the side, giving shane a brief once over. after that, daryl returned his eyes to merle and nodded.

“yeah. tha’s my brother.”

shane ran a shaky hand through his hair and chuckled hotly, muttering something underneath his breath. trepidation fluttered in your gut. you’d known shane long enough to know exactly what those mannerisms of his meant, and it didn’t spell anything good. you had a bad feeling shane was about to say something either highly stupid or highly impulsive; more than likely something that was both of those things at the same time.

“y’know, I don’t really have a problem with you, daryl. I never have. but this” – shane gestured to merle, who was still standing with his arms extended and that wide smile on his face – “is a bit dangerous. when you came here, you didn’t tell us jack about you; we didn’t know who you were, where you came from, or who you knew. and I didn’t bother to ask.”

daryl hadn’t moved a single inch since shane began speaking, eyes still fixed on merle, but the discomfort was plain as day on his face, and you felt irritation begin to bubble hot beneath your skin. granted, daryl was a haughty, antisocial prick, but why was shane acting like he did something wrong?

“I mean, this is just–”

“what’s your point, shane?” you cut the man off, a bit rudely, turning a sharp-eyed glare to him past daryl’s chest. shane’s eyes widened fractionally as if he hadn’t expected you to interject yourself, yet again, into a matter that he was handling on his own.

“my point is that daryl put us all in danger.” shane pressed, lowly, with a hand wave towards merle and dark eyes glaring daggers into yours. “we don’t know him, and we don’t know his brother. for all we know, merle could have stormed into camp, gun blazing-”

“but he didn’t.” you rebuked impatiently. you crossed your arms over your chest and tilted your head subtly to the side. “and that’s a risk that comes with everyone in the camp. we don’t know anyone here, other than each other. and even so, you haven’t seen me in three years. I may as well be a stranger, too.”

“that’s different. you’re like a little sister to me.” shane rebutted, prompting an eye roll and hip jut from you. you wouldn’t consider shane a brother even if he’d spent every moment of your youth with you. you swallowed down that statement in favor of keeping yourself on track with the real issue at hand.

“my point still stands. nothing bad happened, so why don’t you just cool your jets and back off a bit?”

shane’s lips thinned into a line, dark eyes darting between you, daryl and merle a couple times before he heaved a great sigh.

“okay, fine, you’re right. nothing happened. but I’d still like to have a conversation with both of you, if that’s alright.” shane conceded, directing his final statement at the two brothers still locked in a stare down. daryl only gave the tiniest of nods to display that he’d even acknowledged shane’s statement, and, satisfied with the knowledge that tensions had been quelled, you turned on your heel to head back to the lake and check on the progress of the laundry.

unbeknownst to you, the event that had just transpired would turn out to be the catalyst to a soon-to-come tension between shane and yourself, as well as the act that had garnered you a modicum of respect and interest from the rude, attractive man that you were sure would never even notice you; and that little problem that you thought was becoming much too big was only going to grow larger, and very quickly.

chapter one

a/n: tbh I struggled a bit with this one. it is just a prologue, a means of setting up the deeper story, but I still wanted it to come out as good as possible, and I feel I didn’t quite articulate that. but before this finalized version, I went through at least three drafts before finding this one to be somewhat adequate. if you guys enjoyed this one nonetheless, please show it some love! if you’re looking forward to more updates, consider following or being added to the taglist!

TAGLIST: @daryldixmedown

#daryl x reader #twd daryl #twd x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #the walking dead daryl #twd

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downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 11 months

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The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Prologue

