#but reading it this time round with fall out boy brain rot? oh boy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

Text

The Rules of Engagement (1/5)

part one of the The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem reader

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 6.3k

warnings: 18+ - drugs, violence, language, alcohol, eventual smut.

a/n: at the end. @tiffdawg, I finally did it.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Your alarm buzzes, and you roll over groggily.

0615.

Goddamn. You flop a pillow over your head, blocking out the early morning sun, and wonder if three hours of sleep is any better than no sleep at all.

Somehow, you kind of doubt it.

The alarm blares again, a failsafe you’d been wise enough to set up after round two had led you to the shower. You gather your still-damp hair, wincing at how gross that feels, and elbow Peña in the shoulder.

“Morning, sunshine!” You toss your soggy pillow onto his face.

He grunts pathetically, cracks an eye just enough to send you a sliver of resentment, and lifts a middle finger vaguely in your direction.

You’re completely unsympathetic. “Not my fault this time, Peña.”

He curses you in Spanish as you flick on the lights on your way to the kitchen. Coffee is your first order of business.

You’re not sure exactly when Agent Peña became a fixture in your apartment. Oh, you can nail down the general timeline pretty well - a night out with the Search Bloc boys had ended with Peña coming to your place, and things had unfolded naturally from there. The sex was good. Very good. You’ve always had a high drive, and Peña is a man who can deliver. You’re pretty creative, and he’s fairly open minded, and neither of you seem to care to make things complicated with Labels and Conversations. Somewhere down the line, wild nights out evolved into even wilder nights in, and then, before you knew it, you’d let Peña borrow your spare key when he’d left his wallet on your coffee table.

That had been at least two months ago. The sex is still good, and Peña is still leaving his shit everywhere, so neither of you bothered to say anything about it.

It works. That’s all that matters.

You’ve just sat down with your drink in your hands as the doorbell buzzes. “What the fuck?” You glance at the kitchen clock. It’s not even 0630.

The doorbell buzzes again.

You eyeball the gun that Peña has left lying on the kitchen counter. Nobody should be looking for you this early in the morning.

“Hey!” Somebody is knocking now, and shouting, and ugh, you recognize that voice. You leave the gun where it is - somewhat reluctantly - and slam open the door with a ferocity that sends Steve Murphy stumbling into your kitchen.

“Good morning,” you say serenely.

“Good morning to you, too, Ears,” Murphy grimaces up at you.

“That’s not my name,” you remind him for the thousandth time. Not that it will make any difference. Ever since you’d made the mistake of introducing yourself as Centra Spike’s new liaison by saying, “I’ll be your ears,” the Search Bloc boys had leapt at the opportunity to tease. You’re pretty sure most of them don’t realize that you have any other name.

Somehow, it irks you more coming from Murphy.

“What are you doing here?” you ask as politely as your temper allows. Murphy has never been your favorite person, and your caffeine definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.

Murphy rights himself, fixing you with a glare that doesn’t threaten in the slightest. “I’m looking for Javi,” he says. He has the audacity to glance around your tiny living space, as if he’d come with a search warrant.

You fold your arms across your chest, suddenly aware of your too-thin nightshirt, and lift a brow in Murphy’s direction. “And what makes you think he’d be here?”

Murphy pins you with an ‘I see right through your bullshit’ expression. “Call it a hunch.”

Right on cue, footsteps clatter down the kitchen stairs. Murphy smirks. You don’t bother to hide a sigh.

Fuck.

“What are you doing here?” Peña echoes you unconsciously. You try not to cringe at the smug glance Murphy throws your way.

Instead, you turn to glare at Javi, and oh god.

His shirt is buttoned all wrong, hanging lopsided and displaying half his chest, if he’d just given up at the top.

Subtle.

Murphy apparently doesn’t have the stones to address it, because he waves a manilla folder in front of Peña’s face. “Special delivery,” he says, dropping the file on your coffee table with a smack.

Peña dives for it, brow furrowed. Whatever he sees must be good, because he snaps his head up to stare at Murphy. “Where did you get these?” he asks, thumbing through the pages.

“My contact in Medellín.” Steve rests his hands on his belt ever so casually, as if daring Peña to question him.

Peña does. “Since when do you have a contact in Medellín?”

You wonder the same. Partners are usually aware of each other’s informants, unless it’s that kind of contact. Isn’t Murphy married?

“Not important.” Murphy shuts him down quickly.

“Verdugo,” Peña breathes.

You shoot a questioning glance at Murphy. In the three months you’ve been in Colombia, your Spanish is rapidly improving, but Murphy has been here longer, and some things are still beyond you. “Butcher,” he translates with a grimace. “Or executioner. One of Escobar’s top sicarios.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Lovely.”

Peña glances up, surprised to hear you speak, as if he’d forgotten that he’s standing in your living room.

Murphy doesn’t acknowledge you. “He’s in Medellín, Javi.” He stretches, then makes for your front door. “I’m gonna turn in for a bit. Late night.”

Peña grunts, settling on your sofa with the file as Murphy sees himself out.

You sidle up behind him, curious. He knows you’re there - your hair is falling over his shoulder and you’re doing nothing to stifle your breathing, but Peña’s only acknowledgement of your presence is to shift his body ever so slightly to the left, unspokenly granting you access to the file.

You bite your lip, pleased and a little unnerved at the implication. You suppose that Peña wouldn’t be Peña unless he’s breaking the rules. He certainly has a reputation for it.

It hits a little differently, though, knowing that he’s committing a felony just to satisfy your curiosity. And on your fucking sofa, too.

You shake the butterflies away. Peña is flipping through a series of grainy photos, each showcasing the same guy. Somebody, Murphy probably, has circled his face in red ink, and there are further notes in the margins, written hastily. Landmarks, you guess. Peña is reading too fast for you to decipher much, but you spot a map of what you assume is Medellín in the shuffle. It is similarly annotated with scrawling red ink.

Peña flips through the file once, and then again, slower.

You brace yourself on on your forearms, glancing at the clock. You aren’t expected at the embassy until eight - you can afford to be patient.

Whatever this is, it’s big.

Deciding you’ve gleaned all you can from the file, you turn your attention to Peña. He’s leaned forward on your sofa, arms on thighs, lost in thought. Every muscle is tensed, as if he could spring up at any moment, his gaze is narrowed, his brow furrowed in a way that tempts you to lick it.

The thought startles you. You aren’t a goddamn animal.

Are you? Your mind drifts to Murphy, smirking with his arms folded in your kitchen like he could see through your nightshirt, right into your fucking brain.

A stone sinks in your chest. Landing this position with Centra Spike had been your first big break in a lifetime of frustrations. You’d joined the army fresh out of school, angling to be an analyst with the special forces. The good ol’ U. S. of A. had gladly foot the bill for your education in exchange for you signing your life away, and you’d chugged through a mind-numbingly boring double major of mathematics and computer science, all on the sage advice of your recruiter.

The reality of active duty was a kick in the fucking teeth. The brass had taken one look at you - a wide-eyed, idealistic woman with a big hair and bigger goals - and promptly slapped you with a desk job. You’d spent three more years rotting away in a forgotten back corner of an office building in Kuwait, filing reports and delivering messages. Occasionally, they’d throw you a bone and hand you a code to rewrite. Your commanding officer got all the credit, and you were just a glorified secretary.

By the time your contract was up, you’d been sidelined, interrupted, passed-over, underestimated, scoffed, and just flat-out ignored enough to be thoroughly fed up with military life. The glass ceiling in the U.S. Army is raised just high enough to suffocate its victims slowly, and you were sick sick of being stifled.

Being recruited by the CIA for analyst work in the hunt for Pablo Escobar had been pure, dumb luck. Right now, you might just be a liaison, but this is your shot. Your last one, probably, and you’re not willing to give it up just to get laid.

Not even for the best lay of your life.

Peña slaps the file shut with gentle smack, startling you from your thoughts. He reaches for his boots, moving with a single-minded determination that you’d find sexy if it weren’t so damned inconvenient.

“Peña.”

He doesn’t react, just gathers his badge and keys from the end table as if you aren’t even there.

“Peña.” You say it louder this time.

“Hmm?”

“Javi!” You call his name without even realizing it, and it works. His head snaps up, eyes wide, staring at you as if he’s just now seen you for the first time.

You have his undivided attention now.

“Yeah?” He blinks, all wide brown eyes, and fuck it all, you can feel yourself flushing under his gaze.

You swallow hard, push past the strange flutter in your chest. “We’re getting too predicable.”

His brow furrows. “Come again?”

You decide to take the high road, but you can’t stop your lips twitching at the obvious joke that he’s left himself open for. He’s quick to follow your though process, though - his eyes sparkle with laugher, daring you to call him on his blunder.

Shit.

You press on. “This,” you start, grimacing. He’s still looking at you, and his expression is warm. Flirtatious. “What we’re doing…” Goddamn, your face is aflame. “I mean, we’re not exactly subtle.”

He draws back, expression shuttering instantly. “Don’t worry about Murphy,” he says firmly. “He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

The ‘if he knows what’s good for him’ is clearly implied.

“It’s not just Murphy,” you press. You can’t exactly put into words what it is that you're trying to make Peña understand, you just know it's important that he does.

“What are you suggesting?” He’s standing now, still holding the file against his chest, as if to defend himself with it.

You shake your head. “I think,” you say slowly, trying hard not to catch his eye, “that we need to cool it.”

Silence. You can feel his raised eyebrow.

You step forward. You’re focusing hard on finding the right words without revealing too much, but your hands are desperate for something to do. “We need to stop fucking around.”

There, you said it.

“Oh?” There’s something amused in his tone, but you shrug it off, still refusing to look at him.

“Yeah,” you answer hotly. “Isn’t this fraternization? Shouldn’t we be worried about our careers, or some shit? We both have a lot to lose here.” You glance up, emboldened by your speech. “Do you want to catch Escobar or not?”

He’s looking down at you, not taking you the least bit seriously, expression damn near indulgent.

Indignation sets a fire in your chest.

“You think you can just quit me, cold turkey,” he asks in a voice as smooth as silk.

Goddammit, he’s mocking you.

“Absolutely.” You look him firmly in the eye, former awkwardness forgotten, more determined than you’ve ever been.

He huffs directly in your face. “You won’t last a week, Ears.” He cups your cheek in his hand, skimming your jawline with his thumb. “I know you, remember.”

Oh, the bastard. “You think you can go longer?” You counter, stepping into his chest. You’re pissed now. Peña is a well-known man whore, and you know, know, that you are exactly his type.

He laughs now, openly and genuinely amused. “Longer than you,” he says, glancing down at where your hands are absently fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

Oh, fuck.

“I’m fixing you, you absolute asshole,” you hiss, beyond grateful that you’ve yet to undo his last cockeyed button. “Unless you want to show up at the office all freshly fucked and lopsided.” You hold up the hem of his shirt, clearly displaying his mismatched edges.

“Oh.” At least he has the grace to look abashed.

“Yeah,” you swallow dryly, suddenly aware of how close he his, smelling of coffee and cigarettes, sex and the scent of your own bedsheets.

Goddamn, you want him already.

You push it all away, patting him condescendingly on the chest. Two can play this game. “Just looking out for your career, Agent Peña.”

He sighs somewhat theatrically, but you can see the conflict warring in him.

“Well, then, Ears,” he says after a long moment. He rebuttons his shirt properly this time, fingers working quickly. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

You meet his gaze evenly. “Guess so.”

The door shuts behind him, and you sink to the sofa. It’s still warm from where he’d been sitting.

Oh fuck, what have you done?

♠

You’re not watching, you’re not, but you can’t help but notice when Peña comes swaggering into the office at ten am, wearing those sunglasses and those fucking too-tight, dark wash jeans, chugging a cup of coffee like he knows that his exposed neck is a weapon.

You make eye contact through the glass, just for a moment, and he winks at you.

You smirk back, a plan forming in your mind.

This means war.

♠

You retaliate by letting your hair curl wild over your shoulders and squeezing yourself into a leather skirt that is just barely work appropriate. The Search Bloc boys bombard you with whistles and winks and catcalls all day.

It’s worth it, though, to see Agent Peña’s eyes go wide and blinking, to watch him swallow so hard.

“Fucking tease,” Murphy hisses as you glide past his desk.

You flip him off in response.

♠

Your apartment feels strangely empty.

It’s Saturday afternoon. Search Bloc is investigating a tip in Medellín, and Centra Spike doesn’t need you in today. You briefly consider going out, but that would involve changing out of your sweats, and besides, aside from the Search Bloc guys, you really don’t have many friends in Colombia.

You sit down on your sofa, drawing the coffee table toward you, and deal yourself a hand of solitaire. The cards had belonged to your dad before he passed them down to you, and they are comfortable in your hand, worn soft with age. There’s a trick to shuffling a deck this old, and something comfortable in the practice.

The hand you deal is a losing hand.

Frustrated, you stomp down the stairs to the little pharmacy below your flat. “Hola, Emilio!” you wave to the older man working the counter. Emilio doesn’t speak much English, and your Spanish is improving slower than you’d like, but you mostly manage to communicate just fine.

You make your way to the little display of liquor bottles and ponder it for a minute. There’s nothing remotely recognizable on the shelves, but you’re not exactly committed to buying anything, anyway.

There’s nothing more pathetic than drinking alone.

A presence at your shoulder makes you jump. It’s just Emilio. He smiles at you, and reaches for a bottle of clear liquor whose packaging reminds you a little too much of antiseptic hand spray for comfort. He presses it into your hands. “Guaro.”

“This is what I need, then?” you ask him. “Este? It’s good?”

“Guaro.” He’s nodding and grinning, rattling something in rapid-fire Spanish that you’re far too slow to translate. The enthusiasm behind it is hard to miss, though.

“He says it’s good and strong. Respect it, and it will respect you.” Emilo’s daughter winks up at you. She’s bent over, stocking shelves, and you’d missed her, distracted as you’d been by your conversation with Emilio.

You smile gratefully. Ana must be home from university this weekend. You’ve only met once or twice, but she’s kind, and doesn’t mind translating for you. You think you might have been friends, if she was around more.

“Gracias,” you tell her, and mean it. “Aguardiente,” you sound out slowly, frowning down at the bottle. “Sugar water?”

“Something like that.” Ana rises, leaving the box of chicharrones on the floor. “You’ll find that most of the locals just call it guaro. It’s a staple in Colombia. Hard to find anywhere else, and even transporting it between cities is dangerous.” She rolls her eyes and shrugs, as if to say, ‘what’s new?’

“But it’s just liquor, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. Alcohol, sugar, anise…” She shrugs, and laughs. “Simple, but there’s something magic about it. You don’t want to go too hard with this. Sit down and have a small glass with a lime. Slower is better.”

You frown. Anise. It jogs something in your memory, some long-forgotten fact…

“Trust me.” Ana is at your elbow now, pinning you with an earnest stare. “It hits hard, and fast. Papa wasn’t lying.”

You laugh. “Is that the college experience speaking?”

“Oh, yes. Seguro.”

Ana follows you as you take the bottle of guaro to the register. “And how are your classes going?” you ask as Emilio rings you up.

Ana grimaces, shaking her head as she cuts her gaze to Emilio. “It’s good to have a little break,” she admits.

You sympathize with that. You hadn’t cared too much for the tedium of higher education either. Emilio hands you a little paper bag, and you wave goodbye to him with a smile. “I’ll have to catch you when you’ve got a free weekend,” you tell Ana as you head toward the stairs that lead to your flat. You hold up the liquor suggestively. “You can teach me all about how to respect this guaro.”

Ana laughs. “What are you doing this evening? We close up at eight.”

Your face breaks into a grin. It’s hard making friends in Colombia just with the language barrier alone, never mind that your work with Centra Spike forces you to keep so many secrets. Without Peña around, life here is lonely. But Ana seems innocent enough, and it’s just a drink. “Perfect! I’ll be here.”

You walk up the steps feeling much lighter than when you descended them.

♠

Ana doesn’t stay long. She looks around your apartment, carefully assessing, then nodding as if satisfied.

You let it go.

She teaches you to tap the bottom of the bottle to expel the liquor, almost as if you’re pouring ketchup from a glass container. Looking at the contents, they don’t seem particularly viscous. When you ask her why this is necessary, Ana shrugs. “It’s a mystery,” she tells you, and you write it off as one of the eccentricities of Colombian culture, paying rapt attention as Ana begins explaining one of only three acceptable ways to serve the guaro.

♠

“I’ve got something for you,” you announce brightly, slapping both hands firmly on Javier Peña’s desk and leaning in just a hair too close to be strictly professional.

“Oh?” His face breaks into a slow smirk, and he tilts back in his swivel chair, stretching just enough to give you a good view of those too-tight jeans as he hooks his fingers behind his head. “And what’s that?”

Smug fucking bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. You cool your jets and wink at him, teasing a manilla file for him to see. “We thought you might like this.”

“We?”

“Okay, fine, Jacoby caught some chatter, but I vetted it,” you press on, refusing to let him derail you. This is huge. “It’s Verdugo.”

Peña glances up at you, suddenly intense. “You sure?”

“Well, it’s not him personally,” you admit. “At least, not his voice. But,” You slam the transcript down on his desk. “We caught an entire conversation verifying his presence at a safehouse in Medellín.” You pause for full dramatic effect before going in for the kill. “A specific safehouse in Medellín.”

Javi reverts to Agent Peña instantly, all flirting forgotten as he leans forward on his elbows. “Show me.”

You bend over, noticing absently that your hair is once again falling into his face as you tap your finger over the address. Peña settles in to read the full report as you watch, his eyes darting back and forth over the pages at a rate that is truly impressive. When he glances back up at you, the ferocity of his gaze is startling.

“They’re getting ready to make a move.” There’s something like a spark of hope in his eyes, tiny, but growing stronger as he processes the information you’ve given him.

“Yeah,” you say, throat suddenly dry. He’s looking at you with earnest gratitude, and it tugs at something deep in your chest.

“This is big,” he breathes, and just like that, he’s on his feet, gathering the file, punching a number into his desktop telephone.

“This is Peña,” he says as the call connects. “We’ve got something.”

♠

It’s dark when you finally get home. Claudia Messina, head of DEA operations in Colombia, had cornered you in her office for hours, going over and over the information you’d vetted. You brain is absolutely fried, the victory of the discovery stifled by having to defend your work again and again.

You just need a drink.

“About time!” a voice startles you as you turn to shut the door behind you. You jump, barely suppressing a shriek, and whirl around.

Goddamn Javier Peña with his goddamned spare key.

He’s smirking at you from your sofa, cigarette dangling from his fingers. Any other day, you’d have noticed his presence instantly just from the smell.

“What the fuck?” Your voice is more of a whine than you’d like, but dammit, you’re tired, and dammit, he’s gotten one over on you.

He knows it, too, the smug bastard. “Expecting somebody else?” he asks, sauntering toward you with a devastating smile that manages to be both possessive and suggestive all at once.

“No,” you answer somewhat grumpily. “I wasn’t expecting anybody.”

Given your sulky attitude, you’re surprised to see that his smile brightens a bit. You frown at him, still confused as to why the fuck he is here, and he bustles into the kitchen, clinking around, pouring you a drink.

You sigh and relax onto the sofa. At least you’ll have that.

He comes back, a tumbler of clear liquor in each hand. Ah, so he’s found your guaro. You suspect that he’s helped himself to at least one measure already. He hands you a glass, and you take it gratefully, sniffing at the contents.

He’s drinking it neat, apparently.

“So!” he says, settling beside you on the sofa, close enough that your thighs touch. He pins you with an intense stare. You raise a brow in response, intrigued and a little confused.

He smiles. “Your tip from this morning was a gold mine, Ears.” He eases back, propping his feet on your coffee table in a way that you should probably reprimand him for. He sips, sighs, leans in to bump your shoulder playfully, then settles with his hands at his waist, long fingers fiddling with the glass he’s cradling. “Martinez wants us to go for Verdugo tomorrow,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “Based on your information.”

“Really?” You can hardly believe it. Most of what you do is verify things that others have found, or carry files from Centra Spike to Search Bloc. Same old, same old. Even though you’ve trained for this for years, you’ve never been integral in interpreting and locating a conversation before, especially not for a target as high level as Verdugo.

Javi twists to smile up at you, a real smile. “Really,” he says, pointing a finger in your direction. He watches you fight back a grin. “Go on, be smug. This is big.”

“Wow,” you mouth, somewhat awed that you’ve contributed anything, let alone this, to the hunt for Pablo Escobar.

The reaction isn’t lost on Javi. He sits up, wraps his arms around your shoulders and squeezes gently. “Pretty much. You gave us enough information that we feel confident about initiating a sting in Medellín.” He reaches up with both hands, catching your face at the edge of your jaw and drawing you close. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Ears.”

Ears. Yours are burning at the heat of his touch. You’re acutely aware of his palms cupping your cheeks. His eyes are dark, too dark, and open, looking at you as if you’ve single handled handed Escobar to the DEA on a golden platter.

You suppress a shudder, leaning in to him as he pulls you in for a hug. Christ, his body feels so good as it cradles yours, arms snaking around your back, stubble gritting awkwardly into your cheek, the scent of smoke and liquor clouding you -

You wonder, abruptly, how much he’s had to drink.

“Peña,” you say swiftly, pulling away from him to stand. The way he’s looking at you right now, giddy and awestruck and openly hungry, well, it’s not going to last. You know it won’t. It can’t.

His face falls, as if he’s confused at your sudden rejection.

You shake your head. Peña is just drunk. You guys aren’t like this. You don’t hug and share and hold each other. It was only ever sex, and it’s not even that anymore.

You’re overwhelmed, suddenly and without warning, at how desperately you want him.

Not just the sex, though honestly, you have missed that. No, what you want is -

You shove that thought down, locking it away so deeply that it will never see the light of day.

You cannot have feelings for Javier Peña.

“Ears?” he questions, tilting his head just so, managing to look more sober than he has all evening.

“I just need another drink,” you say as you sidestep him, making your way to the kitchen. You watch him from the corner of your eyes as his gaze follows you. He seems to take your deference at face value - he’s lighter than you’ve seen him in weeks, excited, almost chipper, if you can believe it. The meeting with Martinez must have gone very well. You snort, contrasting his meeting to yours with Messina. The dissonance is enough to wonder, offhandedly, if some not-so-subtle sexism is at play.

You shake off that thought. It’s not helpful, just depressing, especially here in Colombia. Instead, you turn to look at Javi.

He’s still flopped on your sofa, his original drink in his hand, hunched over the stack of playing cards that you’d left out last night.

Your dad had taught you to play solitaire from a young age. There’s a variation for two players, a game which one will inevitably win, but the real challenge is for the single player, in which triumph relies equally on skill and luck. Last night, after Ana had left, you’d played a long, brutal game, ultimately finding yourself blocked, helpless to do anything but shuffle the deck over, and over, and over again.

Losing two games in a row is just shameful, and you’d left the cards on the table, eager to look at them again with fresh eyes.

Javi eyeballs the game with a furrowed brow. You’d managed to make it quite far. Had the cards fallen in any different order, you’d have won easily. Carefully, Javi flicks over one card from the stack, frowns, then another. This one is a red queen, and he plays it eagerly, shuffling the black jack to its new position and opening up another space.

“Hey!” you protest. He glances up at you, bemused, and you shove a newly made drink into his hand as you settle beside him.

“You missed that move,” he explains, pointing exaggeratedly with the pinky finger that holds the tumbler.

You roll your eyes. “I play draw three,” you correct him. You reshuffle the cards to their original places, this time drawing three from the deck: a five of spades on top, Javi’s red queen in the middle, and the ace of spades below both. The top card, the five of spades, has no place to be played, so you flip all three cards into the discard pile and draw three more from the deck.

Javi frowns. “Seems like you’re making it a lot harder than it has to be.”

You sigh. Men. “Single draw solitaire is for kids,” you counter with a vicious smile. “Just for them to learn to play the game. Real players draw three.”

He huffs, “Oh, really?” he’s smirking up at you, eyes sparkling in amusement. “Are you the kind of woman who likes a challenge, Ears?”

He’s just dying to prove you wrong.

“I’m the kind of woman who refuses to cut corners just so I can win a dumb card game.” you inform him sagely.

“Hmmm,” he says, staring contemplatively at the cards. You let him shuffle through the deck twice, each time verifying what you already know - the game, played as it is, is unbeatable.

‘Seems a little silly to me,’ he teases, bopping you on the nose. “Letting your ego get in the way of winning.”

Of course Javier Peña would see it that way. You kick back, letting your feet settle at the edge of the coffee table. “Go on then,” you tell him, siping at your drink. “Swoop in and save my game with your kiddie version, you fucking hero.”

He laughs overtly at that, eyes sparkling, and something clenches hard in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so open, laughing and flirting and playing stupid games after a long day at work.

It’s nice.

You settle in to watch him work his magic. He’s making plays at an alarming rate - it seems like no time at all before the deck is empty.

You glance at the clock, biting back a sigh. Less than five minutes.

He’s smirking up at you, all mussed and smug, eyes alight with warmth, and suddenly, something swoops dangerously in your belly.

That hair, those eyes, his laugh. Warm skin in the dim glow of the lamplight, his body sprawled over your sofa, just begging to be teased.

You wonder again why he’s here. You’ve made it clear that there’s no more sex, so…

Oh, god.

Glancing back down at him, tousled hair and crooked smile, ridiculous mustache, plopped indelicately on your sofa, you suddenly realize.

Javier Peña had sought you out for your company. For no other reason than that he’d had a good day, and wanted to share it with you.

And oh, oh god.

You’re still so caught up in the sex and your fucking feelings that you can’t divorce that from your friendship, which is obviously important to him. He’s not out celebrating with Murphy - he’s here, in your apartment, with no expectation other than to kick your ass by cheating at children’s card games.

The realization takes the breath from your lungs.

You’re the problem here. Just like with the fucking card game, you’re the one making it complicated.

Javi needs a friend.

Javi needs a friend, and he’d sought you out so that you can just chill together, and all you can think as he shuffles those damned cards is how the callouses of his fingers would catch deliciously against your clit as he dips them inside you.

And, and…

You cut off that dark thought. You are not going there.

Jesus Christ, what kind of friend are you?

“Well, this calls for a celebration,” you say. It’s a beat too late and obviously hollow, but Javi doesn’t seem to notice, and you’ve managed to keep the tremor out of your voice, so that’s a win. You rise, making for the kitchen, desperate to do something with your hands. You find yourself pouring Javi yet another drink - is this his third? Or fourth? You aren’t sure - and making yourself a second, much lighter version.

The last thing you want is to do something stupid.

Javi meets you at the kitchen bar, and you slide the tumbler across to him. He eyeballs it speculatively, raising it and tilting it to view the contents in the dim kitchen light.

“Goddamn, Ears.” He snorts. “Are you trying to poison me?”

The denial falls from your tongue as he tilts back his glass from earlier, his second, - or third? - the one that you’d made. He swallows, pushing the empty glass back into you hand, and stands, catching himself on the edge of the table as if he’d moved too fast.

“Alright?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath, then straightens, slowly letting go of the countertop. “Fine,” he says, cocking a brow at you. “But what is that stuff?”

You laugh. “Emilio, you know, from downstairs, he found it for me. Says it’s a Colombian staple, and I can’t leave without having a bottle at least once.”

Javi blinks one too many times, then giggles. Despite your best effort, you snort at the sound. "Well then,” he raises his full tumblr to your half full one, and they clink awkwardly. “To local rotgut and poor life choices,” he toasts, as solemnly as he as able.

“Salud!” you counter, managing to sound a just a hair more sober. Javi is swaying as he stands, and suddenly, you’re concerned. “When did you last eat?”

He glances at you, tilting his head as if your question makes no goddamn sense, and you sigh heavily. Idiot man.

“Okay, hold off on that one,” you warn him - he looks as if he’s about to toss it back, too. “Let me at least make you some eggs first.”

“Eggs?”

You’re already bustling around your tiny kitchen, pulling a pan from below the stove. “Yeah, moron,” you tell him, unable to stop the grin that catches your lips. “Eggs and salsa. Best food for staving off a hangover that I’ve found so far.”

Javi throws back the rest of his drink anyway, then comes to press his body to your side. “Is that a fact?”

“It’s a fucking science,” you counter, unable to resist slamming your hips into his to nudge him out of the way as you reach into the fridge for the butter.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, sinking his face into the crook of your neck. “How can I be of assistance?” he purrs into your ear, and suddenly, it’s very, very hard to concentrate on cooking.

“Sit. Down.” You hiss, slapping his butt with a dishtowel. He yowls more than strictly necessary, the drama queen; you’re an excellent towel-popper, but it shouldn’t hurt that much.

Still, you rub his ass in compensation, matching his lecherous grin when he fixes it on you. “Have a seat,” you tell him again, kicking a barstool vaguely in his direction. “And watch the magic.”

♠

Javi cleans his plate enthusiastically. “So what’s the secret?” he asks, mouth full, still staring up at you like your shitty scrambled eggs are the best meal he’s ever eaten.

You snort. “No secret, Peña.” You hold up your stick of butter, much lighter than it’d been before, and toss it back into the fridge. “You literally just watched me cook them.”

He grins loopily.

You shake your head, biting back your own smile. How could a man as competent and independent as Javier Peña forget to do something as basic as eat?

Well, it hardly matters. Even with the food you’ve made, he’s going to have a massive hangover in the morning. Ana had cautioned you several times to go easy on the guaro, and you trust her judgement. Emilio’s shit, in particular, is cheap, potent, and deadly.

Well, he’ll pay for it tomorrow. You shake you head, watching him bumble around the kitchen and drop his dirty plate in the sink. Javi stands at your side, warm and solid as you draw just enough water to let the dishes soak.

He reaches for your dish soap, and you stop him with a hand on his arm. Javi glances down at you, still a little drunkenly, but his eyes are warm, his lips parted just slightly, and you pull away from him as if burned.

“I’ll get them in the morning,” you manage hoarsely.

He shrugs, brushes your shoulder with his hand as he bumbles away, and you take a moment to lean against the sink and calm your racing heart.

God, what is with you lately?

Javi has already crashed on your sofa, shoes kicked off, legs sprawled, grinning lazily in your direction.

You manage not to oogle at him, but it’s a near thing.

Instead, you flop down on his opposite side, allowing your legs to tangle in the middle.

He makes a big show of yawning, tilting his wrist up to glance at his watch. You crane your neck to look at the kitchen clock. It’s only 10:33, but you’re both feeling a little lit - Javi more than you, thankfully - and you both have a big day tomorrow.

You sigh, reaching down to collect the empty glasses and discarded playing cards, slipping Javi’s keys in your back pocket while he’s not looking.

He scoffs.

Oh. You whirl, realizing he’d been watching you all along.

“So, am I staying over, Ears?” He grins up at you, a little tired, but still in an excellent mood.

“You are definitely staying over, Peña,” you tell him firmly, trying not to laugh at the wounded puppy expression on his face as he reacts to your tone. His eyes have gone so wide, pout so pathetic that you can’t help but grin, even as you toss a throw pillow haphazardly over his lap.

That seems to get a rise out of him. He sits up, frowning at the pillow. “I’m on the sofa?” he whines.

“Yup!’ you say happily, enjoying the power dynamic for what it is. Putting Javier Peña in your bed tonight would lead straight to…

Well, you’re both drunk, and even if you weren’t, you’re not willing to give up on your bet. Not with the nasty realization that you’d had tonight, for sure.

Javi must follow your thoughts, because he sobers instantly. “Okay,” he says softly, settling back down and cramming the pillow beneath his shoulder.

You’re kind enough to tuck him in, which really just consists of dragging your comforter from you bed and draping it over his ass and shoulders. His boots are lying haphazardly on the floor - you decide to leave them for him to trip over in the morning - and you don’t bother to cover his feet, knowing that he sleeps with his socks outside of the blanket, the weirdo.

Just as you turn away, a single brown eye catches your gaze. He’d been watching you again.

The thought sends a tremor down your spine. “Need anything else?” you ask clinically, trying to ignore the urge to either kiss him, or scream.

He huffs contentedly, rocking against the cushions like an animal sinking into a burrow. His eyes drift closed, and you can’t help but just notice how dark his lashes are against his cheek. “Can’t think of anything,” he murmurs, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Okay. Good night,” you tell him, squeezing his shoulder as you pass by to turn out the lights.

“Night, babe.”

You choke. Well, maybe he won’t remember.

Fat chance. He’s drunk, but he’s not wasted. You decide to raise him, because any other response from you will be awkward, forever.

“Good night, honey,” you answer sweetly as you flick off the light.

In the darkness, you hear him snort.

♠

author’s notes/confessions:

I have never written Javier Peña. I have never written in second person. I have never written decent smut. I speak no Spanish. Advice and criticisms, if delivered kindly, are very welcome.

Yeah, I realize that I wrote Javi a little lighter/goofier here than he’s probably typically depicted. Hang tight, guys. He’s not taking this seriously yet, but he will be. Just wait.

Guaro/Aguardiente a legit Colombian liquor, and I tried to depict it as accurately as possible for never having tried it. The anise thought that reader has is a reference to absinthe, which is a trip if you’ve ever managed to acquire the real deal (something that’s kind of difficult if you live in the States, unfortunately). Also, I’m unsure if you can just walk into a pharmacy and buy liquor in Colombia, but hey, just go with it.

This started as a conversation with Tiff and turned into... well, this. I am so, so sorry. Expect about 20k and three chapters. Probably.

Not beta’d. you get what you get, my friends.

At the risk of sounding pathetic, your feedback absolutely inspires me to write faster. I don’t make the rules, guys. I just write.

This installment is (mostly) complete, but I’d love to hear what you like and what you don’t, and what you want to see next. My inbox is open. I welcome messages. I want to make friends.