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Prologue Word Count: 4001 Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

~~~

You released a tired, relieved sigh as you and the rest of the team exited the elevator and walked back into the bullpen. You'd just landed back after a week in Utah chasing a serial killer who turned out to be a mormon. He killed in the name of burning out the false children of God from humanity - literally. The Unsub managed to burn six innocent people alive before they apprehended him.

'I cannot wait to go home for a hot bath and a good glass of scotch,' Rossi said, rubbing at the kink in his neck from the sleep home on the plane.

'Ditto,' Alex said. 'James is home for the weekend, and he has promised me some home made pie that I am very much looking forward to.'

You smiled as you reached your desk, the echo of the others adding to the conversation of what they were looking forward to when they got home warming the usually busy room as they passed you. A sense of comfort and relief washed over you as you placed your go-bag on your desk. Hearing all your friends' voices back in the office after a mission was never a guarantee, so you relished every time you heard them, regardless of the conversation.

You looked up when a figure entered your peripheral vision, and that comfort and warm feeling spread further through you when you saw who it was.

'What about you, Y/N?' Spencer said by way of greeting, a soft smile gracing his own tired features. 'What is waiting for you at home on this fine Friday evening?'

You paused to think about it for a second, a content smile tugging at your lips at the thought. 'Well, unless I've been robbed in the last few days, I will be enjoying a nice glass of moscato while I order pasta from the restaurant below my apartment, and snuggle in with my book that I've spent literally months trying to finish,' you said dreamily, the thought of good food and good wine and a good book sounding almost too good to be true. But Garcia had informed the team before landing that no new cases had been submitted and so you had the weekend to yourselves.

'That all?' he asked, amusement dancing on his lips.

You chuckled, shaking your head. 'I know. First Friday night home in DC in a while and I am choosing to stay at home instead. The utter shame of it all.'

You both laughed, and it pleased you to see his amber eyes light up after the long week you'd had.

'I didn't mean that as a bad thing,' Spencer said, brushing a stray curl from out of his eyes. Even though it was the shortest length it'd ever been, some rogue curls still managed to dangle out of confinement every once in a while. 'What book are you reading?'

'Don't laugh at me, but... The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.'

Spencer's brow furrowed curiously. 'Why would I laugh? I love Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's work.'

You shrugged, casually leaning against your desk as you crossed your arms. 'I know, it just seems a little silly that a federal agent is reading some old detective stories.'

'Actually, Doyle was one of the forefathers of detective fiction, as he brought in the concept that the science of deduction isn't just physical evidence but psychological observations. He created a space where all the sciences we know today can help in solving crime, and actually paved the way for more psychological avenues to be taken more seriously in academia and law enforcement. If you think about it, without Sherlock, you and I may not have our jobs as profilers right now.' Spencer paused when he realised he was rambling, and despite your soft, encouraging smile, he saw the tired blankness in your eyes.

Spencer licked his lips before speaking again. 'What I'm trying to say is... I don't think it's silly at all.'

You nodded your thanks although you knew you didn't need to. 'So what about you?', you asked in return. 'What will entertain Dr. Spencer Reid on this "fine Friday evening"?'

His words repeated back to him kept the smile on his face, more importantly the life in his eyes. But he began to fiddle with the strap of his satchel bag, and you couldn't help but notice he slightly swayed. Like he was nervous or something. It was cute.

He was cute.

You forced the rising heat in your cheeks to stay underneath the surface to not give away your embarrassment or your inner thoughts. Thoughts you'd been having since the day you'd met him six years ago. Thoughts that you'd suppressed so as to not interfere with your work, and then later so it wouldn't ruin your hard-built friendship.

When he told you about Maeve, you'd had mixed feelings. Of course, you'd been ecstatic for him that he'd found someone he could be himself with, and even more so when he disclosed to you that no one else knew about her - just you. But you couldn't deny the twinge of sadness that pulled at your heart knowing that that someone he could be himself with wasn't you.

But you hadn't hesitated, hadn't faltered when he'd needed a shoulder to cry on when Maeve was killed. Once he decided to open up and accept help, you were first in line to help keep the young doctor afloat in his sea of grief and loss.

It's been over a year since Maeve's death now, and while she would always remain important in his heart, he had, for the most part, moved on, slowly getting back to be his usual, quirky, logical self.

The past year and a bit has only brought you two closer together, and as much as you have tried to hide how amazing that makes you feel, you've had plenty of conversations with Penelope and others on the team about finally asking the boy wonder out. It's not like you didn't want to, but if Maeve was his type of girl, you just weren't sure you were what Spencer was looking for in a romantic partner. Besides, you were happy with your friendship.

It was by far the most precious relationship you had aside from your family - why ruin it?

You quickly realised you'd both been silent for a while, Spencer still not having answered your question yet. 'Spence?' you prompted gently.

The cute doctor managed to grasp his satchel strap fiercely and ground himself back in the present. 'R-Right. I too have a book at home. The one you got me for my birthday, actually.'

'Oh yes!' The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes. You'd been hooked from the first line, and by the time you finished, all you could think about was how much you thought Spencer would enjoy it. So you instantly wrapped up your own personal copy and waited for Spencer's birthday to roll around. You never told him it was yours, you just hoped he didn't notice the slight bend in the spine or minuscule tears in some pages from you flipping them too quickly. 'I've been meaning to ask you if you enjoyed it or not. I just assumed you'd read it already.'

'We've just been so busy with cases lately. I haven't had time to even consider picking it up.'

You rolled your eyes. 'Come on, we both know you could've finished that book on one of our plane rides.'

He shrugged, eyes dipping for a moment before landing back on you. 'I know. I guess... I just wanted to give it the time and attention it deserved,' he settled on, and the honesty in both his words and his eyes threatened to steal your breath.

A silence that rested between comfortable and awkward settled upon you two. This had happened many times in recent weeks although you weren't quite sure why. Regardless of your hidden feelings and the tragedy of Maeve, neither of you lost your comfortability with one another.

'So... we've both got book dates tonight,' you said in an attempt to break the silence. The rest of the team was still chatting just a little away from them, but it felt like it was just the two of you sometimes when you talked.

'Well, actually, maybe...' Spencer started, and his fingers were twitching again. 'I was wondering if maybe you'd want t-to bring your book over and... join me, tonight.'

The request wasn't an unusual one. In fact, you'd conducted your own mini book club between the two of you on plenty of occasions. Mainly because you both found out you were the kind of people that liked your personal time and space, but didn't like the thought of being completely alone. This wasn't new, but it warmed your heart all the same at the gesture.

'That sounds great, Spence!' you said heartily. 'Give me half an hour and I'll be around at yours-'

'Actually,' Spencer interrupted, 'I was thinking we could grab some dinner together first. You know, like at a restaurant or some place you can sit in at.'

'...Like a date?' you asked softly, breathlessly. The words just kind of slipped from you before you even contemplated how they would affect Spencer. It just felt natural and right.

Your heart pounded like a jackhammer between your ribs, but you were more concerned at what expression Spencer would pull in the next five seconds.

To your relief, he smiled that small little smile of his that spoke volumes of his insecurity but also of his genuine intentions. 'Yeah. I guess it is like a date,' he finally replied.

Oh my goodness. He was nervous. His words were rushed and higher-pitched in tone. but you still managed to understand him, as well as what dinner implied.

A half-smile pulled at your lips. 'Dr. Spencer Reid,' you began softly, half-scared, half-excited to speak the words you'd been holding back for so long. 'Are you asking me out on a date right now?'

At your words, his anxiety seemed to disappear, as he stopped fidgeting with the satchel strap and took a daring step closer to you. 'I guess I am.'

You couldn't stop it now, the smile of pure joy you'd been holding back from splitting your face open. After years of suffering silently, of repressing the truth, it was all worth it for that one question.

'So what do you say, SSA Y/N L/N,' he quipped cheekily. 'Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?'

The answer was right there in the tip of your tongue, almost spewing from you, when your name was called out across the bullpen for all to hear.

The globe of silence and serenity that had built around Spencer and yourself suddenly shattered as you both, alongside the rest of the team, turned to Hotch standing in his office doorway. But while you all looked at him, his hard gaze was honed in on you.

'L/N,' he called again, having your attention now. 'Can I see you in my office, please?'

You looked between him and Spencer, unsure who to answer first. In the end, you were still technically on the clock so you nodded at your boss and said, 'Sure, I'll be in there shortly.'

'This can't wait, I'm sorry.'

It was the seriousness and discomfort in his voice that caused you to throw aside your personal agenda, giving Spencer an apologetic look before quickly making your way through the bullpen, up the stairs and into his office. You tried not to look at your team too much as you did, but you felt their gazes on the back of your head nevertheless.

They were just as confused as you were, then.

'Close the door,' Hotch instructed gently, to which you obliged. He pointed to the seat on the other side of his desk. 'Have a seat.'

'Everything okay, Hotch?' you asked, taking a seat in the chair. 'Oh no. Did I make an error in one of my reports again?'

'No, nothing like that,' he reassured you, which didn't help your already built up worry. For a moment, it was just you two sitting in his office in silence; you waited for him to explain his mysterious actions, while he seemed to struggle to find the right words.

He never struggled to find the right words.

You leaned forward in your seat, worry furrowing your brow. 'Hotch. What's wrong?'

'Nothing is wrong, so to say,' he insisted, but his frown remained. 'I've just been in contact with your old unit chief from Organised Crime. They believe there is an underground operation being conducted by gang leaders in Manhattan that involves the transporting, selling and purchasing of girls and women in the prostitute industry.'

'Okay,' you drawled out, more confused than ever. 'What has this got to do with us?'

'It doesn't,' Hotch answered immediately. 'Just you. Your old unit chief wants you back to go undercover in the case.'

'What?' You stood up from your seat instead of shouting, but goodness it took all your strength not to. 'Why do they need me? They have a whole squadron of agents to choose from.'

'They want a profiler to help them find out who these people are first, then go undercover and become part of the operation's inner circle and report back to them,' Hotch explained, although his tone displayed his displeasure in saying so. 'Y/N, you have more experience in undercover missions than anyone else on this team, even before you joined us as a profiler.'

You knew his words to be true, but the reality of it all was an ever-growing weight on your chest. 'What they are asking, Hotch, could take weeks, months even. Those kind of people will not trust so easily,' you tried reasoning with him.

You couldn't help but look through the blinds to your team still standing and talking outside in the bullpen. To Spencer, who had joined the team since you had left, but just looked at the window as if he could find out what was going on behind the glass and blinds if he looked long enough. It broke your heart to think you wouldn't see him for months, maybe even years.

Because that was the thing with undercover missions. Once you assumed the life of someone else, your old life became non-existent. That meant no contact with anyone outside of the case as a safety precaution.

That meant no talking to Spencer, or anyone in the BAU, until the case ended. Or unless you were killed, in which case you wouldn't be able to do a lot of talking anyways.

You turned back around at the sound of Hotch standing from his seat and coming around the desk to speak directly in front of you, no walls to hide behind. 'You know I wouldn't be asking if I hadn't tried to change their mind first. But even I can't argue that you are the best agent for the job.'

You nodded your understanding even if you hated to admit he was right. 'I guess it's not one of those jobs that I can decline, is it?'

Hotch shook his head regrettably. 'Head Chief requested for you personally. You've already been taken off the roster here at the BAU so you're not disturbed by other cases.'

Hearing that was just rubbing salt in the wound, and you hated the burning feeling of tears rising at the back of your eyes. You were already gone from here, like a ghost that didn't realise she was one to begin with.

Hotch's hand rested heavy on your shoulder as he comforted you. 'We can discuss your return to work when your mission is over. You will always have a place with us, Y/N.'

You attempted a smile, but it was strained as you tried to force back tears. You wiped at the strays that dribbled down your cheeks, pulling yourself back together before speaking again. 'All right. How long do I have before I am expected in the Big Apple?'

'There's someone waiting for you at your apartment already. They'll take you to their headquarters when you're done packing tonight.'

You sucked in air as you felt your whole world tilt unstably. Tonight. You had to leave tonight. Again, you found yourself seeking out Spencer through the half-closed blinds.

'So what do you say, SSA Y/N L/N? Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?'

You bit your lip as you blinked your tears away, trying but failing to ignore the cry of your heart as its strings were pulled harshly. 'Tonight?' you asked in the hope you'd misheard.

But no such hope existed, unfortunately.

'Yes,' Hotch said, that one word the final nail in the coffin of your impending suffering. 'I'm sorry. This goes without saying, but don't mention any of this to the team as you leave. Only myself and Section Chief Cruz will know where you are and the details of your mission.'

You huffed out a joyless laugh. 'Hiding truths from a team of profilers is like playing poker with a mirror attached to your face,' you said, and you didn't bother to hide your displeasure and sadness when you did. 'They're going to ask questions, and they will find out the truth eventually.'

'Let me worry about that,' Hotch said gently, letting go of you and leaving a cold mark where his hand once was. 'You've got bags to pack.'

'Right.' You sucked in a few deep breaths before making your way to the door. tears burned at your eyes again but you couldn't let the team see you like this. You couldn't let Spencer see you like this.

Because you had a job to do. And you always finished a job.

Before you could open the door handle, however, Hotch stopped you once more. 'Y/N.'

You looked at him, forcing an expression of blankness and indifference. 'Yes, sir?'

He must've seen your inner struggle, as he offered one of those genuine smiles of his that were oh so rare. 'We'll see you when you get back,' he said.

It wasn't a promise or a done deal, but it was the most hope you could ask for right now. So you smiled your thanks, nodded your goodbye, and opened the door back into the bullpen.

Immediately, all eyes set upon you and the room grew quiet. Your first instinct was to cry, then to run, then to blurt everything out because you hated keeping secrets. But you remembered what had just been said, and you whipped a bright smile onto your face to hide your despair.

'Don't you guys have homes to go to?' you asked cheerily, walking down the stairs as casually as possibly. You would've bee-lined for your bag, but if you moved too quickly they would suspect something. 'I recall hot baths and scotch were awaiting most of us, are they not?'

Thankfully Rossi took the bait, and picked up his go-bag in a huge huff. 'The lady is right. I spend enough time with you people as is, I am not wasting anymore not drinking and soaking.'

'Soaking in what? The bath or scotch?' JJ asked, also picking up her go-bag to make her way back to the elevator.

The group devolved into laughs and other jests, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you picked up your go-bag and followed them. Before you could though, a gentle call of your name halted you in your tracks, out of both politeness and frozen fear.

'Hey,' Spencer started, looking between you and Hotch's office. 'What was all that about?'

'Oh, uh, nothing super important,' you said, scrambled as you words were. 'Just a paperwork issue. Again.'

He broke out in smile that set your heart aflutter despite your inner turmoil. 'You know, you really shouldn't do paperwork on the plane when you're tired if you're just going to make a mistake. You're better off leaving it to the morning when your brain and body has rested enough to comprehend what the paperwork is asking of you.'

'Well sorry if I don't want to do a mountain of paperwork when I come back into the office,' you countered, grateful for the playful distraction as you made it over to the elevator. The others were just piling in when Spencer halted you again.

'So...' he dragged out, eyes flickering between you and teh floor nervously, '...what do you say?'

'To what?' you asked.

'To dinner. You didn't have time to give me an answer before.'

Shit. Your voice failed you now as you grasped at words - any words - to tell him. Your heart screamed yes, but there was someone waiting for you back home. A home you wouldn't be visiting for who knows how long.

Capitalising on your gaping mouth, you forced out a yawn and feigned covering it up out of embarrassment. 'Oh my goodness, sorry about that. Um, actually, now that you mention it, I am pretty beat. I'm just... going to go home and sleep it off if that's all right.'

It pained you to see his smile drop at your words, to see the hope leave his beautiful eyes at your rejection. And you knew you shouldn't say anything or make promises you couldn't keep, but you couldn't just leave him with no hope.

'Maybe next week sometime,' you offered, hoping your smile could bring some of that light back. 'You know, you've never tried the Italian Restaurant under my apartment before. We could go there. On me.'

Instinctively, you reached for his hand, relishing in the warmth it held and brought into you. To your relief, he didn't pull away. Instead, you got your smile back, and a little light returned to his eyes. You were kind of glad you wouldn't be around when the light left him completely.

'Okay,' he said softly, surprising you with a gentle squeeze of your hand in his. 'It's a date.'

'Yeah,' you replied, trying and failing to push aside the fluttering sensation his words gave your heart. You were only prolonging not only your pain, but his.

Selfish. So selfish.

'Come on, you two,' Derek called out from the elevator. 'I can't hold these doors open forever. Savannah will kill me if I miss our dinner reservations.'

You both quickly made it in to the elevator before Derek let them close on you, and then you were caught up in the chaos that was your team. You weren't sure how you got onto the topic of what scotch goes best with what foods, but you didn't care. It made you happy to know they never let the weight of a dark case get in the way of living their own lives to them fullest.

You all reached the car park and before you could make a run for your car, Spencer called out to you. 'See you Monday, Y/N!'

You turned back around to face not only him, but Derek, JJ, Penelope, Alex, and David as they all slowly went for their cars too.

You caught yourself staring at them, taking their happy faces in one last time before you left them behind. Hotch said you'd always have a place with the BAU, but you weren't sure how long this mission would take. And if you'd be replaced by then.

You forced a smile onto your face and waved them farewell. 'Yeah, see you then.'

You hated the bitter taste the lie brought to your mouth, but you managed to keep it together long enough that you got in your car and drove out of the car park without any more issues. That's when the tears came.

You wouldn't be there next Monday, and were not getting that date with Spencer next week.

It hurt you more to think that you may not get that date at all.

216 notes · View notes

asteroidzzzn · 9 months

Text

more than just a dream - the walker, 003

pairing: college!ellie x reader

synopsis: you transfer to a new school where you only know one person; your childhood best friend. he invited you to a beginning of the year party to meet some new people, but one person, in particular, catches your eye... his other best friend.

a/n: READ THIS ITS IMPORTANT hihihi im backkk i found a format i rlly like!! if u didn't see my other post, im changing formats because its taking way too long for me to make the other one and its very discouraging. creds to @starphires for making the format 💗 hope u enjoy

genre: social media au, fluff

series masterlist -- previous chapter -- next chapter

ellie

OMH IM SORRY IM HERE I FELL ASLEEO

dina 💋 👎 a message

dina 💋

ethan died

ellie

?? how did the main protagonist die what

dina 💋

i lied idk why i said that i didnt even watch the movie

what were yall doing for TWELVE HOURS??

ellie

why r u surprised hanging out for the technically first time for 12 hours is the average lesbian experience

dina 💋

ur like clinically insane

ellie

we were just watching our show

OUR SHOW wyd if i jump off a bridge RN 🧚

dina 💋 ? a message

dina

???

ellie

hold on ill tell the gc everything

ellie

ellie x y/n lore update

jesse 👽

there is no way u just said that.....

ellie

so basically

we got blankets and got comfy cozy and made popcorn and we were having sm fun like talking a bit and saying stuff ab it bc we've both rewatched it sooo many time like its our comfort show

and GET THISSSS

SHE LAUGHED AT MY JOKE

YUPPP I KNOW MHMM

AND POPCORN FLEW OUT OF HER MOUTH'//?! LMFAO

she was rlly embarrassed but it was so funny and cute and i started laughing too and i CHOKED

actual tears in my eyes and she was just sitting there laughing at me

dina 💋 ❤️ a message

jesse 👽

oh so ur deep in the trenches

ellie 👎 a message

dina 💋

thats so romantic

ellie

i almost died???

dina 💋

awww

ellie

she def wants me

jesse 👽

JUST REPORTING LIVE NEWS WE HAVE A DEVASTATING MAGNITUDE 9.9 DELUSIONQUAKE OVER HERE

ellie 👎 a message

dina 💋

DELUSIONQUAKE IS CRAZY OMFG NOOO

ellie

YOU MAKE ME PHYSICALLY ILL PLASE STOP

I AM NOT DELUSIONAL

jesse 👽

ok 🤗

ellie

NOOOASDHFKDFJSFD

but actually tho.. like shes so amazing and pretty and smart

like i dont wanna just hu w her or snything else.. it is a secret third thing

dina 💋

??????? thats called liking her

ellie

oooh maybe...

dina 💋

😭😭😭

jesse 👽

hey im sure this is all rlyl important but ELLIE? ARE YOU STIL LI MY DORM?? DID YOU SLEEP EHREA

ellie

UMM????

jesse 👽

I HEARD YOU AUDIBLY GIGGLE A FEW MINUTES AGO AND I THOUGHTIT WAS Y/N BUT SHES STIL LASLEEP..

ellie

NAHH GET HIM BACK ON HIS MEDS HES HALLUCINATING!!!

NURSE HES OUT!

jesse 👽

FUCK TYOU I AM NOT CRAZY I EHAR UR PHONE BUZZING WITH MY TEXTS RIG TNOW

ellie

😜

dina 💋 ❤️ a message

jesse 👽 👎 a message

jesse 👽

PUT THAT AWAY???

ellie

im sorry

ill go buy u breakfast what do u want

jesse 👽

ellie stew

ellie

um idk i could get u a sandwich ig..

dina 💋

u should get me food too bc u dipped on me last night im On my way! 🙋‍♀️

ellie

a/n: typa shit i been on recently..... 😓 . i hope u all liked thisss! this format is sm fun and way easier for me i hope u enjoy reading it! tell me if the length of this chapter was good or if i should make them longer/shorter,, i appreciate all feedback 💋💋

taglist: @ximtiredx @gold-dustwomxn @elliesinterlude @fireflyelllie @trulygnomed @deluluwh-0-re @toesorhoes @elliewilliamsmissingfingerss @emluvselandabs @ariianelle @jokerpokimoon @lonelyfooryouonly @lil-elliesgf @yuaaa05 @ourautumn86

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #tlou game #the last of us #tlou 2 #ellie williams fluff #jesse tlou #dina woodward #wlw #tlou part ii #tlou smau #the last of us fanfiction #lesbian

162 notes · View notes

sebsxphia · 10 months

Note

SEB SEB SEB

Preacher!rhett using his hunting knife to cut off your panties and cut the buttons off of your dress before he goes down on you 😵‍💫

ptolemaea. | r.a.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: you and your sinful preacher outline your future together in the back of his pick up truck.

￫ word count: 3.5K.

￫ c/w: knife kink, blood kink, blood, use of knives, multiple mentions of knives, blood and using knives on you, marking you, heavy and dark religious themes, rough sex, f!oral receiving, rhett eating you out, crotch grinding, daddy kink, swearing, kissing, titty touching and pinching, aftercare, patching up wounds and preacher!rhett abbott. what you read in the ask is what it’s gonna be.

￫ a/n: a new chapter to work into the series is here! i wanted to add this to the next chapter, but i understand this is a heavy/dark topic, so i had it be a stand alone chapter. a huge thank you to @sunblchdfly for brainstorming this with me and keeping me going with writing this! <3 this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

previous chapter | next chapter

It was exhilarating.

You had recently become more adventurous and allowed Rhett to chase you through the back of the Motel woods and fuck you against the dirty forest floor, but the experience of feeling his hunting knife draw along your skin was something far more vulnerable. It needed to be done in the safety and confines of something familiar. A Motel room wasn’t that for you, but the back of Rhett’s truck pulled off in a deserted location, was. You had spent many nights in the back of his truck and it was the closest thing to a home you’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

The soft blankets cushioning your trembling frame underneath you were a harsh comparison to the razor-thin blade currently pressing on your tender flesh and drawing down. He had you caged in entirely, with one of his broad forearms resting beside your face and his large body nearly covering yours. He left enough room between the two of you so he could nimbly move his hunting knife down the valley of your breasts. Goosebumps rose in its Devilish wake, and from the low light of Rhett’s camping torch, you could see his wicked grin drawing across his lips.

He let the point of his knife flick upwards on the softest part of your left breast. It caused a small cut to appear, no more than a centimetre in length. One of your hands shot up to grab at Rhett’s forearm at the sudden pin prick. It startled your senses and your chest heaved. You gasped loudly, but when you cried out his name it turned into a moan.

“Rhett!”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly and shook his head. “Cry all you want, sweet lamb. No one can hear you, ‘nd you’re enjoyin’ this, I know y’ are.”

You whined in defeat and let your thighs fall together and rub aimlessly. His gaze zoned in on the small trickle of your ceremonial blood coming out of the gash. He wetted his bottom lip with his tongue. You swore you could’ve seen drool pooling in the corner of his mouth. It was as if he was starving for his first blood, but the camping light was too low to allow you to notice.

“Tell me, where d’ y’ wan’ me to go?” Rhett’s low voice cut through the night. He pressed his hunting knife back to the soft plush of your breasts and trailed it lower until he was pressing against the inseam of your dress. You chewed at the inside of your cheek and swallowed thickly. Your request was on the tip of the tongue, but asking for it required your Preacher’s gentle coaxing.

“Go on.” His voice was softer and barely above a whisper.

“D— down, there.”

“Down, where? Use your words or I’ll cause a lot more damage, believe me.”

His tone switched back to nearing frightening at the snap of a finger. A frightful whimper left your lips as your mind caught up to the position you currently found yourself in. Your heart was pounding so hard against your rib cage you thought Rhett could hear it.

“Your c— cunt. I want to feel it.”

“Atta, girl.” Rhett cooed. He was quick to swivel the blade of his hunting knife along your dress and catch under the buttons that ran down. With pinpoint accuracy, he cut the thread of the first four buttons. You yelped with a loud cry when he freed them in quick succession. Your bare breasts became exposed to the cool night air. He let the knife fall to the truck with a clang and he snarled. He bared his teeth to you as his large hands fisted at the rest of your buttons and ripped them apart with his bare hands.

His fiery touch was on your breasts in an instant. He groped and gripped at the tender flesh and palmed it along his calloused palm.

His nimble fingertips turned inwards and pinched at both of your nipples, continually tweaking them and rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. The harsh tugs caused you to cry out a cracked moan. His lips crashed against yours with your teeth meeting too. As he rutted his clothed crotch against yours, he swallowed your needy moans down when his tongue swiped along the inside of your mouth. He parted to let his teeth tug harshly at your bottom lip, so hard he could draw more blood from you tonight. It caused you to cry again into his mouth.

He grunted against your lips when he parted completely, “Mine, mine, mine. All fuckin’, mine.”

You were completely naked to the night sky. All that kept you hidden was your underwear resting on your hips. Your Preacher saw your vulnerability at this moment and wanted to mark you as his. Not something that would fade over time such as a hickie, no. Something that would be drawn into your flesh until the end of your time.

As he pulled apart from you, he snickered at the sight of your hooded eyes with your pupils overcome with desire. Your lips were already plush and starting to swell from the graze of his own, plus three-day-old stubble. You came to cradle his face with your hands with pitiful whines escaping your mouth.

“Shh, shh, sweet lamb.” You hummed in peace and let your Preacher’s words carry you, squirming your hips upwards to meet his. “It’s alright. I’ve got y’, I ain’t leavin’ you. If y’ let me, I’ll bind y’ to me forever. Will y’ let me?”

You frowned momentarily, but when you saw Rhett reach for his hunting knife off the floor of his truck you let out a silent, “Oh.”

“Do y’ trust me?” Rhett asked again.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He bent down once more to place a heated kiss on your lips, letting his free hand cradle your jaw gently and run his thumb over your cheek. It was a gesture from Rhett that you found the most comforting.

He drew himself upwards and sat back to straddle your thighs. His thighs were wrapped tightly around yours to keep you firmly in place. It allowed you no room to struggle against him. The pinpoint touch of his knife found its place back atop the valley of your breasts. In sequenced movements, he trailed it over the soft mounds of your breasts and teased around the tender flesh of your nipples. Your breath hitched and caught tightly in your throat as he prodded there. You knew one slight movement and you’d lose them.

You locked eyes with Rhett and a groan left his throat. Your eyes were wide with panic and pleading desperately with him not to hurt you so bad, but they were blown near black with desire. The sight caused his jeans to strain impossibly tighter around his cock. He let out a sinister chuckle and let his blade move away from your sensitive nipples that were perked stiffly.

He drew it over your ribs and then to your stomach, where he allowed the blade to push a little harder. Rhett knew your flesh wasn’t so sensitive here and the blade cut a seam roughly four centimetres in length, just under your left rib. His thumb smeared the blood across your skin and he let the tip of his thumb press a little deeper into the incision. A snarl twitched onto Rhett’s face again. The blade was far enough from your body to allow your hips to buck slightly and another shaky moan left your lips.

“Rhett! Please, God… I—”

“God isn’t here.”

He bit back in a beat and his Heavenly smirk dropped in a flash. His face was cold. His thumb from your incision was placed between his lips and he sucked down on the sweet taste of your blood. He snarled again, and when he bared his teeth you saw the reflection of your blood staining across his teeth.

“I— What?!”

The tip of his knife found a spongy spot of flesh around your hip bone and he dug in. Another cry tore from your throat and your eyes squeezed shut at the stinging sensation that was currently being drawn through your skin.

Rhett’s free hand moved to cup your clothed cunt. “Shh, shh. I’m here, it’s okay, sweet lamb. I’m here.”

When you opened your eyes again, your desperate eyes fell to Rhett’s and you gasped out a shaky sigh of relief to see the familiar face of your Preacher. His eyes were focused intently on where his blade was travelling and he wore a malicious yet smug grin as he provided you such indescribable pleasure. A tight knot mixed with pain and pleasure was curling in the lower half of your stomach, and the illusion of safety was placed back around you like a blanket.

“God loves you, but not enough to save you. ‘m here for that, little lamb. I will save you.” He punctuated every syllable. He was careful to let the blade not fall deep enough to cause permanent harm, just enough to etch his mark onto your skin. He needed to preserve you.

As he drew the remaining lines across your hip bone, the heel of his palm that was pressed against your underwear pressed down onto your clit causing a jolt of pleasure through you and a wanton moan to escape your throat. It was intoxicating, how he could deliver such pain but still manage to coat it in the shiny slick of your arousal that was currently forming between your thighs.

He sat back and let the blade fall to the floor of the truck again. He wore a wicked smile with faint traces of yourself still covering his teeth. “Look at you. Such a pretty sight for your Preacher. Marked as mine forever.” His darkened eyes were fixated on your hips. You sat up on your elbows to take a look and you shakily let out a gasp.

The letters, R.A. were carved intricately onto your skin. Trickles of red were falling from your hip and another press from Rhett’s heel of his palm had you softly whining. The claim of Rhett’s name tattooed into your flesh had your eyelids feeling heavy and your cheeks warm. Your stomach was churning with waves of need, needing to feel your Preacher kiss away the pain and draw you to orgasm to snap that knot that was curling in your stomach.

“Need you.” You panted, and he obliged within the blink of an eye. He dropped down your frame and situated himself between your thighs, taking his hunting knife with him for one last time. He let the dull and cool side of the blade press against your pubic bone, as he slit the razor edge upwards to cut off your underwear in one swift and fluid motion. A low chuckle was heard followed by the click of his tongue.

“Little lamb,” Rhett taunted. “You’re fuckin’ soaked. My pretty cum is stuck to y’ underwear. This get y’ goin’ so bad, hm?” He lazily swiped his finger through your folds and pressed the calloused pad of his finger on your clit. You let out a feeble whine and your hips bucked upwards to chase his touch.

“Y— yes, fuck! Yes, Daddy.” You choked out.

“Y’ like the idea of Daddy cuttin’ his name onto you like that? Markin’ y’ as mine?”

You whimpered and shook your head vigorously to agree.

“Oh, sweet thing. How far you’ve strayed.”

Your cunt was glistening with your arousal and the shining of your lips. Rhett had already tasted the sins of the flesh, but he was hungry for something sweeter. His lips attached your clit instantly and sucked harshly. A loud cry was all that could be heard from you. It muffled out the sloppy sounds of his tongue lapping through your folds and sucking heinously on your swollen and untouched bundle of nerves. Your cries were called out into the velvet night, but they were lost in the sea of stars. There was no one around for miles to hear you, and even though your body was completely exposed to the night, you felt no shame as your Preacher ate away at his pussy like it was the last supper he was to feast on.

Your hands had shot out to grip his strands of hair and tug harshly. His face was completely pressed up against your pussy, but you craved him deeper. You wanted him to cut open your stomach and crawl under your skin, to allow you pleasure for the rest of your life. For Rhett to live on inside you forever was all you could think of right now, in this very moment as his tongue prodded and licked at your engorged clit. His own large hands came to grip onto your hips and this thumb pressed gently into the markings on your hip bone.

Although he was drunkenly feasting on your cunt, he prodded carefully at your incision. When he drew his tongue up your folds and caught it on your clit, he would press the pad of his thumb down to elicit a burst of pain and pleasure. Each time it caused you to moan wantonly and press your thighs around his shoulders tighter. It was a merciless assault on your clit with each stroke from his wet muscle pushing you closer to teetering off that all-familiar edge. All that could be heard from Rhett was his muffled grunts and groans, occasionally deep breaths from his nostrils as he inhaled your scent that was seeping through your lips. The low lighting from his camping light caused you not to see how he was grinding his hips down onto the truck bed. His cock was straining hard against his jeans and he craved the rough and tightly constructed friction. Experiencing the same painful pleasure as yourself and knowing it was him doing this to you, had him intertwined with your body. It was enough to push him to the same edge as yourself.

Another moan got caught in your throat but was torn out without hesitation as Rhett’s tongue pressed and then drew repeated circles around your sensitive clit. He repeated this motion and you felt the knot pulling tightly together and ready to snap. He could tell you were close. The way your chest was heaving, in a weak attempt to catch your breath, how your thighs were trembling furiously by his face and how your fingertips clawed tightly at his hair.

“‘m… ‘m, gon— fuck, fuck, fuck! Rhett!”

You choked back a sob and heaved as the wave of pleasure tore through your abdomen and sparked through your body, touching every end nerve you had. Your bare body was twitching with your hips thrashing against Rhett’s scratchy stubble, craving more friction.

Tearful sobs of, “Oh God, oh God, oh God!” were relentless as Rhett held onto your hips firmly to keep his tongue pressed to your clit. It allowed for your arousal to flow heavily onto his tongue. Guttural groans were muffled against you as he tasted everything you had to give him. He continued his assault on your now ever-sensitive clit, but gently eased up on his strokes as the sparks of pleasure drowned out and washed over your body in a blissful glow.

You were dizzy. Your eyes glazed over and your speech slurred.

“Rhett…” You whined and reached out your trembling hands to cradle his face as he came up from your soaked thighs. His chin shone with the reflection of your cum and the faintest pink stain of your blood still on his teeth. He pressed his hot cheek into your palm and nuzzled against your tender hand, his own hands holding gently onto your forearms. “Do y’ want me to…”

He let out a snicker. “No need, sweet lamb.”

You frowned and squinted down at his jeans to see the very obvious stain blossoming through the material. You laughed faintly, your grin lopsided and pleasure drunk.

“C’ere, I need to care for my precious little lamb.” He leaned back down and scooped his broad forearm under your back to sit you up. His other hand came underneath your thighs to lift you and hoist you to his frame. He shuffled down to the end of the truck and carried you around to sit you down gently in the passenger seat. Before you told Rhett you wanted to experience something as exhilarating as this, you had agreed to pack spare clothes and all the medical supplies you would require.

You whined when he left your side momentarily, but he was back in a second with the supplies. He dressed you in his old Christian Youth Camp t-shirt, covered by his plaid shirt. He carefully slipped a pair of his boxers over your naked lower half, but then peeled down the edges to look at your hip.

He stood in the door of the passenger seat and cracked open the medical supplies that were required. With the faintest and most careful of touches, he gently patted at his initials and other markings with a cotton pad. Your face winced and you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, little groans left your dry throat.

Rhett let out a gentle, “Shh, shh,” and he cooed at you again with his fingers cutting through the hair on your forehead to soothe you.

“I know, darlin’, I know, it stings. But I need to take good care of you. We must preserve this. But y’ took me s’ well. You look s’ pretty for me. S’ proud of you, I love you.”

He pressed kiss after kiss to your temple as he patched you up and left the bandages where they needed to be. He cradled your warm cheek in his hand as he tipped the water bottle upwards so you could drink from it. It was cooling down your throat that had been scratched from loud and pleasurable moans.

“Good girl, good girl.” Rhett praised you again and you let out a little whimper, keening into his touch. You swallowed down the water and he wiped away the remaining droplets with his thumb.

“Will y’ always take such good care of me, Rhett?”

You blinked at him with an innocent gaze. For in your clouded eyes, Rhett marking you with his initials meant that he was bound to you forever now. With the spilling of your blood, through life and death, He would be there to take care of you. You had travelled nearly across America, and the sight of your blood bared on Rhett’s teeth was the final nail into your palm to bound you to him.

“Y’ a Daughter of Abbott, yes?” His hands squeezed at your arms and he held your gaze intensely.

“Yes.” You breathed out, barely above a whisper. Your breath was knocked out of your lungs momentarily as his cobalt eyes bore into yours without wavering. He had you nailed to him.

“I will make ‘em eat the flesh of their sons ‘nd daughters, ‘nd they will eat one another’s flesh because their enemies will press the siege s’ hard against ‘em to destroy them.”

He quoted the verse from Jeremiah that you were familiar with. You had heard Rhett mutter it to himself repeatedly within the quiet confines of the Church walls, all that time ago. Your eyes went wide with understanding and your lips fell into an, ‘o’ shape and then a lovesick smile.

“I will protect you from the siege, sweet lamb. By carving my name and consuming your blood. No one can destroy us.”

taglist: @beachbabey @peachystenbrough @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch @randomfandomgirl97 @kmc1989

tagging those who may be interested: @becks-things @sugarcoated-lame @rhettabbotts @lewmagoo @bradshawsbitch

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hopelesslys-world · 10 months

Text

50 SHADES OF FUCKED UP | CH.4

TRIGGER WARNINGS!: TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, reader is kind of a bimbo, heavily detailed smut, basically porn, loss of virginity, harsh language, anger issues, stalking, obsession, jealousy, controlling behaviour, DOM-SUB themes, BDSM Expand considered to be portrayed with incorrect/poor etiquette, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse/assault, statutory rape.

EXTRAS: Vomiting, alcohol !

Tell me if I missed anything...( As you can see most of the warnings will appear in future chapters. )

I apologize for any grammar mistakes...

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

Y/N/N: Your Nickname

Y/M/N: Your Middle Name

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*𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙋𝙊𝙑*

┅┅

𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊, 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 concrete of the garage with its bleak fluorescent light, I speed towards Bella's car getting inside as if someone was chasing me.

What was I thinking? Unbidden and unwelcome incoming tears make my eyes water.

Why am I crying? I sink to the ground, angry at myself for this senseless reaction. I hide my face in my hands and wipe a stray tear off my cheek.

That is so embarrassing. I embarrassed myself out there thinking that we were going to kiss. I'm so stupid, being sad of something I never had. How ridiculous. Something that never was – my dashed hopes, dashed dreams, and my soured expectations.

I have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay… so I was always one of the last to be picked for basketball or volleyball – but I understood that – running and doing something else at the same time like bouncing or throwing a ball is not my thing. I am a serious liability in any sporting field.

Romantically, though, I’ve never put myself out there, ever. A lifetime of insecurity – I’m too pale, too skinny, too scruffy, uncoordinated, my long list of faults goes on. So I have always been the one to rebuff any would be admirers. There was that guy in my chemistry class who liked me, but no one has ever sparked my interest – no one except Christian damn Grey.

Maybe I should be kinder to the likes of Paul Clayton and José Rodriguez, though I’m sure neither of them have been found like me inside their car in a dark parking lot.

I should go home, do my studying. Forget about him and stop all this self-pitying, crap!!!

I take a deep, steadying breath and start the engine. I will not think of him again. I can just chalk this incident up to experience and concentrate on my exams.

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Bella is sitting at the dining table at her laptop when I arrive. Her welcoming smile fades when she sees me.

“Y/N/N what’s wrong?”

Oh no… not the Isabella Clark Inquisition. I shake my head at her in a back-off now Bella way – but I might as well be dealing with a blind, deaf mute.

“You’ve been crying,” she has an exceptional gift for stating the damned obvious sometimes. “What did that bastard do to you?” she growls, and her face – jeez, she’s scary.

“Nothing Bella.” That’s actually the problem. The thought brings a wry smile to my face.

“Then why have you been crying? You never cry,” she says, her voice softening. She stands, her green eyes brimming with concern. She puts her arms around me and hugs me.

I need to say something just to get her to back off. “I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist.” It’s the best that I can do, but it distracts her momentarily from… him.

“Jeez Y/N/N – are you okay? Were you hurt?” She holds me at arm’s length and does a quick visual check-up on me.

“No. Christian saved me,” I whisper. “But I was quite shaken.”

“I’m not surprised. How was coffee? I know you hate coffee.”

“I had tea. It was fine, nothing to report really. I don’t know why he asked me.”

“He likes you Y/N/N.” She drops her arms.

“Not anymore. I won’t be seeing him again.” Yes, I manage to sound matter of fact.

“Oh?”

Shit. She’s intrigued. I head into the kitchen so that she can’t see my face.

“Yeah… he’s a little out of my league Bella,” I say as dryly as I can manage.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh Bella, it’s obvious.” I whirl round and face her as she stands in the kitchen doorway.

“Not to me,” she says. “Okay, he’s got more money than you, but then he has more money than most people in America!”

“Bella he’s– ” I shrug.

“Y/N! For heaven’s sake – how many times must I tell you? You’re a total babe,” she interrupts me. She’s off on this tirade again.

“Bella, please. I need to study.” I cut her short. She frowns.

“Do you want to see the article? It’s finished. José took some great pictures.”

Do I need a visual reminder of the beautiful Christian I-don’t-want-you Grey?

“Sure,” I magic a smile on to my face and stroll over to the laptop. And there he is, staring at me in black and white, staring at me and finding me lacking.

I pretend to read the article, all the time meeting his steady gray gaze, searching the photo for some clue as to why he’s not the man for me – his own words to me. And it’s suddenly, blindingly obvious. He’s too gloriously good-looking. We are poles apart and from two very different worlds. His words make sense. He’s not the man for me.

This is what he meant, and it makes his rejection easier to accept… almost. I can live with this. I understand.

“Very good Bella,” I manage. “I’m going to study.” I am not going to think about him again for now, I vow to myself, and opening my revision notes, I start to read.

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It’s only when I’m in bed, trying to sleep, that I allow my thoughts to drift through my strange morning. I keep coming back to the ‘I don’t do the girlfriend thing’ quote, and I’m angry that I didn’t pounce on this information sooner, when I was in his arms mentally begging him with every fiber of my being to kiss me. He’d said it there and then. He didn’t want me as a girlfriend. I turn on to my side.

Idly, I wonder if perhaps he’s celibate? I close my eyes and begin to drift. Maybe he’s saving himself.

Well not for you, my sleepy subconscious has a final swipe at me before unleashing itself on my dreams.

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I put my pen down. Finished. My final exam is over. I feel the Cheshire cat grin spread over my face.

It’s Friday, and we'll be celebrating tonight, really celebrating. I might even get drunk! I’ve never been drunk before. I glance across the sports hall at Bella, and she’s still scribbling furiously, five minutes to the end. This is it, the end of my academic career.

I shall never have to sit in rows of anxious, isolated students again. Inside I’m doing graceful cartwheels around my head, knowing full well that’s the only place I can do graceful cartwheels.

Bella stops writing and puts her pen down. She glances across at me, and I catch her sly smile too.

We head back to our apartment together in her Mercedes, refusing to discuss our final paper. Bella is more concerned about what she’s going to wear to the bar this evening. I am busily fishing around in my purse for my keys.

“Y/N/N, there’s a package for you.” Bella is standing on the steps up to the front door holding a brown paper parcel. Odd. I haven’t ordered anything from Amazon recently. Bella gives me the parcel and takes my keys to open the front door.

It’s addressed to Miss Y/N Y/L/N. There’s no sender’s address or name. Perhaps it’s from my mom or Ray.

“It’s probably from my mom or dad.”

“Open it!” Bella is excited as she heads into the kitchen for our ‘Exams are finished celebration Champagne’.

I open the parcel, and inside I find a half leather box containing three seemingly identical old cloth-covered books in mint condition and a plain white card. Written on one side, in black ink in neat cursive handwriting, is:

Why didn't you tell me there was danger? Why didn't you warn me?

Ladies know what to guard against, because they read novels that tell them of these trisks...

I recognize the quote from Tess. I am stunned by the irony as I’ve just spent three hours writing about the novels of Thomas Hardy in my final examination. Perhaps there is no irony… perhaps it’s deliberate.

I inspect the books closely, three volumes of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. I open the front cover. Written in an old typeface on the front plate is:

‘London: Jack R. Osgood, McIlvaine and Co., 1891.’

Holy fuck - they are first editions. They must be worth a fortune, and I know immediately who’s sent them. Bella is at my shoulder gazing at the books. She picks up the card.

“First Editions,” I whisper.

“No way...” Bella’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “Grey?”

I nod. “Can’t think of anyone else.”

“What does this card mean?”

“I have no idea. I think it’s a warning – honestly he keeps warning me off. I have no idea why. It’s not like I’m beating his door down.” I frown.

“I know you don’t want to talk about him, Y/N/N, but he’s seriously into you. Warnings or no.”

I have not let myself dwell on Christian Grey for the past week. Okay…I know it will take an eternity to expunge the feel of his arms around me and his wonderful fragrance from my brain. Why has he sent me this?

He told me that I wasn’t for him.

“I’ve found one Tess first edition for sale in New York at $14,000. But yours looks in much better condition. They must have cost more.” Bella is consulting her good friend Google.

“This quote – Tess says it to her mother after Alec D’Urberville has had his wicked way with her.”

“I know,” muses Bella. “What is he trying to say?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I can’t accept these from him. I’ll send them back with an equally baffling quote from some obscure part of the book.”

“The bit where Angel Clare says fuck off?” Bella asks with a completely straight face.

“Yes, that bit.” I giggle. I love Bella, she’s so loyal and supportive. I repack the books and leave them on the dining table. She hands me a glass of champagne.

“To the end of exams and our new life in Seattle,” she grins.

“To the end of exams, our new life in Seattle, and excellent results.” We clink glasses and drink.

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The bar is loud and hectic, full of soon to be graduates out to get trashed. José joins us. He won’t graduate for another year, but he’s in the mood to party and gets us into the spirit of our newfound freedom by buying a pitcher of margaritas for us all.

As I down my fifth, I know this is not a good idea on top of the champagne.

“So what now Y/N/N?” José shouts at me over the noise.

“Bella and I are moving to Seattle. Her parents have bought a condo there for her.”

“But you’ll be back for my show, right?”

“Of course, José, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I smile, and he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close.

“It means a lot to me that you’ll be there Y/N/N,” he whispers in my ear. “Another margarita?”

“José Luis Rodriguez – are you trying to get me drunk? Because I think it’s working.” I giggle. “I think I’d better have a beer. I’ll go get us a pitcher.”

“More drinks, Y/N/N!” Bella bellows.

Bella has the constitution of an ox. She’s got her arm draped over Levi, one of our fellow English students and her usual photographer on her student newspaper. He’s given up taking photos of the drunkenness that surrounds him. He only has eyes for her. She’s in a stunning red dress that hugs her curves perfectly with black high heels and curls that reach her back elegantly.

Me, I’m in my usual skirt outfit but Bella made it more 'club like' and I love it, I feel very comfortable.

I move out of José’s hold and get up from our table. Whoa. Head spin. I have to grab the back of the chair. Tequila based cocktails are not a good idea.

I make my way to the bar and decide that I should visit the restroom while I am on my feet.

Good thinking, Y/N. I stagger off through the crowd. Of course, there’s a line, but at least it’s quiet and cool in the corridor. I reach for my cell phone to relieve the boredom of waiting in line.

Hmm… Who did I last call? Was it José? Before that a number I don’t recognize. Oh yes. Grey, I think this is his number. I giggle. I have no idea what the time is, maybe I’ll wake him. Perhaps he can tell me why he sent me those books and the crypticmessage.

If he wants me to stay away, he should leave me alone. I suppress a drunken grin and hit the automatic re-dial. He answers on the second ring. “Y/N?” He’s surprised to hear from me. Well, frankly, I’m surprised to ring him.

Then my befuddled brain registers… how does he know it’s me? “Why did you send me the books?” I slur at him.

“Y/N, are you okay? You sound strange.” His voice is filled with concern.

“I’m not the strange one, you are,” I accuse. My courage fuelled by alcohol.

“Y/N, have you been drinking?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m...curious. Where are you?”

“In a bar.”

“Which bar?” He sounds exasperated.

“A bar in Portland.”

“How are you getting home?”

“I’ll find a way.” This conversation is not going how I expected.

“Which bar are you in?”

“Why did you send me the books, Christian?”

“Y/N, where are you, tell me now.” His tone is so, so dictatorial, his usual control freak.

He's a freak. The thought makes me laugh.“You’re so… domineering,” I giggle.

“Where the fuck are you?” He asked angrily.

Christian Grey is swearing at me. I giggle again. “I’m in Portland… s’a long way from Seattle s'a long way from your bizarre ass.”

“Where in Portland?”

“Goodnight, Christian.”

“Y/N!”

I hang up. Ha! Though he didn’t tell me about the books. I frown. Mission not accomplished. I am really quite drunk - my head swims uncomfortably as I shuffle with the line. Well, the object of the exercise was to get drunk. I have succeeded. This is what it’s like – probably not an experience to be repeated.

The line has moved, and it’s now my turn. I stare blankly at the poster on the back of the toilet door that extols the virtues of safe sex.

Fuck, did I just call Christian Grey? Shit. My phone rings and it makes me jump. I yelp in surprise. “Hi,” I bleat timidly in to the phone. I hadn’t reckoned on this.

“I’m coming to get you,” he says and hangs up. Only Christian Grey could sound so calm and so threatening at the same time.

What the hell. I pull my skirt up. My heart is thumping. Coming to get me?

Oh no. I’m going to be sick… no… I’m fine. Hang on. He’s just messing with my head. I didn’t tell him where I was. He can’t find me here. Besides, it will take him hours to get here from Seattle, and we’ll be long gone by then. I wash my hands and check my face in the mirror.

I look flushed and slightly unfocused. Hmm… tequila.

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*𝘾𝙃𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙏𝙄𝘼𝙉'𝙎 𝙋𝙊𝙑*

┅┅

The bar is crowded, full of students determined to have a good time. There’s some indie crap thumping over the sound system and the dance floor is crowded with heaving bodies.

It makes me feel old.

She’s here somewhere.

Elliot has followed me in through the front door. “Do you see her?” he shouts over the noise.

Scanning the room, I spot Isabella Clark. She’s with a group of friends, all of them men, sitting in a booth. There’s no sign of Y/N, but the table is littered with shot glasses and tumblers of beer.

Well, let’s see if Miss Clark is as loyal to her friend as Y/N is to her. She looks at me in surprise when we arrive at her table.

“Isabella,” I say by way of greeting, and she interrupts me before I can ask her Y/N’s whereabouts.

“Christian, what a surprise to see you here,” she shouts above the noise. The three guys at the table regard Elliot and me with hostile wariness.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“And who’s this?” She smiles rather too brightly at Elliot, interrupting me again. What an exasperating woman.

“This is my brother Elliot. Elliot, Isabella Clark. Where’s Y/N?”

Her smile broadens at Elliot, and I’m surprised by his answering grin.

“I think she went outside for some fresh air, she responds, but she doesn’t look at me. She has eyes only for Mr. Love ’Em and Leave ’Em. Well, it’s her funeral.

“Outside? Where?” I shout.

“Oh. That way.” She points to double doors at the far end of the bar.

Pushing through the throng, I make my way to the door, leaving the three disgruntled men and Clark and Elliot engaged in a grin-off.

Through the double doors there is a line for the ladies’ washroom, and beyond that a door that’s open to the outside. It’s at the back of the bar. Ironically, it leads to the parking lot where Elliot and I have just been.

Walking outside, I find myself in a gathering space adjacent to the parking lot—a hangout flanked by raised flowerbeds, where a few people are smoking, drinking, chatting. Making out. I spot her.

Fucking hell. She’s with the photographer, I think, though it’s difficult to tell in the dim light. She’s in his arms, but she seems to be twisting away from him. He mutters something to her, which I don’t hear, and kisses her, along her jaw.

“José, no,” she says, and then it’s clear. She’s trying to push him off. She doesn’t want this.

For a moment I want to rip his head off. With my hands fisted at my side I march up to them. “I think the lady said no.” My voice carries, cold and sinister, in the relative quiet, while I struggle to contain my anger.

He releases Y/N and she squints at me with a dazed, drunken expression.

“Grey,” he says, his voice terse, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to smash the disappointment off his face.

Y/N heaves, then buckles over and vomits on the ground.

Oh, shit!

“Ugh—Dios mío, Y/N/N!” José leaps out of the way in disgust.