Love you guys big, and happy holidays to those of you who are celebrating!

#Javier Peña #narcos #javi x reader #Javier Peña x reader #pedro pascal #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javi x you #narcos fic #smut #narcos fanfiction #pedro fandom #pedro fanfiction #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña imagine #narcos netflix

759 notes · View notes

cryptiql · 3 years

Text

boyhood

pairing: katsuki bakugou/reader (male reader in mind, but can be read as gender neutral)

words: 2.1k

warnings: tw hospital mention, but i think that's it

a/n: this is god awful and i hate it with every fiber of my being but here's to hoping y'all like it anyways </33 ig this could count as a fic ?? but not really lmao it's just some brain rot inspired by the map of tiny perfect things for which there will be some spoilers, so read with caution

"so, there's this boy—"

it starts simple enough; the utterings of a line pulled straight from a cliché teen drama spilling from your lips. you wish it wasn't so, but then, you also wish that cute blonde hadn't saved you from falling in the pool, for it might have prevented the hassle of falling for him, instead. it's foolish, you begin to think, because you've done this a thousand times—you've evaded every beach ball hurdled at your unsuspecting head; every puddle that has sent you careening backwards onto the ground; every shove from a group of inconsiderate teens. the public pool was a sanction from which you memorized the plains of this uncharted territory. you suppose nothing major could change even with the new development, but crossing paths with this boy was unlikely on an astronomical scale, and the knowing look in his eyes made it all the more complicated.

you love the way his hand presses so deliciously against the small of your back before reeling you from the edge, much like a fish from water. it isn't too far off, as you stand there indecisive between opening and closing your mouth, eyes trailing over the fit form of your savior. he's absolutely gorgeous, for one, and you almost catch yourself drooling over his sun-kissed skin and broad chest, just barely covered by his loose fitting button up. your traveling gaze comes to a halt, however, when it reaches his vermillion hues; their spiteful gleam caught aflame under the sun's harsh glow.

"—and he basically hates me—"

but he doesn't. through a begrudging fit, katsuki acknowledges the feeling in his heart as something akin to fondness, and it hurts to admit that he doesn't entirely dislike it. sure, you're a clumsy idiot with little to no sense of rationality, and you cannot handle simple tasks such as driving a car to save your life (as he has observed over many failed attempts to back into your desired parking space, only to crash into an absurd amount of cars in the process), but he finds those qualities endearing, in a sense. it's impossible not to, after an estimated five months of reliving the same day again and again with the same infuriating person.

and yet, when you look at him with that stupid grin, "infuriating" is the last word to come to mind. it's more than he can manage to say about anyone without pushing down the urge to throw up, so when you finally catch on, he hopes you'll be grateful. oh god, does he ever hope, because no one has ever put in the effort to get to know him well enough and not regret it later, and now he's stuck with you. "i'm just as stuck with you, though." you joke, the summer breeze carding through your hair in waves. all he can muster in response is a half-hearted scoff paired with an elbow to your side.

fuck, you love it. you love the contemplative look that crosses his face during those rare moments when he isn't a wrathful mess of a human being, and when he pushes past you to walk ahead with an unwavering self-assurance in each step. you love the harshness of his words and his unforgiving attitude, and you'd be lying if the malicious smirk he wears doesn't make your stomach twist in the most delightful way.

how this is all possible doesn't even occur to you when he's at your side, grumbling about the man who will inevitably round the corner on his moped and wipe out on the pothole.

you remember how he used to laugh when it happened, and how you thought it was pretty, despite its cackling resonance. its sheer volume was enough to make flocks of birds scatter to the wind, and the pout he wore would have been adorable if it weren't one of shame and disgust at his own expense. it's downright criminal to think that no one has complimented his laugh, and you're so lucky to have been the first, but you might be a little more appreciative if he had sit still and let you admire his blush.

"—but he isn't the total asshole i associated him with when we first met—"

and it's true. he's grown in leaps and bounds towards being a better person, and a perfect example is the moped man, who was promptly stopped from running into the pothole by a tamer, more polite katsuki. okay, perhaps polite isn't the correct term, seeing as he still spoke to the civilian with nothing short of aggravation in his tone, but it was the thought that counted.

you remind yourself as such every morning; the stench of burnt toast trickling in through the crack of your bedroom door to drag you from your slumber. you can't actually recall falling asleep, and although you feel fully rested, it occurs to you that only a split second has passed between the reset point and the moment of your awakening, but you like to imagine otherwise. along with katsuki's company, as well as the fleeting instants of joy found during your little scavenger hunt, it's what keeps you sane.

that's the other thing.

"what the hell is the point in all this?" he bites out, still struggling within your smothering hold. you respond with a lighthearted giggled as you place your chin in the crook of his neck and point at the group of kids running about the avenue between their house and the next. one of the girls is tackled into a hug by who you presume to be her older brother, and seconds later, they both shriek in triumph at the activity found in the treehouse above. spools of fairy lights coiled around the wooden beams suddenly come to life, flickering softly beneath the canopies of leaves above. katsuki will assure you that he despises children, but the gentle smile playing on his features as they scramble up the tree tells a different story.

you figure, "hey, since we're not going anywhere in this temporal anomaly, we might as well make the most of it together!", and thus the map of tiny perfect things is made. it's no vincent van gogh level work—it pains your artist's heart to confess—but you've nearly perfected it over many fitful hours of tracing, labeling and painting, and the results alone are satisfying. although, you won't deny any praise from katsuki when he plucks the map from between the folds of your sketchbook and observes it with awe and what you can't bear to identify as a hint of dejection. you make the mistake of not questioning it, for when he brushes off your request to stay longer, you are left with a sense of dread as you pull the covers over your shoulders, idly caressing the empty space in your bed and wishing he was there to fill it.

what were you expecting? katsuki's nails; bitten down to mere stubs; claw at your flesh as he shoves you away, lips drawn into a snarl. he's desperate now, because bakugou has never said please in his entire goddamn life, but he's screaming it in your face like it will solve his problems. nothing is that simple. of course not. katsuki is complex and overcomplicated, like the rubik's cube sitting unsolved on your bedside table, and he fucking knows it. he knows that you're trying to wear him down enough that he'll collapse in your arms and spill every little detail about his life, and he knows it's out of love, but he can't just lie there and take it. no, he'll go down kicking and punching and biting, just to make sure you what you're getting into when you tell him you care; to make sure he's not dreaming, and that you're adoration for him is nothing but an elaborate illusion meant to torment him. you were sure everything was fine. you were sure, that when the palm of his hand sunk into your own, things would be different, and he had changed.

and he did, to which you must give him credit, but he still stands in the shell of a scared little boy, unmoving with his fists clenched at his sides as he waits for the swift hand of defeat to claim all of his endeavors in a shroud of darkness. it's so unlike him. or at least, that's what you figure before wandering under the fluorescent lights of the local hospital, cradling a newly sprained arm. perhaps attempting a complex skateboard trick on the first go wasn't the smartest idea, but it had seemed like a good one at the time, especially when you were in desperate need of a distraction from the disdain of watching katsuki walk away that night.

he was the last person you expected to see, just weeks later, knees tucked up to his chest he tugs on the sleeve of his shirt. judging by the doctor's evident discomfort, you can safely assume that they were chased out of the room by his biting insults and threats. you spare them a gentle pat on the arm as you pass, soon to stand in the doorway and watch katsuki stand over the bed, which is occupied by a woman with strikingly similar features. your eyes flit over the nametag plastered on the bedframe, and it takes great strength to swallow the woeful sound building in your throat.

mitsuki bakugou.

"—and he has this way about him that never fails to make my heart flutter."

katsuki doesn't approach you for another three painstakingly slow-moving days, and when he does, it is nothing like you imagined. he fumbles for a moment, and you think you've died or you're dreaming because there's no way the boy you fell in love with gets so shaken up over nothing. self loathing is an awful shade on him, but you don't know what he should be angry at himself for if he's done nothing wrong. through gritted teeth, he claims otherwise, pacing the vast field and carding his fingers through his hair, unintentionally tempting you to stop his fretting with a kiss.

it can't end like this. the ties of your future are snapping at an alarming rate, and without his help, you aren't strong enough to hold them together. the realization hits you at full speed, pushing the air from your lungs and causing the mouth to turn dry. you remember every little perfect thing about him, found through tireless digging and excavating of his person. you remember forcing him onto the back of a bike and riding him around town, hearing his complaints gradually fade into cackling laughter and poorly hidden squawks when you made a sharp turn into traffic. you remember the diner, where he insisted that you pace yourself with your milkshake, only for his advice to fall upon deaf ears. he'd guide you home with an arm wrapped around you waist, affirming you that no, "it was not a date, so stop calling it that", despite the warmness on his cheeks when you teased him about it. you remember all the moments where you'd catch his scowl morph into a smile as he watched people, trapped in the happiest instants of their life; the feeling of pride as you saw his callous exterior fade into something gentler, even if only when you were around. "you can't keep doing this to her." katsuki's nose wrinkles, solemnity gracing his expression as he nods at nothing in particular. "you're only prolonging her pain." he nods again, firmer this time, and laces his fingers with yours. whether he's conscious of this or not, you don't care to ask—it's pleasant all the same, and you'd like the cherish this moment for a while longer, if he'll have it. the idle ticking of your watch alerts you that midnight is nigh, and in knowing this, you turn on your side and reach to cup katsuki's face. those final seconds are engraved in your mind, just as the sensation of your lips melding together shall remain for years to come, after all this has passed and everything is as it should be.

the very next morning, you awake with the phantom feeling of coffee stained parchment on the pads of your fingers, and the delicate scrawl of ink beneath them. the last pages of your journal lay open under the bands of light streaming in through your curtains, and with a giddy grin, you register the faint pounding at your front door, along with katsuki's halfhearted threats for you to get up. "—dear diary, this boyhood has been a complete and utter mess. but so is he, and damn it if i don't love him all the same."

#💥.katsuki #bakugou x male reader #katsuki bakugou x male reader #male reader insert #mha x male reader #gn reader #bakugou x gn!reader #mha x gn!reader #boku no hero x reader #bakugou x you #fluff #angst

108 notes · View notes

the2purpleidiots · 2 years

Text

[Image ID: A screenshot of a user named lastknownstatus-alive reblogging a post and saying in the tags in all caps, "okay I really didn't see myself as reblogging a ton of stuff here cause this blog is really just my dumping ground for my thoughts. But I just realized there is a blog now for these boys and that header???? PSPSPSPS can I see these babies in more detail they're so cute AWW. (Only if you two don't mind!) I'm literally in class I shouldn't be gushing over them right now but !!!"/end ID]

Pspspsps... @lastknownstatus-alive have some of our art 👀

DO NOT REPOST OR USE. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Drawings and image IDs are under the cut.

I'll start with Dakota's first because they have been the backbone of drawing these dumb, lovely boys.

First off, we have Jason in a suit! We have terrible brain rot for Jason dressing like the amazing boi that he is!

[Image ID: A traditional half-body drawing of Jason, an Asian teen with big rounded glasses and asymmetrical hair, from Rise Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He is smiling, facing forward with his hands behind his back. He is dressed in a slightly unbuttoned dress shirt, buttoned-up suit jacket, and a belt./end ID]

Have some prompts that the lovely Dakota has drawn for that I, personally, have cried over multiple times in joy and in major feels. They are so talented and the more they draw the more I fall in love with these boys all over again. Mostly because they warm my heart and make me so fucking soft

[Image ID: A comic page of a traditional drawing of Jason and Donnie from Rise Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Donnie is a mutant softshell turtle with a mask that covers all of the upper parts of his face, tying in the back to form two short mask tails, his mask also has sharpie eyebrows drawn on them and goggles on his head. He has purple rectangular-looking markings on his left and right shoulders and is currently wearing his battle shell. Jason in this drawing is wearing a shirt and a button-less over-shirt.

In the first panel, Donnie and Jason are standing side by side, the panel shows them from the shoulders up. Donnie is looking towards Jason with a small smile on his face and says, "Hey Jason!"

Jason looks towards him, a small question mark near his head as he responds with, "Hm?"

Donnie continues asking, "Wanna compare hand sizes?"

Jason stutters, saying, "Oh- uh sure!"

In the second panel, it shows Donnie's and Jason's hands pressed together gently palm-to-palm with both of them out of shot. Donnie has three fingers and Jason has five. Donnie comments enthusiastically, "Woah! They fit perfectly!"

In the third panel, Jason is standing forward, visible from the torso up and Donnie is out of shot. His arm is extended to the side, presumably, his hand is still pressed to Donnie's as his face and expression have become flustered. There is text behind his head that reads, "Oh he's...oh help it's...his hands are so big...and he's holding mine oh god...I've been staring for so long now...probably thinks I'm weird."

Donnie asks concerningly unaware of Jason's thoughts and odd reaction, "...Jason?...Jason you good?"/end ID]

[Image ID: A comic page of a traditional drawing of Jason and Donnie sitting down at a table, talking.

In the first panel, Jason is leaning his head in his right hand, his left arm folded on the table in front of him. He is wearing a shirt that shows an R with two backward threes following after. He is also wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt over it. There is an arrow pointing towards Jason that says, "being genuine" as he says, "You know, I really look up to you."

In the second panel, Donnie is shooting a single-finger gun towards Jason, grinning, as he states, "Because you're short?" There is an arrow pointing towards him saying "Instinct."

In the third panel, it shows the table and Jason and Donnie from the knees up. Jason says, "You know what-."

Donnie has his left hand over his smiling mouth, his other hand reaching out a bit towards Jason as he interrupts saying, "Wait-."

Jason responds saying, "I take it back," as he snickers.

Donnie giggles and says, "Wait no-".

Jason stands up from his chair, smiling slightly, moving away from where Donnie remains seated on the other side of the table to the left as he states, "I'm leaving."

Donnie says, "I didn't mean it."

Jason responds saying, "Too bad."

At the end of the dialogue, it says, "Laughter from both of them."/end ID]

[Image ID: A comic page of a traditional drawing of Jason and Donnie.

In the first panel it shows a shoulder-up view of Donnie confused, an eyebrow raised as he asks, "Why does everyone keep assuming we're a couple?"

In the second panel, it shows Donnie sitting on a single couch chair with Jason on his lap, holding his legs and back as they both look down at the device Jason is holding that is playing a video. Jason responds with, "Beats me."

Donnie asks, "Oooh, what's that?"

Jason says, "A motor cleaning vid."

Donnie compliments, "Oh nice."

Jason responds happily, "I know right!?"/end ID]

[Image ID: A comic page of a traditional drawing of Jason and Donnie.

In the first panel it shows a shoulder-up view of Donnie with his hands tied behind him, expression determined and pleading as he shouts, "You don't have to do this! You're better than this!"

In the second panel, it shows a hip-up view of Jason wearing his usual polo shirt and Purple Dragon purple satin jacket, avoiding Donnie's gaze as he looks down. His expression is defeated as he asks, "...Am I?"

In the third panel is shows that Donnie is tied down to a chair, his hands are tied behind the chair's back as Jason stands a few feet away, holding his own arm insecurely, still avoiding Donnie's eyes.

Donnie gently responds, "Would I have come all this way if you weren't?"/end ID]

[Image ID: A comic page of a traditional drawing of Jason and Donnie.

In the first panel, it shows Jason sitting down on a rectangular object that can presumably be a bed. Donnie is kneeling down in front of him with a cotton ball in his grasp tending to Jason who is holding an object to his face.

Donnie states, "I will always be there for you."

Jason doesn't respond.

Donnie continues saying, "I swear."

Jason remains quiet.

In the second panel, it shows a torso-up view of Jason looking away from Donnie, mouth screwed up in an emotion that could be pain or nervousness. The panel shows the extent of the wounds covering Jason's body. He has bruises on his collar bone, face, and arms. There are two bleeding cuts on his left arm which is holding the object to his face. Any other wounds that may be present are hidden under a t-shirt he is wearing. His usually neat and asymmetrical hair is a fluffy dirty mess, adding to his hurt and disorganized state.

Jason finally asks, "You really think I'm worth so much fuss?"

In the third panel, it shows a hip-up view of Donnie still kneeling in front of Jason, holding the cotton ball. He has a firm, caring, and determined expression on his face as he replies with, "Every bit of it."/end ID]

[Image ID: A comic page of a traditional drawing of Mikey and Donnie. Mikey is a mutant box turtle with a mask that covers around his eyes and ties in the back for two short mask tails. He has circle-like markings on his shoulders and wears a belt-like T-cross harness with the Mad Dogs symbol where they cross. He has stickers on his plastron.

In the first panel Mikey is sitting at the head of a bed, legs crossed, facing towards Donnie who is at the foot of the bed on his tummy, holding up his head with his hands, legs moving behind him. The position is similar to the stereotypical position young teen girls do in movies when talking to or about a crush.

Donnie dreamily states, "Jason is too sweet. I love him so much."

Mikey remains silent.

Donnie continues, ignoring his brothers silence, hearts around his dialogue. "Even the sun's jealous of his smile."

In the second panel it shows Donnie looking towards Mikey who continues to be silent, saying, "Hm?" at his silence.

In the third panel it shows a torso-up shot of Mikey with a "What the actual fuck" expression mixed with concern and confusion.

Mikey states, "He's tried to kill you..."

Donnie replies, hearts surrounding his response, "Yeah."

Mikey says, "...Donnie-"/end ID]

[Image ID: A comic page of a traditional drawing of Jason and Donnie.

The first panel shows Donnie and Jason outside from a little ways away. Jason has a stick in hand as he stands near a thick tree. There is a beehive hanging off one of its branches while Donnie stands a little ways away from Jason, hand on his hip. At the start of Jason's dialogue, it says, "Ending his hypothesis about bees or something."

Donnie responds to his hypothesis by stating, "...this is a terrible idea."

Jason replies, "Oh..."

The second panel shows the same scene except Jason has turned to look at Donnie.

Jason asks, "So...I suppose you're out then?"

Donnie responds with, "Wha-."

The third panel shows Donnie from a torso-up view where his arms are crossed.

He is grinning like a dork as he says, "Heck no, I'm 100% in. This is exactly what I need to cure my boredom."

A little speech bubble with Jason's happy and excited expression with an exclamation mark in it is Jason's reply to Donnie's statement./end ID]

[Image ID: A comic page of a traditional drawing of Jason and Donnie.

In the first panel it shows Donnie sitting on a bed on the far right, leaning his back up against a wall while holding his phone. There is a little speech bubble with an exclamation mark near his head to show he is noticing the shuffling noises that are coming from the far left of the panel.

In the second panel it shows Donnie within the same position as he was in the first except that he is no longer holding his phone towards him.

Donnie snickers and says, "What are you doing?"

A person out of shot responds by saying, "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Donnie says, "It-."

The third panel shows Jason in the center of the a pile of clothing, wearing a slightly over-sized jacket. His expression is flushed as he hugs himself, an exclamation point near his head. An arrow points to Jason that reads, "Got cold but didn't want to bother Donnie."

While out of shot, Donnie's dialogue is surrounded by hearts as he finishes his sentence. Laughing and saying, "It looks like your stealing my hoodies."/end ID]

I'll be relogging with my very few art additions! But this is all of the lovely Dakota's art so far! Gah! These boys are just so fucking amazing, I cannot express how delightful they are and how delightful Dakota draws them-

- Fox

19 notes · View notes

littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse, foul language and lots of angst.

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering. There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed.

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh; what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain.

He hates it.

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit.

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt.

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together.

There was no her in his plan, to begin with.

The Devil never had a queen.

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart.

He doesn’t have one anyway.

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note.

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone.

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand.

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase.

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.”

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie.

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA.

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away.

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer.

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.”

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would.

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse.

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints.

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...”

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met.

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair.

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face.

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe.

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica.

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right.

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away.

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief.

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue.

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her.

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest.

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul.

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress.

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme.

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.”

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker.

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers.

“Break her, until she talks.”

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door.

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature.

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet.

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her…

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange.

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot.

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,” August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away.

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity.

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain.

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot.

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face.

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve.

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly.

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away.

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk.

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw.

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory.

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material.

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him.

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”.

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts, We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down, United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will.

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker fanfiction #littlefreya’s fiction #mission impossible fallout fanfiction #august walker x ofc #mission impossible fallout

426 notes · View notes

mldrgrl · 3 years

Text

Broken Things 20/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

The incident breeds awkwardness between them for the rest of the morning. Katherine moves out of his arms eventually and he helps her to gather her clothes. She keeps her eyes down as she dresses, leaving things unbuttoned and untied, and doesn’t look at him.

“I just need a few minutes to put some fresh clothes on,” she says. “And then I’ll see to breakfast.”

“Take your time. I’ll need to check on the boys and see if the storm did any damage.”

She nods once and then she slips out the door. He wonders if he should go after her or say something, but he doesn’t know what to say that he hasn’t already. He sighs and then dresses for the day.

Melvin and Trevor already have the barn open when he makes it outside. Richard is repairing a fencepost in the hog pen. The ground is muddy, but the sky is blue and the sun is bright.

“How are things?” Mulder asks.

“Everyone pulled through,” Melvin answers. “Trevor said that them sheeps were noisy little buggers. Queenie was fit to be tied over their restlessness, but they settled once the rain let up.”

“How did George do?”

“Just fine. We actually moved the goats into the stable before it got bad and I put ‘em in with George. They kept good company for each other.”

“Roof held up?”

“Just fine.”

“Good, good.”

“Everything alright with you?”

“Just fine.” Mulder rubs the back of his head and looks away from Melvin.

“Mmhm.”

With Jesse and Jimmy away, there is just too much to be done for Mulder to dwell on Katherine’s reluctance to let him in. Whatever happened this morning, it doesn’t change the closeness they shared the night before, that he now knows is possible to have. He’s not angry, he’s just sad for her and for them. Whatever Jack Willis did to her, if the man wasn’t already dead, Mulder would kill him.

It takes some time to relocate the livestock back to their pens. The hogs romp and roll in the mud, ecstatic, ignoring their slop initially in favor of getting dirty. Katherine rings the breakfast bell as they’re mucking the stables and Mulder sends them in ahead of him. He doesn’t have much of an appetite anyway.

Katherine jumps up from the table when he comes in and rushes to the stove. He puts his arm around her and takes the spatula from her hand. “Go on and sit down,” he says. “I know how to fix a plate up.”

“The eggs might be cold. I covered the bacon to keep it warm.”

“That’s my fault. I’m late.” He kisses her cheek and sends her away.

Melvin scrutinizes them the whole meal. He can feel the older man’s eyes on him at times and he catches him looking at Katherine as well.

“It’s already starting to dry up out there,” Mulder says. “I think we should send the horses out to pasture today, what do you think? Let them run off any residual nerves and they might enjoy a nice roll in the mud, though probably not as much as the hogs.”

“You want to run the curry comb through the lot of ‘em at the end of the day, go on ahead,” Melvin says.

Mulder chuckles. “It’s Saturday. You boys planning on heading down to the bath house tonight? Faithful Jenny and Blondie would probably like a nice ride. That black stallion from the postal team, he handles well with a saddle.”

“Why do you call the horse Faithful Jenny?” Katherine asks.

Richard laughs. Mulder chuckles around a mouthful of eggs. Trevor turns a shade of red that would make a ripe tomato jealous. Melvin coughs into his fist.

“Have you ever heard of Old Faithful in Yellowstone?” Mulder asks.

Katherine shakes her head no. Mulder takes another stab at his eggs and then wipes his eyes and sits back.

“Old Faithful is a geyser,” he says. “Some members of an expedition were camped nearby and noticed that she erupted with predictability every ten minutes or so.”

Richard pounds a fist on the table and laughs so hard he doubles over off the bench. Mulder shakes his head, but has to laugh with him.

“We got Jenny from a rancher nearby that couldn’t take it no more,” Melvin continues where Mulder left off. “He come ‘round with her and asked if we could just buy her off him for a fair price because he was at his wits end.”

“But, she’s a lovely horse,” Katherine says.

“Oh, yes,” Mulder says. “She’s a good old gal, she was just also foraging in the wrong places and got herself a bad case of the colic.”

“You’re not gettin’ to the best part,” Richard says.

“Why don’t you go ahead,” Mulder tells him. “You sure do enjoy the tale.”

“The best part is that when Mr. Miles dropped her off he said, ‘I tell you what, you can set your watch by that horse’s farts, I reckon. Probably gives Old Faithful a run for her money.’”

“Oh, my.” Katherine’s cheeks redden for a moment and then the corners of her mouth pick up and her lips quiver like she’s trying to suppress her amusement, but she can’t hold it for long. Her giggles almost sound like hiccups and she covers her mouth with one hand. Her shoulders are shaking and she lets go with a full belly laugh that has the whole table roaring in no time.

“She’s on a special diet now so her, uh, troubles have passed,” Mulder says, when the laughter has died down. “But, we got used to calling her Faithful Jenny and so the name just carries on.”

“Poor Jenny,” Katherine says.

“You’re lucky you never stood downwind of her some years ago,” Richard says.

The table breaks up into laughter once more.

↭

She’s felt anxious and embarrassed for most of the day. The hilarity at the breakfast table eased some of her tension, but by noon dinner she had a knot in her stomach. Her misery is self-imposed. She knows this. Mulder has been nothing but gentle and tender with her all day and she returns his kindness with silence.

While the men tend to the horses and get ready for their Saturday trek into town, she launders the sheets and the week’s dirty clothes. There’s a stain on one of Mulder’s undershirts and she realizes it’s the one he used to clean her hands last night. The thought of what they did makes her breathless. She has to grip the side of the washtub to keep upright she feels so faint.

She wants so badly to erase the past and move forward. She wants so badly for this new marriage she has to feel real. Last night was as real as it could be, but she had to ruin things this morning. Perhaps she’s mistaking Mulder’s kindness for pity, and she wouldn’t blame him for it. She’s pathetic and weak and doesn’t deserve all the nice things he’s done for her.

She refuses to dwell on this now. She has chores to do and meals to prepare. It’s why she’s here. Not to fall in love with her own husband. She gasps and for the second time, has to grip the side of the washtub. Is she in love? No, she can’t be. She hardly knows him. She only knows that he’s kind, he’s generous, he laughs easy, he has a slight temper, but isn’t violent. He’s patient, he’s good to his horses and the men that work for him. He’s good to her.

She hears the back door close and she startles at the sound and automatically jumps to start scrubbing the undershirt in her hand. Mulder knocks softly on the side of the washroom door and smiles at her.

“The boys are heading into town,” he says. “I told them to go ahead and set out early and I thought I’d go ahead and make supper for us tonight.”

“You can cook?”

“I’m hurt that there’s doubt in your tone.”

“I’m not doubting, I’m just…”

“Naturally skeptical, since I have not yet proven my worth to you.”

“You’ve more than proven your worth,” she says, softly, taking the teasing tone out of the conversation.

Mulder smiles at her and reaches out to cup her cheek. She wants to believe that she is worth the trouble if he can still touch her so fondly and make her feel so cared for.

“Need help with the laundry?” he asks.

“I’m nearly done, just need to get these shirts scrubbed and hang up this last basket to dry.”

“I can do that.” He squeezes past her to take the basket of damp clothing and then hoists it up over her head to squeeze back out. “That pulley you had Richard install is just about the most genius thing I’ve ever seen.”

Mulder takes the laundry away and she finishes with the shirts. She goes out to the back to pin them up and he lets her take over the line. She gets fresh linens on the beds, does some dusting, and cleans up the washroom. Before she’s through, she can smell the hearty aroma of meat cooking and hear the sizzle of the skillet.

“Pork chops?” she asks.

“I confess it’s about the only thing I can cook, but I do it well.”

“Should I chop anything?”

“No, Ma’am. I’ve had potatoes baking for some time and I brought up a jar of applesauce.”

“There are a few corn fritters leftover from dinner that I wrapped. We could heat those as well.”

“I think that sounds perfect.”

Katherine sets the table for two. The pork chops are delicious. He shows her how to garnish a baked potato with chopped bacon and bits of chives and cheese, which she’d never seen done before. She tries to imagine an easy life with him and what it would have been like if only they’d met four years ago.

“Have you given any thought to what you’d like in the expansion?” he asks.

Katherine shakes her head. “There isn’t anything in particular that I can think of. I would like...well, I would like the porch to stay the way that it is. Facing west. I like watching the sunset.”

“I wouldn’t dream of changing that. I was thinking I might convert the bunkhouse into a guest house. And I’d like to have an office built on the other side of the kitchen. There must be something you’d like though. A parlor? Sewing room? Laboratory?”

She shakes her head at him and then laughs. “A laboratory?”

“Some place for the science things you enjoy.”

“No, thank you.” Her smile fades a bit as memories fall on her. “When I was a little girl, all I used to want was my own bookcase, filled with books, but my father said that reading novels was unladylike and would rot my brain and fill it with uppity ideas. I had a schoolteacher that did not agree, fortunately, and I did most of my reading in secret, with her help.”

“Is that the same teacher that got you interested in sciences?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a favorite novel?”

“Moby Dick always resonated with me.”

“Dense material for a young person, lady or gent. How did it resonate?”

“The ship’s captain, Ahab, reminded me very much of my father.” She closes her eyes for a few moments and then shakes the memories of her childhood from her head. Her family is not a subject she wishes to think about right now. “Do you think we could put in a magnolia tree somewhere?”

“I’ve never seen a magnolia out in these parts, but we can find out if the soil is right for it.”

“That’s all I want.”

“I’ll do my best to give it to you.”

She stands then to start clearing the dishes and to clean the kitchen. Mulder lays a hand on her arm, very gently.

“You could have your own library,” he says. “A room full of all your favorite books and all the ones you never got to read, but always wanted to.”

“The porch and the tree will be more than enough.”

He lets her go with a bit of reluctance and she goes on with her cleaning. He heads out to do the evening chores in the barn and stables. She doesn’t see him again for the rest of the evening. She is already lying in bed when she hears him come in by the soft tread of his boots on the wood floor that she’s grown accustomed to. She hears him open his door and there’s a long pause before he closes it.

She twists the wedding ring on her finger around and around. When she catches herself, she shakes her hands and then starts to do her rosary, but stops that as well. For nearly her entire life she’s been told that trusting in God and saying her prayers will bring her comfort and peace, but she’s never known it to be comforting at all. Certainly not in the four years when she could have used it the most. And she never knew peace until last night when she was with Mulder, so close with him, lying in his arms.

Maybe God led her here, or maybe He didn’t. Maybe it was fate, like Mulder said. The point is, if she wants peace, if she wants comfort, she knows where to find it. All she has to do is get up and walk across the hallway. Can she really ask him to do this for her though, when he’s already given her so much? And what has she given him in return?

Katherine sighs and twists her ring again. Finally, she kicks the sheets away and gets up from the bed. She unties her hair and shakes it loose before she goes to her door. It takes her some time to open it and then she stands in the dark for a few moments more before she tiptoes to his door. The floor creaks softly under her. She can see the lamplight shining dimly from under the bottom of his door. It takes her another few moments and a few deep breaths, but she knocks.

Mulder opens the door. He’s bare-chested and bare-footed. His suspenders are slung down by his thighs and the top button of his trousers is undone. He cocks his head in question and she drops her eyes for a few moments, but then looks back up at him.

“Could you hold me?” she asks.

He opens his mouth and then purses his lips and nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”

#i wrote this #broken things #chapter 20 #MSR #AU

76 notes · View notes

kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

Text

Not a Scratch (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: You knew he would come back. You knew. So you kept the crystal around your neck. A pendant. A reminder. It was why you weren’t surprised when the call came in over the transceiver--garbled and urgent, but intelligible:

“This is Rey. I have Ben. We’re on our way back--need medics on ready!”

It hadn’t mattered, the 8 years of distance, of longing, of memory. Ben Solo was back.

Words: 6800 (fucking... why)

Warnings: Just a lot of feelings.

Characters: Ben Solo/Kylo RenxReader

A/N: A long overdue gift for one of my closest, enduring friends, @faestae. There are few words I can say that illustrate what our friendship has meant to me, so I hope that this, a try-hard attempt at a love letter, says enough.

That being said, I desperately needed to save Ben Solo, as I've needed to do since 2015. So, here's the actual canon ending to TROS--isn't it weird how that works?

I hope that y'all enjoyed this. I really enjoyed writing Ben's conflict and confusion. I love him, no matter his name. And I love y'all, too. Thank you! <3

“Promise me.”

Ben Solo’s hands cover the kyber crystal in yours as a plea, his eyes clouded with restrained terror. His bottom lip, pillowy and pink, quivers, and he shakes his head, anxiety rolling from him in waves. Weaving your fingers through his own, you tug him close, seeking out his gaze. He avoids you, jaw straining.

“It’s going to be okay, Ben.”

“How do you know that?” he replies. “You don’t understand. I’ve heard what they say.” Tension builds again in his shoulders, and like a dog, he wags it away. “Promise me you won’t wait for me.”

“Your family loves you,” you say, and he stands, ripping his grip from yours. You follow, reaching for his arm. “Nothing is going to happen. It’s going to be okay!”

“Stop saying that!” he snaps, fire flickering in his pupils. He’s heaving, his sight glossy. You always forget how massive he is. He holds you in his stare, chest filling with air. There’s a pause--you think he might apologize--but he turns away, releasing a sigh. “Go. Go home. Forget about me.”

Heart cracking, you fold your arms. Your throat is tight. “You know I could never do that.”

“Well,” he says, “start trying.” He stands there a moment, mind churning with something you’re not sure you want to know. “Go.”

“Ben--”

Ben murmurs your name. It’s disarming. “Please.”