Fucking idiot.

Ignoring him, I grab her hair and hold it out of the way as she continues to throw up everything she’s had this evening. It’s with some annoyance that I note she doesn’t appear to have eaten. With my arm around her shoulders I lead her away from the curious onlookers toward one of the flowerbeds.

“If you’re going to throw up again, do it here. I’ll hold you.” It’s darker here. She can puke in peace. She vomits again and again, her hands on the brick. It’s pitiful. Once her stomach is empty, she continues to retch, long dry heaves.

Boy, she’s got it bad.

Finally her body relaxes and I think she’s finished. Releasing her, I give her my handkerchief, which by some miracle I have in the inside pocket of my jacket.

Thank you, Mrs. Jones.

Wiping her mouth, she turns and rests against the bricks, avoiding eye contact because she’s ashamed and embarrassed. And yet I’m so pleased to see her. Gone is my fury at the photographer. I’m delighted to be standing in the parking lot of a student bar in Portland with Miss Y/N Y/L/N.

She puts her head in her hands, cringes, then peeks up at me, still mortified. Turning to the door, she glares over my shoulder. I assume it’s at her “friend.”

“I’ll, um, see you inside,” José says, but I don’t turn to stare him down, and to my favour, she ignores him, too, returning her eyes to mine.

“I’m sorry,” she says finally, while her fingers twist the soft linen.

Okay, let’s have some fun.

“What are you sorry for, Y/N?”

“The phone call, mainly. Being sick. The list goes on,” she mumbles.

“We’ve all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you.” Why is it such fun to tease this young woman? “It’s about knowing your limits, Y/N. I mean, I’m all for pushing limits, but really this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behavior?”

Perhaps she has a problem with alcohol. The thought is worrying, and I consider whether I should call my mother for a referral to a detox clinic.

Y/N frowns for a moment, as if angry, that little v forming between her brows, and I suppress the urge to kiss it. But when she speaks she sounds contrite.

“No,” she says. “I’ve never been drunk before and right now I have no desire to ever be again.” She looks up at me, her eyes unfocused, and she sways a little. She might pass out, so without giving it a thought I scoop her up into my arms.

She’s surprisingly light. Too light. The thought irks me. No wonder she’s drunk.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“I need to tell Bella,” she says, as her head rests on my shoulder.

“My brother can tell her.”

“What?”

“My brother Elliot is talking to Miss Clark”

“Oh?”

“He was with me when you called.”

“In Seattle?”

“No, I’m staying at The Heathman.” And my wild-goose chase has paid off.

“How did you find me?”

“I tracked your cell phone, Y/N.” I head toward the car. I want to drive her home. “Do you have a jacket or a purse?”

“Er…yes, I came with both. Christian, please, I need to tell Bella. She’ll worry.”

I stop and bite my tongue. Clark wasn’t worried about her being out here with the overamorous photographer. Rodriguez. That’s his name. What kind of friend is she? The lights from the bar illuminate her anxious face.

As much as it pains me, I put her down and agree to take her inside. Holding hands, we walk back into the bar, stopping at Bella’s table. One of the young men is still sitting there, looking annoyed and abandoned.

“Where’s Bella?” Y/N shouts above the noise.

“Dancing,” the guy says, his dark eyes staring at the dance floor. She collects her leather black coat and purse and, reaching out, she unexpectedly clutches my arm.

I freeze.

Shit.

My heart rate catapults into overdrive as the darkness surfaces, stretching and tightening its claws around my throat.

“She’s on the dance floor,” she shouts, her words tickling my ear, distracting me from my fear. And suddenly the darkness disappears and the pounding in my heart ceases.

What?

I roll my eyes to hide my confusion and take her to the bar, order a large glass of water, and pass it to her.

“Drink.”

Eyeing me over the glass, she takes a tentative sip.

“All of it,” I command. I’m hoping this will be enough damage control to avoid one hell of a hangover tomorrow.

What might have happened to her if I hadn’t intervened? My mood sinks.

And I think of what just happened to me. Her touch. My reaction.

My mood plummets further.

Y/N sways a little as she’s drinking, so I steady her with a hand on her shoulder. I like the connection—me touching her.

She finishes her drink, and retrieving the glass, I place it on the bar. Okay. She wants to talk to her so-called friend. I survey the crowded dance floor, uneasy at the thought of all those bodies pressing in on me as we fight our way through.

Steeling myself, I grab her hand and lead her toward the dance floor. She hesitates, but if she wants to talk to her friend, there’s only one way; she’s going to have to dance with me. Once Elliot gets his groove on, there’s no stopping him; so much for his quiet night in.

With a tug, she’s in my arms.

This I can handle. When I know she’s going to touch me, it’s okay. I can deal, especially since I’m wearing my jacket. I weave us through the crowd to where Elliot and Bella are making a spectacle of themselves.

Still dancing, Elliot leans toward me in mid-strut when we’re beside him and sizes us up with a look of incredulity.

“I’m taking Y/N home. Tell Bella,” I shout in his ear.

He nods and pulls Clark into his arms.

Right. Let me take Miss Drunk Bookworm home, but for some reason she seems reluctant to go. She’s watching Clark with concern. When we’re off the dance floor she looks back at Bella, then at me, swaying and a little dazed.

“Fuck—” By some miracle I catch her as she passes out in the middle of the bar. I’m tempted to haul her over my shoulder, but we’d be too conspicuous, so I pick her up once more, cradling her against my chest, and take her outside to the car.

“Christ,” I mutter as I fish the key out of my jeans and hold her at the same time. Amazingly, I manage to get her into the front seat and strap her in.

“Y/N.” I give her a little shake, because she’s worryingly quiet. “Y/N!”

She mumbles something incoherent and I know she’s still conscious. I know I should take her home, but it’s a long drive to Vancouver, and I don’t know if she’ll be sick again. I don’t relish the idea of my Audi reeking of vomit. The smell emanating from her clothes is already noticeable.

I head to The Heathman, telling myself that I’m doing this for her sake.

Yeah, tell yourself that, Grey.

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She sleeps in my arms as we travel up in the elevator from the garage. I need to get her out of her skirt and her shoes. The stale stench of vomit pervades the space. I’d really like to give her a bath, but that would be stepping beyond the bounds of propriety.

And this isn’t?

In my suite, I drop her purse on the sofa, then carry her into the bedroom and lay her down on the bed. She mumbles once more but doesn’t wake. Briskly I remove her shoes and put them in the plastic laundry bag provided by the hotel. Then I unzip her skirt and pull it off stuffing the piece of clothing in the laundry bag.

She falls back on the bed, splayed out like a starfish, all pale arms and legs, and for a moment I picture those legs wrapped around my waist as her wrists are bound to my Saint Andrew’s cross.

I sit her up and she opens her eyes. “Hello, Y/N,” I whisper, as I remove her jacket slowly and without her cooperation.

“Grey. Kiss,” she mutters.

“Yes, sweetheart.” I ease her down onto the bed. She closes her eyes again and rolls onto her side, but this time huddles into a ball, looking small and vulnerable. I pull the covers over her and plant a kiss in her hair.

Now that her filthy clothes have gone, a trace of her scent has reappeared. Apples, fall, fresh, delicious…Y/N. Her lips are parted, eyelashes fanning out over pale cheeks, and her skin looks flawless. One more touch is all I allow myself as I stroke her cheek with the back of my index finger.

“Sleep well,” I murmur, and then head into the living room to complete the laundry list. When it’s done, I place the offending bag outside my suite so the contents will be collected and laundered.

Before I check my e-mails I text Welch, asking him to see if José Rodriguez has any police records. I’m curious. I want to know if he preys on drunk young women. Then I address the issue of clothes for Miss Y/L/N: I send a quick e-mail to Taylor.

•••

From: Christian Grey

RE: Miss Anastasia Steele

Date: May 20, 2023 23:46

To: J B Taylor.

——

Can you please find the following items for Miss Steele and have them delivered to my usual room before 10:00.

Skirt: Black Size 4

Shirt: White. Pretty. Size 4

Boots: Black Size 7

Socks: Size 7

Lingerie: Underwear—Size Small. Bra—Estimate 36C

Thank you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

•••

Once it’s disappeared from my outbox, I text Elliot.

Y/N is with me. If you’re still with Bella, tell her.

He texts by return.

Will do. Hope you get laid. You soooo need it. ;)

His response makes me snort.

I so do, Elliot. I so do.

I open my work e-mail and begin to read.

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Nearly two hours later, I come to bed. It’s just after 1:45. She’s fast asleep and hasn’t moved from where I left her. I strip, pull on my pajama pants and a T-shirt, and climb in beside her. She’s comatose; it’s unlikely she’s going to thrash around and touch me.

I hesitate for a moment as the darkness swells within me, but it doesn’t surface and I know it’s because I’m watching the hypnotic rise and fall of her chest and I’m breathing in sync with her.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. For seconds, minutes, hours, I don’t know, I watch her. And while she sleeps I survey every beautiful inch of her lovely face. Her dark lashes fluttering while she sleeps, her lips slightly parted so I glimpse her even white teeth.

She mutters something unintelligible and her tongue darts out and licks her lips. It’s arousing, very arousing. Finally I fall into a deep and dreamless slumber.

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[ series masterlist ]

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#christian grey #christian grey fanfic #christian grey smut #christian grey x reader #christian grey x yn #christian grey x you #smut #50 shades of gray #jamie dornan #christian grey series #dark themes

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year

Text

Light the Way - Part Two

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x female character (third person) Warnings: BDSM dynamics, spanking, masturbation, orgasm denial, angst, smut. Word count: ~5.5k Series masterlist

Chapter summary: The limits of the working relationship are tested with interesting results.

The following morning she gets dressed up to the nines, Aemond’s whispered request from the previous day still fresh in her mind. She slips into her most figure hugging business appropriate dress, even going as far as putting lace top thigh high stockings on underneath it. She has no idea if Aemond will even see them or not, but the thought that he might excites her. She’s unable to shift the memory of him putting her on her knees, white hot arousal floods her body every time it crosses her mind. Taking her time to ensure the rouge coloured lipstick she has applied is completely perfect, before slipping into the same killer heels she’d worn on Tuesday, she sneaks quietly out of the flat. The absolute last thing she needs is to catch the attention of Rhea - she’d give her that knowing smile and then what the fuck is she supposed to tell her?! “I sucked my boss’ thumb and it was the single hottest experience of my entire life”. She laughs at the thought.

Her phone buzzes with a text as she approaches the coffee shop, preparing to grab Aemond his morning caffeine hit. Her heart pounds as she pulls it from her bag and sees his name on the screen. Unlocking the device with shaking hands, her stomach sinks upon reading the message. “Need you to grab updated contracts from the underwriter when you get here.” Sighing, she shakes her head, what exactly had she been expecting? Nothing had actually happened between the two of them, so “good morning, I love you” messages were way out of the question. Tucking her phone away, she continues her pre-9am errands.

Updated contracts and hot coffee in hand, she taps Aemond’s office door with her foot before pushing her way inside.

“Just as you asked!” She chirps brightly. “Fresh black coffee and the latest version of the- fuck!”

She watches in horror as the disposable cup topples over, spilling its contents across the contracts as she places them both on the desk in front of Aemond a little too hastily.

“I’m so sorry!” She bows her head and braces herself, fully expecting him to berate her for being so clumsy.

He elicits a long sigh, picking up the now soggy pages and shaking the excess liquid from them. He moves around her wordlessly and heads for the door. As she looks back at him, he fixes her with a pointed stare.

“Clean that up, then wait here. I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t go anywhere.”

As soon as she hears the office door click closed behind him, she scrambles to wipe up the coffee spill with kleenex from the box on the desk, her breathing ragged and panicked the entire time. What was going to happen when Aemond got back? Was this it? Was she finally fired? She spends the morning alternating between pacing the length of his office and sitting in his desk chair with her hands anxiously clasped in her lap. The waiting is torturous.

Three long hours pass before she finally hears the door reopen and she clambers to her feet, confused, as she notices Aemond has locked the door behind him. He walks over to the front of his desk, carefully placing the coffee stained contracts from earlier on its wooden surface.

“Come here.” He beckons her towards him and she obeys, the trepidation in her demeanour painfully obvious.

“Again, I’m really so-”

He holds up a hand to stop her and then points towards the pages. “Read those.”

“W-what?” She stammers, looking up at him wide eyed.

“I want you to bend over the desk and read these contracts.” His voice is menacingly calm and even.

She feels incredibly uneasy, but does as she’s told, leaning over the desk to look at the contracts.

“Hands where I can see them. Place your palms flat against the desk.” He continues. “Put your face closer to the pages and read them aloud to me.”

Bracing herself against the desk she begins to read out loud. She pauses, gasping, as she feels Aemond pushing the skirt of her dress up over her hips, humming in approval at the sight of her lace tops.

“Did I say stop?” He asks casually.

She looks back over her shoulder at him in disbelief.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to fuck you. Just keep reading.”

She turns her attention back to the pages and returns to her recital of the documents.

Crack.

The shock and the sting of Aemond’s hand smacking her bare flesh sends a jolt through her entire body as it shunts her up the desk.

Pulling her back by her hips, he simply says “Try to steady yourself, so you don’t move as much. And keep reading. I never told you to stop.”

Crack.

The next blow to her bare bottom is more intense and her voice falters as she tries to read, however, she is determined to stay on task.

By the time she reaches the bottom of the first page her flesh is scarlet coloured and sore, but she has never been more turned on in her life. Arousal pools in her panties and she longs for Aemond to make contact with that most intimate of places. To her disappointment, he pulls her skirt back down, gently smoothing the material over her thighs. Shakily, she rights herself and turns to face him. His pupil is blown wide with lust but he makes no moves to touch her.

“Perhaps next time you’ll be a little more careful”, He says lowly, “Trying to read a contract that’s wet and smudged can be…distracting.”

He dismisses her for the weekend without any further interaction. Her mind and body scream for his touch, playing and replaying both him putting her on her knees and the spanking over and over again in her mind. She has to find a way to get him to do something like that again, but how? The thrill of it is addictive.

Before she knows it, Monday morning has rolled around again and she is queuing at the coffee shop. As she grabs Aemond’s americano and is heading to leave, she spots the milk jug placed atop the station that houses the sugar packets and stirrers, and inspiration strikes her.

She slides the disposable cup of coffee towards Aemond, fighting hard to hide the smirk that is tugging at the corners of her mouth. She has used a plastic takeaway lid to conceal its milky contents. This was sure to earn her something, she isn’t even sure what, she just knows that whatever is happening between the two of them, she doesn't want it to stop. He is pacing the office, talking on the phone in High Valyrian, behaving as if she isn’t there, so he doesn’t see her biting her lip and watching him intently as he grabs the offending beverage. Her heart hammers in her chest and her breathing feels shallow with excitement as she watches him take a sip.

He pauses on the phone for a brief moment before saying “ȳdragon aderī'' and hanging up.

She feels giddy as he finally turns to face her but is disappointed when he produces a list of errands from his pocket.

“Here’s what I need you to do today.”

He turns, places the coffee cup on his desk and leaves the office. She wants to scream in frustration. She is aching for his attention and he hasn’t even acknowledged her or the glaring, clearly deliberate mistake she’d made.

She goes through the day in a cloud of petulant irritation, feeling a hair’s breadth away from bursting into tears. When the day finally comes to a close and Aemond returns to his office, as she’s finishing up her filing, she can barely look at him, afraid of what her reaction might be.

“So, I’ll be working from home tomorrow.” He begins. “But I have some stuff I need taken care of, are you able to come to my place?”

Her head snaps up, she is a deer in headlights, unable to form a response or fully comprehend what’s just been asked of her.

“I checked your contract.” Aemond presses on. “It’s part of your job description to assist me for externally, as well as in the office, during working hours. I’ll text you my address.”

“Okay.” She breathes out, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

“Great. See you tomorrow.”

Pulling up outside the address that Aemond had texted her the following morning she is surprised to see a high rise block of flats, opposed to the plush, luxurious townhouse she’d been expecting. Aemond resides in the penthouse on the top floor. The inside is tastefully decorated, yet sparse and immaculately clean. She can tell that he hardly spends any time here. Her heels click against the hardwood flooring as he guides her through the penthouse, into the open plan living room.

“Take a seat.” He says, motioning towards the black leather couch.

As she makes herself comfortable he heads into the other room briefly and returns with a paper bag and a dining table chair. She quirks an eyebrow in question as he places the chair a few feet away and sits down.

He reaches into the bag and pulls something out, tossing it to her before she can get a good look. She catches it and realisation dawns; it’s his coffee cup from yesterday.

Her eyes flicker from Aemond’s face and back to the cup, unsure of what to say and he watches her with an amused glint in his eye before finally speaking.

“Did you think I’d forgotten? I suppose you thought you were being funny?”

“No!” She protests, her voice raised in defense, “I wasn’t. I just wanted…”

“Just wanted..?” Aemond tilts his head to the side, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable he’s making her.

She squirms, feeling small under his mocking, predatory gaze. “I just wanted you to touch me.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

He hums, appearing to be mulling over what she’s saying, before leaning towards her, forearms resting on his thighs. “Well, now you’re going to touch yourself.” He says matter of factly.

“W-what?!” She gasps, not quite believing what she’s hearing.

Aemond reaches down into the bag again, producing what appears to be a sex toy, still in sealed packaging. He ignores her question and the subsequent look of panic on her face as he leisurely strips it of its wrappings and inserts batteries. She is finally able to see that it is a vibrating wand and the sight sends a tremor through her body.

He passes the toy to her, it feels alien in her hands and she desperately wants to throw it as far from her as humanly possible, however, something about the way Aemond is looking at her means she doesn’t dare.

“I’m going to be very explicit in my instructions.” He says sternly. “I want you to take off your panties, spread your legs for me and pleasure yourself with this. Is that clear?”

She stares at him doe-eyed, her mouth hangs open in disbelief.

“I said, is that clear?!” He hisses, “I hate to repeat myself.”

She gulps and nods, shuffling back on the sofa to remove her underwear. Once she’s gotten them past her ankles and kicked them away, she doesn’t miss Aemond picking them up and pocketing them.

She spreads her legs, bending her knees and planting her heels into the sofa cushions so she is fully on display for him. Switching the toy to its lowest setting she presses it against her core and whimpers. His eye doesn’t leave her the entire time and only once she’s switched the vibrator on does he actually speak.

“How’s that feeling?”

“Um…”

“You clearly need a higher setting. Turn it up.”

She does as she’s told and instantly squeals at the sensation.

“There we go. Much better.” He says with a satisfied smile.

She pants as the vibrations against her clitoris send shockwaves of pleasure through her body. The intensity of Aemond staring at her is almost too much to bear and she can feel her peak rapidly building.

Aemond can sense her tensing up and without warning he commands “Stop.”

She shuts the toy off and pulls it away from herself with a whine, as Aemond’s eyes flit between her blissed out, pouty expression and the dripping mess that is her pussy.

After a few moments he sits back in his chair, nods and orders “Again.”

Bringing the toy back to herself, it feels like only seconds have passed before she can feel the knot in her stomach unfurling and Aemond tells her to stop again.

He repeats this several more times, allowing her to bring herself closer and closer to the edge but never allowing her release. She is a sobbing, begging wreck by the sixth consecutive attempt, but she is being shown no mercy. The seventh time she presses the toy between her legs, Aemond rises from his chair and stalks slowly towards her. She watches through heavy lidded eyes, barely able to focus. Her mascara has run in thick black streaks down her face and her hair is damp with the exertion of having to hold back her climax.

Aemond clasps a hand around her throat, looking at her in disgust. “How do I take my coffee?”

She moans in answer, so he shakes her by her neck and repeats the question with more force.

“B-black!” She manages to mewl in response.

“Good girl. You can cum now.”

She isn’t sure if it’s being granted permission or that she physically cannot hold on any longer, but it is like being washed away by huge, crushing waves of static. Her eyes roll back into her head and her legs shake with the force of it, as Aemond continues to limit the blood supply to her brain. When the last juddering aftershock finally leaves her body he lets go.

“Clean yourself up and get out.”

That day at Aemond’s penthouse is a turning point in her relationship with him and the two of them quickly fall into a comfortable routine over the following three months. On the days where her hectic and demanding workload has her feeling overwhelmed and stressed he puts her on her knees, his thumb pushing past her lips and into her mouth. She feels instantly calmed as she gazes up at his chiseled, beautiful features, while he sits nonchalantly at his desk reading through paperwork.

On the occasions where she makes mistakes, deliberate or not, Aemond dishes out a fitting punishment; usually a spanking, but for more grievous errors he makes her pleasure herself as he watches. An additional development into their dynamic is that he has begun to text her explicit instructions of what he expects her to be wearing - or not wearing - when she turns up for work each day. His demands are often as simple as wearing a particular pair of heels he likes, but on one occasion he requests that she go without her panties for the day. This seems extreme, but she ends up enjoying the exhilaration of harbouring a dirty secret that only he is privy to.

It is strange to her that Aemond has never tried to engage with her sexually, he has never laid a hand on her beyond spanking her and they had never even shared a kiss. All of their interactions are confined to working hours. She attempts online research into whatever it is that is happening between the two of them, but ends up in a rabbit hole of dark and terrifying sexual situations that make her feel uncomfortable.

For the first time in her life the chaos that rages inside of her has quieted, and that is all that really matters to her. The voice in her head that continuously tells her she isn’t enough isn’t so loud anymore, and she has noticed a change in Aemond too. He seems more relaxed. She senses something dark and broken in him and she longs to fix it. She wants to know him, and is rapidly coming to realise her feelings go far beyond respect for a workplace superior.

As she stands in the kitchen, pondering all of this, she realises she’s been stirring her tea for just a little too long and the continuous chinking of the spoon against the cup has attracted the attention of her roommate.

“Penny for your thoughts, before you whip that drink into a meringue?” Rhea chuckles.

She smiles shyly, avoiding her gaze. “Sorry. Just a little tired from work, I guess”

“Or tired from fawning over your boss!” Rhea quips teasingly.

Her cheeks burn hot with embarrassment, as she attempts to stutter a response and fails. The truth was she had it bad for Aemond and it was hard for her to hide it.

“I knew it!” Rhea cackles victoriously. “We’ll get you over that crush, don’t worry! In fact, remember Criston, the cute guy from my office that I told you about? I have a date with him tonight. I’m gonna ask him to bring a friend, we can double date!”

Panic makes her heart pound as she racks her brain for an excuse not to go, she can’t tell her the truth. How does she explain to her closest friend that she’s involved with her boss? “Hey, Rhea, I get myself off while Aemond fucking Targaryen watches, so not really looking to hook up with anyone else right now!” The thought makes her cringe. “Rhea, I’m not sure…” is all she manages to muster.

“Oh, come on!” Rhea pleads. “You can’t pine over forbidden fruit forever, it’s never gonna happen. I totally understand that you’re anxious because of what happened last time we went out, but there’ll be four of us, we’ll keep you safe. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, I promise I’ll bring you right home. Please?”

She sighs and finally relents. It’s just a drink, nothing has to happen.

Rhea claps her hands excitedly and hugs her tightly, before telling her she’ll text her details later, she then heads out of the door to work.

A strange sensation of guilt hangs over her like a cloud all day in the office. She makes a point to not tell Aemond about her evening plans, not that he was the type to ask what she was up to later anyway. He wasn’t one for small talk.

Rhea texts and tells her she’d be meeting her, Criston and a guy named Erryk at a bar a couple of streets away from the office, straight after she finished for the day. The proximity of her ‘date’ to where she works makes her uneasy, but she isn’t in a position to reveal why, so she grudgingly accepts.

As 6pm rolls around she says goodbye to Aemond. His clipped response of “pencil skirt tomorrow” makes her feel like she is walking on air as she leaves for the evening, but that soon dissipates into dread the closer she gets to the bar.

Rhea has truly outdone herself in finding her a date for the evening, Erryk is gorgeous, just not her type. His long, brown hair and sculpted beard are a million miles away from the otherworldly magnificence of Aemond and she finds herself making mental comparisons every time she looks at him. She is thankful that he seems fairly self-involved, as his lack of interest in asking about her means she can lose herself in her thoughts and give the impression of listening intently as he talks about himself. His arm slings casually around the back of the booth seat and, subsequently, her shoulders. It makes her want to recoil away, but she hides it by taking frequent sips of her wine. Rhea and Criston are too engrossed in each other to pay any attention to her or Erryk, but she figures a couple of hours of this can be bearable until she can make her excuses and go home.

A large number of people entering the bar catches her attention. She recognises a few faces and realises it is a group from Red Keep Legal out for after work drinks. She attempts to focus her attention back to Erryk and his stories of how great he was at fencing back in his university days, but she is caught off guard by the entrance of an all too familiar tall silver haired man. Shit. Aemond has come out with them. As if on cue, he locks his eye on her, his expression unreadable, as she stares back in flustered panic for what seems like an eternity. Casually he returns his attention back to the group he’s arrived with and she exhales heavily. He’s seen her with another man’s arm around her. She has to make this right. She excuses herself from the table and heads towards the ladies’ room, grateful that Rhea being so deep in conversation with Criston means she hasn’t offered to accompany her.

She locks herself in a bathroom stall and pulls out her phone, racking her brain for what to send to appease Aemond. Surely he has to be pissed off with her for being out with another man and not saying anything? Serious damage control is needed here. She types out a message, hoping he won’t be upset.

“What you saw is not what it looks like. That guy is one of Rhea's work friends, I’d never met him before today. Hope you’re okay.”

She re-reads it a couple of times before hitting send and then heads out to the sinks to wash her hands and retouch her make-up. Her phone vibrates after a couple of minutes and she grins like a Cheshire cat when she sees Aemond’s name.

“You don’t need to explain your private life to me. You’re my employee. Who you date is none of my business. Have a nice evening.”

She chokes back a sob as her eyes blur with tears, making the words difficult to read. She means nothing to him and the admission breaks her heart.

Drying her tears in the bar’s restroom, she orders an Uber, then makes a rapid fire excuse to Rhea about having a migraine before hurriedly making her exit without giving her a chance to respond. She doesn’t spare Erryk a second glance, she has no intention of seeing or speaking to him again.