Chewing your lip to keep it from trembling, you leave, gripping the crystal. You don’t look back.

The memory was worn from use, now, muddled in places, exact details blurred to approximations, sentences rounded to paraphrases. Sleepless nights, you would caress its frayed edges, holding it like gauze over the wound in your heart, waiting for the ache to cease--yet each morning, like stitches popping, the wound would bleed anew, redder with each reminder of his presence.

If you had been smart, you would have made that promise and kept it. If you had been smart, you would have stayed away from the Resistance and Leia Organa. If you had been smart, you would have done as he had asked--banished his existence to a corner of your brain where recollections went to rot, let it wither into decay.

But you’d done none of those things. Desperate to keep a connection, you’d maintained a relationship with his mother, in the hopes that one day, he’d come back to you, that you’d prove to him that you hadn’t been foolish to wait for him as he’d believed.

Then came the news of the Jedi Academy.

Then came the news of Kylo Ren.

You followed Leia Organa into war. You became a part of the Resistance. You were one of the few breathing members left. And even as you witnessed him crumble the movement to its knees, you shielded that memory from bitterness, clutching at its most poignant wrinkles, coiled around the strongest, clearest tether to that night.

The kyber crystal.

No matter how desperate with hatred Ben had become, that tether grounded you to what you knew of Ben Solo--a boy on the precipice of his manhood, a boy consumed with expectations and swallowed like sunlight by the black, wretched shadow of fear. It had chased him, you knew, for years. Even after it had snagged him with its claws, drawn him deep into the mire of resignation, you nurtured a seedling of hope, sustained almost entirely on the nourishment of the feeling of the crystal in your hands.

You knew he would come back. You knew. So you kept the crystal around your neck. A pendant. A reminder.

It was why you weren’t surprised when the call came in over the transceiver--garbled and urgent, but intelligible:

“This is Rey. I have Ben. We’re on our way back--need medics on ready!”

Scrambling, you charged into action, shouting out to your comrades, “Hey! Rey’s coming back! Injured parties on board!” You careened through the base, calling out to whoever would listen, leaping over supplies, tripping over wires, tumbling into groups trying to sneak a meal. “Injured parties en route! All medics on deck! Rey’s coming!”

Your blood flew through your veins at lightspeed, the possibilities spinning like roulette in your mind. Ben was coming back--Ben. Not Kylo Ren, but Ben Solo, your Ben, and you would be able to see him, touch him, hold him again after 8 long, awful years. Your hidden memory burbled to life with renewed color--you could see the line of his nose, the waves of his hair, the breadth of his shoulders as if they were in front of you, now.

The excitement was tempered by the realization of Rey’s request--medics. Fear and joy fought for dominance when you pictured his body torn with wounds, soaked with blood, heavy with pain. Breath shuddering in your lungs, you searched for a place to sit, to wait. Your desire was to be the first to see him off the ship, to leap into his arms, to grasp at his face and smother it with your affection. But you knew that this was his mother’s place, not yours. If Ben was gravely injured, then to try to be with him would only complicate the issue. This was to say nothing about the impact of his choices--what everyone else on the base might think.

An interesting man you’d chosen to love.

Despite your resolve to sequester yourself in your tent during his arrival, the noise of Rey’s ship landing was too difficult to resist. You poked out your head, watching a swarm of Resistance fighters surround the vessel. The reality of his arrival sent your heart into your throat, hands fidgeting as you scanned every new movement for evidence of his presence, willing your eyes to believe what they were about to see. The hatch opened, and out stepped Rey--bloody, dirty, but still bearing a gleaming grin. She fell into the arms of her cheering friends, and you grew more impatient, craning your neck to see him appear behind her.

Silence cast over the celebratory din before you saw him, as if his presence destroyed the idea of joy on base--his hair was long and dark, curls blown out from sweat. He looked even larger than you had remembered, his wide frame padded with the muscle of an experienced warrior, and his face… It was just as beautiful as you remembered--full lips under hazel eyes, a long nose--but so tired. And nervous.

The urge rose to call out to him.

“Ben…”

You clamped your hand over your mouth, horrified--until you realized it hadn’t been you who had spoken.

The crowd parted for Leia Organa as she strode to the front, meeting her son at the threshold, where he stood transfixed, an effigy crafted from terror. Your tongue dried when you observed Ben take one step forward, and another, before crumbling to his knees, face buried in his fists, shoulders swelling with emotion you were too far to hear. Leia crossed to her son, pressing his head to her chest, stroking his hair. Quiet words passed her lips, and his body wracked, trembling in her embrace.

Pulse pounding, you retreated to your tent. Quakes rumbled through you, your palms slick with perspiration, breath rattling as if your ribs had come loose. Thoughts raced through your mind faster than you could identify them, tears welling and slipping over your cheeks. You laughed, despite yourself, grinding the heels of your palms into your eyes. The moment you’d spent the past 8 years preparing for had arrived--and you couldn’t even bring yourself to see him. Being a spectator to his icy reception, his collapse into his mother’s arms, had been more sobering than you’d anticipated. You realized that after all he’d been through, who was to say he’d even still care about you?

Who was to say he even remembered your name?

The mask you’d so carefully carved over the past near-decade shattered, and you sobbed, a long, broken gasp of air pulled into your lungs. It was cold in your throat, pins poking you from the inside as you wept, years of denial wilting, parting for torrents of doubt. Your last conversation with Ben had ended with him begging for you to forget him--he’d gone on to renounce his name, become Supreme Leader of the First Order. He’d murdered his own father. How, after any of this, could you think his mind hadn’t oh-so-ceremoniously murdered you, too?

Whining, you fell into your bed and tugged a blanket over your shoulders, concealing your necklace with a fist, as if you could will it to disappear. You’d been stupid, so stupid. You’d loved Ben, but the man that exited that ship was not the same Ben you’d loved. And he might not ever be. A chill settled over your stomach while you pulled the cover tighter, like it was a barrier protecting you from reality, like you could stave off falling into a canyon of despair.

You remained there, the crushing awakening of foolishness ceding to an empty rot, eyes boring through the far flap of your tent. Outside, restless chattering bloomed as time moved forward, groups of your relieved comrades downing spirits for the first time in what seemed like millenia. Raucous peals of laughter erupted from positions near and far, a group in the distance taking to singing after a few hours of drinks had passed. You heard it all, trapped in your fetal position, cursing yourself for your ignorance.

At least you had the manners not to invite anyone to your pity party.

Daylight dimmed, and your legs grew restless, your chest bubbling with anxiety. You sighed, rolling out of your bed, dragging your fingers over your face. It felt swollen, tight, your cheeks sticky with the remnants of your tears. As much as you wanted it, to remain like a statue in the tent, an observer to the victory of the Resistance, would be impossible. You’d fought for this, too--to hide out of, what, embarrassment? Shame? It didn’t seem right. At some point, you would have to face him. Might as well get it over with now.

It was likely Ben had been taken to the medic tent, but you couldn’t imagine where he’d gone after that, if he had been all right. Maybe he’d gone to stay with his mother. Quelling the tremor in your lungs with a deep breath, you trudged out into the camp, wandering along to Leia Organa’s tent. Gaggles of Resistance members cheered with raised spirits when you passed, but your brain was numb to their joy, still shackled to the memory of Ben Solo. Freedom hadn’t been awarded to you, yet.

Celebration on base had reached a loud, rolling plateau, and as you moved deeper into base, you spotted unfamiliar ships littered across the landscape, the doors open, the lights on. News was spreading, apparently, and everyone was invited to the party. Another claw of anxiety tugged at your heart--perhaps Leia and Ben would be too flocked with visitors to entertain you. Perhaps you’d arrive and appear even more foolish than you’d felt when you’d seen him walk off the ship. Perhaps there were dozens of people he’d wanted to see, names foreign and unknown to you, and perhaps you should’ve just stayed in your tent like you’d had the inclination to do instead of getting up and walking through this fucking crowd to get to another fucking crowd and--

Leia’s tent was marked by two lanterns outside the entrance--but not a soul in sight outside its boundaries. In fact, it looked as if there’d been a deliberate effort to leave a radius of empty space around her encampment, like an invisible barricade of solitude had been erected. In the cacophony, Leia Organa’s space was unblemished refuge, an oasis of peace that you desperately craved. Yet it stalled you--to break this unofficial blessing seemed wrong. You didn’t want to be the weird girl hanging outside the General’s tent. But the crystal was heavy around your neck. Weirdness be damned.

You crept through the encroaching shadows, hoping to avoid curious eyes while you drew closer to the entrance flap. Before you could push it open, your ears caught the rumbled hush of speech, and your pulse quickened. It was wrong to eavesdrop. And yet…

“It will take time. You knew that when you stepped off that ship.”

That was Leia’s voice--soft, warm. A long pause hung in the air.

“I don’t know why I did. They’re right to hate me.” The next words were pushed between teeth. “I am a monster.”

Your stomach constricted, a punch to your gut. Ben. Hearing him speak had you doubled over, sweat staining your neck, muscles locked in shock. Now, even if you’d wanted to move, you couldn’t.

“I know my son,” Leia said. “And he is no monster.”

“Your son murdered his own father.”

“I know.”

“Your husband.”

“I know.”

“Then how can you…” A hitch of breath, a crackle of noise, like a cry caught in his throat. “How can I…”

Rustling inside the tent, the sound of stifled sobs. Shushing. “This won’t be easy, Ben. It won’t. But you’ve made it this far.” More rustling. “And you’re not alone.”

A snort of dismissal. “Aren’t I?”

“You’re not,” Leia said. “And I won’t let you think you are. You have me. Rey.” She didn’t say your name. Your heart thumped. “The first steps of any journey are the most difficult.”

There was a long, resigned sigh. A stuttered breath. Another pause. “Yes,” Ben croaked. “You’re right.” He sniffed, clearing his throat. “You’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?” said Leia. “Now come on. I haven’t seen you eat a thing.”

Shuffling inside the tent, and you choked on your own spit as your insides flipped. Leia hadn’t mentioned you. Maybe she already knew he didn’t remember you. Relief and horror flooded you at once, your fingers twisting around your necklace. More than anything, you wanted to rush into the tent, throw your arms around him, show him he truly wasn’t alone--but instead you stood there, a shell, paralyzed by what you’d heard.

It was true that he was not the same man you had loved. Before, when Ben had spoken, you’d felt his dread, his unease, it had gripped you with its claws. Now, even through his pain, you sensed resolve, a tide of confidence splashing in his mind.

“Do you…” It was Ben again, voice like a quiet ocean. “There was a girl. Before I left.” He sniffled again, and your lids widened. A girl. “I gave her a kyber crystal. Do you...” He sighed. Your breathing stopped, fist sheathing the crystal. “Do you know what happened to her?”

Leia spat out your name, incredulous. “Of course I know what happened to her. She’s here.”

Heat flashed through you. Your neck was drenched, for sure. You hoped against hope your armpits had been spared. Ben remembered you. He remembered.

“Here?”

“On base,” she said. “She joined the Resistance.”

You could hear the smile in her voice. Meanwhile, your throat was drier than the sands of Jakku. Given a few more minutes of this, your body might turn to sand, too--just disintegrate right there, a pile of dust at the perimeter of Leia’s tent. Silence settled for a moment.

“She’s here.” It was a statement of disbelief.

She chuckled. “Did you really think she would just forget you?”

“Mom…” Noise inside the tent again. “I…”

The tent flap opened, and you yelped, leaping back. There, light shimmering like an aura around his massive silhouette, stood Ben Solo.

Up close, he was even more beautiful. His dark, amber eyes were still wet, already full mouth swollen from weeping. He met your stare, jaw dropped. Air had been stolen from both of you, if the lack of breathing on either side was an indicator. Inside your ribs, something fluttered, and you hoped it wasn’t an oncoming heart attack--but if it was, you’d die happy. Ben’s gaze searched you, drawing over every centimeter of your figure, mapping you to the image in his memory, that, seeing him now, you’d known he’d kept. Just like you’d kept yours.

“Uhm…” Finally, you inhaled. “Hey.”

A long, slow breath spread in Ben’s chest. His eyes refused to leave yours. “Tell me where you’re staying.”

You swallowed. “What?”

He blinked, clearing his throat. “I--... No, sorry.” Looking over his shoulder, he shrugged, gesturing to you. “I’m going to--”

“Just get out of here, already!” Leia chided. You could hear the mirth in her tone.

Ben nodded, and you turned, leading him with quick strides to your own tent. He stayed on your heels, perhaps hoping that his attachment to you would serve as camouflage. It worked, mostly--between the waxing excitement in the camp, the setting of the sun, and the effort to hide your faces, only few lingering stares caught you escaping through the crowds with the former Kylo Ren.

It hadn’t mattered, the 8 years of distance, of longing, of memory. You felt Ben behind you now as if he’d never left, his presence fitting into the ache you’d dug your fingers into, wrenched open, kept gaping. In this moment of rediscovery, wordlessness filled the space between you, not out of emptiness, but out of fullness--too much, too many words; they coalesced into a fog that surrounded you, dizzied you, excited you. Ben Solo was back.

Ben Solo was back.

Lips pinched together, you peeled back the entrance to your tent, and he ducked in. Heat branded you, like he was fire, scorching you when you drew too near. Ben sat on your bed--afraid to burn, you took the chair across from him, feeling ten times tinier when you sank into the seat, shoulders curling over your torso, hands hiding between your knees. Both of you stared in silence.

His gaze was more intense than you remembered--there was an urgency within the depths of his irises, like a panther, crouched in the darkness, ready to pounce. His body was wound with that same urgency, coiled within him, even as he sat on your bed, looking entirely familiar. It was as if Ben was trapped beyond water’s surface, the death throes of Kylo Ren echoing across his skin, shattering his image with each ripple. Fingers biting your knees, you remembered to breathe.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said. “You…” His lips twitched. “It’s good. To see you.”

A sniffle escaped, the tears already welling. Internally, you cursed. Shouldn’t you be a little harder to impress? “I just…” You smiled, despite yourself. “I’m so glad you’re back, Ben.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s…” He met your stare, glanced away. “Yeah.”

You watched his attention wander across the floor of your room, drawn to the ceiling by the hosts of doodles, notes, Resistance memorabilia you’d pinned in artistic menageries, a feeble attempt to make it feel like home. You’d never been successful in that venture. No matter how many trinkets you’d collected over the years, nothing had done the trick to make your bed feel more familiar. Ben’s eyes rested on you again.

Nothing until now, anyway.

“You came to the Resistance.” His head tilted. “When?”

“Well…” Your expression tightened. “Not long after you, uh, told me to go home and forget about you.”

Ben huffed. “You were never very good at listening to me.”

You offered him a little shrug. “Isn’t that what you liked about me, Solo?”

He peered at you, a hint of intrigue at the corners of his eyes. “It is.” A pause while he considered you. “What do you know about what I’ve--”

“Everything,” you replied quickly. You knew it all, and wanted to discuss none of it. Not now. He was here, he was within your reach. You wanted to relish this moment. “I know all of it.”

A sigh left him. “All right,” he said. “You know all of it.”

“I do.” You raised your hands in submission. “And none of it scares me.”

“None of it.”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

His brow twitched. He looked to his feet, quiet.

For years, you’d imagined his return, pictured this moment in varied shades. In your daydreams, you’d always wrapped him up in an embrace, pulled him into a deep kiss, ran your fingers through his hair, like years hadn’t elapsed between the last time you’d even linked hands. That seemed wrong, now--but you didn’t want it to be. How bold you could be in your mind. You nearly slapped yourself in frustration. Almost a decade of pretending, and you were just going to sit and watch him guess how to talk to you? No. Hell no.

“Ben,” you said, “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so, so much.”

He tensed, then relaxed in another long sigh. He whispered your name. “You’ve… To see you here…” A tiny smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “I’ve missed you, too.”

You smiled, wiping away more unbidden tears. Warmth glowed between you, now, cutting through like shears to the well-worn path that time had overgrown. Shifting, you inched forward in your chair.

“Are you okay?” You gestured toward him, waving your hand around. “I know they called for medics when you arrived.”

He cocked his head again, and sat up, wagging his shirt, as if to demonstrate he was free of serious injury. “I seem to be in one piece.”

You spied a hole in his shirt, and you frowned. “What’s that?”

Ben glanced at you, thoughtful. Then he dropped the shirt, and it fell against his body, framing a peep of his naked torso. “You’ve never seen a lightsaber wound before?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Rey stabbed me,” he said matter-of-factly, like this was what you’d expected him to blurt out. “It’s fine, though. She healed it.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry…” You shook your head. “What?”

“It still burns. It’s eating me from the inside.” A pause, Ben’s gaze leveling you with violent severity, your stomach sinking into your gut--and then he grinned. “I’m kidding.” He poked himself through the hole. “You never know what the Force is truly capable of until your own lightsaber is sticking out of your stomach.”

“Stars, Ben!” You smirked against your will, fighting the laugh that wanted to burst through. “You’re such an ass.”

He shrugged, a sly look still pulling at his face. “Really, it’s fine,” he said. “See for yourself.”

Raising a brow, you went to stand, anxiety strapping your limbs to the seat. “Oh, um, I don’t know,” you replied. “I mean, I don’t want to be rude.”

“It’s fine.” His voice was lower, harsher. “You could never be rude to me.”

Blush eked over your cheeks. “If you say so, Solo.”

You stood and crossed to him, breath shallow, and sat gingerly next to him, scanning his figure. Never had you imagined Ben could be even bigger than he’d been in your memories--yet here he was, looming over you without standing, crowding your bed and your clarity with equal effectiveness. You looked between his face and the hole in his top, and he nodded. Jaw clenched, you reached out and poked it.

Two thoughts flashed through your mind when your flesh connected. The first was surprise--he was right, the alleged wound was completely healed; there wasn’t even a scar. The second, almost immediately after, came paired with a rabid streak of desire. Holy--he’s… firm. Swallowing, you met his eyes. They were dark.

“Ben,” you breathed. “That’s… incredible.”

Your finger hadn’t left his torso. Staying linked to his stare, you shifted closer, pressing your entire hand against his abdomen, palm splaying over the wall of tight muscle, skimming it like water over rocks. When you met the hem of his top, your digits crept underneath, brushing across his skin. His stomach twitched, but his eyes remained trained on yours--breathing now optional. Electricity sparked at your fingertips, stealing your rationality, and you caressed him, tumbling into the warmth, the solid strength of his body, your blood racing, urging you to discover more. Your hand snaked up to his chest, grazing the smooth expanse of flesh, catching the hammering of his heart beneath his sternum, his hardened nipples, and back down, resting on his lean belly. He stiffened when your digits kissed the trail of hair that led lower. He was hot. Or you were hot. You couldn’t tell, anymore.

Ben’s chin quivered. “Not a scratch on me.”

“No…” You couldn’t stop staring at his fucking mouth. “Not a single one…”

Trapped in hesitation, both of your eyes locked again--and you saw it there, misty in his gaze, his ache, his desire, his agony--and you both snapped, crashing like gravity into the other.

Ben seized your face, his plush lips working over yours, forcing a groan from you when his fingers threaded through your hair. He cradled you, binding you to him, tugging your closer as his tongue slipped into your mouth, a moan following. You melted like wax in his grip, molding to him as if you’d been carved from his memory, one hand traveling along the lines of his abdomen, the other plunging into his own hair. The waves whispered like silk over your skin, and you shivered, mewling into him, your tongue swirling around his. Bolder, now, your hand skated across his frame to feel his powerful shoulders, and he tensed again, another moan leaving him.

Scraping your nails over his scalp, you eased closer, until your thighs touched, and in the motion, your palm drifted low, sweeping over the insistent, hard bulge in his pants. Ben gasped, folding over, lids wide with shock, cheeks flushed. You blinked, frozen, and he glanced at his erection, then at you. The knot in his throat bobbed.

“Ben...”

Exhaling, he nodded.

You reached down, working at his pants, monitoring the anticipation rising in his face. After a moment of rustling, it sprang free--long, thick, and heavy, just as you’d remembered. Lust flooded you, your thighs pressing together, your cunt throbbing while you stared. It had been years since you’d done this, and judging by his anxious lip-bite, it had been just as long for Ben, too. Throat tight, you held his gaze, ghosting the tips of your digits along his shaft.

He choked, cock bobbing with yearning--his lid twitched while he observed you observing him, his hands curling in and out of fists. A shaky breath exited your lungs, and you teased him again, toying your fingers along the head, smearing drops of his pre-cum, and back down, memorizing the tiny veins. Ben’s own breath quaked, lids fluttering, and your core thrummed again. You wrapped your hand around his dick, feeling how hard, how needy he was, and stroked him.

Like molasses, he collapsed, sinking into his seat, body yielding to the pleasure pulsating through his nerves. He watched you, jaw slack, as you pumped his cock, thumb collecting pre-cum and glazing his length with it. Breath rolled through him, steady, his legs spreading, fists finally unwinding, hands resting at his sides. Ben was hot--his heat ached in your fist, his pulse jumped through your digits, the heartbeat of his cock echoing to your pussy.

You jerked him faster, squeezing his shaft, and he shuddered with a moan, hips bucking to fuck into your grip. More pre-cum leaked from his tip, coating your hand, and you worked it along his dick, earning another moan, another tremble of pleasure. His eyes fought to stay on you. You twisted your wrist, changing pace, heart leaping when his head fell back, hair tumbling onto his brow.

“Fuck,” he murmured, “fuck…”

He was throbbing hard, now, writhing, breath coming faster, sweat glistening on his cheeks. Despite how badly you wanted to fuck him, you just as badly wanted to watch him cum, wanted to see him cover himself with his seed, wanted to watch him lose himself in the ecstasy only you could provide him.

Your name spilled from his mouth in a gasp, and he spasmed, snatching your wrist. His cock twitched in fury, ripped like thread from its release, and he sucked in a deep breath, pushing up on his palms and pulling you into another kiss. Humming in delight, you kissed him back, returning your hands to his hair--but he pulled them away, pinning them to your sides, growling as he dragged his teeth along your jaw.

Ben then busied himself with your clothes, nibbling lower, to your neck, while he peeled your jacket from your shoulders and tore your shirt toward your head. His touch was a match, embers exploding over your skin, stoking your appetite to strip for him. You wriggled free of your top, and Ben went to kiss you again, pausing when he saw the pendant around your neck, exposed now. Wonder glittered in his gaze, large fingers tilting it in fascination.

“You still have this.” He studied it, appraising each facet.

You nodded. “It’s never left my neck.”

He said nothing, rotating it between his thumb and forefinger. His level of focus brought fresh blood to your cheeks; you thought to move, but didn’t, suspended under his scrutiny. Longing, need, fervor, all paused as Ben wrestled with the concept of your devotion.

“I…” His stare fell, over your breasts, to your stomach, raking over your legs, and back up, greed growling behind his pupils. “I want you.”

You grinned. “You have me.” Your hand covered his as it fiddled with your crystal. “I... I want to keep this on.”

“Of course you do,” he replied, smirking. “No reason to break your streak, now.”

Giggling, you kissed him again--his hands slid behind your back, fussing with your bra before tossing it aside. He pawed at your exposed breasts, kneading the soft flesh, mouth falling to suckle at your throat. When you whimpered in pleasure, he groaned, easing you onto your back, thumbs flicking at your nipples before smoothing over your stomach and grappling with your bottoms. His hair tickled your jaw while he nipped at your neck, and you wrestled with his top, hands gliding over the strong planes of his back as you yanked it toward you. Ben grumbled, reluctant to release you, but seemed to agree that his clothing was impeding your mutual goal. His shirt came free, tossed aside, followed by your shoes and panties. The vulnerability made you squirm--not just yours, but his, too.

Ben’s body was even more perfect than you’d pictured when you’d traced it with your fingers. Every part of him was weaponized, down to the bits of exposed thigh you caught from his half-shucked pants. You swallowed, realizing the extent, the breadth of his power--how easily he could crush you, how effortlessly he’d done it to others--the vestiges of Kylo Ren evident in the taut landscape of his torso, the veins in his forearms, the cobwebs of white scars on his flesh.

But in his eyes, you saw only Ben Solo, a man possessed by your naked figure flushed with passion for him. Your pussy clenched--you became aware of how wet you were, and your face burned.

Silent, he guided a large hand up the side of your hip, his tender touch earning another throb of your cunt. Digits sketched around your nipples before he squeezed your tits again, reveling in your gratified response.

“You like that,” he murmured.

Nodding, your thighs ground together, the longing between your legs becoming too furious to silence. Ben smirked. Without a word, five fingers skimmed over your belly, brushing over your mound, and you cracked, moaning. In response, his dick pulsed, almost hitting his stomach with its demand. As if to invite him, you spread your legs, allowing him a full view of your wet, swollen pussy--and Ben’s breath hitched, hand gripping his length and jerking it slowly.

Being so close to him again was simultaneously familiar and bizarre, like you were getting intimate with a stranger who just happened to know all the quirks and triggers of your body, like a person you’d known only from your dreams had rolled into your bed, ready to enact your fantasies. But Ben Solo was not only real, he wasn’t a stranger. He was yours.

“Ben,” you breathed. “Please…”

Shushing you, he lowered himself on top of you, skin swathing skin, warmth encompassing you, and he guided his cock between your folds, slicking it on your juices before positioning himself at your core. You circled your arms around him, holding back tears when he pushed in, breaking you open with slow, gentle thrusts, his face falling into the crook of your neck, air sucking through his teeth. Muscles from your toes to your head vibrated with ecstasy, nerves singing with joy.

Ben groaned into you when he slipped fully into you, then pulling back out, relishing the drag of your walls on his throbbing length. Grunting, he wrapped you in an embrace, tugging you against him while he slid in again, a choked moan of disbelief caught in his throat. He kissed your neck once, then twice, hips pumping out and in, his pace powerful and gradual, as if he couldn’t help basking in the tight heat of your cunt. Tremors still quaked in your bones, and you wrapped your legs around him, needing him nearer, your lids closing, allowing the tears to slide down your hot cheeks.

He whispered your name in your ear, kissing your throat again, plunging steadily into you. “You feel so good,” he said, “so wet for me…”

If he was intent on liquifying you, it was working. Your limbs were gelatin, without motion, no purpose except to stay curled around this man. Ben’s cock fucked you open, sank deep into your pussy, his tempo quickening. You sniffled, nuzzling against him, content to stay like this forever, maybe die like this, if need be--you couldn’t ever remember feeling this whole, this safe. And as you thought it, another sniffle. But not from you. From Ben.

Whimpering, he rammed into you, speed erratic, like he was trying to drive his entire body into yours, pulling you into his chest, the kyber crystal cutting into your sternum. Your nails rasped across his back, clinging to him when he slid out. Another frantic thrust, and you squeaked, cunt clamping down on his dick, more tears spilling. He echoed you, silencing a sob in your neck, shuddering as he fucked you harder, faster.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned, “I’m so sorry…”

You hushed him, hands diving into his hair, fruitlessly trying to turn his face toward you. He was unyielding, wound around you like wire.

“I’m sorry I left,” he said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for all of it--”

“Ben, it’s okay--”

“It’s not!” He gasped, catching his breath, littering your throat and cheek with kisses. “I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve this--”

You squealed when he speared a spot deep inside you. “I forgive you,” you said, “it’s okay--”

“Stop saying that…” he mumbled. “You don’t--you don’t understand…”

“Shh…”

He had slowed by this point, long, languid thrusts pushing into you. “You don’t understand what I want,” he whispered. “I’m a monster.”

Your heart skipped. “You can tell me, Ben…”

Ben hid his nose in the crook of your neck, face wet, breath like smoke. He hadn’t stopped fucking you through his cries, only clutched you tighter, keeping you real in his hands.

“I want...” He sniffled. And then, into your ear, barely escaping his throat: “Let me choke you.”

It was so abrupt, you laughed. “What?” you said, more as a statement than a question. “Is that all?”

He trembled in your arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing his temple. “I know that, Ben,” you said. “I know you would never hurt me.”

He paused, seated inside of you, and pried himself from your shoulder, examining you in doubt. His chin still quivered.

“I mean it,” you said, pushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “I want all of you. Then, and now.” You kissed his nose. “I know Ben Solo. He is not a monster.”

The doubt fell from his face, followed by the anguish, the shame--and filtering in its place was pure, voracious hunger.

“You mean it.”

“I do,” you said. “I want it.”

He pushed up on his palms, hovering over you like a predator. Heart thrashing, you bit your lip, resisting the urge to clench around him. Before his fall, Ben had been passionate, desperate, even rough--but never like this. Never feral. Never animalistic. Never…

Leaning forward, he brushed his mouth over your ear.

“We’ll see how you feel when I’m done with you, princess.”

Never so hot.

Fire flooded your veins, and you whined, the noise cut by his hand pressing down on your throat, squeezing with enough pressure to make you gasp. He smirked, rocking his hips to remind you of the thick length still inside you.

“I’m going to make you cum hard on this cock,” he purred. “Is that what you want?”

You nodded, grasping at his wrist.

“Good…”

Ben growled, and slammed into you, forcing a wail from your lungs, silenced by the grip on your neck. He rammed you with his dick again, and again, jolting your bones, until he was pounding you, hips smacking into yours, a snarl of pleasure escaping him.

“You feel incredible,” he said. “There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought about fucking your little pussy…” He moved faster, throwing his head back in bliss. “Fuck, I’ve dreamed about cumming inside you…”

“Ben,” you wheezed, overwhelmed with lust. “Ben, please…”

He returned to your ear, nipping it. “You need to cum, princess?”

A deluge of lust, now, drenching you, drowning you. “Yes,” you squeaked out, “yes, please!”

Both hands crushed your throat, Ben’s eyes wild, his hair mussed, and he kept his pace, pumping deep into your slick, hot cunt with ease. His digits twitched--there it was, whirling around your clit, the Force, how you’d missed it--and you were flying, euphoria engulfing you, so fucking close, limbs jerking with pleasure, ready to cinch around his cock.

“Ben…” The pressure on your neck was snug. “Ben, fuck--”

“Fuck yes,” he hissed, spitting out your name, “fuck, yes--” He growled, the Force spinning like a buzzer around your nub, and you snapped, falling apart under him. “That’s right, cum--cum for me, princess…”

White rapture blinded you when you came, straining against the choke, pulsing and milking his cock. Ben squeezed your throat with his climax, keening as his orgasm ravaged him, his hips stuttering, dick spilling jets of cum inside your cunt. He fucked you through it, frenzied in his release, until it slowed, the only sounds left the sloppy noise of his final thrusts.

A low, long groan left him, and he released you, toppling at your side, chasing his breath. You rolled over, staring at him, trying to catch up with your lungs, too. A sheen of sweat encased you both, sticking your skin together, grazing like raw nerves--but you cared little. Next to you was the man you’d loved for almost a decade, the man for whom you’d waited through war, the man who had held your heart and kept it safe, even in the depths of his darkness.

“I love you, Ben,” you said, cupping his cheek. “All of you.”

Ben stared at the ceiling of your tent, chest still heaving. He said nothing, then glanced at your kyber crystal, fogged with sex. “I know.”

You chuckled, snuggling closer to him, and he wrapped an arm around you, pressing you flush against his frame. Lethargy hung on your lids, and you struggled to stay conscious, the murky noises of the Resistance’s victory celebration leaking into your tent. Seconds lingered into minutes, his eyes still fixed on the crystal, memorizing its reflections of your flesh. A wriggle of his fingers, and it rose from your neck, twisting in the air.

He laid there with your head nestled into his shoulder, twirling it with the Force. Back and forth, back and forth, a twinkling lullaby. Back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, you fell asleep.

#kylo ren smut #ben solo smut #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #kylo ren imagine #ben solo imagine #kylo ren #ben solo #not a scratch #nerd whinings #fanfiction problems #another fix-it fic #because I'll never stop salting #EVER

2K notes · View notes

idvlover · 3 years

Note

hello! may i request a little fic where the reader (female is preferred but i’m fine with gender neutral) is new to the manor and victor starts to take a liking to them? he writes little letters about them but one day while they’re in the same round he accidentally gives one of those letters to wick and which wick sends it to the reader? :) this has just been rotting my brain for a long time please take your time with requests hdhfhsjs

This is actually really cute!

Since the new young woman had arrived to the manor, Victor had been exchanging letters with her. (Y/n) found it strange at first until she learned he is selectively mute, soon she understood why he preferred letters and didn't mind writing them back. He loved how quickly she adjusted to the idea of letters and became excited to write more. Other's are willing to write, but they preferred to speak which he didn't mind. But he was overjoyed seeing that she'll try to write as much as she can.

Victor felt himself gaining feelings for her, every time he was near her he could feel his heart beat faster and feel butterflies in his stomach. Each time (Y/n) played with Wick his heart would soar. He would write short poems or letters to himself about how beautiful and kind (Y/n) was. 'I should really start working on the match letters...' He thought to himself. As much as Victor wanted to continue to write (Y/n) he knew people might nag at him for not having letters ready for the match and that's the last thing he would want. 'But... Won't hurt to finish this one.' Victor patted Wick's head who laid across his lap while he sat at his desk.

He sighed to himself as he organized his letters. At least he only had a few letters to go, then pack some extra paper just case, and then it's time to get some rest for the match tomorrow in hopes of winning it without getting chaired. Maybe after match (Y/n) could meet up with him and continue to learn sign language.

When the next day came by he was almost a nervous train wreck. While decoding he noticed that ciphers are becoming a struggle to get done seeing how relentless the hunter is being today. He pulls a letter out of his bag and gives it to Wick.

"To (Y/n)." It said on the envelope.

Wick took the letter and ran. Trying to find (Y/n) as quick as he can before the hunter notices anything.

(Y/n) stood at the cipher trying to decode as quickly as possible. "It doesn't get any easier. Does it." She grumbled. She heard Wick's bark causing her to turn his head to him. She smiled gently at the dog and scratched his chin when she crouched down to take the letter from him. "Thanks boy." Wick licked her hand, but he didn't stay for very long before heading back to his owner.

(Y/n) quickly opened the letter hoping it's a cipher aid letter. But she was met with something else.

"To my dearest (Y/n),

While this letter may never be sent, it won't stop me from writing about her. Her voice is sweet and her laughter is contagious, I love everything about her loving personality. I long to hold her in my arms as she holds me in hers. I wish to give her a kiss on the cheek, nose, and rest my forehead against hers. She is such a kind and loving person so how could I not fall for her? Her beautiful smile makes my day better and seeing her happy makes me very happy, especially when I see her playing with Wick

Though you may never receive this letter, I love you (Y/n).

With love, Victor."

Her face blushed reading the letter. Almost forgetting about the cipher. "Oh shoot! I need to continue decoding." She said to herself. (Y/n) made a mental note to meet up with Victor after the match, she smiled to herself thinking about the letter. It made her feel warm and fuzzy. For quite some time she loved Victor given that he has a very sweet personality, something that stuck out to her the most.

After the match, (Y/n) approached Victor holding the letter. "Hey, Victor. Can I talk to you about something in private?" She asked.

He gave her a slightly worried look, but nodded. He led her to his room and took a seat on his bed, he patted the spot next to him for her to take.

She sat next to him handing him the letter. Victor's face went redder than a tomato and started signing an apology. "No! No! It's fine! I just wanted to say that was very sweet of you. He placed his hand on his face trying to hide his embarrassed face. (Y/n) just chuckled gently and took that hand into hers. "If it makes you feel better, I love you too." She said as she leaned in to kiss his cheek.

Victor just stared at her for a moment, then his smile quickly grew on his face and he hugged her. Showering her face with kisses and hearing her giggle was music to his ears.

Victor pulled away, stood up, and walked over to his desk writing something before handing it to (Y/n).

"I love you too, my love."

I hope this was good because I haven't wrote a fic in a LONG time 😅

#victor grantz #idv x reader #victor grantz x reader #idv oneshot

74 notes · View notes

iraacundus · 4 years

Text

The Sins of Angels

devil!Taeyong soulmate!au

Genre: fluff, fantasy, smut, angst Words: 10k

warnings: sex (incl. degredation), swearing

better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven - Paradise Lost, John Milton 1667

You weren't a bad person, but clearly, you hadn’t been a great one either. You had to figure that was the case as you stood in a really long queue at the front desk of Hell. There were some people around you crying and screaming, but most people just stood in stony silence, waiting until they reached the end of the queue.

It was a casual four weeks later when you reached the front, which for Hell you supposed was quite quick. You wondered if it was meant to unsettle you, to form part of your eternity of torture, or maybe that's just how long bureaucracy in the afterlife took.

“Name and time of death?” You finally heard be called out to you. You had to think for a second, the hours of standing in the queue had really started to rot your brain.

“It’s y/n and I died on the 3rd March 2020 at 9:58pm” You said, having no idea why you knew your exact time of death, but the desk man wasn’t surprised and therefore it must have been something dead people just knew. The desk man handed you a gold coin.

“Straight ahead to the gates, tell them you’re going to the second circle,”. You took the coin and nodded. “Have a terrible time,” he said, sounding so bored that you were sure he was having a worse time.

No sooner had you step away from the desk to contemplate your impending doom before he called you back.

He stared down at the old 1980’s computer in front of him in slight disbelief, hitting the side of it three times just to make sure it was actually working properly. Seeing that this made no difference the man shrugged and motioned for you to come closer to the desk.

“Just had a message from the boss man, turns out your wanted down where the real actions happens,” he said taking back your coin. He placed it carefully back in its box before reaching down below his desk and fiddling for a moment.

“Could you come round here and stand beside me?” he asked, you noted his tone had become much more polite ever since he had read his computer message.

“First interesting thing to happen at this desk in ninety years,” He said looking at you, eyes not blinking for a slightly uncomfortable amount of time before pointing down to where he had been fiddling.

“This is a passage to the City of Dis. It’s a ten hour-long fall and it hurts when you get to the bottom, but it’s that… or ten hundred years of torture to get there and we don’t have that kind of time.”

“Don’t we have all of time,” you questioned, Hell had always been marketed as an eternity of suffering.

“You mean to say,” the man began, “That you would actually prefer to endure the ten hundred years of torture?” He was incredulous, you didn’t think his eyebrows could lift any faster.

Neither seemed like a good option, but you couldn’t possibly die twice so one hard fall had to have been the better option. You looked down at the endless dark hole, trying to contemplate what was being proposed here.

“You don’t really have a choice, please jump down the hole, you’re really holding up the queue, I’ve got targets to meet.”

You couldn’t ascertain whether the last part was a joke or not, but you had realised that overthinking wasn’t helping anyone. You took one last look at the man at the hell desk before launching yourself into the depths of Hell.

You screamed for about the first minute, before realizing it was pointless, you had a long while to go until you hit the ground. You pondered about why you might have ended up where you were, cursing that in real life you hadn’t bothered to study the nine circles of hell, that might have given you a clue.

About three-quarters of the way through your fall it started to get lighter again, but also hotter, it was exhaustingly hot, worse than Death Valley in the summer hot. You felt like you had been falling for much less than a few hours, you weren't sure if time worked the same way in eternity. You almost wanted to cry but the thought that an eternity in Hell could be worse though, which somehow comforted you. Even though you knew that it could get worse and probably would.

-----

It was a while longer until you finally hit the ground. It hurt like every single bone in your body had broken. You just lay there, contorted.

“Oh... That looked like it hurt!” You heard someone exclaim from above you. You half-opened one eye to see a boy staring down at you. All you could notice was that he was very good looking, something you had noticed about desk boy too now that you thought about it. Every bone in your body may have shattered, but if all the people in hell, looked like the men you had seen so far... your complaints were limited. A fact which truly made you think you had really lost any sense of reality.

“You need to get up ... you haven't reached your final destination.” He said. You swore under your breath before pushing yourself onto your hands and knees, something that induced the agonising pain all over again. The good-looking guy just stared at you with a wicked grin.

“I have all the time in the world babe quite literally infinite time, but the person we are going to meet does not have infinite patience. And- and I can’t stress this enough - he's really fucking scary so stand the hell up,” he grabbed your arms lifting you to your feet, shaking his head, “get the hell up, did you not appreciate what I did there.” You stared at him blankly.

“My humour is wasted in this bloody city.” He complained.

You said nothing, you had literally no idea what to say to this man, if he even was a man.

“I’m Yangyang by the way,” he continued, “one of this city’s finest fallen angels, fell straight from heaven into the ladies' hearts.”

Now you were standing up you realised the light you had seen was just endless fire, the only break in the fire was a stone path that didn’t seem to have an end, at least not an end that you could see.

The fire was filled with burning souls in the distance, the screams you could hear were unnerving, you wanted to somehow disappear. Yangyang didn’t even seem to hear them, the screams of hell must have become just a faint music to him over time, like radio music in a shop.

You followed closely behind him as he led you along the fire-lit path. As you got closer to what you presumed was the city of Dis the sound of a distant roar of voices got louder and louder, but there was still no end in sight.

“What did you get kicked out of Heaven for... if it’s not rude to ask?” You were trying to create any sense of distortion from the horrifying surroundings.

He laughed, the fire reflecting against his face that still held the same wicked grin.

“I’m not offended and even if I was, this is Hell, people are rude all the time it doesn’t matter. Here in Hell you can do what you want babe. There is only one person youwill have to listen to; Lucifer himself. Most people listen to the fallen angels too, but I fear you will end up being more important here than me.”

You knew in theory who Lucifer was, fallen angel, cast out by God. Somehow though, you hadn’t expected him to exist even after you got to Hell, you assumed he was just created to scare children and adults alike. The idea of fallen angels was also a foreign one to you, you hadn’t even known there were more people like Lucifer.

“And to answer your question, I got kicked out of heaven for being too fun,” he said, laughing mostly to himself. You doubted that was the official reason he got kicked out, even if he decided to justify it as such.

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

The walk came to an end at the edge of a vast canyon. At the very bottom, you could see a very grand building surrounded by markets and various other buildings. In the rock face, there were many entrances and balconies which people seemed to live inside.

“We don’t have to jump do we?” You asked, feeling like you had done enough falling for at least the next six lifetimes in Hell.

“There is a lift.”

He said like it was very obvious, and you were stupid for even suggesting otherwise, even though he had seen the end of your bone breaking fall.

The lift wasn’t like any modern-day one, more like one you would have seen in a mine shaft in centuries past, just bigger. There was a large queue for the lift which Yangyang didn’t seem at all bothered by. He grabbed your arm and walked through the queue, the sea of people parting as the jumped back in what appeared to be fear. You couldn’t understand why; Yangyang seemed nice enough.

You stepped into the lift and clung to the side as the door shut. The metal groaned slightly before beginning to lower. You could see each of the levels more clearly now, there were four distinct areas above the ground floor.

“The city is the 6th to 9th circles of Hell,” Yangyang explained, “For people who committed worse crimes, treachery, heresy and all that.”

“What is the second circle?” You asked back, hoping he could provide you the answer to your biggest question.

“Is that where you were headed?”

You nodded.

“Just before I was told to jump down the hole and ended up here, I was originally meant to go to the second circle.”

Yangyang just laughed but didn’t bother to answer the question and you weren’t brave enough to ask again.

The metal began to screech again as the lift hit the ground floor and the gate began to open. The people waiting at the bottom also immediately moved back when they saw Yangyang step forward, pushing you off the lift and past the crowd.

Yangyang set off walking, through market, after market in which everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. There was the odd scream of pain here and there but there were more screams of laughter, more voices chatting and bargaining.

As you got closer to the centre of the floor the buildings got bigger and grander, some of them almost palatial.

“That’s my house” Yangyang said pointing to a large building to the right of you. It looked quite nice, even if a drunk man had passed out on the front steps.

“You can get drunk in Hell?” You asked.

“Ninety percent of the people here are drunk ninety percent of the time.” Was his answer.

You walked for a few more minutes before reaching the gate that surrounded the grandest building of all, Devil House, Yangyang informed you. The gates were opened by two guards as you approached, how bowed at you both as you passed. Yangyang walked you up to the door before knocking six times.

After a minute or so the doors opened seemingly by themselves. Situated behind the doors was a grandiose entrance hall made out of black marble, a gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

You looked at Yangyang expectantly for him to explain what would happen next, but he said nothing, the wicked grin gone from his face. For the first time he actually looked somewhat scared.

You suddenly noticed a man standing at the top of the staircase. He was staring straight down at you with a glare that could have killed, ifyou hadn’t already been dead.

“My Lord,” Yangyang managed to choke out, he stared down at his feet, his hands fidgeting. When you looked back away from Yangyang, the man, who you guessed was the Devil, was standing right in front of you. Blood red hair, perfect jawline, flawless skin - out of all of the good-looking men you had seen here so far, he was the most perfect.

He reached out and kissed your hand.

“Welcome to Hell, my love, my name’s Lucifer, but you can call me Taeyong,” he said.

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

You woke up in a bed with some of the softest pillows you had ever felt, you sat up slowly, taking in your surroundings, not knowing how you had ended up there. The bed you were on was the only piece of furniture in the completely white room. There was a door at the far end of the room and a window that looked out onto the fire and darkness below.

You stood up carefully and walked over to the window. You could see the guards still standing by the gate and a few people fighting in the corner of the street.

A light knock came at the door.

“Come in?” You replied after a brief pause, realising that the person knocking was assuming this was your room.

The door swung open and Taeyong, Lord Lucifer, walked in. You froze where your stood by the window, even though he was standing about ten meters away from you.

If Taeyong sensed your fear, he chose to ignore it,

“I hope you're comfortable, I had one of the women change your clothes, I figured you would prefer that,” he said. You looked down, where your previous dust-ridden clothes had been was now a silk nightdress, you raised your eyebrows slightly. It was a beautiful item of clothing but slightly on the revealing side for meeting a man you didn’t know.

“Isn’t that very nice of someone who is meant to be the Devil?” you asked him. He looked you dead in the eyes and tilted his head slightly,

“If you want me to be mean darling, that can be arranged... but I would prefer if we could be civil.”

You nodded, once again lost for words. You couldn’t remember much about your life, but you were pretty sure that in life you had always had something to say. Yet since you had gotten to Hell you were more often than not lost for words.

You started to remember the events of the previous span of time, you remembered falling and meeting Yangyang. Yangyang made you feel comfortable, you had many questions and hoped maybe he would be able to answer them.

“Could I maybe talk to Yangyang,” you asked. Taeyong shook his head.

“No.” His lips rested in a firm line; you were starting to understand why Yangyang said he was someone to be afraid of. Yet with a life of torture already assured you felt you had nothing left to lose.

“I’m just gonna say it,” you began, ‘what is going on here, like what’s with the whole situation, I don’t remember anything about my life, or even how I ended up in this room, all I know is I jumped down a hole, met Yangyang, who was definitely scared of you by the way, and ended up here right now. I know that you are the all-powerful Lucifer, but you won’t let me see the one person I vaguely know or trust.” Taeyong just smirked out your outburst.

“You don’t always get what you want in Hell and I wouldn’t make a habit of trusting fallen angels” he replied.

His lacklustre reply stirred a deep sense of anger within you, you found it really hard to tolerate people who thought they were better than others.

“Is this my torture? Because if so, you guys are using weird tactics these days... like rather unorthodox if you ask me, I think I might rather just be burnt.” You instantly regretted the comment about being burnt, “But also please don’t burn me.”

To your surprise Taeyong half smiled at your comment.

“I’m not torturing you; I assure you that definitely involves classic techniques like burning people to death. In fact, I would argue that fact fate has left you lucky.”

“What does that mean?” You asked. Taeyong shrugged.

“There are worse things in death than having to marry me.”

You blinked about ten times in a row, the words gone from your mind again, blank.

“Sorry one second,” you said, holding up four hand, “can you just elaborate on that, because last time I checked I wasn’t engaged to any devils.”

“Not any regular devil, theDevil.” He corrected, before looking down at the expensive watch that was on his wrist, “I have to go and sort some things out, feel free to look around the house, just don’t leave and don’t interact with any of the staff around the house.”

You didn’t have time to formulate a reply or protest before he was gone, door shut perfectly, as if he had never even been there.

You sat around in silence for a few minutes before becoming curios about your surroundings. Your room was totally empty so you hoped the rest of the house wasn’t as such or it would have been a rather dull house tour.

Fortunately, as soon as you stepped out of your room you were faced with a very different sight. The corridor had a plush red carpet lining the floor and paintings and tapestries lining the walls.

You entered room after room, most of them just empty bedrooms, though none as empty as yours had been. As you ventured a little further into the house you began to find more interesting rooms.

There was a corridor that constituted only of studies another that had what seemed to be conference type rooms with long tables and lots of chairs. Around the other side you finally came across the dining room where there was food laid out on the table. A whole feast that you didn’t dare touch for a variety of reasons.

A man stood in the corner of the room, when he saw you enter, he bowed down just as the guards had, something that unsettled you.

“In case you wanted to eat,” the man explained, gesturing towards the table. You noticed there was only one place set for eating, at the same time you wondered if the concept of being hungry even existed in Hell. You felt your stomach grumble slightly, answering your own question.

You gave a weak smile to the man before sliding into the seat. This could be where the torture begins, you thought. It could have been poisoned food or turned into rotting flesh when you ate it, yet it looked so appetising you could hardly believe that would ever be the case.

Still unsure of weather to eat it or not you turned to the man,

“Do you know where I could find this guy called Yangyang?”

“I think we both know that I can’t tell you where Yangyang is,” he replied. You looked back to the food pressing your lips together, it had been worth a shot.

“I would be happy to try and answer any questions you have instead, my name is Yuta, I am a personal assistant of sorts,”

“Another archangel?” you asked. Yuta shook his head.

“Nope, just a demon.”

Yes, just a demon, of course.

Yuta watched you staring at the food and quickly guessed as to why you are hesitant,

“It is perfectly safe to eat; you are an honoured guest of hell.”

“That is exactly what someone who wanted me to eat the torture meal would say,” you replied accusatorily. Yuta laughed to himself slightly,

“If you don’t want to eat it that’s also fine, you will starve for eternity but that is, what as this other demon Johnny often says – not my problem.”

You still wondered if it was reverse psychology, but the hunger pangs had really started to kick in, so you decided to eat the food regardless.

You quickly realised that it wasn’t poisoned and that it was actually some of the most delicious food you had ever eaten.

After you had eaten for a while you looked back at Yuta who was still standing there watching you.

“How come I am allowed to talk to you and not Yangyang?” you asked.

“I don’t make the rules,” he replied. Yuta followed the word of Taeyong just as much as everyone else did, the devil really did seem to have a lot of power.

You stood up from your seat, as you did the dishes and food vanished at a click of Yuta’s fingers. Demon magic. When you headed towards the door Yuta remained where he had always been, unmoving.

“Nice to meet you, I suppose, I’m y/n by the way.” You said just before you left.

“I already knew that,” Yuta grinned. Everyone you had met in Hell acted weirdly, both in general and specifically towards you. You couldn’t figure out why there was no torture or why you had supposedly ended up engaged to Taeyong.

You had thought about asking Yuta more questions, but it seemed like Taeyong didn’t want you to know the answer to your questions and therefore none of his buddies were ever going to tell you, so you didn’t bother.

You went another three weeks before you saw Taeyong again, or anyone else for that matter. The only person you had seen was Yuta who watched you eat every day, would enter into general conversations with you about himself, and tales of demons but would never answer any questions you had or explain anything useful.

“I really need to talk to Taeyong,” you asked him, pretty much pleading at this point.

“Not an option,” Yuta replied.

“Where is he?” you asked for the ninth time that day.

“Hell,”

“Yeah very funny bud. I am not marrying him, I’ve only met him once and then he fucked off, not really the kind of behaviour that would make him a good husband.”

“He will return soon,” Yuta said, clearly trying to hide his own laughter, as a Demon he thrived on your suffering ever so slightly.

“You are annoyingly vague.” You sighed, “Can we not just break the rules, like this is hell can we not just sneak out and go and do something, this house is boring there is nothing to do and I would still really like to talk to Yangyang.”

Yuta pressed his hands together before speaking,

“No, we cannot just ‘break the rules’ Taeyong is all powerful I would rather not piss him off. It is very unboring here, I still have two million years’ worth of top-quality stories lined up, not all of them mine, I will admit. You only met Yangyang like one time, no need to make it twice, furthermore he will not answer your questions either, he too fears those who should be feared.”

You banged your head against the table repeatedly.

“This is definitely Hell!”

“You are rather dramatic y/n.”

You could see Yuta out of the corner of your eye and though he was laughing you could tell he also felt sorry for you.

“I will see what I can do,” he relented. You stopped hitting your head, got up and ran over to Yuta, throwing your arms around him.

“Thank you!” you said in earnest.

At that moment the door on the other side of the room opened and Yuta froze.

“It seems I have been gone too long, my fiancé is turning to other men,”

You let go of Yuta and spun round.

“She was hugging me because I offered to find out where you were…” Yuta tried to explain but you cut him off.

“Yeah well I have only been stuck in this boring house for a whole month with only him to talk to so if we are close that is your own fault.” You shouted at him.

“Don’t shout at him, that’s not gonna end well,” Yuta whispered to you aggressively.

“I am just a little bit angry, no, a lot angry and seeing as I cannot have any friends or meet any people, I will be voicing them to the only two people I am allowed to talk with.”

Taeyong said nothing, he strode over to where you were, grabbed your hand and dragged you from the room.

Yuta looked alarmed as you left. Taeyong led you down several corridors until you reached one of the grandest offices you had seen yet. He let go of your hand and slammed the door behind you.

“I would appreciate it if you were not rude to me in front of the people who work for me.” Taeyong said.

“I would appreciate it if you weren’t such an elusive dickhead.”

“I had … work to attend to,” he said, hand running through his bright red hair.

He was standing only a few feet away from you causing you to notice just how good looking he was for the first time. He had a cut in his eyebrow and a jawline that was stronger than anything.

“Whereas I was stuck here, doing nothing. Yuta is nice and all, but his stories get kinda old after the first thirty. I just don’t understand why I can’t talk to anyone or leave this house, why I can’t know anything about hell.”

“I…” Taeyong almost started to explain but then shut his mouth again, leaning with his hand against the door.

“What are you afraid of me finding out?” you asked him.

Taeyong sneered.

“If I told you then it wouldn’t be a secret.” He paused for a moment before walking towards you. “I can’t decide,” he said, “whether to risk falling in love with you.”

“So, you have a bad relationship past?” you guessed. Taeyong said nothing so you assumed you had hit the bullseye.

“See, now we are getting somewhere,” you said, “if you explain things to me life is a lot easier and I won’t resent you as much.”

Taeyong continued walking towards you and you walked backwards away until your back was pressed up against the wall.

“We aren’t alive.” He corrected, you could feel his breath on your face, he was inches away.

Taeyong’s face looked pained, confused.

You don’t know why you did it, maybe it was the lack of physical contact, or the slightly sexual nature of some of Yuta’s stories but you felt like it was the right choice.

You place your hands on Taeyong’s cheeks, pulling his face down towards yours, lips together. You had only meant for it to be an innocent kiss at first, just a few seconds. You didn’t know Taeyong, but you wanted to take away the pained look on his face for just a second.

But as your lips touch you felt a deeper desire, your lips moving against his with a slight sense of urgency. Taeyong’s hands moved to your waist pulling you closer towards him, his grip like iron.

After a minute or two you pulled away, realising that you hadn’t breathed, that you didn’t need to breathe, a surprising perk of Hell. You opened your eyes to see Taeyong staring down at you, the pain still in his eyes, but now mixed with something else, something more positive, you didn’t know quite what.

“I’ve never had a girl kiss me first before,” he remarked. You smiled at him slightly.

“Well I just…” you couldn’t really explain why you did I, you didn’t know, because you still resented this man quite a lot., “It doesn’t mean I forgive you,” you assured him.

Taeyong leaned down and placed a final peck on your lips.

“You have made my choice for me though, there is no way I can avoid falling in love with you now.”

“Yuta are we friends,” you asked him.

“Why do you ask, please don’t ask me you break you out again you know I can’t,” he said, sounding genuinely sorry.

“I just mean if I told you something personal because I needed advice you wouldn’t need to tell Taeyong right? As long as it’s not my plan to break free. I have no girls here to talk to, or even any other boys, you’re my only hope,”

“I don’t see why I would have to tell Taeyong something like that no, so you can count me as a friend on this one.”

“I kissed Taeyong.” You blurted out the second he finished speaking. Yuta blinked a few times, nodding his head slightly.

“Did I really need to know that?” he asked.

“Do you know why I would have done that?”

“This, is the single worst question you have asked me yet, how would I know how your brain functions?” Yuta joked. You sighed, picking up your spoon and placing it in the ice-cream in front of you, that even with demon magic was fast melting due to high temperatures.

A few minutes later you walked back out and started searching the house for whatever room Taeyong was in.

You walked through room after room, to the point where you were not even sure which way was back anymore.

Eventually you came to a room with a door that must have been made out of gold. The door had a picture carved into it of an angel falling from heaven into the fire below. Your feet stopped. It had to be the room you had been searching for.

You knocked loudly but there came no reply, so you pushed the door open slightly, peeking into the room. At first it seemed empty, just like yours had been. There was a wooden bed with a canopy, that looked like one you would see in a period drama. It was ornate and stylish with two bedside tables either side.

Those three pieces of furniture were the only ones in the room.

You felt bad about intruding into someone else’s space, but it didn’t stop you, if you had been a better person you wouldn’t have been there in the first place.

You walked curiously over to the bed and sat down on it, the bed was perfectly made, not even a crease as you ran your hands across the bed covers.

You stared down at the bedside table, something you didn’t have in your own room. The one on the left side was empty, not even a dust particle to be seen.

You rolled over the bed to the other drawer, expecting it too to be empty.

You pulled it open to see a few things inside. There were a few letters which you felt like you shouldn’t read, a pen, a picture of Taeyong and Yuta and at the back of the drawer a small red book.

It wasn’t something you were proud of, but you couldn’t help but peek into the book. The first page was inscribed with a verse:

And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world—he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.

So, the stories were true. But as you flicked through the pages you only became more confused, some were written in a language you didn’t understand or even recognise, some were filled with cursive handwriting recounting stories, much like the ones Yuta had told you, but it was the final few pages that confused you the most. There were paintings of five girls, each on a separate page.

Each had their name written underneath, a date and a timespan. The first 120AD - 3 months up until the most recent 1827 – 2 months.

In the last entry to the book you saw your own face. It was a picture of you sitting in a café in the sunshine, it had to have been from your life. You were drinking iced tea and laughing like nothing could have stopped your happiness. The date 2020 but no time span.

You didn’t understand what it meant entirely but you weren’t stupid either, you realised you were not the first girl who had ended up here.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the book was snatched away from you. You stared upwards to see Taeyong, eyes dark and unforgiving.

“What gives you the right,” he began through gritted teeth, “to look through other people’s personal items.”

He placed the book back in the drawer.

“I would say you can’t come into this room when I’m not here, but I assume you have already seen all there is to see,” he laughed darkly.

“Who are those girls, what do those dates mean?” you asked, still curious and somehow still unafraid, even though the man in front of you looked ready to kill.

Taeyong said nothing. You placed your hand over his lightly.

“I can only become close to you if you let me, and if we are to get married for whatever mysterious reason of fate, we should be close.”

Taeyong moved his hand back and looked away.

“We don’t need to be close; all that book proves is that in this cursed place, fiancé does not mean future wife.”

“Would you stop being so damned elusive for a fucking second?” you said. Taeyong lifted one eyebrow smirking.

“You don’t understand,” he said.

“Yeah I don’t understand if you don’t tell me.”

Taeyong’s smirk faded until he just looked sad. He looked over at you and smiled slightly.

“You can leave the house if you want, make some friends, just don’t leave the city, it’s not so fun outside the walls of Dis, its where the real sinners go.”

You were surprised, freedom wasn’t what you expected to gain from your trespass into his personal space.

“Why now?”

“Because even though you probably won’t choose hell in the end, I at least don’t want you to resent your time here.”

You walked round the bed to sit closer to him but as you sat down, he stood up.

“I think it is easier for both of us long term if what happened yesterday… doesn’t happen again.” He looked down at the time, “I have some rogue demons to chastise, I’ll get Yuta and Yangyang to show you around town.”

Five hours later you were drunk at a vodka bar in hell where Yuta had disappeared with some girl about an hour previously and you were left laughing with Yangyang until your stomach hurt.

“You have way better stories than Yuta,” you joked as Yangyang recounted a mishap between him, a goat demon and a man who had been sent to hell mostly for his obsession with stealing collectable plates.

“and you,” he replied, “are much more fun to be around than any of Taeyong’s previous ladies,” he said, covering his mouth as soon as he said it, “well fuck,” he finished off.

“Do not fear young fallen angel for I already know of these previous ladies, as in I know they exist and nothing else.”

Yangyang breathed out a sigh of relief.

“If I had let that secret go, well I would probably have been stung by bees for the next couple hundred years, every day at three o’clock.”

“There must be worst tortures?” You prompted. Yangyang shook his head.

“Don’t ever underestimate hell bees,” he said in a statement that sounded like he had his own history with said hell bees and that you shouldn’t press further.

“I know of the ladies and I guess that’s what makes him act weird towards me, but I don’t understand what happened.” You explained.

Yangyang looked around to see who was looking before motioning you to come closer.

“I can tell you, but you never heard it from me,” he said, “I must be drunk to be telling you this. Basically, Taeyong is cursed, not by God that’s just this whole hell thing but in a personal argument with an angel named Taeil. Taeyong once stole Taeil’s fiancé back in heaven, so when he was cast down to hell Taeil vowed to take revenge. Ever since as soon as a girl dies, who is someone Taeyong would definitely fall in love with, Taeil make sure they are sent right to his door, calls them the brides of hell. Well with the first one Taeyong didn’t realise it was Taeil, he just thought he had found his soulmate. Yet three months later Taeil shows up at the gates of hell und summons her fourth, Taeyong following close behind. He offers the girl a chance to go to heaven to have everything she ever wanted, that her going to hell was just a mistake and she is meant to marry him in heaven. And the girl agrees. Because as much as she loved Taeyong she wasn’t willing to give up the idea of eternal paradise for him, same for the next four girls… and now you. With the last one he didn’t even try. He didn’t talk to her once he just kept her locked up until Doyoung came. When she left, she said she hated Taeyong, which hurt him just as much as when he was betrayed.”

You took another shot of vodka.

“Well that… is a story and a half,” you remarked. Yangyang shrugged.

“Did the first girl really love him?” she asked. Yangyang nodded.

“They were happy together, Taeyong isn’t a bad guy to the people he loves, he’s not the same person he was a couple hundred thousand years ago, he’s not a great guy by any means but he was kind to the girl and they loved each other, the first betrayal is still the worst.”

“How could she do that to him if she loved him,” you asked him, you had only known Taeyong a short time and for most of that you had resented him, but you had started to understand him.

“Heaven isn’t something you refuse,” Yangyang said simply.

Before long you were both back to laughing and drinking, increasingly incapacitated. An hour later Yangyang was dragging you back to the steps of Taeyong’s house. He knocked on the door, lazily calling out,

“Taeyong, come and get y/n! I want to go to bed!” he said.

Taeyong appeared at the door a few moments later to see you lying on the ground semi-conscious, cocktail umbrella still in you grasp.

He leaned down and picked you easily, something you welcomed after Yangyang’s drunk drag.

“I’ll take you back to your room,” he said. You shook your head laughing.

“No!” you protested like a stubborn child, “I want to sleep next to you, in your room.”

Taeyong looked somewhat shocked.

“I already explained it would be better if we just kept out distance,” he began before you cut him off. You put your finger over his lips to silence him.

“Starting today,” you said, “I am going to stay with you forever, starting right now, in your bed.”

Taeyong sighed, continuing on to your room before placing you down in your bed, he tried to leave but you grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Please don’t leave me alone again,” you asked him quietly, “I don’t like being alone in this place.”

Taeyong’s eyes soften, his resolve defeated, he sat down next to you in the bed.

“I really won’t leave you, I won’t go with that mean Taeil guy,”

“Yangyang is so dead,” Taeyong said.

“We’re all dead silly.” You lay back in the bed, pulling Taeyong’s arm so he fell down to lie facing you.

“And you will leave, they all do,” Taeyong explained. You blinked a few times.

“I’m not them, I’m y/n, I’m my own person. And anyway, I bet none of them ever kissed you first.”

“Why did you kiss me?” Taeyong questioned thoughtfully.

“I really don’t know I just suddenly felt like it was the right thing to do in that moment, like fate had been leading up to right then and there.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Taeyong sighed, “we are all just puppets of people like Taeil.”

“For someone who has power over a whole dimension that is a very defeatist attitude.” And before he could protest anymore you placed your hand on his cheek, your fingertips brushing a few strands of his hair,

“Am I really not different to any of those other women? Maybe their choice wasn’t wrong, maybe they just weren’t right for you, maybe I am,”

“I’m scared of you in particular, I have watched parts of your life on earth and I could see myself with you more than anyone before, and that terrifies me,” Taeyong admitted.

“I cause fear in the devil, what a powerful woman I am,” you joked grinning at him, “Don’t underestimate me.”

Taeyong brought his hand up to cover yours that was still rested on your face.

“You said you hate being alone here, why would you ever choose to stay here?” he asked.

“Because I wouldn’t be alone, I would have friends like Yuta and Yangyang and I would have you, Taeil chose me because we are a perfect match, right? Well then we will always be happy, also Yuta assures me he has a few million more stories lined up and I can’t miss out on that.”

Taeyong’s eyes stared into your soul, he licked his lower lip slightly before moving so he was positioned over you, resting on his forearms.

“I really hope that what you say is true,” he said before bringing his lips to meet yours.

A few weeks passed, you didn’t see Taeyong very often, he was still very busy, but he had made your life in hell become somewhat enjoyable. You spent most of your days playing around with Yuta, Yangyang had work to do, and getting to know the city. When you did see Taeyong he still somewhat guarded, but he was a lot more genuine with you.

You were just coming back from a game of throw the devil with Yuta when you noticed a bright white letter sitting on the doorstep, Dear Taeyong was written on the front in cursive writing similar to that of Taeyong’s.

Yuta grimaced at the sight of it. You didn’t have to ask who it was from because you knew it was from him, from Taeil.

“Well it was fun to get to know you,” Yuta said, holding out his hand for you to shake, “I wish you all the best in heaven, it sounds like a great place.”

“I’m not going,” you said. Yuta snorted,

“No one would ever give up that chance, especially not for someone they barely know, you’ve talked to Taeyong, what three four times, you might be crazy but there is no way you’re that crazy.

You looked up at the orange sky above, wishing more than ever that you could remember your past life, so you could understand what choice you would have made when you were alive.

“It doesn’t make sense to me either, maybe I suffered permanent brain damage when I fell down that hole on the way here… but I just have this feeling, a feeling that tells me that I belong here, with Taeyong, with you, with Yangyang, that this is my fate.”

“Don’t suffer a harsh fate just because you feel sorry for the devil,” Yuta exhaled deeply.

“How is this fate harsh?” you asked, “maybe for most people hell is the worst, but I have only had good experiences here, I may have complained about your stories, but they weren’t that bad,”

“Any fate is harsh in comparison to perfection.” Yuta mused.