Once safely back in the confines of the flat she allows herself to fall apart. Pathetic, full body wracking sobs erupt from deep within her chest. On the surface it seems like a massive overreaction to a simple text, however, the moment she’d read his dismissive reply she’d known she’d fallen for Aemond and it was evident he didn’t feel the same way.

Sleep evades her that night. She feels physically exhausted from crying, but her mind won’t allow her to switch off. Thoughts about everything that have transpired between her and Aemond swirl around in her head. How can she go back to just being his assistant after all this?

She numbly rolls over and silences her alarm when the morning slowly creeps in. She hasn’t slept a wink. Aemond’s command of “pencil skirt tomorrow” pops into her head as she rummages in her wardrobe for an outfit, and she fights to swallow down the lump in her throat. Time to get real, she decides, she’ll get through today and then start looking for another job, so she can move on and forget about him. She opts for the basic outfit she wore the first day of the job, then heads out to grab Aemond’s morning coffee. She smiles sadly as she thinks of all the trouble such a simple drink has caused between the two of them.

She feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room as she enters Aemond’s office and looks at him. All of her thoughts have been consumed by how she’ll handle the situation as a whole. Having to actually interact with him isn’t something that’s crossed her mind at all; the man she loves, her boss.

He is reclining in his desk chair, a thousand yard stare plastered to his face. He looks like he’s had a rough night too, dark circles adorn his usually flawless porcelain skin. She briefly wonders if he’s been as cut up by the situation as she is and immediately feels foolish. Of course he isn’t. He’s probably been out all night partying and then taken someone home. She feels her chest constrict at the thought. She places his coffee cup down gently on the desk in front of him.

“Do you have a schedule for me today?” She sounds meek, shyer than usual. She is convinced if she attempts to speak at a higher volume her voice will crack.

It is as though her speaking has made him realise she is in the room. He breaks away from the thoughts he is obviously lost in and regards her carefully before speaking. When he does his voice is eerily calm. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to terminate your contract of employment with Red Keep Legal.”

The rush of disbelief is overwhelming. She has to have misheard. “What?!”

“I’m letting you go.” He explains. “I’ll ensure you’re compensated with more than adequate severance pay, but you and I will no longer be working together.”

She releases a pitiful whimper, her pitch raising noticeably. “Why? If this is about last night, Aemond, I-”

He cuts her off, refusing to look at her as he does so. “What’s happening between us - what happened - it was inappropriate. I’ve abused my position as your employer. I have to let you go.”

“No!” Her voice wobbles, despite the singular syllable.

“We can’t keep doing this.” He sighs.

“Why not?” She feels desperate. Despite resigning herself to remain professional this morning, she never expected him to express a desire to actually end things.

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Just go.”

“I love you!” She cries, hot tears rolling their way down her cheeks, “Aemond, I love you.”

He laughs, but there is no genuine mirth to it, as his eye finally meets hers. “Nobody loves me for me. They love me for the Targaryen name and everything that comes with it.”

“Please believe me.” She begs. “Please don’t do this.”

He stands up, brushing past her as he makes his way to the door. “If you’re not leaving then I will.” He utters coldly.

She feels defiant, despite her fragile emotional state. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait. It’s fine if you don’t want me as your assistant, but you can’t deny there’s something between us. I know you felt it too.”

He doesn’t respond, but pauses for a moment before exiting the office, allowing the door to close by itself behind him.

She sits heavily on the office couch. She considers just leaving, it would certainly be the easier option, however, she wants to fight for Aemond, to prove to him that she truly means it when she says that she loves him. He keeps his own feelings well guarded, but she knows deep down he cares for her too. She can’t give up on that. What has gone on between the two of them runs deeper than just twisted power dynamics. They calm each other’s inner turmoil. They need each other. And so she waits.

She succumbs to her tiredness and falls asleep. Eventually, she awakens to the office door opening. The sky is darkening to the rich orange, yellow and red hues of dusk through the floor to ceiling window, and she feels stiff and aching from having slept all day on the confines of a tiny sofa. Aemond looks genuinely surprised to see her as he enters.

“Sorry, I didn’t sleep much last night…” She trails off, the explanation feels unimportant, unnecessary.

“You’re still here.” He says, more to himself than her.

The tenderness in his expression makes her want to wrap her arms around him and never let go, but she stays rooted to her spot on the couch.

“Come here.” He beckons softly with his hand.

Sje rises slowly, still feeling heavy with tiredness and follows Aemond as he exits the building via the underground carpark, striding towards his car.

“Where are we going?” She asks, as he opens the passenger door and gestures for her to get in.

He ignores the question and her stomach sinks as she climbs into the vehicle, imagining he is going to drive her home and ask her never to bother him again. They drive in silence and after a few unfamiliar turns she realises he is driving her back to his place.

He makes quick work of opening the door for her and offering a hand to help her out. To her surprise, his nimble fingers keep a gentle but firm hold on hers as he leads the way up to his penthouse and then into the bathroom, where he finally lets go.

He turns on the shower and she has a thousand questions, which die on her lips as he reaches for the hem of her top, pulling it over her head. He undresses her slowly, as though he is unwrapping an expensive and fragile gift. She expects to be self conscious as she stands bare for him, but the look of adoration on his face as he looks at her makes her feel beautiful. He is much quicker in shedding his own clothing and she drinks him in as he strips, his skin is like marble. He is lean muscled with a body that looks as though it has been sculpted by the gods themselves.

Taking her hand once more he guides her into the shower, standing behind her as he moves her towards the spray of the warm water. His long fingers softly massage their way across her scalp and she sighs happily, leaning back into his chest. It is then that his hand strokes down across her cheek to her jaw, gripping and tilting her head back and up towards his face. His lips capture hers in a kiss. The first kiss the two of them have ever shared. It is so full of meaning, slow and sensual, every bit as soft as she’d imagined. He breaks it as he reaches for the soap. He washes her, taking his time, ensuring he is thorough. His large hands roaming across her body make her feel featherlight, boneless and she collapses against him as he wraps her naked form in a fluffy towel.

Carrying her bridal style to the bedroom, he lays her down in the centre of his bed before opening the towel he’s just encased her in and moving over her body. Again, she finds herself compelled to ask him what this is, what it means for them, but the questions disappear as he kisses her once more. There is more urgency this time, his lips move against hers greedily, before dragging their way down to her neck. He makes delicate work of her, ensuring no part of her went untouched by his mouth. She wonders if this is what it felt like to be worshipped. As he makes his way back up to her face, his hands capture her wrists and hold them above her head. There is no force behind the gesture, but she doesn’t dare to struggle against him. She wants him in total control.

She feels him line himself up against her entrance and elicits a breathy sigh as he pushes himself in, bottoming out. The pace he sets is slow, yet feels impossibly deep. He keeps a hold on her wrists with one hand, while alternating between gripping her jaw and stroking her cheek with the other as he pushes into her over and over again, agonisingly unhurried. The icy blue of his right eye remains locked onto hers, and with each small moan that escapes from her he rewards her with a passionate kiss. The gentle friction is slowly building her towards climax and Aemond can feel it, as she flutters and clenches around him. His hand moves from her jaw to her hip to steady her as she writhes against him.

“Cum for me.” He whispers. “I’m so close.”

Her entire body goes rigid as pleasure washes over her in a warm, hazy wave. She feels Aemond let go shortly after, placing sloppy, open mouth kisses across her breasts and collar bones as he releases her wrists.

He pulls away and sudden fear makes her think he is going to tell her this was a mistake as he disappears from the room. She is calmed at seeing him return with a washcloth in hand. He carefully cleans her up, before depositing the cloth on the bedside table and pulling her tight against him. She is more relaxed than she has been for months and can tell that Aemond feels the same as his fingers stroke lazily along her spine.

If it weren’t for the utter silence in the room she’d have almost missed it when he murmurs against her skin “I love you too.”

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justafairytailofinnocence · 28 days

Text

Modern Thranduil x anxious reader

Caged birds with broken wings

Chapter 1:

A Dance with tardiness

Synopsis: An antisocial, anxious writer in her early 20s attends a ballet class under the teachings of a mysterious, reserved, austere dance instructor. They form an unlikely within their solace and past.

Warnings: mentions of blood

Chapter 2

A/n: This fanfic doesn't follow along the lines of the hobbit but rather a loosely spin-off au that only uses some characters. I do not own the right to them as they are Tolkien's characters and I respect his creation. (even if the characters might be ooc). Feel free to comment, reblog and like. Let me know if you'd like a chapter 2.

I tended to daydream often, more so when I listened to the music. The tune and tone of the song that played one after the other sent me to the realms I immersed; typically, anyone would daydream into another realm far better than their own: a princess, pirate, elf, fae—anything. My imagination is my realm of comfort, a sealed bubble that I can freely roam however I wish. Unfortunately, within fantasy, we must face reality. Within my reality, I’m not much of an importance, at least not one to have a whole written memoir about. I’m more of one of those faces you’d pass by in the street or grocery store, not giving any second thought to. Though I’d prefer it that way, I’m not much of a talker but rather a writer; I’m more fluent in my words than my speaking. Every attempt I’ve made, I’ve stumbled or become still; my chest would rise heavily and lower deeply. I always asked how people can do it, how they can speak—talk—communicate like it’s a piece of cake. I’d rather shroud myself in my isolation than speak to another living being.

At my desk, in my somewhat clean apartment, I was planning my next latest story in a saga of 3 books. So far, I’ve managed to get in contact with a publishing company via email who were willing to get behind the idea of a feature-length young-adult romance novel, a romance novel about a pirate king and a fae queen. The first chapter was still relatively underdeveloped, yet I’m willing to spend an entire day finishing it. I had only five months to publish the entire chapters. I’ve been a fantasy fan ever since I was a child. To me, fantasy is what the word impossible turned into possible. For ten years, I’ve been writing, and never once has it stripped me of what I truly adore.

Whilst my fingers pressed against the keys on my keyboard, I received a text message on my phone from the side of my desk surrounded by papers. It was from my mom, who was wondering about my well-being. As always, I respond with the usual ‘everything’s going well—I’m pumping out new chapters for my new novel, ‘A Puncture in Time’, you know—the one with pirates and fantasy, new chapters soon to come ;)’. Even though she’s smart enough to see through my little façade, she writes back, ‘Hey listen, I know it’s hard right now, but I can assure you, things will get better; it just takes practice; I know you’ll meet someone you’ll find it easy to talk to’. I sighed heavily; within her words, I have faith, yet doubt. Should I choose to believe her, bite the bullet and try to speak up or wallow in a lie that can send her mind at ease? Before I wrote back, she sent a post with a link. I furrowed my brows as curiosity swelled my thoughts, my finger tapped the link. It was an ad. An ad for ballet classes. I thought it odd why she would send me something like this: I’m no dancer; I’m certainly no ballerina.

I replied with a question mark ‘?’.

A message bubble popped up: ‘…’ I awaited her reply.

As she was still typing, I took the liberty of glancing through the ad quickly. The tab loaded with a cursive font in bold ‘Les danseuses se réjouissent’. Scrolling past the stock images of ballet dancers, I came across a small section of different levels offered: beginner, Intermediate, and advanced. My mind raced with doubt; I had no experience in ballet, at least not since I was a young child. I wondered to myself, ‘Do I really want to take this? After all, I’m not exactly one for groups’. However, my mind was put at ease when my eyes came across an option for ‘one-on-one private lessons’. At least, I wouldn’t be with people who were far more experienced—let alone a group; the thought of many eyes staring at me—would have my heart sink. As I clicked the option, I was astounded; there were no reviews, pictures, or even a description of the instructor. I was sceptical. Surely, if you were to teach a class, you’d have at least a brief introduction of yourself. Even as an author, I have a concise introduction in my publications. I lightly sighed, weighing my options; on the one hand, it’ll please my mom, get me out of the apartment, and keep me fit; on the other hand, despite being private, I’m meeting someone I don’t know. Who knows what this person’s intention is, even if it’s for a class.

Finally, I heard a ‘ding’ as she replied, ‘Please try, at least for me; it’ll be good for your health, and you once mentioned you wanted to be a ballerina. I know the world isn’t always what we want it to be, but I know you can make it shine; I’ve seen it in your novels; give this a chance, give them a chance, to show them how you can shine, because I know you’ll be the brightest star there :).’

My eyes softened as I read every word; I couldn’t deny she had a way of getting through to me. She was always a caring woman, along with my dad. They were the only two people I could speak to without pressure or the weight in my chest.

I pressed back onto the tab with the private lessons. I clicked to see the booking dates—there’s an option to book for tomorrow, and the price is only $45 per lesson. For the price, it wasn’t too bad; yet still expensive. I filled in the details required to send the booking through, yet my finger hovered as I was about to press ‘confirm’. My mind came to a tussle of thoughts and hesitations; this would be the first time, in a long time, that I would speak face-to-face with an actual living being. However, I recalled Mom's words, ‘Because I know you’ll be the brightest star there’.

Breathing in—I pushed it, I pressed confirm.

I did it. I’m going to attend a ballet class. My head slowly lowers onto my desk, surrounded by papers. My hair dangled over my forehead. The adrenaline that reached the height of my mentality came crashing down. It’s like going on a rollercoaster you didn’t ask for, coming from the highest point of the rail down to the pit below. I start to feel light-headed. I want to sleep. I want to stay here. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake. What if this doesn’t work out?

I rose slowly from my desk chair, picked up my phone, and texted, ‘I’ve booked lessons for tomorrow…I hope you're right about this.’

I watched as once more, awaiting her response, ‘…’

‘Oh, I’m so happy, you’ll fit right in, I know it :)’ she texted.

I didn’t respond. She’s pleased, at least.

I decided to call it a night; I’ve had enough pressure for one day. I logged off, cleaned the papers on my desk, pushed them into a neat-ish pile and headed to the bathroom to shower. As I opened the door, I went inside to set down my pyjamas by the medium-small bathtub’s acrylic side rim. My bathroom isn’t big exactly, but neither is it small. It’s moderate for what it was: a bathtub, shower, toilet, sink, and a medium-sized mirror in the same room. It’s not precisely palace material, but it helps soothe my thoughts. I held my hand out as I turned on the shower, feeling the trickling water against my skin. The temperature quickly changed from cold to warm in just five seconds. Once I was satisfied, I stripped bare, sliding my long-sleeved green shirt off and sliding my darker tracksuit pants. I tossed my unmentionables inside the bathtub. I stepped inside the shower, allowing the warm water to run freely down my skin. I shut the shower enough to have a slit entrance still. I grabbed the soap, rubbing it over my skin, arms, legs, and body. I splashed water on my face as the water rinsed the suds away. I hovered my hands in my eyesight, glancing closer at my fingers. I could see the redness and patches from where I’d picked my skin; it’s a habit I developed since childhood. The habit would annoy Mom, often whispering or saying straight, “Stop picking”, even touching my hand to remind me. Unfortunately, this habit hasn’t subsided; I sometimes even look at my skin with little care, picking the cuticles or rough patches.

Once I finished scrubbing my body with soap, I turned off the water and opened the shower door to step onto the bathmat. I grabbed a towel from the single towel rack located beside the shower. I dried my body, running the towel over my skin. As I wrapped the towel around my body, I glanced at my face in the mirror above the sink. They say eyes are the most expressive in emotion. My narrowed, pinkish lips thinned.

I snapped out of my gaze, continuing to slip on my long blue pants decorated in owl prints, then, the next, a long-sleeve top with the basic purple on them topped with a giant owl embroidered in the front area. Owls have always resonated with me, whether it's their symbolism or captivating beauty. I placed the towel on the side of the bathtub’s rim. I picked up my previous clothes and took it into my bedroom. My bedroom was also medium sized, having a queen-sized bed and an oaken cupboard with a mirrored wardrobe. My room was decorated with tiny figurines I’d collect overtime, albeit from movies I’ve fancied or books. I placed the clothes in my hamper basket behind my door. My body relaxed when my eyes lingered toward my bed, the messy, deep blue sheets draped to the left side. I dismissed the thought of tucking them in for the time being, only plonking myself onto the mattress and wrapping myself within the single cotton sheets and doona drifting off.

Dreaming is the easy part, letting what visions came to my mind run wild. Sometimes, it’s suitable for inspiration, but other times, it's nightmares. The imagination is still enchanting, although, this time, it was peculiar. I was in a birdcage decorated with gold; the entrance was bolted shut; my hands gripped the golden rods holding the cage together. I tried to scream but to no avail. I tried to shake the cage, yet I was too small to provoke movement. My body lowered, feeling the coldness of the metal plate below. I had nothing but rosy ribbon pointe shoes. I suddenly felt myself, in no control, rise as though my limbs were attached to strings. I started to dance, my arms and legs stretching to fit the perfect movements. Eventually, I stopped mid-movement, standing on one leg while extending the other behind. I couldn’t move; I was frozen in place. I could do nothing but shut my eyes.

Suddenly, I woke up; my eyes fluttered open from the confusion I had just endured. Rising from the bed, I pondered for a few seconds. ‘What on earth did I dream about?’. My hands pressed against my face, trying to comprehend my dream and reality. I pulled the sheets off me and got up for the morning. A typical morning for me results in the usual routine: dressing, brushing my teeth and hair, and then looking forward to what the day offers me. Until I remembered that I had booked that class. I typically picked out green tracksuit pants with a white singlet, hoping that would suffice. I picked up my purse and headed out the door to my car. I entered inside, placing my purse in the front seat as I turned on the white car. I noticed outside that it started to snow. Snow is beautiful, especially the little snowflakes that fall into your hand and dissolve upon touch.

As the car started, I prepared to drive to wherever it was that awaited me. The location was further from where I lived; it must’ve been at least twenty-eight minutes. The drive wasn’t particularly bothersome for me; when you live in New York, you get used to the traffic.

As I drove, the snowflakes emerged in more significant numbers. Eventually, I found parking just next to the side of a café. I wasn’t aware if it was for the staff or guests. However, it seemed empty with only a few cars, so—if I get called out on it, I’ll move my car. No one seemed to notice, so I assumed I was okay. I grabbed my black parker from the back and zipped it up. Exiting the car, I stopped to admire the snow falling for a few seconds. It was January 4th, so the snow season was still here. My hands shoved in my pockets, beginning to wander toward where I needed to be. According to the ad, it was building ‘52’; it was vague, I know, but it was the details given. I trudged through the snow, seeing building after building, until I came across something with the number ‘52’, where I needed to be. My hand gripped the gold-looking handle attached to the glass door. As I entered, I came upon a staircase; I took one step after the other. I quickly glanced at the ad to see what floor it was on, yet to no avail. Was it the ‘4th floor? Oh god, oh god, please don’t resort to me asking someone. My fingers started to twitch; I raised one of my fingertips to my lips, feeling the rough patches. My thumb started scraping off the first layer, and small blood trickles formed. I ran my fingers over my lips again as I trailed up the stairs. I could feel my chest becoming heavier, my mind swell with thoughts of self-doubt. Suddenly, the anxiety soon started to subside as my eyes saw the sight of a door. My fingers hesitantly wrapped around the door handle; I took one breath in, trying to be brave. I pushed it open—only for my worst nightmare to come to life.

My breathing became heavier, my heart sank, my eyelids widened, and I could feel myself hyperventilating. There was a group of ballerinas staring directly at me. There must’ve been at least four? Five? Looking my way! Their ages varied, going into their late 20s.

The one brunette asked in French “es-tu perdu, cherches quelqu’un”.

I couldn’t concentrate; my mind dwelled with clouded thoughts of judgment. I pressed my finger against my lip, trying to feel the rough patches.

Another asked in English, “My friend asked if you’re searching for someone”.

Quickly, my eyes diverted to the ground, avoiding their gaze. “I-I-, pr-viate, less-on”. I stumbled over my words.

“Lessons? Private lessons?” the girl spoke once more.

I nodded, avoiding eye contact.

As I quickly glanced, a middle-aged woman in her mid-forties stepped closer; I assumed she was the dance teacher. “Are you referring to the private dance lessons advertised? the one taught by Mr. Oropherion?”.

I paused for a moment, trying to gather my words. Mr Oropherion? Is he the teacher I’m with?

“I-Is. This. Right. Floor.” I tried to sound out the right words, but it was impossible. Perhaps my conscience was right; perhaps this was a terrible idea.

The middle-aged woman, confused, pointed toward the direction I needed to go. “you’ll need to head up one more level, then head to your right” Her voice was calm with a hint of soprano.

Still avoiding eye contact, I left, not even saying thank you, focusing on wanting to escape. I closed the door in front and let out a heavy breath. My head lowered to touch the tip of my hands. I wanted to melt in that moment; I wanted nothing more than to return home. However, I reminded myself that I was doing this for Mom. I breathed in once more, looking up at the door; my hands quickly released, and I began to walk quickly, edging further up the stairs. My mind came crashing down, feeling the dreariness wash over me. Feeling tired, I finally, at last, came across the door I needed to be. It was blank, the painted white withering away around the edges. My hand reached the doorknob, feeling the roundness, turning it slightly. I could feel the adrenaline kick in. I was hesitant, but my nerves started to build.

I started to whisper to myself, “Just a general hello, that’s all it takes—

You're doing this for Mom—

Give them a chance to show them how I can shine; give them a chance to see who I am because I’ll be the brightest star there”.

I breathed in, closing my eyes and opening the door. As I tried to force my eyes open, I was confused. There was no one here. It was an empty space surrounded by mirrors with bar beams attached to them. My eyes scanned the room, yet no one was there. I suppose I should be relieved, maybe the teacher had caught a sickness and decided to ditch the whole class. I wandered further inside; I might as well take a quick peek. I unzipped my black parker with a furry hood, tossed it on the coat hanger and took off my shoes, leaving my white socks on. I stood in the middle of the dance room, embracing the quiet ambience. I looked in the mirrors, reflecting my figure. Was this even what ballerinas wear? Who even is Mr. Oropherion? If he doesn’t show up in the next 15 minutes, I’m heading off and not returning.

Perhaps Aelwynn, the fae queen in my novel, would’ve also been able to dance freely and eloquently in movement. I still wonder what would entrance the pirate king Sarek Salazar. I never pictured him to be devilishly handsome, though. I suppose Aelwynn would be a beauty, but there must be more to it—beauty can only go so far in their bond; what would their obstacles or hardships be? Perhaps the fae queen is somewhat intertwined with difference, the opposite of a fairytale. Aelwynn is fair, kind, beautiful and strong; she meets all the criteria for something otherworldly, yet what if Sarek is her opposite, a beast? No—What if he was average, a gross-looking thing? Pirates are anyway; what if he wasn’t powerful, just an average man with greed—and the dynamic changes, challenging Sarek to choose between the love of his life or treasure?

Or he would choose—

Suddenly, I heard a male voice emit behind me: “You best have a thorough explanation, girl. Do not even think about squandering my precious time.”

My breathing became heavier as I realized someone was speaking to me. I did not turn around; I was afraid to. Instead, I avoided eye contact, too paralysed to move. My head stooped low, and my hands stood to the side. He spoke again, “Clearly, you are here for a reason, are you not? I’ll admit your intrusion is rather fatuous.”

I didn’t glance up; I couldn’t look; I needed time to gather the words to explain. What should I say? Hey, sir, some ballerinas told me to come here, and I fear speaking to people.

“I see you have a mouth; that means you must have a tongue. Go on, speak.” His voice was deep and tranquil, composed yet icy.

I took a deep breath in, slowly turning around. As my legs moved, I slowly gathered the courage to look into the man’s eyes, even if I muttered a ‘hello’. It would be enough. As my head glanced up to meet his, I noticed his appearance.

He—was like—something out of a fairytale. His face was lean and chiselled; his eyes were like ice; his blueish-greyish irises complemented his cold gaze. His hair tressed down like water reaching his chest, light like snow. Whilst his skin was pale in comparison, a fair tone in colour. His attire seemed far more affluent than mine, donning a black trench coat with white underneath. His trousers complimented the darkness of his coat, and his black loafers were polished. I glanced at his right finger, an oval-shaped ring with a diamond glass stone crafted in sterling silver.

“Did you hear me not the first-time girl?” his tone turned stern.

My mouth moved, finally finding the words to speak. “H-hello, I’m Y/n”.

“y/n?” he muttered.

My eyes glanced downward once more as I slowly nodded.

“So, you have a voice after all, pray, tell. Why are you lingering in my domain?” he said shortly.

I muttered “private lessons”, though my voice sounded like a whisper.

“Ah, so you’ve seen the ad; I suppose you haven’t wasted our time after all, although you are five minutes late; I expect punctuality, to be exactly on time at the hour.” His voice sounded stern once more.

Well gee, it’s not like it’s my first time here, and gotten lost. My eyes still avoided his; I couldn’t look up, so I nodded.

He didn't react when I avoided his gaze, dismissing it. However, he commented on something else: “Your posture is lamentable. Stand up straighter like so.” The tip of his finger lightly touched my chin, lifting it to meet his gaze. I didn’t turn away precisely, yet I still flinched. My breathing slowed down as I once more met his gaze. His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned.

“You stand there like a bird, wounded by the natures of evil, ignorant of the world’s knowledge, caged and sheltered from the shadows that lurk within the realm. Tell me, little bird, care to spread your wings?” I glanced at myself in the mirror, standing straighter. I could feel the flush in my cheeks, but I didn’t say anything, only breathing slowly.

His finger pulled away, and he turned his back to me, walking away.

“I expect to see you here tomorrow at exactly the seventh hour of the night”.

“Do not make me regret my decision, or you shall return to the cage from where you came, little bird”, He muttered.

With that, he walked out of the room, distancing himself further and further away. At that moment, I stood in disbelief for a few seconds, trying to understand what had happened. However, once my thoughts were collected, I gathered my things and scurried out of there, wanting nothing more than to enter my car. Once I exited the building, I was hit with the coldness in temperature as it touched my face.