“It’s almost like you want me to leave,” you joked. Yuta looked at the letter with envy.

“If you want to stay here that’s your choice and I will be happy not to see you go, but it’s not the choice I would make.”

You pushed him slightly on the shoulder to ease the tension.

“You would be bored after five seconds up there,” you said opening the door and kicking your shoes off into the hallway.

You both went to eat and were wrapped up in conversation but neither of you could ignore when you heard the front door slam loudly and Taeyong scream out a list of profanities even from the other side of the house.

You gave Yuta a small smile before hurrying downstairs to try and find Taeyong. He was kneeling in the hallway staring down at the open letter on the floor that was set alight, the pages burning until there was nothing left but ash.

You tried to sit near him to comfort him, but he pulled away.

“I won’t go with him,” you said quietly. Taeyong rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you fucking will, no matter what you say humans are all the fucking same, you’re not special.”

You were taken aback. You had known the letter would upset Taeyong, but you hadn’t expected him to act with such anger.

“I don’t need your stupid fucking pity,” Taeyong hissed, the venom in his voice not something that could be faked, “I may want to love you but at this point I hate you at the same time and I will hate every girl that comes after.”

Your eyes narrowed and you snorted slightly.

“I didn’t pity you before Taeyong,” you said, “but this is pathetic.”

You picked up a vase that was next to you and smashed it on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Taeyong said standing up, alarmed at your sudden violence.

“I don’t remember my life on earth,” you began, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t an angel. I do know who I am now though, I commit petty crimes with Yuta for fun, I am attracted to a man who tortures people for a living, and I broke your vase just because I can. That doesn’t make me evil but I’m not a saint and I certainly don’t see a reason to go to heaven. Call me a narcissist but at least here I’m special, at least you will love me and for whatever reason my brain seems to value that more than eternal glory or whatever.”

“I’m a difficult man and this is a difficult place, I’ve just sheltered you from it so far.” Taeyong said.

You stepped closer to him until your lips were right by his ear.

“Then show me,” you whispered, “show me hell,” you stepped back, “show me what life here is really like and then I can make an informed choice, I can’t chose you if you don’t even give me a chance.”

“That seems fair, you can at least be Queen of Hell for a day” Taeyong agreed.

Which is how you ended up hours later back on the lift out of the city. This time you had no broken bones and you instead wore a dress of fire, courtesy of Yuta’s demon magic.

Taeyong led you through the circles of hell, through all the punishments, betrayers frozen in ice; tyrants and robber forced to swim in boiling blood; the eternal combat of the wrathful sullen and lazy and the lustful caught in the endless violent wind to name but a few.

“Hell is a horrible place for a lot of people, the city of Dis is the exception not the rule, to live there you have to live with that.”

“Then who are the people wondering around, in the villages outside the city?” you asked, not really wanting to dwell on the torture.

“The pain of torture dulls after a few thousand years and those people become free, everyone here is free because of that. After a few thousand years you can just get up and walk away and live a life again. I burned in fire for three thousand years until one day I just walked away and found the demons in the city,” Taeyong explained.

“So, the torture ends?” You asked him. Taeyong nodded,

“Pain has no power if you have experienced 1000 lifetimes of it, it just becomes normal.”

“Then I can live with it.” You said.

Taeyong looked surprised.

“It probably makes me a bad person but then I suppose that justifies my place here but if the torture ends then I can justify within myself living here, marrying you.”

“If I chose to stay, do I have to suffer the thousands of years?” you followed up.

“Does that change your answer?”

You didn’t know. But you didn’t think so, you just didn’t ever want to say something you weren’t totally sure about.

“But no, you wouldn’t, every millennium I can pardon someone, I have saved that for the chance someone ever choses to marry me,”

“Not the pessimist I always thought then,” you giggled. Taeyong laughed,

“It wasn’t optimism, it was fear… though the pain ends, I still didn’t want anyone who had made a choice to stay with me to have to experience it, because while it normalises after a thousand years the first couple hundred really are torture.”

“Well then I can’t really have any objections to hell then, or to such a thoughtful devil as you.”

“Would you like to sleep in my room tonight,” Taeyong asked suddenly.

“I knew there were other perks to Hell,” you joked.

“Well you’re a beautiful girl and I’m certainly no saint.”

When the sky turned from orange to blood red you were in Taeyong’s room. He was sitting up in his bed, shirt unbuttoned slightly, making the room feel even hotter than the inferno it already was.

You fiddled slightly with the bottom of your shirt before pulling it straight off, to reveal the lingerie that had been left in your drawer by Taeyong since day one. Taeyong smiled to himself dragging his finger over his lip slightly.

You continued, pulling down your shorts to reveal your panties, stepping ever closer towards Taeyong, who had begun to take his own shirt off as well, revealing his chest underneath.

You reached back and unclasped your bra, throwing it to the ground as you crawled onto the bed, towards Taeyong, fuelled by new confidence given to you by the look the devil. His eyes burning with lust.

You had barely touched him before he caught your arm and flipped you over, once again resting on his forearms above you but this time he kissed your neck.

“I’m the king of hell, I’m in charge here,” he said, bringing his hand up to massage your breast as he marked your neck, causing you to illicit a moan, any plans you had slipping away.

You watched him grin as he pulled away,

“You’re beautiful,” he noted. You noticed the same thing about him, it was clear he used to be an angel, but the scars on his chest, a product of hell somehow only made him more attractive. As you both paused your eyes travelled down to his underwear, where a wet patch had already formed at the tip of his dick.

Taeyong caught you staring,

“Wanna suck?” he asked and so you nodded but Taeyong stopped you as you leaned down to touch him.

“I want to hear you say it, I want to hear the sinful words, worth of the Queen of Hell.”

You had no problem obliging, you didn’t think there was anything you wouldn’t do for this man at this point and you still weren’t a hundred percent sure why.

“I want to suck your cock, I want to choke on it” you said to him with a small smile, before once again leaning down and pulling at his waistband. Taeyong was pleasantly surprised by your own addition to the statement,

‘I didn’t realise you were such a good slut,” he grinned a grin that quickly turned into a moan as you took him into your mouth, pushing your head down until you felt him against the back of your throat causing you to gag before moving back up and down again. As you sucked you looked up at Taeyong, tears forming in your eyes, never breaking eye contact.

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he said. It didn’t take long until Taeyong’s breathing got heavier and you swallowed his warm cum that burst into your mouth, not missing a drop.

He recovered quickly and before you realised it, he was kissing you again, his hands wasting no time in removing your own panties, that were already soaked.

“I’m glad I have this effect on you,” Taeyong smirked as he chucked them across the other side of the room. Taeyong’s fingers stroked over your wet entrance but before he could slide a finger in you grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Not today, I just want to feel you inside me,” you asked, and he was happy to oblige, just as you had been.

“Get on your hands and knees,” he commanded. When you were ready you could feel him rubbing his dick over your wet folds, teasing you.

“I’ve gone months without sex down here because of you, just fuck me, please,” you begged. Taeyong immediately thrust his full length into you, but despite this initial urgency, he kept a slow torturous pace.

You whined in complaint which had no effect on Taeyong’s actions.

“This is what you get instead of a thousand years of torture baby, and also you feel so good, so tight around me, I want to savour it.” He said.

You moved your hips back to meet Taeyong, trying to get him to increase his pace.

“I’m sure Taeil would fuck me harder,” you teased which was all it took.

“So that’s the game you want to play,” Taeyong smirked before pulling out completely. Before you could even complain about the loss Taeyong thrust back into you again in tandem with a smack on your ass.

“You’re a bad girl, and bad girls get bad treatment.” He kept one hand on your hip and one hand grabbed your hair as he pumped into you hard and fast, your moans getting louder each time.

“If you don’t shut up Yuta will here you,” Taeyong complained, “but I bet a naughty slut like you would like that wouldn’t you,”

You moaned in agreement.

“I want to hear you say it,” Taeyong said, smacking your ass again.

“I’m a naughty slut who wants Yuta to hear me fucking you.” Taeyong groaned at your sinful words, his dick beginning to twitch inside you.

A few seconds later you felt his cum inside you and Taeyong continue to fuck it into you, which was enough to push you over the edge.

“Fuck!” you screamed out as Taeyong kept fucking you through the aftershocks, before pulling out and getting you to kay down next to him.

“I love you y/n,” he said, his eyes filled with affection, “even if you are a naughty girl.”

Two days later Taeil appeared at your door. It was 3pm in the afternoon when he knocked. Taeyong answered the door and went outside first, you didn’t go until he called you a few minutes later.

“Hello y/n, I am Taeil, Angel of Heaven.” He introduced himself.

“I am aware,” you replied curtly. You could see the fear in Taeyong’s eyes, and it made you want to cry, you couldn’t believe he still thought you would leave him.

“I am here to give you the chance to come to heaven, where you can have everything you ever wanted and live in perfect peace, instead of a tumultuous eternity in hell.” He began but you cut him short.

“I am fine here actually but thanks for the offer.”

Taeil didn’t look phased, maybe it had taken a while before the others agreed.

“I can give you everything, memories of your life on earth, the chance to meet your family again, here you will endure years of pain.”

You remained resolute.

“That’s a no thank you, have a nice day,” you said grabbing Taeyong’s hand and moving to head back inside

Taeil stopped you, his arm placed in front of you. He reached into his pocket and played a scene into your mind.

It was what you guessed was heaven and all you could feel was an immense sense of peace, you saw people around you smiling and cheers of laughter not screams.

“My answer is still no,” you said. Taeil looked perplexed.

“No one who has seen heaven has ever turned it down, what could be better than the everlasting peace?” he asked.

You looked up at Taeyong who still looked frantically worried and smiled. You saw Yuta hopping from foot to foot behind a bush with Yangyang to eavesdrop what was happening.

“Everlasting love,” you replied, “Everlasting friendship,” you continued, “and besides I reckon hell must be more fun anyway.”

Taeil took a few steps back, something close to anger appearing on his face.

“If you turn this offer down, I will never give it to you again,” Taeil asked. You shrugged.

“Have a nice flight back,” was all you said before leaning up and giving Taeyong a kiss on the cheek.

“I won’t want what I can have because I have all the things I need, and that is my peace.”

Taeyong wrapped his arms around you grinning,

“You really are one of a kind, kissed me first girl,” he remarked. Taeil scoffed.

“Have fun being damned together,” he said before heading back out the gate.

“Being damned never looked so good!” Yangyang called from behind the bush. You laughed, sure at that moment you had made the right choice.

Even if you hadn’t Taeil came back every year for the next thirty years, despite promising it would be the last each time, unwilling to accept that he had lost. Each time you found a creative way of telling him to get lost. Each year Taeyong looked less and less scared that you would leave him until he finally realised you never would.

“Get lost Taeil!” He called out, “My wife isn’t interested in your schemes and she never will be,” he shouted before he proceeded to make out with you in a very non-PG way causing Taeil to cover his eyes and run. After that he never returned.

A hundred years later you sat with Taeyong under the orange sky and smiled.

“Do you believe in fate now?” you asked, rubbing your thumb on the outside of his hand.

“I believe in my love for you, be that fate, the end to my torture or just sheer luck. Whichever it is I’m thankful for it, because hell is lonely but when you have someone with you, it’s just a very warm place with a lot of alcohol and screaming.”

Maybe the second part wasn’t so eloquent, but it was right. Hell wasn’t something to be feared when you had someone by your side. Because for Taeyong being alone had been more torturous than the fire.

At that moment Yuta’s demon child ran into the garden and set fire to the tablecloth and you couldn’t help but burst out laughing as Yuta then threw the child about a mile, probably a demon throwing high score.

The afterlife you had chosen wasn’t what most people had chosen, most people didn’t even get a choice and so when Taeyong kissed you in the darkness lit up by flames you felt like someone who was lucky. You didn’t know why this was the afterlife you lived or why Taeyong had ever meant so much. But you final realised that you didn’t need to know. That sometimes things could have vague answers and that was okay. As long as your love for Taeyong was clear, then so was the choice you had made.

As you had once shouted at Taeil whilst chucking a demon at him,

“What’s so good about resting in peace anyway,” you found resting in chaos much more entertaining.

#nct #taeyong #lee taeyong #nct scenarios #taeyong smut #taeyong imagines #nct smut #nct imagines #nct 127 #taeyong scenarios #taeyong fluff #taeyong angst #nct fluff

511 notes · View notes

dato-potato · 3 years

Text

Broken

Yo, here’s a thing a wrote a while back and decided today was the day to post it. Anyway, I totally ignored canon for this but when do I not? Enjoy!

——————————

Tim groaned as he lay in bed. This was the worst. Being on bed rest with a broken leg? Bad. But your (adoptive) father calling your (adoptive) brother, who, by the way, only just got over not trying to murder you to come by and look after you while he goes off on a trip? Worse. That was worse.

Tim chewed on the inside of his cheek as he waited for Jason to arrive. They had started to get better, Jason stopped trying to kill him on sight so that was improvement, right? Tim looked down at the cast on his leg and cursed it. If only he hadn’t been stupid, he wouldn’t even be in this situation. It wasn’t even during patrol, he fell on the stairs and broke his leg, how lame was that?

He heard Jason’s bike pull up and tensed up. He wasn’t sure how Bruce had convinced him, or if he had even convinced him yet. If he told him to look after Tim, surely he wouldn’t just listen.

Tim received his answer in the form of crashes and loud voices before a vehicle left the manor. He was sure it was Jason who left until there was a series of stomps getting closer and closer to his room.

His door slammed open, Jason glaring holes as his gaze passed over Tim’s room and finally fell upon Tim, lying helpless in bed. Jason grumbled about something but Tim couldn’t hear. He then threw himself into Tim’s desk chair which Tim was sure would break under the force.

“I’m here to look after you until Bruce gets back,” Jason informed Tim with a scowl.

Tim nodded, “Right, uh, how exactly did he convince you to do that?” he asked curiously, but cautiously.

Jason’s glare met Tim’s eyes, “He didn’t.” Tim waited for Jason to elaborate. When Tim didn’t drop Jason’s glare, he sighed, “Alfred called me, saying there was an ‘emergency’ so I came over as soon as I could and Bruce told me he needed me to stay and look after you, and then he left. Just like that.”

Tim furrowed his brows, “You could’ve said no or just leave.”

Jason looked as if he hadn’t considered that and then promptly shook his head. “I already told Alfred I would. It’s fine, it’s only until B gets back. Just have to waste time until then.”

“Right,” Tim agreed.

The silence that fell over the two of them was not by any means comfortable. Neither really knew what to say, Tim wracking his brain to think of something he could talk to his brother about but coming up with nothing. He wasn’t sure what they really had to talk about. Should he thank him for not trying to kill him?

Before Tim could decide, Jason cleared his throat. Trying to lessen the tension, he spoke up, “So,” he started awkwardly, “You like books?”

“What?” Tim chuckled lightly.

“Books, you know, to kill time,” Jason explained lamely.

“Are you suggesting you read me books or something to pass the time?” Tim couldn’t suppress the grin on his face. He never really pegged Jason for a book kind of guy.

“It was just an idea, you got any better ones, replacement?” Jason asked gruffly and Tim shook his head.

They sat in silence, listening to the clock tick. Tim desperately wanted to say something but the silence had grown too heavy. It was like when you ordered something at a restaurant and they gave you the wrong order but you just eat it anyway. Or maybe that was just Tim. Shaking his head, he decided to just sit back and wait it out. How bad could a whole week of just, this be?

Turns out, really bad. By the second day, both boys were even more awkward than the first, even though Tim didn’t think it was possible. They’d watched movies for the rest of the day, Tim letting Jason pick whatever movies he wanted. They all turned out to be pretty interesting to him. On the third day, they tried to make small talk but that had ended horrendously and they turned back to watching TV for help but there’s only so much TV one can watch before it’s just boring. On the fourth day of rotting their brains, Jason finally snapped.

Jason stood up abruptly, startling Tim. “I’m calling Dick,” Jason announced as he sped out of the room.

Tim was grateful for a moment to himself but was slightly worried about Jason calling Dick. Bruce would have called him but he seemed to be busy lately and they didn’t want to bother him. Not even a full minute later, Jason returned to his spot in Tim’s desk chair.

“He’s on his way,” he told Tim simply.

Tim contemplated for a moment, surprised. “What’d you tell him?”

Jason shrugged, “He didn’t let me get past telling him you had a broken leg before he was out the door and on his way here.”

Tim nodded and let out a short breath. It wasn’t great with only Tim and Jason, maybe having Dick there would help?

He could only hope.

Dick showed up with his arms full of an assortment of goods from snacks to games, blankets to puzzles. He spent a good hour fussing over Tim to make sure he was comfortable before he brought a second chair into Tim’s room and finally started asking questions.

“So what happened?” Dick asked Tim before turning from Jason and back to Tim, “He didn’t do something did he?”

Jason looked rightfully offended and fully prepared to defend himself but Tim spoke up. “It wasn't him, I did it to myself a few days before he even got here.”

Jason nodded, throwing a hand out in Tim’s direction. “See?”

Dick nodded thoughtfully, seeming satisfied that Jason hadn’t assaulted their youngest brother. “So what did happen then?”

Jason turned his attention to Tim, “Yeah, how’d you get your arm broke?”

Tim chuckled nervously, “Well, that’s a funny story…”

Neither brother budged as Tim continued to avoid both their gazes, to no avail. It was a difficult thing to accomplish when you’re on bed rest.

“Ok… well you’ll have to tell us eventually,” Dick told him with a raised eyebrow.

Dick pulled out the games he’d brought, starting with Uno. It definitely got both Tim and Jason to relax which Tim was immensely appreciative of. Turns out it’s kind of fun to play games with your older brothers.

The next day, they played some of the other games Dick had brought, making much more comfortable conversation than when it was just Tim and Jason. However, there was only so much bed rest Tim could take.

“I want to get up,” he stated as Dick shuffled a deck of cards. Jason had suggested they play poker using the snacks as money.

“That’s gonna be hard in your current state, replacement,” Jason said, eyeing Tim’s cast.

Tim rolled his eyes, “Obviously. That’s why I need your guys’ help. I want to move, at least to like, the sitting room. Please?”

Dick looked between Jason and Tim before sighing. “Come on Jay, let’s just move to the sitting room. Probably have more comfortable seats for us too.”

Jason thought for a moment and then nodded. Tim exhaled with a grateful smile. Dick dug out a pair of crutches for Tim so he could move around easier and then the two older brothers helped him down the stairs.

They played some more games in the sitting room until Tim spoke up. “Can we maybe do something else? This is getting mega boring.”

Jason swiped the game pieces into their box and folded the board, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Dick sighed, defeatedly. “And I was winning that round too.”

Jason looked around them, “Any ideas for what to do next?”

Dick looked behind himself at the things he brought, bringing his hand to his chin in thought. He turned back to his brothers with a mischievous grin. “I have an idea.”

Dick and Jason began to travel around the manor, gathering every blanket, pillow and cushion they could find and brought it to the sitting room where Tim would sort them into which materials would be best for what purpose. They moved the furniture in the sitting room around and after all the materials were collected, they started building.

Before long, they had a decent sized fort, complete with a laptop, snacks, the games Dick brought, extra blankets for comfort, a table and Alfred brought them tea. The boys all settled in, making sure there were a few extra pillows to elevate Tim’s leg as well. Once they were all comfortable, they decided to watch a movie. After a lot of arguing, they decided on The Princess Bride.

Alfred called them out for dinner, the boys having to crawl out of their fort. When they finished, they were all pretty much done for the day and returned to the fort. They lay on their backs, Dick playing with a flashlight, making shadow puppets, making up random stories as he did.

“I fell down the stairs,” Tim said abruptly.

Dick turned to him, worried, “When?”

Tim gave him a look and Jason burst out laughing. “Replacement, you broke your leg falling down the stairs?”

Tim’s face felt heated, “Yeah, I just missed a step…”

Dick was obviously trying to keep his laughter in but Tim sighed, “It’s fine. You can laugh.”

Dick joined Jason laughing hysterically and even Tim couldn’t keep himself from smiling. It was pretty stupid, he knew that.

After they’d all settled back in and finished laughing at Tim, he turned his head and looked over at Jason.

“Hey,” he said, getting Jason’s attention, “What about a book?”

Jason raised a brow at him, “What book?”

Tim shrugged his shoulders, “I dunno, you mentioned books the first day. You got any in mind?”

Jason grinned at his little brother, “Oh, replacement, maybe you’re not so bad after all.” Before Tim could ask what Jason had in mind, he was already up and out of the fort, his footsteps retreating to presumably get a book.

Dick chuckled beside Tim, “Now you’ve done it.”

Tim looked inquisitively at Dick, “What? What’d I do?”

“The kid’s a literary nerd,” he told Tim with a smirk.

Tim shifted into a more comfortable position, “Can’t be that bad.” When Dick didn’t say anything Tim got a little concerned, “Is it that bad?”

Dick didn’t answer again and Jason returned, holding a rather thick book that Tim only caught one word from; Shakespeare.

Before long, the boys began to doze off to Jason’s reading of Hamlet. As Tim fell asleep, he briefly wondered why Jason stayed after Dick came. He could’ve easily left, saying that Dick was there and he’d look after Tim. And yet, here he was, sitting in a pillow fort, reading Shakespeare for Tim and Dick. Not to mention the few times Tim was struggling to move and he huffed about how useless Tim was but still helped him.

Tim glanced over at Dick who had long fallen asleep and leaned over on him. Closing his eyes, he couldn’t help but think about how he never thought he’d get even one older brother, and now he had two. It was nice. Maybe the week wasn’t so bad after all. Tim didn’t think Jason would admit it, but he thought they’d all really enjoyed their time together.

Bruce returned later that night, hoping to let Jason off early.

“How bad was it?” Bruce asked when Alfred greeted him at the door.

“Oh, simply atrocious, Sir,” Alfred informed him gravely. “In the sitting room,” he directed.

Bruce rushed inside and to the room, finding a mass of blankets and pillows, a light shining from inside. He had to crawl through the small opening. Inside, he found his three boys, sleeping side by side. Jason had the big Shakespeare book from the library still open, laying on his chest, Tim was leaning on Dick who was sprawled out across Jason. All three were fast asleep. Bruce looked behind him at Alfred who smiled through the entrance to the fort.

“I dare say they had a good time,” he said as he stood up.

Bruce nodded and looked back at his boys. Moving carefully, so as not to wake them up, he draped blankets across each of them.

#batfamily #batfam #my fics #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #it's also my birthday so I thought why not post this #it's been in my drafts for a while

24 notes · View notes

iscariotsdeputy · 4 years

Text

Staci Pratt’s Lines From The FC5 Script

THE SCRIPT IS FOUND HERE ON THIS POST GIVE THAT POST THE ATTENTION IT DESERVES

now to our regular scheduled staci content under the read more!

[Surprise reactions, yes I’m naming these]

Good Lord!

What the-

Jesus!

God almighty!

Christ almighty!

Whoa!

What was that?

I heard something.

You hear that?

What?

What's that?

[FUN BATTLE CRIES]

Enough!

No more!

I'm done with this!

Goin' in!

Cover me!

You're dead!

You're mine!

Kill them! Let them die for the Father! (ZOINKS)

Kill them all! They don't deserve to live!

The weak must be culled!

We've got this!

Mercy is for the weak!

Show them no weakness!

Cull the herd!

You don't deserve to live!

You'll pay! You're all gonna pay!

You're all gonna die!

You don't deserve to live!

Is that it?

You started it!

I didn't want this!

We don't forgive unbelievers!

This didn't have to happen!

[That feel when the grenades hit]

Move, move, move!

Move, go!

Grenade!

Grenade, move!

[This boy is on fire!]

Oh God, the fire's gettin' bigger!

Fire's growing!

The fire! It's out of control!

Good Lord that fire's getting big!

The fire's spreading!

[Lad on the run]

Moving, cover me!

Runnin' for it!

Hey, cover me!

Movin' positions!

Gonna try to get higher up.

Gonna climb higher.

Cover me, I'm heading down.

Moving down, cover me!

For sure!

Better go fast!

Got it!

Okay!

Got ya!

[When he wants to run but he’s like me trying not to infodump: suppressed]

I can't move!

They've got me pinned!

I'm pinned down!

I'm taking fire over here!

They've got me pinned down!

[Staci hearing threats]

Jesus! Where was that?! Damn!

Lord! Jesus, what was that? What the hell!

[Staci underfire]

Damn!

Dammit, dammit!

Lord Jesus Christ!

This is bad!

God, no!

Ah shit!

[Staci when he sees them enemies]

Look, over there!

Over there!

There they are!

There! I see them!

Gonna do some Cullin'... (staci excuse me?)

Don't move!

Dammit, watch out!

Hey, watch out!

[Wounded Staci]

Ah.

Ow.

Ah!

God!

Jesus!

I'm hit!

They shot me!

They got me!

[HE’S RELOADIN’]

Reloading!

I'm reloading!

Reloading! Cover me!

Gotta reload!

[SALUTATIONS FELLOW NORMAL NOT BRAINWASHED PEOPLE]

Hey.

Hi there.

What's up.

Hey, man.

Hey sister.

Hey there.

Hey!

Hey Brother.

Brother, how are you?

Miss. Nice to see you.

Hey there Miss.

[Sights on Staci, a sniper with the same values as me]

Sniper!

Sniper's got me in his sights!

Got a sniper on me!

[Funky Fresh Idle Filler]

Gotta look after your gear, keep it clean. Out here your weapon is your life.

The Father keeps all the best stuff for his Chosen. Leaves us the scraps.

No one is going to take anything from me again. Ever.

The night hides many sins.

It gets cold at night.

Even in the dark, they can see ya.

[Sneeze] [Clear Throat] [Sigh]

[Happy sigh. Like the Blue Jays won another world series recently.] (I shit you not this is how it’s in the script)

I'm not weak. I'm not weak.

They're gonna pay.

No mercy. Show no mercy.

Some say the sun is life. In the cages it brings only death.

I wasn't sure I'd ever see the sun again.

[Deep breath] Just smell that fresh air.

Jacob took me on one of his hunts, only we weren't huntin' any animals. A couple of prisoners had escaped... they didn't get far. I had to help round up the wolves.. you know... to be made into Judges. They were so scared... so scared. I had a dream once that Jacob took me on a hunt. We shot some deer and he asked me to skin them. As I was cutting them open they changed... it wasn't deer. I... I don't think it was a dream.

Good idea to be ready for anythin'. From what I saw Eden's Gate isn't foolin' around.

I was locked down in Jacob's Gate for days. I can't imagine living down there for years.

Jacob had one thing right. Things are only goin' to get worse and you gotta be ready for it.

[Friendly Fire]

Watch it!

We're on the same side!

Watch where you point that!

Do you mind?

Don't test me!

You trying to kill me?!

You tryin' to make me angry?

I wouldn't do that, if I were you.

You doing that on purpose?

Trying to get me killed?!

Watch it!

Be more careful!

Careful!

Hey! Watch it!

[DON’T LET HIM USE THE MOUNTED GUN]

Goin' for the machine gun!

Gonna take the machine gun!

Cover me I'm going for the machine gun!

I'm taking the machine gun, cover me!

Leave the machine gun to me!

[If a friend is down I think, or maybe you, who knows?]

Good lord!

Jesus!

God, no!

Father save us!

[SO IF STACI KILLS YOU???]

Now who's weak?

I'm sorry. I really am.

[Staci death pleas]

Father! Forgive me!

Oh God oh God!

[Filler after Staci kills someone AKA post-combat]

Culling the herd. It's just culling the herd.

Did you see that Jacob? Who's weak now?

For sure.

You okay over there?

You can't let it get to you.

It.. It'll be okay. (i love him,,,,,,,,,,)

[Battle Filler!]

They deserve what they get!

Show no weakness!

Kill them all!

Death is too good for them!

[Reviving]

Going to help! I got 'em! I'll get 'em! I got this!

Hold on, I got you! Be right there! Don't die on me!

[You Revive Him! Gold Star!]

It just wasn't my time. Thanks, friend.

You are a God-send. Thank you.

You're like my guardian angel.

[Battle Taunts]

Whatta you gonna do? What, having trouble standing? What's wrong? How do you like it?

[Staci asking for help]

Oh God! Save me, please!

Oh god, it hurts! Make it stop!

Please, Father. No more!

[If you aim your gun at Stace oh n o]

You don't want to test me.

That's enough.

You wanna see what happens?

You're not gonna like what comes next...

You think that scares me after what I've been through?

Don't be testin' me, Brother.

Don't push me. Not now.

I'm warning you.

I'm not goin' to put up with this, Miss.

[Staci and Boomer]

You got that dog under control, right?

Yeah, I'm not sure I'm good with dogs.

Dogs remind me too much of those damned Judge wolves.

I don't like the way that dog is looking at me.

Just keep that dog away from me.

[Staci and Cheeseburger]

I don't trust bears.

Keep that thing away from me.

Bears are dangerous.

Bears should be in the wild.

Bears are killers.

[Staci and Peaches]

Now that's a cat.

Big cat.

Big claws on that sucker.

Nice kitty.

Beauty coat on that cougar.

[More Filler, But Longer And Contextual!]

Sometimes it's all just too much...then I remember my purpose. Our purpose.

Jacob, he's knows everything that I'm thinking. He's got the key to my mind and he twists... and twists... and twists.

Jacob... he's in control. He controls everything.

I don't know how much more of this I can take.

I would've rotted in Jacob's Gate if it wasn't for you.

Good to see things gettin' back to normal.

Jacob has got eyes everywhere. He knows your thoughts, before you think 'em. He's inside your head right now.

Jacob's plan worked. I tried to warn them. I told them not to go back.

I don't know how much more I can take of this.

If Jacob gets his way, we're all dead.

I... I don't know what to think anymore. It's.. it's so hard to keep it straight.

That goddamn cage, it's like my wires are crossed.

I can't believe he's really dead.

No more sacrifices. No more.

No one can take Jacob on. It's just not possible.

Jacob's going to win. He always wins.

Whitetails are honest, decent people. They're fightin' the good fight, and they deserve any success that comes their way. No place is safe, but the Wolf's Den gives you a good chance at livin'.

Empires fall. The weak.. the world is full of them. They're going to to cull the weak.

I... maybe we shouldn't waste time talking right now.

There's no time. No time!

Jacob... his experiments... he takes us... owns us, speaks to us. He hears us.

They'll find us. They always find people. We gotta leave... before they find us! Before they punish us!

No... keep goin! We move or we die!

Jacob knows. He knows!

You're strong. You're not weak. That's good... good.

I'm alive but I'm weak.. weak. Need to be strong. We are meat. We are all meat.

We could have died. And maybe... maybe I deserved... no, stop, stop! The weak... must be culled!

I... I don't know what we're supposed to do now. Protect and serve? Out here? There's no law anymore, Rook. Look around. Someone should have been here by now. Nobody gives a shit about what's happening here. We're on our own. Survival of the fittest. The weak and strong...

Maybe we didn't survive that crash. Maybe all this is purgatory. We have to atone for all the shit we've done before we can leave this place... we have to suffer before God will grant us salvation.

The whole time I was locked in that room I just kept thinking about how I got here. You know why I became a cop? To get laid. That was it. It was a whim. And then... after awhile, I tried to convince myself that I did it for the greater good. To help people. But I can't. I know that now. Jacob taught me that... I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore... I don't even know who I am.

[STACI DIALOGUE WITH PHIL, THE PEGGIE, IDK]

Stace: I.. I was told to feed the Judges but I didn't know where their food was.

Phil: Jesus, Pratt. Does nothing stick in that brain of yours? Over there, where it's always kept.

Stace: Right! Th..thanks Phil! It won't happen again!

Phil: It better not.

[Also there’s no confirmation this is Staci, but it was right under the above dialogue]

Stace: Hey... I need to get in.

Peggie: Seriously? Didn't I just let you out?

Stace: There's a new prisoner. I got to go get him. For Jacob.

Peggie: Fine. Get goin'. Just leave me the fuck alone.

#Out of Crashes: OOC #ALL OF STACI'S LINES NOT IN CUTSCENES I THINK #I'll do a post of everyone talking ABOUT Staci lines tomorrow probably

68 notes · View notes

eddieeatsass · 4 years

Text

I’ll Trade you a Myth for a Kiss

Summary: “Derry’s kissing bridge was a little slice of romance in an otherwise unromantic town. Derry Maine didn’t exactly inspire one’s heart to soar, but something about that bridge caused a fluttering in the hearts of every person that passed it. Richie didn’t believe the myth. He was well past the age where he listened to make believe stories about true love and the promise of forever. Real life didn’t hold such fates, if it did, Richie wouldn’t be a closeted gay kid painfully in love with his straight best friend.” Pairing: Reddie Rating: T

Read on AO3

Derry’s kissing bridge was a little slice of romance in an otherwise unromantic town. Derry Maine didn’t exactly inspire one’s heart to soar, but something about that bridge caused a fluttering in the hearts of every person that passed it.

It wasn’t that the bridge was particularly beautiful, in fact it was pretty ugly with its decaying wood frame, rickety beams that split and splintered any hand that touched them, and sun-faded paint job.

It was the lore attached to the bridge, passed down through the hushed whispers of Derry residents for decades, that lured people into its hold. It was said that if you kissed someone under the bridge, they would be solidified as your soulmate; a metaphorical binding of spirits between two lovers.

Richie didn’t believe the myth. He was well past the age where he listened to make believe stories about true love and the promise of forever. Real life didn’t hold such fates, if it did, Richie wouldn’t be a closeted gay kid painfully in love with his straight best friend.

So, be it the fact that there was no actual evidence to the validity of the tall tale, or the fact that that very bridge had been the location at which his dear friend Ben had almost been murdered by Henry Bowers and his goons, Richie just didn’t have that much faith in the bridge’s supposed positive energy.

Much to Richie’s dismay, however, his cynicism didn’t do much to deter the way his heart rate spiked when he found himself sitting under that very bridge in the company of said best friend.

They hadn’t planned on ending up here. Their day had started out much like any other; they’d met their friends at the quarry, soaked themselves and their undergarments in the deep jade water before laying out in the sun to dry. Music rang from Beverly’s small portable radio as they shared jokes and stories until the sun began to set.

They’d all gone their separate ways when there’d been no more daylight to suck out of the sun, the presence of fireflies lighting their ways home. Eddie’s bike had been confiscated by Sonia for god knows what number of reasons, so he relied on Richie to be his chauffer for the day.

And chauffer he did. Richie relished in the tight grip of Eddie’s arms around his torso, the way he’d mutter a ‘slow down trashmouth’ against Richie’s neck when he went too fast, or the little yip that he’d let out when they went over a speed bump, soaring weightlessly through the air for one blissful moment before crashing back down to reality.

He’d enjoyed chauffeuring right up until the moment he rode over broken glass, popping his tire and sending him and Eddie tumbling to the ground.

They’d been lucky, veering into grass right before impact, so their injuries were minor. But Eddie still insisted to treat them before they continued home, blabbering on about infections and amputations and- Richie didn’t listen to the rest.

It hadn’t taken long for Richie to recognize exactly where they were. His bike had decided to commit suicide right next to the infamous kissing bridge, which he’d taken home a thousand times and kissed at exactly zero times.

“Richie.” Eddie repeated, finally garnering the attention of Richie’s quickly waning mind. Eddie waved his small disinfectant pack in the air as if an obvious gesture of irritation.

“Right, sorry Eds!” Richie scurried over to where Eddie had sat himself down on a fallen tree trunk, a miniature pharmacy set out before them all thanks to his fanny pack.

“Let me see your legs.” Eddie instructed, already loaded with a disinfectant wipe and a look of determination on his small features. It was far too cute for Richie to handle, and it made his insides churn uncomfortably. As usual he defaulted to humor, hoping it would ease his nerves.

“That’s what your mom said last night.”

“Richie! Ugh, gross.” Eddie’s nose scrunched up in disgust and Richie’s plan backfired.

With a rosy tint to his cheeks that Richie prayed Eddie couldn’t see in the dark, he sat down beside Eddie and presented him with two freshly scraped kneecaps.

Richie let out a string of curses as Eddie began cleaning the wound, but once the sting of peroxide passed, he noticed how gentle Eddie was being.

“Batman or Mickey Mouse?”

Richie looked up from where Eddie’s hand laid gently upon his knee, meeting round chestnut eyes that reflected the moonlight. Richie’s mind went blank.

“What?” He asked dumbly.

“Bandaids, do you want Batman or Mickey Mouse?”

Richie’s heart did about three backflips before he was finally able to answer, stuttering out a weak response that was not up to par with his usual.

"You know I've always been a Mickey man, myself."

Eddie quirked his lips, not quite a smile but also not the annoyance Richie was usually met with. He watched as Eddie reached into his fanny pack and pulled out a bandaid, unwrapping it carefully before moving to apply it to Richie's left knee. It barely covered the scrape, but they both knew it was for show more than function. Eddie liked knowing he'd taken care of someone, the bandaid standing out like a gold star sticker on a quiz. He nodded to himself, satisfied, before moving to tend to Richie's other knee.

The process was much the same. It stung when Eddie applied the alcohol, Richie's heart skipped a beat when Eddie got too close, and then there was a distorted Mickey Mouse stating up at the both of them from where it sat over bloodied skin.

Richie spoke before thinking, his mouth always faster than his brain.

"What, no kiss, Dr. K?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, but if Richie wasn't mistaken, he also noted a slight rosiness rising to Eddie's cheeks.

"We're not five, Richie. I'm not gonna kiss your knee better. Also, ew."

"Who said I was talking about my knee?"

They both froze; Richie, horrified by the deception of his own thoughts, and Eddie, shocked by Richie's boldness.

"I-I-I meant my dick." Richie tried to recover, his tone none too convincing. But bless Eddie, whether truly oblivious or just pretending to be, responded by smacking Richie's chest.

It caused Richie to tumble backwards off their makeshift bench, falling into foliage that almost entirely ate him up.

“Oh my god! Richie!” Eddie’s tone shifted into concern, his body moving faster than such a little frame should be able to as he leaned over to offer Richie a hand up. Richie, widely known for acting before he thinks, took the opportunity to pull Eddie down alongside him.

The sound of breaking tree branches, rustled leaves, and tiny shrieks alerted Richie to the fact that Eddie did not land beside him as planned. In fact, a quick glance around him confirmed that Eddie was nowhere near Richie any longer.

“EDS!?” Richie’s voice was high pitched and frantic.

“Down here, asshole.”

The response, though obviously irate, still brought comfort to his beating heart.

“One second- shit- I gotta- fuck-”

Richie was stumbling over himself, squinting his eyes as he tried to see any minute flash of brown hair peeking through the dark. Richie fumbled around in his pocket, grabbing on to the lanyard that held his keys and, thankfully, a small flashlight. It wasn’t much, but it helped illuminate that area where Eddie’s voice called from.

Richie felt horrible when he realized they’d been right next to a hill, and his action had flung Eddie right down it. He spotted a small moving figure right at the bottom, underneath the looming darkness of the bridge, and set off towards it.

Getting down the hill without falling was tricky, but Richie somehow managed it. When he came upon Eddie, the smaller boy was attempting to dust the dirt off from his body. Richie decided not to note how fruitless his effort was, instead allowing Eddie to believe he had some control over the germs he’d been unceremoniously thrown into.

“Sorry about that, Eddie. You’re just so tiny, you weigh next to nothing.” Richie tried to pass off his comment as a joke, hoping it would lead them back into their usual back-and-forth. He’d never actually admit that he loved how tiny Eddie was compared to him, because that would mean admitting a whole slew of other things that he wasn’t ready to face.

“Not everyone can be Andre the giant, you ever-growing fuck. It’s not my fault my body doesn’t want to become a skyscraper.” Eddie countered.

Richie straightened his back, beginning to feign confusion as he aimed the flashlight above Eddie’s head.

“Eddie? Eddie???” Richie pretended to search for him, looking left and right but always above the line of sight where Eddie sat.

“You’re obnoxious.” Eddie stated.

“Eddie? Is that you? Where are ya boy-” Richie’s joke was cut short when Eddie swatted the flashlight out of his hand. It hit the ground with a wet splat, landing in a pile of mud just on the edge of the water.

Richie laughed heartily. He leaned down to pick it up when his gaze followed the stream of light to where it pointed right at an etching in the wooden beam that held the bridge above their heads.

Richie walked closer to it, crouching next to the engraving and tracing it with his finger. In the middle of a heart were two initials: G + H.

“How much you wanna bet that one’s Greta and Henry?”

“A thousand bucks.” Richie huffed, rolling his eyes at the thought of them carving this into the bridge after sharing a cigarette musky lip-lock.

“Good, they deserve each other. They can rot together for eternity. Thank you, magic bridge.” Eddie tapped the pillar gently, as if patting someone’s shoulder.

“Come on, you believe in this crap?” Richie stretched back up to full height.

Eddie seemed to mull the question over in his head before answering.

“I mean… what’s the harm in entertaining the idea?” Eddie’s voice had a bashful tone to it that Richie had never heard before. It made his skin prickle with warmth.

“I just never took you for the romantic type, Eds.” Richie tried to soften his voice, encouraged it to come out a little less like a tease and a little more like a confession. It seemed to have the desired effect when Richie pointed the light at Eddie and noticed a blush on his cheeks.

“Have you kissed anyone down here?” Eddie asked suddenly, the boldness shocking Richie into silence (which was rare).

Richie instinctively puffed his chest out, a bravado thick on his lips and ready to be spoken, but it deflated as quickly as it was triggered. Eddie was being vulnerable with Richie in a way that he never was, and if Richie messed this up, he might as well be damning himself to a future where Eddie didn’t trust him with moments like this. There was no greater fear than that.

“No.” Richie answered honestly, kicking a nearby rock into the water.

“Have you kissed anyone?” Eddie’s voice was barely above a whisper, almost inaudible over the sound of the crickets and the trickle of the stream.

Richie’s heart lurched in his chest so strongly it almost made him lose his balance. His eyes bugged out behind his coke bottle frames, trying to make sense of why Eddie was asking these questions. With a thick swallow, he answered.

“Yeah, only twice.” He knew he’d boasted about much more, that if the losers had been keeping tally, Richie’s supposed trysts were up in the double digits by now. But he didn’t feel like lying or keeping up some kind of charade. Not here, not alone with Eddie. “Once in 7th grade with Trisha Saunders, and then at the beginning of 8th grade with Megan DeLaurence.”

Eddie nodded sagely, looking down at his feet.

“I haven’t kissed anyone yet. I think I might be the last of the Losers who hasn’t.”

The way Eddie’s shoulders slumped made Richie want to reach forward and hold him up. His fingers twitched at the effort it took to hold himself back.

“It’s not a competition, Eddie. No one’s judging you.” Richie said earnestly, taking a step towards Eddie’s frame. Was he shivering? It had gotten kind of cold in the time they’d been standing down here. Richie hadn’t even noticed the nip of September beginning to creep in, he’d been warmed from the flush of being so close to Eddie; something he realized he’d gotten accustom to any time Eddie was around.

“Eds.” Richie sighed, beginning to unbutton the long-sleeved printed shirt he wore over his t-shirt. Once he shrugged it off, he took another step towards Eddie and draped the garment across his shoulders, making sure not to focus on how it dwarfed Eddie’s already miniscule frame.

Richie had abandoned his tiny flashlight, allowing it to dangle from a droopy hand and angle light out into the water. The darkness sheathed them from reading one another’s expressions, giving Richie the false confidence, it took for him to lean in and press his lips against Eddie’s.

The kiss wasn’t long, nor was it filled with passion. It was probably closer to the type of kiss you give your aunt at Christmas, just a chaste peck on the lips. But despite the nature of the kiss, it still left Richie buzzing from head to toe in a way that no other kiss had done before.

Sure, kissing Trisha and Megan had been fine. Richie had chalked it up to experience, telling himself that the reason he hadn’t felt anything was because he wasn’t used to it yet. But with Eddie it was a whole different world. Such a small touch had made him lightheaded, left him itching to go in for more and not stop until his lungs gave out.

Richie realized then that the silence had stretched out between them, Eddie obviously confused and, Richie realized with a pang in his heart, probably horrified.

“T-there.” Richie tripped over his words, cursing his nerves for mistaking him for Bill. He cleared his throat and tried again. “There. Now you’ve kissed someone.”

Eddie still didn’t respond, and Richie’s heartrate began to tick up into something erratic.

After a pause that probably aged Richie ten years, Eddie finally let out a laugh. A small titter that dissolved all the anxiety Richie was harboring.

“You dumbass.” Eddie giggled. “Now we’re stuck together forever!”

Richie couldn’t hold back the grin that stretched his cheeks so wide they burned. If believing that him and Eddie were now solidified as soulmates meant also believing in some invisible universal force carried on for decades by a fucking bridge, then so be it. He’d believe in every fairytale ever told if it meant being with Eddie.

Richie scratched the back of his neck, a nervous twitch he’d had since childhood. He only hoped that Eddie couldn’t see it.

“Yeah, I guess I kinda screwed the pooch on that one huh.”

“I mean, there’s worse people to be stuck with for life.” Eddie countered.

“Well I am honored I’m not the worst.”

“That honor is gonna have to go to Henry.”

“Well, we don’t have to worry about him because he’s already promised to Greta for eternity. We’re clear.”

“Good. He can have Greta as long as I can have you.”

Richie’s brain stopped functioning, all reasonable responses escaping his mind. ‘As long as I can have you’. Richie would be repeating that to himself as a lullaby from now until forever.

“You can have me.” Richie responded on a shaky exhale.

Eddie’s breathing sounded just as unsteady as it filled the space between them. With nervous hands, Richie brought the flashlight back up to illuminate Eddie’s face. He was quivering, although Richie wasn’t certain whether it was still from the cold, or from the same feeling that had caused Richie’s limbs to feel like rubber.

“We gotta get you home before you become an Edsicle.” Richie teased, breaking the tension between them and leading them back into safe territory. Eddie rolled his eyes, but traces of laughter were evident in his small smile. He shouldered Richie out of the way gently, passing him and making his way back over to the hill that he’d fallen down.

“Well, you better help me back up this hill then.” He demanded.

Richie bounded over to him with newfound glee in his heart, vowing to never take the prospect of magic bridges for granted ever again.

#reddieweek2020 #reddie week 2020 #reddie fanfic #reddie fanfiction #reddie fluff #reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #my writing #my posts

27 notes · View notes

rons-hermiones · 3 years

Text

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Warning: this chapter does contain sexual assault (non consensual kissing), it is nothing graphic, but please if it’s upsetting I’d skip this one.

Chapter Twenty One

Hermione isn’t sure how long it’s been. Surely it feels like a lifetime but she knows that can’t be.

She tried to mark the passing of time with whenever Draco or his mother would come with her meals. Eventually, that felt pointless. No matter how many times the cold porridge mixed with pain potion came, it didn’t help much.

Not when the Cruciatus Curse was being cast on her daily.

Sometimes Narcissa or Draco would speak in hushed whispers to her about how she was only to be dealt with by Bellatrix or the Dark Lord himself.

So basically, they were subtly telling her to count her lucky stars that someone like Dolohov, Greyback, or that vile man Scabior weren’t getting their hands on her.

It was a small mercy, but something she was having trouble appreciating as of late. Not when she’s vowed herself to silence, only speaking to herself when she felt her own sanity slipping away.

Yesterday she barely remembered her fathers name. Today it rang in her head too well. The day before last she convinced herself she had lived in Ottery St Catchpole, it was four hours later she recalled she grew up in Hampstead. And just a few days ago, she swore Draco was a boy named Thomas she hasn’t seen since Muggle primary school.

The only thing she seemed to hold onto was Hogwarts, A History, the very copy Ron gifted her. Despite all the horrors and torture, she just can’t seem to shake him. Not that she wants to.

Narcissa seems to notice her slipping away slowly. She tries to get her to talk about anything when she’s around. But she stays silent.

Speaking of the woman, the only thing she’s been grateful for since she arrived is Narcissa Malfoy.

From her understanding, magic in the dungeon has to be granted to you by some sort of keeper, who she assumes is Bellatrix or Voldemort. Only those granted access can use magic down there, or so Narcissa says. She thinks she’s read about magic like this, but she can’t be sure.

Narcissa enchanted a candle to light so she could read. The woman seemed to notice, but not outright comment on the book she clutched to. The candle was amazingly set to fizzle out whenever someone other than Missus Malfoy entered. It even burned out when Draco came.

So far she’s been able to catalogue the few able to perform magic down here.

Bellatrix, who apparated in here her first day and who has since used spells on her down here.

Hermione just assumes Lucius Malfoy also was granted access because he doesn’t exactly strike her as the type of man to let a woman have more power then he does.

Shockingly, Wormtail is also able to conjure up magic in the dungeons. This notion baffled Hermione. What feels like a lifetime ago, but in hindsight was two days, the man tried to perform some sort of stinging jinx on her. Of course, it failed, nearly causing a few hives on her ankle. Later, Narcissa came to treat her and explained Pettigrew was granted access down here because he often was tasked with tending to prisoners.

Other than that, the likes of Greyback, Dolohov, Scabior, Rookwood, and the rest of the filth that rots upstairs haven’t been down here. She would bet a sickle they weren’t allowed to use spells, being Greyback side-alonged in here not that long ago.

Voldemort obviously can do whatever he wants down here, but thinks the dungeons below him, literally and metaphorically. Instead he has someone else collect her, inflicting punishment upstairs.

Draco also can’t perform magic. Hermione doesn’t know Malfoy well at all, besides the fact he’s a right git, so it could be because he’s underage but she can’t be sure. It’s not like she’s ever sung his praises and she won’t start now.

So he comes down and gives her cold porridge, stale bread, and water, it doesn’t mean anything to her. It helps her survive, but she suspects he’s in charge of making sure she does so for some sick twisted reason.

And as much as she has begged and pleaded his mother to let her go, she knows she can’t because things are too complicated. Apparently Draco’s been caught in the middle of all this somehow and the best thing she can do is help Hermione heal. Ease some of her pain.

Narcissa pours her potions and casts charms that barely go unnoticed by Bellatrix. All while her son pouts and broods next to her, after all he’s only ever cared for himself. Merlin, he doesn’t even try to speak to her, just the occasional ‘Granger you have to eat, please.’ Other than that, Narcissa is her only decent company.

But she still longs for more. So, so much more.

However, there’s no time to dwell on it right now. Not as the candle blows out and heels click onto the steps.

There will surely be time to yearn for something better. When Malfoy’s mother comes down and asks her questions about everything she can think of. Hermione’s still not sure if it’s to keep her sane or to keep her busy. She doesn’t care. And even if she can’t always respond, she needs it.

But right now, Bellatrix apparently needs her.

“Up! Up! Up!” She chants wildly with a grin.

Knowing there’s no use fighting it, she peels herself off the ground and stumbles to her feet.

“I sure did wear you out yesterday didn’t I?”

And she had. Casting all sorts of spells on Hermione. Ones she didn’t even dare read about.

“No matter, we're going to have some fun today. You want to have fun don’t you Mudblood?”

This is usually how it goes. Bellatrix madly sounds off to herself as Hermione remains stoic and silent. No matter, it seems the crazy witch likes talking like this.

As she grabs her arm roughly and drags her up the stairs she goes on, “it’s come to my attention we’ve missed New Year’s Muddy.”

New Year’s has passed already? That means it’s been at least a week. The brunette implies it’s been more since she said they ‘missed’ it.

As she’s being thrown into the room that has become a product of her worst nightmares she sees three harrowing faces.

“I wanted to give you something special.” Bellatrix says feigning sympathy, “I figured since you didn’t have your New Year’s kiss you so longed to share with that disgusting Blood Traitor, I’d help you out. Girl to girl.” The smile she’s wearing makes Hermione ponder trying out wandless magic.

“So here with me today are three more than eligible bachelors! Perfectly capable wizards,” she pauses, eyes roving over Greyback’s hairy chest, “and then some...” Bellatrix faces Hermione again, “since I’m feeling in spirit of the New Year, I’ll allow you to pick your suitor. Who will it be Mudblood?”

And it’s like the most fucked up game show ever. She doesn’t want anyone in this room looking at her, never mind touching her.

“Indecisive I see. Let me help you make things easier,” she begins circling the men, “this one seems to rather like you despite the dirt running through your veins. But I must say his breath is horrendous.” The woman mock whispers to Hermione as Scabior dares to grin likes it’s a compliment.

“Antonin here, well you two have history, do you not? I reckon he’s dying to get his hands on you again, aren’t you?”

At this Dolohov eagerly shakes his head as she notices his fingers tick around his wand.

“And Greyback, well we all know how much he longs to taste you. You know how such creatures can be, you hang about the likes of Remus Lupin, my poor excuse of a cousin's poor excuse of a best friend.” She comments.

And that does it for Hermione.

“D-d-d,” she tries, but her voice is shaky and wavering under their gazes. It’s like there is some sort of mental block in her brain preventing her from speaking.

“D-d,” Bellatrix mocks with a laugh, “if you’ve got something to say, say it!”

“S-Sirius.” Hermione barely manages.

This makes her cackle even louder, “oh! Something to say about the traitor do you? No matter, I handled him! Not much left to say, no.”

Hermione somehow manages to ball her small hands into angry tight fists at the comment. This woman’s so nonchalant about taking a life, the life of an extraordinary man, her cousin's life no less.

“Who will it be? I haven’t to tell you how impatient I am.”

Her eyes roam over the three men in the room. Not that she’s actually deciding, no, she’s looking for a wand. Weighing who she could best.

Scabior is twirling his mindlessly between his fingers. He looks more enamored with Hermione than anything else. Dolohov is clutching his with fervor, she’s sure the only thing on his mind is cursing her. As for Greyback, the wand is slightly visible in his pocket, he’s too focused on licking his lips.

There’s really no right choice here. All are as bad at the other.

“Alright, new game!” Bellatrix claps.

Then like the crazy woman she is, she starts spinning. Round and round, a hand clutched over her eyes as she hums to herself.

A few moments later she stops, stumbling slightly and giggling like mad. Then, she points her wand, the end of it only centimeters from Dolohov’s nose.

As she pulls her hand away, she begins jumping with joy, “lucky day for you Antonin! Fate has spoken. The girl is yours.” Then Bellatrix steps forward and whispers to him, “remember the Dark Lord’s request. No fatal harm to the Mudblood.”

Instinctively, Hermione backs up as far as she can until she hits a wall. Dolohov is rounding in on her, his wall still hanging in his hand. Looser than before.

And before she can help it his dry cracked lips are pressed firmly over hers. Her first instinct is to kick him, much like she had to with McLaggen, or curse him. Then as he tries to slip his disgusting slimy tongue past her lips, she’s reminded what she needs to do.

Wand. Wand. Wand.

She says it to herself over and over as her hand slowly roves around for his own. That’s all she can cling onto, not wanting to accept the overwhelming feelings of being so violated.

Then she feels the wooden thing and is sickeningly grateful he seems so intent on claiming her, he’s forgotten his vendetta to finish what he started at the Ministry.

In one swift motion she yanks it from his hand.

“St-stupefy!” She channels all of her strength to say it.

It’s not a powerful blow, but he’s being thrown back. Whether the lack of her voice or the wand that so does not fit her, but it works.

“Pr-rotego!” She’s seemed to find her voice as the charm works wonders around her. Seeming to have blocked whatever Bellatrix just threw.

“Clever! But not clever enough! What will you do next Mudblood? Apparate? Go back to that boy you so dearly long for? Pay dear Mum and Dad a visit?” She questions angrily.

Hermione shivers at the mention of her parents. She also doesn’t think she has it in her to apparate. Sure she’s read about it in a book, but it’s risky, dangerous, and she’s so exhausted. To make matters worse, this wand feels as effective as an actual wooden stick in her hand.

“Ex-Expelliarmus!” She cries out next and surprisingly, Bellatrix’s wand flies into her hand.

“Oh!” She laughs.

Hermione’s confused by the smile painting her lips, but soon will realize what it means.

“Greyback, I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake. Have at her.”

And he doesn’t have to be told twice.

Before Hermione notices he pounces on her, knocking her to the floor as both Dolohov and Bellatrix’s wands roll limply along the floor.

She feels his nails plunge into her stomach as they scratch down the expanse of her skin. It’s like he’s taking his time with her.

Lestrange, like she said before, is an impatient woman, as she nudges Greyback from his spot on top of her. And even though he appears to be fighting every instinct, he does as he’s told.

Bellatrix assumes his position as she straddles her, settling most of her weight onto Hermione’s bleeding midriff.

She then leans in close, her hot breath fanning her face, blowing her tears to the sides of her cheeks, “if you think you can pull one over on me, you are sorely mistaken, you ought to know that by now. I have no choice but to remind you of it!”

Then she pulls a dagger from her waist band and slowly rolls up Hermione’s sleeve.

The young witch has no choice but to writhe and kick wildly as the blade slowly scrapes her forearm.

“Hmm,” she thinks, then her face brightens.

A pain, a searing excruciating pain like no other numbs her body. She has no choice but to scream.

Bellatrix pulls away and admires whatever it is she does before diving back in and cutting something else into her victim.

“J-just kill me. P-please.” She begs before she can help it. Hermione can barely manage the words through the pain.

The witch mock pouts at her, “and grant you such mercy.” Her tone then shifted to the one Hermione was used to cold and sharp, “dying is easy Mudblood. Pain lasts! Crucio!”

And she screams again. She’s not sure if it’s from the Cruciatus Curse or the fact that the damned knife is being plunged into her skin, but eventually her screams die out.

Instead the world goes black.

In her unconscious state Bellatrix stands and smiles down at her handy work.

The word ‘Mudblood’ branded onto Hermione.

#Ron Weasley #Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #Hermione Granger #romione fanfic #hp fanfic #hp #sixth year

4 notes · View notes

what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

CSI: Rogers and Barnes- The Serious Cereal Serial Killer

Episode 7- Damp Embers

Co written with @icanfeelastormbrewing

Episode Summary: Oh dear…following every drunken night there’s a morning after. Only on this one someone else turns up dead.

Episode Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (but who between?????Hmmmmmmmm)

NSFW or No Under 18s…

Episode Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark (Yeah, not sure anymore, even we’ve lost track of her hating him or not.)

Song for Episode: Demons At The Door by Sleeping Wolf

A/N: This entire series contains dark humour (CSI + Brooklyn 99=CSI Steeb) Avengers and Stark Spangled Banner Easter Eggs and jokes. You don’t need to have read the SSB series to understand or enjoy this, but we’ve used the Universe to spin this off from so somethings might puzzle a few of you if you ain’t, but feel free to ask. Also, our knowledge of American Policing and Brooklyn is limited, so bear with us if we slip up, but at the end of the day this is a fiction so we’ll claim any mistakes as creative license!!

As always we live for re-blogs and comments

CSI Rogers and Barnes Master List

Main Masterlist

“I never saw it coming to this, I never thought we could fall so far. Why do we always burn the bridges, and this is how we always, we always fall apart.”

To say he had a wicked hangover would be the understatement of the year. It was more than that, it was a textbook hangover with an extra of headache meets rage, self-flagellation and guilt. All-in-one pack and ready to go. That was Steve Rogers the morning after, or rather the afternoon after, as he looked at his own reflection in the en-suite mirror.

Was it afternoon? Steve thought as he absent-mindedly examined the bags under his ocean blue eyes and scratched the stubble on his face. He was looking forward to growing his full beard again. He would stop looking like he was barely legal at the bars and would regain his Captain stance. Besides Katie had always loved his beard.

Katie.

He winced at the memories of the previous night and decided to wipe them clean before they rotted his brain, or what was left of it. He peeled his boxers off and got into the shower unit trying to decide between soothing his aching muscles and heart with hot water or numb them with cold water.

Cold water it was. And fifteen minutes later Steve stood facing the curtains of his bedroom windows, dressed in washed blue jeans and a grey t-shirt. He hesitated for a second before throwing the curtains open wide with a swift movement followed by a groan as he closed his eyes, still too sensitive to sunlight. Damned hangover.

He took his phone from his night stand and placed it in his back pocket after checking he had no missed calls or messages. Nothing. Radio silence. Was that a good sign? Sure it was, right?

He sighed before leaving his bedroom. Facing Bucky would be as tough as opening those damned curtains, but he needed caffeine and some food. He poured some of the coffee Bucky must have brewed before into his breakfast mug and made himself a grilled cheese sandwich sided with an extra painkillers dose.

“Look who’s back from the dead” Steve heard Bucky yell from where he leaned on the kitchen doorframe.

“Shhh. Keep your volume low, will ya?” Steve practically begged in response.

“The Golden Boy of Brooklyn Police Department is hungover, ladies and gentlemen.” Bucky said after laughing loudly.

Steve groaned and sat on a stool at the breakfast bar to eat his food shooting daggers at him.

“How the mighty have fallen.” Bucky chuckled sitting on another stool facing him.

“Fuck off Bucky, I feel like crap.” Steve glared at him biting his sandwich.

“You sure look like crap.” Bucky shrugged.

Steve saw Bucky squint his eyes at him and open his mouth to speak, but he hesitated for a few seconds and closed it again.

“What? Spit it out.” Steve demanded as he sipped from his mug.

“I was just wondering… Is Wanda here or….?” Bucky asked.

“Bastard!” Steve shouted at Bucky, and he saw a playful cheeky smile on his friend’s face. Steve sighed and shook his head “I’m not with Wanda, nor planning on being with her. You know all too well I only want….” but he didn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t bring himself to pronounce Katie’s name. Let alone give Bucky any more ammo to continue teasing him on the subject.

“But you kissed Wanda.” Bucky said nonchalantly as he bit a plum he had retrieved from the fridge.

“I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me and I stopped it!” Steve raised his voice.

“Yet you made her believe she stood a chance to do it.” Bucky added. “You were practically all over her sat in that booth.”

“I wasn’t…” “Steve, you had your arm round her.” Bucky scoffed “You were leaning into her, laughing at her. Man, I know you’re an idiot when it comes to women but come on!”

Bucky saw Steve stiffen on his stool and for a moment almost took pity on him before he decided not to. Someone had to try and talk sense into the idiot and he was sick and tired of this stupid dance the pair of them were engaged in. “Look, pal. I’m only saying it’s your fault Wanda made a move on you. I warned you a thousand times and still last night you didn’t stop her until it was too late. So you fucked up and ran.” he said pointing at him with the plum.

“Go fuck yourself Bucky! You know full well I didn’t run anywhere. I sank almost a full bottle of Knob Creek at the bar.” Steve winced at the pounding headache increased at the tension of the conversation and raised voices.

“Yeah, I know. Typical of Captain Slow.”

“Captain Slow?” Steve looked at him.

“Yeah, Sam coined it but it serves you well. You’re the one to blame for Katie leaving with flash fire dude. You know that, right?” Bucky insisted.

“Bucky, just don’t” Steve warned him.

“Don’t what. You don’t want me to tell you to stop being a whiney bitch and go get your girl once and for all?” Bucky said sternly looking directly into Steve eyes before muttering "Or what fire dude has left of her that is…”

“Buck.” Steve said in a warning tone as he punched the table in sheer anger.

“Go ahead, take your frustration out on the furniture. But I’m telling you this, punk. If you don’t man up and do something about it, I don’t wanna hear you talk about Katie again.” Bucky spat at Steve before storming out of the kitchen.

“Jerk!” Steve hollered for Bucky to hear. He watched Bucky leave before he groaned and dropped his head, banging it against the breakfast bar. The problem was he had no argument against anything Buck had said. He had been an idiot. He had indulged Wanda, simply because seeing Katie with that overgrown frat jerk had stirred that green eyed monster and that stupid little kid from Brooklyn had reared his head. And just as he and Katie had been getting back on good terms too.

With another sigh he wrenched his head off the counter, shoving the last of his sandwich into his mouth when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Reaching for it, he took a sharp intake of breath when he saw a photo of him and Katie filling his screen. A photo he remembered taking at Coney Island some 2 years previously. He was pulling a ridiculous face as Katie was reaching up to grab his chin, laughing as she did so. Such an unadulterated moment of pure happiness….

“Hi…” he said softly, bracing himself for what was to come, but to his surprise there was no angry

words, no sarcasm, nothing but professionalism.

“Hey.” she said softly “Look, I’m sorry to bother you but we just got a call about another body.”

“Shit.” Steve sighed “Where?”

“The Baseball field in Sunset Park.” she said. “Found by a guy who was taking his 2 kids to play ball. Uniform went down to check it out and then called us. We’re on our way down there now and Tony’s gonna meet us. I’ve sent Thor’s to come get you. Figured you’d need a lift seeing as you’ve no car”

“Thanks.” he said, genuinely grateful she’d thought of him.

“No problem. See you in a bit.”

He stood up, dropping his plate into the sink before he headed into his room to grab his shoes.

“Bucky!” he yelled as he re-emerged from his bedroom.

“You leaving?” Bucky asked turning towards him from his spot on the couch.

“Yes, Katie called. We have another body. Sunset Park” Steve explained as he put his black leather jacket on.

“Shit. Want me to drive you down there?” Bucky offered.

“No. It’s your day off and Katie sent Thor to come get me.” Steve told him.

“Ok. That’s nice of her considering…” Bucky trailed but stopped seeing Steve shooting him a warning look. Right not the time, Bucky thought to himself, give the man a break, as he raised his palms.

“Are you going out tonight?” Steve asked as he grabbed his wallet and keys.

“Maybe. Who knows? I’ll go with the flow.” Bucky said settling back further on the couch putting his feet on the coffee table in front of him and taking the TV remote.

“Take your feet of the coffee table.” Steve ordered.

Bucky was about to mock salute him when Steve phone’s beeped.

“Gotta go. Thor’s waiting. Don’t do anything stupid till I get back.” he smiled at Bucky and walked away.

“How can I, you’re taking all the stupid with you.” Bucky yelled back and returned his feet to the coffee table when he heard the door of the flat close behind Steve.

******

“Good afternoon, Captain.” Thor greeted when Steve entered the patrol car.

“Good afternoon, Thor.” Steve greeted back buckling his seatbelt.

Steve saw Thor look at him with a frown before asking.

“Are you unwell, Captain?”

“Been better.” Steve just said, not wanting to discuss the events of the previous night with Thor.

“Rough night?” Thor insisted as he pulled away.

Rough last nine months Steve thought to himself.

“You could say that. Woke up with a terrible hangover but I’m feeling a bit better now.” Steve explained.

“Ha!” Thor laughed “Little Stark is also suffering I believe. She certainly had a wild night. Barfed up the remnants of her breakfast bagel before I came to collect you!” A wild night? Great, that’s all he needed to hear.

Steve took a deep breath and looked at Thor. “How come you are never hungover seeing as you drink like a fish?”

“Well, it’s been always like that. You see my father used to give us this mead he brewed himself when we were kids.” Thor explained, his eyes glinting at the reverie.

“Your father gave you alcohol?” Steve asked surprised.

“Yes, that he did. He was like a God to us. It was funny. We played hide and seek and my brother used to play dead.” Thor roared with laughter. “Deceitful bastard!” he added serious now.

“Were you guys close?” Steve asked Thor. His bizarre stories were proving a great distraction from his own drama.