I opened the car door, tossing my things in the back, turning the engine on. I looked back, trying to see the building to the left. As I drove, my thoughts were plagued with astonishment. I didn’t look away; I maintained eye contact for longer than three seconds, and—I managed to speak my name without stumbling over my words. My emotions displayed were as if I’d seen a ghost. Yet—his face—his appearance—it reminded me of snow; I always loved snow; even when I was a child, it was the happiest of my memories. I recall when my parents took me to the park; I was fascinated by the sight of the winter wonderland, my face lighting up with delight and laughing with joy. I always find that snow rekindles the fond memories I have.

Perhaps Mom was right after all; this might be the start of something I’ve never been able to do. Talk.

#thranduil au #thranduil x you #thranduil #thranduil oropherion #the hobbit au #the hobbit #thranduil fanfic #lord of the rings #thranduil ballet au #thranduil headcanon #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil oropherion x reader

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stealingyourbones · 6 months

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Ask the writer ask game! Tagged by @gremlin-bot

1.) how many works do you have on ao3?

2.) what’s your total ao3 word count?

50k!

3.) what fandoms do you write for?

Primarily DPxDC but I enjoy writing DC and I greatly enjoy writing D&D campaigns!

4.) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Falling in Love (In the Most Literal Sense)

Short DPxDC Prompts

I've Grown a Mouth So Sharp and Cruel (It's All That I Can Give To You)

What the Hell?! (UP FOR ADOPTION)

Dream of a Peaceful Slumber

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I’m simply too busy with my tumblr to respond to people on ao3. If I try to focus on more than one website at a time I’ll lose my mind 😅. I promise I Look at each and every one!

6.) what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending

There’s a sander sides fic i wrote like 8 years ago that had all of the sides get slowly and very brutally murdered one by one in hella graphic detail. I was trying to experiment with descriptors and visuals at that time. Definitely that one. I don’t think it’s on ao3 but it’s somewhere on my old Wattpad account

7.) what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Definitely Falling In Love (In The Most Literal Sense) or an unpublished eldritch smut horror DeadOnMain fic that’s forever staying in WIP hell. Falling In Love first and foremost has an ending, secondly they get along and it’s cute :)

8.) do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I occasionally get questions or criticism on my tumblr but that’s either advice or someone wanting answers and that isn’t hate.

9.) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have tried my hand at smut before. Mostly smutty scenes with kinda sorta fade to black, solely because I’m terrible at painting a mental picture for the reader so it always flows terribly. I’ve written that eldritch DeadOnMain thing as I said previously, and some of Jason’s matches Malone persona OF ideas.

10.) do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one?

Somewhere in my WIPs there is a homestuck AU DPxDC fic where DP kids are the humans and DC folks (primarily the teen titans) are the trolls. Definitely that one.

11.) have you ever had a fic stolen?

No fics but I’ve been sent asks that are word for word one of my prompts. I just delete those and go on with my day. Idk I don’t have a tiktok and someone’s probably imitating me on there with my prompts so possibly????

12.) have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13.) have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes!! I’ve Grown A Mouth So Sharp And Cruel (It’s All That I Can Give To You My Dear) (eventually I’ll get around to working on it I have so much stuff going on like preparing to move and finals creeping up aUGH)

14.) what’s your all time fav ship?

Ooooo It’s a solid tie between Kon/Tim and Dave/Karkat. One is my current favorite and the other is one that’s been my favorite ship for the longest time.

15.) what’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I have a WIP in my files that’s a DPxDC Dash/Danny fic where Dash is a bomb disposal tech and Danny just moved into Gotham. I have the entire outline written and almost a solid chapter done but I heavily doubt I’ll have the motivation to touch it again.

16.) what are your writing strengths?

I don’t think I have any, (I haven’t written a full length fic in so long I can’t really tell 😅) but I’m very good at setting tone. Idk what do y’all think?

17.) writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. 100% dialogue. It always feels clunky and unconversational whenever I read it back. I swear the second I start writing talking I forget how conversations work.

18.) thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I’d probably throw a simple word here in there of the other language if I’m writing a bilingual speaker or ask a pal to help me with translations because I only know English and I know damn well that friends are better translators than google.

19.) first fandom you wrote for?

Sander Sides! I wrote a solid 500ish prompts for that fandom and like 70k worth of fics. It was what got me into writing and for that I’m so very glad.

20.) Fav fic you’ve ever written?

Definitely my Batman mermaid au. I love it to bits and I’m so proud of the designs and I’m always kinda sad that I’m the only one as enthused about this work as I am. None the less I reread it at least every 3 months and it always makes me smile doing so.

Ooo who to tag… @chromatographic @halfagone @susiron

#ask game #bones speaks #bones replies #feel free to ask me about any of these :D

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cheswirls · 4 months

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sa fic rec list [ENG] pt 3

preface: i have a public collection on ao3 of my favorite sa fics on there but not all of them are listed on the front-end so these are some unlisted ones, some i love that can't be added to collections, and one special fic on ffn for fun :)

past non-english language rec lists here and here. ao3 collection here.

1) Prince Sabo by drowningrat

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43683183 complete - T rating - 3k - au

this one is rly cute domestic fluff modern au goodness. will never get enough of it, rat's prose and dialogue are too good. ace finds out from a former uni classmate of sabo's how many people sabo's dated before him and gets unreasonably jealous and drunkenly confronts sabo about it at home much to sabo's chagrin. it's really. it's adorable. nothing i say will ever come close to how giddy reading the fic makes me feel. their dynamic is TOO cute they are tooth-rotting with how sweet they are. if you want a quick read pls give this one a chance

2) Song Of Genesis by Echaryn

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8544379/chapters/19587928 complete - E rating - 45k - au

this one is my most favorite saboace fic of all time. i cannot recommend it highly enough, it's that fantastic. this is coming from someone who doesn't read nsfw anymore and hasn't for years now – song of genesis literally is and will always be number one in my heart. if you also don't care abt explicit content, i can assure you it's entirely skip-able in this fic w/o losing any enjoyment or context.

SoG is a 'getting back together' type fic that stabs your heart at every angle and at every opportunity during the beginning. echaryn is a fantastic writer and handles the contents of the story so so so well. the break-up is ace's fault but he doesn't know why / the break-up is sabo's decision but he regrets it at every turn. they're still so deeply in love with each other and one turn of events late one evening is the catalyst to bring them back together.

there are horror elements in this in the background that are done spectacularly well. the tags on the fic itself pretty much cover the extent of it but i do wanna throw by two cents in that i don't think anything about it is particularly graphic. if horror isn't your thing this is toned down enough that you should be fine to skim thru or skip parts if necessary. it's good for a horror enthusiast but it's not over the top for those who could care less.

if you read anything from this list pls read che's #1 saboace fic rec of all time pls and ty

3) Red Moon by emygrl99 and leafyxthiefy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6703183/chapters/15330946 complete - T rating - 123k - au

red moon is still, six years after first reading it, the most interesting and well-crafted premise for a soulmate au i've ever heard of in my life. if you're familiar with a majority of soulmate bond types and know this particular one then you'll probably pick it up before the reveal, but if not ooooooooooo you're in for a treat. i won't mention it here to save the suspense.

i've never read another soulmate fic as good as this one, and the soulmate aspect isn't necessarily even the best part?? the atmosphere of the fic comes from character relationships and interactions. ace and sabo start out on the wrong foot and it takes time for them to change their opinions about each other, but as you can see by the length, the journey is done with patience and well worth the effort spent :)

as someone indifferent to a lot of the minor characters in this fic, i actually enjoyed them and their various roles a lot??? i guess the takeaway is that you should look at the character list and take it in stride (and the minor relationship that is tagged is v minor like if it's not your cup of tea pls still give the fic a chance). everyone is a joy to read and experience things through. also the world-building is so well done. i have not been into vampire content for many years now but i can say with full confidence that this one still slaps.

also as someone who enjoys like... not necessarily "slow burn" but like a natural progression of a relationship from people who just met into something romantic – this fic hits all those points for me surprisingly well??? my only complaint is that as long as it is sabo and ace barely admit their feelings for each other by the end. i live and breathe to see romantic relationships in fic and red moon is primarily build-up. the two have to be friends first, which takes time and is good! not knocking the fic for that. jus throwing it out there that it's one of the they-hold-hands-by-the-end shoujo-type stories.

maybe before this gets too long i should uh. TALK abt what the fic entails. it's a fantasy-esque story where sabo, a vampire hunter, is captured and taken prisoner by a vampire coven living in the mountains. while he's being held captive, he discovers luffy, the little brother he'd thought was dead for years, is living among the vampires and is the same age at which he supposedly died. this triggers some mixed emotions in sabo about the coven and its members, but most importantly gives him incentive to act iffy in regards to luffy's "father", ace, who is not intent on being at all friendly with sabo either.

4) Epiphany by Scarletsorceress

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30518460 complete - T rating - 5.5k - canon(divergent)

everything scarlet writes for acesabo is done immaculately. if you read this fic and like it, please do yourself a favor and read all of her other fics as well. there are some real gems she has in her collection, but this one has a special place in my heart considering i really don't read sa fics sets in canonverse all that much.

also because it paints a side of the one piece world that i like seeing a lot in fan content – specifically how gruesome it is and the dire straits average everyday citizens go to to survive above the waves. not even to have a peaceful or even "good" life, but just to life long enough in good health to make it count. one piece follows the strawhats as focus characters, which is why i've never been concerned about reading fic starring them. reading about non-titular characters that dont' get as many updates, or that oda teases the lives of without going into depth, has always been more interesting.

and to go with that, the revolutionary army has by far always been the most interesting group of people in the op-verse for me. any fic that focuses on them and paints a picture of their struggle is worth a read. the fact that this is saboace is great, and i love it, but it's also a bonus to a great fic concept in general, which is:

what happens to RA members when a mission goes south and people are killed as a result of their actions?

i don't think the RA gets enough credit for how well they individually hold themselves together. it's fine to portray a kind of "escapism" and have them be happy because they deserve to be happy, but fics like this where it dives into how much their actions (and failures) affect them are always, to me, taking the RA and stripping them of their masks.

also ace is really, really loving and caring and kind and supportive in this fic, which i love seeing. sabo is a miserable wet rag after a mission gone wrong and ace is there to pick up the pieces. bonus points to the dynamic of ace and koala i love them sm in this????? so so so much.

5) In the Morning with a Cup of Warm Tea by sleepymery

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241962 complete - T rating - 2k - au

this is another from the back-end of the ao3 collection – jus a short and sweet modern au full of domestic fluff!!! that is my bread and butter especially for fics from fandoms where canonverse is so tumultuous and full of strife. which op definitely is!!!! also its not like ace and sabo's canon relationship is happy anyway /shot

this one is happy and cute. a typical morning w sabo and ace on an anniversary of sorts :) all of maery's sa fics are adorable. i used to come back to this one all the time several years ago.

6) How We're Made by paox

https://fanfiction.net/s/12624109/1/How-We-re-Made complete - T rating - 177k - au

i love this one with all my heart and soul. i was actually in the middle of re-reading it a couple years back when it got deleted from ao3 which is :( but it's still up on ffn so!!! ffn it is hehe.

paox at one point was definitely my favorite saboace fic writer and might still be. her prose and writing style in general is so phenomenal in my eyes. the way she writes asl individually and as a dynamic trio (and their various duos as well) really left a mark on me when i first got into one piece. she truly does understand their characters perfectly, and even in a dystopian au such as this, they stay true-to-form throughout.

side note, the majority of this fic focuses on asl and sabo and ace's relationship doesn't change until near the end. it's probably a minor spoilers to say it does but this is a sa rec list so. anyway i threw this up here bc i love paox's writing and this one is complete and more than a drabble. the way she paints sabo's character as a person broken down by an oppressive system, who rises to light the fire of revolution and never stops seeing the good in humanity, it's just perfect to me. this is the man oda brought back from the dead to play a crucial role in the second half of one piece. paox gets it. sabo is so well-written and so true-to-form that any other attempt at his character by anyone else is almost laughable in comparison. this is THE sabo fic of the list.

i have another paox fic (two i think!!) in the front-end list of the ao3 collection so definitely give those reads as well :) one is incomplete but will break your heart nonetheless, the other i think is a longer drabble that has my heart by the throat. i think all the ones still on ao3 are compiled under their old ffn account as well, so navigating to them this the HWM fic link might be a better choice. if you can read on ffn lmaoooo adblockers are your friends.

#saboace #acesabo #op

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inexplicablymine · 7 months

Text

@welcometololaland you have DONE IT AGAIN. bows down.

Rules: List your WIPs below (if you only write one fic at a time, feel free to include future WIPs/ideas!) then answer the following questions. Then, tag as many people as you have WIPs (or more).

I am humbly here to present my ABSOLUTELY insane WIP list for the Firstprince fandom and tell you a little more about them!

(Also to those who asked about WIP’s in my inbox those answers are coming ~ if anyone has any more questions or wants more ask box is open! I’ll be answering all of those tomorrow instead of (or with) Seven Sentence Sunday!)

Thank you to @welcometololaland for ANOTHER amazing weekend game truly a blast. To @kiwiana-writes @daisymae-12 @orchidscript @happiness-of-the-pursuit @gay-flyboys @rockyroadkylers and @anincompletelist for the tags I LOVED reading all of your words and answers.

If you have prepared yourself, then forge on ;)

1. WIP List

- The Firstprince Files

- The Ties That Bond Us

- Super Six and the Siren’s Call

- Looking for Orion

- Balls to the Wall

- Fifteen Hours Till Forever

- Watermelon Sugar

- Mr. Party Hardy (Mr. Bodypillow AU)

- Mr. Move It Move It (Mr Bodypillow AU)

- Mr. Massage (Mr. Bodypillow AU)

- S.M.U.T.

- No Laughing Matter

- Sweater Weather

- Ground(s) Up

- Delilah

- Minty Fresh

- Beast I’m an Animal

- Mind Over Matter

- [Switchback]

- [World Cup AU]

- [Orchestra AU]

- [Yoga AU]

- [Rugby Video AU]

- [Star Trek AU]

- [Oxford Slut Era AU]

- [Model/mistaken identity AU]

- [Pomodoro Method AU]

And probably more but that’s enough for now lmao

2. Which of your WIP’s is currently the longest?

Definitely Super Six and the Sirens Call. Currently at 48K but over the next two months I think a few of my other multichaps will also match it for length.

3. Which WIP do you expect will end up the longest

The Firstprince Files. The outline for it is 37 chapters long and the first two chapters that are written are clocking in at about 13K right now.

4. Which WIP is your favorite to write/the most enjoyable to write? Why?

Going to go for broke here ~ my co-writes (Super Six and the Sirens Call w/ @read-and-write- and @happiness-of-the-pursuit, [Switchback] w/ @celaestis1, Watermelon Sugar w/ @heybuddy-drabbles, and S.M.U.T. with @affectionatelyrs) have been a BLAST. The words flow, I'm obsessed with the stories, getting to read others words and then add your own and make good soup will always be fun.

Outside of my cowrites? … hmmmm honestly I am obsessed with mystery and plotting out The Firstprince Files was truly a delight, but I enjoy writing all of my fics otherwise I wouldn’t write them.

5. Which WIP do you find the most intimidating to write? Why?

The Ties That Bond Us. It’s a Bond/Q actor AU and there are already SO MANY great ones (and ones being written), and there is an extensive amount of epistolary writing that comes from different authors of articles and media works that need to have a distinct voice in order for the work to really work. I don’t know if I even have a distinct writing voice let alone if I can wear the masks of a bunch of other voices in a convincing way.

6. Which WIP do you experience the most self-doubt about. Why?

Whichever one is currently being written/focused on/about to be posted? It’s not a one size fits all answer, but at the moment I’m writing this it’s my Halloween Huh fic. It’s done and posted- ready to be revealed. I made myself go read it out loud one last time to hear it back (newsflash I hate doing this but I still do it because it helps) and that just made me doubt everything hahaha.

7. Which of your WIP’s will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? Why?

All of them. I always have a beta, I am incapable of posting a non beta’d work I have too much anxiety about it. The Firstprince Files deals with some much heavier themes so I will likely want a sensitivity reader there for those, and Super Six and the Sirens Call has quite a bit of Spanish in it that we have beta’s checking on.

8. Have any of your WIP’s been struck by the curse of writers block?

Yes this is why I have so many … (joking). Yes and no. I will just power through to write a bad section to have words on the page and then come back to fix them later which helps. I have a focused few WIP's that I work on at a time (small rotation inside the big rotation). The rest of these have an outline and a doc and at least a little bit written, but will not receive heavy work on them until I go through what’s first on my internal fic calendar.

What is in the current small rotation? SSASC, Looking for Orion, Watermelon Sugar, [Switchback}, Minty Fresh, my Mr. BodyPillow follow ups, and The Ties That Bond Us is my Nano project this November.

9. Which WIP has your favorite OC? Tell us about them?

At this moment Watermelon Sugar which is a co-write threesome for Threesgiving with @heybuddy-drabbles. Our third member of the threesome is AMAZING and we love them so much and we are very very excited for them to come into everyone else’s world as well.

10. Which WIP is the sexiest?

This is a toss up between [Switchback], [World Cup AU], Watermelon Sugar, and [Pomodoro Method]. We will see when they are finished what I think really takes the cake there.

11. Which WIP is the angstiest?

I mean chapter two of Looking for Orion, but The Firstprince Files has quite a bit of angst. I don’t really write a lot of heavy angst or I haven’t yet we will see if the reception to LFO changes the tide there.

12. Which WIP has the best characterization (in your humble opinion)?

Looking for Orion at the moment, but I’m really hoping that Mind Over Matter takes that one when I have more written on it.

13. Which WIP has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)?

Oh my, Super Six and the Sirens Call has quest locations that change in a rotation. Truly I can't tell you more but it is SO FUN truly so fun. The Ties That Bond Us also just is jet-setting movie stars in Bond movie locations, stunt training, doing interviews in wild places, and campaigns in larger than life locations. So that is ridiculously fun to write and I hope it is just as fun to read.

14. Which WIP have you worked the hardest on?

Super Six and the Sirens Call. This work has a promo schedule there is art being made, there are docs linked within docs. When I say this became a big brained thing it’s a big brained thing.

15. Which WIP do you have the highest expectations for? Why?

I try not to ever have expectations, it’s better that way I find ~ but based on reaction and excitement (my irl bookclub today made me promise to send them a link) I would say Super Six and the Sirens Call. Outside of that I just hope that if one person likes it then it is doing it’s job which is to create joy. (but internally we all have those fics that we hope do a little better than others for one reason or another. My Mr. Bodypillow follow ups I hope people enjoy, my two longer Multichapter works I am deeply attached to, and Looking for Orion I am currently a bit obessed with and I hope others get obsessed with it too.)

16. Do you dream about any of your WIP’s?

NO I DONT DREAM BUT @happiness-of-the-pursuit LITERALLY DREAMED ABOUT ONE OF MINE THIS WEEK SO I'M COUNTING IT.

17. Do any of your WIP’s have any particular complexities that your other fics don’t?

[Orchestra AU] is meant to be read at pace with the classical pieces that are titled in the top of the chapter which is fun and funky but is going to make pacing HARD. Because people read at different times. + that posting schedule is supposed to mimic the NYC philharmonic concert series performance schedule.

The Firstprince Files has a lot of real world implications for the characters as it is a suspense mystery novel that requires so much research on realistically how things might work or play out.

The Ties That Bond Us is going to have SO Much coding in it for the media chapters and I am now thinking I’m going to do art for it which rip me I guess (hahaha).

[Switchback] has a lot of POV changes which requires a delicate hand to know when to stop and start a perspective

Mind over Matter and No Laughing Matter are meant to be laugh out loud funny and I’m going to need help with both of them for that … truly

A lot of the one shots I struggle with because I want to give the story enough depth while still not expanding them into multichapter works, which is something I struggle with.

18. Which WIP is the funniest or has the most humor?

Reiterating above, Mind over Matter and No Laughing Matter for sure.

19. Do any of your WIPs contain outside POVs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? How are you finding that process?

Super Six and the Siren’s Call DOES and it’s SO FUN. Truly it has been a BLAST To get into the heads of these other characters, and flesh out how they see the main ship as well.

The Ties That Bond Us, every other chapter is an outside POV from the media perspective which as I mentioned earlier creates a lot of work for voice and structure.

20. Tell us one thing we don’t know about one or more of your WIPs.

Hmmm some super fast fun ones

- 14 of the WIP’s on this list are MultiChap works

- 4 of them are co-authored works

- The Firstprince Files has been outlined since February of this year and The Ties That Bond Us has been outlined since March. (They are my oldest outlined works but they are also long works).

- 6 of these works are my FirstPrinceWeek works that I will still publish. I got sick and had an “AO3 author note” standard few weeks which put me behind. I do have one FPW fic published so far.

- Balls to the Wall started after a conversation about how criminal it is that Starbucks doesn’t sell the "Off menu but actually on menu now because it is in the app" Medicine Ball Tea in take home form so you can make it yourself when you are sick.

- All of these are for Firstprince but I now have an IRL who told me TODAY that she wants me to write Tarlos so I better get started on finishing all of these.

- [Rugby Video AU] and Ground(s) Up are both based on TikTok’s that I saw and immediately went "ahhhh yes that’s firstprince."

- All of my Mr. BodyPillow follow up’s will have “Mr.” In the name, and the title of the collection is Mr. Ace Alex, though there is a bit of a push for me to rename it the snerdle collection.

- My ask box is open if you want to ask about any of my WIP's :)

And now I will be tagging my entire moot list because I have too many WIP’s (jk but … prepare for the wall of tags) there is no pressure here but this has been a DELIGHT to read through everyone’s and I want to read about a million more!

@affectionatelyrs @historicallysam @rmd-writes @treluna4 @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @cha-melodius @arand0mdutchgirl @adreamareads @vonpeepsisback @clottedcreamfudge @cityofdownwardspirals @14carrotghoul @cricketnationrise @myheartalivewrites @xthelastknownsurvivorx @mudbloodpotter05 @everwitch-magiks @leaves-of-laurelin @celeritas2997 @athousandrooms @smc-27 @three-drink-amy @sprigsofviolets @heartitinthesilence @sherryvalli @weighty-ghosts @heybuddy-drabbles @read-and-write- @raysletters @thesleepyskipper @kill8a @babiemonk @suseagull04

#lola's wip tag game #tag game #fic tag game #WIP tag game #WIP's #inexplicablymine wip #inexplicablymine #ao3 #firstprince #fanfiction

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genericpuff · 1 year

Note

I really wanna make a comic like you did but I feel so discouraged and idk... I wish I had your motivation and discipline :(

how do you do it?

I mean - and I'm gonna try and phrase this as best as I can without sounding curt - 'motivation' as people tend to view it... isn't really how you get shit done. Like obviously I had to be motivated to take on projects like Time Gate and Rekindled but that initial motivation isn't what keeps me going each week. People tend to have the general idea that motivation comes first, action second, but you actually need to take action in order to gain motivation, as the motivation to continue comes best from seeing the results of your work. And those results can only happen if you take action.

Discipline isn't the same as motivation, either. Discipline is not beating yourself over the head to force yourself to "do the thing" - rather, discipline can only come from creating routine. It's what I've done with creating comics, but it only came after a long time doing it. And when I say a 'long time', I don't mean a week or a month or even a year, I mean a solid decade of work. Before Lore : Rekindled, I was working on Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH]; before that I drew Time Gate: Reaper; before Reaper I drew Uzuki; and before THAT I was in high school just doodling personal comics for myself (i.e. not for an audience). And every single project came with its own learning experience, audience, and results that motivated me to continue (though for some of them, I never did, a big part of growth and succeeding is knowing that failure is inevitable and some projects you just grow out of love with, even routine can't save you from not continuing a project that you're simply not enjoying doing anymore).

Drawing comics and writing is as routine to my day and life as going to work, eating, sleeping, showering, etc. even if I don't feel compelled to work, I'll still find myself picking away at a panel or two or coming up with a story beat to fill in where I'm going next. It's the kind of compulsion that comes not from internal motivation, but from not doing the thing that you usually do and that can only be gained from building habits and routine. I may not get the same amount of work done each day, some days I'll work on comics for 8 hours straight and others I'll only get a single panel done, but I still get something done (which is better than nothing, not getting anything done at ALL in the face of 'waiting' for motivation is where a lot of that discouragement can come from) and that's been reinforced into a routine that now feels effortless to do because I've been doing it so long. Just like building up any good habit like going to the gym or doing a skincare routine or drinking more water, it can feel impossible to do in the beginning, but the more you do it and commit to that routine - even when you don't 'feel' like doing it - the less overwhelming and impossible it feels and the easier it is to see it through.

As you fulfill those habits in the beginning and see the results of your work, THAT'S what gets turned into motivation to continue.

Take the motivation out of the equation in doing what you want to do, motivation is not the first step but the result of taking action. Don't wait until you "feel like it", take baby steps and start moving. If you're wanting to work on a comic, start with something small, like a single panel even. When I started out with Reaper, it would take me a month to get out an entire 18-22 page chapter; by the time I was finished, I was getting the same length of chapters out per week, and that was only possible after years of routine, practice, and polishing my workflow to the most efficient model possible (which only came with repetition and practice).

Of course, I wouldn't recommend people climb up to that output because it did take its toll on me, I'm actually currently in the middle of burnout from working on Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH] and outputting 60+ full color panels a week, that's not something that a single person is meant to do and now I'm paying the price for doing just that.