“We had our moments. We grew up together, my sister though…” Thor trailed.

“Wait. You have a sister?” Steve enquired.

“Yeah. But she fled the nest when she turned 16. Father went mad at her and kicked her out. Living with her was hell. She liked to kill my snakes, I love snakes!” Thor said his voice sad now.

“What the…?” Steve was about to ask but let it go when he realized Thor was stopping the car not far from the baseball field in Sunset Park.

“We’re here, Captain.” Thor announced.

Steve nodded and unbuckled his belt. When he stepped out of the car he saw Tony perched by a body lying on the grass, Nat and Katie standing by his side. Steve sighed before beginning to walk towards them. Certainly, his guardian angel had to be mocking him or that was what he thought when he saw Katie was wearing a tan leather belted jacket with those damned matching knee high boots with the small heel. He’d be lying if he denied those boots did things to him.

“You look like crap” Tony said as they approached and for a moment the Captain thought he was talking to him until Katie spoke back.

“Eat shit”

“Mind you I’m not surprised.” Her brother folded his arms “Crawling in this morning at half 2.”

“Ok you’re talking and my hangover is getting worse, see the correlation?” Katie groaned.

“Happy told me he saw you outside the compound, eating Storm’s face…wait till I tell Reed.” Tony arched an eyebrow as Steve’s heart sank.

“Fuck off Tony, I was wasted” she shook her head and Steve could tell she was avoiding his gaze.

Not that she had any reason to, not really, they were both single after all.

“Ok, so what have we got?” Steve asked.

“Male, between 45 and 50” Tony spoke. “Initial examination shows cause of death was the same as the others, blunt force trauma, and there’s been further escalation in the violence as you can see…“

Steve glanced and winced. The victim’s face was covered in blood, so much so it was hard to make out any particular features.

"Just like one huge, red skull eh cap?” Tony said. “I’d estimate the fatal blow was the one to the back of the head but he took a few to the front too.”

“Cereal?”

“Yeah.” Tony held up a bag “I don’t know what kind but I’ll get it back to the lab. And before you ask, I estimate he has been dead approximately 10 to 12 hours.”

“Again no evidence he was dumped.” Nat offered.

“So he was killed here at…” Steve glanced at his watched “some point between 2 and 4 am?”

“Yeah, at a first pass. Sam will be able to narrow it down when he does the PM.” Tony nodded.

“Any identification?” Steve looked at Nat and Katie.

“Nothing on him.” Katie shook her head “but there’s a black sedan abandoned on 7th not for from the school. We ran a check and it’s registered to a Mr Johann Schmidt. Thor sent an officer round to establish whether he is at home or not”

“So like the others he drove here, presumably to meet his attacker.”

“Looks like it” she nodded.

“Any possible CCTV?”

“The school has cameras and we can check with traffic when we get back, see if they’ve got any active in the area” Nat replied.

“A few of my officers are talking to the morning staff at the all night convenience store on 7th” Thor offered “just in case”

“Alright” Steve nodded, but before he could go any further Thor’s radio crackled to life.

“This is officer Barker, 10-1…” “10-4 Barker” Thor spoke.

“Yeah, boss, there’s no answer at Schmidt’s.” the officer, known to them only as Barker spoke as they all listened “No sign of any disturbance or forced entry either.” “Understood. 10-6.” Thor instructed. He looked at Steve “Want me to send them in?” “No.” Steve shook his head “We’ll do the same as with the last 2 victims. Organise a search warrant. In the mean time we’ll need a formal identification. Thor, can you get one of your officers to identify his next of kin and locate them. In the meantime, keep the house secure, make sure no one enters. If anyone shows up I want to know about it. Then stay here, keep the scene clear whilst Tony’s team finish their investigation”

Thor nodded and turned away, issuing instructions into his radio. Steve looked at Nat and Katie “Ok, let’s get back to the station. Start doing some digging on Schmidt.” he then turned to Tony “You find anything suspicious in your search, call it in.” “Will do Cap but, if this is like the others I doubt we’ll find anything.”

“Yeah, I know.” he sighed “But I can remain hopeful, right.” “You know, I always admire your giddy optimism.” Tony quirked an eyebrow and Steve gave a huff of a laugh.

“Take it you need a lift back to the station.” Nat said and Steve nodded.

“Will you give me five minutes? I’ll catch up with you guys, need to sort something out with Tones.” Katie asked. And though the question was directed to both of them, Steve could clearly see she was still avoiding looking directly at him.

“Sure.” Nat said turning to walk towards her car. Instructing Steve, who had now hidden his fists in his jacket’s pockets, to follow her with a movement of her head.

“Sucks being called in like this, sorry.” Nat said giving him a side glance.

“Yeah well, it’s not like it’s your fault and I’m the Captain so it comes with the job.” Steve replied his sight never leaving the ground while walking.

“How are you holding up?” Natasha asked him once they reached the car.

“Woke up with this terrible hangover, not totally over it but I’m getting there.” he answered leaning on the hood of the car, arms crossed waiting for Katie.

“Not what I asked.” Nat insisted as she placed herself next to Steve.

Steve hesitated for a moment. He was pondering whether giving in to Romanoff’s questioning would result in a court martial or she would let him off the hook easily. And, as his mind was struggling to come to a decision, his eyes lingered on Katie who was now waving Tony goodbye and was beginning to walk towards them. When he turned to look at Nat he saw she was staring at him.

“She didn’t spend the night with him. She told me earlier.” Natasha said softly, not looking at him, as if they were making casual conversation.

“None of my business, Romanoff.” Steve said as sternly as he could, but knowing Romanoff he was sure she could read the glint of hope in his voice.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” she muttered as Katie was now close enough for her to hear them.

“Thanks guys.” Katie said once she had reached the car. “We can go now.”

Just as Natasha opened the driver’s side, Steve motioned to open the right back door for Katie to get in.

“Erm.. Steve… I know you’re taller and the Captain but I really need to ride shotgun or I’m gonna puke.” Katie pleaded.

“Sure sweetheart.” he conceded. God, was there anything in this world he would be able to deny that woman, he thought as he saw Nat raising an eyebrow at him.

“Thanks.” Katie almost whispered, opening the front door and getting in.

“You good?” Nat asked Katie as all three of them buckled their seatbelts and she adjusted the rear window mirror, positioning it so that she could watch Steve reactions or that was what Steve thought.

“You’ve already thrown up your breakfast. Are you pregnant?” Natasha asked Katie, who choked on her water, as Romanoff checked on Steve through the mirror.

“Chance would be a fine thing.” Katie said as she wiped the water she had spat over her chin and pink button down. “I haven’t had a fuck in that long I’m expecting my virginity back in the post.”

Steve didn’t say a word, didn’t bat an eyelid, didn’t move a muscle on his face. But his mind went there, that was the confirmation he needed. Nat had said they hadn’t spent the night together, which he already knew because Tony had said she had returned home earlier that morning, but now Katie was confirming they hadn’t had sex. Back to square one. Wait, what? What was he thinking? But then again Bucky’s words in his head Man up! Do something about it! Yeah, easier said than done, punk.

“It was only December… That’s not that long.” Natasha drawled.

Steve felt the heat crawling from his neck up to his cheeks at the mention of that December night. He must be bright red and he could sense Natasha’s stare on him, so he avoided it and looked through the window. He couldn’t help but look at the outside mirror on Katie’s side just to see she was ignoring him too.

“It’s long enough, trust me.” Katie shrugged.

And with that there was silence in the car for a few minutes. Everyone lost in their own thoughts. Until Natasha spoke up.

“Let’s do carpool karaoke!” Nat quipped as she motioned to switch the controls of the stereo. “Lighten up the mood a bit.”

“Fuck off, Romanoff.” both Katie and Steve said at the same time.

Steve heard Natasha laugh at them and groaned internally. Just what his head needed, two women singing along in the cabin of a car. But just as the voice of Carrie Underwood performing Before He Cheats filled the space he saw Katie still a little before she glanced at Romanoff who looked at her.

“Turn it over if you want…” “No, it’s ok….” Katie said with a shrug, as she began to hum the song. And Steve was thrown back to a karaoke night less than a year ago.

“I don’t believe it… Clint mumbled. Steve turned his head to see what his annoyance was and almost choked on his beer

"Seriously?” he mumbled, watching as Katie walked into the bar, hand in hand with Ward.

“What is she playing at?” Clint looked at Steve “Cap, we showed her the goddamned photos of him with that blonde broad wrapped around him, eating his face and she’s…”

Steve didn’t say anything as Clint trailed off, instead he simply observed Katie from afar as she walked across the room, stopping to say hi to Peralta and Santiago. She looked up, caught Steve’s eye and smiled at him. He smiled back and the smile slipped slightly as Ward dropped a kiss to her cheek and headed over to the bar.

Katie made her way over to him and Clint, holding her hand up in an instruction for them to keep quiet.

“I know what you’re gonna say…” she said, her voice dropping slightly as she cast an eye over to Grant, “And trust me, it’s taken me everything I have in me not to punch the cheating fucker in the face.”

“What are you still doing with him?” Clint practically exploded.

“You’ll see.” she said, and Steve arched an eyebrow as he saw the mischievous glint in her eye.

Steve looked at her and she shot him an innocent look and he snorted. She was anything but innocent.

“No Peggy?” she asked, looking round.

“No.” Steve said, shrugging. Truth be told they’d had an argument before, another one, this time about him leaving the milk out of the fridge. Ridiculous really, but over the last 6 months they’d been arguing constantly over stupid things like that. His last weekly email to Bucky had seen a reply telling him to finish it with her, but you don’t just walk out on the person you love when the going gets tough without trying to work it out. Certainly not in his books anyway, and especially not after 4 years. She was leaving for London in a few months to take up a 6 month placement with the force over there so maybe the time apart would do them some good. And when she came back…well, that’s when he was intending on popping the question. He looked at Katie who was eyeing him suspiciously and he hastily turned the attention back to her. Dropping his voice lower still he gently placed his arm on her shoulder “You ok?”

“Not at all?” she said, shaking her head and he could see she was fighting tears “I found out my boyfriend of 2 years, who moved in with me less than 4 months ago has been fucking someone else behind my back. Nothing about that is ok…”

“Come ‘ere… ” he said, opening his arms but she shook her head, wiping her eyes.

“I don’t want him thinking anything is wrong…gonna ruin my plan.” she said.

“What plan?” Clint pressed again.

“Like I said, you’ll see…”

They didn’t have to wait that long. The karaoke started and Peralta was first up with his rendition of 'Sweet Caroline’, then came Thor and 'Don’t Stop Believing’, which Steve was actually surprised was pretty good. It had them all dancing and cheering anyway. Then a few more, Steve all the time side eyeing Grant and Katie, the man pawing all over her. It was all the Captain could do to not lay him out. At one point he lost sight of Katie as she disappeared for about 10 minutes but the next time he looked for her, she was back, drink in hand, chatting to Natasha. And then to his surprise, Katie’s name was called. Steve and Clint shared a glance, they both knew Katie had a phenomenal voice but she NEVER did karaoke. The only time they ever heard it was in the car or when she was singing to something absentmindedly in a bar or a club. He saw Grant give her a surprised glance and she winked at him, leaning up to give him a kiss before she walked up to the small stage and took the mic.

And then Steve saw the title of the song on the screen and choked on his beer as his attention turned to Grant, whose smug grin had most certainly slipped. As she sang the words to the song, her eyes locked on Ward’s, Clint began to chuckle and Steve couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across his face as she sang. The song couldn’t have been more perfect, talks of cheating with a bleach blonde tramp…it was perfect, and the ultimate way to embarrass Ward, his smooth, composed front was fast ebbing away as the song went on, and as she launched into the final chorus, Steve realised she was changing the words as she sang.

“And I dug my keys into the side, of your pretty little silver Audi A5,

Carved my name into your leather seats…

I took a socket wrench to both headlights, slashed a hole in all 4 tyres,

Maybe next time you’ll think before you cheat…”

Steve saw Ward slip his hand into his pocket, swallowing, and then he glared at the stage. Katie dug into the rear pocket of her jeans and waved his keys at him, tossing them carelessly to the dance floor. As Katie stopped singing, the room fell silent and Ward strode forward, picked his keys up and practically ran from the bar. Katie took a deep breath, raised her chin defiantly and stepped down off the stage as chatter broke out again. Steve strode towards her, the same time Peralta, Clint, Diaz and Nat did, and she waved them all away insisting she was ok. Steve, however, slipped his hand into hers and dragged her to the bar.

“Have you really done his car over?” he whispered as he ordered them a bourbon. She nodded.

“Don’t worry, there’s no CCTV.” she shrugged. “I’ll deny it. Plus, I have a feeling I could summon about 13 different alibis if I wanted. Surprising how many people I will have been with all night whilst here…”

She took her drink in a shaking hand and necked in in one, just in time to hear Ward yelling across the bar.

“Uh oh…” she shrugged, sliding her empty glass across the bar as she turned to face him. “Don’t even try to deny it, Grant. You were spotted. On camera no less.”

Ward spluttered a little, before he took a deep breath. “Katie, honey, listen…”

“No Grant, I won’t.” she said, shaking her head “I told you the last time I wouldn’t take you back a second time…and, well…” she shrugged and from behind her, Steve could see her shoulders start to shake. “How could you?”

“I know, I’ve been an idiot…” he said, gently stepping towards her. He reached to grab her arms but she jerked back and almost fell into Steve.

“I got you…” he said gently as she moved back to step besides him. His arm dropped protectively round her waist and he turned his eyes to Ward.

“i think you better leave.”

“This has nothing to do with you Rogers.” Ward spat “Might have known you’d be there ready to swoop in.” “Oh have you heard yourself?” Katie snapped “He’s my friend, my best friend.”

Ward looked at Steve again, the Captain holding his gaze before Ward turned to Katie. “Kay…”

“You know I hate that name.” she shrugged “But I never bothered about it until now. Go away Grant. I’ve nothing to say to you. Don’t bother coming home tonight either. Your shit will be in bags outside the apartment tomorrow.” she spoke, before her voice took on an almost amused tone “Although you’ll need to collect it in an Uber, obviously…or maybe your blonde tramp can help…” At that Steve saw the anger cross Wards face and he stepped forward again “Now listen to me you little bitch…” He didn’t get any further, Steve stepped in front of Katie and shoved him hard in the chest “Don’t you dare speak to her like that…” “Back off…” Ward said, shoving him back. “This is between me and her…” “And she told you she has nothing to say…” “He’s right.” Katie said from behind him

“So, like I said, I think you better leave.”

Ward drew himself up to full height and for a second Steve thought he was going to punch him, which, would suit him as it would give him an excuse. Instead, he looked round the Captain at Katie who was stood behind him, her shoulder brushing the back of his arm.

“Don’t’ think I won’t; be pressing charges over my car.” he snarled.

She shrugged. “Please feel free, I’ll even take the statement from you myself if you want.” Ward glared at her, than he glanced at Steve, who arched an eyebrow. Ward laughed, bitterly “lemme guess, she was with you the whole time…” Steve merely shrugged, a grin on his face. Ward scoffed, looked once more at Katie before he turned and walked off.

“Fuck you…” Katie called loudly, and Steve turned to see her raised the middle finger of her right hand in the air, not even looking at Ward. About 30 seconds later she broke down.

He’d taken her back to his that night, sat on the couch as she cried and cried, simply holding her, stroking her hair until she fell asleep. He’d then covered her with a blanket, left a glass of water on the coffee table for her and headed to bed. Where he’d had another blazing row with Peggy about the fact he’d brought her home…

“You seen him since?” Steve asked Katie cautiously when he returned to reality.

“You know I ain’t. You were there the last time, when you and Tony kicked him out of my flat and then you changed my locks.” Katie answered her eyes lost on the road her head against the head rest.

“You ok, doll?” Steve asked her softly. He knew Grant Ward was still a sensitive topic even if she denied it.

“I’m fine. It feels like it was a lifetime ago.” she replied pursing her lips, her eyes not leaving the road.

*******

“Cap?”

Steve looked up from where he had been re-reading some notes in his office to see Natasha beckoning him over.

“You got something?”

“You could say that.” she mused. “I just finished the background checks and it turns out our man worked at the German Embassy, something to do with visas, but that’s not important….”

“O-kay…” Steve said, waiting for her to finish, but it was Katie that spoke next.

“Sara Klein was a Translator…and guess where she worked out of?” Katie looked at him her eyebrow raised, excitement in her tone. Steve, understanding immediately looked at her, smiling slightly.

“Another link to the Rumlow case.” he said, folding his arms.

She nodded. “We just need to link Ross to it.”

Steve turned to Natasha “We got anything from Tech on the phone records?” “We won’t until Monday.” she shook her head.

The three of them both fell into silence, all pondering something before Katie stood up, grabbing a few pads of Post Its off her desk.

“I’m gonna go over the stuff in the incident room.” she said, “See if I can find anything…” Steve nodded and watched her go.

“You know Diaz was gonna stab you in the heart last night?” Natasha blurted out once Katie was out of sight. “But, I stopped her. You’re welcome.”

Steve turned, pouting and was about to ask Nat what for but he decided against it when his eyes met her warning stare, it had ‘don’t play dumb with me, Rogers’ written all over.

“I didn’t kiss Wanda, she kissed me.” Steve protested.

“Yeah, I know. But she doesn’t” she said pointing with her thumb to the corridor that led to the incident room. “That’s the only reason she left with Storm.”

Steve sighed, deep down he knew Nat was right and he knew better than to start an argument about his love life with her.

“I hate what you did to her. And I’m not talking about last night.” Natasha said.

“You know…” Steve looked at Natasha. It was more a statement than a question. He knew that she knew, he’d overheard the conversation between the two of them a few weeks ago but he was still surprised that Natasha was admitting to it.

“Yes, she told me. She needed someone to pour her heart out.” she shrugged.

“If it had been me you had ran out on, I would have ripped your head off and used it as doormat.” she said between gritted teeth “But, I want you two together so…”

“Nat, look…” Steve began to say.

“Don’t Nat me, Rogers.” she said between gritted teeth “You two belong together, that I know. So, stop dancing around each other and do something about it. Oh, and not creating chaos while trying would be nice. I’m trying to wipe my ledger, Rogers, help a girl out, will ya?”

Steve nodded smiling softly at her and she nodded back patting his shoulder.

“Look, why don’t you get off.” he said. “It’s getting late and there’s nothing more we can do now.” Nat nodded “Sure thing Cap.”

Steve smiled at her and as he headed out of the office and strode down the corridor. As he walked he felt his phone go and he pulled it out to read a text from Bucky.

“I’m out for the night, Punk. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…or do do something I woud…read into that what you will…” With a roll of his eyes he slid his phone back into his pocket and opened the door to the Incident Room, Katie was sat on the desk, her legs swinging as she stared at the board he noticed was now littered with coloured post it notes.

“What am I missing?” she sighed “Steve, there has to be something here that links Ross to this, I can feel it I just…” she slammed her hand on the desk and sighed, rubbing at her temple. Steve remained silent for a moment as she frowned and then moved towards the board.

“Bucky and Clint followed up on the whole goat hair thing, right?” she said.

“Yeah…” “Well look at this.” she said, beckoning him over. He crossed the room and looked to where her finger was pointing. It was a line on one of Ross’ Bank Statements.

“Green Bale Animal Feeds…” he frowned.

“Yeah, why would he be buying stuff from there?”

“To feed animals.” Steve pondered, and then his brain suddenly clicked as he looked at her “But we didn’t’ find any evidence of Ross having a farm or animals of his own…”

“Could be a screen for something…” she shrugged.

Steve debated it for a moment before he grabbed a post it, wrote the letters FFI- For Further Investigation- and slapped it on the paper before he turned to Katie “Honey, its late, I just sent Natasha home and I think you should go too.” “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” she said, “Not much else we can do…” “Well get yourself home, I’ll be right behind you once I’ve sorted an Uber.” “Still no car?”

“Got a hire arriving Monday” he shrugged.

She took a deep breath, “Don’t call an Uber. I’ll drop you.” “You sure?”

“Course.” she nodded “What are friends for?”

“Ok, well gimme 5 and I’ll grab my jacket and shut everything down.” he smiled. She nodded and he turned to go, pausing slightly to look back at her before he headed to his office. This was a good sign, right? She’d been ok with him all day and was now offering him a lift home…

Closing his computer down, he turned off the lights to his office and smiled as he looked up and saw Katie at her desk, pulling on her jacket. She paused and rummaged in her drawer, her face frowning.

“Lose something?” he asked, shutting the door to his office. “Yeah my emergency chocolate.” she moaned “Just when I’m ready to tackle food I can’t find anything.” “Well…” Steve began “Bucky’s out tonight…if you want, I mean, only if you want, we could swing by the diner grab some hangover busting junk and slob out at mine…” “Been a while since we did that.” she said after a pause, with a small smile.

“That a yes?” he said, raising his eyebrow, grinning.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, the smile still on her face “Fine, but I’m picking the movie.” ******

After eating all the greasy food their system was able to process on one go and a couple of beers each, they were snuggled on Steve’s couch watching Seven. Katie’s pick, “For research purposes” she claimed, nothing to do with the fact she thought Brad Pitt was hot, at all.

“Tracy Mills looks an awful lot like Pepper.” Steve mused, his eyes on the screen while he rubbed Katie’s back as her head lay on his shoulder.

“Yes” Katie giggled “You know I’ve always thought if they made a film about our lives Morgan Freeman would be a good Fury.”

“Hah, Samuel L. Jackson would play Fury better.” Steve said wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Katie conceded with a snort.

“Who do you think would play your part?” Steve asked her kissing the top of her head.

“Kate Beckinsale.” she said totally convinced of her answer and Steve chuckled.

“Possibly, she’s pretty.”

“What about you, Captain?” she said, sitting up and stretching her hand up to scratch gently at the stubble on his face. “Any handsome bearded Hollywood hot actor come to mind?”

“Quite a few now that you mention it…” he said playfully.

Steve saw her looking at him intently while she continued tracing patterns in his stubble and leaned on her hand, considering kissing the hell out of her right then and there.

“Did Wanda like it? Your stubble?” Katie suddenly asked her glance hardening and Steve felt his heart skip a beat.

“What the fuck, Katie?” he asked annoyed.

“Just asking, some women find it a bit rough.” she shrugged.

“I don’t know about that. Did you? Not like it mattered much to you when you were eating Storm’s face outside the Compound” Steve bit back, fed up with Katie bratty outbursts.

“Don’t start Steve…” Katie looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly “You have no right to lecture me considering the fact you were sat at the bar eating Wanda’s face! Talk about keeping it in-house…”

She stood up off the couch and Steve sighed. “That wasn’t…” he shook his head as he too stood, needing to make her understand “That wasn’t what you think.” “I don’t think anything Steven.” she shot back.

Steven? What the fuck?

“Oh, so I’m Steven now?” he snorted, his hands falling to his belt buckle.

“Would you prefer Captain? Or Rogers? Or ass hole?” she glared back, folding her arms.

“I prefer it when you don’t behave like a fucking brat.” he stared back, and saw her face darken as her eyes flashed angrily.

“Me? I’m a fucking brat?” she scoffed “You’re the one kicking off about me kissing someone else when you fucked me and left me!”

Steve took a deep breath as she continued, her pace and volume increasing as her rant continued

“You had your chance and you blew it, so what is this?” she threw her arms out to the sides bringing them back down with a slap “You don’t want me but don’t want anyone else to have me either is that it? Fuck you Steve, fuck you!”

“Katie, just don’t…”he said, a little wearily. He was tired of going round in this circle. Truth be told she was so far off the mark it was ridiculous.

“What? Truth hurts?” she scoffed. “You’re such a…” she took a deep breath and stopped. She pressed her lips together, shaking her head as her shoulders sagged, almost in defeat “You know what, I can’t…I can’t be here right now. We can’t keep doing this. I need to go.”

She turned to leave but Steve quickly grabbed her arm to stop her.

“Katie…” “Go fuck yourself…” she said, jerking her hand out of his hold “Actually, no, go fuck Wanda, sure she’ll be thrilled…”

“I don’t fucking want Wanda!” Steve exploded, before he could stop himself “I want you.” There was a pause, the room falling silent. Katie’s eyes widened slightly and she swallowed as she stood, frozen to the spot. Steve let out a loud breath and ran his hand through his hair.

“You’re right, we can’t keep doing this.” he said, his voice softer “And I can’t keep hiding the way I feel. I get it, I fucked up, but I’m done looking for forgiveness…”

He stepped towards her, as she remained watching him, her eyes not leaving his for a second. And then, it was like something in his brain took over. He was done, done waiting, done trying to push his feelings down and ignore them.

“And I’m way passed asking for permission…” he said, and with that he grabbed her hips and with a sharp pull he jerked her towards him, his lips crashing to hers. It took her a second but then she reciprocated, her arms sliding up round his neck as his hands wrapped around her back, pulling her closer, pouring every single bit of emotion and frustration he’d felt over the past few months into the kiss. It was urgent, it was desperate, and he had to bite back the growl of frustration when she put her hand on his chest and pushed him away.

“Steve…” she whispered, her eyes closing as his forehead dropped to rest against hers “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” he asked softly.

“Don’t start something you’re not gonna finish.” she opened her eyes which were full of tears and looked at him “Because…damned it Steve! It’s you, it’s always been you…” at that she turned her head away slightly, “…and I can’t cope with another rejection and…” “Shhhhh” he said gently, his hands reaching up to cup her face “Look at me…” She turned back to him and he locked his eyes onto hers “Give me another chance, please.” “But work…” she looked at him, as he wiped away the tear that had fallen down her face with his thumb. “What about that? How do I know this is gonna end up any different to last time?”

“Fuck work.” he said earnestly, because he meant it. He damned well meant it. “As soon as this case is over I’ll talk to Fury and we’ll work it out…” “But…” “But nothing! Look…” he cut her off, his eyes boring into hers as he spoke, driving his words home, her face held gently in his large hands. “This is my choice. And I know that I’m like the world’s leading authority on waiting too long but, if you give me another chance, then I swear to God I’ll never let you go again sweetheart.” He paused as more tears fell from her beautiful green eyes and he once more wiped them away as he continued “I should never have let you go last time. Watching the woman I love walk away was… “What did you just say?” she whispered, her eyes widening slightly. He swallowed, as in all honestly he hadn’t meant to say that, but fuck was it true. He did love her, he’d loved her for years and wasted so much fucking time. Well not anymore.

“You heard.” he said, swallowing before pressed his forehead back to hers, “I love you.” Silence…and for a horrible moment Steve thought she was going to push him away. But her hands slid up and wrapped around his neck, pulling him back down to her, kissing him desperately.

“Fuck I missed you…” Steve all but growled in to her mouth as she reached down for the bottom of his t-shirt and yanked it upwards, almost desperately.

“We spent one night together…” she said back, breathlessly.

“Yeah but it was a damned good night…” he said, his lips back on hers as his hands flew to her baby pink button down. His fingers fumbled on the second button and he broke away to look down. “oh fuck it…” he muttered giving a harsh tug, ripping it open.

“Seriously?” she looked up at him, he shrugged as his hands gripped her face and he kissed her again, desperately, as his hands moved round to unhook her bra. Tossing it somewhere to the side he pressed hot kisses down the side of her neck, hissing against her skin as she undid his belt and dropped it to the floor. In a quick move that made her squeak slightly, he reached down and grabbed her ass, hauling her off the floor, her legs wrapping around his waist as he backed her up against the door which led to the hallway, her back hitting it a little harder than he had intended, drawing a soft grunt from her mouth as it rattled in the frame.

“Ow…” she said, grabbing a fist full of his hair and tugging harshly so he looked at her. He gave an apologetic grin before his lips gently latched one to her neck again, sucking at the pulse point. She gave a soft sigh as he nipped at the skin before his attention moved down and he traced the swell of her breast with his mouth, his tongue flicking at her nipple, one hand grasping at her hip, the other pressing against the door by her head. She gave a low moan and her hips pushed down against the bulge in his trousers and he pressed into her, giving her the friction she was asking for. Her hands skimmed down his back, fingers tracing his spine as he pushed up again and then he couldn’t take it anymore. He set her gently on her feet and his hands flew to her jeans, undoing the button before he slid them down and she stepped out of them. No sooner had he got rid of them he hooked one leg over his shoulder as he knelt before her, shifting her soaked panties to one side. At the first touch of his mouth she cried out, one hand falling to his head, the other palms slapping against the wooden surface behind her as she pressed further into it, keeping herself up-right as she writhed at his actions.

Her taste was just how he remembered, and he couldn’t get enough. His tongue and lips worked in tandem, un-doing her lap by lap all the time begging him not to stop, which he had no intention of doing anyway until she had come undone. It wasn’t long before her grip in his hair tightened and her leg trembled slightly and he felt her stiffen above him.

“Fuck, Steve…”she stuttered, as his tongue worked her over, and he glanced up as she gave a loud cry, her head falling forward before it fell back again against the wall with a hard thud. She grasped his shoulder as her leg gave way and Steve stood up, catching her easily, a grin on his face as she opened one eye and looked at him, her pupils blown with lust, her thighs once more locked round his waist. He kissed her again, the kiss absolutely filthy as he stepped back and opened the door and walked them down the hall to his bedroom.

She knelt upon the bed, her hair falling over her face as she hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and pulled him to her, undoing his flies before she slid his pants and boxers down in one full swoop, taking him in her mouth without so much as a warning.

“Shit…” he mumbled, his hands tangling into her hair, guiding her softly as she moved, her head bobbing back and forth before she pulled away to lick along the base of his shaft and he knew then if she carried on he was going to blow his load before he’d even gotten to the main event.

With a gentle shove he pushed her back on the bed, stepping out of his jeans, reaching down for his socks before he crawled over her, pulling her underwear down. He didn’t even give her a chance to say anything before he gave her ankles a soft tug, pulling her down further on the bed, crawling between her legs. He kissed her again, hands on either side of her face as he buried himself inside of her, with a loud groan.

“God you feel so good…”his mouth moved over her jaw to her ear as he praised her, nipping at the lobe, his pace set right from the off as fast, and desperate. Because he was, he was desperate for this woman. Desperate like he’d never been desperate before.

“Stevie…” she groaned, hands clawing at his back, clearly as needy for him as he was her. Releasing one of her hands, he reached down to hook a leg over his shoulder causing her to cry out loud at the change of angle and depth as he continued to drive into her like his life depended on it. He bent over to kiss her, swallowing another loud moan as he did, feeling her sweat soaked skin slick against his.

“Fuck, baby I’m close…” he stuttered, “You close, tell me you’re close…”

“Don’t stop…” she panted, her head falling back further onto his pillow as she grasped his arms whilst he continued to fuck her into the mattress before she gave a low, sultry whimper and her eyes fluttered shut, nails digging into his bicep as she shuddered underneath him, her back arching.

“Shit, doll…” he groaned before he surrendered to the utter bliss, tumbling over the edge of the precipice he had been teetering on. With a final, deep thrust he collapsed on top of her, the room silent bar the sounds of their deep, heavy breathing as they both came down, fighting for control. He felt her hands gently move round to tangle in his hair, nails scratching his scalp and he raised his head, eyes still closed, enjoying her touch.

“Hey…” she said, still slightly out of breath and he opened his eyes to see her looking up at him, her cheeks flushed, hair all over the place and fuck, he’d never seen anything so damned beautiful in his life.

“Hey…” he smiled back, before he leaned down to give her a soft kiss, this one tender, full of love, a stark contrast from the heated, desperate ones that had been shared before. He smoothed her hair back before he pressed his forehead to hers, his nose bumping hers and she gave a soft giggle as he kissed her again before rolling off and landing on his back, eyes closed, his hand rubbing his chest. He was starting to ache a little bit, the bruises from his accident still not completely healed, and if he was honest, he’d probably over done it a little, but did he give a shit? Not one.

“You ok?” Katie asked and he turned his head to look at her, giving her a smile.

“Never been better.” he said honestly, and she smiled, leaning over to give him a kiss. She pulled away and looked at him. “Is Bucky due back?”

“Fuck knows.” he shrugged “Why?”

“Because our clothes are thrown all over the living room.” Steve contemplated that for a moment before he nodded “Good point.”

With a soft groan he heaved himself up and shot into the living room, leaving her giggling in his bedroom as he quickly collected the items along with a bottle of water and headed back into the bedroom. He dropped their clothes in a pile on the floor and smiled as he saw Katie had worked her way under the covers.

“You should have just thrown that shirt out.” she said, taking the water off him with a thanks.

“Yeah, sorry about that…” he said, a little meekly as he slid into the bed next to her “I’ll buy you a new one.” “Damned right you will, that was Ralph Lauren.” she said, offering him the water bottle.

“Fuck…” he groaned “Trust me to ruin a hundred dollar shirt.” “You telling me it wasn’t worth it?” she pouted and he chuckled, laying back, placing the bottle on his bedside table.

“Sweetheart, I’d ruin a thousand of the damned things if it ended like that each time.”

With a soft laugh she snuggled closer to him, laying her head on his chest. With a soft, contented sigh he dropped a kiss to the top of her head, his hand rubbing at her back as her leg tangled with his.

As they lay in silence, Steve’s hand softly carding through Katie’s hair, a feeling of utter contentment spread across the Captain’s chest. The stress and angst of the last few months had completely ebbed away and as they lay there in their own little bubble, totally at peace, Steve knew he’d never be as happy as he was when she was in his arms.

Steve woke some time later, with her back pressed to his chest. He realised what had woken him when she gently untangled herself from him to head into the en-suite. It wasn’t long before she came back and snuggled into him, her face pressing into his chest, his hands gently rubbing her back.