But my point is, I'm not where I started - just like everyone else, I had zero clue what I was doing in the beginning, but I stuck with it long enough to finally get to where I wanted to be. This is the same advice I'd give to people trying to write novels, or learn an instrument, or even learn how to draw.

I think the only other thing I can recommend beyond that is finding a support network. Have someone to share your results with, whether it's friends, family members, or other people partaking in your craft online. I'm in several comic creating Discords full of wonderful people who are open to giving me feedback and celebrating when I hit milestones. Think of it like having an accountability buddy - it's a lot easier to pick up new habits when you have someone else there for you to hold accountable and to hold you accountable. At the very least, it helps you feel less alone in that initial suffering of building a new routine from scratch.

It gets easier.

But the hard part is getting started and sticking to it.

And that's not gonna happen with motivation alone. You just gotta pick up your pencil (or whatever tool you're using) and start, even if it's just a little bit at a time. Some progress will make you feel a hell of a lot more motivated than no progress.

#ama #ask me anything #anon ask me anything #anon ama #advice post #writing advice #life pro tip #comic artist tips

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ilovewebtoons · 1 year

Text

Hii, I just wanted to rate some Webtoons I’ve read in the past.

I Love Yoo

The art is great and it used to be my favorite webtoon but after a while it starting dragging. The characters became more unlikable and unfortunately the webtoon lost its humor which I had considered its greatest charm. The issue is that chapters feel way too dense nowadays. Its a shame because I had been looking forward to see my ship develop. Reading the first ten chapters and then the last few shows how much the tone of the story has changed. The best part of the story was in my opinion the Gala arc, right after it the story took a tragic turn. But during it I interacted so much in the fandom and we made theories based on everything! It was so so much fun. I think the biggest bummer is seriously the tonal shift. 6/10

Sirens Lament

I remember reading this weekly when it had barely finished its first season. It was absolutely lovely. The art is breathtaking and the characters are beyond likable, I love them. I just want to root for them all. The ending (honestly the last few chapters) had me in tears and I was completely obsessed with the secondary couple (Tua and Pele omg). I loved it. If I had one criticism, its that after 2/3s of the story the plot started to feel a tiny bit dense at times but even then, just seeing the gorgeous artwork made up for it. 9.5/10

Lets Play

It started off fine, I loved the artstyle and was invested into the plot, and as someone who played a lot of games as a child and young teen, I loved the references to games! The sequence where Marshall began playing the game was, in my opinion, the best part of the entire story. I was reading weekly at the time and Lets play had become the webtoon I looked most forward to updating because of it. That changed once Marshall had finished the game though. What I didn’t like were the things that followed, especially the amount of sexual content. 5/10

Cursed Princess Club

This webtoon is amazing. I’ve been reading it since the day it was released and oh boy, its everything!! It has everything. Likable characters, great humor and an intriguing plot. I don’t even know what else to say. People tend to criticize the artsyle which was remastered in the physical copy, but I never had a problem with it personally. I have the least to say here because I just liked everything. Every decision the author makes, I like. And the plottwists make sense and she also builds up her plot over 100s of chapters, its crazy! Like you’ll be in chapter 100 something and she’ll call back to something said in chapter 12. And the chapters are long. I never feel robbed when spending my coins! 10/10

The four of them

Its a very refreshing webtoon. I love the characters and their development. And honestly, it never once bored me. The 4 main characters are very interesting, and you really just want them to succeed. When they mess up, instead if getting annoyed, I’d root for them to do better next time and learn from their mistakes. And after reading the comments, I can say that most felt that way. The stakes were also rather low which makes the reading experience a lot more chill than the other webtoons, a true breath of fresh air. My only criticism is that the chapter lengths vary to much, so when you’re buying a chapter w coins you take a bit of a risk of getting a shorter one that’ll be done after a minute of reading. Its an amazing story to binge though! 9/10

#webtoon #cursed princess club #the four of them #I love yoo #lets play #sirens lament

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wishesunderthestars · 7 months

Note

Amongst the sea of amazing bts fanfics I keep coming back to Eunoia ever so often. It's truly one of those fics that you never forget about yk. It's amazing how you have created such an immersive world; that the length of Eunoia isn't intimidating, no matter how many times I read it. I am going into indulgent and fangirl territory next so I have a feeling this is gonna be kinda long (sorry for that TvT).

Ok sooooo... Starting with the amazing way you write such a relatable and human y/n. I know you don't always have to write relatable reader inserts since the point of these fics is to be able to experience stories and situations that you might (and prolly won't) irl. I know (us) the ppl reading this fic aren't world class producers who are friends with taylor swift but gosh darn it I feel like it when I am reading eunoia XD . The y/n feels so... human. They have their fears, insecurities, mess ups and they worry and overthink yet they also have their strengths and try their hardest no matter what. Their love hate relationship with their career and burnout, is honestly so refreshing to see becuz no matter if your career is your dream you are going to get tired at some point. OH YEAH AND THEIR COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH THEIR PARENTS! My gosh, it was so good to see someone acknowledge how hard it is to have a relationship with your parents where you don't hate them but you also don't get along because of your massive differences. It feels like you are stuck b/w a rock and a hard place. An argument that will never find it's peace...

Also, I feel like you absolutely nail the members' personality to a T. Ofc, tho you just HAD to give them such TRAGIC backstories ;-; (but yk I get it, the angst is what makes the fluff all the more sweeter). I adore the intricacies of their relationships with each other and also with the reader. All of them mean well but are hesitant to cross any boundaries. I hope we can see them get even closer and develop even stronger bonds so they don't feel like they are burdening each other with their problems and instead rely on each other <3 OK RAPID FIRE ROUND-

Namjoon- so charming, absolutely stole my heart with his rizz, emotional support bby, my anchor in the storm

Jin- absolute SWEETHEART, yes love how did you know the way to my heart was through the stomach, flustered jin is my kryptonite

Yoongi- OOHH gimme that angsty emo boy XD, No but for realisies BBY LEMME GIVE YOU A HUG! it's ok, we're gonna be okay <3 your past doesn't define you!

Hoseok- Sunshine Bby, You are loved, valid and just as important as all of the others, never a burden and always do so much more than you take credit for

Jimin- CLINGY BBY COME HERE & HEAL MY TOUCH STARVED SELF, His backstory made me genuinely sob, don't be afraid love you are safe here <3

Taehyung- ADORABLE LITTLE BABY BEAR, well since we haven't seen much of him I can't say that much but I hope to see more of him and his growth in the upcoming chapters <3 (Also since he is my bias I am even more invested! I am excited to see what direction you take him in :)

Jungkook- Bunny boy come here and tackle me to the ground with a hug >:) He is so cute, he just wants everyone to be happy together ;-; the juxtaposition of a cute bunny who is ripped *chef's kiss*

I feel like eunoia rn is at a midpoint. Things have settled and are not as chaotic but there is still so much to be done! So much to be said, done and so much to heal from. I feel like the story can go in any direction and I am so so curious as to what your vision is for the next chapters (ma'am can we have some crumbs please :> ). Also I was wondering; it was originally marked as smut so if you are still thinking of doing that? (I reallyyyy hope this does not come off as rude I was just genuinely curious; I love the story regardless and it's totally your call).

PHEW, OK THIS IS A LOT! I kinda feel bad for blabbering your ear off but what can I say, this fic is very dear to me.

(pls accept this cute kitty as compensation)

This ask made my day and I'm sorry for taking some time to reply but when I receive such long asks I usually like to think some more before replying. First of all, thank you so much for your words and the fangirling. I live fangirling!!

It is very important to me when writing the main characters in stories to give them their own personalities and make them as human as possible. I don't think it's as fun to write perfect characters or to read about them at that. The mc of Eunoia is very close to my heart because I can see myself in some aspects of her character and I'm happy that's true for other people as well. Relationships with parents can be very hard to navigate and she and her parents have a complicated history. They will never stop being her parents but their differences are so stark and they are nearly strangers by now. She was trying with them for the longest time and she didn't know when to stop trying. Or to stop pretending.

All the hybrids share unique relationships with each other. They might have tragic back stories but they are ones that led them to each other. They have had people crossing their boundaries so many times in the past that they are afraid of doing that to each other. They are all my babies and I adore them.

I was planning to write some light smut for it but I've been rethinking it. I don't have any experience writing smut and in this case the second person is throwing me off. I'll try but I don't know how it will go and if it will fit with the story well.

Thank you for sending this and thank you go the kitty💜 Sending all my love 💜💜💜

#asks

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missvelvetsstuff · 2 years

Text

Low Expectations

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Reader is low on self esteem when she meets Bucky. Can he convince her that she's the one he wants?

Chapter 2

Warnings: swearing, mostly fluff with a little angst

When he hadn't contacted her for 2 days Y/N officially gave up. It was nice for a minute but her experience told her that guys who looked like James didn't have relationships with girls like her. She hadn't seen Terri all weekend so she was spared the questioning but it didn't make her feel any better. After drinking way too much on Sunday afternoon she slept fitfully and showed up at work hungover, never removing her sunglasses until she returned home that night. When Sheila tried to ask about her data, Y/N just shook her head and Sheila let it go.

When she saw Terri, her friend didn't even need to ask, she knew by the look on her face and hugged her.

Y/N pulled away "It's fine, nothing that hasn't happened a hundred times before. I don't really want to talk about it" and poured a glass of wine to take to her room. "I'm really tired. I'm going to take a bath and crash."

Terri nodded, worried about her friend but unsure of how to help without making things worse. Calling Sam to bitch him out about his friend came to mind but it went straight to voicemail.

On Wednesday Bucky finally had a minute to breathe and was in a place where he had a signal so tried to call Y/N but kept getting her voicemail. He texted her, frustrated but figuring she was at work only sent one and tried to relax while he could.

Y/N overslept on Wed and forgot to grab her phone so was antsy all day at work. The office was chaotic because some big executive that was just hired wanted to tour the offices and look for ways to cut costs. That usually meant layoffs so everyone was in a tizzy trying to look perfect.

When she got home her phone was dead since she had forgotten to plug it in so she had to charge it while she made dinner. When she sat down to eat she grabbed her phone to see what she missed. She was shocked to see a bunch of missed calls one voicemail and one text from James. He apologized profusely and at great length, explained he was called away for an emergency and without a signal most of the time. She tried to call him but it wouldn't go through so sent a text and laid down to read while she waited to hear from him again. She fell asleep without hearing from him.

After 2 days of playing phone tag Bucky was relieved when he was finally able to get through to speak with her. He apologized some more, she was skeptical but agreed to give him a second chance with a warning that it would be the last one. They scheduled a date for the coming Tuesday for dinner at the same diner and he promised up and down that he would be there and explain everything.

Y/N got a text from James on Tuesday morning confirming their date and had to talk herself down from getting too excited. As Terri helped her with her make up she warned her "He better not flake again or I'll kick his ass. I don't care who his friends are" which made Y/N laugh.

Her boss was being a tool again, everyone had to document their typical work day and basically prove to the new management that they were worth keeping on and lower management was stressed and stretched thin. She ran late again but was happy to find him waiting for her this time. With flowers in his hand. She felt her stomach flutter.

"James! I'm so sorry I'm late. My supervisor was being a pill all day and wanted to talk to me which made me miss my train. I hope you can forgive me" she fluttered her eyes at him while sporting a cheesy grin.

James laughed softly "I'm pretty sure that bosses being difficult is an acceptable excuse for tardiness in the book of dating rules but don't let it happen again. Besides you look beautiful and I'm not sure I could stay upset with you if I tried."

Y/N noticed his eyes sparkle when he smiled and got lost for a minute when she realized he was trying to get her attention. "Wait, what?"

He couldn't stop smiling "Where did you go?"

She felt her face heat up and hoped he couldn't tell "You have such pretty eyes" she blurted out before she could stop herself. She covered her mouth, mortified "Sorry, just a little striking. I couldn't see them when we met."

He blushed at the compliment "Thank you but You don't need to apologize for complimenting me, doll. My eyes don't hold a candle to yours. You're even prettier than I remember. Why don't we go inside?"

A waitress approached them, looked Bucky up and down then looked surprised when she saw Y/N was with him "Hey Y/N, who's your handsome friend?"

"Hey Cindy, this is James. James, this is Cindy."

Cindy put on her best flirtatious smile "Hi James"

Bucky smiled and nodded "Cindy, nice to meet you" then turned to Y/N which made Cindy huff out in annoyance.

Once they were seated and looking at the menu Y/N spoke up "So how does a guy named James get Bucky for a nickname? Braces? Bucked off of a horse?"

He laughed softly "My middle name is Buchanan and there were too many James' on my block growing up."

She laughed with him. "I guess it's not too bad, I've heard worse nicknames but I like James better"

Bucky blushed and felt butterflies in his stomach at the way she said James. "When I was a kid only my ma ever called me James but I'll give you a special dispensation" and smiled

Y/N felt her insides turning around and a tingle in her core when he smiled at her. This man is beautiful she thought to herself. And the way his nose crinkled when he laughed! All the more reason to keep her hopes in control. She had a ton of male friends, 'You're such a great girl with the best personality but I just don't see you that way. More like a little sister' Guys act like they're the only ones trapped in the friend zone. No way would someone this sweet and funny and good looking want her.

Once their food had been delivered Y/N noticed that Bucky seemed to tense up "Are you ok, James? Is the burger bad?"

He shook his head "No, the food is great. I'm just a uh a little bit nervous that you'll never want to see me again when I explain why I wasn't there for our date."

"Unless you were with your wife or consulting with Nazis or just playing games with me I can probably find a way to forgive you." She tried to reassure him.

Bucky smiled "I really hope so." He cleared his throat "Do you remember the night we met? Your friend was sitting on my friend Sam's lap? Yeah, he's Sam Wilson, Captain America. I was helping him on a mission overseas that I can't get into details about but Sam can verify it.

I'm James "Bucky" Barnes the Winter Soldier. Well that's what I was called but I didn't have a choice and when I was in Wakanda they nicknamed me the White Wolf which I like a lot better but no one knows who that is I hope you don't hate me and still want to be friends." He rambled out quickly.

Friends, of course she thought but tried not to let her disappointment show, she sighed "I don't hate you. Already knew who you were the night we met. The stuff I read said you were rehabilitated so I didn't really think much about it. I didn't know you were doing avenging with Sam."

"Technically it's not Avengers business but it is with the US government. I don't really care about all that I just want to back my friend up and maybe make up for some of my past." He explained

Y/N looked thoughtful for a minute "I suppose backing up Captain America is a tolerable excuse for missing a date. I might have to assign some penance but once that's completed I'll probably forgive you" she teased

Bucky grinned "As long as this penance involves spending time with you I'm in. I need all the time I can get to bask in your beauty"

Y/N felt her face heat up, the things this man did to her. "You don't have to say stuff like that. It's sweet of you but I know it's not true"

Bucky shook his head "I won't ever lie to you and you absolutely are beautiful. Who made you think otherwise?"

She looked down "You don't want to hear about all of my broken hearts."

"Doll, look at me." He waited until she looked in his eyes "I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know. I just want to make sure I know who to hurt." He smirked at her.

"My ex and his friends always told me. He said 'you're not pretty. You're not ugly, just plain looking.' I can't remember if that was before or after he told me he wanted to marry me but I needed to lose weight first." She told him sadly

Bucky looked angry "What a complete piece of shit. Sweetheart, you are beautiful just like you are. That guy sounds like an idiot.

Your face and body are breathtaking." His voice dropped "I'm fighting myself to keep from touching and tasting every inch of you."

She felt her heart speed up and moisture pooling in her panties, her throat suddenly too dry to respond.

"Fair warning doll, I have enhanced senses and I can hear your heart racing and can smell. You."

She looked confused "What do you mean smell me?"

Bucky raised his eyebrows and looked towards her lap.

Y/N felt her face heat up, she was beyond flustered "I uh, well uh you and oh I-"

Bucky took one of her hands in his "I'm sorry doll, I didn't mean to embarrass you. Just wanted to be totally honest with you. Besides, you smell delicious."

She shook her head "You're not playing games with me are you? I'm really not up for games. You sounded pretty set on the friends thing so it's kinda confusing."

Bucky kissed her hand "I don't play games doll. My ma raised me better. I don't know how to make you believe that I really like you, way more than friends but I will figure it out."

She offered him a small smile "I look forward to your efforts to woo me. It's been a long time since anyone has tried."

He smiled at her "I've met so many girls like your friend Terri and I'm sure she's a wonderful person but I'd rather have someone a little more real. Someone that sees me and not a soldier or Avenger.

Did you know there are hero groupies that just want to sleep with me because I'm an Avenger even though I'm not one officially, just so they can brag about it. Sam doesn't mind it so much but the whole idea makes me feel kinda gross. Then there are the others who judge me for my past and fear me."

She nodded sadly "I didn't know but it certainly doesn't surprise me.

Is that why you wear gloves? You don't need to around me. In fact I'd love to see your prosthetic. It's very sci fi."

Bucky smiled and she felt her core clenching. If he really was sincere she would have to really work to keep herself from jumping him, so figured it's better to wait and be sure he meant it.

"I'd be happy to show you but maybe somewhere a little more private." He looked at their food to see she was done too. "Are you ready to go? I can give you a ride home if you don't mind motorcycles."

She grinned "If you have a helmet for me I'm down. My ex had a bike so I'm a pro at riding on a bike. Never got very good at driving one."

Bucky let some bills on the table then stood up and offered her his hand. "Maybe if you're nice to me I'll let you practice on my bike."

She took his hand "I'm always nice as long as you deserve it."

"I will try to always deserve your kindness." He told her as he pulled her up, never letting go of her hand.

They walked outside and he gave her his helmet and helped her put it on. "What about you, James? You need a helmet too."

He smirked "Don't worry doll, I'm a fast healer but have ridden long enough to know how to stay out of trouble."

He mounted his bike and she climbed on behind him, putting her arms around his waist.

They took a short ride back to her building. He helped her off the bike and she took the helmet off and returned it to him.

"Thank you for dinner, James. I had a good time."

"Yeah, me too. When can I see you again? Are you busy Friday night?"

Y/N smiled at him. "No, I don't go out much except when Terri convinces me to go to clubs with her."

"I'll call you tomorrow and we can make plans."

He grabbed her hands and pulled her closer for a hug and soft kiss on her cheek. He just stared at her for a minute before pulling away.

"G'nite doll"

"Nite James."

Y/N ran up to her room and fell on the bed half ecstatic that he wanted to see her again but half disappointed that he only gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. She couldn't figure out what he wanted from her but decided to stay positive about the whole thing while trying not to get her hopes up. That anxious thrill you get when you first start getting to know someone was a blessing and a curse. Excited and scared, in equal measure, of what comes next.

Bucky rode home feeling the same kind of emotions and hoping he didn't end up disappointed.

Chapter 3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #low expectations

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demonangelsworld · 1 year

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Saved by an Alpha

✨Pairing: Alpha!Ari Levinson x Omega!OC (Secret Agent A/B/O AU)

✨Summary: If you look up the definition of a workaholic, you will find Ari Levinson's picture right next to it. Ari is on a mission to save all the omegas and alphas kidnapped by the Red Room. An organization that takes young alphas to train them into the perfect soldiers and young omegas to be drilled into the epitome of what their biology has deemed them to be. Ari has saved thousands over the years, but he still doesn't consider that enough. Some say he's running from a dark past; others say he has a savior complex.

Eloise can't remember a life outside the complex known to its residents as the 'care center.' She's always been in these concrete walls, servicing alphas when called upon, taking heavy heat suppressants, and acting as a caretaker for the new little girls. Her life may not be entirely happy, but it's all she's ever known. Plus, she cares deeply for each of the girls who come into her care, no matter the length of time. They give her glimpses of sunshine in her dark world. Soon her world will be turned upside down when a stranger that smells like tobacco and the ocean comes to 'save' them.

✨Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, feral behavior, violence, injury, crying, self-harm in the form of battling a door, self-loathing, mentions of child trafficking, death of a side character, and drugs

✨W/C: 6.9k

✨A/N: Hey, guys! So yeah…it’s been a minute, life has been crazy, and this chapter has literally been rewritten four times. But I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know if I missed any warning tags or if you want more!

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Chapter Two: Self-Control

When Sammy injects Eloise with the tranquilizers, Ari goes feral. He snaps and growls at the poor beta man, scaring all the children. The young girls all cry and shriek in fear, trying to further hide behind the cot barrier Eloise helped them make. The eldest three hold their place in the front, May puts Julia behind her, who screams for Eloise.

Ari ignores the crying girls. He lifts Eloise and holds her close to his chest, using his big arms to shield her from anyone who dares to get near them. Ari pushes the hair back from her face and gently prods near her eyes, trying to get her to open them again. As he focuses on the omega in his arms, he completely forgets about the open wound on his leg, which is currently bleeding through his tactical gear.

Sammy darts his eyes between the screaming children and the suddenly feral alpha in front of him. He’s never seen Ari like this before. Ari’s eyes are dilated to the point that his iris nearly swallows the whites. His gaze is stormy and focused on the woman he’s holding. Confused whines and grunts leave Ari’s lips as he tries to get Eloise to wake back up. Like that of a confused wild animal. Sammy has never seen an alpha snap into a feral state so quickly; if an alpha goes feral, it’s usually from a slow descent to madness or a severely traumatizing experience. Nothing like what’s happening right now. He tries to wrack his brain for a possible explanation but soon realizes the lack of time to do so. Ari turns to leave with the girl in his arms, and Sammy jumps in front of the door to stop him.

Ari snarls, and the girls scream again. Sammy quickly lifts his hands, palms up and out, to try and show he’s not a threat to him. He speaks softly and slowly, knowing that Ari is closer to a beast than a man. Sammy just hopes the conscious part of him is still lingering in the background.

“Ari, listen to me. You’re not yourself right now. You can’t go running off with her; the building is in code red and unsafe. You’re bleeding and need medical attention, and all these girls need to get to the jets, her included.” Sammy nods to the unconscious omega in his arms, which Ari holds slightly tighter in response.

“Move. I will protect her.” Ari steps closer, but Sammy stays firm in his stance. He knows letting them go will risk the omega he’s holding. If Ari gets alone with her and bonds with her, Sammy knows Ari will hate himself for the rest of his life.

“No. Ari, you’re hurt, and we have a mission to complete. I’m not moving till you come back to your senses.”

As Sammy stands there resolutely, he spots the growing aggression in the face of the alpha. A vein popped on his neck, and his eyes narrowed at him. Sammy cringes, knowing whatever is about to happen next won’t be pretty. He keeps his hands up but remembers the taser resting on a holster on his thigh.

Ari glares darkly at the beta as he weighs his options. At first, the beta seemed like no threat, given his size and stature. Now, he stands in his way from taking his precious new omega to safety, something he can’t allow. She needs to be safe so she can become properly his. She is his precious girl that he found. Not the betas. He has half a mind to mark her now just to show the other man just that. But he knows time is short and danger’s approaching the building.

“Well? Are we going to finish our mission?” Sammy asks calmly, his eyes wary as he glances at the children who watch them both carefully.

In that brief moment, Ari makes his move. “Fuck the mission!” He barks, with one arm, he keeps Eloise close, and with the other, he elbows Sammy hard into the doorway. The beta man grunts as his head connects with the metal frame. He slumps to the floor as Ari runs off with Eloise.

Sammy takes a couple steadying breaths as his vision swims for a moment. He checks the side of his head where it is connected with the metal and finds his fingers covered in crimson. Sammy curses and wipes his hand clean. He braces himself and carefully stands, only to hear a crunch. Looking under his boot, he spots the remnants of his comm, the only way he could have given his teammates a warning that Ari had turned feral and his heading right for them.

Sammy sighs deeply; he hopes they can recognize the crazed look in Ari’s eye when he reaches them, and they’ll be able to detain him. Maybe, if he works fast enough with the girls, he’ll be able to get there in time to help.

“Alright, kids, we have to go. I promise none of you are going to get hurt. My friend there was just, uh…grumpy…yeah, grumpy. Your caretaker will be fine. You can trust me.” Sammy offers them a tentative smile, hoping they’ll listen to his directions.

The eldest girls look between themselves warily while the others watch them, waiting to follow in their lead.

“What do we do, Nora?” Kairi whispers.

“We listen to him. Eloise said we have to remember?” Nora looks back at the other girls, “we gotta remember what Eloise told us. We’ll be okay.” She gives them her best smile while May picks up Julia again. They follow Sammy out of the building and into the quinjet waiting for them.

“Is that all of them?” An agent asks Sammy as he gets the 13 girls settled into seats and strapped down with help from Max.

“I think so. Have you seen Ari?” Sammy looks around, not seeing him or the omega anywhere. All he spots are children, their omegas, and other agents checking on them. He had a feeling Ari wouldn’t choose this location anyhow. It’s too crowded.

“No, wasn’t he with you? Where is the children’s omega? Also, what happened to your head?” Max frowns as he finishes strapping in the little three-year-old.

“He was with me, but he went feral. We have to find him, Max, before he hurts someone. He took the girl's omega somewhere.” Sammy quietly mutters to him. Not wanting to send the entire jet into a panic if they hear an unmated alpha has gone feral while so many unmated omegas are near.

“What? Why didn’t you com that in?” Max demands as they both begin quickly walking to the hatch of the jet.

“I couldn’t! He knocked it out of my ear when he slammed my head into a door to get me out of the way, then I stepped on it like an idiot. I had to focus on getting the girls out. Max, he’s completely dangerous right now. He won’t let anything or anyone get between him and the girl.”

“You don’t think he’s going to try and bond her do you?” Max murmurs with wide eyes.

“I don’t know.” Sammy solemnly shakes his head, “which is why we have to hurry; com this to the rest of the team.” As they pick up the pace, they hear the jets beginning to hum. “Shit!”

The jet starts to lift off, and the back hatch closes. “Put the jet back down! Open the hatch!” Max commands a nearby agent. The agent radios the request to the pilot and shakes his head. “Sorry, sir, the avengers are here. It’ll be too dangerous for us to land.”

“Fuck!” Sammy huffs, running his hands through his hair, “radio the others, now. We have to know what plane he’s on!”

“Right.” Max presses his com, “Jake, Rachel, have either of you seen Ari?”

“No, I’m on the other jet with the girls. Wasn’t he with Sammy?” Jake comms back.

“I just saw him a few minutes ago. He’s on our team’s plane. He had an unconscious omega in his arms, which was weird, but I figured the other jets were full.” Rachel hums as she answers Jake. She sets their team's jet to autopilot back to a shield safehouse, where they take the women and children.

“We found him.” Max looks to Sammy, who grabs the comm out of Max’s ear.

He puts it in his ear and distances himself from the other agent. “Rachel, it's Sammy. Listen, Ari’s gone feral-” he says as quietly as he can.

“What?!” Rachel and Jake demand. Sam hisses for them both to be quiet. “When did that happen?” Rachel questions, already heading back to the bunkers where Ari took the girl.

“Twenty minutes ago, I couldn’t say anything because my com broke. Listen, you must separate him from that omega before he does something both of them will regret.” Sammy urges, beginning to pace, thinking of everything that could have happened.

“Already on it.” Rachel assures, “I’ll update you when the situation is taken care of.”

“Be careful, Rach. Feral alphas are dangerous. He may not recognize you. Hell, even if he does, he still might hurt you.” Sammy warns.

“I know. Don’t worry, I got this.” Her line goes silent, and Sammy lets out a breath.

“Do you think she’ll be able to do it, Sam?” Jake asks.

“I have no idea.” Sammy’s mouth sets in a grim line, hoping it’s not too late.

In the sleeping quarters, Ari has her lying on the bed he tried claiming for himself the night before. Her little stature fits perfectly into the small bunk; he crouches next to her watching her rest. His eyes drink her in now that he has her alone. They follow the curve of her face seeing a little button nose and full lips. His brows furrow as he reaches out and uses a finger to trace along one of her cheeks, finding them far too thin for his liking. He pictures them fuller and filled with color, her fuller, full of him. His eyes land on her flat stomach, and a growl slowly builds from his chest.

He goes to reach out for her again, this time aiming for her shirt, when he’s interrupted by frantic knocking. A snarl rips through his throat, and he jumps up, shielding his omega’s body with his own.

The knocking pauses, then a female voice calls out, “Ari, it’s Rachel. Open the door and let the girl go. You’re in a feral state, but I know you can pull yourself out of this!”

Ari marches up to the door but doesn’t open it, his mind barely registering that it’s his teammate outside, but what he does know is that she’s armed. He can smell the gunpowder from the weapon she’s holding.

“Leave us!”

The alpha command bellows strongly from him, so powerful that it causes the omega to whimper and whine out in her sleep. Ari holds back from rushing back to her side to soothe her, knowing that taking care of the immediate threat is more important.

Rachel stiffens but doesn’t move. Alpha commands have no effect on betas. She’s surprised that Ari even tried doing so. She narrows her eyes and sighs. She didn’t want to have to say this. The topic is so forbidden in the team, but she can’t think of any other way to bring him out of this state.

“Ari, do you think Sarah would want you to move on this way?” Rachel demands, keeping her voice harsh and tone firm to show he had no effect on her with his command. “Sarah always wished for your happiness, but not like this. Not by stealing some poor girl who has no idea who you even are!”

The mention of Sarah causes a pause in Ari, Sarah…the name brings back the image of his dead omega. Her dark-haired curls, bright brown eyes, and beautiful smile. Flashes and images of the life he once lived with her force their way through the feral haze clouding his judgment. Meeting her for the first time after she was rescued from their first-ever red room operation, getting to know her after her recovery, gaining the courage to ask her out, bonding, marrying, her death…

Ari nearly stumbles to the floor as his consciousness comes rushing back. His inner alpha snaps and growls at him as he puts the fucker back in its chains, using his Sarah as the anchor. He looks back at Eloise with wide eyes, disgust and shame flooding him.

He’s never lost control like that, not even when he and Sarah bonded. He brings his fingers up, brushing against the faded scar on his neck. What was he about to do to that woman? He knows the danger of letting his alpha genes take over his mind. He saw it happen all too often with his father and the various omegas the man took throughout Ari’s life.

People get hurt when an alpha allows his genes or instinct to take over. Anyone who is in the way of what a feral alpha desires often end up hospitalized or, worse, dead. Tranquilizers can even be considered useless to an alpha his size when feral. He’s shocked Sammy even tried standing in his way. He could have killed him.

Ari goes to take a deep breath to calm himself but quickly realizes his mistake as her honeyed scent overpowers him again.

“Fuck.” Ari hisses. He scrambles to the hand scanner and quickly unlocks the door.

As soon as it flies open, Rachel has her gun pointed straight at his head. “Don’t come closer. I will not hesitate to put you on the ground. Let me pass, Ari.”

Ari puts his shaking hands in the air, his breaths leaving him in heavy bursts. His alpha snarls and claws at his mind. Defend Omega! Threat! Eliminate the threat!

“It’s me, Rach. You brought me back for now.” Ari winces, and his teeth gnash at her.

Rachel’s eyes widen, and she keeps her gun up. She can see his struggle, but she can’t chance to give him sympathy when he could kill her at this moment. “Get away from the omega Ari, before someone gets hurt.”

“I plan on it. Rachel, I need you to lock me in our cell bay. I can’t trust myself not to go feral again while we’re stuck on the plane with her.” Ari demands those cells can keep alphas twice his size locked away without a problem, but they can’t be locked from the inside.

“Done.” Keeping the gun pointed at him, they walk to the holding cells in the back of the jet. Once Ari is inside the small space, Rachel locks the door and opens the small window that allows them to talk. Only then does she relax her stance and holster her gun.

“Ari, what happened in there?” Rachel asks, seeing him slump onto the chair. Ari holds his head in his hands and rubs the mark on his neck.

“I’m not sure.” He admits. “All I remember is getting to our last room of kids, and when I opened the door, that omega stabbed me-”

“Stabbed you?!” Rachel’s eyes widen, and she peers inside more, finally seeing the blood running down his injured leg. “Shit, Ari! I’ll get you medical supplies.”

“Thanks,” Ari mutters, not thinking he really deserves them, but also knows he’s no use to the team if he loses a leg from infection. “Anyway, I could already feel my control slipping when she got too close, then when Sammy tranqued her, I just lost it.” Ari shakes his head, all of it sounding nonsensical.

“Was anyone hurt?” Rachel passes him a small trauma kit through the hole, which he grabs.

“Sammy might be. I tossed him out of my way when he tried to stop me. Did you hear from him? Is he okay?” Ari’s brows furrow in concern when he realizes he has no idea if Sam even made it out before the Avengers showed up.

“I heard from him. He sounded fine, just concerned about you. Are you okay?” Rachel sighs, watching Ari start to tend to his wound.

“I’ll be fine, Rach. Just need some time to myself til we get back. Could you check on her for me? I didn’t…We’re not…” The word gets caught in Ari’s throat and stings far worse than the anti-bacterial spray.

“I’ll check on her. You know Fury is going to have your ass for this, right? You might be suspended from the team or kicked out of the agency.” Rachel frowns. She doesn’t think Ari deserves either of those for what’s happened; it was clearly out of his control.

“I’ll deal with Fury. And Rach…thanks for snapping me out of it.”

“Of course.” Rachel gives him a small smile before walking off to do as asked.

Ari sighs deeply as he finishes bandaging himself up. Despite the wound being closed, he can’t remember the last time he felt so raw and wide open. He has no idea why the girl caused him to react like he did, but he knows he’s staying the hell away from her. He can breathe easier now that he’s in the cell, her scent long gone. With his head clear, he tries to think through everything that happened repeatedly, but it never makes sense. Ari hopes that once they get back to the safe house, he’ll hear Fury’s judgment, and deal with the punishment, then everything can move on. He doesn’t want anything to change. Ari doesn’t need a new omega. He doesn’t need anyone or anything but his team and his job.

If he has those, he’ll be alright.

He doesn’t need her.

Eloise slowly returns to consciousness, her mind hazy. She carefully opens her eyes, trying to adjust to the room’s brightness. She squints and licks her dry lips, her throat lightly aching. Eloise shifts and pauses. She’s not on her cot in her room. What she’s lying on is far too comfortable. Her breathing quickens, and all the events from before she blacked out come rushing back.

Eloise sits up in a rush and immediately regrets it as her head swims. She pauses to place her head in her hands and takes slow, steadying breaths. The feelings are familiar. Whoever was with that alpha must have drugged her, something the Red Room has done to her many times over the years whenever she had to move buildings. Once she catches her bearings, she looks around her unfamiliar surroundings. The walls surrounding her are a beige color. There’s also a hardwood floor like an actual bedroom, not a concrete room. A real bed, something she hadn’t slept on since before she was 5, a time she barely remembers. Under better circumstances, she would have savored lying on the cotton and springs. Still, she’s in unfamiliar territory, the enemy's territory.

Taking her time, Eloise carefully stands. Her legs feel weak, and she wonders how much time has passed since her kidnapping. She spots a pitcher of water with a glass resting nearby but decides not to drink, no matter how thirsty she is. Who knows what drugs or other things could be lacing the water? She’d rather not risk it. Not when she has to figure out where she is, where her children are, and how she will save them.

Worry immediately begins bubbling in her chest when she thinks of her poor girls. Eloise hopes they’re safe and that whatever plans these people have for them are not malicious. Once she finds them, she will run far away from the Red Room and these people. Eloise has no idea how she’ll get the funds and space to care for 13 children, but she’ll figure it out.

Eloise glances around again when she spots two doors and a window. She goes to walk over to the window when she suddenly stops and hisses in pain, feeling a tug at her calf. Looking down, she spots gauze wrapped around her leg.

“What the hell?” She quietly murmurs to herself in fear of someone listening. She has no doubt they are monitoring her despite spotting no cameras around. Eloise reaches down and carefully runs her hand up the gauze. She hisses, feeling four stitches underneath the bandage. She doesn’t remember getting hurt during the kidnapping unless it happened while unconscious.

She huffs a tad in annoyance, that will slow her down, and she doesn’t have time to wait for it to heal. Shaking her head, Eloise sits up and limps to the window. She’ll have to be careful with her leg until it’s time for the big escape. Any damage she does to it during or after, she’ll have to deal with later.

Looking outside, she gasps, seeing she’s at least six stories up in the air. Below her are trees around whatever building she’s in, and in the distance is a lake. Just like in the care center, she’s utterly secluded from civilization, meaning escape just got ten times harder. “Damn it.” She mutters and glances at the window pane, which is also pretty thick. She tries lifting the window to no avail either, so escape out of the window is no option at all.

Eloise hates how leaving is looking bleaker at the moment. Now her only option is to find some vehicle and hope she can learn to use it in whatever time she has before these people find her.

Eloise hobbles over to the other door in the room and finds a small bathroom with a shower, toilet, and sink. A pair of clean clothes, a towel, and some toiletries rest next to the shower. She scoffs at them; yeah, right, like she’ll risk being vulnerable and bathing at a time like this. These people are crazy for thinking she would be. She decides to rinse some water over her face and drink from the tap, the cool water soothing her aching throat. Drugging tap water is more challenging unless they want to drug their entire building.

Being in the Red Room didn’t teach her much about the ‘outside’ world. Eloise couldn’t tell you anything about how taxes, politics, or even major cultural norms. Other than the ones that taught her about an omega's place in society, of course, under an alpha. However, by listening to the alphas that guard her and the men she would service, Eloise, learned valuable skills in observing, learning, adapting, and surviving.

After another couple of mouthfuls of water, Eloise sits on the toilet and contemplates her next moves. She glances at the door leading out of her room and sees that it’s made of metal, assuming it’s locked. Maybe if she can catch a guard's attention, she can at least get some information. Ask about her children, where she is, and what they plan to do with her. If they don’t answer, then she can always wait for when they transport her, IF they do. For all Eloise knows, this place is no different from the Red Room, except now she doesn’t get her little lights.

The thought makes Eloise cringe, and she shakes them off. She has to hope that’s not the case. The door doesn’t have a slot, so the guard has to open it to deliver her food unless they plan for her to starve. Food…her stomach growls, reminding her that she still hasn’t eaten. Maybe she should…no better not. They could slip something in the food too. Better to wait to see what these people want with her first.

With her next course of action decided, Eloise gets up and hobbles over to the metal door. She knocks on it a few times, ensuring it’s hard enough for anyone nearby to hear her.

“Hello?! I have some questions! Can I please speak to somebody?! Hello?!”

“Yes, Ms. Briggs?” A man a few inches taller than herself answers the door. He smiles down at her, which reaches his brown eyes. He runs a hand through his thinning brown hair and tugs at the jacket of the black suit he’s wearing. She spots an embroidery with an eagle emblem over the letters S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Who?” Eloise looks at him in confusion. She’s never heard that last name in her entire life.

“Ah, right. Sorry, you still haven’t had your debriefing. What can I help you with, Eloise?”

That only confuses Eloise even more; debriefing? Like, someone is going to take off her clothes? Her eyes widen, and she steps back, ready to defend herself. The man looks at her in surprise and takes a step back, giving her a tentative smile.

“Where am I? What’s going on? Who are you, and where are my kids?” Eloise demands, her fists tightening at her sides.

“My name is Agent Coulson. You’re in an S.H.I.EL.D safe house to recuperate and learn your next steps to becoming a functioning member of society. There are just a few more people ahead of you before Agent Sitwell discusses your case with you.”

“You didn’t answer my question about my kids.” Eloise’s eyes narrow at him. She’s never heard of Shield and has no idea what he means about rejoining society. However, her focus isn’t on those things; it’s her children and ensuring they’re safe.

“The children you were overseeing are no longer your responsibility. They’re being taken care of.” Agent Coulson grabs the door as if to close it.

Eloise quickly holds the door before he can, “what do you mean being taken care of?! Let me see them. I need to make sure they’re okay.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I cannot do that. You no longer have to worry about them. That’s all I can tell you.” Coulson tries to reason with her, but Eloise gets more agitated the more she’s denied.

She tries to pull the door open more, but the Agent is stronger than he looks and keeps the door barely open.

“Let me out! Let me see my children right now! Damn it!” Eloise growls and pulls with all her might, her leg throbbing from her muscles tightening up.

“Someone will be in to see you shortly. Please try and calm yourself before then. I understand you may have gained an emotional attachment, but it is for the better that you don’t see the children again.” Agent Coulson shuts the door, and Eloise hears the click of the lock.

“NO! No damn it!” Bringing her fists back, Eloise pounds on the door with all her might. Tears prick her eyes, and her breathing becomes shallow as his words sink in. They won’t let her see them ever again! “No! No! I don’t accept this! Let me out! Let me see my children!” She sobs as she pounds on the metal, bruising her hands.

She backs up, aiming her shoulder at the door she charges, putting all her strength into it. Eloise cries out in pain as her shoulder and injured leg hit the metal. She falls to the floor cradling her injuries for a moment.

Agent Coulson sighs, hearing the distressed omega on the other side of the door. He will admit they’ve never had one have such a bad reaction to learning that the children in their care are no longer their worry. Most of them celebrate their freedom. The omega bangs on the door again, pleading to be let out and to see the children she watched over. He knows giving her another dose of the tranquilizer wouldn’t be a good idea, but he also doesn’t want her to beat herself to hell while they wait for Agent Sitwell.

An idea comes to mind on how to calm her, and he figures he may as well give it a shot. Fury isn’t going to be happy with his decision, though. He taps his comm, “can someone please send Agent Levinson to room 626, please?”

Ari’s breaths come in short pants. His muscles flex underneath the tight gray shirt he’s wearing as he does push-ups on the floor of the room designated to him in the Sheild safe house.

With each breath he takes and every force of his muscles, he tries to push further back the one omega that entrapped him with her scent. The overly sweet mixture of peony flowers and honey. The mix made him feral and dangerous. She keeps resurfacing despite trying to shove her in the back of his mind. Like a song that keeps replaying in your head no matter how much other music you listen to. Ari pushes himself harder, trying to think of other people, places, and anything else.

The beach. My beach house. Sammy. The mission. Finding her. Peonies and honey. Wait-

“Fuck,” Ari growls as his cock swells in his shorts. It’s like he’s a horny teenager thinking about a crush. It’s annoying as hell. He sits back on his haunches, wiping the sweat from his brow. The omega hasn’t left his mind since he saved her, and it’s scaring the shit out of him.

Ari shouldn’t be reacting to her like he is. He stands and grabs his water bottle, downing the contents. Ari remembers the last time an entrapped omega him as she did, which didn’t end well. He’s not planning for a repeat of last time. He has to stay away from her and hope the effects of her scent wear off on him.

Ari sits on his bed and runs his fingers through his neck-length hair. So far, he’s been able to work his body through most of the cravings. Once they landed at the safe house, S.H.I.E.L.D’s medical staff grabbed her to remove her tracker and do a general health check-up. Ari was led off the jet in cuffs and a muzzle. All of his team yelled at Sitwell about how unnecessary it was, but Ari knew they were treating him like any rouge alpha.

Only after a full psychological exam that took two hours was Ari deemed back in control, even though he already knew he was. Then they questioned him about what happened, what caused the snap, if it would happen again, and everything else Ari didn’t know the answer to. After hearing the story, Fury decided that Ari would be suspended for two months. Once this set of girls is off to the rehabilitation facility, Ari has to go to his house and stay there for leave.

Ari agrees with the punishment. It’s fair enough. Gives him some time to think over everything, and hopefully, by the end of the two weeks, she won’t be playing in his head like a broken record. A record that repeats the memory of her saccharine sent, the feel of her soft skin under his rough fingertips. He groans, rubbing his head, a slight headache building. He’s unsure if it’s from his many workouts to control himself from running to find her or fighting his inner alpha about her.

His alpha howls at him to search, to make sure she’s okay, and to soothe her when she wakes up somewhere unfamiliar. It’s making his body yearn for her. He can’t remember the last time he’s popped so many erections in three hours since he’s been back to his room. He won’t give in to the cravings, though. She should go through processing, leave the building, and never be around him again. His alpha may demand her as his new omega, but he refuses to do that to her.

She’s finally free, and he’s too fucked in the head to take a new omega.

Ari’s brooding is interrupted by a knock at the door. He doesn’t move from his spot on the floor and instead shouts out.

“Yeah?!”

“Ari, it’s Sam. Let me in.” Sammy calls back and rattles his locked doorknob.

Ari curses and stands, unlocking the door before heading to his bathroom. He can sense the confusion and concern coming in waves off Sammy. He already knows the questions coming his way and the apologies he has to make. Sammy follows Ari as he goes into the bathroom to run water over his face and neck.

“What the hell is going on with you, man? You really scared me back at that facility. I thought you were going to hurt someone. Are you okay?” Ari spots Sammy watching his reflection in the mirror with a frown on his face. He spots the bandage on Sammy’s head. He does his best to keep his demeanor calm and his mouth in a grim line.

“The real question is if you’re okay.” Ari turns to him and looks him in the eyes, “I’m really sorry about what happened back there, Sam. I couldn’t control myself. Did I do that?” He points to the bandage.

Sammy lightly runs his fingers over the gauze, “yeah, you did. But I’m fine, and so is the girl, if you’re wondering. I can see you regret what happened. We all can. Going feral was out of your control, though, Ari.”

“I know that. It doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t know what it was about that omega’s scent that’s causing—caused me to go feral. Not even Sarah did that to me.” Ari shakes his head and leans back against the porcelain sink.

“I think I know.” Sammy says carefully, gauging Ari’s reaction, “she’s your singer.”

“What? You mean, like my soulmate?” An incredulous laugh leaves Ari’s lips at the thought. There’s no way in hell she’s his soulmate.

“Yeah, I mean, it all adds up.” Sammy begins pacing a bit like he always does when thinking hard about something. “When an alpha meets their singer omega, it causes an intense flood of pheromones and hormones to flood both parties. Which, in turn, causes a feral-like reaction from the alpha to claim their mate, and if the omega wasn’t unconscious, she might have had a breakthrough heat. However, the tranquilizers allowed her to bypass that part of the process. It explains your behavior and intense reaction, but your self-control must be extraordinary to not have claimed her.”

“Wait, slow down.” Ari places a hand on his shoulder to stop him from moving, “Sammy, this sounds ridiculous. She’s not my singer, I’ve heard of those, and they’re extremely rare.”

“It’s the only explanation, Ari. She’s your chance to move on-”

“No!” The word immediately leaves Ari’s lips in a snarl, and he lets go of Sammy. He felt this was coming. Sammy was always trying to get him to leave Sarah behind. Using their team’s connections to try and set him up on dates. It always pissed him off. The thought of Sammy using this girl, the one who caused him to lose control completely, nearly makes him see red.

“She’s not my singer or omega, and I am not her alpha! I had my omega, and you know I refuse to take another!” Ari barks.

Sammy meets Ari head-on despite the anger and anguish rippling off the alpha. His gray-blue meeting Ari’s baby blue in a challenging stare. More often than not, Sammy isn’t afraid to challenge Ari and stand up to him, knocking him down a peg when his Alpha genes take over. It’s something Ari has always admired about him, but right now, it’s setting him on edge.

“Ari, Sarah is dead-”

“Sam!”

“She’s not coming back, and you’ve been punishing yourself too long.” Sam’s jaw sets, and the tension in the room skyrockets even further. Ari clenches his fists to keep from hauling off and punching the man in front of him. He doesn’t care how right he is; all he knows is that Sammy needs to shut the fuck up.

“I’m not done with the mission,” Ari says, trying his best to keep the growl out of his voice. His inner alpha howls at him to put Sammy in his place and remind him of their designations, but he won’t do that to a concerned friend.

“That’s the same excuse you’ve told me for six years. Ari, if she is your singer-”

“Damn it, Sammy! She’s not!” Ari snaps again, his chest puffing out as he tries to make himself bigger. He steps closer in an attempt to intimidate him again. Sammy has none of it, keeping his stare and his fists tightening.

“IF she is. Don’t push her away. Give this a chance is all I’m saying. You’ve beaten yourself for six years, trying to blame yourself for Sarah’s death. It wasn’t your fault, and if this girl could help you move on. Then it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“No,” Ari says, his voice unwavering as he shoulders Sammy out of his way and returns to his room. He throws open his window in an attempt to get some fresh air. Hoping that it’ll cool his head and the heat of anger swirling in him.

“Why the hell not?!” Sammy scoffs, still following after him.

“Maybe because she just got her fucking life back!” Ari snaps at him, “she just got saved from being controlled all her life by alphas. I’m sure she’ll love hearing that another is ready to step up and suffocate her again!”

“That’s when you take it slow. Help her get through the program, let her have and understand her freedom. Get to know her and tell her about the tension between you two because I’m positive she will have no idea. Then let her decide. It’s not that hard, Ari. I’m not telling you to claim her. I’m telling you to keep her close and get to know her.”

Ari goes silent at that. He knows what Sammy tells him isn’t a horrible idea. But he can’t trust himself. Ari can’t hurt her like he hurt Sarah. He shakes his head and lets out a deep sigh.

“Sammy, I can’t go near her again. What if I go feral again, huh? I could bond with her and I doubt either of us want that. Or I could end up hurting someone like I hurt you.”

“You won’t. The initial finding process has passed. You should be able to control yourself with no problem. Her scent may just be stronger, and make you a bit…ah…sexually frustrated since you haven’t claimed her.”

“I’m not seeing her again. And that’s final.” Ari states.

“Well, that’s too damn bad because they’re requesting your presence in her room.”

“What? Why?” Ari’s head snaps up at that. Why the hell would they need him? He thought for sure Fury would want to keep his ass far away from her after what happened.

“I don’t know the specifics, just that she’s completely freaking out and banging against her door. They’re worried she’ll hurt herself. They can’t give her more tranquilizers because she still has the anesthesia from her tracking implant removal in her system.”

“If they need an alpha to calm her, why not send one of the other agents?” Ari demands despite the immediate disapproval of another alpha laying a hand on her, ringing through his head.

“Everyone knows what happened during the mission, and more than a few people have come to the same conclusion I did. Everyone knows she’s your singer.” Sammy sighs.

“Well, it’s none of their fucking business,” Ari grumbles. For a secret agent facility, no one keeps any personal secrets around here. “Wait, does that mean Steve-?”

“Yeah, your brother knows too. He wanted to come here before I did, but Fury pulled him away for debriefing.”

“Shit,” Ari huffs. Steve is the last person he wants to talk with about all this. The last thing he needs is his brother lecturing him about becoming their father. In fact, if Steve even mentions their father, he’ll sock the fucker in the jaw. “What does her possibly being my singer have to do with me going up there?”

“You’ll have the most immediate calming effect on her since she is your singer. Ari, if you are convinced she’s not, then prove it to yourself. If your presence doesn’t calm her, then she’ll have the same distress levels.”

“If that’s true, how come she panicked when we saved her?” Ari questions him with narrowed eyes; he’s confident that proves she’s not it.

“She hurt you. An omega hurting an alpha already triggers a fear response in them. An omega hurting their singer? It makes the response ten times worse. It also seemed she focused intensely on protecting the little ones in her charge, which would alter her response to you. Upstairs it will be just you and her. You’ll get your best answer there.” Sammy smirks, knowing he has Ari beat. The man has two doctorates, one in medicine and the other in designation studies; he knows his shit.

Ari grunts and takes a moment to think. He knows Sammy’s right. He just hates that he is. She can’t be his singer. It would fuck up too much. It just has to be some weird reaction he had to her scent. He can feel his alpha tugging again as if in agreement with Sammy. He knows he can keep that fucker in his chains now. He’s going to be more prepared this time.

“Fine.” Ari relents, and Sammy gives him a big victorious grin. “Wipe that look off your face before I do it for ya’ Sammy. I’m just doing it 'cause I hate the thought of the poor girl hurting herself in a panic.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Now get moving.” Sammy claps Ari on the back, pushing him towards the door.

Ari huffs and goes straight to the stairs. Despite his reluctance, his feet begin moving quickly up the six flights. Hoping he gets there before she hurts herself too severely.

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