“Did you mean it?” her voice broke the silence

“Hmm?” he mumbled, still drifting in that space between sleep and consciousness.

“What you said earlier, that you love me…” he felt pull back slightly “Did you mean it?””

Ok so that woke him up. He opened his eyes and glanced down at her to see her watching him. He took a deep breath and nodded “Of course I meant it.”

She studied him for a second, her eyes bright before she smiled and leaned up to give him a soft kiss.

“I kinda love you too…” she whispered against his mouth. At her words Steve felt the huge, shit eating grin spread across his face. His hand crept into the back of her hair as he kissed her again before she pulled away, her finger tracing shapes on his chest.

“You’re thinking about something.” Steve watched her, almost nervously “I can tell. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong…not really” she said, before she looked up at him, grinning “I just realised that we’ve had sex four times now…granted 3 of those times were on the same night but, that’s by the by…”

Steve chuckled as she continued to talk. “…we’ve admitted to each other that we love one another…and you’ve not taken me on a single date yet.”

Steve blinked before he let out a soft huff “Yeah, that’s…kinda shameful. And something I’ll rectify real soon…” “Oh will you?” She asked playfully as he moved, rolling her onto her back.

“Yep.” he nodded, his left leg parting both hers “Thought I could take you to dinner one evening next week.” he said, his lips gently brushing her neck before he placed a single kiss under her ear “we’ll head into Manhattan…” another kiss as he worked his way downwards “Grab somethin’ to eat…” a peck to her collar bone as she sighed, tipping her head backwards “a few drinks…” his nose traced a path up her neck and over her chin “sound good?”

She nodded as a soft sigh escaped her mouth.

“Now, you mentioned something about 3 times in one night?” he quipped cheekily. Her eyes flew open and she gave him a grin as his lips once more claimed hers before he whispered “I can do this all night.”

@momobaby227 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @jennmurawski13 @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @navispalace @patzammit @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @disneylovingal @madzmilllz @sgtjaamesbaarnes @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @official-and-unstable-satan @charmed-asylum

#csi rogers and barnes #csi au #steve rogers #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x original female character #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #clint barton #tony stark #thor odinson

59 notes · View notes

365daysofsasuhina · 4 years

Text

[ @sasuhinabigflash2020 || Day Seventeen: Craving ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

Lying on her bedroom floor, Hinata stares up at the ceiling, occasionally giving an owlish blink. The little glow-in-the-dark stars and planets she stuck up there when she went through her space phase are still there, their oddly pale yellow-green dim and listless in the daylight hours of morning. About how she’s feeling right now, as a matter of fact.

It’s quiet today. Like it is every day. And has been everyday for...gosh, how long has it been, now? She’s lost count.

Lost count of the days since everyone disappeared.

Not just her father and her sister, either. Everyone. One day Hinata simply woke up...and found she was the absolute last person on earth. Or at least...she’s yet to encounter a single other person. And it’s been months, at the very least. The phone never rings. No cars drive by. Turning on the television shows the same programs as per usual, but they’re all reruns. And the news stations are just endless cycles of advertisements.

Online is much the same. Nothing updates. But nothing completely stops, either. Somehow she still has power, internet, phone connection...it’s odd.

She goes to the store a few blocks away. Everything is still there. And nothing is going bad. The produce still looks the same as the first day she went.

At first...it was extremely hard to wrap her brain around, as one would likely expect. Theories clogged her brain for days. Was she actually in a coma, dreaming all of this? Was she dead, stuck in some weird limbo? Had she simply...lost her mind?

And then the thoughts of absolute loneliness. Never seeing her family again. True, she didn’t have the best relationships with either of them, but...to have any chance at that changing ripped away made her realize how much she’d truly wasted a very final opportunity.

In the end, however...there was simply acceptance. Deciding to, at least until she reached some unspoken limit, to just...try living. See how far she could get.

And so far, it’s been...okay. While she can’t explain (and maybe doesn’t want to explain) the seeming lack of passing time beyond a day and night cycle (how else could nothing be rotting?), other things change. The weather still varies. It just rained yesterday, and it’s a balmy seventy-two degrees today according to her phone, and sunny. And thought it’s not been quite long enough to confirm seasons, Summer does seem to be conceding to Fall.

Which makes her wonder how that’s going to go. There’s been no shut-off in the power, but what if something happens? She’d never know how to fix it! Maybe just...find someplace where the power was still on. Or steal a generator. Eventually though she’ll run out of gas, right…?

Many of the rules of this new (?) world escape her.

But for now, those life-changing questions aren’t what’s on her mind.

...she has a craving.

For a few moments longer, she maintains her position on her floor. But then enough will musters up, and she sits upright with a grunt before hauling herself to her feet. Putting on some shoes, she then leaves the house and heads down the road.

The door she leaves unlocked. How’s she going to get robbed, being the last person left? And that way, no ever worrying about locking herself out, either.

...it happened once last year when Hanabi was out of town with a friend and her father on a business trip. Most embarrassing reason to talk to her neighbor ever.

Plugging in earbuds to her phone, she keeps one ear open, just in case. Otherwise, her favorite pop songs play in the background of her walk, humming absently. A few times she’s mustered up the courage to sing out loud, given no one is around to hear. But even being completely alone...she’s still shy.

Twenty minutes sees her at the supermarket. Not bothering to take a cart, she instead tries to remember what aisle she needs, wandering down the front and reading the signs above each. What category does it fall under, again…?

Lost in her musing, she actually squeals out loud in surprise at a sudden crashing sound.

W...what…?

Frozen in place and barely daring to breathe, only her eyes flicker in search of...something. Anything. It sounded like it came from the back of the store...maybe some animals got in? Those, at least, she’s seen plenty of. Squirrels in her backyard, cats sunning themselves on porches. She tries not to think of all the abandoned pets with no one coming home for them anymore.

But in the subsequent silence, she doesn’t hear the scurrying of surprised feet like she would expect of anything inhuman. Instead...an impressive string of oaths and swears reaches her ears.

...no, it...it can’t be…

Throat suddenly dry, Hinata weighs her odds. On one hand...it could be someone friendly! Maybe she’s not as alone as she feared! But...on the other...they might see her as a threat, and kill her. Or do...other horrible things to her.

Loneliness can leave one wanting, after all. Or just drive a person to a sick, brain-rotted edge.

Eventually, she overcomes the absolute tension in her legs and shuffles forward a few inches, doing her best to remain absolutely quiet. There’s now just vague rustling sounds as...whoever it is rummages through...whatever they’re doing. Part of her still wants to run screaming, but her curiosity about another person existing in this unreal reality is just a bit more convincing.

She peers down each aisle as gingerly as possible, finding each empty as she gets closer and closer to the noises. And with every step, the nerves in her gut wind tighter and tighter in apprehension. Could this be any more suspenseful?!

Finally, reaching the last aisle, she lets one eye look past a display of chips before withdrawing with a hint of a gasp.

They’re there! Whoever they are!

Calming her racing heart just enough, she then glances back around. An entire display of boxes - of what she can’t tell from here - has been completely obliterated, creating a huge spill of cardboard across the back corner of the store. And right in the middle of it is a person.

Clearly scavenging for certain types of...whatever those are, they stuff the occasional box into an oversized duffle bag slung over their shoulder. Seems someone else is making a supply run. Looking at another box, they weigh the option before tossing it nonchalantly.

...for some reason, that makes her frown.

Once the bag is full, however, the person in question starts heading back her way.

Panic.

Withdrawing and not knowing where to go, Hinata dances in place for a long moment before ducking behind a “pixelated” display of cases of soda depicting the local football team logo. From there, she watches as the stranger walks right past her.

He looks to be about her age. Messy dark hair, fair complexion, typical clothes of boys she’s seen at her highschool. But she doesn’t recognize him...not that she’d know everyone anyway, her school and city are pretty big. Or maybe he’s from out of town, passing through and gathering more supplies.

The possibilities are endless, and she’s only getting more curious.

Once he reaches the doors, he slings the bag to the floor and...picks up another one? Where’d he get all these things, anyway? Then back he comes, clearly on a second round as he ducks into another aisle.

Realizing she’s safe, Hinata makes to follow, creeping up to the same aisle.

Only to scream when he comes back out.

Seems he took a wrong turn.

To his credit, he doesn’t shout back. Rather, he stumbles back with a wheeze, going ghostly pale as Hinata manages to trip over her own feet and fall on her backside.

“P-please! Don’t kill me!” she cries, arms lifting to shield her face.

“W...what?”

Hearing his own panic, Hinata risks a glance. He just...stares at her in obvious confusion.

“...I...I thought, um…” Well now she’s embarrassed. Heat floods her face. “...it’s just been so...so long since I…?”

“Christ lady, you scared the shit out of me,” he then cuts in with a heavy sigh.

“S-sorry!”

“The hell were you doing?”

“Well, I...I came to get -?” Oh hell, that’s not important. “...I heard a noise, and...saw you. I haven’t seen another person in...in months. I wasn’t sure what to expect, I guess.”

“...you too, huh?”

She blinks.

“Everyone else just up and disappeared on you?”

“Y...yeah. I thought -?”

“You were the last person on earth?”

“...mhm.”

“Me too. But it seems there’s at least two of us. Which makes me wonder if there’s any more.”

“I honestly thought this was all some strange dream...maybe I just h-hit my head and fell into a coma.”

“Yeah, same here. But then I started getting hungry and no one but me was gonna feed me.” He gestures to his bag. “Hence a supply run.”

“Yeah, I...I know how those go.” After a pause, Hinata sheepishly gets back to her feet, posture withdrawn. “...I’m Hinata, by the way.”

“Sasuke. I’d say nice to meet you, but uh...kinda biased given your the first face I’ve seen in months.”

At that, she can’t help a giggle. “True. Still...I’m g-glad to know I’m not alone. Where do you live, if...you don’t mind me asking?”

“Like eight blocks west of here.”

“I’m three to the north.”

“Makes you wonder how we haven’t crossed paths until now, huh?”

“Yeah...weird.”

They fall into an awkward silence.

“...W-well, I...I better let you get back to…” Hinata gestures to his bag.

“Hey, you wanna share numbers?”

At that, she jolts. “... I -?”

“Just in case we want to talk or something. Not like we have anyone else to chat with, right? And we might need help at some point.”

“Oh...g-good point. Um…” Fiddling with her pockets, she pulls out her phone and trades her digits. “Sasuke, right?”

“Yeah. And Hinata?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool.” He tucks his mobile back into his sweatshirt. “Guess I’ll, er...talk to you later.”

“Guess so. Um...b-bye.” Giving a very awkward little wave, Hinata steps past him and just..scurries for the door, heart once again pounding in her chest as she hurries back up the road.

If...if this Sasuke guy is still here...who else could still be around? Suddenly everything she’s assumed for the past few months is thrown into doubt. A few blocks apart, and it took them this long to cross paths. How many more could there be…?

Or is it just them?

So shook up is she, Hinata doesn’t realize - until she’s back in her house, leaning wearily against her front door - that she didn’t actually get what she went out for.

...well...maybe next time.

She’s had enough excitement for one day.

I have...no idea what this is kjdfdjhg just a cliche “last two people on Earth” idea that hit me completely out of nowhere xD The actual prompt has very little to do with it beyond never being revealed because...reasons. (I dunno what she wanted, she wouldn’t tell me lol) Anywho, I guess not...much else to say? Random piece is random, but hopefully still enjoyable! I need to start doing these at better times but I always write better at night...and today was busier than I expected. Take all my excuses :’D But on that note, I’ll see you guys later - thanks for reading!

#sasuhinabigflash2020 #shbf2020 #sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #best years of your life [ au ]

9 notes · View notes

ill-skillsgard · 5 years

Text

Ascent - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Ascent

Warning: 18+ voyeurism/masturbation/language

Description: A collection of scents and scenes strung together by strange sequences of secrecy and surveyance.

A/N: DAMNIT YOU GUYS. This is my 3rd time posting this fic. It will no longer include the image of the sexy Bill look-alike wanking because wE cAn’T hAvE NiCe tHiNgS. Also, please don’t ask me to send the image because I can’t be sure of ages and I won’t be dinged for providing pr0nz to potentially underage people. I’m so sorry. I tried!

ISO: Quiet roommate; preferably female. Males acceptable too if you're cleanly. Split rent loft in quaint & upscale Rosewell neighbourhood with everything included. 1200 upfront first and last and then rent can be negotiated. E-mail. Do not call/text.

I only had 900 dollars on me but I figured if I e-mailed the person that had put out the ad and set up a time to meet the following week then I could earn enough in tips to cover the rest. Easy as that. Breathing became a little less laboured once I sat back on my futon and realized that I wasn't quite as fucked as I initially thought. Then I wondered how in the hell somebody could use the words quaint and upscale to describe the same neighbourhood. Which one was it? Quaint or upscale? How could it be both? All I was sure of was that I had to find a roommate quickly. The new landlord of my apartment building had decided that I had something to do with the junkies shooting up in the storage unit behind the building, as though I had knowledge of it the whole time and failed to make a report of it, therefore, making me part of the problem. But it wasn't just that; this guy was a jackass of ultimate proportions- a seedy little rich momma's boy that had inherited his parents' sense of self-entitlement and strings of real estate offices spanning across the city and surrounding counties. We did not click at all upon first meeting when he made his rounds to see exactly what kind of tenants he would be dealing with. In fact, the moment I opened the door to my apartment and he peered in to see the apparent cluster-bomb that had gone off in my bachelorette pad, he set his sights on destroying me, or at the very least, evicting me. If only I hadn't answered the door in my stained sweatpants and wrinkled t-shirt from a decade ago when my taste in music remained under-developed. If only I hadn't had the day's worth of crusted mascara stuck in the inner corners of my eyes like black boogers. If I had thrown my hair up in a semi-cute messy bun, rolled down the waistband of my stretchy pants and tossed on my only reputable sweater maybe things could have gone differently. But I didn't. Instead, I let him catch a glimpse into the trash-covered world of crooked posters, laundry and pizza boxes. His prissy, Gucci-wearing ass got one whiff of my body odour and my fate was sealed. Whatever though, shit happens. Even if Millennial pretty-boy newbie landlord hated me, I didn't quite hate myself. Sure, I had had better times in my life but there had also been much worse. I was just going through my annual depression when the Summer was long gone and the scent of leaves rotting in the gutters rang in the impending frost. Who wanted to do anything but sit around and play video games or watch TV for six straight hours after work? Certainly not I. I e-mailed the guy living in Rosewell because I had been through that area once or twice and remembered that it was one of the nicer neighbourhoods; its remnants of old city charm and decadent architecture still intact. That's when I gave it a second thought. 1200 for first and last month's rent was not that much, considering the location. My brain caught up with me and I recognized that there would probably be dozens of people replying to the listing and that my chances were diminished to almost nothing. Oh well, I read on and circled more potential ads with the tip of a fresh permanent marker that was starting to give me a headrush. By some grace of luck, I received an e-mail back the next day from the person that had put out the Rosewell advertisement. It dawned on me that I also didn't know whether he or she was a he or a she or a they. It seemed mundane to ask but the person didn't include their name in the reply and their email address was an obscure reference that I wasn't sure I understood. My imagination decided to take a jog and came upon the silly little notion that perhaps this was one of those things when serial killers lure in unsuspecting victims with promises of rent so cheap in a gentle neighbourhood where nobody would think to look for a body. It was classic of me but I couldn't pretend like I wasn't thinking about it. At least death would help put a stopper in my rut. I didn't know what to expect, walking up to the building with a face sectioned off into quadrants- each with their own tiny glass door and artful wrought iron laced balcony. What kind of a person lived inside? Was it a peppy university student with a small dog and a knack for pulling off an active-wear-is-all-I-wear look? Could it be another snotty, uptight rich boy like my fuck-bag of a landlord? Or perhaps it was a nice older lady that fancied her wine and lived in an effortlessly baroque den, lined with books and trinkets from her travels abroad. Either way, I just hoped they approved of me since I had taken the time to shower, put on a bit of makeup and dress like the clothes I owned weren't questionably clean or variably dirty all the time. The door was painted black and nobody could see through the glimmering panels of stained glass that made up an intricate checkerboard of red and blue with two cantaloupe roses coiling up and away from each other, petals agape and ready to fall. I gave the door a good look over with a smug grimace that was just a feint for my awe. The place was definitely too nice for me but I soldiered on and smiled when I heard the door being unlocked. A man opened the door and the scent of wood and something else immediately wafted out like a ghost casually passing by. Not only was he a man, but a looming sculpture dressed in a sagging brown wool sweater that threw me off from my rehearsed speech. He was tall, pale and had such striking eyes behind his glasses that I couldn't quite meet them without feeling some hint of discomfort. It was like somebody had tossed a limp rug on the statue of David the way his knitted sleeves hung loosely around thick veiny wrists. "Hi. Bill," he motioned to himself. "Won't you come in?" "Um, yeah. Sure." The mud room was painted in tarnished blood orange and was home to a wooden rack full of men's shoes. There were trainers with hints of dirt on the toes and soles, leather dress shoes with the fancy gold buckles on the front, more dress shoes, stylish suede ankle boots, and beaver fur lined moccasins. I could taste the transition from the cool Autumn air to the musky inside of the home. The floors were all wood, the banister leading upstairs was carved from another expensive type of tree and the shelving units were solid oak stretching from floor to high ceiling. Every wall was home to some kind of meticulously placed decorative object. But there were also family photos to lend the place a warm and happy glow. Or it could have just been how the sun shone through the clear bay windows. I was led through the house, past a large cupboard tucked beneath the staircase and a small writing desk that was home to a vintage typewriter cased in filigrees of polished silver. It was then I noticed all the framed book pages lining the walls. We entered a kitchen and I was blown away by how roomy it was compared to the tight, warm front that made up the mudroom and what I had determined was a living room that had been converted into a reading room. There was no TV but there was a chaise lounge with a stack of old books reaching up to a cascading hand-carved armrest. "This is the kitchen. The fridge will be mostly yours. I just use the bottom shelf and the crisper on the left. I just ask that you keep your section clean." "Right," I nodded. "The stove is gas, the fireplace is gas... Everything is gas in here. Um... It gets kind of cold in the winter because the electric baseboards don't really work. If you turn them on it makes the whole place smell like burning sawdust. So... You can use a plug-in heater in your room but... Just wear slippers on the floors." "Oh, okay. Good to know." "Uh... Yeah. The laundry room is through there. I also keep my bike back there. There's another rack mount for a bike if you have one." "No, just my car." "Hmm," Bill pondered with a grimace. I bit my lip and hoped that he wasn't biting his lip from derision. He took in a breath through one of the daintiest noses I had ever seen on a man and adjusted his glasses for a moment before pulling them off completely to wipe the lenses on the hem of his brown knit sweater. "Parking can be kind of a bitch around here," he warned. "Yeah, " I chuckled. "I probably pulled around the block six times before something opened up." "You'll have to get used to that... Or just get a bike like everyone else." With a forced laugh, I attempted to hide the odd sense of shame that he had instilled by suggesting that nobody around these parts bothered with silly things like motor vehicles. Fuck, that could mean he was some sort of health nut that would turn his nose up if he saw the types of meals I made for myself and how lazy I could get. Aside from his alarming curtness, Bill seemed to be calm and easygoing. The house was a wooden ladder of a place; stacked with his worldly possessions and Scandinavian accouterments. It was easy to conclude that he was a single man that kept to himself and I did my best to show him that I fit into the same category. Although, it seemed as though he had already decided that I was moving in. He referred to everything as his, mine or ours and led me through the rest of the house like both our minds were already made up. "Here's the room. It's right next to mine. You have an en-suite bathroom. Toilet kind of acts up once in a while and the shower drain is prone to clogging but it's all easy fixes. Oh... And the walls are kind of thin. I ask that if you have guests over in the evening to keep the socializing downstairs. I suppose I can't really stop you from having people in your room but... I do enjoy my quiet." "That's okay. I don't really hang out with too many people," I said. Bill strolled into the center of the empty room, the soles of his shoes hitting the floor echoed off the bright white walls. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers as he spun on a heel to face me. His shoulders drew up to his ears and for the first time, he cracked a smile. It didn't last long and was accompanied by a shrug of closure. "What do you think?" He asked. "It's nice. I like it. A lot. It's very... Homey." Bill nodded, "yes. So will you take it?" "Uh... You don't have any questions for me? Or anyone else to show the place to?" His full lips set into another grimace as though my question scratched the scab off of a wound that had yet to close. Swallowing hard, I immediately began to regret my inquiry. I should have just been grateful that he saw fit to trust me without so much as delving into my history. "To be frank, I'm not really interested in knowing a lot about you. The less we know about each other, the better. I just need a quiet tenant that won't bother me much and you seem like a sensible woman with your own distractions." "Oh." "I don't mean to sound insensitive." "It's okay. I get it." "You have a job, of course?" "Yes." "Well, that's all I need to know. Just make your rent payments on time and we'll get along." "Not a problem. Sounds good." The entire moving process took a little over a month to complete. I gave my notices where they were due, rented a small truck to pack my things into and drove it across town after handing the keys to the fuck-bag landlord who seemed more than thrilled to watch me departing. Bill had already given me keys to the house and when I arrived the first of the month he was nowhere to be found. Luckily, my possessions didn't extend further than my bed, wardrobe, futon and a couple of side tables that had collected more dust than I thought. After hauling up the ripping black trash bags I had stuffed full of clothes, I tried to decipher a way to get my bed up the winding stairs without scratching the wood or getting myself stuck in a corner. It would have been easier if I had another set of hands and I wanted to clear the halls of all my things before Bill came home and saw the clutter in the front hall. Something told me he was not a fan of mess and I had left a heaving trail all over the mudroom, halls and stairs. With my bed frame already stuck on the first few steps, I decided to sit down and reevaluate my strategy. It was definitely a two-person job that I would not be able to complete on my own. "Fuck, " I cursed as I pulled out my cell phone to make a call to the only person I knew that would be willing to give me a hand; my cousin. On the third ring, I heard the sound of the door opening and footsteps coming through. I was sat on the stairs pouting, my cell clutched to my ear and my breath hitched in my throat. Bill looked up at me from the first-floor landing through the rails of the staircase and smirked at me. "Need some help?" He asked. I immediately terminated the call to my cousin before he could pick up. Shooting up from the fifth step up, I smoothed out the front of my shirt and tried to make it seem like I wasn't about to burst into tears of frustration. "Um, yes. Sorry. I thought I could do it by myself." "No worries," Bill said as he lifted the edge of the bed frame that was hanging off the first step. We dislodged the frame and slowly carried it upstairs but not without a few grunts of effort and sighs when we finally made it to the top floor. Bill's arms were bulging with the strain and when he helped me gently lay the frame down on the floor I couldn't help but stare at the muscles I never knew he had. We had only had a handful of encounters and each time he had been wearing baggy clothes that veiled the true form of his body. Bill helped me bring everything else I had upstairs and once the last of my belongings arrived he evaluated the mess that I would have to organize myself. Half my clothes were spilling out of bags and my furniture was yet to find a proper place. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Unless you have anything else?" "No. This is it. Thanks for your help." "No problem," he nodded with a small pointed smile that brought out a sweetness in his face before exiting the room. I heard the sounds of his footsteps drumming down the stairs but before I had the chance to get to work unpacking, Bill came back. When I looked up at him he had a peculiar look on his face that I couldn't read. It may have been a cross between uncertainty and embarrassment. "You um... These were on the stairs," he showed me what he had clutched in his hand and the moment I realized that the black material in his hand was a pair of my underwear, I paled. "Oh my god," I laughed uneasily. "I'm so sorry. They must have fallen out when I was dragging the bags up the steps. My panties looked crumpled and insignificant in his large hand as he dangled them between two fingers for me to grab. When I caught them I stuffed them in my pocket immediately and blushed even harder than I had when he had come home to see me flustered on the stairs. "It's all right. Could be worse things to find," he pointed out. "I guess so," I chuckled. Bill smirked at me, eyes darting to the pocket that contained the stray panties and gave me one last glance before leaving me to stew in my mortification. Once I was certain Bill was gone, I took the panties out to evaluate just how embarrassed I should have been. The last thing I needed was for my new roommate to have already discovered a pair of my dirty underwear on the floor. They were generic and made of stretchy faux lace that covered next to no ass cheek but I would have considered them to be a good go-to pair nonetheless. Based on visual inspection and a quick sniff, I was assured that everything checked out and Bill hadn't had the displeasure of picking up a pair of my period panties with the permanent stains in the crotch. If anyone had to have found a pair of my underwear I was glad it was a sexy pair and not ones that I had been hanging onto since high school. But because it was a man that had found them, I felt a strange yearning for approval. I thought about what he could have been thinking about for a long time as I set up my bed and unpacked my necessities. It was going to be weird having a roommate.

~*~

Bill was a strange man. Bill had an office in his room and a writing desk stacked with papers and manuscripts. Bill was a writer. When I asked him if I could read something he had written he said nothing. He only peered at me warily over his wire-framed glasses. We were in the kitchen at the same time and I figured it friendly to strike up a conversation. I had seen all of his papers and looked at all of the stuff he had in the house by then and deduced that he had to have been a writer. All I got from him was a gentle shrug of his stately shoulders and a mumble that I couldn't hear. "You're a writer, aren't you?" I continued. "Yes. I suppose, in a way I am." "Ever had anything published?" Bill rapidly shook his head and muttered, "not here, no. Back home... In university. But not here." The subject of him being a writer seemed touchy so I left my line of questioning at that while I boiled water to make tea. I couldn't help but watch him on the other side of the kitchen preparing his lunch because he was comically lanky yet carried himself with graciousness and poise. His side profile was vexing to me as well. It was then that I realized that Bill was not just commonly handsome, but sculpted in a way that I wasn't used to seeing. With a cute boyish nose and arrestive eyes that shone light green through the lenses of his glasses, I felt that old familiar pang of a crush plunging its way from my chest to my gut and all the way down to my groin. He didn't speak much and I hardly ever saw him because he was always in his room with the door shut. I had a feeling that me bringing up his writing had alarmed him into keeping the door closed at all times. It must have been an adjustment for him to go from living alone to having somebody sleeping in the room right next to him. I tried not to make much of the crush but the times that I did see Bill I always tried to stare for as long as possible. He was a mystery to me; a person living in the very same quarters but with a totally separate life that I had no windows into. Bill had pictures of him and a lot of other people that looked kind of like him so I tried to piece together what his family was like without asking him personally. The family photos were all in chunky brass frames and placed in a strategically sporadic way on the wall shelf. There were many books and three different runs of encyclopedic information stacked side by side with their brightly dyed leather spines displaying a prestigious title and the volume number, but it was the pictures that intrigued me most. By the looks of it, Bill had a lot of brothers and a sister. The longer I analyzed each shelf the more I managed to paint a picture of him for myself based on his belongings. There was a photo of Bill next to some other men of similar heights and facial structures, all dressed warmly and huddled together, each with his own version of a charming smile on. It was amusing to see pictures of him smiling since he had hardly tossed more than a crooked smirk my way. I wasn't sure if Bill was standoffish or if he thought me a slob because of the first day I arrived. The house was cleaner than any place I had ever had by myself and I gathered that he liked to keep it that way. I remembered what it had said in his ad about cleanliness. Maybe I had disgusted him. He had been so sold on having me as his roommate but that was weeks ago and he hadn't tried to engage me much since. It didn't weigh heavily on my mind for long. After all, even though I was the crusty definition of a bachelorette, I could put it together that trying to fuck my roommate that I didn't know was probably a surefire way to complicate things beyond repair. And the place was nice. I wanted to stay and I wanted Bill to like me.

~*~

I walked into his room when I knew for certain that he was gone. I don't know why the sudden urge overtook me and steered me to his bedroom door. I opened it and a waft of his scent came over me. It was like fresh cotton and chopped wood or an old book that had been kept in pristine condition. His writing desk beckoned me so I went without hesitation to cast my eyes over the papers on its surface. There were some printed pages full of words with hand-written notes scribbled in the margins. One of the most eye-catching pieces was a mostly blank white page that had been the last of the bunch to be placed upon the altar of his creative expositions.

I can't get enough of the scent that she left behind.

After reading that one line, I snapped out of my mindless intrusion and left his bedroom at once. Why I had gone in there in the first place was a mystery and I was overcome with guilt that pushed me in the direction of avoidance. I felt somehow he would know that I had gone into his room without permission.

~*~

A man from work had asked me out on a date and I stood in the shower vigorously washing the shampoo out of my hair. I was already late and had to scramble to put together an outfit out of what little clean clothing I had. There had been no time for me to do any laundry so I made do with an old sundress that I had worn the shit out of the Summer before, a pair of black nylon leggings with a hole in the crotch and the only pair of underwear that I could find that wasn't stretched out from me wearing them. I had laid out everything on my bed and bustled around trying to find my good face moisturizer and the only high-end lipstick that I had been coveting for the better part of two years. When I got dressed, I had somehow lost pieces of my attire along the way and rushed around looking for the underwear that I had dubbed acceptable to wear out on a date. My phone went off with a notification from my date saying that he was circling around the block again because he couldn't find a place to park. I quickly messaged him back and told him I would be down in five short minutes. Forgoing the panties, I hiked on my nylons and hoped that the skirt of my dress would manage to cover me enough all night that I didn't accidentally flash my pussy while getting in and out of his car. The date was boring and I didn't find myself connecting with him as we had at work. Maybe it was because we were co-workers or maybe it was because he was smiling too much at me the whole time, but I decided to put an end to the night after a dessert and the last of a bottle of cheap wine. When I got home, I shut the door and pulled my vibrator out of my empty underwear drawer.

~*~

In the morning on one of my days off, I stood in the kitchen making myself a pathetic breakfast of two pieces of toast with a slice of tomato and chunks of a too-ripe avocado splattered between them. First I was focused and calm and then suddenly I felt like something had materialized behind me. When I turned around, I let out a gasp as I noticed Bill standing next to me with no shirt on, his hair a mess and his eyes half-closed. "Sorry," he breathed through his nose. "Need a glass, please." I got out of his way and watched as he opened the cupboard that I had been standing in front of and took out a clean glass to pour water into. My eyes were drawn to the burgeoning of hair from his armpits when he reached to the top shelf. Without saying a word, he filled his glass from the tap and then walked back upstairs casually sipping his water. I don't know how he had managed to sneak up on me without me hearing the floorboards protesting beneath his feet but it had happened and my heart continued to race until I heard him enter his bedroom right above the kitchen.

~*~

I had tossed my laundry into the dryer and let it run while I left for work. When I got home my laundry was all folded and put back in my basket. My jeans and work pants were on the bottom, my shirts the second tier and then several pairs of my panties had been folded neatly in halves and placed on top. "Um... Okay," I whispered to myself, lifting the basket off the dryer that was still rumbling full of Bill's laundry.

~*~

A nap was on the immediate horizon for me when I got home from work. I kicked my shoes off as soon as I got in the door and made right for my bedroom. Bill must not have heard me climbing the stairs as I hadn't heard him come up behind me the week before because his door was open and what I saw halted me in my place and robbed me of the abilities to breath or think. There he was, laying on his bed naked with his right hand wrapped around his dick. But it wasn't that he was stroking himself that caught me completely off-guard, it was what he clutched to his nose and mouth with his other hand; the pair of my panties that he had discovered on the floor all those weeks ago when I first moved in. Rooted with panic and intrigue, I covered my mouth and watched on from the third-to-last step at the man taking deep breaths of my underwear while he pulled on his cock and massaged his balls. When I heard a faint groan leave his mouth I felt my floodgates crashing open. The tingle I felt budding from my clit grew so strong that my hands went numb and my face turned red-hot. There was no way that Bill hadn't heard me coming in the door and ascending the steps. But if he knew that I was there watching him play with himself, he didn't acknowledge it. He was in his own world of pleasure, getting high off the fumes that I had infused into the fabric of the underwear he was meddling with his fingers. I wanted to watch him shoot his cum from the tip of his cock but I was so scared that he would see me that I cowered back so that if his gaze did travel beyond the walls of his bedroom, perhaps he wouldn't catch me staring. Another long, deep moan left him and the sound of it somehow filled every sense I had. It was as though I could smell what he was smelling, feel how he was feeling and the taste left behind in my mouth was wetted with saliva being over-produced by my own sexual appetite. I pictured him kissing my clit, pushing my legs back and using his tongue to bore into me, letting it run down, down, down so he could taste every inch of me. A gasp nearly escaped me when I saw him push the crotch of my stolen panties into his mouth. His head dropped back into his pillows and his slow, languid strokes of his cock turned erratic. "Fuck!" He emitted after spitting the panties out and dragging them down his body to wrap around the base of his shaft. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... Mmm, my god." After a minute of every muscle in his body flexing, it looked like he was inches away from coming and I leaned forward with my hand out on the last step to balance myself so I could watch the end result. It took a bit longer than I expected but I watched on unblinkingly until he finally managed to pump out an orgasm that ripped through his body and exited him in a glorious spurt of cum. Then there was another spurt and another, all landing in a perfect sticky mess over his stomach and chest. The sun coming in through his window glittered over his spackled body while a dryness hardened my tongue. I gawked as he moved to mop up his own mess with my black lace panties. What he was going to do next was as much a mystery to me as the last ten minutes I had spent as a voyeur. His cock laid over the top of his thigh and shrunk with each passing second while he rolled my panties up into a ball with his fist. All of his muscles relaxed and he sank further into the bed, closed his eyes all the while my stolen cum-soaked panties remained clutched to his chest like a cross. I could almost smell the musk permeating from the open door. Slowly, I descended the stairs one by painstaking one.

#bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #fanfiction #bill skarsgård smut #bill skarsgard smut

536 notes · View notes